Hey, Moms! Postnatal Vinyasa Yoga DVD

This is SO cool! My own very first grandchild (Angel Boy 2.0) will greet the world in a few short weeks and I can’t wait; I’m so excited!

Talk about perfect timing; I was sent a Postnatal Vinyasa Yoga DVD to review and I’m putting it in the mail now to my DIL so she’ll have it as soon after the birth as her doctor says she can start working out.

I love yoga and I know my DIL has been practicing yoga all during her pregnancy.

Postnatal-Vinyasa-Yoga-07

What a great way to resume yoga practice after the birth of your baby, starting with just five minutes of yoga a day! Just pop in the dvd, no need to even get dressed (haha), drive anywhere, and best of all, you’re in the comfort of your own home and close to that sweet angel baby.

Postnatal Vinyasa Yoga DVD features:

  • 5 Minute getting back on your mat practice
  • 15 Minute Postnatal Vinyasa Yoga practice with cesarean modifications
  • 30 Minute Postnatal Vinyasa Yoga practice with cesarean modifications
  • Diastasis Recti Self-Assessment
  • Pelvic Floor Overview
  • Guided Relaxation following each practice

Postnatal Vinyasa Yoga has been carefully crafted to allow a new mom the opportunity to resume her yoga practice slowly, starting with the 5 minute, getting back on your mat practice.

This practice is designed to get her back in touch with her body so she can safely resume her yoga practice while sending healing energy to the space where her baby lived for all those months.

Finding 15 minutes a day to do yoga is easy and mom will notice the huge difference it will make.

Just 15 minutes a day of making time for herself and the healing of her body will contribute to more positive moods, more and energy during the day, becoming a stepping stone to reclaim her health and fitness.

PostnatalVinyasaYogaDVDcaseAfter making the 15 minute practice part of her routine, new moms will be able to integrate the 30 minute practice, this is where they will really start to see the benefits in body, energy levels, strength and stamina.

Benefits of practicing Postnatal Vinyasa Yoga can include:

  • Feeling more awake and energized throughout the day
  • Balanced mood swings
  • Re-defined and re-toned body
  • Easing of neck pain often associated with breastfeeding
  • Easing of back and shoulder stress from carrying baby
  • Feeling healthy and more vital

Please consult your physician before attempting any postnatal exercise. These postnatal exercise sequences are designed for those who are in good physical condition. Prior yoga experience is preferred, however Postnatal Vinyasa Yoga is accessible to everyone if they listen to their bodies and follow Jennifer’s suggested modifications.

Check it out!
https://www.dolphinmethod.com

(I received no compensation, just product for review. All opinions are my own.)

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Ten Fingers, Ten Toes, and a Congenital Defect. (Part One)

Ten Fingers, Ten Toes, and a Congenital Defect. (Part One)

Ten little fingers1 in every 33 babies is born with a birth defect.

Every 4 1/2 minutes, a baby is born with a birth defect.

From March of Dimes…

“If your baby is born with a birth defect or other health condition, he may need special care at birth and later in life.

You may be worried and have lots of questions. It’s OK to feel this way.

Birth defects are health conditions that are present at birth. They change the shape or function of one or more parts of the body. Birth defects can cause problems in overall health, how the body develops or how the body works”

DEFECT is such an ugly word: a shortcoming, an imperfection, a deficiency.

A congenital disorder.

In other words, NOT perfect.

I failed as a mom, even before my baby was born.

Or at least that’s how I felt when I discovered that my son suffered from a Meckel’s diverticulum.

I didn’t learn this when I was pregnant during a regular office visit or ultrasound; he was thirty-three years-old and being rolled into emergency surgery all the way across the country when the surgeon revealed the reason why my son was writhing in such horrific pain that morphine couldn’t dull and why his belly was distended.

At first they thought it was appendicitis, but it wasn’t.

It was far worse and if we had not had such an amazing surgeon; there’s a strong possibility that he would not be here now, having his own baby boy.

Apparently he had been born with Meckel’s diverticulum, a true congenital diverticulum, which is a slight bulge in the small intestine present at birth and a vestigial remnant of the omphalomesenteric duct (also called the vitelline duct or yolk stalk).

Meckel’s diverticulum is the most common congenital abnormality of the small intestine; it is caused by an incomplete obliteration of the vitelline duct (ie, omphalomesenteric duct). Although originally described by Fabricius Hildanus in 1598, it is named after Johann Friedrich Meckel, who established its embryonic origin in 1809.

In 1981, there was nothing like the sort of sophisticated diagnostic tools we have today. I think I had a doppler to hear the heartbeat and that’s it. There was no need to subject me or my baby to amniocentesis and I was all about natural and organic, so the less invasive, the better.

Even now, despite being one of the most common congenital anomalies of the gastrointestinal tract, Meckel diverticulum has rarely been diagnosed in utero, although there is the potential to see it if it exists at the end of the third trimester.

What I learned from the doctors is that it either causes no problem at all or it causes a problem when the child is about two years old, or it causes the kind of complications my son endured as an adult, which can be life threatening.

Which it was.

If this condition is left untreated, it leads to strangulation and ischemic necrosis of the wall of the bowel loop.

  • Most patients with intestinal obstruction present with abdominal pain, bilious vomiting, abdominal tenderness, distention, and hyperactive bowel sounds upon examination.
  • Patients may develop a palpable abdominal mass.

From the moment my DIL brought my son to the emergency room and called us at 3 a.m.,  the whirlwind that brought me and tugboat man rushing from SoCal to the east coast — his intestines were dying and had become so necrotic that two feet (24 inches!) of small intestine would be resected, along with the removal of the inflamed and burst Meckel’s diverticulum, his appendix, eight inches of ascending colon, and various other bits and pieces that were also affected and infected.

I can’t even describe the fear and guilt that washed over me in waves while I didn’t leave his side for the two weeks he was in the hospital.

Why didn’t I know?

What could I have done to have prevented it?

How could I be such a horrible mother?

How come my baby wasn’t perfect?

What if…he didn’t survive?

I know those are the kind of irrational thoughts that have no basis in reality, but a mother’s heart is so fierce, I would have died for him.

And with him.

I’m so grateful to the surgeon and the great nursing care at Rhode Island Hospital; because of them, my Angel Boy is here today.

Here’s the complete story of that almost tragedy on my other blog, Enchanted Seashells, Confessions of a Tugboat Captain’s Wife:

POSTS ABOUT THE SURGERY:

1. That Dreaded Call at 3:00 A.M.

https://enchantedseashells.com/2014/05/01/that-dreaded-call-at-300-a-m/

2. Time To Exhale
https://enchantedseashells.com/2014/05/06/time-to-exhale-hospital-update/

3. Full Circle From Hell to Happiness
https://enchantedseashells.com/2014/05/10/full-circle-from-hell-to-happiness/

4. What Does a Cosmo, the Trauma, Unit, and Mother’s Day Have in Common
https://enchantedseashells.com/2014/05/11/what-does-a-cosmo-the-trauma-unit-and-mothers-day-have-in-common/

Shopaholic Crisis Averted—Thanks to Kate Spade

I’ve already unburdened myself and confessed my total lack of interest in my passion—shopping, that is, and I’ve been putting myself in all kinds of situations to heal this PROBLEM of mine.

And that means I’ve been forcing myself to overcome this debilitating disorder by NOT buying baby things, but to purchase something for MYSELF.

So I did.

Crisis over.

Check out these sparkly Kate Spade earrings.katespadeearrings

Totes perf, right? LOVE LOVE LOVE

But as is the case lately, I was inextricably drawn to the other side of the store and look what I found!

How could I resist these tugboat themed babeeee things?

Obvs I could NOT.

tugboatbaby1 Can’t you just picture Grandpa Tugboat Man and AB 2.0 in the rocking chair? ADORBS.tugboatbaby2

I don’t know what’s wrong with me! Am I suffering from grandma-itis?

Sorry once again for posting the same thing on both blogs, but until I find a way to marry the two, I might be doing it a few more times!

1328928449733_1980393I was NEVER one of those moms or mothers-in-law that nagged at the kids to have a baby. You never heard these words spill from my lips,

“I need a grandchild.”

“When are you going to give me a grandchild?”

I’m not getting any younger, aren’t you EVER going to have children?”

I figured after ten years of being married that they had decided (privately) that it wasn’t part of their five-year plan (obviously) or even their ten-year-plan and it was their business and I might be obnoxious about MANY MANY things (I admit it) but I wasn’t the stereotypical Jewish mom in THAT way.

I was 100% totally OK with it, too.

So it came as a shock to no one more than myself how excited I was when my son and DIL told me they were expecting a child, and in our lovely TMI way—providing me with all the who-what-where-when details of the actual conception (my son is SO proud of himself; my son the overachiever lol.)

First, I screamed.

Then I said, “It’s about time!!”

And then because that’s the way I roll, I make everything all about ME.

Since that day, I’ve become OBSESSED with all things baby—I swear, hand to heart, it’s as if I’m the one who’s carrying this boychild and I know that sounds weird , REALLY weird if you think about it, geez, that’s my SON, but that’s how invested I am.

If everyone thought I was a helicopter mom before, all I can say is LOOK OUT.

I actually tell people I’m having a baby.

I mean I’ve told absolute strangers that I’m having a baby, and when they look at me skeptically—medical miracle and all that, plus my belly with no discernible bump- (well, there are definitely lumps but no bumps) I clarify that it’s my son and his wife who are having a baby, and they inevitably say,

“Ohhh, so you’re a first-time grandma, now I get it. Been there, done that. Best time in your entire life. Congratulations!

I’m a shopper.

I’m a shopaholic.

I’m obsessed with retail therapy.

I love shopping for myself.

I really, really do.

But there’s something wrong with me!

I drive to all my favorite stores and run my fingers through silk blouses and sparkly jewelry and high-heeled winter boots; and NOTHING.

I buy NOTHING. Not a thing. Nothing sparks my desire.

However, I find myself magnetically drawn to the baby department where I analyze and scrutinize newborn onesies, the softest little socks, nursery bedding, high chairs, and strollers.

Apparently the only stroller worth having in 2015 is a Bugaboo, which costs as much as a used car.bugaboo-buffalo-stroller-BK2015-BA-RBB-0

When my son was born, we had this pram, similar in design to this Milson used by the royal family, with big wheels and shock absorbers guaranteed to provide Angel Boy with a smooth ride. We found it at an antique store and I’m pretty sure no one else in San Diego County pushed their child in this kind of luxury.231265080

I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow.

In the past, I’d be happy because the office is near Anthropologie, J Crew, and Bloomies.

But now? 

I’m excited as can be because I can stop at Buy Buy BABY.

What the heck is wrong with me?

Have I been infected with that grandmother-itis I’ve been hearing about?

The high chair is used but very clean and only needs a new insert.highchair

Who could resist this sailboat onesie with matching hat?
highchair2

Yes, there’s most definitely something wrong with me.

And the winner is…XX or XY?

I’m bursting to tell, but first…

(I seem to repeat myself on both blogs and a big sorry to those who follow both cos you’re reading things twice, so I need to sit myself down and figure out how I can have both topics in one location cos this is driving me crazy. Well, crazier than I was, and now that the mothership (me) is obsessing about this baby, well, I’m at a whole new level of cray.)

And now we return to today’s post…

how-to-have-a-baby-girl

Don’t hate but here’s a truth; when my son was in elementary school, I’d pick him up every day after school and we’d walk home while he chattered away about what what happened during the day, what he learned, and sometimes this:

“Mom, Mom, guess what? I have EXTRA CREDIT!”

Yes, my Angel Boy looked at additional schoolwork as a gift —and why would anyone want to rain on his bliss?

Always the overachiever, it’s not surprising that he performed over and above in this category too, because he and DIL are having a…

wait for it

wait for it

oh, I can’t wait.

IT’S A …

BOYseashells

*Squeeeee!!*

Can you hear me screaming for joy?

DIL’s already referring to him as Angel Boy 2.0…here’s a pic.

He looks exactly like the Original Angel Boy with that big head!

AB2.0 BLOGpic

The first thing this yummy grandmummy did was to rush out and SHOP!

babygifts1

Next on the list is painting the nursery a lovely vintage yellow. I’ll decorate with an animal/nautical theme.

Lots of animals.

Nautical + animals but NOT a Noah’s Ark vibe.

Of course lots of love.

Cos that’s really all you need.

All you need is love. heartconstellation

I Fell Down and a Baby Popped Out.

In that order, but it took a whole day to achieve my life’s greatest accomplishment.

In 1981, March 23 fell on a Monday.

This year, my Angel Boy is in New York at a conference at NYU. My BABY boy is not a baby anymore. That’s a hard concept to grasp…

The day before…
I took my dogs, Beowulf and Sabrina, out for an early morning walk.

My mom was going to come over around noon and take me shopping — see, that’s where I get it from!

It was a full week past my due date and those pesky Braxton Hicks contractions were terrifying me on a daily basis. My mom was the head RN of Women’s Surgical at a local hospital. She thought a bit of retail therapy (see what I mean?) would take my mind off of that discomfort.

At that time, my son’s dad and I lived in an older part of San Diego; Hillcrest. The sidewalks were deteriorated with huge cracks and fissures.

With my big belly full of Angel Boy blocking my view, I tripped and fell — not hard — but with sixty extra pounds on my normally one hundred pound frame, I was more than a little ungainly.

I remember being super embarrassed for anyone to watch my feeble attempts to get up. Luckily, no one was out that early. I leaned on Beowulf (one-hundred-pounds of Akita/Husky/Wolf) who stood about thirty inches at his shoulders, and he was a sturdy support to help me up.

I continued walking home — just a few blocks — and didn’t think much about my fall, but I did tell my mom when she picked me up to go to the mall.

She knew everything there was to know about birthin’ babies.

She reminded me that she had told me a zillion times not to go walking alone this late in pregnancy, but I replied like I always did, “Blah, blah, blah…I’m not listening to a word you say.”

We stopped at a lingerie shop and she bought me a beautiful rosebud sprigged shortie nightgown.

As we were leaving the store, I whispered to her, “Mom, I think I wet my pants.”

(Dumb me, who had read every single book ever written about pregnancy and childbirth, didn’t comprehend what had happened.)

My mom instantly went into what we always called her “nursey” mode.

Quizzing me non-stop about any other symptoms in a very calm voice, we cut short our shopping day (darn) and drove home.

I don’t want to be too gross here; let’s just say other things were leaking out of me, too…

Suddenly, those Braxton Hicks contractions became the real thing.

I called my doctor. It was time.

All during my pregnancy, I had planned to deliver at home, au natural, with my mom as midwife.

Toward the end, it became obvious that my Angel Boy was too big for that to be possible.

I hate hospitals.

I didn’t want that atmosphere to be the first memories implanted in my baby’s precious brain. With reluctance, I agreed that his health was more important than my hippie chick desires, and hubs, mom, and I all went to the hospital.

The doc examined me, concluded that the fall had merely torn the amniotic sac and the potential for introducing bacteria was a concern, so I agreed to let him completely puncture it to speed up the process.

And oh yes, speed it up it did. The mild contractions intensified.

Other than the unrelenting pain, which didn’t respond to that stupid Lamaze class training, I remember my son’s dad watching “Patton” on the wall TV in the birthing room.

I will always hate him for that.

After being in labor all night, my mom and the doc had a consultation.

Apparently, my baby had a head the size of Plymouth Rock and it was stuck.

It just wouldn’t come out.

I was so upset I couldn’t stop crying.

I had failed my first test as a mom.

So…at 9:42 a.m. on Monday, March 23, 1981, I had an emergency Caesarean Section.

I was wide awake and watched it all.

In the end, I guess it didn’t really matter how my Angel Boy got here.

He was beautiful and healthy; 8 1/2 pounds and 21 inches. He scored a 9 on the Apgar Scale; a high achiever from the beginning!

Happy 33rd birthday, Professor Angel Boy!

happyballoons

babyJ
sailorsuitJ
batJteddybearJ

A Wanted Child

I am of the opinion that the global interest (and/or disdain)  in the birth of Britain’s future king is really less about the trappings of wealth and royal life — the gene pool and history he’s born into –than our forlorn and seemingly irretrievable collective absence of moms and dads who devote their lives to their babies.

As happy as I am for the birth of George Alexander Louis, His Royal Highness Prince George of Cambridge. this newborn who will be king, it makes me equally as sad for all the babies born that are NOT going to be as loved or wanted or properly cared for or parented.

All babies should be as loved as this one, all children deserve to feel like a prince or a princess, not like an unwanted nuisance or an accessory to be displayed when it’s convenient –and ignored when it’s not.

All children should be gazed upon with unconditional love, devotion, and dedication.

Over the years, I’ve observed enough parent/child interactions to believe that we may have forfeited the desire and commitment to raising a brand new human with lifelong dedication and passion–and love.

The bond between parent and child is one of the strongest connections in nature –or it should be.

I was again reminded how that’s not always the case when my tugboat man and I were at Barnes and Noble in Orange County a couple days ago.

He had most kindly driven me to Chanel because I lost a screw in the hardware of my Grand Shopper Tote and their only method of replacement involved bringing the bag to them, which was most def NOT a hardship. LOL. My sweet hubs drove me ‘cos of the limited use of my still only semi-functioning left arm — three more weeks of this stupid cast…

After going to Chanel and browsing through as many other stores as his patience would allow (he obvs does not share my same passion to discover the treasure of a perfect wedge) his sanctuary was the bookstore whilst I continued my search at the Nord Outlet.

Unfortunately though, my heart’s desire was not to be realized that day — no wedge for me…so I walked next door and I found my mariner among the stacks of maritime-related books–sooo predictable.

As we waited in line to pay for his books, there was a mom and a boy who looked to be about four-years-old. He was talking to her — trying to talk to her — about toys, books, whatever, just the adorable stream-of-consciousness conversation of a little one — and he was being ignored.

Mom was scrolling through her smart phone, reading a text, responding to a text, all the while she selfishly sacrificed this glorious opportunity to “be present in the moment” with her bright little boy.

Finally, after several minutes of trying to elicit a response, to be heard, to be acknowledged, to garner her oh-so-valuable attention, he put his hand up as if to physically block her from seeing the phone and said in a resigned tone that left me no doubt he’s said this before;

“No phone, Momma, no phone. Me, Momma, ME.

No phone.”

At that point, she looked up, turned away from him, and responded,

“Just a minute. Just a minute. Stop. I’m almost done.”

By the crestfallen look on his face, it was too late.

The spark of light had gone out of his eyes.

Poof, just like that.

It was a precious moment forever lost.

Hubs and I shook our heads. We felt so sad for this boy and disgusted with his clueless mom.

Ah well, I feel like a dinosaur.

My Angel Boy was wanted and cherished — from the time I was a little girl, I wanted to be a mom — I knew that for me, there would be nothing more fulfilling than the joy caring for a baby and helping that new life grow; nurturing his interests, curiosity, and imagination.

His Montessori Kindergarten teacher once said to me (in her adorable French accent):

“Jay-sohn seez ze world een heez own way.”

Jason sees the world in his own way.

He still does, and I can think of no better validation of my job as his mom.

Were there bad and neglectful parents before the invention of technology and social media?

Of course there were.

It just seems as if phones and video games have become an overwhelming distraction — and the focus of daily existence. Caring for a home and family is pushed way down the list.

Our values are skewed — in my (unpopular) opinion.

Prince-William-and-Kate-royal-baby-2082438The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, gazing upon their newborn with such unabashed love, reminds me of a playground song:

“First comes love, then comes marriage.
Then comes a baby in a baby carriage.”

People who don’t want the serious and lifelong responsibility of having children should not have them.

It’s that simple.

Let’s treat our children like they’re the most special people in the world, OK?

I’m shouting this to the world in general…

“Moms and Dads, get off your phones!
Please, PAY ATTENTION to your children.
They’re more important than TWITTER,  FACEBOOK, or any other inanimate object.”

I Fell Down and a Baby Popped Out.

In that order, but it took a whole day to achieve my life’s greatest accomplishment.

In 1981, March 23 fell on a Monday.

The day before…
I took my dogs, Beowulf and Sabrina, out for an early morning walk.

My mom was going to come over around noon and take me shopping — see, that’s where I get it from!

It was a full week past my due date and those pesky Braxton Hicks contractions were terrifying me on a daily basis. My mom was the head RN of Women’s Surgical at a local hospital. She thought a bit of retail therapy (see what I mean?) would take my mind off of that discomfort.

At that time, my son’s dad and I lived in an older part of San Diego; Hillcrest. The sidewalks were deteriorated with huge cracks and fissures.

With my big belly full of Angel Boy blocking my view, I tripped and fell — not hard — but with sixty extra pounds on my normally one hundred pound frame, I was more than a little ungainly.

I remember being super embarrassed for anyone to watch my feeble attempts to get up. Luckily, no one was out that early. I leaned on Beowulf (one-hundred-pounds of Akita/Husky/Wolf) who stood about thirty inches at his shoulders, and he was a sturdy support to help me up.

I continued walking home — just a few blocks — and didn’t think much about my fall, but I did tell my mom when she picked me up to go to the mall.

She knew everything there was to know about birthin’ babies.

She reminded me that she had told me a zillion times not to go walking alone this late in pregnancy, but I replied like I always did, “Blah, blah, blah…I’m not listening to a word you say.”

We stopped at a lingerie shop and she bought me a beautiful rosebud sprigged shortie nightgown.

As we were leaving the store, I whispered to her, “Mom, I think I wet my pants.”

(Dumb me, who had read every single book ever written about pregnancy and childbirth, didn’t comprehend what had happened.)

My mom instantly went into what we always called her “nursey” mode.

Quizzing me non-stop about any other symptoms in a very calm voice, we cut short our shopping day (darn) and drove home.

I don’t want to be too gross here; let’s just say other things were leaking out of me, too…

Suddenly, those Braxton Hicks contractions became the real thing.

I called my doctor. It was time.

All during my pregnancy, I had planned to deliver at home, au natural, with my mom as midwife.

Toward the end, it became obvious that my Angel Boy was too big for that to be possible.

I hate hospitals.

I didn’t want that atmosphere to be the first memories implanted in my baby’s precious brain. With reluctance, I agreed that his health was more important than my hippie chick desires, and hubs, mom, and I all went to the hospital.

The doc examined me, concluded that the fall had merely torn the amniotic sac and the potential for introducing bacteria was a concern, so I agreed to let him completely puncture it to speed up the process.

And oh yes, speed it up it did. The mild contractions intensified.

Other than the unrelenting pain, which didn’t respond to that stupid Lamaze class training, I remember my son’s dad watching “Patton” on the wall TV in the birthing room.

I will always hate him for that.

After being in labor all night, my mom and the doc had a consultation.

Apparently, my baby had a head the size of Plymouth Rock and it was stuck.

It just wouldn’t come out.

I was so upset I couldn’t stop crying.

I had failed my first test as a mom.

So…at 9:42 a.m. on Monday, March 23, 1981, I had an emergency Caesarean Section.

I was wide awake and watched it all.

In the end, I guess it didn’t really matter how my Angel Boy got here.

He was beautiful and healthy; 8 1/2 pounds and 21 inches. He scored a 9 on the Apgar Scale; a high achiever from the beginning!

Happy 33rd birthday, Professor Angel Boy!

happyballoons

babyJ
sailorsuitJ
batJteddybearJ