Say Cheese!

These days I’ve been passing a little time working in a photo studio.  It’s a fun job and I work with cool people who are mostly much younger than I am.  I’ve learned some neat stuff about portraiture, and a bit more about Photoshop, both which will serve me well as I embark on starting my own photography business.  I’ll let you know how it goes.

I’ve sort of had a rant building up, and working today I had one family who refreshed the rant in my brain.  They were otherwise very lovely people, a family of four.  Dad, Mom, and two kids — a boy of about 13 (and all the requisite fun and angst that comes with that age) and a daughter of about eight or nine, who was seven different ways of adorable and missing her two front teeth.  The parents were obsessed – OBSESSED – with getting these kids to smile just the absolute perfect way that they wanted them to.  But of course, the 13 year-old was, well, a 13 year-old, and the daughter was obviously self-conscious about her gappage.

These parents were militant crazy about it.  Which I don’t necessarily begrudge them — portraits at my studio are not cheap, and I know they, as every parent that comes through, wants to leave with pictures they can display and show off and that truly capture how beautiful their family is.

Luckily, I and the other photographers I work with are pretty good at pulling that off.  For babies, we know the sounds that get their attention, and that jumping up and down is almost always a surefire way to get a few smiles.  For toddlers and kids through about seven, pretending to tickle their parents is like smile gravy — and the parents always love to play along.  Shit, the parents would donate a kidney if it meant their kid would smile.  Tweens and teens nearly always can talk about video games, or the last movie they saw, and once they relax and realize I’m not as dorky as their parents are, they are usually eager to smile for me.  (Even though, yes, I’m a parent myself and in a handful of years I’ll be reduced to complete dork in my kids’ eyes.) Older kids want to be treated respectfully, and they respond beautifully to it most of the time.  The point is, there are lots of ways to get a kid, nearly any kid, to smile for a picture.  Sometimes it’s being goofy, sometimes it’s building trust, sometimes it’s being chatty, and often it’s a combination of all that and more.

But there are things that definitely, most assuredly, do not work.  Yelling at your kids to smile will never get them to smile the way you want them to.  Telling them that’s it, we are NOT going to Chuck E. Cheese after the pictures will not get them to smile at all.  Threatening them with grounding will not get them to smile, for sure.

So, here’s a bit of advice for parents.  Once your kids are old enough to follow directions, try to relax a little.  If you let your kids relax and have a little fun, your pictures will turn out great.  If you relax and have a little fun, too, they’ll turn out even better.   Try your best not to get frustrated — or at least, not to show your frustration.  It will unsettle the more resilient kids and irreversibly stress out the more sensitive ones.

Then…. there’s the other side of the coin.  The parents of the babies.  Most of the time, they hover and coo and apologize profusely when their baby isn’t the Gerber baby 100% of the time.  We love these parents.  They keep their babies happy, and safe, and they are ten shades of thrilled when their beautiful baby makes us look like photography geniuses.

Of course, not every parent is as easy to work with.  There’s the moms that decide feeding their baby after the shoot is wiser than feeding him before the shoot.  There’s the parents that don’t consider naptimes when they schedule their shoot and, halfway though, say something like “he’s usually so happy, he must be tired, usually he’s napping right now.”  And then, there’s the glaring example of stellar parenting we witnessed recently:  a couple came in with their baby, got her set up for the shoot, and then DISAPPEARED FOR A HALF HOUR.  Without a word, they left and went to get lattes and left their baby in the hands of people they’d never met before.  The photographer started taking pictures, turned around to ask them something, and they were gone.  (The shoot did not continue any further.)

For the two-and-under set, the hints I can offer are simple.  Bring in a child who’s been fed (or even bring snacks with you – I’ve had more than one parent feed their kids Cheerios or Gerber puffs in between pictures).   Make sure your baby isn’t tired or sick.  Then once the shoot begins, pull out all the little tricks to get your baby to smile.

Oh, and if you really want a latte, get it ahead of time.

I hate thinking of posting titles

Even when I know exactly what I’m going to type out, the clever words rarely come for a title.  And if I’m not 100% sure what I’m going to type, well, forget it.

I’ve been doing a lot of pondering of late.  Frank and I have both been wondering if we want to have another baby.  By the time Lane was Jake’s age, I was already pregnant with Jake, after making the deliberate decision to have my IUD removed.  Frank was on board, and we were excited.  These days, the idea of trying to get pregnant has us both looking for the nearest fallout shelter.  Mostly, I waffle on the idea.  I love the idea of having another baby, but am generally freaked out by the reality of adding another body to the madness.   It probably doesn’t help that Lane’s never been the easiest kid on the block, and Jake’s steadily gearing up for the terrible twos (mostly by finding writing implements and leaving his mark on any inappropriate surface at his eye level).  Lane is so interested in babies right now, and breastfeeding, and playing Mommy to her baby dolls, and I know she would be beyond the moon over a new, real baby.  But that’s really little justification for conception. 

And even though the idea of pregnancy sends me into heart palpitations right now, who knows how I’ll feel a couple years, or months, or even weeks from now.  For a long time after Lane was born I couldn’t imagine adding another child to our family.  I just couldn’t even create the mental pictures of what it would be like, of how I could love that baby as much, of why would I want to mess with the perfection that is my beautiful daughter?!?  But then one day, I could.  And a few months later I was pregnant with Jake, and he’s just completely awesome.  So, it will probably happen.  Maybe once Lane starts kindergarten in the fall and the quiet:chaos ratio improves a bit in my favor.

The other big thought-provoking subject for me is what I’m going to be when I grow up.  I’ve toyed with the idea of starting my own photography business to do portraits, or to becoming a birth & postpartum doula, but both require the whole working-for-myself thing, and at this point of my life I’m not feeling the energy to be super entrepreneurial.  I also keep coming back to the idea of going to school to become an RN.  There are loads of programs around for people who already have college degrees; you go to school for about 15 months, give or take a couple depending on the program, and you have another bachelor’s degree and you’re an RN (once you take the certification exam, of course).  And there are a number of schools with programs in reasonable driving distance.  And, I definitely find myself leaning toward state schools for the affordability factor, which reduces my choices to Brooklyn or Binghamton.  Or Long Island… but who in their right mind wants to go to Long Island every day?  There’s also a private college only a few miles away with a program, which would certainly lend itself best to the juggling act that being in school full time would require.

So no decisions there, but I may get started on those prereqs in the meantime at the local community college.  If nothing else, I love taking classes, and can you THINK of a cooler way to spend your time than by taking Anatomy and Physiology I?

Trekkin’ around the state

It’s been a whirlwind few days!

As I mentioned previously, Lane went to Buffalo on Monday.  My dad was here visiting for one night with his fiancee from Sunday to Monday, and as they were preparing to leave, Lane started saying she REALLLLY wanted to go to Buffalo with Grandpa Jerry.  Well, he’s retired, and she wouldn’t miss anything more than a few days of preschool and a dance class.  So she went.  By all reports they had a blast.  Tuesday was an off weather day in Buffalo so they hung out at home and watched movies, and Wednesday they went to the Buffalo Zoo.  (I am happy to report no polar bears died while they were visiting.)

Then, Jake and I drove up there on Wednesday afternoon and got there about 9:00 p.m.  Thursday was general hanging-out-with-relatives, and my dad took Jake to see choo-choos (my dad used to work on the railroad).

I also had a very sweet, very frank conversation with my brother about life stuff and relationship stuff of which I will not violate his confidence by divulging the details here, but it make my heart sigh, in that good way.  He’s a good egg who just needs to sort out his priorities a little and really realize he’s more grown-up and mature than he gives himself credit for.

Then, Friday, the kids and I headed for the Albany area, where we visited with my friend Amanda and her new, perfect little baby, and where Frank rendez-vous’ed with us.  We stayed there last night, and then went to my friend Cari’s daughter’s first birthday party, where we also saw other friends we hadn’t seen in awhile, being caught up in the whole moving-into-our-house-and-getting-it-spiffied-up whirlwind, as we are.  But there are tentative plans to get together with the other friends in the next couple weeks, and for Amanda to visit at some point in November, so we’re getting caught up, socially, which feels good.

And now we are home, and I’m sitting on my own couch, and I’m relishing that we don’t have to travel anywhere until Christmas (unless we choose to do so otherwise, before then).  Not that we won’t be busy – we have a dining room that needs wallpaper stripped and a coat of the “tomato bisque” paint I bought before Thanksgiving, among a couple other rooms that need painting.  But after our last two busy weekends… bring on the paint. 

My birth stories

Patty is participating in a contest where you share your birth stories, through this blog. Well, I love my birth stories, and I love contests, so why not?!? Here are the birth stories for both Lane and Jake’s births. Enjoy! (Just note, they aren’t terribly graphic, but they are a little graphic… so don’t say I didn’t warn you!)

It’s all out of love

I like to visit fark.com – in general I’m a nice person, and Fark isn’t always full of nice people (OK, rarely) – but I find the discussion threads so interesting. What’s awesome about it is that there are people from all walks of life there — in the last couple of weeks I’ve been in discussions with ER doctors, psychologists, toxicologists, other moms, people involved in the writer’s strike, and a guy who’s trying to figure out a subject for his dissertation. (Of course this is what they claim, I have no way to know for sure… but I tend to be a smart cookie and these people certainly talked a good game.)

Some of the threads are just hilarious – like this one about Wikipedia. The rampant and intentional spread of misinformation had me in stitches.

Some spiral downward pretty quickly – like the ones that debate race, gender issues, circumcision, breastfeeding, religion, or politics… I steer clear of those. OK, maybe not the breastfeeding ones. But I tend to focus on the fun threads.

There was one recently that focused on boogers, and I mentioned that I have, in desperation, used my mouth to suck snot out of my son’s nose. He had a bad cold, and the bulb syringes I had simply did not form a good seal on his nose. He needed to nurse, and I was desperate to calm him. So, yeah, it was gross but I did it without hesitation. And after having to do it a couple more times, I went and bought every type of bulb syringe I could find in hopes of finding one that would do the job easily and without making his nose bleed. Luckily, I did find one, and I haven’t had to suck snot since.

Now granted, there are a lot of single, kidless, basement-dwelling people on Fark. People were shocked. Shocked! Swore they could never do something so gross.

But at the same time, probably a half-dozen parents also said, yeah, they’d had to do it too. One guy talked about how he jerry-rigged a turkey baster to do the task.

It may stand as one of my favorite Fark threads. Intellectual discussion actually abounded over boogers. Awesome.

Seriously though, and this is approximately how I tried to explain it to the noobs at Fark. Nobody thinks they would ever have to do something so gross. My son was about five months old when the need arose. He was small and helpless and hungry and upset and he could barely breathe through his sobs and I was desperate to help him. It truly is amazing what you will do for a little person in your lap, who is the embodiment of all your love and life and devotion.

Sleep, sleep! My kingdom for some sleep!

This is really starting to take its toll.

I’ve mentioned previously, my daughter is a night owl.  Often she isn’t asleep until 1:00 or 2:00 a.m.  Rare is the night she’s asleep before midnight.

Bedtime is a struggle and it gets me keyed up.  By the time I’m ready to fall asleep, Jake (the 10 month-old) is up to nurse.  I’m clearly not getting enough solids in him because he’s up way too much to nurse, in my foolhardy opinion.  But these days he’s only mildly interested in baby food, preferring foods he can feed himself.  But those end up more on him than in him.  And the cycle continues.

So, I’m up with him, as I’ve said, somewhere between two and a hundred times a night.   And then they are both ready for the day around 11:00 a.m., which is late enough for me to get a fair night’s sleep usually, but not nearly enough to feel well-rested, especially since Jake’s up so often.

I probably really need to just yank Lane out of bed at 8:00 a.m. a couple mornings in a row and get her shifted to a different schedule.  I just so do not have the willpower to get myself up to do it… and the cycle continues.  I really shouldn’t have the audacity to bitch about it when I could probably fix it with a little effort (and a lot of coffee).

Regardless, I’m tired.

Enabling the Mommy Milk

I’m a breastfeeder.  I’ve had two kids, so far, and they have both been happy to partake in the milk a great deal.  For reasons too numerous to count or list out, I like breastfeeding, they like breastfeeding, and it works for us.

I wouldn’t call myself a ‘lactivist’ or that awful term ‘breastfeeding nazi’.  I do like to advocate breastfeeding and encourage those near and dear to try it.  I recommend books.  I’ve let a couple friends watch me breastfeed.  I’m open about my own experiences – the troubles I’ve had, how much I’ve enjoyed it, good comeback lines when faced with stupid people.  I hope I’ve helped where there have been successes, and I’m very happy for the people I know who have successfully breastfed their children.

And unlike the ‘nazis’ out there, I don’t think formula is evil.  I think it’s stupid that it’s called formula — I’d love to see a truth-in-advertising law passed that made the formula companies call their product “artificial human milk” since that’s what it is.  But many women cannot breastfeed, due to medical, physical or emotional issues.  Many women get bad breastfeeding information which creates insurmountable hurdles in the breastfeeding relationship.  Some babies just cannot latch well and get the food they need from a breast.  There are zillions of pumps available, but the best pump in the world simply cannot maintain a milk supply as well as a baby, so for most women it is really impossible to exclusively pump for long.  Plus, pumping sucks.  I’ve had to do it when I worked full-time, and it sucks.  It takes a ton of time, it’s impersonal and weird and awkward and messy and just ugh.  Plus there’s the situations where there simply isn’t a lactating mother around.  A lactating mother dies or is imprisoned.  A baby is adopted.  Mom gets sick with cancer or something else awful and has to take meds that are incompatible with breastfeeding.  So, for these and a bunch other reasons, formula comes in very handy.

And yes, someone more militant than me could come along and refute everything in that last paragraph.  I could refute a lot of it.  But at the same time, I simply can’t pretend to know what it’s like to have a baby that refuses to latch, or to have been sexually assaulted and to hate my own body so much I cannot get comfortable letting a baby nurse from my own breasts.  So to any breastfeeding advocate who would take such an insensitive position, screw off.  You’re not wanted here.

That said…

I know someone who just had a baby.  Actually, she’s a very dear friend.  She tried breastfeeding, ran into some minor issues (most women do) and I guess decided it wasn’t for her, and soon enough the baby was on formula.  It’s not unexpected – she was never very committed to the idea of breastfeeding, and her older sister, who is very much a role model for her, did not breastfeed her daughter for long.  I’ve had to spend some time figuring out how I feel about it.  Am I disappointed in her?  Do I think she didn’t try enough?  Do I think she should have tried harder?

Really, I guess I don’t feel much of anything about it.  The breastfeeding relationship I have with my kids is super special, I love the intimacy and closeness it provides, and I hope for my friend that even absent that aspect of her mother/daughter relationship, she’ll find ways to achieve that closeness and intimacy.  I am a little disappointed, I guess.  Formula is a perfectly adequate food for most babies, but the reality is that breastmilk is superior, I can’t ignore that, which I guess where the disappointment comes from.  But, I hope my friend’s baby will be one of those that her mother can say, “Well, she was formula fed and she doesn’t have a smidge of a health issue.”  I am also just a little worried that the baby will have a health issue, and that my friend will question herself or have guilt because of it, wondering if it would have not happened if she’d breastfed.  I don’t want my friend to feel guilty.  I want her to spend every ounce of her mothering energy loving her gorgeous daughter.