Attachment Parenting by Accident

I'm not going to go into great detail defining AP but in a nut shell it includes the 7 B's:

Birth bonding

Breastfeeding

Babywearing

Bed close to baby (co-sleeping)

Belief baby's cry is communication

Beware baby trainer

Balance 

When I was pregnant I was curios about this. Mostly I thought it was too much but I didn't really know anyone who parented this way so I thought maybe I wasn't being fair and that I should research this. After my first baby was born, I read a few books and found that this form of parenting is flexible. You don't have to do it all, just what works for your family. In that light I bet there are many more people who are attachment parenting (AP) who don't even realize it. I also found that I was already parenting this way and didn't know it. I was doing what I needed to survive and it turns out that meant AP.

Here are the ways I found myself in the AP community:

First moments with my second son

Birth Bonding- When my son was born we did skin to skin, both my husband and myself. This is a very common practice in hospitals now as well, and I'm glad it is so. Those first few moments are so special and surreal.

Post-nursing coma. I cherished those sweet moments

Breastfeeding- My goal was to breastfeed. How long was not clear in my vision. I really wanted to make it to 12 months, but since I was going back to work at 5 months, I was prepared not to make it. Pumping on a teacher's schedule makes it hard to keep the milk supply up especially as I would not be able to pump as often as my little one was demanding at home, plus the pump just isn't as powerful at expressing milk as the baby. But I came home everyday for lunch to nurse and I believe that was a huge factor in helping me make it to 12 months and beyond. After twelve months I had no real plan as to when we would finish. Breastfeeding was such a special time of bonding for me and my boy, it forced us both to slow down and cuddle and just be in each other's presence. I was in no rush to end this special time. I was fully prepared to go until my little boy decided he had enough, even if that meant to 3 or 4 years old. Have I completely shocked you/grossed you out? You know, before my baby this would have grossed me out too, but I can't explain how much I loved the time I spent with my boy nursing. So judge if you must, but in my mind it was a truly beautiful time that I was not going to force to end. Only I kinda did on accident. I got pregnant when my boy was 18 months. He still nursed but my milk must have changed because by the time he was 27 months he had completely weaned on his own.

This is how we do chores in my house

Babywearing- Ugh! This one! I was interested in wearing the baby, I mean, heck, I even registered for a ring sling and woven wrap, and I already owned a buckle carrier, but boy did this one completely take over my life. My baby, HATED with a passion all things that made him recline on his back: the bouncer, the swing, the rocker, the car seat! And my baby was HUGE! I needed to get things done at home, like feed myself, and the carriers were my only way to do this. He basically lived in the carrier until he was able to go in the jumper. Both my husband and I became experts at tying a mei tai. Truth be told, if I had the option of wearing the baby all the time or not, I would choose the latter. Our backs have paid the price of carrying a baby nearly constantly. But, the carriers did provide a freedom that we greatly needed. and sometimes strollers are more of a pain and a carrier is ideal (hiking, airports, stairs, any place that is super crowded). And this time around, with this baby, well let's just say we were well prepared for this one because of the rigorous training our first put us through (I'm wearing him now as he naps and I type).

This sweet moment, brought to you by co-sleeping

Co-sleeping- This one has a wide range of appearances. Baby can share the bed with parents, or sleep in a co-sleeper attached to the bed, or sleep in a crib/bassinet/cradle/etc. in the same room as the parent. We did the first. I actually had a crib, but my son nursed every 1 to 1.5 hours, and I was exhausted. I could not take getting woken up that often, and so a sweet mentor came and taught me how to nurse lying down (side-lying nursing) and changed my life. And then I grew accustomed to this arrangement, and then I grew to love it. It is one of my favorite things to open my eyes in the morning and have my son's peaceful, sleeping face be the first thing I see.

I think this baby is communicating how much he loves the dinner I made him...or not.

Belief that baby's cry is communication- The word that sticks out to me is cry. Oh boy, did my kid cry. He had colic for the first 3 months. He never stopped crying until we held him (hence the babywearing). But I think that he trained us to respond to him, and that in turn taught him to trust that we would always be there for him. A lesson I hope he carries with him forever.

My mold-breaking boy

Beware the Baby Trainer- Not really sure how this one applied to us, except that every time I read or heard someone describe what is a reasonable expectation for a baby,  I could not relate because my sparkler broke the mold, and still is breaking molds. So I have basically given up trying to set expectations for who my kids should be and how they should behave. I will let them show me for themselves who they are.

Balance means making time to dwell in sacred moments that fill up my cup

Balance- This is the mantra of my life. At the beginning of my parenting journey I completely surrendered my needs and desires to meet those of my son. That was not healthy for me, and I am learning to take care of myself, to fill up my cup when I need it, so I am better prepared to be the best parent I can be. But don't look too closely right now, I have an infant and they take over for the first few months no matter what.

How about you? How many of the 7 B's do you see in your parenting journey? You might be more of an AP parent than you realized.

Colic

So colic is one of those words that most people aren't really sure of the exact definition. In fact, even in the medical field there is a lack of consistency in defining colic. It is one of those words that becomes the catch all to describe a baby crying because of a belly ache. And so it is pretty common for people to tell you that their baby had colic.

The first few times people shared this with me, I was eager to commiserate with them over the horror that is colic, only what they described was worlds apart from what I was experiencing. Then one day at church a sweet mama saw my face and heard me mention colic, she approached me with genuine concern and gently tried to encourage me that this would pass and she knew what I was going through because her first born was the exact same way. It was the sympathy in her eyes, and heart break in her tone that convinced me that she truly understood what I was living.

Colic, as our pediatrician explained, is when there are spasms in the digestive system (intestines, or stomach) as the baby continues to develop this important system. These spasms are not always painful to all babies, but for some they are very painful. We were the lucky winners of that crap shoot. Now that my boy is past that painful phase and I can feel what gas bubbles moving through intestines feels like, I am more convinced that our pediatrician's definition is spot on, because gas bubbles feel different than what I would feel in my baby boy's tummy. It felt like a spasm. Like a cramp was spasming in his belly. Poor baby :( He was suffering, and, by proxy, so were we.

The colic lasted for about 13 weeks, and coincided with my postpartum depression. I think the lack of sleep was a huge factor in my depression. For thirteen weeks my son cried and screamed in pain. He slept very little and when he did it was only with pressure and heat on his stomach. So we ended up holding him in the "magic hold" (look it up if you ever find yourself with a restless, fussy baby, it was a life saver for us), or we wore him. I had intended to wear him, but with the colic there was no other option if I wanted to get anything else done. He HATED the car seat (and still isn't really a fan) so driving around was not an option, he hated being on his back so the swing or bouncer didn't help much during that time. He basically lived in my carrier on my or my husband's chest, like a baby kangaroo. (BTW I would highly recommend the Becco Gemini carrier for folks who want to wear newborn babies!)

R slowly outgrew the colic. A woman commented to me once that she believed that babies aren't done developing when they come out of the womb and the she considered the first six months to be a continuation of the enormous changes that occurred in utero. That perspective really helped me during this time. I can't exactly explain why, but it did. My baby who was in pain, and who was making me miserable, was himself miserable and scared by all the changes and sensations he was feeling, and he was helpless to stop it, and all he wanted was to be held chest to chest with his momma or papa. At times I was so tired and irritated I resented being wanted so extremely, but then I reminded myself of his developing pains and I wore him because that was the only thing to give him comfort.

So, we had the colic. It suuuuuucked!!! I had not prepared for that. I did not handle it well. My husband was the champ, the hero, the rock. And those were the first 3 months. Every week of those months I wondered how long I would be in that hell. Those were dark times for me, remember? No one could ever give me a definitive answer. A few moms had some wise words: things never really get easier, they just get different. I liked that. It has that hopeful, slogan feel doesn't it? And I am sure it is true for most moms. But my husband and I were just talking about this the other day, and so far every phase past the colic has definitely been easier. Teething, easier. Night terrors, easier. Night nursing (which he still does at 13 months), easier. Growth spurts, easier. Pre-milestone-grumpiness, easier. ALL easier. Not easy, but easier. So far anyway.

Let's just get this over with

My last post ended on a bit of a somber note. Before I explain, let me first make it clear that I LOVE LOVE LOVE my son so so so much. Parenthood may not be for everyone, and I respect and applaud those who have recognized that it might not be for them and have decided not to pursue it. This gig isn't for the faint of heart. I am daily in awe that I was allowed to journey this road and with such a precious companion. I am so grateful to be a mother (my heart breaks for those who seek this and are denied it), and humbled that I have been entrusted such a priceless gem. I love him more than I expected, more than I knew I could love at all.

Now with that said, I am ashamed to admit that I had a hard time feeling this way when I first met Little. I held him, fed him, and cared for him as any responsible parent would, but I didn't feel love. In fact I felt regret. I often joked about this with others, but it was, unfortunately, all very true. I hate myself for having had those feelings. I don't know if I can ever forgive myself. I had honestly wished I had never gotten pregnant and given birth. Before me was a stranger that screamed at me all day long (the colic drama to come later), ripped up my nipples, refused to be put down causing incredible pain in my arm and back muscles (did I mention he was nearly 10 lbs???), refused all the comforts offered him (swaddles, pacifier, crib, car rides, etc.), and basically was just "take take take" with not a smidge of "give," not even a smile or an hour of silence so weak mom could rest.

Most of that is pretty normal for parents of newborns, but I had the added insult of postpartum depression. My hormones were so out of balance. That coupled with the lack of sleep and I was basically a zombie. I felt empty inside, hopeless. I wanted to run away. Leave the baby and my husband behind. They seemed content with each other after all, they would be fine. But I was drowning. I couldn't breathe and I just wanted out. I knew then that these were horrible feelings to be having so now I had guilt to add to my depression.

My mom also had struggled with postpartum depression, so she could tell immediately that I had it. She stayed with us for that tiresome, first week and witnessed my emotional madness as I would swing from anger and rage over the silliest things to fits of tears as I gazed at my screaming son. When she left we all cried. She told my husband to keep an eye on me, and tried to encourage him, because now he had the burden of taking care of our colic-y babe and me. In this story my husband is the hero. He is my hero. He is my son's hero. He is the this small family's hero. His perseverance and enormous heart rescued me, and sheltered my son. I praise god greatly for putting him on earth so he could fulfill this crucial role.

So many people surrounded me during this dark time, friends, family, strangers, childhood friends. They may never know how deep and profound their time affected me. The simplest phone call, or visit did wonders to lift my spirit, to remind me that I was still me. I put all my energy in making my outward appearance look as strong as possible. I was ashamed of my own thoughts and I did not want others to witness them. But I was not well, even if I looked it, and your time had a powerful impact, even if you thought it was not necessary, to me it was.

After about 13 weeks, I finally started to feel like myself again. Well not exactly. Nothing has ever been exactly the same, and it could never be, because now I am a mother, forged in the fire of trial and despair, but I came through, I survived, and I bear the the scars of that darkness both physically and emotionally.

I have this picture as my background on my phone. It isn't the cutest picture of my son. And it certainly isn't the most recent. But it is from that dark time. He was only a couple of days old. I look at it and speak to that tiny baby. I tell him how sorry I am for those first 13 weeks. I look at it and hope that my darkness did not leave scars on his spirit. I look at it and tell that baby "I love you" because I wasn't able to when he was actually  that small. I don't know how long I will keep this picture up, reminding me of that time and my terrible weakness. But for now I keep it there. I am not ready to forgive myself yet, but I am getting there.