One year

Exactly one year ago, Pablo had surgery to get his cochlear implant. That same sentence, written in the future tense the day before he was going to be implanted sounded terrifying. 

Let's start with the topical "I don't know where the last year went". Or with "I can't believe it has been one year already". They may be overused, but absolutely true today. I guess I know where time went. Time went to therapy, lots of playing, repeating words one thousand times a week, splitting them in syllables, playing some more, traveling, getting used to carrying electronic devices on strollers, planes, handbags, cars and the likes. 

Looking at the pictures, and talking with other parents who haven't gone through it yet, I remember how scared I was of the operation itself. It took me a long time to agree to start the cochlear implant process. Taking huge decisions like this for others is not easy, but I haven't regretted it one single day. I was scared of the surgery itself, of the general anesthesia, of having my happy, bubbly beautiful baby change into someone else, someone not as happy. Scared of it not working. 

All those fears proved to be unfounded. As you can see in the pictures, he was my happy boy again already in our ride back home from the hospital. The three hours of surgery felt like three years to me, but he recovered amazingly well and was running around the same night of the surgery. There were no complications. He was upset for maybe half an hour, and that was it. The implant is working. 

Now I have different fears. I am scared of losing the device (those things are not cheap to replace), of me not dedicating enough time to his recovery, of making the wrong decision regarding a second implant (I am still at a no), of choosing the wrong school for next year. 

In the meanwhile, he has gone from saying mamá and agua pre implant to having a wider range of vocabulary, particularly if it concerns wheeled things, from being quiet to a constant choo choo chatter while he plays, from mamá to papá, Lucas, abuelos, Miguel, Ines, Natalia, and so many more that he is learning every day. 

This whole process has helped me get to know my son better: he is resilient, generous, patient, stubborn, and has a high tolerance for therapy. He is bright, and lights my world every morning when he comes to my bed every morning. He is irresistible. He is strong. And now i know that no matter what, he will do well, even if his mom messes up in the way. 

Pablo one hour after surgery, and on his way home from the hospital.

Pablo a few days ago

On Breastfeeding (sorry, it's long)

I just checked, and apparently, among my 96 posts, there isn't a single one about breastfeeding. I mention it here and there, but it hasn't gotten a whole post until today. It is ironic, because if there has been a constant in the last six years of my life, that would have to be breastfeeding. Not so little anymore L nursed until he was almost three. And at two Little PB is still nursing strong. That makes it five years of it. I guess that it is such a part of my daily life that I don't consider it worth noting anymore. But this week two things reminded me of how important it is. For two different reasons two different doctors suggested that I wean my baby (and yes, he will be my baby for as long as he still nurses). One of them had a very valid reason, I am sick and I may need some antibiotics that are not compatible with breastfeeding. Finally Dr and I decided that since Little PB actually has taken the antibiotic itself, it is ridiculous to think that the traces he could get through my milk could be detrimental for him. So, that one was fixed. The second thing is this article published in Spanish newspaper El Mundo. It is an article in favor of breastfeeding, decently writte., I may disagree with a couple of the things they say, but other than that the article is good, and encouraging. The shock came when I scrolled down to read the comments. Many of them were criticizing or making fun of breastfeeding moms. The worse part? Most were written by moms!!!!! By now there is no doubt that breastmilk is best for baby, and breastfeeding is better for mom. Is it easy? No way. You have to be patient the first few days until the baby learns how to nurse, and you get your milk, and you spend the first weeks of motherhood establishing your supply, which pretty much requires nursing on demand to be completely successful. But after that, the rewards are many. It is best for everyone, it is cheaper, you don't have to carry bottles around, it gives you precious bonding time with the baby, it relaxes both baby and mom... I could go on and on. Of course, your house and yourself are not going to look perfect during those first months, since sleeping while the baby sleeps is a good idea. Which I suspect is part of the problem in Spain.
Two comments scared me more than the rest. They referred to NICU babies, and how the doctors told their moms that formula was better, and how nursing when they had limited access to their babies was hard. I was horrified by this. I sort of knew about it but still... In Spain, parents of babies in the NICU have access to their kids a couple of times a day. That is terrible. I was a NICU mom with Little L here in Chicago. He was there for a week, and he was pretty sick at the beginning. But the hospital always gave us full access to him. Once I went home they would even call us in the morning so we would make it to his first diaper change of the day (I know how weird that sounds, but when a diaper change is all you can do for your baby, it is actually exciting). And they made a point of giving him my painfully pumped milk, since they told us that breastmilk fed NICU babies recover earlier than formula fed ones. The same applies for contact. NICU babies, as long as their condition allows it, benefit from skin to skin contact with their parents.  The fact that Spain doesn't follow these two easy and simple practices makes me be grateful that my babies were born in the US. I would probably be still in jail if someone would have tried to keep me apart from Little L that first week of his life. It was a terrible week. And you know what kept my sanity those first days when we couldn't even hold him? The dreaded task of pumping milk. Because that was the one thing I was able to do for him, to help him. The only thing. To this day, his daddy still says that he has never seen me as happy as the day I entered the NICU with a syringe containing the first three drops (literally three) of milk I produced. The nurses dutifully put it in the fridge, waiting for my baby to be ready for it. The memory still brings tears to my eyes.
So, that is how important breastfeeding can be for a mom, and her baby. For the whole family, indeed. And although I respect the option of moms who don't want to do it, and certainly feel for the few who really cannot, I do not respect institutions that don't encourage it, pediatricians who don't recommend it, or who are offended by moms nursing in their waiting room (this happened to me in Spain the first time I visited with a nursling), and companies that do their best to discourage it. I can neither respect people who judge mothers for doing it in public.
When my best childhood friend had her baby girl, she insisted in breastfeeding her beyond the one year old WHO recommendation. When her pediatrician protested, my friend told her: "I don't care what you say, because my friend lives in the US and they nurse there until they are much older, and I will do the same here". Good for her for standing up for her baby. But I wish that information would have come from the pediatrician, and not from myself.
My first memory of a breastfeeding woman comes from college. I was in the University in Spain, and I saw this Swedish student breastfeeding her four month old baby while she was eating a bocadillo de tortilla (Spanish omelet sandwich). Back then, to me she was a wonderful martian because that was something you didn't see in public. By now, there are few things I haven't done with a baby latched to my breast. And there are few places where I wouldn't nurse. I have, I do, and I will nurse in public for as long as my baby wants. I have been lucky. And I like to think that so have my kids.

I love that picture. Disneyworld, a few weeks ago. My almost two year old nursing, my almost six year old watching us.

6 things to do to successfully (and sanely) breastfeed your baby

1. Take care of yourself. That means sleep and eat well. Someone else can take of the rest. And if that's not the case, it doesn't matter. At this point, your baby doesn't need you to look like a model. Or for your house to be fitting a decoration magazine.
2. Feel free to ignore comments from family and friends regarding your baby's weight, the sacrifice you are making, what you should be doing, how in your family women have never had milk, and the likes.
3. Nurse wherever you are. You should have the right to do so, and in many US states you actually do, and there are laws that protect you from anyone telling you not to. Illinois is one of them. And get out of the house! Lives goes on. Wherever you are. And babies like to be outside (except if it's January in Chicago).
4. Be patient. It takes time. There will be nerve racking situations/days, but also very funny ones (spraying, anyone?)
5. Let daddy/other mommy be part of it. There are many ways for them to participate. They can burp the baby, change the diaper (hehe), be by your side... In a few weeks, you can even pump once a day so they can give a daily bottle. That's just fine.
6. Ask for help if you need it. There are wonderful groups, lactation consultants, doulas and friends out there. Reach out to them.

The smell of a Cochlear Implant

My baby's head smells like plastic. Slightly burnt plastic, at that. Not always, of course. When he wakes up in the morning, he still has that milky, almost cheesy (olor a quesito, in Spanish) nursing baby smell. After he takes a bath, he smells great, like whatever bathing soap we are using at the time. When he is in Spain he smells like cologne, usually my Dad's. But when he doesn't smell like anything else, his head around the Cochlear Implant smells like plastic. At the beginning I thought that it would go away, that the smell was caused by the surgery. But it has been almost five months since he was implanted, and the smell is still there. And I don't think it's going anywhere. I have gotten used to it, but it was certainly an unexpected effect. Not very relevant, I know, but moms are like that, we have the ability to focus on the anecdotal, the mundane, what to others seems silly or even unbelievable. But for me it's a daily remainder that my baby now is a little bit of a robot. And I don't want to hear anyone tell me, with a horrified tone, how I can say that. It's just a fact, he now has a robotic ear, which technically makes him a cyborg. It is part of who he is, and at the same time doesn't change a bit of who my absolutely cute always happy and lovely clementine eater (he has downed four as I write this) is.
There is a children's Spanish song which lyrics say:
El niño robot

le dijo a su abuela
que le diera cuerda para ir a la escuela
la abuela le dijo que estuviera quieto
la abuela le hacía cosquillas al nieto.
It is longer than that, and it talks about a robot grandma getting her robot grandson ready for school. The kid in the song needs oil for his wired hair. My "robot" baby needs battery changes, and also has some wires, even an antenna. Since hey don't bother him, they don't bother me either.

Before the surgery, I was very scared thinking that maybe the implant would change who he is. Luckily, the change in the smell of his scalp is the only one I can report. Other than that, he is the same baby with whom I walked into an OR five months ago. My same baby.

Of ghost terminals and other little things

Actually, it wasn´t quite a whole terminal, just a part of the shiny new T4 at Madrid´s airport, Barajas. It was section M. I had never heard of it, but our flight to Bilbao was leaving from there. It was so lonely that I asked the security guard if I was in the proper place, wondering if they were shooting a horror movie. But they weren´t, it was just an empty terminal. More than 60 gates, and only two flights scheduled for the whole morning. Little L and I were starving, after an 8 hour (I have to say remarkably uneventful) flight from Chicago, but at first we couldn´t find any open restaurants or cafeterias. That doesn´t happen in Spain. It´s full of them. I was also upset because in the other part of the terminal they have this nice playground for kids, with proper changing tables, bathtubs, ball pools, cribs... That´s where we usually leave from, but if I wanted to go there this time I had to go through security again, twice, and I didn´t even think about it with the baby, the car seat, the stroller...
As I was convinced that I would have a crappy morning, I found a place where we could eat, with a very friendly waitress. Understandable, considering I was the first patron in the morning, and this was 9 am. We had breakfast there, and we spent a good couple of hours with her. We exchanged stories, and laughed about the fact that a brand new, spotless great part of an airport goes totally unused. It´s funny how sometimes you make¨"circumstantial friends", people you meet randomly, and with whom you connect and share a tiny portion of your life, which was the case. L had a blast running around the empty space, which, as you can imagine, was huge. And I reconciled myself with the world, after leaving Chicago pretty mad with a couple of the Iberia employees at the airport, only to find, unexpectedly, the friendliest staff at Madrid. For a long time I didn´t like Barajas, and Heathrow was my favourite airport in the world. But that´s quickly changing. At the end, it´s good to be back home.