ZOMG! A healthy baby!

So, yeah, Zak's perfectly healthy. What's the big deal?

Zak went in for his four month checkup today, and the doctor may still be scratching his head. I'm obliged to go to a clinic that rotates doctors, so every visit is with a new doctor. And this doc seems puzzled over Zak. Not because he's got some odd ailment- to the contrary, he's the textbook definition of a healthy baby boy. Not because he's a weirdlo, either. But because he's strong, curious, happy, and obviously well-cared for. Now, I know that docs are trained to treat disease and repair injuries, but if we're going to have well-baby care, docs should be better prepared for a well baby.

It started even before Zak was born: I was under the care of a midwife, knowing that they are better prepared for normality than an OB. Alas, at the birth center I went to, the OB barged in and took over. Before I could say "Lamaze" I was pinned to the bed by more machines than you could shake a speculum at, and forbidden even water. My dreams of a good birth for Zak evaporated. The OB was prepared for an abnormal birth, and by Gum, she was going to have one.

Flip past ominous tales of heart murmurs and mysterious marks by the ear. I'm of the mind that doctors are merely frustrated horror writers. Zak's doc du jour was simply gobsmacked that he is still exclusively breastfed- even though the American Academy of Pediatrics recommends exclusive breastfeeding for six months, and to supplement with solids for an additional six months minimum. Now, I'd told this doc that I stay at home with Zak, so it's not as if I work outside the home 18 hours a day, making breastfeeding quite the feat. Why is it such a surprise that Zak is happy, healthy, and fed the best stuff on Earth? (Sorry, Snapple.)

My answer: culture is strong stuff- stronger than science. Medical culture is geared toward disease and injury, so doctors come to expect disease and injury. We live in a consumerist culture, so the fact that Zak's food cannot be purchased at the market leaves people flustered. We have a culture so geared towards formula feeding that a doll designed to mimic breastfeeding creates reactions of horror. Why, if "the best things in life are free", do we have a culture so unprepared for what is best and free? If doctors are there to keep us healthy, why are they so unprepared for a job well done? Why is a perfectly healthy little boy such a shock to the medical system?

Where have all the good shows gone?

If I owned a TV, I would have chucked it out this Friday. It's official: there's nothing on.
Not literally, of course. One can find any number of ways to waste your time and brain cells, but i was counting on two shows to help sustain Zak's childhood, and protect him a little from the commercial blitzkrieg that is children's television. Now one of them is gone.

I speak, of course, about Reading Rainbow. Every child of the late 70's to the 90's should have known and loved it. Since its premiere in 1983, countless children have developed a love of reading thanks to Levar Burton and his cheerful explorations of worlds found right in your local library. Now, thanks to financial concerns, my beloved show is gone, and with it my hopes of the show helping me introduce Zak to the many joys of reading.

But are those hopes really gone? Ever since Zak has had periods of wakeful alertness*, we've done story time on a regular basis. Even for the probably doomed visit I've planned with his father, the local library is on the list of spots to visit. Zak's holiday and birthday presents will likely always include books, and his baby registry is half-full of classics like "The Giving Tree", "Goodnight Moon" and "Where the Wild Things Are".

I am an avid reader, and have been since I taught myself to read at the age of three. But what would have happened had my interest in reading not been encouraged, what if that spark had been left to die out, instead of being fanned? Would I have the motley crew of books that make up my small but treasured library? Even more importantly, how would this have affected my life beyond reading for pleasure? I picked up "The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding" during my pregnancy. Would I have known enough to endure the difficult moments I've had, as few as they've been?

In a way, Zak is already reaping the benefits of Reading Rainbow without watching a single episode. I plan to purchase the DVDs anyway, along with School House Rock, another lost gem, and share those pieces of my childhood with him. And what's raising kids for, if you can't bore them with all the things you knew and loved when you were their age?

*In case you haven't been around a newborn lately, they do three things quite a lot: eat, sleep, and cry. There seemed little point to reading to Zak during any of those times, so I waited until he had a good stretch of time when he seemed ready for something besides milk or another diaper change.

Fresh Man-baby scent.

Zak lacks that "baby" scent, as I don't put him in scented diapers, nor do I use commercially prepared baby products. I recently made a chamomile soap for him, and his all-purpose baby oil has chamomile and a bit of lavender, but otherwise, he smells like sour milk. And while I'm not fond of the artificially scented junk for babies, I kind of feel like the son of a woman who whips up handmade body products ought to have some interesting-smelling stuff on hand.

When Zak was born, I had to mentally file away my lovely patterns for girls, but also my plans for lavender-infused products for the most part. Lavender is not the best thing for little boys, so he gets very little of it in his baby oil, and none elsewhere. Chamomile is fine, but the essential oil is quite expensive, leaving me wondering what I could use on Zak that I can afford.

I'm considering rosemary and tangerine for Zak: tangerine is a less-common citrus allergen, and rosemary is antiseptic and good for enhancing memory. It's also not a "girly" scent. If you think finding a "manly" scent is tough- guys can be prickly about that- try a "manly baby" scent, or anything that's both masculine and appropriate for an infant.

This may be relevant beyond personal preference: I would like to include baby products in my line. Also, as I'm looking toward the end of Ramadan, body products and Zak are coming together in an interesting way.

This is Zak's first Ramadan and Eid. Last year this time, I was hoping that some miracle would occur to save my marriage and make Zak's first Ramadan one with him going to the mosque for prayers with Dad tucked in his Bjorn and family photos sent out with Eid cards. That miracle didn't happen, obviously. I'm in no way sure that Zak will get a gift from his dad, as there's nothing for my ex to get out of it personally. So, I decided to ensure that Zak will get at least one gift that didn't come from me, by participating in a gift exchange.

My lucky (or not, depending on how you feel about it) recipient will get some bath salts and hand cream. Any suggestions for the hand cream scent? The bath salts are already prepared, with bay, rosemary and eucalyptus. In return, I'm hoping that Zak will get a book or a toy that he will like; either way, he'll have a bit of the Eid I'd wanted for him- a few gifts and lots of love.

Conspiracy- maybe.

If you've been reading my blog, you may have noted that there once were ads on the right hand sidebar. Now they're gone. I don't normally indulge in conspiracy theories, but this one is just begging me to don my tinfoil hijab for a minute.

What I've figured out is that since I blog about being a mother of an infant, they put up ads for formula and disposable diapers on the site, thinking that other parents will read my blog and go with the cultural norms of formula feeding and disposable diapering. Makes sense. But considering that I blog about the joys of breastfeeding and cloth diapering at times, no one's going to read a post about how much nursing rocks if they're just going to buy formula anyway. I don't read posts about formula brands, either. But instead of plugging in ads for pumps and cloth diapers, the ads get pulled entirely. Why?

Tinfoil hijab on

Formula companies are rolling in dough, and they'd like to stay that way. Companies will sponsor content that highlights their product, but will also try to have attention pulled away from competing products and critical reviews. I'm thinking that a formula company decided that if the blog even offered an alternative to formula feeding, that said blog would not only find itself without formula ads, but pressured Google to pull all ads.

So, that leaves me without ads, and I'm resorting to an Amazon store instead. It will contain (mostly) things that I've used and loved, so while this is no guarantee that you will like them too, if it's in the store, at least one real person has used it and found it worthy of recommendation. While it's harder than the ads for me, it's more personal, and I'm one who likes to offer something of herself.

Sponsored by Medela- not.

It's a ... boy?

Zak has me flabbergasted on a regular basis. This started no later than the day he was born, when I found out that he was, in fact, a he.

I'd opted not to find out the sex beforehand, and while I knew there was a 50/50 chance of having a boy, I'd not really wrapped my mind around the idea. My parents had three girls, but no boy, and my mother has no brothers. Sadly, my father's mother passed long before I was born, so there were no mothers of boys in my family to consult.

When presented with my beautiful boy, I responded, "I have a son?". But in my defense, there were some serious medications involved (more on that later). What wasn't involved, not even a little, was a preference for a particular sex. Both sexes come with their own flavors of crazy, and while some things are easier for parents of boys, some things are definitely harder, so it's really six of one, half dozen of the other. I need not worry about Zak coming home pregnant one day, but I would be heartbroken if he'd gotten some girl pregnant when neither was prepared to be a parent. There are no ruffled or lacy clothes to try to keep clean, but finding well-made and comfortable boys' clothes isn't exactly a cakewalk.

I want my son to be the man his father pretended to be. Zak should learn to ride, shoot, and tell the truth. He should also learn to cook, knit and sew, for even if he never picks up another needle or gives a sidelong glance at a frying pan, to know how well-made garments are constructed and how to feed yourself are essential skills. He should be man enough to cry, and respect himself enough not to do so on national television. He should learn to pray, and learn enough to know when prayer is all you can or should do, and when more ought to be done.

Raising a man is definitely going to be a challenging task, but as I used to tell my now ex-husband, I didn't sign up for easy.

What I won't be blogging about.

There are a few topics that interest me, so much so that I refuse to blog about them.
1. Politics. Too many excellent political blogs, and too little that hasn't been said about the issues at hand.
2. Recipes for my body products. I may discuss the products I offer, and the adventures I have making them, but if I'm going to offer them for sale, why would I give out the exact recipe?
3. Religion, for the most part. I have a spot where I blog about that, so I may make a reference here and there, most of my religious ramblings will be on that blog.
4. My current location.

What I ought to blog about less:
1. My ex. It's over. I plan to announce the end of the divorce proceedings, but that ought to be it, really.
2. The tough time I get over parenting the way I do. Zak's my kid. Not my mom's kid, not the neighbor's kid, not my sister's friend's kid.
3. How tough it will be to be a single mom.

What I ought to blog about more:
1. Zak. He's pretty danged awesome.
2. Neat stuff I discover on a daily basis. Did you know that wool emits heat as it dries? How cool is that?
3. Stuff that will get me more money- just kidding.
4. My hopes for Zak and I as we enter this new chapter of our lives.

Any suggestions?

Fancy a cuppa?

Tea, the sovereign remedy. I love it hot, iced (a blasphemy, I know), black, green and herbal, with mint and orange blossom water, with lemon and honey, with half a dozen spices, with sugar and milk. It's seen me through stressful days at work, a wretched marriage, a scorching day. Tea has eased my nausea and enhanced my milk supply. Is there anything a cup or glass of tea can't do?

I miss my electric kettle, though; it was a wedding gift that I left behind. Not only is it the best way to make a cup, but it's a reminder of a good friend and great mornings in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Not during my marriage- she has one herself, and the comfort of the tea she prepared was second only to her gentle support. She still provides the support over the phone, though. Perhaps I should make myself a cup -by microwave (!)- before I call.

I've never owned a proper tea pot; a Brown Betty is on my list of lovely things I'd like to have. Perhaps one Mother's Day or on my birthday, I'll get one. But what to do if you can't have any caffeine, and decaf just doesn't do it for you? Try this:

3 pods cardamom
1 cinnamon stick
1 wide strip orange zest
1 chunk crystallized ginger
1 cup boiling water
honey to taste

Steep the spices in boiling water for 5-7 minutes; add honey to taste. Curl up with a good book and sip away.

Less than a week to go- oh my!

Ramadan is scheduled to start this Saturday, insha'Allah. It feels odd, as I won't be fasting and I know this in advance. I tried to fast last year, but early pregnancy and fasting in the desert don't mix very well. As Zak nurses about every two hours, going for fourteen hours without food or water is a bit much. That leaves me wondering how to honor a time for fasting when I must eat several times a day.

Ramadan is also the month of the Qur'an- time to read and reflect. I hope to read Qur'an to Zak- he gets excited when I read to him. Also, for me, Ramadan is the month of tears and joy, of repentance gladly sought, of the fear of being alienated from God, and the hope of growing closer to the Divine. I'm not sure how to share that with Zak at this point, but perhaps one day I will.

Oddly, for a month of fasting, it's also about food. Rich stews, sugary desserts, and all sorts of delicacies will be prepared for the fasting. I'm going to skip those, for the most part, but I do plan to whip up Ramadan muffins for my sister's boss. They are an oatmeal-date-nut type of muffin, the kind that sticks to your ribs and is quite tasty. We'll see how well they go over- the guy I'm baking for isn't exactly a health nut.

Oh, and of course, Rumi on Ramadan:


Fasting

There's a hidden sweetness

in the stomach's emptiness.

We are all lutes, no more, no less. If the soundbox

is stuffed full of anything, no music.

If the brain and the belly are burning clean

with fasting, every moment a new song comes

out of the fire. The fog clears, and a new energy

makes you run up the steps in front of you.

Be emptier and cry like reed instruments cry.

Emptier, write secrets with the reed pen.

When you're full of food and drink, Satan sits

where your spirit should, an ugly metal statue

in place of the Kaaba. When you fast,

good habits gather like friends who want to help.

Fasting is Solomon's ring. Don't give it

to some illusion and lose your power.

But even if you've lost all will and control,

they come back when you fast, like soldiers appearing

out of the ground, pennants flying above them.


A table descends to your tents,

Jesus' table.

Expect to see it, when you fast, this table

spread with other food better

than the broth of cabbages.

Where's the script?

Someone needs to tell my son that he's not quite meeting the baby guidelines. He'll do anything in a crib but sleep, ditched the pacis without a second glance when my milk came in, and while he can't literally talk, the expressions on his face say everything from "Dang, that was some good milk, need a lie-down now" to "What the fluffy duck are you trying to put in my mouth, woman?!"

My son, as his auntie says, is a weirdlo. But he's our weirdlo, and we love him. I also don't quite fit the mold, either: I'm an African-American breastfeeding mom, I cloth diaper Zak, and I'm trying to get my degree in Islamic studies. So I guess Zak fits in just fine.

It's good that Zak is smarter than me. With all the parenting books and tons of (usually bad) advice out there, I'm glad I've someone to guide me. I figured out early on that I needed to raise the kid I have, not the kids other folk have had or kids I've read about. Expecting Zak to be just like a baby halfway across the world, or thirty years ago, or like anyone but himself is absurd when you think about it. One of the more eloquent looks Zak has given me when he's not acting like my grandmother thinks he should translates to:"My name isn't Most Babies, The Neighbor's Baby, or Your Mother. My name is Zak. Act accordingly."

So I guess there is a script- one written by my son.

Snarky, Snarkier, Snarkiest.

It's not unusual to come across cattiness on the Internet; I suppose I was due for some, as I've not had any in a while.
The woman's, well, a bit unstable, but the situation I presented wasn't exactly cut-and-dried, so she probably went off her rocker trying to understand it. My ex has created a holy hell of this divorce, and I'm just trying to get out of it and get custody of Zak. There's issues of adultery (his), abuse, (his against me) pregnancy during proceedings (mine) and the fact that neither of us reside in the state where he filed anymore. Enough to give anyone a headache, ne c'est pas?
Then I'm accused of fraud because I can't alter what my ex and his lawyer have filed or even when he filed. Short of a time machine or a cool million, I can't think of any way out of this but through the mess he made.
I should be used to this by now; it was my fault when he hit me, my fault he had to go and see other women, my fault he signed up with an escort service. I just figured that it would stop being my fault at some point, but apparently, someone will blame me when my ex forgets his next wife's birthday. Oh, well.
I did get a bit of my own back in some snarky emails. She replied. I won't bother any further with her nonsense. Besides, it's too hot for all that.

Attached by the heart.

Attachment parenting has its benefits, its drawbacks, and like any idea, its kooks. Essentially, it stems from the ideas that a child's emotional needs are just as valid as his or her physical needs, and that having loving people nearby is a need for babies and young children. Such closeness enables them to develop a sense of security that forms a springboard for their growing independence. There are a few elements that help to establish that closeness, such as co-sleeping, babywearing, and breastfeeding. While attachment parenting isn't an all-or-nothing proposition, these things do facilitate closeness.

I never thought I'd be a hippie (are there black Muslim hippies?) but apparently, Zak and I are leaning in that direction. I say "Zak and I" because while I made all-natural body products for Zak before he was born, the babywearing was Zak's idea. I'd bought a Bjorn, but I hadn't planned on wearing it quite as much as Zak demanded- but isn't that the story of parenthood- making plans, then having them shattered by your darling offspring?

Zak, thank God, is a happy, healthy, active baby. I can't help but think that it's due in part to the loving attention he receives almost 24/7. He's never left to "cry it out", and I'm rarely more than a room away from him. He's growing like a weed, meeting and exceeding milestones, and is pretty amazing in general. So why, oh why, am I getting grief for my parenting choices?

If I were to basically ignore Zak but give him every baby toy ever made, I'd be deemed a pretty decent mother- not "spoiling" him, but giving him things to amuse himself. Even if I could afford all those doodads, I wouldn't dream of doing so. The best I can give my son is myself- my time, my affection, the milk my body makes for him. Yet a mother's love is deemed too good for a child- but what should you give a child other than the very best?

My son is asleep, right where he should be- next to my heart.

Frugality, thy name is Divorced Mother.

My ex cut my child support by about $100 last month, so I'm trying to clothe and diaper an almost 4 month old on a rather tight budget. I use cloth diapers part time, so it's only the disposables, that get used at night and for outings, that were affected by this, until yesterday.
Zak has now officially doubled his birth weight, outgrowing the fitted cloth diapers that I'd bought for him. I'd also bought one-sized diapers, so I'm not having to potty-train him today, but that's less diapers, and more laundry. While I am thrilled to see he's growing, it's only going to get more challenging as time goes by.

Note that at the top of this post, I don't mention having to feed Zak. No, the boy isn't starving- I am proud to be a nursing mother. Not only does that mean that Zak's food does not have to be purchased, but it also means that he's getting the best food on earth for him. I can't provide much in the way of fancy clothes or toys, but the fact that I can provide at least one thing that is the very best for him is a consolation. I also freely admit that nursing itself rocks.

The following is not a crack on formula-feeding parents.

Nursing, if you're a SAHM/WAHM, is low-maintenance, very cheap, and might I add, uses between 300-500 calories a day. Even WOHMs may find it easier to pump than deal with sterilizing bottles and midnight formula runs. (Not all do, though, and I sympathize entirely.) The benefits of breastmilk are too numerous to list here, and cannot be duplicated or even approximated by formula. I knew when I became pregnant, there were far too many reasons to breastfeed to consider formula feeding by choice. As this post is about frugality, I'll focus on the financial ones.

My ex-husband is not financially responsible. I don't mean that he'll come home with various doodads when we'd set aside money for Zak's college; I mean he'd run off to Europe for a month to "find himself" when he had a divorce in the works, a baby on the way, and was already about twenty grand in the hole. Also, for those of you considering divorce: do find out what your lawyer charges per hour before hiring one, and make sure you can afford that. His lawyer charges more per hour than he gives me per month- much more than my nearly bankrupt ex can handle.

While I'm no financial genius, I knew at the outset that throwing away money like old newspapers would not get us the American Dream. So, I sought to run the house in a way that would make things pleasant and save money. But the homecooked dinners were ignored (dinners he now swear he misses), the efforts to bring in a little extra were sabotaged. It got to the point where I had to buy groceries online at some expense, because he refused to take me grocery shopping. (I do not drive- yet.)

So, I'm doing what I can with what I've got, which means lots of laundry, hunting for sales, and prayer. It also means bringing in whatever I can in terms of money. I hope sell body products online soon.

Welcome.

Asalaamu alaikum. I'm Umm Zakaria, a new mother, writer, knitter, home soapmaker, and general crafty sort of gal. I've had a few blogs over the years, most of which I'd pulp if you could do that to a blog. But I've decided to try yet again, because I felt I needed a dedicated space for all the things that strike my fancy and the things dearest to me.

If I weren't terribly shy about it, I'd write a book about the past two years. I married in the spring of 2007, and I am now waiting for my divorce to become final, as the man who was my husband is a violent and quite unstable man. I fled my marital home in October 2008, while 3 months pregnant with Zak. You'll understand that I won't be disclosing my exact location in this or any blog, but I will say that I reside in the United States.

What helped me survive, in part, was crafting. To transform one thing into another, to bring into being something that previously existed only in my head, saved me. I knit and crochet but have not yet learned to sew. I also make soap and other body products. To make something that can be used, that is pleasing to the eye and comforting to the soul, wasn't something I'd planned on even three years ago. But I'm on a grand adventure called life, and the satisfaction I get from watching a pot of oil and lye become soap is greater than some have in life, and that's enough to be grateful.

Speaking of grand adventures, a few months ago, someone else's life started, and that someone is inexpressibly dear to me. Zak is the handsomest Milk Monster in the world, and if I had to go through a 35 hour labor ending in a C-section again for him, I'd do it in a heartbeat. Perhaps not a heartbeat- I'd want something to eat first. (Curse that OB wench who overruled my midwife and wouldn't let me have water, even.)

As you can see, there's a good amount for me to elaborate on, if you care to stay tuned for the story of how "Christmas Crack" got its name (it's a brown sugar scrub that I make), the latest rubbish that my ex has spouted to try to scare me/get me back, and the most ridiculous baby items that have been purchased for Zak. Ahlan wa sahlan.

Oh, and you may have noticed that I'm Muslim, too. More on that later.