No sleep till....

So I joined this new mothers group. If you hear a sigh in this sentence, you are not mistaken. It seems the cliche thing to do and it is what I wasn't going to do but facts tend to turn upside down when that baby arrives.

The note at the messageboard at Van Vorst park caught my eye. The group is led by a psychotherapist, a mom of two herself. A theme will be addressed each week I read on the website later. I'll quickly realize that there is actually no need to bring up a theme to get a bunch a women with newborns to talk.

I walk in late because Neel had one of his shit-on-the-commode episodes and I had to do a last minute change. After introducing myself I see a bunch of questioning eyes still staring my way. Should I have mentioned my marital status? Annual salary? Explain where my accent is from? My mind races until I realize they want to know the name of the little creature sleeping on my arm.

"And this is Neel" I say, "He is 9 weeks." That is about the order of questioning. Name? Date? and than I learn what is the most important one: "How is he sleeping?"

Sleeping seems to be a big and important theme amongst new mothers. Comparisons are being made and jealous smiles exchanged if there is a deficit on the other end. It is no wonder really because "how is he sleeping" really means "how are you sleeping?"

So we sit, we chat and exchange birth experiences while the babies do their usual thing (sleep, poop, eat, burp, spit, not necessarily in that order). Breastfeeding doesn't have to be excused. Diapers are changed on the floor or on the changing pad available.

As comfortable as I felt in the group, I held of the changing until I got home. Result: the walls next to the changing table are still pristine and what they take away from Neel is that he slept six hours last night.

Now if only I could get myself get used to going to bed at 9pm.

Week 9 Back to the Old?

In a futile attempt to get some order in the mess that used to be our living room (we hang out in the bedroom mostly now) I went through a stack of magazines.

Under a bunch of American Babies and Parenting magazines I found an unopened Filmmakers and an unread HD magazine. They seemed out of place, as if they should have been delivered to some other person, a person that makes documentaries and other video projects.

What only months ago was my whole live now seemed a distant memory. I knew I had to turn the passion back on if I ever was going to finish this documentary I have been working on for nearly two years.

So after some pumping, some explaining to the husband and than some more pumping I drove the rental car to Coney Island. I have never been as efficient at getting footage as that day. No lingering on, no wandering around for maybe a better shot or a better interview. In and out, get the job done and back home (also because the boobies were starting to explode: note to self next time pack pump in the camera bag).

I am starting to think that new mommies are not a liability but an asset to their companies.

Week 8

I went to the dollar store and even had a haircut (not at the dollar store mind you). After two months of being scooped inside with a newborn it felt like making a trip to the north pole.

It was oddly strange to walk around without the kid, or it's diaper bag. Not that I am complaining. I can't you see, because I promised the god that sends the babies to take whatever she'd send me.

She could have made my life really difficult but to my surprise she send me a calm baby that sleeps a lot and hardly ever cries (knock on wood). He does have one peculiar characteristic though: when it comes to peeing and pooping he likes to think outside the diaper.

For starters he seems to think that the wall next to the changing table needs a good watering every couple of days. Sekhar put up a plasticy movie poster to minimize the damage. This thought me that my son is not impressed by scary vampires.

More damaging though, or at least harder to clean up, is the projectile pooping he does. Take the diaper off and better get out of the way because shit will not hit the fan but you. It comes out with such great force that it reaches the ground and even the dresser that stands about three feed away.

It took me a while to figure out what causes this but at some point I realized that while lifting the legs to put buttcream I probably press whatever is in, out. So now I give it a good squeeze before changing the diaper. One less diaper for the landfill and one piece of furniture saved.