Putting the God in Parents

Esther holds Max during a baby shower
for Teresa, our congregation's pianist.

This past Sunday, I managed to get Maxwell and myself to my church's first service at 9:30 a.m.

Well, we weren't exactly there at 9:30. But most folks understand that a 1-month-old on-demand nurser doesn't always cooperate with a planned schedule. Or his mother's need to bathe before she goes out in public.

At either worship service, I tend to sit in the front row. I see and hear and pay attention best there. I might sit with a friend sometimes, usually for just a song or a prayer, but I know that if I station myself too far away from the altar, my mind starts wandering or I start people-watching among the congregants.

We strolled in rather late Sunday, so we hung out in the glider in the back of our indoor garden just off our worship space before finding an appropriate moment to slide into the front row. For our efforts we were blessed to sit in front of Lois, Esther and Gene.

Lois, the widow of Peace Church's previous pastor, sent Max his very first letter full of sentiments that will teach him what it means to be part of a water family. Esther and her husband Gene are gentle pillars of the congregation, and they also will be Max's baptismal sponsors.

Godparents, so to speak.

When Gabe made me and his dad parents, we were still fairly young. We picked as godparents for our child people who had known us since our own childhood, people who would support us as we figured out what the hell we were doing.

This time around, I feel called to find folks who specifically support Max's faith life. Esther offers me excellent friendship, knitting tips and the tightest bear hugs this side of the Mississippi, but it's her lifelong Lutheranhood that I'm after.

Max's parents are of different religious traditions, but he will be raised in his mother's. He will be free to choose -- or, rather, be chosen by -- any faith once he comes of an age of discernment, but while he's being brought up a little Lutheran, it will be nice to have some qualified help. (It sure doesn't hurt that his grandmother is a pastor.)

On Sunday, sitting in the front row was a particularly lovely experience. Lois, Esther and Gene formed their own choir, harmonizing through the hymns. When they joined voices for the Lord's Prayer, it felt like power support coils in a spiritual mattress, a place where Max and I could rest assured in the faith of people who loved us and loved God.

The place will be full of those kinds of people when Esther and Gene stand with us to bathe Max in the waters of grace.

Max's Lullaby

Sung sweetly to sleep. Or as sweetly as mommy can sing.

Long before I made up lyrics for "No Sleep till Boobie," I took liberties with Jim Brickman's "I See the Moon" to make up a lullaby for Max

In truth, I made up this song long before Max made his debut.

When I was pregnant with Gabe, my mother sent me a note about "spirit songs," a tradition among a native people in which a couple made up a song that they would sing from conception through pregnancy and birth and during their child's growing up. She told me how much she wanted me when she was getting pregnant, and how much she would support me as I dreamed and loved and sang my baby into the world.

On the older side of the fertility spectrum, I wanted to put as much positive energy toward conceiving. A spirit song was just the thing.

When I imagined creating a family with Dan, it always included some thoughts about his sailing career and Navy duties and how they would keep him apart from his baby for certain lengths of time. The lyrics certainly reflect this, and I will sing them to Max whenever he is apart from his daddy, whether its just for a few hours at his shore job in downtown Toledo or several months across the world on a merchant cruise.

And when I sing it, I pick any key I want and use the tune from the mocking bird lullaby.

"Max Sees the Moon"

I see the moon and the moon sees me
The moon sees the one that I want to see
So God bless the moon and God bless me
And God bless my daddy out to sea

I know the stars and the stars know me
The stars guide my daddy on the sea
So God bless the stars and God bless me
And keep my daddy safe at sea

I feel the wind and the wind feels me
The wind blows my daddy out to sea
So God bless the wind and God bless me
And bring my daddy back to me

Max's Anthem

Here's a little dittie about a baby on the tittie.

As promised on Facebook, these are my lyrics for "No Sleep till Boobie" -- an homage to The Beastie Boys' "No Sleep till Brooklyn":

Foot in the bootie never ever on loosey
Daddy reading stories from Mother Goosey
My job ain't a job, it's a baby's dream
Front to back I'm covered in cream

On lactation touring around the nation
Breastfeeding boy's always on vacation
Itchy diaper rash but a stable change table
I do what I do best because I'm cute and able

Ain't no faking your milk I'm taking
Going left to right watching all the boobies shaking
While you're on the job pumping nine to five
The breastfeeding boy needs it all to stay alive

No sleep till ...

Another cream another rash, another bottle in the trash
Another nap another fight, another drive all night
My parents are crazy they always seem tired
They go to work late but don't get fired

Walk around the room, I eat around the clock
From dusk to dawn I like to rock
I'm filling diapers like they're going out of style
Still need to eat cause it's worth my while

Toys on the floor, doggies out the door
Mommy can't lie down to nap anymore
We got water in the tub with towels in a stack
But all I really want are boobies on the rack

No sleep till ...
No ... Sleep ... till Boobie!
No ... Sleep ... till Boobie!

Ain't seen a bottle since I started to suck
Formula went to the garbage truck
Born and bred to have breastfed joy
They call me Maxwell Charles but I'm Boobie Boy

Like a lemon to a lime a lime to a lemon
I sip the def milk from my mommy woman
Got rattles, stuffed animals, the tubby toys
Pacifiers won't trick the breastfed boys

Step off, Daddy, get out out of my way
I suck her boobies the whole long day
Waking up before I get to sleep
Cause we'll be rocking in this chair eight days a week

No sleep till ...
No ... Sleep ... till Boobie!
No ... Sleep ... till Boobie!

No (no) ... Sleep (sleep) ... till Boobie (Boobie)!
No (no) ... Sleep (sleep) ... till Boobie (yeah)!

No (no) ... Sleep (sleep) ... till Boobie (Boobie)!
No (no) ... Sleep (sleep) ... till Boobie (Boobie)!
No (no) ... Sleep (sleep) ... till Boobie (Boobie)!
No (no) ... Sleep (sleep) ... till Boobie (Boobie)!
No (no) ... Sleep (sleep) ... till Boobie (Boobie)!
No (no) ... Sleep (sleep) ... till Boobie (Boobie)!

On the Road

Max continues to snooze in his car seat as we finish our
meals at Sokolowski's University Inn in Cleveland.

My baby has become Jack Kerouac in just under four weeks.

Today we hitched a ride to Cleveland, which is about 130 miles east of our home. Hubby-daddy needed to travel to a ship chandler to fetch supplies he needed for work, and we needed to get the heck out of the house.

We actually have been dragging Max out and about from the very beginning. A lot of folks follow the six-week rule before they start exposing their infants to the wide world, but I figured that as long as I didn't let a lot of people hold him or touch him or breathe on him, it was OK to head out as soon as I felt up to it.

Really, this is one of the easier stages during which to travel with a baby, on short trips at least. Parents just need to be willing to do the proper planning, and stock the diaper bag with lots of diapers, wipes and extra outfits -- for the baby and for you. (Haven't you been peed on yet?)

Parents also must be willing to watch carefully made plans go to complete hell. Allowing for plenty of buffer time before and after any externally scheduled moment will help somewhat; forcing too much into too short a time span will bite everyone in the poopy butt. And a daddy who waits patiently in a parking lot while his baby is nursed or burped (forever) in the car gets a gold star.

Today worked out remarkably well. We happened to arrive at Turnpike rest stops right when Max needed to nurse or have his diaper changed, and the one time we had to nurse while parked on the street we were in a very out-of-the-way place. I'm really glad I remembered to bring a pillow, and nursing in the car turned out to be way more comfortable than trying to find some tucked-away chair in a public building.

Max did let loose his fire hose once, while we were changing diapers at our lunch stop. But I just cleaned him up, pulled out a fresh outfit, put the wet one in the plastic baggie I had stocked, and kept going. I was full of sauerkraut and blueberry pie at that point, so I was going to be happy regardless. (Hey, you eat what you want at a Polish cafeteria, and I'll eat what I want.)

Of course, Max snoozed for hours in the car. Most babies are vibrated off to dreamland in a moving vehicle, and sleeping is pretty much what he does for most of the day now anyway, so it works well for day trips.

As soon as a baby figures out he can be fussy on purpose, ruining the good time his parents are having, day trips become far more difficult to arrange. I say that while mommy is on maternity leave, take her and her baby as many places as you can.

Help a Mama Out

Life continues to go well here in newborn land, although I had hoped to blog more often. It's not that I couldn't find the time. I just often spend it doing something else.

I always had planned to extend an invitation for guest bloggers, so please don't feel like it's just a desperate, unshowered, overtired mommy begging for others to do her work. No, not at all.

I will keep posting, but it will be good to publish someone else's thoughts when I've suddenly realized what feels like one long day actually has been four in a row and Mommy Remix is getting a touch stale. In journo land, this is what we call having a well, from which we dip when it's a slow news day.

Please send your submissions to me via email at rckleiboemer@gmail.com and I will happily put them in the lineup.

You can write a full-length post or just a paragraph. Send pictures if you'd like. You have my full permission to be as snarky and foul-mouthed as I have been to this point, but no worse.

Topics could include:

• Your own family story
• What you do/did or don't/didn't enjoy about pregnancy
• Adventures in fertility, or disappointments and challenges 
• Why you don't want to have a baby
• What you can't stand about how parents raise their kids
• Thoughts on co-sleeping, nursing in public, crying it out, cloth diapers, etc.
• Hilarity of traveling with children
• How you keep your marriage and adult relationships going
• Public policy regarding education or health care
• What you like or don't like about your OBGYN or pediatrician
• Tips and warnings for new parents
• The best baby shower game or birthday party theme
• How you're raising your kids to deal with their peers
• To give or not to give an allowance
• Methods of discipline
• What phrase of your parents you swore you'd never repeat but did

For the record, Gabe often hears, "What the hell's the matter with you?" The more I say it, the more I like it.

And this post took me more than three hours to write, interrupted by two nursing sessions and one pee blowout that soaked both Max and me to the point of complete outfit changing.