Working motherhood

There is working motherhood, and then there is working motherhood. For the first eight weeks, I was working motherhood, enjoying the bliss of nurturing a tiny baby, getting used to a new routine, and receiving oodles of good vibes from friends and strangers.

For the last two weeks, I have been easing into working motherhood. As expected, it's already proving to be a juggling act, even with my mother around to look after Freya while I work. Meetings with baby in tow work with a few indulgent business associates. Going to a work-related event with Freya in a sling worked until she started fussing during the second after dinner speech. Some meeting organizers are happy to accommodate the entourage I travel with. Two organizations even pay for my mom's travel expenses to accompany me to board meetings. I am learning interesting things about hotels and cribs.

Today I was comforted by these words of wisdom from another executive mom:

"When you figure out how to make the perfect balance between motherhood and work, do let me know. In my 11 year effort, I find it is a constant journey towards balance where you never arrive, but I have learned to sit back and appreciate and enjoy the journey."

I will be repeating this mantra-like in my mind as I embark on my first plane journey with breast pump paraphernalia in a couple of days -- by all accounts not a happy experience...

Monster cribs

We finally bought Freya a crib. She had been sleeping with us at night and napping in one of her several cozy slings during the day. She is just learning to nap on her own, and while we have tried out various surfaces and beds, a crib seems like a good idea for security and convenience. The plan is to have her take her day-time naps and the early part of her night-time sleep in her own crib. More on that plan as it unfolds...

I am happy to say we found a nice used, wooden portable crib on wheels, which we outfitted with a simple non-fire-retardant-soaked foam mattress, a woolen "puddle pad" and organic cotton sheets. The whole thing cost us $200 or thereabouts.



That's in stark contrast to all the sport utility cribs out there. Every store we visited has these monstrous contraptions that are apparently designed to last the kid not just through grade school but all the way to grad school. Built in extravagant proportions, they come in colors like "savannah" or "chestnut" and require spring coil mattresses and yards of bedding, which, of course, coordinates with the muted shades of your upwardly mobile lifestyle.

Anyway, a lucky pass by the local consignment store found us the biodiesel version, and Freya has been sleeping like an angel.

The Pump Files - Vol. 1

Working motherhood and breast pumping are like ... April and taxes. Or something. Here is a picture of the pump paraphernalia that have taken over my life. Nuff said. Not the BBQ tongs, though -- those I just used to move all the little bits and pieces from the pot of boiling water to the drying pad. And those little disks on the bottom left that vaguely look like jellyfish? Ah! Those are very expensive, but reusable silicone pads to use in lieu of disposable bra inserts, in our attempt to keep as much as possible of Freya's gear out of landfills.

Life's a beach...

... well, sometimes. We escaped the 100+ degree heat to Stinson Beach a couple of times last week, where it was balmy and the water warm enough for Steve to do some body surfing sans wet suit. Freya slept through most of it, but managed to nurse without getting sand in her mouth.

Earlier in the week, however, things were not so placid. She turned into that baby, you know, the one that wails in public spaces. She squirmed and screamed through the doctor's visit, made a ruckus at the bank, and was inconsolable at the post office. I, in turn, became one of those parents, you know, the one that attracts roughly equal amounts sympathetic looks from other parents of colicky babies, hostile glares from business men in suits, smug grins from super-moms whose baby slept through the night from day 1, and encouraging nods from elderly ladies who know that this, too, shall pass. Meanwhile, I got to experience the bath of emotions ranging from embarrassment to mortification, from indignation to resignation, and arrived, by the third stop on Freya's trail of tears, at so-what-ness.

Oh, and at the pediatrician's we also learned that Freya now weighs 9 lbs 11 oz, and grew half an inch -- both of which land her in the 55th percentile. We are celebrating her being such an average baby while it lasts ;-)

Cries(is) of Confidence

So my candidate for most gut-wrenching new mother experience is my all-too-slowly developing ability to read Freya's cries correctly. Is there anything worse than seeing your baby in apparent agony and not being able to figure out how to make it better? Half the time I end up crying right along with her...

"Eh-la", usually delivered in a vaguely mournful, and increasingly more urgent cadence, is Freya's cry for food. It stops the second I put her in ready position, which constitutes our first proper conversation: signal and response :-)

Then there is the sudden screech, after waking from a nap: sometimes that means she is too hot, especially after having slept against my skin in the triple-digit heat we have been "enjoying" in California. Another good candidate for what's wrong is a full diaper, and those cries have taken on an indignant character now that we have switched to cloth diapers during the day. If it's neither of those two, we just wing it and try various diversions.

Her hiccups sound bad, and look even worse, what with the inch-deep indentation of her diaphragm, but don't seem to bother her, thank goodness.

Not so the high-pitch scream/desperate gulp combo that we first encountered the second night at home -- when Freya was hungry and my milk not yet in -- and again the other afternoon with what appeared to have been her first bout with colic. Hour after hour of pitiful, inconsolable crying like that, with Freya turning lobster red all over and writhing in apparent pain, wore me down. In German we call this cry "zum Steinerweichen", meaning the ability to melt rocks -- needless to say I was reduced to a puddle after the first hour. Eventually my mother managed to soothe her, and we later figured out that it must have been something I ate. We modified my diet, and so far, no further colicky episodes.

Anyway, it's been an instructive four weeks. I used to consider myself a fast learner, but not nearly fast enough to make things right by Freya in time every time. I also have my first pet peeve of new motherhood: The Secrets of the Baby Whisperer book, which makes it sound as if it should be easy and straightforward to read your baby's body language, and made me feel like a dolt for about half an afternoon, after which I threw the book in a corner to be burned along with my maternity pants.

Got Milk?

As it turns out, one of the most important skills of motherhood is also one of the simplest. Unlike learning to ride a bike, running a marathon, or getting and advanced degree, producing breast milk required no practice, training or coursework. It just showed up, about 12 hours later than Freya would have liked, judging from the intensity of her crying one night last week, but show up it did. With a vengeance. Turns out these breasts are not just for decoration. And while we haven't perfected the art of night-time nursing without groping for my glasses and turning on the light yet, Freya's eating like a champ and I get to enjoy an entirely gratuitous sense of accomplishment.

The best laid plans...

... went haywire and got us our beautiful daughter two weeks early!

On July 31 Lufthansa went on strike, delaying my mother's arrival in Portland by two days.

Later that afternoon, my water broker while at the midwife's for a routine visit. She discovered that OHSU Labor and Delivery was "on divert", meaning that there would be no room at the inn (and, more importantly) the water tub if I showed up there too soon. So she sent me home and told me to come back when the contractions are at 3-5 minutes.

I called Steve, who was at that moment in Spokane on a college tour with Beau -- they started the trek home immediately, getting back to Portland by midnight. A big thank you to our friends Jennifer and Marcus who sat with me, watching stupid movies and chatting as my contractions slowly built.

It's true, you really can sleep through the early part of labor, or at least in between contractions. Steve not so much, he was busy timing them all night... Contractions were down to 5 minutes by Friday morning, which saw me in a frenzy of work triage, essentially designating a number of pinch hitters for some rather hairy deadlines.

We went to the hospital, where they indeed did not turn us away, but we had to wait for a couple of hours until a birth suite became available.

Naturally, the water tub was in use -- but OHSU was prepared for this contingency, and we became the inaugural users of their new inflatable back-up tub.

I'll spare you the details, but suffice it to say that labor progressed in predictable fashion, and I was able to see it through unmedicated and mostly in good humor; at least until those famous last three pushes. Yowza.

And then: There she was!!!

Freya Rosa Cowan joined us at 9:15 p.m. on Friday, August 1st, weighing in at 8 lbs 3 oz, and 21.5 inches long.

We are smitten, and of course she is the most beautiful baby in the world .