Tag Archives: Nursery

Discussions about pregnancy, managing babies, etc.

The Trouble with Tresses

Posted on by
3

Normally, Hubby and I disagree about the amount of effort that should go into styling Baby’s hair. I think it’s essential for her to look cute and presentable at all times, and as you can tell from the photo of her hair supplies, I take this responsibility at least halfway seriously. This will pretty much be the extent of what I can manage, although it’s nothing compared to the system that Nikki over at Beads, Braids & Beyond has come up with.

Hubby is not as interested in styling Baby’s hair as I am. On the few occasions when I’ve left the house early for work and left her morning grooming to him, I’ve come home to look at her outfit and hair and wonder, ‘Why does Baby look like a hobo?’

But we do agree on one thing: Baby’s hair has failed to recover from the rapid thinning that I discussed a few weeks ago, and something should be done about it. Hubby was holding Baby the other day before settling her in her crib when he looked at her head and asked me when we were going to cut her hair. I muttered something that sounded like, “After Easter. I want her to have some hair for Easter pictures.” You heard me right. I am considering cutting off all my daughter’s hair and giving it a fresh start. Her receded hairline is not responding to her new regimen. I lightly brush shea butter and judicious amount of infant and toddler hair care products through her hair. I rub it onto her scalp. I’ve cut back on washing it, and I avoid over styling it. I leave it loose at times, just putting clips in the front or a headband, and sometimes I let it fly free with no ornaments at all. Those are Afro days, and I try to dress her in an earthy-looking outfit to match. But her hair is still very thin on both sides of her head from the front right up to her ears.

I know what you all must be thinking. Black women cherish their hair and want it to grow. Why in the world would I cut off my daughter’s locks? It’s a big deal for me, too. When Hubby first suggested it, I thought he was totally clueless and I think I told him to go soak his head! But I’ve been asking around about this, and what I’ve found is that several women from various cultures swear by it. There is the African-American hair dresser who did it to her daughter, a Dominican salon owner who heard it from an Argentine and then shaved her baby girl’s head, and an Indian woman who said her mother, apparently following a Brahmin Hindu tradition, cut her hair. In all cases, she little girls were between one and two years old, just like Baby, and their hair began to grow back quickly and thicker than it had started out.

The African-American hairdresser told me that her daughter, who is not biracial, had sparse, thin hair for a while, despite her efforts to cultivate it and get it to grow. After she shaved her head, it grew back long and thick, and she showed me before and after photos of her darling girl. The Dominican hair dresser said it corrected her daughter’s receding hairline. The Indian woman said it is customary for those girls to have their heads shaved shortly after they turn one.

So women all over the world do this, it seems. But only Black women have been skeptical about it. Most of them tell me not to worry, to give Baby’s hair time to transition and recover naturally. One friend from church said to forget those other women, because it only worked for them. When Hubby and I had friends over for dinner on St. Valentine’s Day and I brought it up, Little Sister and her friend Selena shook their heads. Selena was a little wide-eyed and said if I cut Baby’s hair, it might grow in weaker and thinner. Little Sister flat out says ‘Don’t do it!’

But I’m at the point where I’m tired of seeing strands come out in Baby’s wide-toothed comb. In the tub. On my clothes. On her clothes. Her hair is not falling out in clumps, but I still hate to see it everywhere. I feel like breaking a cultural taboo and trying what women all over the globe have done for their daughters—start afresh. And if those tales of thick, wavy new growth are true, I might just have to get more hair ornaments for Baby’s new mane!

And Through the Woods

Posted on by
1

You might say that I was living a little vicariously through Baby two weeks ago when I suggested we bring out her L.L. Bean sled and head out to a local park for a couple of trips across the packed powder.  I had always wanted to try sledding when I was little, but things never came together for it, despite plenty of white Northeast winters punctuated with “snow days” off from school. For various reasons, there were no invigorating runs down hills in the park, or treks across snow-covered fields.

Until Baby came along, I had forgotten all about that. I left it in the past and figured, ‘So what if I missed out on a little fun. Sledding is no real sacrifice, in the grand scheme of things.’ But I realized that I want Baby to have a rich life, beginning with a childhood full of fond memories (even if she sometimes sees things that aren’t so good). I think that a series of small joys like sledding, combined with responsible parenting on our part should help her become a well-adjusted, poised and amiable when she grows up.

It turns out that Baby loved the experience. She smiled and waved at me as she rode by and I snapped her picture or took videos. After seeing her laugh and wave, I didn’t feel so bad about giving her one of my unfulfilled childhood “dreams”. As long as I don’t try to force her to become a renowned concert pianist or neurosurgeon, I think it is alright.

My Funny Little Valentine

Posted on by
1

This morning I came downstairs to chop and marinate two chickens for a casual dinner party, when I glanced over at Baby’s high chair. Little Sister had tied two helium balloons to her chair, and propped up an oversized greeting card on the seat. How sweet, I thought, Baby’s first valentine! But it was not to be, because later that morning the balloons scared Baby so much that she ran shrieking away from them in terror!  Her face contorted into the most anguished pout, she scrambled out of my lap and she darted around the table toward the kitchen. She refused to be in the same room with them. We couldn’t believe it.

We rounded up the balloons and tied them to a plant stand in the living room, near the window. On the way out to church, we passed a neighborhood friend and told her about the incident. She says her son reacted the same way to helium balloons when he was very young, too. The day was not a total waste, however. Baby dug the bouquet that Hubby got for all of us. She never once looked at the lilies and roses suspiciously.

Hubby informs me that while he was holding her and trying to raise the blinds in the living room, Baby still tried to get away from him and the balloons! And later in the day, he was showing her around his bookshelf and she recoiled at the sight of a small ceramic clown. I guess this means skipping an elaborate first birthday party for Baby, with balloons and clowns and things was a good idea after all.

Hair-Raising Issues

Posted on by
2

Every morning and evening a minor skirmish erupts between Baby and me over whether I should style her hair or not.  Baby is now 15 months, and she has never been cool with it, even though her hair is very soft and generally easy to comb. In the past, she would try to squiggle out of my lap, crying incessantly as I tried to part her hair and twist the sections into what I grew up calling ‘Chinie bumps’. (These days, people call them Bantu knots.) Although Baby is biracial, and her hair texture is fine and downy—still very babylike—managing her mane is not a snap. If I don’t twist it or spray some detangler on it occasionally, it will become very knotty.

Hubby didn’t always make it easy. Sometimes he would come into the nursery or our bedroom, just to see ‘what the ruckus’ was all about. Baby can be a real Daddy’s Girl sometimes, so she would occasionally look up at him, pout and squeeze out a huge teardrop or two. And once or twice, she reached her chubby arms up to him, awaiting rescue. He would make comments that made hair combing sound like an ordeal. ‘Oh! Here comes the comb!’ or ‘It’s almost over.’ I would patiently explain that if I didn’t twist her hair at night, then come morning her hair would be twice as knotty and the real battle would ensue!  Despite her protests, and Hubby’s remarks, I kept working on her hair. I began to use a moisturizer from Just for Me, just a dab at night to make twisting it easier or so her brush wouldn’t get snagged in her hair in the morning.

The other day she did the funniest thing on the changing table just before bedtime. After I had lotioned her up, diapered her and tucked her into her pajamas, she rubbed her palms together and ran her hands through her hair! Could it be that she was imitating the moisturizing ritual? Too cute.

Now something has happened to make me worry: her edges are thinning out. At first, I hoped that she was passing through a phase where her hair was changing from slick and downy to thick and wavy. But it’s hard not to notice the change, especially in photos like these.

How long would this hair loss continue? Hubby took up arms against the “chemicals” in Just for Me, going online to research the ingredients and asking me over and over if putting “that stuff” in her hair was necessary. As it turns out, the information he found verified that Just for Me is safe for kids. But I wanted to halt the thinning (and hopefully grow a thick head of hair like her mom), so I went looking for answers. Her pediatrician said she might be passing through a phase, but that we could consult a dermatologist if we were really worried. Another black mom told me that her daughters also had delicate edges, and that sometimes using hair bands and wool hats in the winter also tugging and shedding on that delicate area. I also found an article on the Naturally Curly Web site about common mistakes that women make while managing biracial childrens’ hair. Some of my missteps were in that article, like washing Baby’s hair too often and using mineral oil (initially to clear up her cradle cap) for too long. I re-read the “Just for Me” product labels and sure enough, the moisturizer contains mineral oil. So, I’m now on the hunt for hair care products infused with avocado, olive and jojoba oils, which are also formulated especially for babies and toddlers. I’ll probably end up using Curly Qs’ products, because I’ve seen good reviews about them in a couple of different places. Hubby, bless his heart, remains wary about commercial hair care products for babies. He would probably be just as happy if I let her hair lock up if doing so would ensure peaceful bedtime and morning hair rituals. The only problem with that is—we are not Rastafarians!

And anyway, I think Baby and I have come to a nice understanding on this issue. The other night, after I got her into her p.j.’s, I lay her on her tummy and began to twist her hair. She didn’t try to scramble away or howl for the whole neighborhood to hear. She just lay there quietly while I talked to her, working as quickly and gingerly as I could, until I patted the last twist into place. Then I picked her up, gave her a final squeeze for the day and set her in her crib. She smiled up at me before I walked away and turned off the light. Part of me gloated, saying ‘Ha! Take that skeptical Hubby!’ But the bigger part of me simply enjoyed the ceasefire.

* Quick note: There is a new Web site in the blog roll, called Beads, Braids & Beyond. It follows a mom of two biracial daughters (and I think the mom herself is biracial) as she manages their hair. She is a hairstyling artisan and comes up with quite a few creative looks. (I mourn for my daughter at times. The best I can do at the moment is pigtails, because I’m all thumbs when it comes to cornrows!)

So … How’s the Baby?

Posted on by
1

Baby Silk is doing wonderfully. She just passed the two-month mark. She’s awake more often, an occurrence that has the effect of changing the way the baby looks, almost drastically. When she mostly ate and slept, her little face was a basic sketch, with thin curly lines for eyelids and lips. Dots for her nose. With the combination of weight gain (she’s up to about 10 lbs., at this point), and the natural development of her features, wide open eyes really do animate her beautiful face.

Each one of her gestures, no matter how minor, is so entertaining! For instance, I breast feed her, and she’s a ravenous little thing at meal times. Sometimes she becomes so anxious for food that her arms flail around like airplane propeller blades and she gropes and claws at me — all while she pants desperately for food!  This can all be very cute, but my breasts have been a tad sensitive since I started nursing her, and those groping little fists can deliver quite a jolt on days when I’m particularly sore and I haven’t fed her before she’s become frantic. 

There is also the matter of Grandmother Morrill. She hasn’t seen the baby yet, and to be honest I wanted to get settled, catch up on sleep and get my act together before another sleepover guest. She, of course, got really offended by this and wrote a really nasty typed, two-page letter to vent her anger at me. (The letter was a follow up to angry comments she made to me over the phone after I called to say Happy Thanksgiving. Actually, I had Little Sister speak to her first, then the phone was passed to me, and during that part of the conversation, she complained about unreturned phone calls and the fact that she hadn’t seen the baby yet.) The letter was her usual:  a haughty and obnoxious tone, rehashed grievances, grossly distorted retelling of events from the distant past, and contradiction after contradiction. She kept asserting the fact that she is Baby’s grandmother — as if I could forget — and arrogantly told me how wonderful a person Baby would turn out to be — by virtue of the fact that she was her granddaughter. The parts that stung most were the petty, mean-spirited predictions that what goes around comes around, and that Baby and I would have a bad relationship after she grew up as punishment for my own bad relationship with Mother. She also invoked Bible scriptures and what I suspect to be distorted comments from another individual as a pretext to calling me a murderer. 

I complained to my cousin Mary about the letter, and after a lengthy conversation, I realized that too many people are depending on the birth of my baby to magically close the breach between my mother and myself. Mary was in that bunch, but after I explained that the letter was a continuation of the brutal verbal abuse I grew up with, certain events that she witnessed started to fall into place and make more sense. I don’t believe that the burdens of domestic harmony should be put on my daughter’s shoulders. People always assume, wrongly, that the birth of a baby will bring harmony to domestic discord. No. Mothers and daughters and husbands and wives and siblings ought to get their houses in order before the baby comes along, so the child won’t grow up feeling tense and insecure about all the fighting going on around them.  

I truly believe in what I just said, but let me be clear: I won’t be docile and allow my mother to be mean to me, Little Sister or anyone else, all for the sake of maintaining good vibes for my daughter. Kids know when one adult is being unfair, mean or abusive to another. Mary’s children have explained to me how hurtful it was to watch their grandmother tear into their mom, and watch their mother sit there and take it, just for the sake of keeping quietness and order and, presumably, peace at home. Trust me people, even if you absorb the brunt of another’s abuse in a docile way, you do the child no favors. 

So, I chose to stand my ground. I finally, finally decided that my life is too full to dedicate a lot of time to a difficult mother. As it stands now, I’ve got a new baby, custody of my teenage Little Sister because their relationship had taken an abusive turn, plus a relatively young marriage and career responsibilities. My mother should learn to be supportive, instead of a drain on my patience. She needs to be civil. If she insists on falling back on the same arrogant, pugnacious, vicious and narcissistic behavior, then I won’t allow my mother to see the baby on her terms and continue her brand of chaos in my life.  

And the letter will be destroyed, of course.

Mixed Family Drama

Posted on by
2

Police dramas, hospital dramas and family dramas are what makes (and has made) for some of the best TV shows around aren’t they? And I bet some of us lead lives wherein situations either of our own making, or those inflicted on us, would bring in some pretty high ratings if they were put to scripts and dramatized.

That brings me to the awkward, even queasy part of my marriage, my mother. I generally avoid talking about her too much, because in my mind, people have much bigger problems than whether or not I get along with her. And I’ve refrained from talking about my mother on this blog because I’ve already done that with a therapist last summer and I didn’t want to conjure up old ghosts. Well folks, Hubby and I have been married for almost 4 1/2 years, and for half that time, my mother and I haven’t had a decent conversation. I only call at Christmas — maybe Easter, too. Mommy is usually aloof, offering almost nothing beyond formalities and customary pleasantries. I didn’t even tell her I was pregnant until I was well into my seventh month, and it was well-meaning family pressured me to. I meant to tell her in March, but the timing coincided with her decision to send a nasty birthday card to my 15-year-old sister, who as a result of a fallout with Mommy, lives with us. The card was so mean and icy that I’m pretty sure just opening it sent up an Arctic blast that should correct the whole global warming problem any minute now. Hubby and I couldn’t just let it slide. At the end of a tense exchange between the three adults, Hubby and I drew the line yet again with Mommy: We want you to be part of this family, but you must be civil. Mommy pretty much let us know that she wasn’t interested in our lives if it meant treating Little Sister with respect. And so the estrangement continues.

Now that Baby is due next month, I find myself fighting fiercely to keep this woman out of my head. It doesn’t help that the expectations are high for me to mend fences. How should I handle the news about the baby? Do I tell my mother when I go into delivery or wait until after the baby is born? Would she come to see the baby and to the christening? Do I do what’s right for me and stay away from her, or listen to the entreaties of family and keep her in my life? Considering that nothing I do or say will stop my mother from behaving in vicious, damaging ways, why should I give in? Something is wrong with this picture. In a perfect world (at least according to magazine pictures and based on my friends’ stories about their moms), she would be helping me decorate the nursery and I’d be getting the spare room ready for her to visit after the birth, right?

This is a tough situation, because my mother is an unforgettable woman. She is tall and has those high cheekbones and regal beauty that remind a lot of people of Phylicia Rashad.  She’s affluent, usually well put together and a talented singer, organist and pianist. She is such a great cook that when I brought Hubby (then possible fiance) home to meet her and my little sister, Hubby gave this assessment a few days later: “Your mom is exactly the person I’ve been looking for my whole life!” Hubby is a devout gourmand.

On the other hand, Mommy and me have never quite seen eye to eye on anything worthwhile. It’s safe to say we’re almost opposites in temperament. But I didn’t expect her to ignore me during our wedding weekend in Jamaica, dress up like the wife of the sun god and outshine me, yet behave as cold as ice and aloof toward Hubby and the in-laws. She barely socialized with any of us, did not stay at our hotel or tell us where she was staying (I asked her a million times), never had a meal with us, did not send Little Sister to the wedding rehearsal like I asked her to, and did not sit with us during the rehearsal dinner.

More than one family member has asked me privately whether Mommy disliked the fact that I married outside my race. It never occurred to me that she didn’t want a white son-in-law. I just thought she was being an extreme version of her usual button-down, circumspect self. If she did not think I should have married this man, I reasoned that it must have had something to do with her (formerly mine, too) staunch religion, social class or culture. I won’t accuse her of racial bias, because I think I’ve said previously on this blog that Jamaicans are used to intermarrying, and she must be used to that sort of thing by now, right? But the thing is that Mommy is one of those stoic, insular Jamaican women. She is religiously conservative and very opinionated about everything. During the last presidential election, she drove her luxury SUV out of her gated community to her polling place and voted … Republican!!! Hubby is kind of like a leftist New York intellectual, so if my mother has any kind of aversion to Hubby, it might stem from their different politics.

This situation is so complicated that it’s hard to guess how things will turn out. But now that she has emphatically let me know that she is no longer interested in me or my life, then what am I supposed to do? I know that babies are magical, and when they come into the world, they have a tendency to melt people’s hearts and make the way for reconciliation. But whether she’s in her glory or her disgrace, my mother is a force of nature, as anyone can judge from the clip below. I think the reason she left Florida several years ago was that she was tired of competing with the hurricanes to leave destruction in her wake, and I’m not too thrilled about passing the family madness to another generation.