Would you drop off your third grader at Hyland Park to go skiing for the afternoon?  Would you send your fifteen year old daughter and her nine year old brother on a tour bus from San Diego up to Los Angeles to go to Knott's Berry Farm while you went golfing?  Would you pretend to be a monster breaking into your home while your five year old was trying to watch the Fat Albert Halloween Special?  Would you tell your six year old that witches lived in the swamp behind the home-and then show her the scar you got from a witches broom as proof?  My parents did.

One of the exciting and terrifying things about parenting a newborn is trying to decide what kind of mother I will be.  How do you allow your child the freedom to grow and explore the world when you turn on the news and see all the tragedies and scary things that could happen?  One particularly militant baby book talked about how you should plan to stay home with your baby for the first three months to avoid potential fatal baby germs.  While pregnant, I purposefully avoided scheduling any classes, appointments etc. after September in case I needed to hole up in the house with my new little biscuit.  Would I be terrified of germs, the public, driving with an infant?  Turns out the answer is no.  Getting out into the community is a break for me in the day and it seems to help the baby sleep better as well.  As we start into month #2, Chedda baby has been to multiple restaurants, Target, Bob's Produce, the Farmer's Market, Dan's salon, the Mall of America (hey, I waited nine months for sushi-I wanted it to be good.) and the apple orchard.  It was at the orchard that I realized that I am the kind of mom who will endanger her child for a good photo opportunity.  

Guess I should've known that a propped up baby might fall and hit his head on a pumpkin.  

I can be a lazy mom too.  In the first few weeks, I'd pretty much resort to anything to get the baby to sleep.  This is how I ended up creating a routine where I allow the baby to suck on my finger until he is fast asleep.  Here's hoping that's not a routine he still has in his teen years.  I  also change my mind a lot.  Per baby, I declared that I would NOT use a pacifier-well unless I couldn't get my baby to sleep without one.  Now, I'm actively trying to teach the little finger sucker to use a paci instead.   I'm not proud of this, but in the middle of the night, after getting little Chedda to sleep, I might pretend I didn't hear that juicy fart and just go back to sleep.

I'm a curious mom too-I've got the baby books  sitting in the living room for reading during feeding times.  Here's a secret-I've tasted my own breast milk. I mean, who wouldn't be curious?  I didn't drink a glass of it or anything, but there was a drop that fell off after pumping.  I looked at it for awhile, and then just decided to take a quick taste.  Little cheddar biscuit is lucky, my milk tastes sweet and delicious.

Of course it's too early to tell what kind of mother I will be.  I imagine that the type of mother I will become will change as he gets older to meet his needs.  I will make mistakes and that's okay.  My parents made mistakes too, but I turned out to be reasonably okay.    My hope is that I can remain a flexible mom (I mean in terms of thinking-but I'd be okay with being able to touch my toes without bending the knees too.)  I want to be able to have my hopes and dreams  (soccer playing boy who attends Spanish immersion school) while allowing my baby's personality to ultimately shape the decisions I make regarding his future.  Being pregnant was kind of like riding slowly up the first big hill on a roller coaster.  Now that the baby's out, I'm shooting down the hill and who knows what I'm in store for next?

1.  Door to door religion salesman.  They came while I was shoving some chip and dip into my mouth in between baby Chedda feedings.  And since I happened to look up and see them while snacking at the Kitchen table, I was unable to hide out as I usually do.  I suppose I could've made a terrified face and hid under the table, but that seemed rash-plus it could've been an unfamiliar neighbor bringing food treats for me.  (you never know.)  Of course, there was no food treats-although an offer for a free religious text and the opportunity to sit down with two very polite young men.  I'm blaming the post baby hormones which made me feel bad for them.  I mean how often do people actually talk with them?  So in my weird guilt state I actually agreed to sit down with them next week and discuss their religious faith.  WTF?  What is wrong with me?   I need a good kick in the pants for sure-next thing you know I'll be buying security systems and extra Star Tribune subscriptions.  I must sentence myself to sitting in front of the mirror and practice saying "no thank you" one million times over the next week.  So who wants to come over to my house next week and help me deal with the religious fanatics?

2.  My feet.  While walking around with baby Chedda in my womb, I suffered from a common side effect of grossly swollen feet.  I was hoping once the swelling went down, that I would be able to fit back into my shoes.  No.  Apparently, the bigger foot size is here to stay.  Normally, I would embrace the opportunity to buy new shoes-who doesn't like to get  a few new pairs of shoes?  But here's the crappy part:  I have size 10 shoes-and I'm pretty sure I've just grown to size 10 and a half.  Which is a size not carried by anyone.  I went to DSW yesterday.  The size 10's felt too tight, and the size 11's were a bit too big.  There was not one pair of 10 1/2s in the store.  This means I will probably be forced to wear weird custom orthopedic shoes for the rest of my life.  *Big sigh*

3.  Bills.  Specifically hospital bills.  Had a baby lately?  I'm suffering from a bit of sticker shock.  The total cost for baby Chedda birthing?  15 grand.  That includes 10,000 for the hospital stay, 3,000 for the doctor to come in and pull the baby out of my vajayjay, another 800 for checking out the baby, and 1200 for anesthesia.  Makes me glad to have insurance-I have 80/20 coverage so that leaves me with a much more manageable 2000 or so.  But this is what ticks me off.  I personally have to pay 720.00 for the anesthesia service.  Fine, if it had worked.  Apparently there is no satisfaction guarantee on this service.  So even though, I felt every little contraction during labor (the epidural was put in too late to make a difference) I still have to fork over 700.00 dollars.  Do you know how many custom shoes I could probably buy for 700.00????

I wonder if I have another little chedda biscuit just sitting in that stomach of mine.  How else to explain the fact that my belly continues to extend out further than my newly milk engorged boobies?   I mean I loved the belly when it was all firm with baby and baby juices.  To be honest, it was probably the firmest tummy I'd ever had.  But now that baby has come out-it is an oddly shaped squishy thing.  Seriously, had I dyed my belly a bright red immediately post partum-you would've assumed that I'd covered myself in strawberry jello.  Watch it wiggle-see it jiggle, Kelly's Haagen daz belly, dessert is fun.

I made a pact to not check the scale until six weeks past-because I didn't want to get discouraged by a small number, and I figured that if I waited six weeks I'd be looking at a better number on the scale.  Preferably something back in the 100's.  But unfortunately some severe burning booby pain caused me to end up at the doctor's sooner than I'd anticipated.  On a side note, I was totally amused when I got a call from my concerned husband asking "How are your breasts today?"  This ranks up there with another call earlier where he asked, "Is it still sore, er, down there in your region?" 

While accurate, doctor's scales are also a good ten pounds more than any scale that I own.  I personally like my scale-I can step on it five different times-getting five different numbers ranging about 15 pounds difference.  To be fair, I then average those numbers to come up with my weight.  Anyhow, guess how much weight I lost giving birth?  Ten measly pounds.  I mean, the little biscuit weighed almost eight, so you'd think it would've been more, right?  Nope.   I'm left with the remnants of all my ice cream licking, dessert eating ways.  (If you want to know-about fifty of them...)  That sucks.

I KNOW that it is nine months up-nine months down.  And since I am breast feeding I can't diet.  So I have to just take it slow and eventually the weight should come off with a little hard work down the line.  But still, it's like someone took my preggo glasses off and I suddenly see what my thighs really look like.  I need to reframe so I will say that my thighs are perfect for holding both a beautiful newborn and a needy doggie.  And my stomach makes a perfect pillow for the little one.   I mean I'd hate to poke him with a rib in the eye, right?

One last thing, if you are a male, and your wife whose just given birth comes into the room and states, "I feel fat."  The correct answer is NOT "I know me too, we need to lose some weight."  I realize that it's a true statement and that I am not being fair, but the correct answer involves denial and the promise of some type of body massage.

Most of the baby books I read suggested spending your time focusing on your new little bundle of joy-and letting others take care of household chores such as dishes and laundry.  But really, how hard is it to run downstairs, throw a load of laundry into the machine and get back to baby raising?  Pre-baby, I figured that I would have more time to catch up on Gabster, emails, maybe some light reading.  I also thought I'd have time to paint the front porch and the master bedroom-oooh, and hang up all those pictures and new light fixtures I'd bought. 

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.  Oh, I remember that old naieve me from a few weeks back.  Caring for a baby is easy-as long as you recognize that that is ALL you are doing.  In the first few weeks he was feeding 12-14 times a day-and each feeding took up about 45-60 minutes.  So  I needed to readjust my expectations.  When Jim would leave he'd ask, "What are your plans for today."  And I'd answer, "I'm hoping to brush my teeth and maybe put away those three books on the dining room table." 

What the baby books didn't clarify was how long I was going to be a slave to little baby Chedda's wants and needs.  With the lack of sleep, waking up every 1 1/2 to 2 hours for baby feeding, I was starting to wonder if this had been a big mistake.  Here is this new creature in our home-who is demanding all of my time and in return provides me with poopy diapers.  

Plus being new parents has rendered Jim and I temporarily insane.  For instance, I cannot walk past the baby without poking him repeatedly-just to make sure he's still breathing.  And for the first week, I had an irrational fear that I would somehow slip-and stick my thumb right through the baby's soft spot-and pull it out with brains on it. 

The first night back at home, we both noticed that Lucas seemed to be breathing too loud and that his voice sounded hoarse.   That added to the greenish discharge I noticed coming from his nose sent me scurrying to find the hospital discharge recommendations.  Sure enough, yellow or greenish discharge from the nose was cause to call the doctor.  In our defense, there were no guidelines as to when to call the doctor.  So, we figured we'd better call right away.  Especially since it seemed kinda sticky-like it might impede his breathing.  This is how we ended up calling our doctor at four o'clock in the morning about a booger. 

The nurses and the baby books all stress the fact that you cannot spoil a newborn-so when he is crying you should pick him up quickly and fulfill his needs (change poopoo/peepee pants, feed, too cold-add blanket, too hot-take blanket away, or swaddle and help calm baby down.)  But some days, it felt like I wouldn't be able to eat if I didn't put him down for 10-15 minutes and make some breakfast.  So was this endangering the future of my little biscuit?   What about when I just didn't wake up until there were shrill screams coming from the little guy?  Have I just taught him that the world is a cold and unfeeling place?  (Keep in mind that during the first two weeks you're also getting rid of lots of baby/preggo hormones.) 

Just when it all seemed like too much, a miracle happened.  A tiny, crooked baby smile.  He doesn't offer very many-and I realize it's probably just cause he's farting or making another surprise in his pants for me-but that smile?  It makes all the hard work, the sleepness nights, all of it seem worth it. 

It's official.  I've become a walking, talking Boobie vending machine.  For the last two weeks I've been feeding my cute little insatiable baby every 1-2 hours.  I figured it out and about eight hours or so of my day are directly related to feeding and/or diaper changes.  The other hours are pretty much devoted to sleep-or on a particularly ambitious day, I may even attempt a shower.  Breastfeeding has been more challenging than I'd realized it would be.

I pictured the whole breastfeeding thing as a commune with little baby Cheddar-I would place him lovingly against my chest gazing into his little blue eyes as I nourished him from my swollen bosoms (hey-who spent their teenage years reading trashy romance novels?)The how to nourish your baby from your tatas books suggest taking the time you are breastfeeding to enjoy your baby-caressing him with your eyes, words and hands.  Doesn't it sound peaceful and energizing?   I'm thinking that they have an extra pair of hands for all these interactions. 

First, you have to master a technique called "latching on."  This is where you stimulate the infant to open his mouth wide and then he takes the nipple into his mouth to feed.  It sounds simple, but try that with an angry, hungry baby.  While trying to get him to open his mouth bigger than the size of a cheerio, he would inevitably start punching and kicking me in the boobies with his adorable little baby appendages.  I won't even get into his razor sharp claws-er fingernails.  This is where you need to step back and master the technique of baby swaddling-which is kinda like a straight jacket for crazed newborns.

Once the new babe has opened his mouth as large as he can, you then forcefully shove his head onto the breast attempting to shove the nipple as far into his mouth as possible.  And then if you're me, you attempt to do this every time the baby cries.  Which makes you wonder-what if we approached all of life's problems with others by just forcing a boob into their mouth? 

Once "latched on" the little guy earned a new nickname-"Jaws."  Because you'd think a little 7 pound baby couldn't do much damage-especially without teeth.  But you'd be wrong.  After two days of attempted breastfeeding-my sore and cracked nipples were ready to throw in the towel.  And since you have to keep nourishing the kid, you just put him on again.  LIke, hey baby, go ahead suck on mommy's scabs-it's okay...

But once he's on, then it would be time for the mommy/baby bonding right?  Wrong, again.  Apparently babies have the amazing ability to actually eat while sleeping.  (suck, suck, suck, snore, snore, suck, suck, suck...)  The first day I looked lovingly down at the drowsy snacker when I was distracted by a very large and very coarse nipple hair.  There were actually three nipple hairs down there.  How can you concentrate on the loving bond between mother and son when there is a nipple hair caressing his cheek?  Being in the hospital, we didn't have access to a tweezers-so I attempted to pull it manually.  Unfortunately, I ended up just curling the errant hair.  Although at least it was no longer touching the baby. 

Once we got home, I started putting little mini Hoover onto a product called-seriously-"My Brest Friend" 

It works like a Boppy pillow-only better because you can strap it all the way around you.  The downside is that you have now become a walking high chair but at least you avoid the whole back pain issue.  If you have friends who are planning to nurse-I would recommend this pillow.

The other product I got was a Bebe Au Lait nursing cover.  I remember spending a lot of time trying to find the "perfect" fabric-so I would look cute while nursing.  Hahahahaha.  The nursing cover is like a giant apron for your boobs-it just covers them so perverts can't peek at them.  It is not-no matter how great the fabric-cute or flattering in any way-but it is functional and less likely to get kicked off than a towel.

Okay, so enough of my complaining.  Here's the good news.  It gets easier.  The baby starts to eat more and sleep for longer periods of time.  And that's just after two weeks.  And the boobies start to hurt less and the cracking heals more quickly than you'd think.  (get the pure lanolin lotion.)  The nice thing about nursing is that it slows you down-so you really have to pay attention to your babies communication signs.  And after a few weeks, you start to learn how to get that baby on without all the pain and irritation.  And sometimes, surprisingly, it even feels a bit pleasant.  So I'm glad I stuck it out .