Olive Hannah Kim is here. She was born Sept 14th at healthy 8.2lbs and 21″. She’s perfection in every way, and even though she’s kept me busy for the past two weeks since she arrived, and I haven’t had time to post anything on my blog for a while, I had a funny experience a few nights ago and found my first reason to write something worth sharing:
Note: I wrote this a few nights ago. 1st lesson in mommyhood: everything takes a little longer than usual, i.e.: posting something on my blog. Here goes:
Most of us are familiar with the idiom it’s no use crying over spilled milk
. And, I’m convinced that its author must have been a nursing mother. The last 2 weeks have been a personal testament to this after turning my house, my room, my bed, my body, and specifically my boobs into a private dairy farm for the hungry little Olive Hannah, my first-born milkalicious daughter. I’ve seen more milk spots on my floor and clothing than the worlds largest dairy producing company in India – ok, fine, an overstatement, but seriously. The irony? Her pediatrician put me on a dairy free (and gluten-free) diet to prevent future allergies and colic. None-the-less, I put aside my “restrictions” to try my breast milk and yep, as suspected, It’s quite sweet and delicious, which explains why this child eats so much!But, this post is not about my blessed overproducing breasts, it’s about mommyhood, my placenta pills, and last nights dinner.
Becoming a mom has been the most amazing experience of my life. It started with a completely natural delivery. And, I have to pause to clarify the difference between “vaginal” delivery and “natural” delivery: mainly that the first is done by people who are NOT completely out of their minds and may involve drugs, and the later is done by people, well, like myself, and doesn’t involve ANY drugs and requires a certain degree of, whats the word? oh yes – MAN BALLS. And, I will leave the birth story for another post because 95-miles-an-hr down the 405 freeway deserves its own post on my blog.
So after birthing my precious bunny, we were discharged the next day, and we drove SLOWLY back up the 405 freeway to bring her home. Ever since I’ve been consumed by wet and poppie diapers, late night on-line window shopping, broken sleep, spilled milk, and moments of hormonal overtake like I had last night:
It was 5pm and I decide to make some gluten-free pasta. I don’t have tomato sauce and contemplate making some, but decide not to when Olive starts to eat my shirt –
“No honey, no matter how hard you try, you won’t get any milk that way, I need to pull the shirt down first…”
“…GRUNT, GRUNT, SNORT, GRUNT, SNORT…”
“…Yes, I understand you went from I’m not interested to NOW! is less than a second, but I can’t do this any faster.”
So, red sauce is out the door. I hook the little piggy to my nipple and she comfortably sits inside my K’Tan wrap
and eats away while the pasta boils. I decide to Magic Bullet together some herbs, garlic salt, pepper, and EVOO (thanks Rachel Ray for echoing that in my ear) and feel excited for the outcome.
Pasta’s ready so I mix in the “sauce” and sit down to accompany my Babe for dinner. I take the first bite – bland. Hm. It’s ok, I tell myself, I should eat bland foods when I’m nursing, I’ve heard it’s better this way for my digestion and hers. I decide to add some salt to see if that improve things and take another bite – bland. I feel a little frustration brewing inside me because, let me explain, it’s now around 5:45pm, I’ve been up since 4:45am, I’m hungry, tired (had no time for nap), baby has been a little fussy, and I wasn’t feeling so hot myself since the day before. But, it’s ok, I tell myself to just eat the pasta and move on. But then, I take the third bite, and something uncontrollable starts to happen. Tears, no, lets be more accurate – sobs.I text my husband “come to kitchen now” and immediately, in his own ninja way, appears in front of me:
“My pasta is bland” sob sob sob
“It is?” (In a very compassionate tone – bless his heart)
“Yes, it is” sob sob sob “I’m so hungry,” sob, “and there was nothing else to eat,” sob, “so I made this, but it doesn’t taste like anything,” deep cry.
“Babe, you need some fresh air,” I think what he really meant is – You gone crazy! And where is my patient, calm, and mainly sane Latina yogi superwife. But, he was smart enough not to say that. Instead he said… “give me the baby…” (Which sounded like “step away from the vehicle slowly” – in deep cop voice of course) “…go outside and dip your feet in the pool, you need some natural light.”
So, I hand him the baby, go outside, and stare at the water, trees, and pool for a little, contemplating the utter ridiculousness of the before mentioned situation. After I felt refreshed by my own comedic tragedy (bland pasta? I need to come up with more impressive mommy reasons to cry), I take a deep breath, go back inside, take two extra placenta pills Soomin had brought out for me. I take back a hungry baby, and reattach her to my other boob (thank goodness for two breasts btw).
Later that evening Soomin got us dinner: breaded red snapper, baked potato, and steamed veggies – much better.
Lesson learned? No matter how well you think you can cook, when it’s only been two weeks since you gave birth, don’t attempt to make dinner. And, Placenta Encapsulation is a MUST! Here’s my story on that –
You may or may not have heard about placenta encapsulation. If you haven’t, it’s a method in which a certified midwife or specialist takes your live organ, (which they place in a take-out container at the hospital, and which I thought might make for an amazing prank “I brought you dinner…” ok you can imagine how that would go) cleans it, dehydrates it, encapsulates it, and gives it back to you for consumption during the first few weeks post-pardum or as needed. Also, it’s been said that it helps to balance hormones during menopause so you basically keep it frozen in your fridge for the following 20/30 years of your life.
Yep. We did that. And, it’s amazing. I found out it really worked when one day I got a splitting migraine, took 2 extra pills, and less than an hour later was almost completely fine. And then, of course last night, when I realized that, had it not been for my placenta, I might have had a lot more “bland pasta” episodes in the last 2 weeks. So, cheers to the magic organ, to perfectly compassionate husbands, to spilled milk everywhere, to restricted diets, and, why not, to Pampers diapers, because even though we tried some of the more “natural” brands, the only blow-out-proof diapers so far are Pampers.
Mommyhood, it’s all in the making, and it’s oh so amazing.