The clock is the only sound I can hear

It’s my birthday this week, and this one weighs heavy on me.

About two months ago, as if on cue, my biological clock started to tick, then tock, then pound in my ears daily. I feel the pressure to have more children before I turn 40, and I know I only have five short years to do it.

It’s all I can think about lately — babies, babies and more babies.

It’s not that I don’t feel fulfilled. I see my son cuddling with his dad on the couch with a book and life feels more complete than ever. And it’s great to have a two-parents-to-one-child ratio, but my heart yearns for more.

I was an only child and one of the most important things I want for my family is that my children have siblings to share in life’s ups and downs. My mother was one of three children, and her sister became my guardian after my mother’s death.

Sometimes I think about what would have happened to me if my mother had been an only child. It more than likely would have meant that my grandmother would have taken me in when she was 67 years old.

I look to my aunt and uncle and admire them for the strong people they are. The family — my uncle’s wife and children included — still regularly has Sunday morning breakfast in Detroit. They do things all the time as a family — bowling, boating, vacations — they stay close.

That’s what I want for my children.

As I delicately negotiate the planning of our second child, my husband seems frustratingly aloof. We agree that we would like more than one, but things seem so great now, he is almost fearful that upsetting this balance would be disastrous.

“We got so lucky with him,” my husband says of our son. “There’s no way we will get as lucky with the next one.”

He’s right. Our baby started sleeping through the night at 2 months old. He rolled over at 5 months, sat up at 6 months, crawled at 7 months and walked by 10 months. He has the sunniest disposition as long as he is well fed and takes his regular naps. It’s ridiculous how easy this kid is, and there’s no way lightning will strike twice.

Alas, the clock will win out. It demands that I serve my biological purpose, and my heart want to fulfill a secret promise I made to myself a long time ago to have more than one child.

Now how do you suppose I’ll be able to sneak that third one in before the clock strikes midnight on my 40^th birthday?

— Sarah Leach is content editor at The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at (616) 546-4278.

Forever mine, whether he likes it or not

They say daughters are yours forever and sons eventually leave you.

I have been bracing myself for the day that my son goes off to college, starts dating someone seriously and gets married. Of course, I’m sure I’ll “lose him” long before then, as his teenage brain — hopped up on all those awesome boy hormones — will be nothing short of horrified at the thought of discussing such issues with his mother.

But I did not anticipate this rejection to happen when he was 13 months old. For the past few weeks, if his father is in the room, my baby has zero interest in me. Maybe I should rephrase that: He screams if I pick him up for a hug, try to comfort him when he’s crying or, worst of all, try to play with him.

I already can see the “whatever, Mom” look in his eyes as I try to show him that his dad isn’t the only Lego aficionado of the household. He hasn’t spoken his first words, and yet I already feel the unmistakable scarlet letter of uncoolness amongst his future tweener friends.

I’ve tried to blow it off as a phase he’s going through, as I watch him toddle after his dad in unapologetic worship. But the truth is it hurts. A lot. But it also is something I’m not likely to change. He will just have to learn to love me (did I seriously just write that?).

Then, a breakthrough came. My husband spent Saturday evening in Grand Rapids with his friends, doing manly things like wrestling bears or constructing barns. Anyway, it meant that the baby and I would have an evening together.

It was nothing short of magical. The entire evening, I made a point of not doing anything but focusing on him. No chores, no emails, no errands. I sat on the floor with him to be on his level. I chased him down the hallway into his room as he squealed with laughter. I made chicken nuggets, applesauce and milk for dinner — his favorite.

It made me realize that most of the time, my husband plays with the baby to keep him occupied as I’m trying to get some sort of work done, whether it be our laundry or dishes, or making sure a story is edited and uploaded to the website. I’m so busy getting pulled in six directions that my baby is attaching to his other parent, and I’m going to do something about it.

From now on, I will make 6-8 p.m. on weekdays Peanut Time, where nothing will keep me from being with my son. After all, I only have him for a few more years before his father will unfairly lure him away with the siren’s song of power tools.

— Sarah Leach is content editor at The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at (616) 546-4278 or sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com.

A milestone for baby (but more so for mama)

I did it! I want to shout it from the rooftops! I actually successfully breastfed my baby for a year!

In my world of 50-hour work weeks, commuting twice a week for college classes and raising a baby, it is no small feat that I was able to do this.

Today marks the first week where I am no longer lugging around a pumping bag and mini-bottle cooler. I no longer have to set timers and lock myself in a room in the middle of the day to “take care of business.”

My son and I no longer have to be a public spectacle in a restaurant, be forced to sit in the car for a half hour or sit in an awkward position in a bathroom stall.

The freedom is amazing.

Even my doctor was in awe, as she had a child about two months before my son was born.
“I don’t know how you did it,” she said. “But I am impressed.”

I am almost finished weaning Benjamin to cow’s milk, and he seems to really enjoy it. Now I can make up several bottles in advance and take them on the road, which expands the activities spectrum we can do as a family.

I no longer have to pre-plan day trips and account for a lengthy checklist of gear. I no longer have to take a quick tour of a facility to identify a suitable place where I will steal away for a half hour. No longer shall I be stricken with the pain of skipping a feeding.

To be honest, I still am pumping just before bedtime and when I get up in the morning. I have an ample frozen milk supply and I am looking into donating the remainder of my reserves through the National Milk Bank (nationalmilkbank.org), which distributes food products made from the milk to help newborns who don’t have access to breast milk.

This organization’s mission statement is to “make quality human breast milk available to all premature and critically ill babies.”

I love the idea of helping other families receive quality nutrition and immunities that are so important for those tiny bodies. If it helps just one baby’s tummy get nice and full, it will bring great joy to my heart.

So, take heart, young working mothers everywhere. You CAN do this. It takes hard work and dedication, but if you think breastfeeding is the right thing for you and your baby, you can make it work and achieve these goals.

Baby Ben and I are living proof.

— Sarah Leach is content editor at The Holland Sentinel. Contact her at (616) 546-4278 or sarah.leach@hollandsentinel.com.