Torture

No . . . this will not be a philosophical treatise about the moral dilemmas of water-boarding--just a post about the trials and tribulations of new mommy-hood. I was watching a MI-5 episode (the British show Spooks) last summer, and I found myself commiserating with the villain of the episode, because the MI-5 officers were torturing him by forcing him to listen to a certain sound frequency which was supposed to be the most painful to human ears. Before parenting a newborn, I might have laughed and found the idea absurd, but after several weeks of listening to my baby scream, I completely identified with the concept: particular sounds can be torturous. And there is nearly nothing worse than an infant's cry. I suppose God made it that way--mothers are supposed to care for their babies, and only the most hard-hearted of mothers could listen to her baby wail without some kind of emotional response--but for me it has occasioned untold stress.

When I was pregnant, I knew my baby could take after my husband (who, apparently, slept for hours at a time as a newborn), or me (a crazy baby who did not sleep well and who screamed and bit and kicked, etc., etc., etc.), and I entreated God for an easy child, especially because our condo did not contain any extra space (not even a Harry-Potter-sized closet under the stairs!). But God did not grant my request, and I choose to believe in faith that it was for my own good, even though there have been many times in the past ten months that it has not seemed that way. Before I had a baby, I used to be dogmatic about the infant sleep debate, but now I believe each family should do what it must to survive. I intended to sleep-train Teddy, but since he has shared our bedroom since birth, that has proved nearly impossible. Many kind, thoughtful people have suggested to me, "You should let him cry," but I don't think they realize I HAVE let him cry, over, and over, and over again. My stubborn little son seems desperately determined to cling to his nighttime feedings. :sigh: I haven't given up trying to get him to sleep through the night, but after many failed efforts I know it will take weeks, not days, to help him build better habits.

Meanwhile, I am growing successively more tired, and it is rather a miracle that I am not mumbling to myself in some mental hospital by now. Haha. Between the sleep deprivation and the stress of listening to my baby scream, I have reached the limits of my strength, and if I was in a torture chamber I would be yelling, "I give up! I'll tell you what you want to know! Just give me a quiet room where I can sleep!" :-P All is not lost, though. Do you have those days when God blesses you not just a little but far more than you ever could have hoped? I had a day like that this week. We finally received our housing assignment for Istanbul, and we will be living in a three bedroom, two and a half bath apartment in one of the nicest districts of the city. To go from cute but cramped living quarters to more than enough space . . . ? Well, I'm just so overwhelmed with gratefulness that I don't even have the words to describe it. So hang in there, self. It won't be like this forever.

And as for my health journey, I am now on a dairy-free, gluten-free diet. Depending on how I react to reintroducing gluten in a few weeks, this may be temporary or permanent. The dairy-free part is here to stay, though, since I've known for years that I have a milk allergy (I just chose to ignore it sometimes and eat yummy things like ice cream!). Part of me wonders, "How long can I sustain this?" My husband asked me tonight, "Do you feel better?" I thought, "Yes! But I miss Milton's bread and milk chocolate and Barbara's shredded oats and cookies and ice cream and so much more!" He's right, though. The truth of the matter is, I DO feel better, and that's worth more than the ephemeral pleasure of a delicious ice cream cone, a scrumptious plate of French toast, or a warm chocolate chip cookie.

That Health Thing

In an effort to bridge the gap between knowing and doing, I started seeing a health coach recently. It's not that I don't know how to eat right. When I was little, I was allergic to wheat and sugar and a bunch of other things, and I would break out in eczema whenever I "cheated" and ate the wrong foods. Since my mom and one of my sisters had similar allergies, everyone in my family ate according to a fairly strict diet. In my house, it was goat's milk instead of cow's milk, carob chips instead of chocolate chips, and fructose instead of sugar. You're either thinking, "What in the world?" Or, "Oh, that sounds familiar." As my sister and I grew older, we outgrew some of our food allergies, and my family became more lax about nutrition (i.e., we would eat ice cream and M&M's, although we never drank soda or coffee, or ate things like marshmallows or maraschino cherries). As an adult, I've become increasingly fond/dependent on/addicted to sugar and starches, and I've spent many an hour contemplating the conundrum of knowing what I ought to eat but not eating that way. Enter the health coach, a pleasant and sophisticated woman who reminds me a bit of Anna Friel. At our first meeting, she gave me two main pieces of advice, neither of them shocking: 1) Drink more water, and 2) eat more vegetables. Of course, it was a bit more complicated than that. For now, though, I'm supposed to start and end my day by eating vegetables, particularly greens: spinach, kale, bok choy, collard greens, mustard greens, chard, and arugula. She suggested starting my day with smoothies, and I have been trying to follow her advice. The first day's smoothie made me want to vomit, but I've become a little more proficient at making palatable concoctions, and today's blend of water, carrot juice, kale, spinach, strawberries, grapes, and banana wasn't half bad. Of course, what I'd really prefer after another night of interrupted sleep, thanks to my precious babe, is a bagel with almond butter and strawberry jelly and a hot cup of coffee with almond milk, but somehow I think I'll be happier in the long run if I minimize the sugar, starches, and caffeine, and rely instead on those oft-acclaimed, oft-despised veggies.

Adventure Calls

It is only four months till departure--four months till I say goodbye to the quaint, colorful city of Alexandria and say hello--merhaba is the Turkish word--to Istanbul, another colorful but very different city! In an ideal, type-A world, I would know every detail regarding our move, but since that is not the case, I am mentally preparing myself for a tremendous adventure, with many wonderful twists and turns that I will only become aware of as I experience them. The situation definitely calls for some flexibility! I'm sure I will experience culture shock at first, but ultimately my life in Istanbul will not be much different than my life here, which mostly consists of watching my sweet, funny, terribly active baby boy. It is odd to me how quickly life changes: for days upon days it feels like everything is the same, like life is lived in a terrible rut that endlessly (and sometimes meaninglessly) repeats itself, and then one day everything changes in an instant, and that frustrating (but comfortable) rut has vanished, and life has become unpredictable and unfamiliar. I would be nervous at the thought of moving to the other side of the world, but I know wherever I travel God will always listen to my prayers, and my adorable son will always require my attention, and my kind husband will always be by my side as my closest and dearest friend. And so even though moving to Istanbul will bring many changes, the important things will not change after all.