Juliet Martinez

Mon, Aug 30 2004

Feels so different

Today, seven months, thirteen days and eleven hours after Paula was born, Aunt Flow returned. If this were a cheesy courtroom drama I would object.

I'm not ready! I'm not ready to have room in my body for another person, someone other than Paula. Physically another pregnancy would wreck me - and I don't trust that my body could successfully grow another baby right now. Emotionally I'm nowhere near interested in rearing any child other than the one now sleeping diaperless on a waterproof pad and fleece blanket and surrounded by pillows on Joel's and my bed.

This weekend was stunningly different from the previous ones I spent alone with Paula when Joel was out of town. Instead of feeling stressed and run ragged by a baby I felt to be demanding and incomprehensible, I enjoyed every minute of it. Friday night I cleaned my house for the first time in weeks and did dishes every night before bed so when Paula and I woke up in the morning we did whatever we pleased. There was no work to try to do while balancing her needs, no one competing for my attention. I let myself wallow blissfully in Paula's company.

At my last La Leche League meeting I was telling people about some of the things Paula does and more than one person commented, "She's got a lot of personality," as if to say, "I'm not sure I'd like that in a baby, but good luck with that." I didn't really appreciate it at the time.

But Paula does have a lot of personality. When she smiles she looks so happy, but when she's really happy she hollers at the top of her lungs, eyes wide open, pitched to shatter glass. When she laughs her throaty chuckle, she wrinkles her nose - as the song says, it touches my foolish heart. In the car, when we go under a bridge or highway underpass, she opens her eyes really really wide as though that will let in more light. She seems to try to climb up me while nursing, which frankly kills my thrushy nipples, but she has always been that active, even in the womb. She hums the same high-pitched sound while nursing if she needs to pee or if she has a gas bubble in her tummy. I'm beginning to wonder if she thinks the "psss" sound I make to cue her to pee also means, to her, "let out a big, manly belch."

The last two nights after my babe was fast asleep, I got up to do laundry and write. The quiet house and absence of distractions woke up my mind from what has felt like a month-long sleep. But even that was not enough to keep me up too much later than usual. It feels so right to curl up to sleep next to her, careful not to crowd her or cover her too much. When she stirs at night I usually plug her in quickly enough that she doesn't wake up all the way. But last night for some reason she woke up all the way at least once. She smiled up at me, climbed onto my chest, nuzzled my neck and mouthed my jaw as I both yearned for sleep and relished my little girl with the big personality. How could there possibly be room in my body - or my life - for another one?
by Juliet Email me

Sun, Aug 29 2004

Send good vibes, pray, whatever ... for Heather Armstrong. She is the incredibly talented writer at whose feet I totally grovel who has checked herself into a psych hospital for her severe post-partum depression and anxiety.
by Juliet Email me

Sat, Aug 28 2004

Dream a (strange) little dream

Recent dreams I've had:

1.A few nights ago: I am alone with a midwife in a room that seems modeled after the Parthenon. It has carpet the color of avocado kitchen appliances from the 70's. I birth a boy, but can't tell what his face looks like. It's a blur, but I love him.

2. Later, same night: I am in the Parthe-room again with the midwife and in labor. She says, "This is how you want to do this, with no one here but me, right?" And I answer yes. I think I've got a long ways to go in labor but suddenly feel the baby's head is almost ready to crown. I bear down hard and the head emerges - it's a girl with a large head, like you would think a 5-year-old's head would be. As I reach down, the midwife says, "Catch your baby!" I birth the rest of her. She has light skin and lots of soft brown hair.

3. Last night: I dream that Paula is diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. The doctor and I are discussing it and I'm saying, "Wow - that explains the thrush problem! She had high blood sugars which were feeding the yeast." I remember thinking about it very scientifically.

This last one has bothered me. I think for some reason I have been worrying more lately about my incredibly dear friend who has it.
by Juliet Email me

An apology I just realized my page must have been sans entry for a couple of days. How embarrassing. I'll try not to let that happen again.
by Juliet Email me

Mmmm... dry undies...

Paula and I are on day three of our diaper free experiment. Except at night, I'm just putting cloth training pants on her. They have some padding in the crotch, but otherwise are just like underpants. The other day I thought to myself, "Self," because that's what I call myself, "why not just try quitting diapers altogether?"

So far so good. We've actually had very few misses, and I imagine that Paula is enjoying that comfy feeling of dry undies instead of wet diapers.
by Juliet Email me

Alone with my baby

I dropped Joel off at the airport yesterday for his trip to the Philadelphia Folk Festival. As I drove his van away with Paula asleep in her carseat, I felt something I didn't expect to feel: elated.

I had gotten very sentimental about Joel leaving, even making him listen to my morbid and teary contingencies for his death in a plane crash. I hugged him a lot and told him, "I love you. No, I really love you," about fifty times. He was very sweet about it, even though all my dire predictions had to do with him.

So I was surprised as I drove away from Midway that I felt so free and unencumbered. I had that great, expansive sense that I could go into a pharmacy and buy everything I wanted. If you've never had that feeling it's probably because you don't share my love of pharmacies and all the things they contain. Think about it. You can get a bag of Doritos, nail polish, scrunchies, a dozen eggs, hair color, an infant toothbrush, hair styling grease, chocolate, and a greeting card for your man who's out of town. Where else can you get all that stuff under one roof?

Well, at any big supermarket. But it's not the same.

I didn't actually go to a pharmacy, though. I just enjoyed the feeling that I could. I also relished the idea of going to the video store and renting any BBC, period-drama Victorian romance crap I wanted to. I didn't do that either.

Unfortunately, eating Doritos or chocolate is only going to make my thrush worse and it is already EXCRUCIATING to nurse Paula on one breast, so I'll try to keep the other one at the Just Painful at the Beginning level. And nail polish is out because it's so fumey. We have eggs, I don't color my hair (pregnancy took care of that for me - I'm now a brunette!), and the other stuff is just optional. Well, we really do need a new "gum brush" for Paula, but it's not an emergency. And the movie? Let's face it - watching TV is just not like it used to be. If I sit down to watch a half-hour show, I'm lucky to get in 15 minutes of it. So a whole movie is very unlikely. Besides, I can have plenty of fun just playing with my baby.

But whereas Joel's trips out of town used to feel like I was the one facing a doomed airplane ride, I'm actually liking the prospect of just hanging out with Paula and not worrying about anybody but our sweet selves for a couple of days. If we wake up at 5:30 and want to play some loud music, we can. If we decide to take off to the forest preserve, we don't have to worry about anyone else's schedule and whether or not he'll join us. We're on our own for the weekend - just us girls. I'm smiling just thinking about it.
by Juliet Email me

Sat, Aug 21 2004

Paula Monster

Since my mom went home almost two weeks ago I've gone into a kind of hermit's existence that has been positively lovely. I have called very few friends, done almost no social things with anyone other than family and frankly just relished being at home with Paula and Joel. I wonder if my recent introversion doesn't also have something to do with having thrush, which kept me in bed for more than a week, but even if it does, I've enjoyed myself.

It's almost like finding a new way to be alone.

You know how people say they can feel alone in a crowd? That lonely feeling of being surrounded by people who couldn't care less about you? This isn't that. I really enjoyed my solitary times at home before Paula was born. Since then I have had precious little of it. Even when physically alone, mentally I have continued to dwell on my baby. But my powerful need for solitude, both mental and physical, somehow feels less acute lately.

This has a lot to do with Joel's companionship and help with caring for Paula. The night before our second therapy session two weeks ago, we had a breakthrough discussion about where our marriage has gone since Paula was born. We discovered that although Joel has dutifully fulfilled his role as financial provider and bringer of water bottles to the nursing mom, he stopped thinking about our marriage as a friendship in which he and I could gratify each others' emotional needs. Since then he's been working on reawakening that fun, sweet guy I fell in love with almost 10 years ago.

And with my tanks fuller, my time with Paula has been almost too fun for our own good. She jumps in her jumper in the kitchen and I face her and jump along with her, holding my braless, tender boobs in place with my hands. She laughs out loud, then looks curiously at my hands folded across my chest, wondering, "Am I supposed to do that?"

I've also found Paula's tickle spots! She is ticklish under her collarbones and just over her shoulder blades. Ooh! That throaty chuckle is mama-opium. I love to hold her above me, thumbs and forefingers on the tickle spots. I croak out, "COOKIE!!!" and pretend to eat her neck, growling like the Cookie Monster. She laughs out loud and I hug her to me. The joy I feel shocks my system and I can't believe how lucky I am.
by Juliet Email me

Thu, Aug 12 2004

Why Dominick's opens early

Right now I can't think of anything more depressing that taking one's six-month-old baby to the supermarket at 6:30 a.m. to buy condoms and a pregnancy test. One stripe for condoms, two stripes for tears.

It's especially depressing if the baby one takes looks like she's made up to play a hobo in a school play with her mouth and lower jowls covered in the faint purple residue of gentian violet. My baby looks like she has 5:00 shadow.

I started feeling a little pain while nursing a couple of days ago, but didn't really pay attention. Then yesterday morning it got really bad. Every time Paula latched on it felt like a very bad latch or like she was biting me. I asked around and everyone said: "It's either thrush or you're pregnant."

Now, Joel and I have been very careful not to conceive, but I have been rather tired lately, felt some familiar aches in my hips and been unusually hungry sometimes. So being pregnant is not out of the question. We also recently ran out of condoms - yep, not that it's anyone's business, but we're barrier method aficionados.

Well, I've got some good news!

It's thrush. The gentian violet is an herbal remedy that gets swabbed in the baby's mouth and the mommy's nipples. I feel blue.

by Juliet Email me

Tue, Aug 10 2004

On further thought...

(If you haven't read last night's post, you'll want to read it before reading this.)

This morning in the shower I was enjoying using this great handmade soap that my friend Shokufeh sent me in a care package from Hawaii. The smell, the creamy lather, the pleasantly scratchy loofa pieces (or oats, I can't remember), all made me reflect on my love of handmade soaps in general.

Why don't I treat myself to more handmade soap? I certainly need and deserve little indulgences to smooth over life's stressful times. But I always seem to prioritize things like fiscal economy and other people's agendas more than my needs, even for something relatively insignificant that would add a moment of selfish pleasure to my life.

And then it hit me. What would Paula do?

I realized I'm in the process of raising someone who will likely not balk at spending a little extra to get something she feels she needs - once she can talk and get an allowance, that is. She will be my opposite in that respect, and I'm thinking she can teach me a lot, if I'm willing to learn.

And given how our personalities differ from each other, I'm going to need to take those lessons to heart if I'm going to make it through as her mom.

So in honor of my daughter's acute awareness of her needs, I'm going to start trying to pay more attention to my own. She has already turned my world upside down. Maybe now she can help me turn it over again.

by Juliet Email me

Mon, Aug 09 2004

Woah.

My mind is blown. BLOWN!

I just got off the phone with my friend, the genius of Kalamazoo, Michigan, Frank Lucatelli. He developed a way to describe personality, or 2/3 of personality, anyway, using a matrix of qualities that are scored for strength or weakness.

He says one part of personality is genetic, one part is determined by environment and the choices we make, another part is unique to each individual. He's got a handle on the last two - genetic still pretty much eludes him. The setup is a grid of three rows and four columns. Thinking, Feeling and Doing are the rows, Personal, Interpersonal, Social and Cultural are the columns. A high score in a cell means you're strong there, a low score is like a blind spot.

So Joel and I decided a few weeks ago to ask Frank to do Paula's matrix for the unique-to-her part, and this afternoon he called to give me her results. The short version is this: Her strengths are my blind spots.

My highest strength is in interpersonal feeling, or understanding the emotional content of relationships. I have a lot of empathy. An example is my response to learning about the killing of baby harp seals when I was a child. I imagined what it would feel like to be a baby harp seal and be killed, and what it would feel like to be a mother harp seal and find her baby killed. Needless to say, I was devastated. I'll come back to this later.

I score zero in personal feeling, the area that allows people to have a sense of their needs, and in interpersonal thinking, where people figure out how things in relationships fit together. So my sense of my own needs tends to be poor, and my ability to examine relationships in a detached way is nil.

My daughter's two highest scores are in personal feeling and interpersonal thinking. So the overwhelming demand on me to attend to her needs? Not such a big mystery any more. She is precisely what that Dr. Sears book talked about: "high need."

No wonder I've been run so ragged lately. She's tuned into her needs, I'm tuned out to mine, but very tuned to her needing Something NOW. But her ability to figure out how to get what she needs is not so high - hence the one-size-fits-all high-pitched screeching that has made me wonder if I gave birth to a fax machine. She'll have to learn how to ask for specific things, and Joel and I will have to find ways to teach her.

Frank says she won't respond well to direct instruction, though - like, say, me showing her OVER AND OVER the sign for "milk" when she wants to nurse. She learns by observing what people do, like how she learned to feed herself with a spoon without me ever showing her. She's 6 months old and feeds herself with a spoon. I foresee some interesting scenes as Joel and I show her that when people make the sign, they get nursed.

Paula's matrix also explained some other quirks of her personality, like why she was happy to be held by the nice Indian woman behind bulletproof glass at the Dunkin Donuts this morning, but goes into spasmodic crying fits at family gatherings. She likes to deal with one person at a time, is very private, and is easily overwhelmed by social situations where she has to interact with more than one person at a time. It really, really clicks.

I asked Frank about the baby harp seal thing, how she might respond to information like that. Well, he said, she'll probably think, "That's a stupid thing to do. I'd never do that." But, he continued, she'll probably be too focused on what's going on in her life to really pay much attention.

Sigh. I can hear the arguments now:

Me, frazzled at the end of the day: "How can you stand there and say you don't care about baby harp seals? How would you feel if you were clubbed to death?"

Her: "Why are you so upset about baby harp seals? You're not a harp seal. Besides, I need a new bike. When can I have a new bike? When can I have a new bike? When can I have a new bike?"

At least now I'll have some idea why.

If you are interested in a matrix personality analysis, see Frank's questionnaire.
by Juliet Email me

Mon, Aug 02 2004

She loves danger

My daughter has a thing for dangerous toys. Plastic bags hold a particular fascination for her. Any plastic bag that comes within a foot of her attracts her immediate attention. She lunges and grabs. It's as though she can't control herself - it wants her to*. The crinkly sound is more than she can resist.

It used to be that any crinkly sound would wake her from a deep sleep. She would open her eyes and begin to crane her head around to find the cellophane or shopping bag that seemed to be calling out to her in a secret language: "I am your master! You want to grab me! Bury your face in my crinkliness. You are under my complete control!"

Needless to say but often repeated on the bags themselves, "This is not a toy. Do not place in playpens or cribs. This bag can cover the mouth and nose, leading to suffocation." Two-faced bastards.

I worry that this penchant for risky behavior could lead to bad things down the road. Who knows what she'll get into as a toddler? Stove knobs? Electrical outlets? Tearing the tags off our mattresses? I'm worried.

But that's why I have to keep a sharp eye on my baby. I have to protect my precious little girl and make sure nothing happens to her. I just want her to grow up safe and healthy so when she's 19 she can run off with a guy named Bo to join a motorcycle gang.

*This from a story an old neighbor of mine told about finding her 3-year-old son masturbating. When she told him not to touch himself, he answered, "But it wants me to."
by Juliet Email me

Update

Things are going better on the emotional front these days. I'm trying a lot of new things with Paula so that the impact of daily life is reduced somewhat. Some of these I stumble on by accident. Friday, for example, I had an IBS attack which kept me on the sofa and fasting for most of the day, reading, and letting Paula climb on me and play with her toys next to me. At the end of the day I realized that Paula had barely squawked and had been so relaxed and happy all day. I don't know if this is a sign that I've been trying to do too much and she's been reacting to that with her loud vocalizations, but I've decided to spend more time on the sofa. I might even schedule it in, for example, two or three mornings a week. I don't have it all worked out yet, but it's a start.

I'm also getting a lot more assertive with Joel about my needs and his involvement in actively parenting Paula. It's not easy for either of us, but it has to be done. Between that and my zillion milligrams of fish oil every day, my mood has consistently improved.

This evening my mom is flying up from Atlanta to spend this week with us and I'm really looking forward to it. Joel has band camp this week so he'll be gone every evening and it will be so great to have my mom here to help during that difficult going-to-bed period. The last few nights I've been just sitting on the sofa and watching TV while Paula struggles to go to sleep on my lap. I find that she goes to sleep at almost exactly the same times regardless of where we are, and this way is easier on me. I've been super exhausted lately because of waking up to nurse around 3 a.m. and not being able to sleep well after that. So evenings are a definite low point for me and my mom's help and the joy of seeing her will not be lost on me.

by Juliet Email me