Restored

A few days ago I was driving through nearby town and saw new yoga studio. I was all "whoa there pardner....this is south/wesside not airy-fairy tofu eatin' north shore." Then had deep sigh of relief down to my chai-drinking, vegan casserole loving, om chanting toes. Finally for once, the mountain has come to Muhammad!

So I signed myself up for Restorative Yoga on Tuesday nights. Short lived as we're off to Australia in a few days, but making it part of my regularly scheduled programming upon my return. It was bliss. My lower back was sore in ways I was not even remotely aware of.

On drive back the rain was falling lightly on the windshield, tradewinds were whipping the trees, jazz was coming over the local community radio station, i actually remembered to fill my water bottle for once and then....phone rings. It was Nick. He sounded...defeated.

"Are you...uh, heading back?"

"Yup"

"If Jarah freaking out was on scale of 1-10 he'd be at a 10. It's been over 20min"

Pulled into driveway to hear little guy screaming his guts out for all he's worth. I scooped him up, he got a whiff of mama milk and calmed right down. Thank god for mammaries.

That or my restored, zenified spirit

Sleep Wars: A New Hope

Jarah and my lactating body parts are "breast friends" (bad pun intended). I have not minded having an opihi (that's a limpet for all your non-Hawaiian residents out there) baby who needed frequent feeding to find his place of zen. However, his poor tummy seems to suffer under his appetite. I've watched his poos with the careful attention only a first-time mom can have and noticed the more he eats, the stranger the consistency gets.

I won't delve as deep into the color and consistency of baby poo as I'd like...because I'd like you all to keep reading. Let's just suffice it to say that too much frequent snacking (like once and hour) results in a less than optimum digestion situation. So I'm trying to space the feedings out a bit. Every time he head butts my chest I try to use some wily redirection. "Look at the fan." "Let's sing 'The Little Mosquito" song, "Aloha! (the word cracks him up)," "Look there's you're reflection in the mirror."

It has been working. Imperfectly, but working.

Except for night. He would go happily for over an hour if I let him. Take it away and peril. I'm sure the neighbors hate us after 7pm. So tonight I nursed him until he seemed full. Good and full. Milk dribbling down his chin and belly taut full. Then I sang. I sang until my singer was sore. Than I went to Pandora Radio and played Enya. He hated it. Sorry New Age. I played him Ben Harper. He liked it. Yeah for hippies! I played him Ladysmith Black Mambazo. He cried. Sorry Africa. I played him nature music sent to chants and flutes. He fell asleep.

Perhaps he is still New Age. He is a Kauai baby after all. It's only a matter of time until he starts practising Hatha Yoga, packing vegan lunches for school and engaging in non-violent communication. That or wearing camo and hunting pigs.

Let's just hope New Age music is worth it and the Empire Doesn't Strike Back tomorrow night.

a stand up kinda guy...

Baby Beluga

Why I'm not Going to be Nominated for "Mother of the Year"

Sorry Chumlet. Sorry for clipping your nails yesterday and accidentally giving you a bloody thumb. Sorry for hearing you fret last night and thinking "C'mon on get back to sleep" and shoving the soother into your mouth rather than check out the problem. Which was that you were soaking wet, wet through two sleepsacks and a blanket.

Feeling guilty!

Mama's Little Goofball

I love this picture of Little Chum with his goofy grin. I don't see this particular smile very often and totally love it.

Whoa, February has been a wacky month! We moved house, I started work, I decided to leave work (end fulltime work tomorrow and return somehow reincarnated as an independent contractor), i was readmitted into my masters program, my husband left to go to japan, my baby decided to forgo taking naps for the foreseeable future, and...

i have lost my train of thought. so here's to hoping march comes in like a lamb, and out like a lamb too for that matter. a nice placid lamb frolicking in the spring air.

New Home Again, New Home Again

Moving house is never that fun. It's less fun with a baby who enjoys having a semblance of a routine. Or at least a nice chunk of nudie time in the morning followed by a couple hours of intermittant cuddles. Parents stuffing boxes, cleaning, and dragging around furniture doesn't really fit well into that type of schedule.

But at long last here we are. A new home. No pics yet as I have no idea where my shampoo is let alone camera. But I do have a desk. And a plan. Trying to work from home as much as possible. Nick and I have made a commitment to not send Jarah to daycare for his first year. This is not a commitment that I plan on taking lightly. The odd sitter for a couple of hours is fine. I really don't know how the year is going to play out. But I steadfastly refuse to work to pay someone else to raise my child.

I don't mean to sound judgemental. Many women and men makes choices different to this. Many are for darn good reasons. But I am entitled to have my own darn good reasons. So will be reporting back soon on how I am going to be setting up shop now that I only have one more week of Family Leave.

Right now I am going to smell the cedar on the wall in this new place. Listen to neighbors laughing up the street in the garage. The sound of baby breathing on the monitor as our bedroom and living room are no longer essentially the same room. There is a dog barking. We don't live on a lush hillside in a green valley anymore. We live in a busy, westside local community where there is an old japanese man who waters his beans and lettuce every evening as the sun goes down. There are cars in the other neighbors yard that don't work. People sit in their garages on Saturday nights and tell stories.

It will be different. But I think we will have some good times here.