First trip

There are so many firsts that people record: steps, words, smiles. For us we just had our first airplane trip and that at six hours to Paris, France. With our six week old baby in tow and grandpa on hand to babysit, carry the diaper bag, push the stroller, plus cousins to do any of the above, it was an ideal vacation.

The way back was a night flight, departing at 10:30 p.m. and arriving in Qatar at 6:00 a.m. The baby was a bit fussy in the airport because he was hungry. And I grew new contortionist skills, pulling aside layers of fabric to nurse him on tour buses, airplanes, and in the hotel room.

This is one of the reasons I don't know if I will make it to my October 30th/3 month deadline. The timing of breastfeeding - all day, almost every 2 hours on the clock - puts a major wrench in one's social life. Several times my father-in-law was prevented from coming into our room because I was feeding the baby.

The ready made formula bottles I fell in love with at the hospital came in handy because we often were places I just didn't want to mess with the apparatus of breast feeding. Or the fact that I was exhausted and couldn't really get up the energy to pull one out.

I've talked to every mother I know about breastfeeding and the stats are inconclusive. Some say they did 11 months (how?!) and others couldn't at all because their babies rejected the nipples, didn't like their milk, or other scenarios. Some do only breast, some do a mix.

My cousin-in-law said with her first she did 3 months and with her second she did only 1.

My boss said she did however long her maternity leave was.

A colleague said she had done it for 10 months for her older daughter and didn't feel that she could jilt her son, so was going for 10 months again.

Since my milk has come, and the baby is on a schedule, it feels like a betrayal to our baby not to do for him what all the books talk about. But my diet is affecting him: we have gas at the same time and also have to go the bathroom at the same time. It's slightly hilarious.

I can't deny that the sight of those big, brown eyes looking up at me from the crook of my arm is a sweet feeling. Now that I'm not sleep deprived or as worried about banging his head into something sharp, I like breastfeeding. As long as I'm home, on vacation, and have nothing else to do.

Perhaps I'll take to doing only nights. The fact is I don't like to quit or not give the best of anything. And so trying to make it to four months for solid food and breast is my dream. I don't know if I can get there.

I do know that being surrounded by family and their delight in your child is one of the best encouragements towards having another child. This was the perfectly timed visit because just when all our local friends have doted and cooed; delivered meals and gifts, we then had a fresh round from our cousins and one of his grandparents.

While I had wanted a tropical getaway and balked at the idea of going to Paris; the trip was restorative in a multitude of ways in giving us the first night out with both of us and minus the baby. We didn't worry at all. We knew he was in great hands. Which may mean we are slack parents or that we had confidence in my husband's father and aunt. Or in our very sedate baby. In any case we did not call 100 times or rush back home early. We had a lovely dinner and counseled our cousin on some major issues going on in his life.

All in all, it was a week well spent. And I'm looking forward to a few days at home to catch up and to reset my clock. Gone should be the days of 2 hour naps. Instead I need to write and exercise during those times I normally sleep.

Oh: and Paris wasn't that bad either.

Four weeks old

Last Monday our son turned a month old. And it was like an invisible cue had been given to my entire body to just sigh in relief.

I had managed to go an entire month and:
--breastfeed as much as possible for me (5-8 times a day depending on the day)
--not hit his head on the corner of our nightstand while picking him up for 3am feedings
--change countless diapers without wincing, avoiding, or griping

We finally got what each other were about, my boy and I.

I understood that he could wait a few more hours to eat and that not every cry meant that he was in fact hungry. Sometimes he had gas, or a stomach full that he was trying to dump, or a wet diaper. I discovered he could sit in his poop all day but thirty seconds of his own pee was more than he could be asked to handle.

He started smiling at the sound of my voice and calming down if I entered a room. He showed us how good he could be in the car seat and slept through the blaring music of the mall, the blistering heat of a never ending Doha summer, and being passed around like a party favor at my 32nd birthday.

The rest of the people in the house are around story: they wrecked his schedule this past Wednesday out of misguided sympathy because the kid was working the angles with his cries while I was out at an office gathering. It took me a full day to get him back on his schedule.

Now I'm counting how many more cases of ready made formula we'll need before he's on solid food.

Though it's exhausting, mentally and physically, to breastfeed I have committed to do it for the first three months of his life. This means October 30th. Crossing the one month mark gave me the confidence to look ahead to the end of September. Since we are still on Ramadan hours, and have a week's holiday, this should not be that hard.

No one could believe I went back to work three weeks after my first child was born and by C-section. I dreaded it myself. I wasn't sure how it would go or how much energy I would have. The thought of postponing it was available: I had an appointment to go to the Embassy to apply for his passport the first morning I was due back. But like removing a band aid or setting a broken bone, I rescheduled and went it. There were no balloons or welcome signs, but it felt strangely good to sit down at my desk and get back to work.

Granted this was for all of three and a half hours; it felt like my play job. For the past three weeks we've settled into a routine of getting up, going to work, coming home, eating lunch, and sleeping for two hours. I don't know who will miss the nap more: me or the kid. This is the wonderful thing about Ramadan and the reduced working hours. Since the majority of people are fasting, if you work for the government or Arab company, then the day is only five hours. Subtract from that the fact nursing mothers get one hour, either to come in late or to leave early, and I'm turning off my computer at 1:00 p.m. everyday. The end of Ramadan brings with it some trepidation, however, as I know this cannot go on forever.

But over the weekend I wrote out the schedule again, adjusting the times slightly, and I think even after the Eid break we will be able to carry on more or less the same.