by the Coconut Girl on July 29, 2010
10 things nobody (esp. Hollywood) tells you when you become a new Mom:
1. Mothers give birth to newborns, not infants.
Newborn
Infant
2. Babies may cry briefly and vociferously immediately before falling asleep. If baby’s showing sleepy signs then quickly toggles into a minute or two of wailing, she could be on the cusp of slumber. If her diaper’s ok and she’s not hungry or otherwise in distress, stay cool and quiet for a couple of minutes and see if she conks out.
3. Aforementioned sleepy signs: rocking head, yawning, crying, blowing raspberries, thousand-yard stare, syllable repetition (”MaMaMaMaMaMa”). Babies have sleep ‘windows’ just like grown ups. If you see these signs and are able, hightail it to wind-down mode.
1,000 yard stare
4. C-section ladeez: the numbness at your incision may last a long time (years).
5. Nursing/feeding can get baby’s G.I. tract moving. If your baby wakes late at night with a full, wet diaper, wait til mid-feeding to change it. That way if there’s a ‘code brown’ after some chow, you don’t have to change him twice. Unless of course baby fires another missle after the second half. Best case scenario: baby finishes feeding, has a full belly, empty colon, clean diaper, easy burp, and you and he fall right back to sleep.
6. Light and noise stimulate baby late at night. Keep baby drowsy for maximum family sleep by changing diapers by nightlight. Just wipe everywhere thoroughly for good measure. Or if you have a closet with a light, crack the door and use that light to switch him out. Don’t talk more than you have to, and do so in a whisper voice. Unless of course your little one’s sad and needs reassurance. When it’s daylight, chat that baby up big time!
7. It’s ok to “hit the deck” like a soldier in a bombing raid if your sleeping baby stirs while you check on her. We’ve all done it. Some of us have opted to stay pinned under the crib for an hour rather than risk waking a colicky baby. Partners, say what you will. Sleep trumps all, mo-fo!
9. Postpartum depression (PPD) or other mental strife can happen anytime in the first year after a baby’s born. The sooner you get support, the better. Not only for you, your baby and your family, but for your pocketbook. When depression is diagnosed within the first 6-8 weeks postpartum, it is considered a medical complication of pregnancy. It can be treated by your OB/GYN in a straightforward, self-contained way as part of your prenatal/delivery universal fee. After 6-8 weeks postpartum, PPD considered a behavioral complication of pregnancy. You will likely be referred outside your OB/GYN’s practice for care, and your insurance company may make a bigger deal of it. Bottom line: if you need help at any point, run, don’t walk to get it and let the insurance chips fall where they may. You are not replaceable and can deal with insurance shenanigans later. But remember that sooner is better. Find support for PPD here.
10. If you feel like you’re the only one up late at night, take heart. There are leagues of us schlepping down the hall in the day clothes we never changed out of. Even those of us with toddlers and elementary school kids are rockin’ the midnight shift sometimes. The lights in your neighborhood may be out, but someone somewhere is switching out wet sheets or soothing a child after a nightmare. Feel that crooked barette in your hair and the car keys in your pocket as you fall out of bed. You’re on the 24-7 catwalk in good company, hottie!
11. Yeah, I skipped #8. Mama tired (son having 2 a.m. night terrors.)
by the Coconut Girl on July 27, 2010

Daycare.
For parents, few words elicit such strong feelings as this one. Every day, as maternity leaves end or family circumstances demand, moms and dads begin the long search for quality, affordable childcare. With a baby or young child to advocate for, dozens of questions arise. What kind of daycare is it? How many hours of childcare do I need? What’s the rate? How close is it to my work, or to my other child’s school? Can I come by on my lunch hour to nurse? Is there an opening for my child that coincides with when my job begins? Is the daycare licensed? Clean? Well-recommended? Consistent? Religious? Secular? What about staff turnover? Will I be charged a fee if I’m a few minutes late for pick-up?
Where I live, there’s a listserv where members can post questions and answers about any topic related to parenting. Childcare seems to come up more than any other subject. “Daycare needed…” the messages will read. Every time they pop up on my screen, my heart aches a little. When I had our first child, I called my friend C., a mother of two, to ask about vetting daycares. She offered several helpful suggestions. Then she added, “The first week your baby’s in daycare is hell. There’s just no getting around that.” When I see the childcare posts on the local parenting site, I still remember my friend’s piercing words. I toured numerous daycare centers when my daughter was an infant, from big ones to private ones in homes. I asked questions like, “what is your fire escape plan?” I’m an architect and that’s how I think. A tour was routine to the childcare providers. But to me, it was like being poised on the edge of an abyss.
In my neighborhood there are several in-home daycares. When our friends up the street had their first child, they placed him in one of them. A couple of weeks later, I saw the wife and asked how it was working out. “We pulled him after a few days,” she said. “Really, why?” I replied. “I’ve got four words for you, Whitney,” she said, shaking her head. “Dog hair in stool.”
Because I live very close to this daycare, I see a little of what goes on there. I know there are three dogs that mill about with the five children. “You know,” my friend said, “we couldn’t figure out what was going on with James at first. But then we realized that somehow, he was swallowing a lot of dog hair.”

No one would have been able to say to my friend, as she reviewed daycare options, “Be sure to notice if there’s a lot of doghair. Because your newborn might ingest tons of it and produce furry stools.” My seasoned friend C. didn’t share that tip, nor did the authors of the “What to Expect…” books. I’m sure my friend looked carefully at the neighborhood daycare as she toured it. But how much can you learn in a thirty-minute visit? And if there turns out to be a problem, many employers aren’t exactly sympathetic to your struggle to secure new childcare. (Which my friends did, happily.)
When my husband and I were looking to buy a house a few years ago, we developed a code word for nasty homes we’d see advertised in the real estate section. It was an acronym, really: IPTLOIS. It stands for “It puts the lotion on its skin.” This is our shorthand for a house so gross, it could belong to the serial killer from “Silence of the Lambs.” Now we have “DHIS” (dog hair in stool) for childcare centers that make us shudder. Fortunately, they are few and far-between. The vast majority of daycares in our community are established, quality facilities.
At the bank the other day, I met with a customer service representative who had a picture of her son on her wall. He looked to be about three, barely younger than my own son. In the photo, he was curled up asleep, wrapped in a blue blanket, and sucking his thumb. I looked at the representative while she entered my information on her computer. I know God hears a lot of weird prayers, and that day he got mine: “Dear Lord, please for this nice family, NDHIS.”