Mum's the word

Early this morning I was exploring my friend's facebook pictures of her baby girl. It made me pause to consider the special names we give to grandparents. One photograph revealed the baby's resemblance to her grandmother who is affectionately "Gam". What a lovely choice for a grandmother's epiphet. Sweet and unique. It's one of the best parts of having a baby: choosing the nicknames of the grandparents. My friend's parents are Gam and Doo dah, with a lovely story about how those names came to be, but that's really her story to tell. I simply enjoy the way those names sound when they sing them out to that little baby girl. It makes me think of my grandparents' handles. My father's parents are (were) Nanny and Poppy, simple Newfoundland tags for generations of Newfoundland grandparents. My mother's parents are (were) Ma and Da. I realize these are confusing nicknames for grandparents as these are often the names reserved for parents, not grandparents. However, myself and one of my cousins, who are the oldest two of the grandchildren, had the special honour of having called our grandparents Ma and Da. He was raised in our grandparents home so it came naturally to him. Spending so much time with my grandparents and this particular cousin simply led me to know them as Ma and Da.

One of my favorite things to wonder is what Sam would have called my mother had she lived to be here to meet him. I know I called her mother 'Ma' but that was unique and not really fitting my mother's paritcular grandmotherness. She's not a 'Nanny' either I don't believe. I called my mother 'Mum'. 'Mummy' sometimes. It was never Mom or Mommy. She was my Mum. For a few months after she died I would sing out "Maaa-uuum" when I was home alone. I just wanted to hear myself say it out loud, as if she could answer from another room in the house. Now I play with grandmother names to see what sounds right for Sam to say when he's older. I have to call her something. Sam will have to know all about the special grandmother he has watching over him. Grandma, Gran, Granny, Grammie, Nan, Nanny, Nana. Lexie. No, that wouldn't be right. It's a tough decision because all I want is to be able to ask Mum what she'd like to be called. I've even thought about waiting and asking Sam what he wants to call her. I could ask my Dad but I secretly think I knew my mother better than he ever did. Mum needs a unique name that honors the kind of grandmother she would surely be for Sam. She would sing to him and dance with him, teach him to love music and memorize lyrics the way she taught me. He would be cuddled and loved the way only a grandmother can. She would treasure him the way she treasured me and he would know how happy she was that he was born.

After much thought and research on the net I discovered several good options for my mother's grandmother-name. No real decision yet though. I hope that wherever she is she can give me a hint about the name she'd choose. She was unique and special so the name should be too. Funny that I would have so much trouble in deciding. For now? Mum's the word.

Whining About Work

I am convinced that no mother has ever felt this anxious over leaving their baby to go back to work. The more I think about it, the more I resent that I have to work as a nurse to pay for the loan I took out to become a nurse. I work for the government to get paid by the government to pay back the government. Oh Canada. My mind is so divided. I miss work sometimes. I do...and not just the paychecks. I miss the patients and the problem solving. I miss feeling like a professional. I am just not sure I miss it enough to make myself leave Sam.
Then it occurs to me. Sam is going to WANT me to leave. He will, someday, be excited to go to have his own little life. Then another epiphany: I want to be a woman who Sam is proud to call his mother. I think we all need something of our own to identify with in order to be happy with ourselves. Our children can see this. They see our confidence (or lack therof) and it teaches them. We all exude something that tells our children who we are. Our influence guides them about how to behave outside the home. Complete people make the best parents. This may read as though I'm leaving out the SAH mom. I certainly am not. But even the SAH has to have something of their own to make them who they are.
What does all this convoluted pseudo-philosophy mean? It means that I like being a nurse, I love being a mom and I'm struggling with how to do both!
So where is the fear coming from? The thoughts roll over me with the weight of a freight train. Sam falling down and being upset and wanting me and I'm not there. Sam choking. Sam homesick. Sam thinking I won't come back for him. Sam being hit by another kid. Sam hitting another kid. Sam's little face crumpling, bottom lip quivering and tears forming. And there's my letdown. I fight these thoughts and try to replace them with Sam laughing with his new friends, bonding with his babysitter, playing outside or relaxing with a movie and getting ready for his nap. This constant fight of thoughts plays in the back of my mind day and night. It's exhausting and I can't seem to find any comfort.

spoiled at 3am

What to do in the middle of the night. This little man of mine continues to grow and apparently requires the calories to support the effort. I suspect I've done what several books have warned me about. I have, according to brilliant researchers, spoiled my son into thinking the only way to fall asleep is after he's nursed. But this only seems to be the case at 3am. Something about 3am wakes up this sleepy baby. The books tell me its not hunger. (They've never met Sam but seem to know this beyond a shadow of a doubt) He needs to learn to settle himself. Then it occurs to me 'Sam does settle himself'. He ofen wakes up, sighs, changes position and goes back to sleep. Even if I didn't hear him I'd know this to be true. I put Sam down near the left end of the crib lengthwise. I find him in the morning at the right end of the crib, widthwise. I suspect he was able to settle himself several times and in several positions throughout the night in order to travel this distance.
The challenge with motherhood at this phase is that the only individual who can tell me what the right and wrong answers are is Sam. I must, therefore, theorize what this little baby might be thinking. I sometimes put myself in his place, in his crib, unable to get out on my own... Its dark, I'm awake. I am wet/ hungry/ lost my soother. Its very quiet. I'm so sleepy but can't make myself sleep... Some milk would be good right now. Where did that soother go? This is so frustrating! I'm going to need mommy for this. "moooooommmmm". What's taking her so long? What could she be doing that's SO important. It can't be much of anything because its very quiet and there are no lights on. Okay, I can stop shouting now. I hear her getting up. There she is. She's always smiling at me...but I wonder why she looks so tired. Was she awake in her crib too? Maybe she needs to be changed, or she needs some milk? I bet she can't find her soother. I'll help her go back to sleep. She always relaxes after she rocks me to sleep. I think I've spoiled her.

sleeping like a baby

Bedtime was too easy. An hour of tummy time followed by some singing of the Beatles greatest hits. I picked out Sam's jammies and broke out the lavender vanilla lotion for a quick baby massage and then scooped him up and popped in his soother. He was asleep within minutes. I cuddled a little extra because it was a long day and he was in that sweet spot where you really feel that mommyness. I only have a small window of opportunity with Sam though. If I put him down too early, he wakes up. If I hold him too long he gets too hot, and you guessed it, he wakes up. So, I creep upstairs with him and place him in his crib. Seamless.
So now I am on the couch. Listening for his movements on the monitor, waiting for his breathing to settle into a pace indicating a light coma has set in. It's been half an hour and he seems to be in a comfy kind of slumber. So, I let myself relax. I relax too soon, and the bedtime adventure continues.
Do I leave him to "cry it out" or "CIO" as its dubbed in the mommy forums. What did that other book say? Pick him up, balance on one foot, close your left eye and sing Brahms? Nurse him? Don't nurse him? I'll just ask Ben what he thinks I should do. Wait, that won't work. He's in Afghanistan.
I go up the stairs quietly and tip toe into his room. In a swift maneuver, real double-oh-seven style, I put Sam's soother in his mouth and electric slide back out his door. Smooth. He's asleep again.
I'd take real pride in my ability to settle this little man but I know what lies ahead. Awake at 3 o'clock to nurse, awake at 6 o'clock to nurse and then up for the day around 9. Wait! Stop the presses! That's right, he's awake again. Mission Impossible. Can you hear the theme music? I'm going back in...
It's 2216 (10:16pm) and my mission is complete for the time being. Ben, will you take the first watch for the night? Fack! I keep forgetting. This is a solo mission, my own tour of duty.
I'd better close this first blog post. I'm not going to bother editing. I'm tired. Grammatical and spelling errors are just going to have to be viewed as an endearing quirk of a tired mom. I've given up on watching Grey's. I never know when Sam will decide to wake up, so it's better that I get to sleep. I've decided that from now on when people ask me how I've slept I'm going to tell them "like a baby".