Our last green month is April April 2004 Out of milk - on with powder. A day out on an infernal hill. Our baby proves unsinkable.

	Tommy in his carrier is waving his little hands and little feet, in sync with Sid's pace

	Picnic in woods

Our regular readers already know that Tommy and I have abandoned breastfeeding since end of March. Brainwashed by passionate supporters of natural nursing, I expected that my world would come crumbling down, or at least that I would collapse and Tommy would long after his mother's milk to the extent that he'd lose weight and get pale and rip his aching mother's heart out by means of desperate crying. Well, too bad.

Artificial milk formula is just OK for our porky baby, he eagerly reaches for bottles (only he tends to put the nipple toward his eye rather than his mouth) and after all -- instead of eternally moody whimperer, I got back my happy, chubby baby. No wonder: lately after nursing he had to cry for extra portion of formula, now he gets it right away and without pointless hassle. Secondly, now that he's not hanging off my teat for most of the day, I have some more time and feel like playing with him and fool around, which at his age he may appreciate more than mere romantic gazing at each other over a boob. Through making his food supply more regular, Tommy's daily regimen became more organized, too. At night he sleeps in his crib from nine to six, then he usually adds two hours of napping in our bed, after feeding at eleven a.m. he throws in another half hour nap, during which I can get ready for a walk; after a heavier lunch around two in the afternoon Tom lays down for two or three hours, which opens plenty room for my chores that are hard to interrupt (like writing this journal, ironing, etc.).

	Devil's Elbow; in background, Altamont Pass, Tracy and the Central Valley

	View to Walnut Creek; in background one can guess outlines of industrialized northern part of San Francisco Bay.

The change has been more apparent on me. I suddenly gained some three hours a day. Since each nursing used to take half an hour, then I hurried to mix extra formula, and ended up feeding from the bottle, I spent altogether easily one hour every time. Saving half hour with each one of the six daily feedings, gives me actual free time! Tommy's regular sleeping also benefits our household, and I don't feel so hunted down. What surprised me are the physical changes. Let me only slightly touch the subject of having no longer the outline of Dolly Buster, and getting rid of those abominable nursing pads; I simply generally deflated. During my last breast-feeding month, I got the impression of gaining weight at a disgusting rate; my wedding right felt too small. It seems now that all this swelling was only water retention -- within three days I returned to my regular size. I also feel optimistic about getting rid of all the extra motherhood fat -- my desperate feeding urges faded away (the state when one stands in front of an open refrigerator and inhales everything in sight without bothering with plates or silverware), and some strange energy came back - almost a feeling of hovering a few inches above ground. Overall I feel like emerging, after a year, from a very long and very dark tunnel. On one side I understand Mother Nature: motherhood is such a load that for both babies and their surroundings, a safer mother is one thoroughly auto-sedated. Still, I did not expect saying goodbye to all those hormones would be such a turn for better.

	In hot tub

	Tom's first time in our jacuzzi.

Full of energy, I planned our family outing to Mount Diablo, a mountain of 3,849 ft altitude, which occasionally emerges from fog and smog on the eastern side of San Francisco Bay. Before we finished talking, having breakfast, dressing, and packing, it was -- as usual -- noon again, so we first went to lunch. Tommy had the mercy this time to let us finish our meals, and only then he switched to yelling mode. Eventually we discovered he was hungry, too, and we passed our subsequent miles in our feeding configuration - Sid behind the wheel, Tom in his car seat, and I, holding his milk bottle, in the back seat. Fortunately Tom does not oppose these meals-on-wheels, which saves us a lot of time.

Mount Diablo was named thus in error. By 1804 or 1805, Spanish military expedition searched the neighborhood for Indians who escaped from a mission. A few miles southeast of today's Mt. Diablo, Spaniards tracked down an Indian village in a willow thicket, surrounded it, but the Indians managed to escape during the night and the angry and confused soldiers called the place "Monte del Diablo" - "Thicket of the Devil". Later American settlers flunked the translation into Monte = Mount and applied it to the nearest mountain. Thus California got a Devil's Mountain.

	Here's our happy baby

There's nothing infernal about the top of that mountain. Quite to the contrary. We hiked a trail that circles right under the very top, and takes you to a rock called Devil's Elbow. Gradually, more and more breathtaking views opened before us, onto tens to hundreds of miles of landscape in all directions. In the west, the city of San Francisco hides under the eternal blanket of fog; in the northeast, along Sacramento River, your eyes wander almost to California's capital city of the same name, which you can only guess in fuzzy gray outlines. Agricultural plain in the east is a bit confusing -- there are several towns and from this unusual angle, one can easily miss one for another. The southeast offer tiny white petals of wind power plants of Altamont Pass, and knolls typical for this part of California. April is usually our last month with any rain and green grass; in a few weeks, when the sun bakes the land into a golden brown, this whole view will change dramatically.
Since there's a lookout atop Mt. Diablo, we climbed up there, but Tommy did not like it at all, for a cold wind was blowing into his face. We had to leave quickly. Our chubby boy made also clear that he would like to eat again; thus we stopped in a convenient place for a little picnic. As a housewife, I failed again: I had packed a snack for Tom, but forgot us. We could only envy Tom with his appetite.

	Guess what all Tommy inherited from his father...?

On Sunday evening, after more than a year of non-use, we heated up our jacuzzi in the back yard, and soaked the whole family in hot water. Tommy had to wait for a while until water cooled down to ninety degrees, and then experienced his first full-size bath. We expected big screaming, for normally we only splash him over in a small tub, which starts to be desperately small for him, but if Tom feared anything, he did not show it, unless you count his very big eyes. It surprised us that, although untrained, he reflexively closes his eyes and holds his breath, whenever water splashes in his face.

Already the same Sunday evening, my throat started to hurt, and I was hoping that a hot bath helps, but on Monday morning I trumpeted a full retreat. That is, Sid had to call to work that he cannot come, and that's all I know -- I spent the whole day in bed, with a box of paper tissues and several nightmares. I lost awareness of having a husband and a child -- my boys managed well on their own. I'm not really surprised: Sid always has been able to take care of Tommy, but by admiring reactions I reckon that this may not be as common. Nevertheless one and half day, during which I was left alone (Sid went back to work on Tuesday noon), worked miracles and since Wednesday I have been in full gear. I only hope that Tommy won't contract my ugly residual cold/flu.

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