Christ as an Infant

December 25, 2013

I have spent the entire Christmas season wondering what Christ was like as an infant.

Was He a good eater? How old was He when he slept through the night? Was He calm? Active? Did He laugh easily? Did Mary chase Him around the house all day trying to keep Him from slamming His fingers in drawers and drinking from the dog’s water bowl?

Having an infant has made the divine birth feel so real to me. The images we see of the Nativity scene are so serene and beautiful, but I wonder if they mask the truth of how physical birth is. Of how tired Mary must have been, and how worried Joseph was that he couldn’t find a more suitable place for his new son. I believe that Christ went through mortality in a very real sense–along with experiencing the sins and pains of the world, He also went through teething, scraped knees, and hurt feelings. That He was comforted by a mother who didn’t always know the right thing to do, and a father who did his best.

I’ve also wondered how much Mary understood. Did she know that the infant she held had created the world? Did she know He would grow up to be loved and hated, and eventually killed? I like to think she didn’t know everything, that she held her infant and only knew some of the simple truths of mothers everywhere: that she loved her baby. That she’d do anything for Him. That He was divine and precious and a gift.

I am grateful for the new perspective and gift of motherhood, and in particular for an understanding of Christ that brings so much joy and peace into my life. Merry Christmas! I hope you spent it feeling the love of those around you.


Dear Childless

August 6, 2013

Dear Childless,

photo bombA few months ago we were at a BBQ together–do you remember? I had dressed up my baby in something really cute for the party, but he’d puked all over it just minutes before we arrived, so we showed up fashionably late and smelling slightly of puke, but we were there.

Maybe you were just being polite, asking me about the day to day life of mothering a newborn. You asked about being pregnant, and giving birth, and about all the sleep I hadn’t been getting. You agreed that my slightly pukey smelling baby was adorable and said you liked his name. And then, in a sort of round about way you asked me this: Is it worth it?

I’ve thought about your question for a few months now. I’ve also thought about all the questions I had before becoming a mother. I was surprisingly hesitant about having a child. I say “surprisingly” because I’ve always been in the Loves Kids category. As you know,  I’m the oldest of 5. I was a favorite neighborhood babysitter. I nannied all through college. And yet whenever girls talked about how dreamy it would be to have a child, I  just thought they sounded naive. I’d seen the hard days and long nights. I’d watched the stress and anguish and worry. I knew that the unexpected could happen. But here I am today, an honest to goodness mother. And I just keep thinking about your question, as well as all the questions I had before having a baby. So if you’re up for a little advice, here are the questions I had pre-baby, and my best attempts at answering them.

Do I have to have kids? Of course not. But let’s be honest: We live in a place and a culture that expects us to have children. But I seriously don’t think societal pressure is a good reason to become a mother. You can affect and change so many lives, kids or not. You can have so much love in your life, kids or not. You can be happy, kids or not. You can be fulfilled, kids or not.

DisneylandAm I ready? I wondered that for several years. And then one day I realized that I was never going to feel completely ready. More than anything I wanted that one pivotal moment where I’d know for sure, but it never came. Sometimes you just have to jump.

Will I always be happy about being a mother? No. There will be a day when your husband will come home from work to you in tears because you’re positive the baby hates you. It is just sleep deprivation. There will be days that feel so unbelievably long and lonely you can’t believe it. You’ll have to call your mom and haul the baby and his 30 lbs. of stuff to the mall to remember there is still a world out there. There will be moments that someone will tell you to “trust your motherly instincts” and you will want to smack them because you feel like you don’t have a single motherly instinct in your body. But you’ll be okay. You really will.

Will it be hard? Duh. But seriously, what phase of life isn’t? Work is hard. Marriage is hard. High school was hard. Look back on the easy-peasiest time period of your life and I bet you’ll remember some hard. That’s just life.

Will it affect my marriage? Yes. You’ll see the man you love loving that baby you made and you’ll feel like your heart is going to explode. Other days he will forget to start the dishwasher full of bottles and you’ll feel like your head is about to explode. Motherhod is draining, and there will be times you’ll feel like there isn’t an ounce of anything left of you at the end of the day. It will take extra commitment, extra communication, and lots of patience with each other. You will see the best in him. You’ll love him even more. You’ll have a connection you didn’t know you were missing.

Can I do it? Of course you can. As one book put it, you come from a long line of succesful parents. It is in your genes. No, it isn’t all intuitive. And no, I have ‘t figured out which cry is “hungry cry” and which is “wet diaper cry.” But you can do it.

Sam and PhillyWill it be like I imagine? A whole hearted no. It will be better. It will be worse. It will be crazier. One day you’ll leave the house fully aware that there is spit-up in your hair and you’ll wonder Who the heck am I? But it most definitely will not be like you imagined.

So, finally. Is it worth it?

Over the past 5 months the following thought has come to my mind on a weekly basis: These are the moments you will look back on for the rest of your life. I keep feeling like this is the most important thing I have ever done. I keep looking at Sam’s impossibly big eyes and feeling like I am the luckiest person I know. And to be honest, I didn’t know I would feel like this–I just hoped.

I will not try to tell you whether or not it will be worth it to you, but I will tell you that it is hard to know what it will bring into your life until it happens. So listen to whatever voice is speaking to you. Follow it. If you feel like motherhood is for you, then head in that direction. Embrace it! So much love will come into your life. So much life will come into your life. Be excited! But if it isn’t for you then allow yourself to be at peace. Be kind to yourself and shower the people you love with all the good things you have to offer. You’ll know what to do. And remember, so many of the good things in life come from embracing the unknown!


Unsolicited Advice

10 Things Thursday

July 25, 2013

220px-Some_Like_It_Hot_posterFirst of all, I wanted to say thank you for all of the insightful comments, shares, and all-around love about yesterday’s post. I cared a lot about it and I was so grateful to hear that so many of you have walked the same path I have.

Today I’m introducing something new. Every week I will be posting a list of 10 things that caught my eye or attention in some way. Imagine we are having an Internet lunch date. After ordering some version of a turkey sandwich (so predictable) I lean forward and say one of the following:

1. Let’s imagine a fantasy world where we can eat an entire tray of cookies for lunch and leave feeling fabulous. Now let’s make it a reality.

2. Let’s imagine ourselves as the sort of people who can take a man’s T-shirt and make something worthy of Anthropologie out of it. Then let’s remember what happened the last time we tried to sew something and head right back to #1. They’re impossible to mess up.

3. Let’s add to our already impressive list of adult skills (like fixing our AC and scheduling regular dentist appointments) by getting our finances under control. 

4. Noodles, schmoodles. Let’s make a mouth-watering lasagna with thinly sliced zucchini. And be called a genius by our hungry husband. (Yes, I am referring to our one collective husband.)

5. Let’s allow reality to slap us in the face. I knew there was something fishy about all those orange-skinned “After” photos.

Screen shot 2013-07-25 at 2.12.53 PM6. Let’s go to Target and let our baby try out all the cool baby gear. Also, let’s wash him with Baby Magic and spend the rest of the day smelling his head.

7. Let’s meet this girl. Her writing and story are oh so beautiful.

8. Let’s get our butts kicked by tiny ballerina athletes. And then go back the next day (and next) for more.

9. Let’s enjoy exaggeration at its finest. Lines from this blogger have made it into the Welch family vernacular.

10. Let’s take some time to re-watch our favorite movie.


*Ten Things Thursday is inspired by the ever inspiring Shutterbean.

What We’re Really Talking About When We Talk About Our Bodies

July 24, 2013

Half MarathonSo.

There was this one time about 7 years ago that I gained some weight. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough that I worried. It was the very first time it had ever happened to me and I decided it was a problem I needed to correct immediately. I signed up for a weight loss program and began a long year of tracking all the food I ate and weighing in weekly.

There were some good moments. For one, it was easy to lose weight. I lost about a pound and a half a week, and I felt like I’d accomplished something big when I reached my first goal. I learned more about nutrition, learned to cook a little, and felt pretty great about how I looked. I also started exercising regularly and started spending a lot of my free time doing active things, like hiking and yoga.

There were also some not so good moments. At a certain point my weight loss stalled, and regardless of what I did to try to regain the magic of my early weight loss days, the scale simply would not move.

wedding day danceAfter several months of redoubling my efforts a few things happened. One, I burned out. Two, I became pretty obsessed with everything weight related. What followed was several years of yo-yoing. I felt like I was doing everything I could to not gain weight, yet it just kept happening. At one point I was on a raw food diet–meaning I basically ate vegetable juice, salads, and sweet potatoes, and was still managing to gain weight. Those years were super painful. I wouldn’t say I ever got really big (at my highest I was about a size 12/14), but I definitely had a big problem in my head. I was obsessive about my weight and drastic in the things I did to try to change it, swinging from “I don’t care, I’ll eat whatever I want” (translation: I’m eating as a way to mask how painful this experience  is for me) to “If I don’t lose weight I will never be happy” (translation: I’m not eating as a way to mask how painful this experience is for me).  Neither position was healthy, and I went through some shaky times.

It took a couple of years and several doctors to clear things up. After a while I settled at a weight I felt fairly comfortable at and have been able to arrive at a healthier mental state. But I definitely have some residue left over from my weight loss experience. For one, I listen hard when people talk about their bodies. I feel like they are saying so much when they look in the mirror and say “Ugh. I hate my arms,” or “What happened to me? I used to be so toned.”

I’ve come to believe that the way we feel about our bodies tends to have nothing to do with reality. I have seen tiny women bemoan their chubby thighs the same way I’ve seen larger women do. I’ve seen people point to nonexistent lovehandles. I’ve seen women stand around talking about their worst features as if it was fun. I’ve also come to believe that having a thin, attractive body is not the fast track to happiness that so many of us believe it is. You can look great and be miserable. It’s all about perspective. If you aren’t happy you aren’t happy, regardless of what kind of body you are living in.

Angels LandingAlso, a lot of us take away everything else that we’re made up of and boil it down to one issue–fat or thin? We can be  intelligent, kind, creative, funny and sexy, and the only thing you think you are is fat. So what is it that we’re really saying when we say we want to be thin? Do we want to be loved? Special? Admired? Accepted? Cherished? Do we want to be happy? Comfortable in our own skin?

So does your weight just not matter? Of course it matters. If I’ve learned anything, its that ignoring your body doesn’t work. It’s what hauls you around on your grand adventures. It’s what gets you up in the morning and drives you to work.  It’s what looks back at you in the mirror.

Whenever I run into an issue that is causing me significant stress I like to give it the “End of Life Test.” And by that I mean that I imagine it is the end of my life and I am on my deathbed. Does the issue I’m so concerned with have any bearing in that moment? When it comes to weight, my personal answer is yes and no. No, I will not wish that I’d had thinner thighs or lived off of diet shakes so I could fit into a size 4. But yes, maybe I will wish that I’d taken better care of my body so I could do all the  things that matter: play with my kids, work hard, experience less stress.

So what if you have a long road to health ahead of you? So what if you’re behind in the game and need to make some big changes? You can do it–start today. And in the meantime, treat yourself like you treat your best friend. I’ll bet you don’t dwell for a second on her arms or hips or thighs. When you look at her, you see all those late night conversations and that time she did a Cher impression that made you laugh so hard you peed your pants, or the afternoon she brought you a grocery bag full of pizzas and ice cream and a tiny stuffed elephant because for a whole week you’d thought you were pregnant and when you found out you weren’t you were devastated. That’s what the people who love you see as well. Be one of those people who loves you.

first moments with SamI think we all know what we need to do. We know we need to exercise and eat well and say no to unhealthy foods more often than we say yes. But we also need to look in the mirror and say thank you. Thank you for making it possible for me to swim in a waterfall in Costa Rica and have my babies and dance like a ridiculous grasshopper at that summer wedding. Thank you. I’ll do better at taking care of you–but for today, just thank you.

You may have noticed the pictures scattered through this post. These are  pictures of important moments in my life over the last few years–the finish line of a half marathon, the pinnacle of a challenging hike, my first day with my baby, dancing on my wedding day. Those were moments that couldn’t have happened without my body and yet I don’t remember thinking much about it in those moments–so I’m taking the opportunity to say it: thank you. 

Why Diets Should Crawl into a Hole and Die (Plus, the plan I’ve chosen)

July 23, 2013

diet noteHere’s the thing about diets: They should really just crawl into a hole and die.

I know that’s harsh. But here’s why. You start out completely pumped. You clear out your cupboards. You go to Barnes & Noble and buy every book written by your latest diet’s guru. You spend a day feeling vastly superior to the people around you who are not following your enlightened diet of eating only foods that existed in the Elizabethean courts/Laura Ingalls Wilder plains/Southeast Asia.

You are committed. You are determined. You will succeed, damn it!

A few days go by. You’re crabby. You’re making your husband crabby. You get hungry and go to the cupboards only to realize you emptied them out a few days ago in preparation for your Sunshine and Air Diet. And then suddenly you remember: Don’t I have an old bag of M&Ms in the pocket of my winter coat?

Next thing you know you have ripped apart your coat closet and are devouring a bag of stale, low-quality candy that you normally would have turned your nose up at.

Then you feel guilty. But feeling guilty about letting yourself down sucks. So  you turn on your recent diet’s creator. Maybe you send a strongly worded email or post an anonymous review. And although posting comments such as

The diet was a complete joke and who applied the
author’s spray tan? An orangutan? 

make you giggle for a few seconds,  you still don’t feel that great about how you look and/or feel. So it’s back to Barnes & Noble. And the cycle continues.

Holy crap.

I never ever ever ever ever (x300) want to do that again. And believe, me, I’ve done it.

DietDiets don’t work. Neither do diets that try to hide themselves under the cloak of “This isn’t  a diet, it’s a lifestyle.” Seriously, you’re not unique with this line. 97% of all diet books start with that sentence. And if you’re making me do crazy stuff that requires insane willpower, then I’m sorry, but yes. You are a diet.

Also, willpower doesn’t work. We aren’t made to spew forth massive quantities of it–in fact, every will-power based decision we make dips into our (shallow) reserve of it. Check out this article, Why Willpower Fails Us. It’s fascinating.

So what is a new mother to do?

I’ve been thinking very hard about this, and through a combination of honest introspection, praying (really), research, and talking with my doc, I’ve come to the following conclusions about me and weight loss:

A. Trying to just “eat healthy” without any structure doesn’t work particularly well for me. It is too easy to justify healthyish foods and get off track.

B. Counting every calorie/point/gram whatever makes me feel obsessive, OCD, and all around miserable.

C. I need to be able to have treats, cook, and enjoy eating out without feeling panicked about “messing up.”

D. Exercise (and not just a leisurely stroll, but the sweaty kind) needs to happen often. Very often.

E. My plan needs to be something I can see myself doing long-term without feeling like I’ve sentenced myself to diet prison.

F. I need to work towards my best body now. Not my body at 18, or when I was a ballerina, or when I was making out with frat boys. Times moves forward people, trying to move backwards only make you unhappy. Also, you married that frat boy, so move on!

G. I want to settle at a weight/size that is easy and natural for me to maintain. In the past I’ve reached low weights that required heroic efforts to maintain, and it is so not worth it. It is also very demoralizing.

H. I want to lose my baby weight ASAP. According to my doctor, many women get stuck with the last 10 lbs. or so, and just keep adding on to it when they have more babies. She said that my body is in weight loss mode right now and that I should really go for it.

So my plan is (drumroll)


Wait, really? But that is totally a diet.

You’re right. And I’ve done Weight Watchers before, with mixed results. I’ll write about that first experience some other time (get excited, it involves a room full of middle aged women playing with puppets), but I have to say, it just feels right to me. I really think it can help me create habits that lead to a healthier lifestyle, and, it fits all of my requirements.

Weight Watchers has two plans, Points Plus, which is its most well-known plan and requires “tracking,” or counting points, and Simply Filling, which takes away most of the math and has you focus on the healthiest foods (and is the plan I have chosen). I have been trying this out for a couple weeks now and will be making my own tweaks to the plan, which I will describe soon (probably tomorrow). So far it has required effort, but nothing that feels like a fad diet of yore. In the meantime, here is my first online weigh in.


I can’t figure out how to turn it the other way, so just go ahead and tilt your laptop on its side. There you go. When the Software Engineer/Frat Boy gets home I will ask him to fix it. It says 162.2 lbs, which means I am 7.2 lbs. away from pre-baby weight! Also, I seriously can’t believe I just posted my weight online. It’s all the fault of that vulnerability book!

In other news, Sam has developed a terrible case of Fake Cough. It’s pretty serious, so if you want to send us flowers or bring us a casserole we’d really appreciate it.


READER QUESTION: Have you tried any “fad” type diets? What happened when you did?

Losing the Baby Weight

July 21, 2013

Pregnancy has its perks. (You see? The amnesia is already kicking in.)

For one, I absolutely adored feeing unselfconscious about my body. I loved wearing maternity clothes, my typical problem area (belly) was something to be celebrated, and I loved putting the whole diet mentality on pause. No, I didn’t throw caution to the wind and eat peanut butter cups for breakfast (or at least not often), but I did let myself just be. It felt like a gift.

I was also surprised by how I felt about my body after Sam arrived. I went almost a week past my due date, and he and I got big. I don’t think any amount of cocoa butter would have saved me from the stretch marks caused by that little tank! (This picture stirs up some feelings of PTSD. Pregnant Jenna, you were completely justified in breaking down because you had to walk all the way across Target when you broke a pack of lightbulbs at the cash register.)

In the weeks after Sam was born I was surprised by how I felt about my body. I kept looking at myself in the mirror and instead of feeling upset about my stretch marks and random pooches I kept thinking: This is okay. I am okay. Pregnancy taught me that my body is for way more than my own self-absorption. Why critique something that let me bring this little guy into the world?

During my last trimester I made a conscious effort to avoid looking at the scale at my doctor’s office. I’ve struggled with body image issues in the past and I was worried that a high number would mess with my mind. I knew my doctor would tell me if there was a problem, and I just tried to stay reasonable with what I ate. But if I had to guess what I weighed just before Sam was born I’d go with about 190.

A lot of that came off fast. Sam alone was almost 9 pounds (hello, baby!), and I had several weeks of intense night sweats that drained out a lot of water weight.

But did I lose it all? Not quite. I had this glorious fantasy that every last ounce would melt off as a byproduct of maternal bliss, but alas, the image I had of motherhood pre-Sam only vaguely resembles reality.

Trying to lose weight feels scary to me, because dieting and I have a not so great past. You can read a little about it here. So I am approaching this new effort with caution. No, I don’t want to get stuck with extra weight, but going down the road of obsession and self loathing is absolutely not an option for me. (I don’t have time for that nonsense!)

What I really want is for a healthy lifestyle to become my second nature. I already eat pretty well and exercise often but I know I can bump up my efforts. I’d love to clear the plateau I’ve been on for the last few years and settle into my best weight (and perhaps a sexy pair of  jeans).Plus, I only get the one life, why not clear out this issue now and move on to bigger and better things?

I also want to be very clear about something–in no way do I believe that a person’s self worth is based on their appearance or size or anything external. There is already so much junk circulating in our society that sends that message and I do not want to contribute to that by writing about my personal journey. Life is about relationships, and learning, and finding happiness. It’s about growing and being kind and sharing what is uniquely you. It is not about being skinny and it never has been. But I have come to the conclusion that being healthy puts me in a better position to achieve all those things. So bring it on! (I will now step down off my soapbox.)

I’ll fill you in on the details of my plan tomorrow. The little tank is singing to himself in his crib and I have a feeling he needs a raspberry blown on his belly.

Vegetables & Tender Mercies

April 22, 2013

For the past 3 weeks I have woken up every morning with a hankering for fresh vegetables. Or in other words, there’s a distinct possibility that aliens have taken over my body.

Pre-baby I spent most mornings trying to figure out a way to make dessert resemble a healthy breakfast (i.e. oatmeal with chocolate chips and coconut flakes–try it, seriously). Lately, I’ve started the day with sugar snap peas and carrots dipped in hummus. If there are any cooked vegetables or leftover salads I go for those too.

I call this new trend a Tender Mercy.

There are many Tender Mercies in my life right now. For example, my hair has decided that shampooing every third day is enough. I also haven’t washed my makeup off at night since Little Man Sam was born and have not broken out like I normally would. And two days ago I tried on my pre-baby jeans and they zipped up. Yes, they zipped up to form a scary little muffin top, but still. Another tender mercy? Leggings. And sweat pants. I cannot fathom a day when I’ll want to move on from them. It may be the start of a long and unhealthy relationship.

But back to vegetables.

My sister-in-law brought over the most heavenly dinner the week after Mustache Man Sam was born (let’s see how many nicknames I can divulge here), including this salad dressing. I am over-the-moon about it:

Tender Mercy Salad Dressing (aka El Torito Salad Dressing):

In a blender combine:

  • 1 TBSP dry ranch salad dressing mix (like Hidden Valley)
  • 1 TBSP red wine vinegar
  • 1/2 cup low fat buttermilk
  • 1/2-1/3 cup fresh cilantro, long stems cut off
  • 2 TBSP roasted and salted pepitas (shelled pumpkin seeds)
  • 2 TBSP finely grated parmesan (optional)

Once blended, slowly add 1/3 cup vegetable oil through the top cover of the blender jar. Blend until smooth and refrigerate. I’ve been eating this over a salad that includes avocado, shredded chicken, and extra pepitas.Eat and repeat until pre-pregnancy jeans fit.


Baby Daddy.

April 20, 2013

When I was 15 and in the throes of my very first romance I thought very intently about what kind of man I wanted to marry. It was something that needed to be pondered. Weighed out. Decided. And then I made a declaration.

I can remember it very clearly–I was standing in the dining room of our rented Italian home with our nanny Cammy. Every available surface was lined with vintage wine bottles (our renters’ decoration) which they had made us swear with all solemnity not to drink. (Hilarious. They didn’t realize how safe their precious collection was with their Mormon renters.) I had made a decision, and I made the following statement (Cammy, back me up on this):

I want to  marry a guy who is tall with green eyes and curly hair. It would be cool if he were good at computers. And, I like the name David.

Okay, if you know us maybe your jaw just dropped? If not, please know that that is exactly who I married. David Welch, green eyed, curly haired (childhood nickname Big Wave Dave), computer software engineer David.

Or in other words, I think I dreamed this man up and then somehow convinced him to marry me.

There are other weird things about us. Like on our first date (17–I know–17) when I told him I thought it would be great if we got married because I thought it would be really fun to live with him. He thought for a moment then agreed.

Or maybe the time he was present at my first kiss? Me and another 14 year old emerged from the bushes to find David standing there with a smirk. “What were you two doing?” he asked. I yelled something like “Shut up, Welch.” Or maybe the time we were high school gym partners?

Anyway, I digress.

The point is, there is no one who could possible be better at loving me. No one who thinks I’m quite as funny or encourages my writing quite as well. No one who would allow me to scowl at him for hours on end when morning sickness struck. No one who I’d find quite as brilliant and understanding or a better listener.

What’s even stranger is that when he was 13 he said he wanted to marry a blue-eyed supermodel named Adriana Lima. Oh. Wait. That wasn’t me.

What the First Two Weeks Were Like

April 17, 2013

This post is inspired by an article by Jody Peltason called “Before I Forget: What Nobody Remembers About New Motherhood,” which the beautiful
Mal sent me a few days ago. The timing was perfect for me, and I’d really like to add my own thoughts.

This post is about my first two weeks as a mother. I don’t think every new mother’s experience matches mine, but I think the things I went through
are common enough that it’s strange we don’t talk about it more. Maybe it’s just practical–could anyone possibly share in words what those first few weeks feel like? How heavy our new responsibilities (mixed with sleep deprivation) can feel? It may be impossible to describe, but I’m going to try.

I’ve heard it said numerous times, first about pregnancy, and then about the newborn stage, that mothers’ brains drop a curtain over the difficult times. All those anxious, terrifying, nauseating moments get camouflaged behind a hazy image of your squishy newborn gazing up at you, their perfect eyelashes fanning out over their cheeks. I think that’s a good thing. It allows us to look back on one of the most important times of our lives with happy memories. It allows us to get our courage up to have sex again, get pregnant again, have more babies. But in my experience, that curtain can make a woman in the throes of new motherhood feel all kinds of lonely.

The author of the article above shared an experience she had going to the drugstore with her newborn. She was exhausted and stressed by the ordeal of getting her baby out of the house. An older woman came up to her and pointing to the baby said, “Aren’t you just on cloud nine?”  This prompted a feeling of disbelief. Of guilt. What was she supposed to be feeling?

Five days after my son was born a neighbor called to ask how she could help out. It was 8 AM and I had just had one of the most profoundly anxious nights of my life. Over the past few days I’d only slept for a few stints of about 45 minutes a piece, and that was only because I’d forced myself to stop my crazy Internet searches that were going on at all hours of the night. The neighbor congratulated me on my baby, then said “Aren’t you just in heaven?”

There was a horrible pause.

Was I supposed to feel like I was in heaven? I was bleeding, I was engorged, I was swollen. I still hadn’t figured out how to breastfeed my son, and my anxiety was so bad that I’d woken up shaking and hyperventilating on multiple occasions.

If I’d been honest with my neighbor I would have said something like “Sam is the most incredible thing that has ever happened to me, and I’ve never been so miserable in my life.” It’s amazing that those two statements can both be perfectly true and exist in the same sentence. Instead, I mumbled something about how wonderful my baby was. And he is.

It’s just that my body had just undergone the most dramatic shift of its life at the exact moment that I was handed the most important role of my life. It’s just that my mind had started had started inundating me with horrible images of accidents that could hurt Sam–falling down the stairs holding him, bumping his head on the dresser, and others that scared me so much I’ve decided not to record them. It’s just that nothing had ever scared me more than being responsible for my perfect little boy.

So, in heaven?


But it did get better. All the support around me helped. Figuring out a way that I can get several hours of uninterrupted sleep every night helped. And time helped–just a few weeks later and I feel completely different. Five weeks after giving birth, motherhood is feeling (dare I say it?) fun. 

One day those early experiences will be a tiny speck in my life’s rearview mirror, and all I’ll remember about that time period is that first sacred moment when the doctor laid Sam on my chest, and the way his head smelled, and the way David cried when he first saw him. But I wanted to make sure I remembered this part too. Because motherhood encompasses all shades–the yellows and golds of contentment, the reds and orange of anxiety, and even the gray, jaggedy-edges of depression. It may not have been what I was expecting, but what ever is?



April 17, 2013

At 4 AM I found myself singing a Ke$ha song to the baby.

He’s now waking up every morning feeling like P. Diddy, and if that morning arrives at 6 AM or later I feel like a lucky woman.

Sleep is sort of my new hobby. I’m in the off-season, of course. But what I lack in actual hours logged I make up for in sheer mental energy. I read about it (Happiest Baby on the Block, BabyWise), I strategize for it (dream feedings), I plan for it (I have a notebook where I record what methods works), and I purchase gear (swaddling blankets, white noise machines, Johnson & Johnson bedtime lotion). It’s kind of like going on a diet and suddenly wanting a hot fudge sundae more than anything.

As a side note, I am starting to look more and more like Ke$ha, but with more spit-up stains and less glitter. I have also started taking care of the baby in my sleep–meaning I hear his squawks, and make him a bottle, change his diaper, and start feeding him, only to actually wake up and realize I have done none of those things yet and Boss Baby is gonna fight, till he sees the sunlight.

Tik Tok.



Reaching Out

April 16, 2013

I really don’t know why I’m writing this.

It is past midnight. My adorable (but almost unbearably fussy) little guy is wheezing happily in his crib. We just had the ceremonial “changing of the guard” in which the baby is brought down to the parent who has been holed up in our spare bedroom (aka The Baby Bunker) and passed off so the other one can get some rest. And here I am blogging.

I think I need a little normalcy. A little outlet? Somewhere to record all this awesome craziness that is now my life.

It’s funny, I had the nursery all ready. I had stacks of onesies washed in special baby detergent, and a giant basket of diapers, and a stack of books on breastfeeding. I’d taken my classes, read my online articles, hedged my bets. And as it turns out, there’s simply no preparing for this thing called parenthood.

Sam. Born 3/14/13 at a very alert 8 lbs 13 oz with an abundance of hair and a fan club already waiting.

Paradigms & Pain

December 27, 2012

I’ve been thinking about physical pain a lot lately. It may have something to do with the sensation of hauling around an extra 25 pounds (some of which wriggles on its own accord), and the extra stress that it puts on my back, my neck, and my butt (sciatica, anyone?). But mostly I’ve been thinking about it because in about 10 weeks I will be giving birth. I always assumed I would be flat-out terrified at this point. I pictured pregnancy as a train whose breaks have gone out just as it makes it over the top of a hill–think bareling, steam filled, shrieking panic to the valley below. But it doesn’t feel that way at all. In fact, I feel calm.

David and I have been attending hypnobirthing classes during the month of December and I’ve gotten all sorts of new looks at childbirth. I’ve watched several filmed births that involve no screaming, swearing, or (magically) epidurals, and I’ve wondered, could that work for me?

I’m not of the opinion that epidurals are evil. In fact I feel modestly annoyed when “natural birth” is toted as a girl scout merit badge to be won only by the truly womanly. When women feel strongly about giving birth without pain medication–and give birth–I think it’s incredible. When women opt for epidurals–and give birth–I think it’s incredible. Bottom line, the goal is a healthy baby who is no longer fist pumping your ribs, and there are many ways to achieve that.

As part of my hypnobirthing training, I have spent the past few weeks practicing relaxation and  listening to positive affirmations in the soothing voice of Marie Mongan (we just refer to her as “Marie” around here). It’s pretty great. It has really made me think about how my paradigms affect other experiences in my life, and I’m pretty darn curious about how hypnobirthing will play out on D-day. My main goal is to have a calm, peaceful birth, regardless of whether or not I opt for an epidural. No, that’s not true. My main goal is to get Baby Sam here safely. And if I can do that without panic, so much the better.

For the past few years I have considered myself a person with low pain tolerance. This doesn’t necessarily add up with my previous life experiences. I’ve never been bugged by things like shots or getting blood drawn, and as a teenager I would dance until my feet literally bled through my canvas toe shoes. But when I was 21 I had and experience that changed my perception of pain. I was in Mexico and while walking in the ocean I stepped on a piece of glass. It slid right into the bottom of my foot and for a few seconds I felt nothing but the slicing sensation. Then the pain seeped in. Pulsed in. Crashed in?

Anyway, it was horrible. I walked through the sand and salt for what felt like a half hour and basically cried and screamed as a few unbelievably unhelpful Mexican lifeguards assured me I was completely fine, and an American nurse (who just happened to be lounging on the beach near me with a kit that included equipment for impromptu stitches) bandaged me up. I was basically hysterical for about 3 hours–it hurt so badly.

When I finally stopped crying and fell asleep I was positive that I had just proven myself to be the biggest baby in the world. Yes, I’d cut my foot. But crying for 3 hours? Geez.

So for years, I’ve looked back at that experience as proof that I simply cannot tolerate pain. Then this year on Thanksgiving a new family friend told me about the time he stepped on a stingray in the ocean. He talked about how badly it burned and what an incredible amount of pain he was in. I joined in with my story of stepping on the glass. And then he asked me, “Did you see the glass?”

Well, no.

“Then how do you know it was glass?”

I didn’t.

In fact, our description of how the pain felt was remarkably similar–down to the several hours of horrible pain following the accident. And suddenly I realized. I don’t have a low pain tolerance. I just had a really painful experience. 

It was strange how completely that one realization has changed the way I see myself handling pain and, subsequently, birth. It was like that weird moment on The Parent Trap when the twins realize they are more than just arch-rivals. (Okay, it was nothing like that.) And now I’m wondering, what other false premises am I working under? Yes, this is a bit heavy for 2 days after Christmas, but so is this baby who woke me up at 4:30 this morning…

The Silent Treatment

December 11, 2012

I deeply resist books that I think will improve me.

I know, that is so weird. Particularly because I read more books than anyone I know. I have a constant tower of books on my nightstand that teeters with the weight of fiction, and French parenting manuals, and exotic Mediterranean slow cooker cookbooks (yep, these things are all there right now). I’ve even memorized my library bar code: 21181082… ha! You thought I’d divulge that information!

But books that I know will make me feel emotions deeper than heart-pounding suspense, or intellectual stirrings or pleasant word evaluating–it’s likely I’ll avoid them. And this is where my book club comes in, because it turns out there are a lot of books I wouldn’t have chosen on my own that I have absolutely loved!

For December we chose two inspirational type books. I was particularly inspired by the first:

This book has been around for a long, long time. It is a series of essays about womanhood and the different stages of life. I was particularly struck by its discussion of the downfalls of modernity to our inner selves. I loved the introduction by the author’s daughter (I feel a natural kinship towards writers’ daughters for obvious reasons) and was relating to the writer in her 1950s environment from my 2012 microfiber couch within minutes.

One thing that really struck me was her discussion of distraction. Lindbergh wrote that women’s traditional roles tended to be introspective by nature and allowed plenty of time for an active inner life–think kneading bread or weaving. Women tended to have a certain amount of isolation and quiet as their roles kept them near their homes and kitchens and gardens. She wrote that all that had changed as more women left their homes to work. Even those women who stayed close to the home could now invite a whole slew of characters into their domestic life–soap opera stars, radio announcers, and the cheerful din of advertising. But what do we lose when we lose our quiet?

I have a hard time with quiet.

I like listening to podcasts and radio morning shows and NPR and books on tape. I like watching old episodes of America’s Next Top Model while I do dishes, and flipping between stations when I drive. But for the last little while I’ve been getting this nagging feeling to just turn it all off. 

So I would, for a few seconds. And I’d feel bored. My emotions felt jagged. I felt stressed and uncomfortable, and even when I turned the stuff back on I still felt that way. But at least I was entertained.

After reading Lindbergh’s book I decided to conduct a little experiment–I turned everything off last Saturday night. For 9 days there has been no radio, no TV, no podcasts, and no real distractions.

The first few days were the hardest. It honestly felt like overcoming an addiction. My hand would somehow turn on the radio in the car without any conscious input from me. The house seemed really quiet. Car rides felt unbearably long. I thought about the noise and the lack of noise, all day long. I was also really surprised by my emotional state. I was incredibly irritable the first 3 days. I felt like I was see-sawing between a wide range of emotions, that I was in a cloud of unpredictable moods.

And this made me wonder: have I been drowning out my day-to-day irritations and loneliness and deeper thoughts with noise? I think it’s likely. Because let’s be honest: thinking about who will make it through the next round of eliminations on my favorite reality show is an easier thing to think about than say: Am I happy?

I’ve had a lot of rather surprising introspections over the last week that I’m not sure I would have with the radio on. I’ve had a lot of uncomfortable quiet driving that has made me think about some things like: Why am I not writing? Am I living in the way I imagined? How am I going to be a mother?

Distraction is so easy. Noise so available. I feel exhausted by the effort it takes to keep life simple. But to keep my inner self afloat? To hear the thoughts that have been trying to push through all the distractions? Invaluable.


Exercise That Isn’t For Weight Loss

November 27, 2012

Being pregnant sometimes feels like one big departure from regular life. Things I never thought about are now a big deal (what position I sleep in, taking a multivitamin, putting on my shoes) and things that once mattered a lot, don’t. I’ve had a lot of mental shifts in the past 6 months, and one of the biggest ones is exercise.

I’m the first to admit that except for a brief stint in college when I exercised mainly to deal with depression and anxiety (did you know that 30 minutes of cardio a day is oftentimes more effective than an antidepressant?), I have always been an “exercise to look good” type of person. And although I’m glad I’ve remained active, I now think that my original approach was wrong. I also have a hunch that the popular reason for exercise (at least in our culture) doesn’t seem to be providing the motivation most of us need. (Think fitness centers packed in January and deserted by Valentine’s Day.)

After a lot of reading and personal experience, I’ve come to the conclusion that “exercising to look good” doesn’t seem to work as well as we’d like. Many people find that an increase in exercise leads to an increase in hunger and they eat the extra calories they work so hard to burn off. Others choose workouts geared towards looks only (think body builders) that don’t actually give them functional strength–just silly muscles designed to bulge when they point towards the gym. Others get highly motivated for a few days, then completely burn out after a few days of sore muscles. And some people think that it has to be all or nothing–a 6 mile run or it’s not worth lacing up your shoes.

(BTW, I am 100% not knocking anyone who has made exercise a part of their life for any reason–there are so many people who don’t do it, that any motivation that gets your heart pumping is well worth the effort.)

Before I got pregnant I was regularly working out to the point of exhaustion, or nausea, or both. Some days that was fun. Some days it wasn’t. But that changed immediately upon seeing that second pink line. I didn’t know what was safe and felt nervous going to my regular classes. In the early weeks of my first trimester I read a popular book that suggested avoiding exercise altogether because regardless of how hard the bump and I worked out I would a.) Still gain weight, and b.) still look terrible in workout clothes. For a few weeks of extreme sickness I enjoyed this philosophy, because frankly I could barely shower, so exercise seemed to be off the menu. But that all changed the first day I got in a pool.

I was on a research trip to gather info for my dad’s upcoming book in The Walk Series (shameless plug!). I can’t remember what city we were in but I woke up early one morning and went to the hotel pool. It was small, but empty, and I decided to break my exercise fast by doing some water aerobics moves I’d learned in my one ill-fated attempt at a prenatal water aerobics class (it was basically an hour of one participant complaining about foot cramps and the rest of us having to do foot stretches with her). I didn’t have music or a clock, but I decided to move as long as felt good. When I got out of the pool it had been 45 minutes and I experienced one of the least nauseating days I had in about 3 months.

At that point swimming became non-negotiable. It is the half hour a day that I am weightless, cold, and moving without things aching. I don’t swim very fast or well (just ask the well-meaning lifeguards who have tried to offer me swimming tips). Some days I dread it like you wouldn’t believe. My hair and skin hate it, my goggles always fog up, and I despise seeing band-aids at the bottom of the pool after the facility has had a swim meet. And here’s the weird part–despite my daily exercise, I just keep gaining weight. Lots of it. Most of it centered around my abdomen but also appearing in my breasts, butt, thighs and arms.

And still I go!

In other words, for the first time in my life I am really, truly exercising for a reason that does not involve vanity. I am exercising because it improves my mood. Because I enjoy feeling cold and weightless, and the happy wriggles of what I’m assuming is a half-fish baby. I am exercising to stave off gestational diabetes and to give myself a chance to unwind, and to entertain the lifeguards with my valiant attempts to swim laps with my gigantic maternity swimsuit never quite cooperating.

And I’m wondering, can I take this new mentality with me post-baby? Can I exercise because it feels good and makes me happy? Can I give up bootcamps and workout that leave me exhausted rather than energized? We are made to move–absolutely–I’m just wondering if a lot of us have lost sight of the fact that it is supposed to be enjoyable, not punishing. That we are supposed to feel our blood pumping and our breath moving through our body–but in a way that feels good to us. Long walks. Stretching. Bike riding. Those are things that feel good to me–but there are about a million different things that could feel good to you.

Am I alone on this? Does anyone else exercise for a reason other than burning calories? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Lemon Bar Mania.

November 14, 2012

Last night I went to bed on an empty stomach.

No, that’s not really true. I went to bed on a stomach full of perfectly good things like three-cheese tortellini tossed with roasted vegetables. I guess what I mean is that I went to bed with an empty heart. A heart that yearned–nay burned–for something more. And what was missing? What could I possibly desire with such an otherworldly intensity? A lemon bar. A silky, tangy, gooey ray of light to soothe my pregnant soul.

But it was not to be.

For one thing, when the craving hit it was past 10 PM and any conceivable lemon bar vendor was closed. So I looked to my own kitchen. Yes, it was true I had plenty of butter, sugar and even a glowing orb of hope sitting in my fruit basket. But I was exhausted. David had a test the next morning, which meant no demanding he put on my red-checked apron and learn how to make me some lemon bars. And as talented as our canine roommate means to be, he had worn himself out trying to interest our new handyman (who spent the evening hauling away a third of our storm-damaged tree) in playing with his squeaky penguin.

Shoot. I just realized I should have asked the handyman if he had any experience with baking. Next time, handyman. Next time.

So I did what any pregnant desperado would do–I tried to substitute what I really wanted (nirvana through butter) with something I had on hand, which happened to be a gorgeous bowl of pomegranate seeds. It almost did the trick. But I had to promise myself a silky smooth breakfast of what my heart desired.

So guess what I did first thing this morning? (Hint, it was not brushing my teeth.)

As I prepared to bake I congratulated myself on my excellent decision. But then the mania started. Here is an incomplete list of things that went wrong in the Welch Kitchen this morning:

  • My original recipe vanished from the internet. Vanished.
  • I realized I was missing my 8×8 pan
  • Butter exploded in the microwave and dripped like a summer rainstorm when I opened the door
  • Had the wrong size of eggs. This seems to matter
  • Wiped a handful of caramelized red onions through my hair

And finally, as I lovingly pulverized an entire lemon to create the filling (try this!):

  • My food processor sprang a leak and drowned my kitchen in a custardy river of disappointment.

And yet I carried on. I cobbled together extra ingredients. I fashioned a pan out of tin foil. I scraped filling off my counter. And somehow, somehow, they turned out. Gloriously. Hopefully. Tartly. I promptly served myself 1/3 of the pan and am now bathing in the afterglow of certain sugary bliss.

Here’s the recipe–best of luck to you. It was absolutely, one-hundred percent worth the effort.