Mother's Milk

I recently weaned my 14 month old baby - the one who is most likely my last baby -and as I sit here, warm compress on my swollen and painful boob, and reflect, I feel both sadness and liberation. For one thing, I got to enjoy an iced coffee (regular, not decaf) this afternoon. Such liberation means I no longer have to think about what I consume and when; this is definitely a treat. On the other hand, I miss the closeness. I miss our quiet time nursing in the morning together -- admittedly, so often my attempt to extend the time I could remain in my warm bed with him snuggled up next to me half sleeping, half sucking. The minute I'd hear him stir in his crib in the morning, I'd bring him right in with us - and usually get at least a good 15 or 20 minutes more of cozy bed time before having to get up and start the day. Now that I am not nursing, we need to find a new morning routine together. It's been a slow start.

Weaning a 14 month old baby is easy in that he hardly remembers what he is missing. He is too busy, too distracted with the world and all of the playthings around him to notice the change. Ocassionally he will nuzzle into me and I will think, Maybe he remembers... but then in a minute he's on to something new he's found on the floor, and it's over. He drinks milk zealously from a sippy cup, shouting "Mah Mah Mah!" which means both "milk" and "more" - it's hard to differentiate at this point. And I am pretty certain, having weaned my first son at this same age almost six years ago, that this baby also will have no memory of nursing.


But that is OK, because I do, and I will.

How Far We've Come

Last night I came home from drinks with neighbors to find my husband asleep in our bed, with my bedside table light left on for me, the baby monitor blasting loudly next to him (he is hearing impaired) and a card on my pillow inscribed, "Wifey." (Ramon always gives me cards the night before the actual celebrated event - he just can't wait.) In the 2 bedrooms nearby, our boys slept peacefully. I wanted to take a picture to capture the moment, it was so blissful - but a photo wouldn't have done justice.

When I married my husband nine years ago, I was scared. I had never been all that keen on marriage. It just didn't seem to work out. My parents divorced when I was very young, and my father divorced for a second time when I was in law school, so I certainly didn't have a lot to go on in the way of positive experience or roll models. I never dreamed of a wedding, of being a bride and walking down the aisle.... it just wasn't something I aspired to.

But ever since I first met Ramon, when we were 15 year-old-high school sophmores, he has helped me to believe in commitment. Ramon's parents married when they were teens in Cuba and are coming up on their 50th wedding anniversary next year. They are the classic example of old fashioned love and devotion - and survival through extreme hardship. Which is not to say they have the perfect marraige, by any means - one thing we have always commented on is how different they both are - they really have very little in common, save for family and love for each other, and shared life experience. But it turns out, that is a lot. They grew up together, raised a family together, left Cuba together, built a life in the United States together. And as for Ramon, he has the utmost faith in marriage and commitment, because of them.

Ramon helped me to believe - over the years. I was skeptical for a long time. I would tend to run when things got bad. He always held a steady course. He waited for me to commit. It took a long time. We've now known each other for 20 years, and been married for nine. My mom remembers in high school I would fall asleep with the phone on my ear, talking to Ramon in bed. Last night I came home to see him sleeping next to the baby monitor. I can't believe how far we've come.

My New Favorite Slow Cooker Recipe

New and Improved Irish Stew for the Slow Cooker

¼ c flour
1 tsp kosher salt
¼ tsp coarsely ground black pepper
1 tsp dried thyme, divided
2 lbs boneless lamb cubes for stew (I used beef cubes for stew)
3 tbsp vegetable oil, divided
2 medium onions (I used ½ pkg of frozen chopped onions)
2 medium carrots, peeled and cut into ½ inch thick slices
1 celery rib, cut into ½ inch thick slices
1 turnip, peeled and cut into ¾ inch dice
2 parsnips, peeled and cut into ½ inch thick slices
1 lb red skin or golden potatoes, peeled and cut into ½ inch dice
1 ½ c beef broth
1 tbsp Worcestershire sauce or steak sauce such as A-1
* I also added green beans to the mix

Mix the flour, salt, pepper and ½ tsp thyme in medium-large mixing bowl. Add the meat and toss until meat is evenly coated. Pat off excess four and reserve the seasoned flour mixture.

Heat half the oil in a large deep skillet over med-high heat and brown the meat, about 3 minutes per side, in batches if necessary; do not crowd the pan. Transfer to a bowl and set aside.

Add the remaining oil to the skillet. Add the onions, carrots, celery, turnip, parsnips potatoes and green beans and sauté until browned and barely tender, about 6 minutes. Transfer to a 5-6 quart slow cooker. Put the lamb on top.

Add the reserved seasoned flour and remaining thyme to the skillet and cook over medium heat until the flour is slightly browned, about 1 minute. Add the broth, heat to a boil, and continue to cook, stirring constantly, until slightly thickened. Pour into the slow cooker. Cover and cook for 3 – 4 hrs on high, or 6 -8 hrs on low, until vegetables and lamb are tender.

Add the Worcestershire or steak sauce, stir to blend, and serve.

Makes 6 servings.

Days of Awe

Sitting in temple last night (and trying to stay awake for the late Kol Nidre service), I started thinking of my dad. When I was a kid, my dad insisted my brother and I go to services for Yom Kippur with him. I would sit next to my dad and he listen to the Hebrew, most of which I did not understand, and ocassionally he would lean over and point something out in the prayer book, or explain something to me in a whisper, trying to make it more interesting and meaningful. Over time, the prayers and songs became familiar chants to me that I almost looked forward to...

Now as an adult and parent, I understand what my dad was doing and how he succeeded in doing it. In requiring us to attend the services with him every year, he made it clear just how important it was to be there. I cannot think of not going to temple on Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur.

This morning we are fighting with my 6 year old, who wants to stay home and play with Legos instead of going to temple. I am trying to explain to him that my mom and dad made me go when I was his age (am I really saying this?) and that I never wanted to go, but that now I appreciate why... It doesn't makes sense to him now, it just makes him angry and frustrated, but someday I am hoping it will.

Last night at Kol Nidre I was missing my dad and longing for those days when I was a kid, wishing he could sit next to me and whisper explanations of the service, parts of which I still don't understand - or just be there next to me as a warm and loving presence.

To Be Queen

Sometimes it's hard being the mom of 3 boys. Some days it dawns on me that I am surrounded by boys - - I live with FOUR boys, hubby included... I mean, how much potty humor can one woman take? What are the teen years going to be like?? Are we going to have enough fridge space? Will I be surrounded by stinky smells and dirty clothes (I'm hoping, if we raise them right, no)? Hoo boy... sometimes I'd rather not think that far ahead.



Someone told me recently (I think she must have been a mom of boys) that the great thing about being the mom of 3 boys is that "you get to be Queen." At the time that she said it, I wasn't quite sure what she meant. But now I am starting to see... Getting ready for a "Mom's night out," I am in my bathroom putting on mascara and Lukey sneaks in quietly, looks at me in the mirror, and says, "Mommy, you look pretty." He melts my heart. I can always count on boundless affection from all four of my boys... sometimes it's more than I want or need, but I know I should try to appreciate... and just enjoy being "Queen."

Babygate

We have never had one of these Superyards before, but now that Nico is on the move and considering the fact that there are teeny tiny Legos scattered about the house, we decided installing one of these would be the best and safest thing. Fortunately, everyone likes this "baby jail" so far - Joshua and Lucas especially - as evidenced by the above pics...

Done?

Why is it so hard to be done? Having babies, that is. We have three beautiful, healthy boys and feel incredibly blessed and ready to be done... and yet?? I can't say it. I loooved being pregnant and giving birth. It was hands-down the best thing I have ever done (times 3). Yet I feel that three is a great number, and Nico is a great baby to be "done" with - he is so joyful and easy-going... So.... ??

I think no matter what, no matter how many children you have, maybe it's just hard as a mama to say you're done. Parenting babies is such a crazy, delirious, amazing time that goes by in a whirlwind of sleepless nights and long drawn-out days - and suddenly you've got big kids and you can barely remember the baby stage- you see infants and look at the pictures but it's hard to bring back the warm, soft feeling...

So am I done? Let me get back to you on that one...