The Right to Privacy

Last night, the whole family went to a Baptism class, since James is being Baptized in a couple of weeks. While at our church, I ran into my 85-year-old grandmother who promptly scooped my son (her great-grandson) into her arms and took him to introduce to some of her friends. Now, the Church where we are baptizing James also happens to be the same church I went to throughout my entire childhood. I went to the Parish school there from Kindergarten to 8th grade, and as a result, I can't really go anywhere within 2 miles of that community without running into someone I know. I have accepted that. Which is why I don't really hang out in that part of town...well, ever, if I can control it. So anyway, my abuela went upstairs to show off her great-grandson, and of course, the women who she talked to all knew me. And one of the women had daughters a few years younger than me and asked my grandmother if she could take a picture with her camera phone to send to them. What kind of question is that to ask an 85-year-old woman? Oh, I'll tell you! A stupid one. My grandmother is a pretty savvy individual, she knows about the internet, she has a digital camera and she has a cell phone. But guess what, she never uses these things. She knows how to, but she chooses not to. So she has no idea that a single camera phone picture could be circulated on the internet in minutes, curious eyes lapping up the proof that someone close to their age has procreated, the proof that despite our wishes to deny it, we are all growing up.

So, of course, my grandmother complied with the woman, and allowed her to take a picture of my son. And the woman then sent the picture to her daughters in college. And all of this occurred without my knowledge.

So I ask you, when did it become OK for people to take pictures of our children without OUR permission? When did our privacy suddenly not matter anymore? I hold nothing against my grandmother, she didn't know any better, she doesn't understand that this girl could post the picture on facebook, turning my son into an exhibit, no longer a human.

When I was growing up, we came home on the first day of school every year with a waiver for our parents to sign. If the waiver was signed, the school had permission to use photos of the parents' child/children in publications. Now obviously, this camera picture won't be used in any publications (hopefully..) but suppose one of her daughters chooses to post the picture on Facebook, MySpace, etc. What then? Where are my rights with this? Where are my son's rights? I am not on Facebook, and so I have no way of knowing if pictures have been posted of my son. And what if the daughter chooses to forward the picture to friends? That kind of circulation makes me cringe. To have no idea who has a picture of my son in their possession? It's maddening. And I want to ask the woman who took this picture how she would feel if someone had done this to her without her knowledge.

OH, and to top it all off- she saw me in the hall later holding the baby she had just taken a picture of and pretended not to know me.

Unbelievable.

Greatest Morning

I am not normally a cosleeper but James woke up in the middle of the night last night (quite unusual) and I fell asleep while nursing him. This morning I woke up with him smiling in my arms, and he started touching my face. Moments like this make being a mom the most rewarding experience. He used his hands to feel different parts of my face, exploring human features for the first time. He just started picking things up with his hands yesterday. He can hold his stuffed animals now, and he tries with all his might to hold onto his plastic keys for more than 60 seconds. As he placed his hands on my face, I could practically read his mind. He smiled and cooed as he squezed my nose. And I'm overcome with the feeling that there's nothing else in the world I would rather be doing than holding my son as he learns more about his world (and his mother's huge nose).

The James Game

Every night, without fail, at 2 AM

Step 1: Wake up demanding to be fed.
Step 2:Nurse until milk is pouring out of mouth and dribbling down chin.
Step 3: Smile and coo like it's the funniest thing ever that he woke mom up and isn't even going to drink a full meal.
Step 4: Fall back to sleep immediately

All of this takes place in the span of under 8 minutes.

Baby Update

I really wish someone had told me these words of advice:

The first 8 weeks of parenting suck. No, it's not just the lack of sleep. It's not just the whole readjusting to a new identity. It's not just freaking out over your new mom body. BUT I PROMISE IT GETS BETTER (why didn't anyone tell me this?!?!).

I'm going to be brave and say it- newborn babies are boring. They can't smile for you yet. They're not cooing yet. They are totally incapable of doing anything but the following: crying, pooping, peeing, nursing.

But then the baby hits 8 weeks...and it's amazing. The torturous 8 weeks are so beyond worth it the first time your baby wakes up in the morning and smiles for you.

Now according to everyone I know, I am incredibly lucky, and I know I am. James is such a good baby. He barely cries- ever. He is already sleeping an 8 hour chunk. I was totally terrified I was sleeping through his cries, and I actually stayed up all night recently to listen for his cries. SILENCE. He's either sleeping or in the most amazing quiet alert state, watching everything around him with wonder and awe. The only time he cries is if his view of the world is covered or he is seriously hungry. His wonder at the world is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. That still doesn't take away the fact that the first 8 weeks suck beyond belief.

Breastfeeding Begins

One of my earliest baby-related memories is watching my aunt nurse her firstborn son. In fact, memories from my mother's side of the family are flooded with visions of swollen breasts and nursing babies. So naturally, my plan from the start was to breastfeed my son. I was breastfed. My siblings were breastfed. My husband was breastfed and is very supportive of breastfeeding our son. Two weeks before James' birth we purchased nursing bras and nightgowns and my mother gave me a book on breastfeeding. Everything was set to go.

The morning after James was born I had what was probably one of the most bizarre yet amazing experiences of my life.

My husband went home to take a nap, and my mother came by to see her new grandson. Minutes later, my abuela entered. There are no words to describe this woman, but I will attempt to. Abuelita, or "Lita" as we call her, is half old world and half new world. She's stuck somewhere between Nuevo Laredo and Arlington, VA. She puts toothpicks in her avocado pits and attempts to grow a tree on the windowsill. She belongs to a "grandmas only" duck pin team. She has a portrait of a neon blue bull fighter next to a picture of my abuelo in his American Army uniform. She eats frijoles refritos on Wonder Bread. Seriously. And boy, does this woman always have a story for you. My brothers and I used to play a game where we would try to think of the most random thing possible and bring it up with her to see if we could stump her story telling. It has yet to happen. And I love her. I love everything about her. She can drive you crazy, but her stories and food and quirks make everything worth it.

That morning, I had old world Lita standing in my room. My mother and my grandmother sat with me and showed me how to help James form a proper latch to the breast. There I was, totally exposed to my mother and grandmother. 1 year ago I would have died at the thought of this, but for some reason, the situation felt totally right. Lita held James while my mom helped me get situated, and when I was ready for him she said, "zhoom! eet eez tiyime for lonch leetle whun!" and placed him on my breast. And then James began to chomp away. I've never really identified with my Mexican heritage, my mom's family assimilated big time in the 50s and lost a lot of their culture, but for that moment, we were in Mexico, and it was beautiful. If only every woman could have this kind of support from women in her family, then maybe a lot more women would breastfeed.

My Baby Turkey

I should have known my son would come on Thanksgiving. Since my husband's family and my family both live within 20 minutes of our townhouse, my husband and I were at a loss of what to do for Thanksgiving. We had visions of eating three turkey dinners (both my parents also have both families in the area) and my husband carting my pregnant ass out in a wheelbarrow. Fortunately, the conundrum was solved for us.

On my 37 week postpartum appointment (11/25/08) my blood pressure was ::slightly:: high, so my doctor decided to induce labor. I will save you the labor story, because I've found that unless it's someone you know intimately, labor stories can be kind of boring. I will just say this- I spent 24 hours in the hospital while they tried to induce labor, I had 4 doses of Cytotec, sweeping of the membranes (OUCH...hurt more than the contractions), and almost 10 hours of pitocin until finally the Dr. sent me home. 1 hour later, while getting some much needed sleep, my water broke and my husband and I were back at the hospital.

On Thanksgiving Day at 1:18 PM, my son James was born. He was and is a beautiful baby boy. At that moment my life changed forever, and for the better, even if it is much earlier than I ever expected it to happen. My husband and I are ecstatic for our new journey through parenthood (We're also pretty excited that we'll be in our early 40s when James starts college!). We certainly had something to be very thankful for this Thanksgiving.

If 40 is the new 25, then 25 is the new 10?

Every now and then when I am out, I get people looking at me like I am a pregnant teenager. Things aren't quite as bad if my husband is with me, but the looks are still pretty remarkable. I kept wondering why someone would be judgmental about a pregnant woman in her twenties, but then I realized something. The majority of pregnant people and parents in the DC area these days are way past their twenties. Today I saw a pregnant woman at Trader Joe's. She was expecting her first child and had gray hair. I guess the fact of the matter is, if 40 is the new 25, I am actually 7 years old, so no wonder all these older women with toddlers are looking at me as if I am unfit to be pregnant, let alone be a mother.

I guess the upside of this is that I will be "25" around the time my son is ready for college. And if my son follows this trend of intentionally having babies after 40, I have some hope of eventually meeting my grandchildren.