reflections

Out with the lassies to run a couple of quick errands this afternoon, I walked hand in hand with the two-year-old lass and wore her seven-month-old "sissy pie"  in the sling.  Funny Girl caught a glimpse of us in a series of glass storefront windows as we walked, and she was transfixed.  She smiled at her reflection sweetly, proudly, and with a certain silliness, lifting her chin up and grinning.  "I see us!"  she said. 

Where did this little girl come from?  Just yesterday she was the one in the sling.  Tomorrow she'll be shopping for graduation dresses like my sister is doing.

While there have been many times in these postpartum months when I have avoided my reflection in the mirror, today when I saw us, we were -- if I do say so myself -- pretty as a picture.

in the picture

Photography is a family hobby.  While my beloved has taken the craft to another level after studying its technical and artistic facets, I just snap away on my camera and hope one of the images turns out nicely.  He makes photographs.  I take pictures.

I have a vague understanding of the technicalities of photography, but when I hear such terms as "F-stop," I am inclined to think first of an organ (the musical instrument), rather than how much light my camera is letting in when I take a picture.  Having said that, I have developed a rudimentary understanding of what makes for good photographs such as considering the source and direction of light cast on my subjects while also considering what's in the background of the picture field so as to reduce "noise." 

Sometimes after I post batches of pictures that I've captioned for family and friends to view, reviewers ask me where I am in all the pictures.  I'm behind the camera in most of them, unless I've tried to take a self portrait of me with one, some, or all of the bambini (which happens on occasion if I happen to luck out and have a good hair day, or if I want to show off my cute slingling).

When Grannie was here last month, I was determined to take lots of pictures to document her visit.  We took a few together toward the end of the week, I asked my beloved to take some with me in the picture so we'd have that "multigenerational" thing going.

A few weeks ago we had our family photograph taken for the upcoming parish pictorial directory.  I signed us up to participate not because I wanted to order family photographs (because we can make those -- equally as good or better -- at home for free), but because I wanted the directory that will be coming out soon so I can put names with faces of fellow parishioners.  Having these directories at my disposal when I was new on the scene as the music and liturgy director of another parish was hugely helpful in getting to know people.  In order to get a copy of the directory, we had to have our picture taken.

Coordinating everyone's attire for the photograph wasn't so much of a chore, but getting myself ready to have my photograph taken proved mighty challenging.   Of course I fretted about it way too much.  With little time to primp, I hoped to try to resurrect some of my curling iron skills (not that I ever really had those) to freshen up my limp curls.  This resulted in a tangle of hair and several pointed warnings to not touch the metal part of the curling iron issued to curious lads who rarely see such a gadget in use in our home.

The resulting photograph is decent enough.  It pretty much captures us as we are today, from the skeptical look on the 21-month-old lass's face to my "come as you are" appearance.  I'm sure this will resonate with people who look us up in the directory.  They might not recognize us if I was all coiffed and curled, accustomed as they are to seeing me in a state of quasi-dishevelment. 

Truth be told, I'm usually not too keen on having my picture taken, as I don't really want to have a permanent reminder of looking pale, puffy, tired, and disheveled.  But it occurs to me that this camera-dodging business might have some negative consequences down the road....

Someday when the bambini look through the multitude of photographs we've taken over the years, I want them to have a few with me to go along with the oodles they'll have of themselves and their other family members.  I know they won't be looking for a supermodel (or Super Mommy).  They'll just be looking for their mom.

civics lesson

Are votes marked by a five year old giddy at the idea of using "a marker that stains" at his mother's direction still valid?   Let's hope so.

I fulfilled my civic duty this election day with four little helpers in tow (which attracted the usual marveling) -- the littlest one in a sling, the middle two in our double stroller (though one made his escape), and the eldest pushing the rig. 

The prospect of seeing the sea foam green vintage charter bus with the name "Patsy" displayed in its destination marquee parked on the lawn adjacent to the church that served as our polling place with a "for sale" sign in its window piqued the collective curiosity in the Bambini Ride (she wasn't there, though).  After an explanation of the term "polling place" and why it was a church (but not ours) and a probably inadequate reasoning for this whole voting business, we unloaded and went in...

They did pretty well with the short wait, as they have when I've taken them with me to vote before -- even though it was after school and snacks were in short supply and we'd been in the car for a while already.  I'd read the ballot online before we set out on this endeavor, which sped up the actual ballot-marking process.

Choices made, I asked if either of the lads wanted to put the ballot in the reader machine.  They both just looked at me and then at the machine, curious about the beeps and clicks it was making and not wanting to be responsible for them.  That was alright.  The polling place attendants were generous with the "I voted" stickers anyway.  Each child (except the slingling) got one.

I was halfway expecting an election to be organized to determine the dinner menu this evening, but alas it did not come to pass.  (The gravitational force field of the planter box full of dirt out back won out).  I wouldn't be surprised to see one soon, though.  Someone I know has an insatiable interest in permanent markers, the cutting up of paper into smaller pieces, and the stashing of said paper tidbits into discarded Amazon.com boxes that could very easily be transformed into ballot boxes (minus the beeps and clicks)...

pandemonium

Sometimes I really surprise myself by the absurdity of my ideas -- or rather, that I would cook up **and act upon** such ridiculous things.

Why I thought taking the bambini to a fast food chain with an indoor play area was a good idea is beyond me, as we hardly ever eat fast food *or* go to indoor play areas where I fret about whatever germs might be lurking on the equipment and spend the entire time keeping track of three little people in the maze of plastic and mesh with the fourth one in the sling. 

Chalk it up to my sleep deficit.  Sometimes my cognitive abilities are consequently impaired. 

Alas, with the brave help of my parents and sister, we loaded up all four bambini (the elder lad had a day off from school, and my family came to visit for the day) and took a field trip to this eatery with a reputation among moms as *the* place to go.  To be sure, there were lots of families with young children, many of whom were probably there after delivering a spiel about eating "a good lunch" before going to play.  I gave that spiel myself.  I might need a new spiel writer.

Very little of the "good lunch" (as it were) was consumed.  The play area was held hostage by two unsupervised children too old to be in there anyway egging each other on to "scream louder!".   And were there naps taken after all that excitement?

Of course not.

Does any of this come as a surprise to anyone?
Probably not.

I suppose it's one of those lessons this mama had to learn by living it herself.  Standing by me while I learned it (and enduring the screaming) was truly a work of mercy by my parents and sister.

Now we've been there, done that, and don't need to again.  Whether we eat at home or out some place, we'll find another place to play -- preferably outside. 

my third arm

On nearly every outing, I wear the wee lass in a ring sling, just as I wore the younger lad in one before she came along.  I almost always get a comment or inquiry about it.  People will often take note of how content she looks snuggled up on me, or how she can see everything, or how they wish they had those things when their kids were little.  Some want to know if it's comfortable or if it hurts my back (it *is* comfortable so long as it's on correctly, though I do feel tired if I wear her in it for a long time). 

Babywearing is commonplace in many cultures around the world, but it's attracted some negative press lately because of a government warning on the potential dangers of infants suffocating in them (in a particular "bag" style, I should say). Not all slings and baby carriers are created equal or hold the baby in the same way.

Just as with any other piece of baby gear -- cribs, swings, car seats, and bouncers included -- caregivers need to use common sense and educate themselves on the correct usage of slings so as to insure their wee  bundle's safety and comfort.  The slings I have come with instructional videos that are also posted on their websites, and I've spent lots of time practicing getting the babes situated just so before setting out on any shopping jaunts or other excursions. 

Speaking personally and as I did when I dispensed some unsolicited advice for weathering pregnancy sickness, here are some further thoughts I have on babywearing based on my own experience...

I wore the elder lad in a wrap like these occasionally, though I found it to be cumbersome and in need of adjusting a lot.  It was difficult to nurse in, but it *was* comfortable to wear once we were situated because the weight is distributed over both shoulders.   I got my first ring sling when my younger lad was about two months old and have always loved how easy and quick it is to get on, off, and adjust.  It goes over one shoulder, though, so the weight is localized more on side.  If the fabric is spread out over my back as it's supposed to be, this is usually not a problem.  That first ring sling is a versatile steely gray-blue color.  When the lass was born, my mom gave me a girly pink one with butterflies and polka dots and other lovely images.   Now I'm able to coordinate my outfits to my slings.  :)

When both lads got to be about a year old, I switched to a carrier similar to an ERGO, which can be worn on either the front or the back (though the particular Patapum I have is for bigger babies or toddlers, which is why I wait so long to use it; the ERGO and another style of Patapum can be used from infancy).  When the weather is such that I don't need to wear a jacket or coat *and* when the lass gets a little bigger, I'll dig out this carrier again (if I can manage it with my baby belly). I practiced and practiced (and will again) getting the babes onto my back in this carrier at home on the sofa or in front of a mirror so that I'd be adept at and safely able to get the "slingling" (i.e. the baby in the sling) on my back at whatever location we happen to be.

There are several online resources for babywearing, including some to help one figure out which type of carrier might be best for him- or herself.  One such site is thebabywearer.com, which presently has links to several sling safety sites but also has extensive information and reviews on the various styles and brands of carriers.  (One such page on sling safety is on Babywearing International's site; thebabywearer.com has its own safety pages, and each sling manufacturer has information on safe wearing.)

Choosing a sling is a very personal thing, and many babywearing mamas I know have two -- if not several -- types of slings they use for different situations and durations.  The many documented benefits to wearing babies include facilitating bonding and nursing (the latter of the two I've yet to master but will have another go at here in a few months), aiding Baby's digestion, and reducing fussiness, among many others.

With any sling, there is a learning curve and a window of adjustment for both the baby wearer and the slingling.  So long as the carrier is on correctly, if the baby fusses when first put in the sling, often it helps to get up and moving for a bit of a walk to help the baby settle in.  If the fussing continues, it's a sure sign to stop and check everything is kosher.

I call my sling "my third arm."  I could not function as I do without my sling.  I can keep my littlest babe close to me where each of them has always preferred to be, care for my other children, attend to many (but not all) household duties with careful consideration to how I move or get up and down so as not to pitch the babe forward, and go to the store/playground/library/wherever with free hands and baby able to see everything from "the catbird seat," as one manufacturer describes it. 

Given my multitasking mandate, slings help me fulfill the many duties in my charge.  The babes are content and things get done.  Wearing the babies has saved me untold amounts of hassle and struggle with infant car seats (ours is particularly cumbersome) and strollers (my babies never seem to want to ride in them very long until they get a little older, so I'm stuck holding a baby and pushing an empty stroller), and allowed me to manage  two or more children at the grocery store by having one (or two) in the cart and one slung on me.

I welcome the inquiries I receive on babywearing, and hope my experience can help other caregivers and their precious cargo.