I am a big fan of words. I use them about every day, I say them and write them and generally think in them, and I went to school (still go, actually...) to learn to get good at them. Words are pretty cool, most of the time.
So I am REALLY excited about Owen starting to use them.
His first word was "Hi" and that was pretty cool. It proved beyond a shadow of a doubt, as if we had any, that he was a super social baby. But other than "mommy-daddy-baba-yeah-bye bye"he hasn't said much yet. Except for the times he blurts out something insane after I say it, like "umbrella" or "aww jeez."
I want him to talk to me. I want him to tell me what he sees, and how he feels, and what he thinks is fun and what he thinks is lame. I want him to tell me why he doesn't like grilled cheese or blueberry muffins, but he does like mashed peas and fish. I want him to tell me the best way to do things like wash his face without getting soap in his eyes, or how to tie his shoes so they aren't too tight. I want him to say, "I love you, too, Momma!"
Of course, I want him to say that.
a teeny blurb about me
- another clueless mom
- I am a 32 year old first time mom who is continually shocked at how much those baby books and doulas and midwives don't tell you about having and raising kids...let me tell you, it's a lot!
12.19.2011
12.13.2011
Sickies
O has the sickies.
Not the nice, gentle sickies where you sort of have a teensy fever and you feel a little sleepy and your nose runs a bit, or you have a lazy cough. No, no.
He has the 102 degree fever, vomiting, no appetite, can't stay awake, super cranky, totally weepy, snot gushing, diarrhea sickies. And he's had it for two days. And it makes me want to cry.
He doesn't understand things like "virus running its course" or "it will pass soon." He doesn't understand why a snuggle hug from Mommy doesn't fix it. He doesn't understand why all of his orifices are leaking/exploding/dripping. He just understands that he's hot as an oven and his whole body hates him.
These are the moments that I struggle with the most. The moments when my baby, my sweet, gentle boy, is looking at me with wet, red eyes, and all I can do is kiss his forehead and tell him I love him. The moments when I am utterly helpless, and fighting the good fight against a nasty virus means doling out Ibuprofen when the fever gets too high and giving him juice-water and electrolyte popsicles. I hate this. I know I have said it before, and I am willing to bet I will say it again, but I hate it. It's horrible.
Not to mention I almost can't stomach the smell of vomit.
:(
Not the nice, gentle sickies where you sort of have a teensy fever and you feel a little sleepy and your nose runs a bit, or you have a lazy cough. No, no.
He has the 102 degree fever, vomiting, no appetite, can't stay awake, super cranky, totally weepy, snot gushing, diarrhea sickies. And he's had it for two days. And it makes me want to cry.
He doesn't understand things like "virus running its course" or "it will pass soon." He doesn't understand why a snuggle hug from Mommy doesn't fix it. He doesn't understand why all of his orifices are leaking/exploding/dripping. He just understands that he's hot as an oven and his whole body hates him.
These are the moments that I struggle with the most. The moments when my baby, my sweet, gentle boy, is looking at me with wet, red eyes, and all I can do is kiss his forehead and tell him I love him. The moments when I am utterly helpless, and fighting the good fight against a nasty virus means doling out Ibuprofen when the fever gets too high and giving him juice-water and electrolyte popsicles. I hate this. I know I have said it before, and I am willing to bet I will say it again, but I hate it. It's horrible.
Not to mention I almost can't stomach the smell of vomit.
:(
12.08.2011
Should I stay or should I go, now?
So, I have begun the arduous and angst producing process of job hunting recently. We are sick of being perpetually broke, going in the red every month and depending on my student loans to clear our debt every semester. It sucks, and it's wearing us down emotionally as well as financially. This is definitely not the best way to manage our financial future.
But since I lost my job right after Owen was born, and Aron was lucky enough (thank you God/Allah/Universe/Ganesh) to find a job that almost made up for my lost income, we decided it was a great opportunity for me after all. I would get to stay home with Owen, be the always-there Mom that so many women wish feverishly for the chance to be, and Aron would be the breadwinner. It was going to be just like the Cleavers (only I had no intention of wearing my hair that way, sorry June.)
Here's the thing, folks. Being a stay at home mom, at least for me, has been nothing like the Cleavers.
Now before I start ranting, let's be totally clear: I love my kid. I love him with a ferocity that astounds me. I love him like whales love their blubber on a cold night. He is the most wonderful part of my whole life, and I would never ever trade the experience of being his mom for anything.
But damn, that baby wears me out!
He is a very active kid. Even in the womb he was doing summersaults and using my bladder as a trampoline. He came out headfirst and reading to go, wide awake and alert. From the minute we got home he was checking out all the crazy people who visited and making faces at the smell of old-lady-dog farts and my burnt pork chops. He was wide open from day one, and he has not slowed down. And this is a good thing, really! He's got a zest for life, a curious mind, and a passion for experience that will ensure his life is interesting and fun. He's not afraid of anything, and even though his fearlessness can terrify me, it's a great quality.
But it still terrifies me. And along with feeling things like terror and boundless love on a daily basis, I feel things like uncertainty, exhaustion, frustration, awe, loneliness, amazement, pride, boredom, and resentment. A number of those I did not anticipate. And quite frankly, I am tired of a few of them.
I am glad I have been here so far. I got to see all of his first things happen; his first playdate with Ezra (who is the delightfully calm and cherubic baby I dreamt about having!), his first yucky face when eating mushed peas, his first sneeze, and his first sneaky attempt to crawl up the stairs (good thing I caught that quickly!) I have been able to comfort him when he was sick with his first cold, and cheer him on when he took his first steps. I have snuggled and burped and kissed and nursed and changed and cooed. And it's great that I was there for that, especially in those first months when bonding with your baby is so vital to your relationship. It sets the tone, I think, for how you will relate to each other for life, and I got to set a pretty good tone.
But it's been hard on me, in a lot of ways. I have desperately missed using my brain for something other than calculating the perfect ratio of breastmilk-rice cereal to entice him to eat. And I have craved adult conversation and company, especially since my hard-working husband is often gone for work for four days a week. I have been bored in a way that only another ADHD SAHM would understand. I have been overwhelmed with exhaustion, and I have to express my deep gratitude for the few hours a week we had a nanny help me during those first several months so I could get some sleep or go to the grocery store alone, because those precious hours are probably what kept me from a true postpartum episode of insanity.
The thing is, I have put off looking for work partly because I felt like it means I am a failure, or a bad mom. I mean, if we were a little more careful with our budget, we could probably make it ok for a while longer. And then I could stay home with O. I know mothers who would kill to stay home with their kids, so what does it say about me that I am dying to get a few hours a week away?
I realized recently that it means I am a healthy human being who understands her limitations and is trying to take care of her needs. I need to be able to go to work a couple of times a week and get out of the house, away from the constant energy drain of raising a toddler who never slows down. I need to feel like I am contributing something financially to this family, and take a small part of the stress and burden off of my husband. I need the fulfillment and satisfaction of doing a job and doing it well, even if that job is waiting tables at Olive Garden or managing a Gymboree store in the mall. And I think my son has needs too, that would be well met by me getting out of the way.
My little Monkey is a wild child, in the best ways possible. He's super duper social to an extent that I don't think I ever was. He loves to play with other kids and meet new people. He loves to make friends. And being at home with me all day, even if that includes an hour at the mall's indoor playground or a playdate with some local SAHMs and their toddlers, is not enough stimulation and social engagement for him. He is happiest and most at peace when there are 17 kids in the room, all talking and running and laughing and drooling. He needs a social environment like day care to keep him growing and evolving. He needs other toddlers to help him fine tune his skills, like sitting quietly in a chair for lunch time, or what to do when an adult says "No." He needs the variety of activities and experiences that some part-time day care would provide him.
So now we can both get what we need. I can get out of the house and remind myself that I am a grown-up person with a pretty smart brain and some useful skills, and he can get out of the house and enjoy a few hours of the organized insanity of institutionalized child care.
Life is about balance. And in some ways, parenting emphasizes that even more. Children whose homes feel balanced and well rounded are certainly more likely to feel that way as individuals. And parents who don't always feel like they are teetering on the brink are probably better parents. So here's to the balance of being a part-time mom and part-time worker bee. Cheers!
But since I lost my job right after Owen was born, and Aron was lucky enough (thank you God/Allah/Universe/Ganesh) to find a job that almost made up for my lost income, we decided it was a great opportunity for me after all. I would get to stay home with Owen, be the always-there Mom that so many women wish feverishly for the chance to be, and Aron would be the breadwinner. It was going to be just like the Cleavers (only I had no intention of wearing my hair that way, sorry June.)
Here's the thing, folks. Being a stay at home mom, at least for me, has been nothing like the Cleavers.
Now before I start ranting, let's be totally clear: I love my kid. I love him with a ferocity that astounds me. I love him like whales love their blubber on a cold night. He is the most wonderful part of my whole life, and I would never ever trade the experience of being his mom for anything.
But damn, that baby wears me out!
He is a very active kid. Even in the womb he was doing summersaults and using my bladder as a trampoline. He came out headfirst and reading to go, wide awake and alert. From the minute we got home he was checking out all the crazy people who visited and making faces at the smell of old-lady-dog farts and my burnt pork chops. He was wide open from day one, and he has not slowed down. And this is a good thing, really! He's got a zest for life, a curious mind, and a passion for experience that will ensure his life is interesting and fun. He's not afraid of anything, and even though his fearlessness can terrify me, it's a great quality.
But it still terrifies me. And along with feeling things like terror and boundless love on a daily basis, I feel things like uncertainty, exhaustion, frustration, awe, loneliness, amazement, pride, boredom, and resentment. A number of those I did not anticipate. And quite frankly, I am tired of a few of them.
I am glad I have been here so far. I got to see all of his first things happen; his first playdate with Ezra (who is the delightfully calm and cherubic baby I dreamt about having!), his first yucky face when eating mushed peas, his first sneeze, and his first sneaky attempt to crawl up the stairs (good thing I caught that quickly!) I have been able to comfort him when he was sick with his first cold, and cheer him on when he took his first steps. I have snuggled and burped and kissed and nursed and changed and cooed. And it's great that I was there for that, especially in those first months when bonding with your baby is so vital to your relationship. It sets the tone, I think, for how you will relate to each other for life, and I got to set a pretty good tone.
But it's been hard on me, in a lot of ways. I have desperately missed using my brain for something other than calculating the perfect ratio of breastmilk-rice cereal to entice him to eat. And I have craved adult conversation and company, especially since my hard-working husband is often gone for work for four days a week. I have been bored in a way that only another ADHD SAHM would understand. I have been overwhelmed with exhaustion, and I have to express my deep gratitude for the few hours a week we had a nanny help me during those first several months so I could get some sleep or go to the grocery store alone, because those precious hours are probably what kept me from a true postpartum episode of insanity.
The thing is, I have put off looking for work partly because I felt like it means I am a failure, or a bad mom. I mean, if we were a little more careful with our budget, we could probably make it ok for a while longer. And then I could stay home with O. I know mothers who would kill to stay home with their kids, so what does it say about me that I am dying to get a few hours a week away?
I realized recently that it means I am a healthy human being who understands her limitations and is trying to take care of her needs. I need to be able to go to work a couple of times a week and get out of the house, away from the constant energy drain of raising a toddler who never slows down. I need to feel like I am contributing something financially to this family, and take a small part of the stress and burden off of my husband. I need the fulfillment and satisfaction of doing a job and doing it well, even if that job is waiting tables at Olive Garden or managing a Gymboree store in the mall. And I think my son has needs too, that would be well met by me getting out of the way.
My little Monkey is a wild child, in the best ways possible. He's super duper social to an extent that I don't think I ever was. He loves to play with other kids and meet new people. He loves to make friends. And being at home with me all day, even if that includes an hour at the mall's indoor playground or a playdate with some local SAHMs and their toddlers, is not enough stimulation and social engagement for him. He is happiest and most at peace when there are 17 kids in the room, all talking and running and laughing and drooling. He needs a social environment like day care to keep him growing and evolving. He needs other toddlers to help him fine tune his skills, like sitting quietly in a chair for lunch time, or what to do when an adult says "No." He needs the variety of activities and experiences that some part-time day care would provide him.
So now we can both get what we need. I can get out of the house and remind myself that I am a grown-up person with a pretty smart brain and some useful skills, and he can get out of the house and enjoy a few hours of the organized insanity of institutionalized child care.
Life is about balance. And in some ways, parenting emphasizes that even more. Children whose homes feel balanced and well rounded are certainly more likely to feel that way as individuals. And parents who don't always feel like they are teetering on the brink are probably better parents. So here's to the balance of being a part-time mom and part-time worker bee. Cheers!
12.03.2011
Changes
Being a Mom changes a lot of things.
You don't sleep much anymore. There are days you don't shower at all, and sometimes there are more of them in a week than there are days you do shower. You get sneezed/drooled/barfed/peed on at least once a day. Half of your trash is dirty diapers. You hardly ever talk on the phone for more then 8 minutes at a time. And you buy a lot of pureed food.
These are the kinds of things you expect. The sort of 'oh yeah, sure' changes that make sense. But there are other things that you probably didn't think about until you actually had your little poop machine.
For example;
Your purse now carries unsexy things like extra pacifiers, baby fruit snacks, and snotty tissues, but no longer carries sexy things like a spare condom, sparkly lip gloss, or some hot guy's phone number given to you at a bar at 1am (bar? 1am? pshaw.)
Your wardrobe cannot contain items of clothing with things like sequins, ribbons, beads, or other dangly/shiny objects, because as soon as you pick up your kid s/he will immediately try to eat them off of your outfit. Hello, choking hazards.
Your haircut can't be one that requires 'styling' on a daily basis, because the whole not-showering thing makes it difficult to do anything more complicated than run your fingers through it, possibly pin it back with a bobby pin, or swoosh it into some kind of ponytail or bun. The process of combing-leave-in-conditioning-blow-drying-brushing-defrizzing-spraying-straightening leaves way too much time for mini-you to try and drown him/herself in the toilet or eat the snotty tissues out of your purse.
Really fun errands, like getting your tires rotated, voting in a midterm election, or having a pap smear, now have to be coordinated carefully to include the presence of a child caregiver or the lack of child altogether, because these are definitely NOT really fun errands for your toddler, and they are decidedly less fun for you when your toddler comes along.
Making friends is a whole new ball game. People your age without kids will look at you and think, "She has a kid, and she's probably going to want to bring it with her if we hang out, and she's probably going to want me to like her kid and hold her kid and maybe even change a diaper while she's peeing in the stall somewhere, and I am not totally sure that's going to work well for me." and people with kids will look at you and think, "Oh my God, not another friend with a kid...I just want to have some friends who can talk to me about something other than how their infant was lactose intolerant for 6 months."
There are other things, too, but there are the ones I have been noticing the most lately. Like today, when he tried to eat the sequins off my tank top. And last week when I got my hair cut "shorter, this time, ok? I need to not have to do anything to it at all!" And last month when I got new tires and it took 4 hours and Owen tried to eat the whole waiting room.
But I love him! And I love being a Mom!
:)
You don't sleep much anymore. There are days you don't shower at all, and sometimes there are more of them in a week than there are days you do shower. You get sneezed/drooled/barfed/peed on at least once a day. Half of your trash is dirty diapers. You hardly ever talk on the phone for more then 8 minutes at a time. And you buy a lot of pureed food.
These are the kinds of things you expect. The sort of 'oh yeah, sure' changes that make sense. But there are other things that you probably didn't think about until you actually had your little poop machine.
For example;
Your purse now carries unsexy things like extra pacifiers, baby fruit snacks, and snotty tissues, but no longer carries sexy things like a spare condom, sparkly lip gloss, or some hot guy's phone number given to you at a bar at 1am (bar? 1am? pshaw.)
Your wardrobe cannot contain items of clothing with things like sequins, ribbons, beads, or other dangly/shiny objects, because as soon as you pick up your kid s/he will immediately try to eat them off of your outfit. Hello, choking hazards.
Your haircut can't be one that requires 'styling' on a daily basis, because the whole not-showering thing makes it difficult to do anything more complicated than run your fingers through it, possibly pin it back with a bobby pin, or swoosh it into some kind of ponytail or bun. The process of combing-leave-in-conditioning-blow-drying-brushing-defrizzing-spraying-straightening leaves way too much time for mini-you to try and drown him/herself in the toilet or eat the snotty tissues out of your purse.
Really fun errands, like getting your tires rotated, voting in a midterm election, or having a pap smear, now have to be coordinated carefully to include the presence of a child caregiver or the lack of child altogether, because these are definitely NOT really fun errands for your toddler, and they are decidedly less fun for you when your toddler comes along.
Making friends is a whole new ball game. People your age without kids will look at you and think, "She has a kid, and she's probably going to want to bring it with her if we hang out, and she's probably going to want me to like her kid and hold her kid and maybe even change a diaper while she's peeing in the stall somewhere, and I am not totally sure that's going to work well for me." and people with kids will look at you and think, "Oh my God, not another friend with a kid...I just want to have some friends who can talk to me about something other than how their infant was lactose intolerant for 6 months."
There are other things, too, but there are the ones I have been noticing the most lately. Like today, when he tried to eat the sequins off my tank top. And last week when I got my hair cut "shorter, this time, ok? I need to not have to do anything to it at all!" And last month when I got new tires and it took 4 hours and Owen tried to eat the whole waiting room.
But I love him! And I love being a Mom!
:)
12.01.2011
Lonely and Bored
My Monkey needs a monkey to play with. Or at least a toddler. And it is becoming more and more apparent every day.
A typical day for us goes like this:
We get up. Usually too early for my taste (too early being any time before 9:30).
He has his milk, and the unfortunately common dose of antibiotics or Advil that comes with raging ear infections and multiple teething breaking through.
He runs around the living room/kitchen/his bedroom for a while, and I try to eat something, check emails, and call Daddy to say good morning.
He has breakfast (by which I mean I try to feed him breakfast, he laughs in my face and throws it on the floor, I give up, and he goes back to playing).
At some point he gets cranky and takes a morning nap.
So far, not so bad. He has played with the vast majority of his toys with some level of interest, I have probably read him "Violet's House" at least 3 times, and he has successfully climbed on to at least 2 pieces of furniture. He has been pretty entertained. But it won't last. By the time he gets up from his nap, laughs at me when I try to give him lunch, and I put him in his clothes for the day, he's ready for some action. And I don't mean watching "Die Hard." I mean he wants KIDS to PLAY WITH and he wants them NOW.
Unfortunately, we still only have the Fillmore kids as our Columbia kid friends. The two mommy meetup groups I tried to join were populated by wealthy moms on the Northeast side, and it didn't work out so well. We go to the zoo or the park and sometimes he will get a few minutes here and there with a kid who happens to be there, too. But usually the whole day is just us. Just me and my little boy. And man, oh man, does he get sick of that.
I have figured this out because of this trend I have noticed...he will be cranky and crying and throwing things and having a meltdown, and as soon as we pull up to the Fillmores for whatever planned social time we have scheduled, he is happy as a clam. He's smiling, he's frolicking, he's ready to go. And he will stay that way the whole time.
He's not crabby because he's ill tempered, or because he's feeling icky or needs another nap. He's crabby because he craves the stimulation and energy of playing with two other little boys. And can I blame him?
So it's been a struggle, now that I have realized he is lonely and bored all the time. I have a kid who needs social interaction, but I can't afford daycare and it's been hard to make friends. We tried getting pregnant again, unsuccessfully so far, but even another baby won't solve the playmate problem for quite some time. We have been talking about being foster parents and possibly adopting a toddler-aged kid, but that will also take time, and it's a big, complicated step.
I want my Monkey to be happy, and I wish I knew how to get more kids in his daily life. Without having to, like, steal them or something. :)
A typical day for us goes like this:
We get up. Usually too early for my taste (too early being any time before 9:30).
He has his milk, and the unfortunately common dose of antibiotics or Advil that comes with raging ear infections and multiple teething breaking through.
He runs around the living room/kitchen/his bedroom for a while, and I try to eat something, check emails, and call Daddy to say good morning.
He has breakfast (by which I mean I try to feed him breakfast, he laughs in my face and throws it on the floor, I give up, and he goes back to playing).
At some point he gets cranky and takes a morning nap.
So far, not so bad. He has played with the vast majority of his toys with some level of interest, I have probably read him "Violet's House" at least 3 times, and he has successfully climbed on to at least 2 pieces of furniture. He has been pretty entertained. But it won't last. By the time he gets up from his nap, laughs at me when I try to give him lunch, and I put him in his clothes for the day, he's ready for some action. And I don't mean watching "Die Hard." I mean he wants KIDS to PLAY WITH and he wants them NOW.
Unfortunately, we still only have the Fillmore kids as our Columbia kid friends. The two mommy meetup groups I tried to join were populated by wealthy moms on the Northeast side, and it didn't work out so well. We go to the zoo or the park and sometimes he will get a few minutes here and there with a kid who happens to be there, too. But usually the whole day is just us. Just me and my little boy. And man, oh man, does he get sick of that.
I have figured this out because of this trend I have noticed...he will be cranky and crying and throwing things and having a meltdown, and as soon as we pull up to the Fillmores for whatever planned social time we have scheduled, he is happy as a clam. He's smiling, he's frolicking, he's ready to go. And he will stay that way the whole time.
He's not crabby because he's ill tempered, or because he's feeling icky or needs another nap. He's crabby because he craves the stimulation and energy of playing with two other little boys. And can I blame him?
So it's been a struggle, now that I have realized he is lonely and bored all the time. I have a kid who needs social interaction, but I can't afford daycare and it's been hard to make friends. We tried getting pregnant again, unsuccessfully so far, but even another baby won't solve the playmate problem for quite some time. We have been talking about being foster parents and possibly adopting a toddler-aged kid, but that will also take time, and it's a big, complicated step.
I want my Monkey to be happy, and I wish I knew how to get more kids in his daily life. Without having to, like, steal them or something. :)
11.25.2011
Tough as nails
We went to the zoo today, the day after Thanksgiving, because the whole way home from Bristol I kept thinking about how fun the zoo would be when it's chilly out and not 1000 muggy degrees in the shade.
It was fun. For a while. By which I mean it was fun for exactly 62 minutes.
We watched the penguins, the baboons, and the lorries. We tried to wake up the koalas. We pretended to be scared of the lions. A nice grandma gave us some of her fish food and we fed the koi. And when the bear stood up and growled and scratched his tummy, we giggled. We were enjoying ourselves immensely. Then the inevitable happened.
Owen hurt himself.
This is not shocking to those of us who see the bright purple and green bruises he ends up with on a daily basis. His head is usually so covered in bumps and bruises he looks like he just went through the spin cycle in a front loader. But this one was especially nasty.
Sometimes my limber little Monkey tries to do downward facing dog, the yoga pose with your rump sky high and your feet and hands on the ground. You look like a human teepee. Except he does it with his forehead on the floor, don't ask me why (Mommy has never managed THAT modification of the pose...) and today he decided to try it at the zoo. On the concrete sidewalk.
I saw his head go forward and his waist bend and before I could say "NO, BABY!" and grab him up he had thwacked his forehead on the ground so hard that I heard the sickening smack of barely-covered-boney-skull on pavement. It was horrible. It took 2 seconds for it to sink in, and he screeched and wailed, and it was terrible for us both.
So we came home early.
Next time, note to self: bubble wrap his head.
It was fun. For a while. By which I mean it was fun for exactly 62 minutes.
We watched the penguins, the baboons, and the lorries. We tried to wake up the koalas. We pretended to be scared of the lions. A nice grandma gave us some of her fish food and we fed the koi. And when the bear stood up and growled and scratched his tummy, we giggled. We were enjoying ourselves immensely. Then the inevitable happened.
Owen hurt himself.
This is not shocking to those of us who see the bright purple and green bruises he ends up with on a daily basis. His head is usually so covered in bumps and bruises he looks like he just went through the spin cycle in a front loader. But this one was especially nasty.
Sometimes my limber little Monkey tries to do downward facing dog, the yoga pose with your rump sky high and your feet and hands on the ground. You look like a human teepee. Except he does it with his forehead on the floor, don't ask me why (Mommy has never managed THAT modification of the pose...) and today he decided to try it at the zoo. On the concrete sidewalk.
I saw his head go forward and his waist bend and before I could say "NO, BABY!" and grab him up he had thwacked his forehead on the ground so hard that I heard the sickening smack of barely-covered-boney-skull on pavement. It was horrible. It took 2 seconds for it to sink in, and he screeched and wailed, and it was terrible for us both.
So we came home early.
Next time, note to self: bubble wrap his head.
11.21.2011
Elephants never forget. But babies do.
When we went to the beach with Aron's family in October, Owen surprised us all by figuring out one day, when he was in no mood to go to bed and was much more interested in playing with his 47 cousins, how to climb out of his pack-n-play. I had gone in the bedroom and check on him and see if he had finally fallen asleep, because it was suddenly quiet in there. I thought I would find him doing that teensy little waffling snore he does when he first goes to sleep, so I quietly opened the door to peek.
Nope. Not asleep. Not asleep at all.
He was standing on the floor, facing the window, pulling on the cord for the mini-blinds and smiling bigger than those girls who win that top model show. It was hilarious, in a way, but also a huge blow to my travel-with-a-baby plans. I couldn't believe he had figured it out so quickly, he wasn't even all that tall yet! Talk about small crisis!!
We haven't put him in that thing much since then, maybe one night, and he passed out instantly, he was so tired. I figured that the only way he would sleep in it from now on was if he was too exhausted to stay awake long enough to climb out, and that we would have to get him out as soon as he woke up in the morning so he didn't get motivated to escape.
Now, after a week at his Meme and Papa's house, sleeping in it at least twice a day, he hasn't even tried to get out, and there have been several times when he was fussing and cranky for a bit. I thought sure he would pull his Houdini move, but nope. Not once.
Apparently he doesn't have much of a memory :)
Nope. Not asleep. Not asleep at all.
He was standing on the floor, facing the window, pulling on the cord for the mini-blinds and smiling bigger than those girls who win that top model show. It was hilarious, in a way, but also a huge blow to my travel-with-a-baby plans. I couldn't believe he had figured it out so quickly, he wasn't even all that tall yet! Talk about small crisis!!
We haven't put him in that thing much since then, maybe one night, and he passed out instantly, he was so tired. I figured that the only way he would sleep in it from now on was if he was too exhausted to stay awake long enough to climb out, and that we would have to get him out as soon as he woke up in the morning so he didn't get motivated to escape.
Now, after a week at his Meme and Papa's house, sleeping in it at least twice a day, he hasn't even tried to get out, and there have been several times when he was fussing and cranky for a bit. I thought sure he would pull his Houdini move, but nope. Not once.
Apparently he doesn't have much of a memory :)
11.08.2011
Hi Mom. Bye Mom.
We went on our 'honeymoon' this weekend, and for the past three days Monkey Man was staying with our good friends, the Fillmores. For those of you who haven't kept up with our bourgeoning social life in Columbia, the Fillmores are our friends who have two kids, ages 4 and 2, who Owen loves to play with as often as possible. The mom, Melody, is pregnant with their latest bambino (A GIRL!), but even in her delicate state, offered to keep my little monster for a few days so Aron and I could have a little tiny honeymoon, since we didn't get one when we got married. She's brave...
So O went there on Sunday morning, and we picked him up Tuesday afternoon. Melody said he was great, didn't get super cranky with her much at all, slept great, ate well, and played happily with the boys.
This, in and of itself, is only newsworthy because he is getting his 15 month molars, and has been a downright disaster for the few days before we left. Crying all the time, clinging, freaking out and throwing his first temper tantrums, not eating well, not sleeping well, and having serious separation anxiety...it's no wonder we were anxious to leave town! But no, for Mel he was practically an angel. Which, you know, is great. For Mel. (ahem)
So I thought surely he would have missed me, even with all the excitement of playing with kids and running around outside and discovering the true joy of a sandbox. I thought surely he would be very happy to see me when I got there, and would run to me, and smile and drool, and get all wiggly.
He didn't do those things.
He casually strolled up to me, smiling through his paci, and then promptly walked back toward Melody. Hi Mom. Bye Mom.
Little stinker.
So O went there on Sunday morning, and we picked him up Tuesday afternoon. Melody said he was great, didn't get super cranky with her much at all, slept great, ate well, and played happily with the boys.
This, in and of itself, is only newsworthy because he is getting his 15 month molars, and has been a downright disaster for the few days before we left. Crying all the time, clinging, freaking out and throwing his first temper tantrums, not eating well, not sleeping well, and having serious separation anxiety...it's no wonder we were anxious to leave town! But no, for Mel he was practically an angel. Which, you know, is great. For Mel. (ahem)
So I thought surely he would have missed me, even with all the excitement of playing with kids and running around outside and discovering the true joy of a sandbox. I thought surely he would be very happy to see me when I got there, and would run to me, and smile and drool, and get all wiggly.
He didn't do those things.
He casually strolled up to me, smiling through his paci, and then promptly walked back toward Melody. Hi Mom. Bye Mom.
Little stinker.
10.31.2011
Photographic Evidence
I just want there to be, recorded in a public forum, photographic proof that sometimes, just sometimes, Owen's room is actually clean. For a minute or two.
10.26.2011
Inappropriate Toys
This is the weirdest toy ever...we found this one and the next one in a toy box in our realtor's office. People in the office bring in kid's meal toys and throw them in there for kids who come in to the office to play with. A lot of them are pretty old, actually. Anyway, this one makes armpit fart noises and then a "whu-wha" noise when you pull it's arm down. How is this a good thing to teach a toddler?!?
This one looks suspiciously like a vibrator, and guess what? IT VIBRATES! So creepy...
10.21.2011
No, I am not a paid spokesperson. I just play one on TV.
So this may come as a complete surprise to some of you, and you know who you are, I can see you fidgeting in the audience...but NOT ALL CHILD LOCKS ARE THE SAME.
Just soak that in for a moment, and allow me to elaborate.
When I was shopping for childproofing gear, in a feeble attempt to maintain the illusion of security against a toddler, I figured all those doo-hickies were the same. I mean, yeah they look different, but really how is one cabinet lock different from another? Boy, was I feeble minded. (In my defense, I was also severely sleep deprived, and shopping for this stuff with a husband who thought duct taping everything shut was a good plan.)
Anyway, I bought the first thing I saw that was for cabinets/drawers and figured we were in good shape. It wasn't until Aron started "The Installation Process" that I realized something had gone horribly wrong. Here is a photo of our first childproofing locking device.
This is one of those things you screw the little piece in to the underside of the top of the inside of the drawer/cabinet frame (you're scratching your head already, aren't you?) and the big piece in to the inside top of the drawer or cabinet door, and when you close the drawer/cabinet they connect and lock together. When you want to open it again it only opens about 2 inches and you have to push down on the big piece to disconnect it from the small piece and it will "unlock" for you. It took about 10 minutes for each one to get "installed" because the screws are tiny and Aron kept dropping them, and it's hard to screw anything in to the inside top underside blah blah of a freaking drawer because there's not much room to maneuver. When he had gotten them in all the floor level kitchen cabinets and the drawers in the living room, we thought we were in good shape. Haha! we thought, We have thwarted your attempts to pillage our kingdom, silly toddler!
Right.
Owen figured out in about 14 seconds that the two inches the stuff opens is plenty big enough for him to reach in to with his tiny little arms, and if he can reach in he can grab stuff, and if he can grab stuff he can sometimes pull it out, or at least make a mess. We also ran out of them before we got to every cabinet, and I didn't really want to screw anything in to this cabinet of my Mom's, so we headed to Babies-R-Us for more supplies.
We found these little gems...
They look innocent and helpful, right? Pshaw. The idea is that they clip, each rounded end, around the knobs of a cabinet, and then you pull it together to tighten it depending on how far apart the knobs are. To release it you push on the little part sticking out of the bottom and then pull them apart. The funny shaped part in the inside of the right rounded end is the locking mechanism, and when it's tightened enough to lock, the little icon flips to a green one.
Simple enough.
The problem was that once I got it on a cabinet, which was simple enough, it took both hands, tugging like crazy, blood sweat and tears, and a few curse words to get the damn thing apart again. Apparently this lock is best for a cabinet you don't plan to get in to more than once or twice a century. Sooooo, back to the drawing board (that's a euphemism for "That Goddamn Babies-R-Us That Takes All Our Money").
I thought these looked both uncomplicated and easy to disconnect.
You press the center button to disengage the locking mechanism, pull it apart, place each end around a cabinet knob, slide it closed, and PRESTO! One easy to use baby lock, one safe cabinet, one happy Mommy. Here's the problem, folks. These things, which were the B-R-Us brand, are flimsy and deceptively annoying. If Owen pulled hard enough on the cabinet knobs he could bend the plastic on these enough to get an arm inside and wreak havoc. And if, when you take it off, the pieces separate, there is only ONE correct way to put them back together, because one hole and one long end each have a little extra space cut out, which you can maybe sort of see in the picture. It's not as easy as it sounds to figure out the right way when you have a baby rolling around on the floor with poop on his butt trying to stand up and get in the cabinet that is now luring him with its openness, because you need both hands free to corral him. Needless to say, I grew to hate these in a few short days, and so we decided to give it one last try...then we were just going to sell all the furniture and install those cabinets high on the walls out of his reach.
Here's what we ended up with...here's what saved my sanity.
These miraculous feats of engineering are complex, but pretty easy to use actually. And they are DEFINITELY child proof. Basically, you loop the straps around the knobs, connect the two pieces so they lock together, and tighten the straps. To release you press both the bottom lever and the middle button and pull them apart. To release the straps if you want to remove it completely, you raise two tiny levers, one on each piece, and pull. These things are sturdy, very adjustable, and completely resilient to my child's tactical maneuvers. They rule, they're not expensive, and you don't have to drill any holes in your furniture!
So after weeks of testing, we determined that the Safety 1st weird looking strappy double lock things were the far superior child lock. Go on out and buy one today! :)
Just soak that in for a moment, and allow me to elaborate.
When I was shopping for childproofing gear, in a feeble attempt to maintain the illusion of security against a toddler, I figured all those doo-hickies were the same. I mean, yeah they look different, but really how is one cabinet lock different from another? Boy, was I feeble minded. (In my defense, I was also severely sleep deprived, and shopping for this stuff with a husband who thought duct taping everything shut was a good plan.)
Anyway, I bought the first thing I saw that was for cabinets/drawers and figured we were in good shape. It wasn't until Aron started "The Installation Process" that I realized something had gone horribly wrong. Here is a photo of our first childproofing locking device.
This is one of those things you screw the little piece in to the underside of the top of the inside of the drawer/cabinet frame (you're scratching your head already, aren't you?) and the big piece in to the inside top of the drawer or cabinet door, and when you close the drawer/cabinet they connect and lock together. When you want to open it again it only opens about 2 inches and you have to push down on the big piece to disconnect it from the small piece and it will "unlock" for you. It took about 10 minutes for each one to get "installed" because the screws are tiny and Aron kept dropping them, and it's hard to screw anything in to the inside top underside blah blah of a freaking drawer because there's not much room to maneuver. When he had gotten them in all the floor level kitchen cabinets and the drawers in the living room, we thought we were in good shape. Haha! we thought, We have thwarted your attempts to pillage our kingdom, silly toddler!
Right.
Owen figured out in about 14 seconds that the two inches the stuff opens is plenty big enough for him to reach in to with his tiny little arms, and if he can reach in he can grab stuff, and if he can grab stuff he can sometimes pull it out, or at least make a mess. We also ran out of them before we got to every cabinet, and I didn't really want to screw anything in to this cabinet of my Mom's, so we headed to Babies-R-Us for more supplies.
We found these little gems...
They look innocent and helpful, right? Pshaw. The idea is that they clip, each rounded end, around the knobs of a cabinet, and then you pull it together to tighten it depending on how far apart the knobs are. To release it you push on the little part sticking out of the bottom and then pull them apart. The funny shaped part in the inside of the right rounded end is the locking mechanism, and when it's tightened enough to lock, the little icon flips to a green one.
Simple enough.
The problem was that once I got it on a cabinet, which was simple enough, it took both hands, tugging like crazy, blood sweat and tears, and a few curse words to get the damn thing apart again. Apparently this lock is best for a cabinet you don't plan to get in to more than once or twice a century. Sooooo, back to the drawing board (that's a euphemism for "That Goddamn Babies-R-Us That Takes All Our Money").
I thought these looked both uncomplicated and easy to disconnect.
You press the center button to disengage the locking mechanism, pull it apart, place each end around a cabinet knob, slide it closed, and PRESTO! One easy to use baby lock, one safe cabinet, one happy Mommy. Here's the problem, folks. These things, which were the B-R-Us brand, are flimsy and deceptively annoying. If Owen pulled hard enough on the cabinet knobs he could bend the plastic on these enough to get an arm inside and wreak havoc. And if, when you take it off, the pieces separate, there is only ONE correct way to put them back together, because one hole and one long end each have a little extra space cut out, which you can maybe sort of see in the picture. It's not as easy as it sounds to figure out the right way when you have a baby rolling around on the floor with poop on his butt trying to stand up and get in the cabinet that is now luring him with its openness, because you need both hands free to corral him. Needless to say, I grew to hate these in a few short days, and so we decided to give it one last try...then we were just going to sell all the furniture and install those cabinets high on the walls out of his reach.
Here's what we ended up with...here's what saved my sanity.
These miraculous feats of engineering are complex, but pretty easy to use actually. And they are DEFINITELY child proof. Basically, you loop the straps around the knobs, connect the two pieces so they lock together, and tighten the straps. To release you press both the bottom lever and the middle button and pull them apart. To release the straps if you want to remove it completely, you raise two tiny levers, one on each piece, and pull. These things are sturdy, very adjustable, and completely resilient to my child's tactical maneuvers. They rule, they're not expensive, and you don't have to drill any holes in your furniture!
So after weeks of testing, we determined that the Safety 1st weird looking strappy double lock things were the far superior child lock. Go on out and buy one today! :)
10.16.2011
Movie Meditation
Let's just take a few peaceful moments to watch Owen chase birds on the beach.
It's really quite adorable.
10.12.2011
Hmph.
Owen and I made our fifth (yes, I said fifth, that was not a typo) trip to his pediatrician's office yesterday just since his first (yes, I said first) appointment with this new Dr. in July. He has had some nasty ear infections, and this one is just as mean spirited as the last two. He's starting his third round of antibiotics (this is fun with numbers, huh?) since we moved here, and I am not happy about it.
I asked the Dr. in my most level, careful-not-to-sound-hysterical voice, if giving him antibiotics again was the best plan, since he's been on them so much lately. He said it's better to treat an ear infection than to give it a chance to get really comfortable and take up permanent residence, and I could understand that. But then I made the mistake of saying something like, "I wonder why he keeps getting these now, he's never had one before we moved here." And he of course asked if Owen has been in daycare situations (yes, at the YMCA when I work out) or playing with kids (yes, the Fillmores) and then he tells me, "Well he's around kids more, he is out more now. For the first year you kept him in, didn't take him out much or expose him to much, and so now he's not living in a bubble and he's going to catch everything. It's normal for kids to get a lot of ear infections until about 2 years old, and he's just started getting them late because of late exposure."
Wait a second there, genius. Hold the phone. Are you assuming I am one of THOSE parents?
It was all I could do to just nod and smile and then promptly re-clothe my child and walk to the car. What I really wanted to say was something about how I get teased all the time by my best friend, Owen's beloved Aunt Pandy, because I let him walk around barefoot in Wal-Mart and ride naked in shopping carts and put his own shoes in his mouth. I wanted to tell him how when Owen was 6 weeks old we took him on an Amtrak train (not notorious for its sanitary conditions) all the way from Charlotte to Albany, NY and that I nursed and changed him on the floor of Penn Station in New York (also not exactly the most sparkling facility). I wanted to write him a list of the hordes of people my child has hugged, drooled on, and been kissed by since he was born, including the 120 people he shared breathing space with at the Chris and Rachel's wedding in Vermont, and give him a calendar of all the times I took him out with me, including the first time we took him out when he was seven days old and we walked around King Street in Boone and had lunch at Our Daily Bread.
Do not tell ME I spent a year of my child's life keeping him in a BUBBLE.
Anyway, I was offended by it, but then I realized, smirking in the parking lot, that although my child spent his first year out and about in the world, it was a less smoggy world in the mountains with fresh air, and he didn't start getting all this crap until he moved to the yucky city, so he can take his judgment and shove up his polluted...well, you know...
I asked the Dr. in my most level, careful-not-to-sound-hysterical voice, if giving him antibiotics again was the best plan, since he's been on them so much lately. He said it's better to treat an ear infection than to give it a chance to get really comfortable and take up permanent residence, and I could understand that. But then I made the mistake of saying something like, "I wonder why he keeps getting these now, he's never had one before we moved here." And he of course asked if Owen has been in daycare situations (yes, at the YMCA when I work out) or playing with kids (yes, the Fillmores) and then he tells me, "Well he's around kids more, he is out more now. For the first year you kept him in, didn't take him out much or expose him to much, and so now he's not living in a bubble and he's going to catch everything. It's normal for kids to get a lot of ear infections until about 2 years old, and he's just started getting them late because of late exposure."
Wait a second there, genius. Hold the phone. Are you assuming I am one of THOSE parents?
It was all I could do to just nod and smile and then promptly re-clothe my child and walk to the car. What I really wanted to say was something about how I get teased all the time by my best friend, Owen's beloved Aunt Pandy, because I let him walk around barefoot in Wal-Mart and ride naked in shopping carts and put his own shoes in his mouth. I wanted to tell him how when Owen was 6 weeks old we took him on an Amtrak train (not notorious for its sanitary conditions) all the way from Charlotte to Albany, NY and that I nursed and changed him on the floor of Penn Station in New York (also not exactly the most sparkling facility). I wanted to write him a list of the hordes of people my child has hugged, drooled on, and been kissed by since he was born, including the 120 people he shared breathing space with at the Chris and Rachel's wedding in Vermont, and give him a calendar of all the times I took him out with me, including the first time we took him out when he was seven days old and we walked around King Street in Boone and had lunch at Our Daily Bread.
Do not tell ME I spent a year of my child's life keeping him in a BUBBLE.
Anyway, I was offended by it, but then I realized, smirking in the parking lot, that although my child spent his first year out and about in the world, it was a less smoggy world in the mountains with fresh air, and he didn't start getting all this crap until he moved to the yucky city, so he can take his judgment and shove up his polluted...well, you know...
10.03.2011
Random Thought
Why is it that we (parents) always say "Be careful, Sweetie!" AFTER the child has done something reckless and hurt themselves?
And we're supposed to be the smart ones...
And we're supposed to be the smart ones...
10.02.2011
Fearless
My child...my child is fearless. I know lots of parents say that about their kids, like "Oh little Suzy, she's fearless, she'll eat anything!"
Ha, I say to them. Ha. Ha.
My child will take off at a dead run toward the ocean. And without clothes on, much less life-saving flotation devices.
My child will climb to the top of furniture that is 4 feet off the ground, shake his booty, and clap his hands.
My child will crawl to the top of a flight of stairs and then turn around, stick out his foot, and try to walk down them, without holding on to anything.
My child is not afraid of strangers (this is problematic), bugs (this is gross), or fire (this is just terrifying).
My child freaks me out on a regular basis. He is afraid of nothing, and it makes me afraid of everything! I need him to be hesitant. I need him to be reasonably cautious. I need him to have just a little bit of healthy, rational fear in his heart. Just a little! Just enough to keep him from imminent danger.
But he doesn't.
{sigh}
Ha, I say to them. Ha. Ha.
My child will take off at a dead run toward the ocean. And without clothes on, much less life-saving flotation devices.
My child will climb to the top of furniture that is 4 feet off the ground, shake his booty, and clap his hands.
My child will crawl to the top of a flight of stairs and then turn around, stick out his foot, and try to walk down them, without holding on to anything.
My child is not afraid of strangers (this is problematic), bugs (this is gross), or fire (this is just terrifying).
My child freaks me out on a regular basis. He is afraid of nothing, and it makes me afraid of everything! I need him to be hesitant. I need him to be reasonably cautious. I need him to have just a little bit of healthy, rational fear in his heart. Just a little! Just enough to keep him from imminent danger.
But he doesn't.
{sigh}
9.27.2011
Taking it too far
Being the slightly OCD person that I am, I have a certain appreciation for schedules. I like to know when things are going to happen. It's comforting, having at least parts of your day that are expected, things that you can anticipate. Baby books have encouraged me to do the same thing for my little poopy pants, and to some degree I have tried to do so.
I put him to bed at the same time (give or take a little bit) every night. Sometimes he is exhausted and goes right to sleep, and sometimes it takes him a little play time in his crib before he winds down, but he gets plopped in there at about 6 pm every day no matter what. We're pretty good about sticking to that time, even if we're visiting friends or traveling, even if it means he has to fall asleep in a pack-n-play in Melody's closet!
He also gets his milk at the same time every day...right after he wakes up, and right before bed. He might wake up at 6:45 or he might wake up at 7:30, and I do let him decide when it's time to get up in the morning, but no matter when it is, the first thing we do is make up his milk and snuggle on the couch with his sippy cup until he's finished it. (It's practically the only time during the day he slows down enough to snuggle with me!!)
He gets a nap at around the same time everyday; one in the morning and one in the afternoon. He gets a bath right after dinner, and dinner is roughly 5 pm every day.
So he has some parts of his life that are on a timeline. He can anticipate that after dinner he will get his bath. He knows it's coming, and he can take some comfort in that routine. He knows when he wakes up he will get a clean diaper and a prompt cup of milk, so he can feel safe knowing his tummy won't be empty for long.
But sometimes these baby books take it too freaking far. Now I won't name any names, because I don't want a slander suit against me, but I think some of them are downright tyrannical. Examples include:
1.) They want you to only give the baby their drink at certain times during the day. Now I am sorry, but I do not only get thirsty at 9 am, noon, and 3 pm. I want access to my water whenever I want it. If someone told me I could only have my water bottle a few times a day I would flip out. So why would I want to keep Owen from accessing his water or his juice-water whenever he wants it?? What possible bad habit is this going to instill in him? And why would I want him to suffer through the, let's be honest, truly awful feeling of being thirsty, just to prove I can?!? It's a basic human need to be able to drink when we experience thirst. I don't think that letting your child carry their sippy or have access to a cup is going to turn them into selfish, wild kids. This just seems like a parent on a power trip to me.
2.) They suggest putting baby to bed at the exact same time every day for naps and for the night. Now I can support the night-time continuity. I think it's good for all of us if we go to bed at about the same time every night. I think we sleep better that way. But nap time is another story...sometimes Owen is tired as early as 8:30, and sometimes he's not ready for a nap until well after 9. If I schedule naps for 9 am on the dot, and he's whiny and tired at 8:30, we shouldn't have to spend half an hour miserable because he needs to sleep. And if he's playing strong and having a good time at 9:15, I shouldn't be forcing him to calm down and sleep when he's not tired yet. Then I suffer through half an hour, or more, of him screaming in his crib because he's wide awake and wants to play! What sense does that make? What does that do for him? How does that teach him anything about self-care? It just teaches him that a clock is more important than his true needs. Which, at least in this house, it is NOT.
3.) They insist that baby should eat meals at the same time every day and not be given many, if any, options to snack. And baby should sit in their high chair until they have eaten what you served, or go hungry. Hold the phone, Einstein. Let me just tell YOU a little something about eating. I do not know a single adult who only eats at meals, which are always at the same time, and doesn't snack during the day. Unless they're in an institution of some kind. So why on earth would I subject my little boy to a childhood of institution-like food habits? And since when do we always feel like eating what's in front of us? No, I don't want Owen to grow up thinking that Mommy is a line cook who will serve him what he wants whenever he wants it, but I do think that having choices is good for little brains. I give him options at his meals...maybe breakfast he gets a shot at a waffle with peanut butter first. If that isn't going so well we'll try yogurt. If he's still not interested I will give him some fruit, maybe some grapes. And if that's still rejected (not likely), I assume he's not hungry and we skip the breakfast fight that the baby books (which I won't name) insist is important for baby's development. All that shit will develop is a stubborn baby and a cranky Mommy. The thing is, I understand that sometimes I don't feel like a certain food, or sometimes I don't feel like breakfast, or I'm just having a day where I am not so hungry. That's another basic human need. We eat when we're hungry, we don't when we're not. Why try to go against biology to prove you're in charge?!!!?
I could go on and on, but the point is, I think some scheduling is important, and I agree that babies need structure and some limitations. But being a human being means being flexible about meeting your needs, and I don't think it's fair to be flexible about meeting my needs, but not about meeting his.
I put him to bed at the same time (give or take a little bit) every night. Sometimes he is exhausted and goes right to sleep, and sometimes it takes him a little play time in his crib before he winds down, but he gets plopped in there at about 6 pm every day no matter what. We're pretty good about sticking to that time, even if we're visiting friends or traveling, even if it means he has to fall asleep in a pack-n-play in Melody's closet!
He also gets his milk at the same time every day...right after he wakes up, and right before bed. He might wake up at 6:45 or he might wake up at 7:30, and I do let him decide when it's time to get up in the morning, but no matter when it is, the first thing we do is make up his milk and snuggle on the couch with his sippy cup until he's finished it. (It's practically the only time during the day he slows down enough to snuggle with me!!)
He gets a nap at around the same time everyday; one in the morning and one in the afternoon. He gets a bath right after dinner, and dinner is roughly 5 pm every day.
So he has some parts of his life that are on a timeline. He can anticipate that after dinner he will get his bath. He knows it's coming, and he can take some comfort in that routine. He knows when he wakes up he will get a clean diaper and a prompt cup of milk, so he can feel safe knowing his tummy won't be empty for long.
But sometimes these baby books take it too freaking far. Now I won't name any names, because I don't want a slander suit against me, but I think some of them are downright tyrannical. Examples include:
1.) They want you to only give the baby their drink at certain times during the day. Now I am sorry, but I do not only get thirsty at 9 am, noon, and 3 pm. I want access to my water whenever I want it. If someone told me I could only have my water bottle a few times a day I would flip out. So why would I want to keep Owen from accessing his water or his juice-water whenever he wants it?? What possible bad habit is this going to instill in him? And why would I want him to suffer through the, let's be honest, truly awful feeling of being thirsty, just to prove I can?!? It's a basic human need to be able to drink when we experience thirst. I don't think that letting your child carry their sippy or have access to a cup is going to turn them into selfish, wild kids. This just seems like a parent on a power trip to me.
2.) They suggest putting baby to bed at the exact same time every day for naps and for the night. Now I can support the night-time continuity. I think it's good for all of us if we go to bed at about the same time every night. I think we sleep better that way. But nap time is another story...sometimes Owen is tired as early as 8:30, and sometimes he's not ready for a nap until well after 9. If I schedule naps for 9 am on the dot, and he's whiny and tired at 8:30, we shouldn't have to spend half an hour miserable because he needs to sleep. And if he's playing strong and having a good time at 9:15, I shouldn't be forcing him to calm down and sleep when he's not tired yet. Then I suffer through half an hour, or more, of him screaming in his crib because he's wide awake and wants to play! What sense does that make? What does that do for him? How does that teach him anything about self-care? It just teaches him that a clock is more important than his true needs. Which, at least in this house, it is NOT.
3.) They insist that baby should eat meals at the same time every day and not be given many, if any, options to snack. And baby should sit in their high chair until they have eaten what you served, or go hungry. Hold the phone, Einstein. Let me just tell YOU a little something about eating. I do not know a single adult who only eats at meals, which are always at the same time, and doesn't snack during the day. Unless they're in an institution of some kind. So why on earth would I subject my little boy to a childhood of institution-like food habits? And since when do we always feel like eating what's in front of us? No, I don't want Owen to grow up thinking that Mommy is a line cook who will serve him what he wants whenever he wants it, but I do think that having choices is good for little brains. I give him options at his meals...maybe breakfast he gets a shot at a waffle with peanut butter first. If that isn't going so well we'll try yogurt. If he's still not interested I will give him some fruit, maybe some grapes. And if that's still rejected (not likely), I assume he's not hungry and we skip the breakfast fight that the baby books (which I won't name) insist is important for baby's development. All that shit will develop is a stubborn baby and a cranky Mommy. The thing is, I understand that sometimes I don't feel like a certain food, or sometimes I don't feel like breakfast, or I'm just having a day where I am not so hungry. That's another basic human need. We eat when we're hungry, we don't when we're not. Why try to go against biology to prove you're in charge?!!!?
I could go on and on, but the point is, I think some scheduling is important, and I agree that babies need structure and some limitations. But being a human being means being flexible about meeting your needs, and I don't think it's fair to be flexible about meeting my needs, but not about meeting his.
9.22.2011
You Are Making Me CRAZY!
I love my child, I really REALLY do. He is beautiful and smart and funny, and he cracks me up all day long. He is snuggly and sweet, and he has the cutest toes on the planet. He's wonderful. He's growing up just the way he should, he's right on time or ahead of the curve on his developmental stuff. So I adore him, and I don't think there's any question about that.
But sometimes he makes me CRAZY!
There is a small side table nestled in a corner made by the edge of the futon and the edge of this chair my mom had. He can't reach it from the front or the back, which is why we keep our laptops and drinks and stuff on it. As soon as he figured out how to climb on the futon he has made a beeline for it, and no matter how many times I say "Oh-Oh!" and redirect him, or say "NO!" and startle him, snatch him up and put him in his crib for a few minutes, or whatever, he just goes for it over and over. He knows, now, that he's not supposed to. He'll inch up there, look at me, inch a little closer, look at me, giggle, and then reach his little arm out, look at me, and smile because he knows he is MAKING ME CRAZY.
He has discovered his inner whiner. Usually it's justified: he gets hungry, he gets sleepy, and he can't respond well to things like dropping his toy or running into the wall, and he starts whining. Or he will whine if I get up and leave the room for a second, and come follow me, and tug on my pants, whining up a storm. And I can look at the clock and recognize that those whines are justified whines that say "Mommy, I need you to take care of me right now and feed me/put me to bed/change my stinky booty." But then there is the whining that starts as soon as he gets up from a nap, or immediately after a snack, that have no clear cause except he's just crabby. I try everything...fresh water or juice in his cup, a clean diaper, sometimes all new clothes (I get crabby if my clothes don't fit well, too!), snuggling, playing on the floor........none of it works, and he will just stumble around whining for an hour or two, and it MAKES ME CRAZY because I have no idea how to make him stop or what to do to make him happy, short of duct tape and Benedryl.
Diaper changing is becoming more dramatic and less simple. He used to just lay (lie?) there, stare at me or the ceiling, coo and gurgle, and let me change his bottom. Now he screams as though I am sticking hot needles into his baby junk, thrashes his legs so that if there is poop in the diaper or on his tush it gets all over everything, tries to turn over and crawl away, grabs the wipes from my hand and throws them across the room, screams again, tries to shred his diaper, and then sobs most piteously. It's horrible, it takes 4 times as long as it needs to, and it always ends with me pinning him to the floor with my leg and getting poo on my hands. I look forward to the weekends when Aron is in charge of diaper changing because it is DRIVING ME CRAZY.
He has started trying to feed himself with his spoon, and I think that's great! I long for the day when he can sustain life on his own, and I don't have to spoon feed him everything that isn't finger food. It would be nice to be able to eat together, as a family, instead of feeding him first. But these early attempts at self-feeding are not fun. I am patient, and calm, because I want him to keep trying and I want it to go well for him and feel like a success. But inside it DRIVES ME CRAZY when he flings a spoon full of oatmeal in my face, drops a spoonful of yogurt on the floor, and hits himself in the eye with a spoonful of mac and cheese.
But I love him. Boy oh boy, do I love him!
But sometimes he makes me CRAZY!
There is a small side table nestled in a corner made by the edge of the futon and the edge of this chair my mom had. He can't reach it from the front or the back, which is why we keep our laptops and drinks and stuff on it. As soon as he figured out how to climb on the futon he has made a beeline for it, and no matter how many times I say "Oh-Oh!" and redirect him, or say "NO!" and startle him, snatch him up and put him in his crib for a few minutes, or whatever, he just goes for it over and over. He knows, now, that he's not supposed to. He'll inch up there, look at me, inch a little closer, look at me, giggle, and then reach his little arm out, look at me, and smile because he knows he is MAKING ME CRAZY.
He has discovered his inner whiner. Usually it's justified: he gets hungry, he gets sleepy, and he can't respond well to things like dropping his toy or running into the wall, and he starts whining. Or he will whine if I get up and leave the room for a second, and come follow me, and tug on my pants, whining up a storm. And I can look at the clock and recognize that those whines are justified whines that say "Mommy, I need you to take care of me right now and feed me/put me to bed/change my stinky booty." But then there is the whining that starts as soon as he gets up from a nap, or immediately after a snack, that have no clear cause except he's just crabby. I try everything...fresh water or juice in his cup, a clean diaper, sometimes all new clothes (I get crabby if my clothes don't fit well, too!), snuggling, playing on the floor........none of it works, and he will just stumble around whining for an hour or two, and it MAKES ME CRAZY because I have no idea how to make him stop or what to do to make him happy, short of duct tape and Benedryl.
Diaper changing is becoming more dramatic and less simple. He used to just lay (lie?) there, stare at me or the ceiling, coo and gurgle, and let me change his bottom. Now he screams as though I am sticking hot needles into his baby junk, thrashes his legs so that if there is poop in the diaper or on his tush it gets all over everything, tries to turn over and crawl away, grabs the wipes from my hand and throws them across the room, screams again, tries to shred his diaper, and then sobs most piteously. It's horrible, it takes 4 times as long as it needs to, and it always ends with me pinning him to the floor with my leg and getting poo on my hands. I look forward to the weekends when Aron is in charge of diaper changing because it is DRIVING ME CRAZY.
He has started trying to feed himself with his spoon, and I think that's great! I long for the day when he can sustain life on his own, and I don't have to spoon feed him everything that isn't finger food. It would be nice to be able to eat together, as a family, instead of feeding him first. But these early attempts at self-feeding are not fun. I am patient, and calm, because I want him to keep trying and I want it to go well for him and feel like a success. But inside it DRIVES ME CRAZY when he flings a spoon full of oatmeal in my face, drops a spoonful of yogurt on the floor, and hits himself in the eye with a spoonful of mac and cheese.
But I love him. Boy oh boy, do I love him!
9.17.2011
You are NOT a big boy yet!
I have a baby. He is one year old. He walks, and babble-talks, and tries to feed himself with a spoon. These are all normal, average one year old baby activities. These, and things like splashing in the bath tub, wiggling during diaper changes, and putting blocks in your mouth. I accept these things as age-appropriate milestones, and I enjoy them. They are cute.
But my baby is not content with age appropriate activities. My baby wants to do big boy things. He wants to follow big boys like his friend Kaeden, or Daddy, and do what they do. And it is not cute. It freaks me out!
Monkey-man likes to climb stairs, and then turn around and just walk right down them. He can't though, is the thing, so I have to stand behind him, holding onto his arms to keep him from literally falling headfirst down the stairs because he skipped right past the turn-around-and-crawl-down-stairs phase and went right to taking big leaps down the stairs. Can you said 'head injury'??
He also likes to walk out into traffic/parking lots without waiting for anyone, he enjoys crawling from one piece of furniture to the top of another piece of furniture (a higher, taller piece of furniture), and he finds great joy in reaching for sharp/hot/full things on the kitchen counter.
Much to my chagrin, he also thinks that climbing onto the seat of his brand new tricycle and standing on it like a water-skier with one leg in the air and one hand on the handle bars is a neat trick (except when he falls on his face). He thinks that pulling chairs out from under the dining room table is cool (except when they tip over on his head). And he finds it necessary to help us unload the dishwasher by climbing onto the open door and extracting plates (except when one drops on his toes).
Why can't he stay content with safe, quiet things like empty boxes or musical stuffed animals for a little while longer...?
Sigh.
But my baby is not content with age appropriate activities. My baby wants to do big boy things. He wants to follow big boys like his friend Kaeden, or Daddy, and do what they do. And it is not cute. It freaks me out!
Monkey-man likes to climb stairs, and then turn around and just walk right down them. He can't though, is the thing, so I have to stand behind him, holding onto his arms to keep him from literally falling headfirst down the stairs because he skipped right past the turn-around-and-crawl-down-stairs phase and went right to taking big leaps down the stairs. Can you said 'head injury'??
He also likes to walk out into traffic/parking lots without waiting for anyone, he enjoys crawling from one piece of furniture to the top of another piece of furniture (a higher, taller piece of furniture), and he finds great joy in reaching for sharp/hot/full things on the kitchen counter.
Much to my chagrin, he also thinks that climbing onto the seat of his brand new tricycle and standing on it like a water-skier with one leg in the air and one hand on the handle bars is a neat trick (except when he falls on his face). He thinks that pulling chairs out from under the dining room table is cool (except when they tip over on his head). And he finds it necessary to help us unload the dishwasher by climbing onto the open door and extracting plates (except when one drops on his toes).
Why can't he stay content with safe, quiet things like empty boxes or musical stuffed animals for a little while longer...?
Sigh.
9.16.2011
SPOON!
We have been letting Monkey play with spoons while he's eating for a long time. I figured it would a.) keep him occupied enough to minimize the amount of food he threw on the floor or rubbed in his hair thus maximizing the amount of food going into his tummy, b.) be good practice for figuring out how to hold a spoon and feed himself eventually, and c.) not poke him in the eye the way, say, a knife would.
Yesterday, for like the very first time ever, I put some food on his spoon HE was holding, and gently moved his hand/spoon to his mouth, and he took a bite. He thought this was hilarious so we did it a few more times. I thought to myself "Here I go, really paving the way for eventual self-feeding! Yay me!" I was feeling pretty proud of myself for risking food being flung onto the walls, and pretty proud of him for doing such a good job of eating it and not catapulting it.
This morning, in a sleep-deprived haze, I gave him his spoon, got my spoon, started feeding him yogurt, and let him stick his spoon in the yogurt, fervently hoping it would end well but too tired to really care much. What did he do with that spoon tipped with strawberry yogurt? How did he handle it?
He ate it.
That's right, folks. He put the spoon IN HIS MOUTH and ate the little smidge of yogurt that was attached to it from his feeble attempt to scoop.
I cheered! I clapped! I giggled and made the happiest Mom face ever!! And then guess what...
HE DID IT AGAIN!
I love my kid.
Yesterday, for like the very first time ever, I put some food on his spoon HE was holding, and gently moved his hand/spoon to his mouth, and he took a bite. He thought this was hilarious so we did it a few more times. I thought to myself "Here I go, really paving the way for eventual self-feeding! Yay me!" I was feeling pretty proud of myself for risking food being flung onto the walls, and pretty proud of him for doing such a good job of eating it and not catapulting it.
This morning, in a sleep-deprived haze, I gave him his spoon, got my spoon, started feeding him yogurt, and let him stick his spoon in the yogurt, fervently hoping it would end well but too tired to really care much. What did he do with that spoon tipped with strawberry yogurt? How did he handle it?
He ate it.
That's right, folks. He put the spoon IN HIS MOUTH and ate the little smidge of yogurt that was attached to it from his feeble attempt to scoop.
I cheered! I clapped! I giggled and made the happiest Mom face ever!! And then guess what...
HE DID IT AGAIN!
I love my kid.
9.12.2011
Weaning from the bottle is not as fun as it sounds.
The baby books offer lots and lots of advice about how to wean your child off of the bottle and onto a sippy cup or regular cup. I have been trying quite a bit of it for about a week now.
None of it is working.
Owen is apparently more attached to his bottle than I first suspected. They're like velcro...really strong, industrial, hold an aircraft carrier together kind of velcro.
What made me realize that I am not up against any average baby with average bottle love was nap time today. He always gets a small bottle before his morning nap. The baby books suggest replacing what's in the bottle with water, and then having a sippy cup or regular cup with his milk handy, and offering him the choice. "Baby will soon realize that the bottle, offering only water, is not as satisfying, and will accept the other offered cup."
Bwaah haa haa! They have never met MY child.
Owen sucked down the water from his bottle in a flash, relinquished it when he was SURE it was empty, took two sips of milk from the sippy cup and spit it out all over his t shirt, and then threw the sippy cup of milk on the floor.
So much for the wisdom of baby books.
I am wondering if we will just have to resort to cold turkey methods. Eventually he will accept his sippy cup, right? It might take a few days of him not getting much milk, but it won't kill him, right? Right...?
None of it is working.
Owen is apparently more attached to his bottle than I first suspected. They're like velcro...really strong, industrial, hold an aircraft carrier together kind of velcro.
What made me realize that I am not up against any average baby with average bottle love was nap time today. He always gets a small bottle before his morning nap. The baby books suggest replacing what's in the bottle with water, and then having a sippy cup or regular cup with his milk handy, and offering him the choice. "Baby will soon realize that the bottle, offering only water, is not as satisfying, and will accept the other offered cup."
Bwaah haa haa! They have never met MY child.
Owen sucked down the water from his bottle in a flash, relinquished it when he was SURE it was empty, took two sips of milk from the sippy cup and spit it out all over his t shirt, and then threw the sippy cup of milk on the floor.
So much for the wisdom of baby books.
I am wondering if we will just have to resort to cold turkey methods. Eventually he will accept his sippy cup, right? It might take a few days of him not getting much milk, but it won't kill him, right? Right...?
9.03.2011
What I really wanted to do was punch her...
We were at Wal-Mart in the produce department tonight, getting veggies for a snack tray for Owen's party tomorrow. A mom, grandma, and little boy who was about 4 (whose name was actually Owen!) were having a hard time. The little boy apparently was worried that the movie they were letting him get was going to get lost (their buggy was VERY full of stuff and I bet he lost sight of it) and was upset. He wasn't tantrum upset, he was just asking them repeatedly to make sure it was in there, and they were ignoring him. He finally started to lose it, and the mom went bonkers.
She grabbed him, pulled him to the side, and got in his face yelling at him about how he's a "selfish, ungrateful little boy" who "needs to act like a gentleman if he's going to come out with her ever again" and how she's "sick of his sniveling attitude all the time." He of course started crying, and he kept trying to hug her, he so badly needed some comfort. She pushed him away, snapped at him to stop crying, and then started belittling him about why he thought his movie was going to disappear, it wasn't going anywhere, it's stupid that he doesn't know that, etc. He kept crying, obviously past tantrum and into big hurt feelings. She was not nice or loving at any point, and finally dragged him out to the car.
It was HORRIBLE. All I wanted to do was grab that little boy, give him a big hug, and punch his mom right in her mean old face. I wanted her to beg that little boy to forgive her for being such a raging bitch. I wanted to walk away knowing that would never happen again.
It will, though. She's done this to him before, she'll do it again. And he'll be a little boy who struggles with self esteem and feeling loved or secure. And it breaks my heart so much.
It also makes me even more determined than ever that I will NEVER speak to my child that way, that I will NEVER treat Owen with such disrespect and disdain. I started reading "Love and Logic" for kids, and I really think that book makes sense and will help me get through the trying times with O.
Sometimes I really hate people. Sometimes it's all I can do not to roundhouse kick them in the back of the head.
She grabbed him, pulled him to the side, and got in his face yelling at him about how he's a "selfish, ungrateful little boy" who "needs to act like a gentleman if he's going to come out with her ever again" and how she's "sick of his sniveling attitude all the time." He of course started crying, and he kept trying to hug her, he so badly needed some comfort. She pushed him away, snapped at him to stop crying, and then started belittling him about why he thought his movie was going to disappear, it wasn't going anywhere, it's stupid that he doesn't know that, etc. He kept crying, obviously past tantrum and into big hurt feelings. She was not nice or loving at any point, and finally dragged him out to the car.
It was HORRIBLE. All I wanted to do was grab that little boy, give him a big hug, and punch his mom right in her mean old face. I wanted her to beg that little boy to forgive her for being such a raging bitch. I wanted to walk away knowing that would never happen again.
It will, though. She's done this to him before, she'll do it again. And he'll be a little boy who struggles with self esteem and feeling loved or secure. And it breaks my heart so much.
It also makes me even more determined than ever that I will NEVER speak to my child that way, that I will NEVER treat Owen with such disrespect and disdain. I started reading "Love and Logic" for kids, and I really think that book makes sense and will help me get through the trying times with O.
Sometimes I really hate people. Sometimes it's all I can do not to roundhouse kick them in the back of the head.
9.02.2011
Sad Thing...Happy Thing...All in one day...
Tuesday was Owen's first birthday. My sweet little cherub has turned into a walking, furniture climbing, baby talk babbling small person. He is so smart, and so tall, and so beautiful it almost hurts to look at him. I woke up Tuesday morning with gratitude in my heart and an extra bounce in my step. I sang Happy Birthday to him when I got him out of his crib, and told him how lucky I was to have him in my life.
It was a happy moment. I was anticipating a fully happy day.
It didn't turn out that way.
I went to the bathroom and realized I was having some heavy bleeding, which is not a good thing when you're 8 weeks pregnant. I went to the OBGYN, and the ultrasound was inconclusive, so they drew some blood and sent me home with very little information and a lot of confusion. My happy day with my baby boy was turned upside down, and that almost made me more sad than anything else. I didn't want that to be how I remembered his first birthday.
The next day I had to go back, get another ultrasound, and they were concerned about a spot that looked like an ectopic pregnancy, so they rushed me into emergency surgery. I only got to spend a few hours with Owen that day, too.
I am angry that the beauty of my baby's very first birthday was overshadowed by the sadness and drama of losing his younger sibling-to-be. I am sad that this next baby, who I wanted very much, is now gone. I am hopeful that we can try again. I am tired and drained by all of the events of the past few days. And I am trying to have faith that it all happens for a reason.
We are still having his birthday party on Sunday, and something like 20 people are coming from 3 states to be here for the celebration. We are very lucky, and very loved. My Monkey is a special boy.
It was a happy moment. I was anticipating a fully happy day.
It didn't turn out that way.
I went to the bathroom and realized I was having some heavy bleeding, which is not a good thing when you're 8 weeks pregnant. I went to the OBGYN, and the ultrasound was inconclusive, so they drew some blood and sent me home with very little information and a lot of confusion. My happy day with my baby boy was turned upside down, and that almost made me more sad than anything else. I didn't want that to be how I remembered his first birthday.
The next day I had to go back, get another ultrasound, and they were concerned about a spot that looked like an ectopic pregnancy, so they rushed me into emergency surgery. I only got to spend a few hours with Owen that day, too.
I am angry that the beauty of my baby's very first birthday was overshadowed by the sadness and drama of losing his younger sibling-to-be. I am sad that this next baby, who I wanted very much, is now gone. I am hopeful that we can try again. I am tired and drained by all of the events of the past few days. And I am trying to have faith that it all happens for a reason.
We are still having his birthday party on Sunday, and something like 20 people are coming from 3 states to be here for the celebration. We are very lucky, and very loved. My Monkey is a special boy.
8.28.2011
Breaking Down Gender Boundaries One Toy at a Time
We went to the Wee Cycle Children's Consignment Sale in Boone last weekend. It was a good one, it always is. We managed to avoid buying a bunch of stuff we don't need, which was great, and got some really cool stuff we did need, which is even better!
One thing we got, for the bargain price of $5, was a vehicle toy that Monkey can sit and on propel himself with his legs on either side, or he can stand behind and push it while he walks. He is in that phase of LOVING the push toys, and will soon figure out that he loves the sit-and-ride toys, so we snatched it up. It makes sounds and plays songs, and it was in very good shape. Jackpot!!
But here's the funny thing I didn't notice until we got it home and had it for a few days...this toy is not only totally unsure of what kind of vehicle it is (its sound effects/buttons are related to race car, fire truck, police car, antique car, and circus car), but it has all these "boy" buttons for things like fire engine sirens and revving engine noises, and then the 'windows' of the vehicle have a bunch of cartoon girls doing things like applying lipstick and brushing their hair. See below...
 |
| From a distance, looks pretty normal. |
 | ||||
Odd hodge-podge of buttons...
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8.24.2011
A whole week with no kisses...
I got a cold sore. Ugh, they are the bane of my existence. They feel tender, then they swell and they feel awkward and tender. Then they burst and they sting like crazy for days and days, and it hurts to brush my teeth or eat a sandwich or sing an aria. Ok, well I don't do much of the singing thing anyway, but what if I wanted to?! It would hurt... Not to mention the fact that I look like a freak with this giant fleshy wound on my face. I look like I have cooties, which I do. And it sucks.
But that's not even the worst of it.
The worst part, the absolute evilest part, is that I can't give O any kisses. Yeah, just try and imagine THAT for a second. I probably kiss him a hundred times a day. I give him smooches on his chubby cheeks when he wakes up from naps. I blow raspberries on his tummy when we play on the floor. I kiss the back of his neck when I put him in the bathtub. I kiss the top of his head when he eats his snack or drinks his juice in my lap. I give a little mommy peck on his ouchies when he bang his fingers or smooshes his foot. I am forever giving him kisses! He loves it, I love it, it's great.
Well now I can't. God forbid I give my son cold sore herpes! Double trouble horrible if he managed to get it on his pee winkie!!! Jesus, I would never forgive myself. So I can't kiss him for fear he'll rub he kissed spot and then his eye or his mouth or other, more sensitive parts! And he is always trying to stick his fingers in my mouth, so none of that, either. (I didn't really enjoy that anyway...his tiny fingernails always slice my gums. Youch.)
It's awful, and I hate it. I want my smoochie baby back, damnit!
Oh yeah, and I also can't kiss Aron :( What did I do to deserve this?!? {sigh}
But that's not even the worst of it.
The worst part, the absolute evilest part, is that I can't give O any kisses. Yeah, just try and imagine THAT for a second. I probably kiss him a hundred times a day. I give him smooches on his chubby cheeks when he wakes up from naps. I blow raspberries on his tummy when we play on the floor. I kiss the back of his neck when I put him in the bathtub. I kiss the top of his head when he eats his snack or drinks his juice in my lap. I give a little mommy peck on his ouchies when he bang his fingers or smooshes his foot. I am forever giving him kisses! He loves it, I love it, it's great.
Well now I can't. God forbid I give my son cold sore herpes! Double trouble horrible if he managed to get it on his pee winkie!!! Jesus, I would never forgive myself. So I can't kiss him for fear he'll rub he kissed spot and then his eye or his mouth or other, more sensitive parts! And he is always trying to stick his fingers in my mouth, so none of that, either. (I didn't really enjoy that anyway...his tiny fingernails always slice my gums. Youch.)
It's awful, and I hate it. I want my smoochie baby back, damnit!
Oh yeah, and I also can't kiss Aron :( What did I do to deserve this?!? {sigh}
8.14.2011
Another Trip to the ER with Aunt Alice
My little Monkey spiked a 103 degree fever today, so while Auntie Alice was visiting us for a fun filled day of sushi lunch and play time, we swooped into the Palmetto Baptist ER for a few hours of relaxation and entertainment.
Or....not so much.
Owen was in a good mood when we got there. You wouldn't have had a clue he was on fire. He waddled around the lobby, and the exam room. He played with the little baby pulse/ox lead they strapped to his toe. He flirted with the admitting nurse. He tried to turn over the trash can. All was well...
until...
the doctor came in. He was a nice doctor, very friendly, and he had a good baby bedside manner. Lots of cooing and smiling. But as soon as he put that otoscope in little pooper's ears, O screamed himself into a bright shade of purple and threw up on me. Then he asked to do a chest x-ray to make totally sure nothing was going on in his tiny lungs, and during the x-ray he was hysterical and inconsolable. He cried so hard he had big crocodile tears and a steady stream of tear-snot running down his face. So pitiful. Things got even worse when the ER nurse came in and tried to give him some Tylenol. Oh jeez. Oooooh jeez. It was less than fun.
I finally took Alice out in the hall and Daddy snuggled Owen with the lights off until he fell asleep, and we waited for the x-ray results in gender-segregated peace. It was actually pretty damn cute peeking in there and Monkey was sprawled on Aron's chest, his little diaper butt sticking up in the air and his chin on Aron's neck, drooling on his chest on the hospital bed. So adorable.
The chest x-ray showed what could possibly be early pneumonia, which is scary and uncool, so they're giving us antibiotics. It will be his first ever round of them, and while I wish we could have put them off for much longer, I think it's better safe than sorry when it comes to things like pneumonia.
Now the struggle is figuring out how to give him the medicine without it sounding like a torture chamber in my living room. So far the first dose did not go well. I tried to hide it in juice but he figured that out in two sips. We ended up pinning him down and squirting it in his mouth as a last resort and he cried so hard he puked on me again.
I am sensing a trend here...
Or....not so much.
Owen was in a good mood when we got there. You wouldn't have had a clue he was on fire. He waddled around the lobby, and the exam room. He played with the little baby pulse/ox lead they strapped to his toe. He flirted with the admitting nurse. He tried to turn over the trash can. All was well...
until...
the doctor came in. He was a nice doctor, very friendly, and he had a good baby bedside manner. Lots of cooing and smiling. But as soon as he put that otoscope in little pooper's ears, O screamed himself into a bright shade of purple and threw up on me. Then he asked to do a chest x-ray to make totally sure nothing was going on in his tiny lungs, and during the x-ray he was hysterical and inconsolable. He cried so hard he had big crocodile tears and a steady stream of tear-snot running down his face. So pitiful. Things got even worse when the ER nurse came in and tried to give him some Tylenol. Oh jeez. Oooooh jeez. It was less than fun.
I finally took Alice out in the hall and Daddy snuggled Owen with the lights off until he fell asleep, and we waited for the x-ray results in gender-segregated peace. It was actually pretty damn cute peeking in there and Monkey was sprawled on Aron's chest, his little diaper butt sticking up in the air and his chin on Aron's neck, drooling on his chest on the hospital bed. So adorable.
The chest x-ray showed what could possibly be early pneumonia, which is scary and uncool, so they're giving us antibiotics. It will be his first ever round of them, and while I wish we could have put them off for much longer, I think it's better safe than sorry when it comes to things like pneumonia.
Now the struggle is figuring out how to give him the medicine without it sounding like a torture chamber in my living room. So far the first dose did not go well. I tried to hide it in juice but he figured that out in two sips. We ended up pinning him down and squirting it in his mouth as a last resort and he cried so hard he puked on me again.
I am sensing a trend here...
8.09.2011
Problem Solved...and Without Spending $35
I have been looking on Amazon for a good, high rated travel bottle warmer. We take lots of road trips, and it's so hard to deal with the little man's liquid needs. We either have to stop at a gas station and get some warm water that is approximately the right temperature (usually by mixing careful amounts of boiling coffee pot dispensed water and freezing soda fountain dispensed water), or we have to take the bottle warmer, which has water in it and gets spilled. So after another round of looking at them, reading the customer reviews, and being dissatisfied with the options, I found one that was rated really high. I read the product description for this 5 star $35 item. Know what it is?
A coffee thermos with a new use.
They tell you to put warm water in this "sterile flask" and it will stay warm for hours, so you just mix your formula with it while in the car, and viola! Presto! Happy baby bottle.
Well shit.
I a.) should have thought of that a year ago and b.) don't need to spend $35 on a coffee thermos when I can get one out of the cabinet and use it!
Problem solved.
A coffee thermos with a new use.
They tell you to put warm water in this "sterile flask" and it will stay warm for hours, so you just mix your formula with it while in the car, and viola! Presto! Happy baby bottle.
Well shit.
I a.) should have thought of that a year ago and b.) don't need to spend $35 on a coffee thermos when I can get one out of the cabinet and use it!
Problem solved.
8.08.2011
One Mommy's Trash is Another Baby's Treasure
My Monkey is finicky. He won't eat foods that are warm, he only liked Garden Tomato flavored puffy snacks, he prefers warm baths to cool ones, he will only let Mommy wipe his snotty nose, and he likes to be rained on but doesn't enjoy a shower. He has some particular preferences.
So I find it very amusing when his favorite toys are an empty milk jug, a box from Amazon.com, a paper towel roll, and a plastic ramekin you get take-out mayo in (obviously this one has no mayo).
I like that he can amuse himself with things that don't beep, play stupid songs or have dangling shiny parts. I like that all of his playthings don't have to have batteries, or even cost anything. I think it's a sign of genius if a baby plays with trash. (I read that somewhere.)
So I guess I can keep giving him my trash for now. It's nice that it keeps it out of landfills for the time being.
So I find it very amusing when his favorite toys are an empty milk jug, a box from Amazon.com, a paper towel roll, and a plastic ramekin you get take-out mayo in (obviously this one has no mayo).
I like that he can amuse himself with things that don't beep, play stupid songs or have dangling shiny parts. I like that all of his playthings don't have to have batteries, or even cost anything. I think it's a sign of genius if a baby plays with trash. (I read that somewhere.)
So I guess I can keep giving him my trash for now. It's nice that it keeps it out of landfills for the time being.
8.06.2011
NOW you want a pacifier?!? Really?
O has NEVER wanted a pacifier. We tried to give him one a few times when he was itty bitty and he rejected it about as quickly and with about the same vehemence as he rejected pureed green beans. I am pretty sure he thought we were trying to kill him, he was so displeased.
That was then. This is now.
He was reintroduced to a pacifier last week, immediately latched on (pun intended) to it, and has been faithfully attached to it ever since. He doesn't keep it in all the time, but every so often he plucks it from where it hangs and pops it in. He likes to go to sleep with it. He likes it in the car, and other boring times when Mommy and Daddy are not able to entertain him. And it is radically shifting his mood...
He had, I hate to say, become kind of a whiney baby. Lots of whimper/whine/grunt communication, all of which sounded like negative emotions being expressed, not positive ones, had come out of him in the last few months, and especially since he weaned himself in July. I am starting to think it was, at least to some degree, because he wanted something to suck on, he just didn't want to keep nursing.
Well sweetums, problem solved!
That was then. This is now.
He was reintroduced to a pacifier last week, immediately latched on (pun intended) to it, and has been faithfully attached to it ever since. He doesn't keep it in all the time, but every so often he plucks it from where it hangs and pops it in. He likes to go to sleep with it. He likes it in the car, and other boring times when Mommy and Daddy are not able to entertain him. And it is radically shifting his mood...
He had, I hate to say, become kind of a whiney baby. Lots of whimper/whine/grunt communication, all of which sounded like negative emotions being expressed, not positive ones, had come out of him in the last few months, and especially since he weaned himself in July. I am starting to think it was, at least to some degree, because he wanted something to suck on, he just didn't want to keep nursing.
Well sweetums, problem solved!
8.03.2011
Water Baby
Owen officially loves the water. He loves the ocean, especially when Daddy splashes his back against oncoming waves. He loves the pool, both in the giant yellow floaty thing and cruising around in my arms. He loves the bath tub (but only when I let him stand up and plop down...hmm...). He loves standing under and playing in a shower stream. He loves puddles for stomping, sitting in, and slapping. He loves it all.
This is good, right?
Well, yes. It's good. It's great. My grandfather was a champion swimmer. My mom was a river rat. I grew up at the local pool/pond/river/yard sprinkler. Water is fun and fun is good.
Except now I keep having dreams that he drowns.
(sigh)
Is being a mother always this complicated?
This is good, right?
Well, yes. It's good. It's great. My grandfather was a champion swimmer. My mom was a river rat. I grew up at the local pool/pond/river/yard sprinkler. Water is fun and fun is good.
Except now I keep having dreams that he drowns.
(sigh)
Is being a mother always this complicated?
7.26.2011
He has a first word, people. Are you ready for this??
Hi.
No, seriously, that's his first word. Hi. He says it all the time now that he figured it out. He's probably been saying it for months and I just didn't recognize it. This shouldn't be a surprise because for some ridiculous reason we have been saying it to him 794 times a day since he was born. Literally. I think I say it to him 14 times before he gets out of his crib in the morning.
It also should not be surprising considering that he has never met a stranger. He flirted with no less than 11 people today; 3 women and 2 men at the place we ate lunch, the welcome center grandma lady at the Brookgreen Gardens, the checkout chick and bagger dude at Piggly Wiggly, the front desk clerk at the hotel, and a little boy on the shuttle to the zoo. And Holly. He loves to watch people, meet people, play with people, and smile at people sideways so they coo at him. Of course he wants to say "Hi."
It almost makes me sad that he will have to learn "Goodbye."
No, seriously, that's his first word. Hi. He says it all the time now that he figured it out. He's probably been saying it for months and I just didn't recognize it. This shouldn't be a surprise because for some ridiculous reason we have been saying it to him 794 times a day since he was born. Literally. I think I say it to him 14 times before he gets out of his crib in the morning.
It also should not be surprising considering that he has never met a stranger. He flirted with no less than 11 people today; 3 women and 2 men at the place we ate lunch, the welcome center grandma lady at the Brookgreen Gardens, the checkout chick and bagger dude at Piggly Wiggly, the front desk clerk at the hotel, and a little boy on the shuttle to the zoo. And Holly. He loves to watch people, meet people, play with people, and smile at people sideways so they coo at him. Of course he wants to say "Hi."
It almost makes me sad that he will have to learn "Goodbye."
Make it Work (or "How To Baby Proof With No Baby Proofing Stuff, and How To Have Fun When It Sucks")
So we're staying in this really new, really nice hotel at Murrels Inlet, SC for the week while Aron works. Holly is with us, and we made a family trip out of it. Of course, there have been a few obstacles to the easy-breezy trip I had imagined.
#1: Baby proofing a hotel room when your child is mobile
So, yeah, I know, I should have thought of that. I didn't. I also didn't pack my vitamin regimen. Obviously I am not as infallible as I once thought. But we get here, to this super cool hotel room, and my child only needs about 45 seconds to open the cabinet under the kitchen sink, smack his forehead on a dining room table, and fall face first on slippery wood floors. So I improvised. No more socks, we're walking barefoot. A hair tie wrapped around the cabinet pulls keeps him from opening under the sink. The table slides under the counter almost all the way, so...check! And if we keep the bathroom door closed and the outlets covered with a smidge of duct tape from Aron's first aid kit (umm, what first aid you do with duct tape I don't even want to know) we're in good shape. Kinda.
#2: Sickness
We got here with runny noses, head congestion, sneezing, and a cranky attitude. And Owen didn't feel good either ;)...First stop? Walgreen's!! I friggin' love that place, and let me tell you why. Not only do they have baby allergy meds and dye-free baby Tylenol stuff, Little Noses saline drops for Monkey's delicate schnoz and a heavy duty decongestant for mommy, but they have comfort food Fig Newtons and mini Oreos for the kiddies and navy blue nail polish to perk up my spirits!! In no time we're slightly less snotty, in much better moods, and ready to think of doing fun things. Until...
#3: Rain. Pouring deluges of rain.
And you know what? Fuck it! We went to the giant botanical garden/zoo/butterfly house thing anyway, got drenched, had a blast, saw river otters, an alligator and a huge spider, and came back to take hot baths and a nap. So it's not an afternoon at the ocean, but it was awesome, and sometimes you have to just make it work. Owen's first walk in a summer rain was pretty cool to him apparently, and it was fun spiking his wet hair into a mohawk. :D
#1: Baby proofing a hotel room when your child is mobile
So, yeah, I know, I should have thought of that. I didn't. I also didn't pack my vitamin regimen. Obviously I am not as infallible as I once thought. But we get here, to this super cool hotel room, and my child only needs about 45 seconds to open the cabinet under the kitchen sink, smack his forehead on a dining room table, and fall face first on slippery wood floors. So I improvised. No more socks, we're walking barefoot. A hair tie wrapped around the cabinet pulls keeps him from opening under the sink. The table slides under the counter almost all the way, so...check! And if we keep the bathroom door closed and the outlets covered with a smidge of duct tape from Aron's first aid kit (umm, what first aid you do with duct tape I don't even want to know) we're in good shape. Kinda.
#2: Sickness
We got here with runny noses, head congestion, sneezing, and a cranky attitude. And Owen didn't feel good either ;)...First stop? Walgreen's!! I friggin' love that place, and let me tell you why. Not only do they have baby allergy meds and dye-free baby Tylenol stuff, Little Noses saline drops for Monkey's delicate schnoz and a heavy duty decongestant for mommy, but they have comfort food Fig Newtons and mini Oreos for the kiddies and navy blue nail polish to perk up my spirits!! In no time we're slightly less snotty, in much better moods, and ready to think of doing fun things. Until...
#3: Rain. Pouring deluges of rain.
And you know what? Fuck it! We went to the giant botanical garden/zoo/butterfly house thing anyway, got drenched, had a blast, saw river otters, an alligator and a huge spider, and came back to take hot baths and a nap. So it's not an afternoon at the ocean, but it was awesome, and sometimes you have to just make it work. Owen's first walk in a summer rain was pretty cool to him apparently, and it was fun spiking his wet hair into a mohawk. :D
7.16.2011
Oh No You Didn't...
It happened today. My first experience with someone questioning my parenting choices, and the shocking but distinctly blinding rage that followed.
The apartment complex we just moved into has an annual pool party in July. We listened to the sounds of mingling neighbors and loud music all afternoon, and after O had dinner we decided to take him down, play in the pool for a little bit, and see if we could meet any new people. He loves the water (bath time is his favorite part of being alive, I think) and since he starts Water Babies class at the Y in a few weeks, I thought getting used to the big pool would be good.
We were in the shallowest part, with either Daddy or me holding him with both hands, keeping his head above water, and just wooshing around, letting him splash with his arms and kick with his feet. We would pass him back and forth, and he was giggling and excited. It was very cute, and for about ten minutes it was delightful and calm.
Enter drunk 20-something guy.
He walks over and says something to the effect of "You need to stop that. You need to stop that. Keep him out of the water, ok? Keep him out of the water." He gestures palms up in a raise-the-dead sort of way, and repeats himself. Aron started to say something like "He's ok," but I bristled. "Don't tell me what to do with my child." The guy looks plaintive for a second, and says, "Ok, I'm just asking. He's just an infant. He shouldn't be in the pool." Aron tries to tell him he likes that water and the guy says something about the pool being "scary as shit" for babies. I look at him like he's insane and say, "He's HAPPY. He's FINE." The guy gets the picture that I am not backing down, shakes his head at what terrible and stubborn parents we are, and ambles off to find another light beer and chat with a girl who has a tramp stamp tattoo under her belly button.
I was enraged at this guy. "Who the hell does he think he is?" etc, etc. Aron shrugs it off better than me, because obviously the guy is drunk as a skunk and you can't hold it against him for being worried, right?
Well I can.
I knew this would happen. I mean, it's almost happened before when people at Food Lion give me dirty looks for letting O crawl on the "filthy, dirty floor! He'll get germs!!" To which I reply, "Germs are good for him." But those people never made me mad like this did.
I remember conversations I used to have with my sisters, when I questioned some of their parenting choices about Gaelan, and disagreed with some things they chose to do. I remember feeling kind of baffled at how closed minded they were, how they weren't able to have a real conversation about the topic because they were too busy telling me I wasn't a parent, I didn't know what I was talking about, and they weren't going to defend their parenting to me. Now I know why they were like that. Now I get it.
I know there are going to be times when someone questions my choice, and they will be right. They will have a good point, or a good perspective, and their point will be a valid one. But I can't promise I will be able to hear them. I can't promise I will listen objectively and weigh the options carefully. I will probably shoot them down before they get off the ground. I will probably turn into raging defensive mom monster, like I did at the pool guy today.
It's interesting, the first twinges of that mom monster. I wonder what other things will set her off, and what it will take for her to unlatch her giant jaws and bite someone's head off in one massive chomp...
The apartment complex we just moved into has an annual pool party in July. We listened to the sounds of mingling neighbors and loud music all afternoon, and after O had dinner we decided to take him down, play in the pool for a little bit, and see if we could meet any new people. He loves the water (bath time is his favorite part of being alive, I think) and since he starts Water Babies class at the Y in a few weeks, I thought getting used to the big pool would be good.
We were in the shallowest part, with either Daddy or me holding him with both hands, keeping his head above water, and just wooshing around, letting him splash with his arms and kick with his feet. We would pass him back and forth, and he was giggling and excited. It was very cute, and for about ten minutes it was delightful and calm.
Enter drunk 20-something guy.
He walks over and says something to the effect of "You need to stop that. You need to stop that. Keep him out of the water, ok? Keep him out of the water." He gestures palms up in a raise-the-dead sort of way, and repeats himself. Aron started to say something like "He's ok," but I bristled. "Don't tell me what to do with my child." The guy looks plaintive for a second, and says, "Ok, I'm just asking. He's just an infant. He shouldn't be in the pool." Aron tries to tell him he likes that water and the guy says something about the pool being "scary as shit" for babies. I look at him like he's insane and say, "He's HAPPY. He's FINE." The guy gets the picture that I am not backing down, shakes his head at what terrible and stubborn parents we are, and ambles off to find another light beer and chat with a girl who has a tramp stamp tattoo under her belly button.
I was enraged at this guy. "Who the hell does he think he is?" etc, etc. Aron shrugs it off better than me, because obviously the guy is drunk as a skunk and you can't hold it against him for being worried, right?
Well I can.
I knew this would happen. I mean, it's almost happened before when people at Food Lion give me dirty looks for letting O crawl on the "filthy, dirty floor! He'll get germs!!" To which I reply, "Germs are good for him." But those people never made me mad like this did.
I remember conversations I used to have with my sisters, when I questioned some of their parenting choices about Gaelan, and disagreed with some things they chose to do. I remember feeling kind of baffled at how closed minded they were, how they weren't able to have a real conversation about the topic because they were too busy telling me I wasn't a parent, I didn't know what I was talking about, and they weren't going to defend their parenting to me. Now I know why they were like that. Now I get it.
I know there are going to be times when someone questions my choice, and they will be right. They will have a good point, or a good perspective, and their point will be a valid one. But I can't promise I will be able to hear them. I can't promise I will listen objectively and weigh the options carefully. I will probably shoot them down before they get off the ground. I will probably turn into raging defensive mom monster, like I did at the pool guy today.
It's interesting, the first twinges of that mom monster. I wonder what other things will set her off, and what it will take for her to unlatch her giant jaws and bite someone's head off in one massive chomp...
7.14.2011
You learn by doing. Or in this case, by not doing...
So if you ever thought to yourself, "Those car seat buckles are too complicated. Surely you don't need to buckle more than the chest strap. That double-crotch-buckle is overkill, right?" you were wrong.
And let me tell you why.
In a sleep-deprived fog, I strapped a screaming O into his car seat and got behind the wheel. About 90 seconds later he is screaming in a much more adamant tone, but slightly muffled. I am alarmed, confused, and snap out of my haze to pull over, turn around fully in the front seat, and see what the problem is.
My child, the wiggly one who can't sit still for more than a nanosecond unless he is strapped down/in, had wiggled himself down and rolled over, with the chest strap of his car seat mushing his face into the seat of it, his legs all askew against the back seat of the actual car, and his arms crunched underneath him.
Oh horror of horrors!
It really was scary that he did that so fast, and that he could have easily suffocated himself if he'd been stuck like that for long. He was weepy and upset when I got him out (for good reason) and I was, too.
It was not fun.
So the next time you think those multi-buckle contraptions are being overly cautious, just remember that without all those things holding your kid in, they will find a way to get out.
Now if they would just ADD some more buckles to the high chairs at restaurants, maybe O would stop climbing out of them...
And let me tell you why.
In a sleep-deprived fog, I strapped a screaming O into his car seat and got behind the wheel. About 90 seconds later he is screaming in a much more adamant tone, but slightly muffled. I am alarmed, confused, and snap out of my haze to pull over, turn around fully in the front seat, and see what the problem is.
My child, the wiggly one who can't sit still for more than a nanosecond unless he is strapped down/in, had wiggled himself down and rolled over, with the chest strap of his car seat mushing his face into the seat of it, his legs all askew against the back seat of the actual car, and his arms crunched underneath him.
Oh horror of horrors!
It really was scary that he did that so fast, and that he could have easily suffocated himself if he'd been stuck like that for long. He was weepy and upset when I got him out (for good reason) and I was, too.
It was not fun.
So the next time you think those multi-buckle contraptions are being overly cautious, just remember that without all those things holding your kid in, they will find a way to get out.
Now if they would just ADD some more buckles to the high chairs at restaurants, maybe O would stop climbing out of them...
7.09.2011
Toddling
My child is officially a toddler. I don't know about the age part, but he definitely toddles. He toddles all day long.
He has gone from cruising (which, for those of you who don't have kids, is when they "walk" by holding themselves up on furniture/walls/parents, etc.) to a few steps and then falling, to full-fledged walking around the apartment like he owns the place. Which, of course, he basically does.
He can stand from a sitting position without pulling up on anything, stand there for a while deciding on his direction, and then walk in chosen direction for 30 or 40 steps before deciding that walking is boring, and he'll sit down again. He can lean over and pick something up without falling down (sometimes), and he can almost always change direction without falling down.
Now I realize most of us do this every day without fanfare, but he's 10 months old. This is pretty quick for a baby. Most babies aren't doing this until they're 1 year old, or older. Some of his baby friends who are older than him are just now crawling proficiently. And it's all totally normal, because babies all develop in different ways and at their own speed. But it's still kind of crazy that he's doing this already.
It's also painful. For him. We are all aware of how accident prone he is (the bruises all over his face get questioning stares when we're in public...and NO, I DO NOT beat my child about the head and face. Jeez.) Well walking just makes it worse. He gets so intent on his feet he doesn't watch where he's going, and WHAM-O, face first into the table/wall/metal locker/arm of the chair. And he's getting rug burns from all the times he tries to run (RUN?! Are you kidding me?!?) and face plants on the carpet.
Is it time for the leash, yet? :)
He has gone from cruising (which, for those of you who don't have kids, is when they "walk" by holding themselves up on furniture/walls/parents, etc.) to a few steps and then falling, to full-fledged walking around the apartment like he owns the place. Which, of course, he basically does.
He can stand from a sitting position without pulling up on anything, stand there for a while deciding on his direction, and then walk in chosen direction for 30 or 40 steps before deciding that walking is boring, and he'll sit down again. He can lean over and pick something up without falling down (sometimes), and he can almost always change direction without falling down.
Now I realize most of us do this every day without fanfare, but he's 10 months old. This is pretty quick for a baby. Most babies aren't doing this until they're 1 year old, or older. Some of his baby friends who are older than him are just now crawling proficiently. And it's all totally normal, because babies all develop in different ways and at their own speed. But it's still kind of crazy that he's doing this already.
It's also painful. For him. We are all aware of how accident prone he is (the bruises all over his face get questioning stares when we're in public...and NO, I DO NOT beat my child about the head and face. Jeez.) Well walking just makes it worse. He gets so intent on his feet he doesn't watch where he's going, and WHAM-O, face first into the table/wall/metal locker/arm of the chair. And he's getting rug burns from all the times he tries to run (RUN?! Are you kidding me?!?) and face plants on the carpet.
Is it time for the leash, yet? :)
7.05.2011
Annnnnnnnnd, we're done.
No more nursing.
Period.
It makes me sad. I miss it already. I missed it the first day. I have had a hard time not giving in, snuggling him up in the glider and popping a boob in his mouth. I actually had a dream about it last night.
Owen, on the other hand, could care less.
I am pretty sure that the last month or so of him kicking me in the collarbone, smacking me in the face, and squirming to get out of my arms while we were nursing was a sign that he was over it. And I would have suffered through that for a long time, just to get him a few more weeks or months of that delightfully perfect breastmilk. But the last straw happened last week. He started biting me. Not just once, and not accidentally. He was biting me every time we nursed, on purpose, over and over. No amount of shrieking (he would just giggle) or reprimanding in a firm tone (his eyes would glaze over) made a difference. The fangs were out, and he was not giving up.
So we weaned. In a day, basically. He has been getting one or two bottles a day for some time now. Nursing was primarily a nap time/5 am activity. So losing it and getting an extra bottle or two hasn't seemed to phase him at all.
So Owen's fine, my nipples are healing, and I am a sad mommy.
Also my boobs hurt.
You win some, you lose some.
Period.
It makes me sad. I miss it already. I missed it the first day. I have had a hard time not giving in, snuggling him up in the glider and popping a boob in his mouth. I actually had a dream about it last night.
Owen, on the other hand, could care less.
I am pretty sure that the last month or so of him kicking me in the collarbone, smacking me in the face, and squirming to get out of my arms while we were nursing was a sign that he was over it. And I would have suffered through that for a long time, just to get him a few more weeks or months of that delightfully perfect breastmilk. But the last straw happened last week. He started biting me. Not just once, and not accidentally. He was biting me every time we nursed, on purpose, over and over. No amount of shrieking (he would just giggle) or reprimanding in a firm tone (his eyes would glaze over) made a difference. The fangs were out, and he was not giving up.
So we weaned. In a day, basically. He has been getting one or two bottles a day for some time now. Nursing was primarily a nap time/5 am activity. So losing it and getting an extra bottle or two hasn't seemed to phase him at all.
So Owen's fine, my nipples are healing, and I am a sad mommy.
Also my boobs hurt.
You win some, you lose some.
7.02.2011
Size Matters
My very dear friend is pregnant with their first, and so of course I have passed along a veritable plethora of baby related items for them to use (or not use, depending!) for their new little man. We were talking last night, and she wants to show me the clothes they have gotten on their own (as opposed to coming in the mail in a random cardboard box from me!) and I remembered something that nobody told me, so I passed this tidbit on to her, and I will now pass it on to you.
The size on the tag of baby clothes is totally and ridiculously arbitrary.
When I got bags of hand-me-downs and boxes of thrift store and yard sale finds, I plopped my giant pregnant butt down on the floor and sorted them all neatly and accurately by the size that was listed on the tag. I boxed up the stuff he wouldn't be wearing for a while, put the rest in his closet, and, having soothed my organizational OCD, ate some ice cream and took a nap.
Then he was born. And I was quite unprepared to find that some of his newborn clothes were clearly several months too big for him. How odd, I thought. It says "Newborn" right there on the tag...he's a newborn baby...and yet it is falling off of him into a cotton puddle on the floor. Hmmm. What to do...?
I finally, after hours of pondering in a pregnancy-brain induced fog, discovered that if I re-sorted his clothes by their ACTUAL size, it was a much more accurate process. So I did this (it took a lot longer than the tag sorting, but was more efficient in the long run, obviously) and was supremely satisfied with my brilliance. So, in the end, problem solved.
But what sense does it make, really, for all these baby clothes to be such poorly labeled and incongruous sizes? As if moms don't have enough to worry about. As if we aren't already trying to muddle through the science of choosing the perfect diaper, and the catastrophe that is choosing a good baby monitor...now we have to realize this, formulate a plan, and resolve it. All on our own.
Well never fear, fellow mothers. I am here to help you.
The size on the tag of baby clothes is totally and ridiculously arbitrary.
When I got bags of hand-me-downs and boxes of thrift store and yard sale finds, I plopped my giant pregnant butt down on the floor and sorted them all neatly and accurately by the size that was listed on the tag. I boxed up the stuff he wouldn't be wearing for a while, put the rest in his closet, and, having soothed my organizational OCD, ate some ice cream and took a nap.
Then he was born. And I was quite unprepared to find that some of his newborn clothes were clearly several months too big for him. How odd, I thought. It says "Newborn" right there on the tag...he's a newborn baby...and yet it is falling off of him into a cotton puddle on the floor. Hmmm. What to do...?
I finally, after hours of pondering in a pregnancy-brain induced fog, discovered that if I re-sorted his clothes by their ACTUAL size, it was a much more accurate process. So I did this (it took a lot longer than the tag sorting, but was more efficient in the long run, obviously) and was supremely satisfied with my brilliance. So, in the end, problem solved.
But what sense does it make, really, for all these baby clothes to be such poorly labeled and incongruous sizes? As if moms don't have enough to worry about. As if we aren't already trying to muddle through the science of choosing the perfect diaper, and the catastrophe that is choosing a good baby monitor...now we have to realize this, formulate a plan, and resolve it. All on our own.
Well never fear, fellow mothers. I am here to help you.
6.24.2011
Adventures in Traveling, Part 1
I am at grad school for the next week doing my first of four semester residencies. Because my little one isn't weaned yet, they let me bring him and a 'child care aide' who we'll call Maddie :)
Getting here was interesting.
We spent two days in the car, and what should have been a 16 hour trip took (if you don't count the hotel room semi-sleep time) approximately 21 hours. We took turns driving, and I honestly think we both prefer the driving to the time in the back seat with Owen. He did really well for some periods of time, and he slept a few times, too. But mostly he was pissed. I imagine his thought process to be something like this:
You guys suck! Why am I in this stupid seat again? You just took me out 8 minutes ago, and all I got to do was lay on my back and get a clean diaper before you threw me back in here?! Are you insane?!?!? Why do you hate me? Why do you torture me? LET ME OUT OF HERE YOU EVIL BITCHES! This is a severe injustice you are inflicting upon me. This is egregious. I demand satisfaction!! Fucking hell, this is so wrong!! I need to crawl and play and try to pull things down on my head and put things in my mouth all day, not sit wedged in a plastic seat with polyester lining! I HATE YOU!!!
And I totally agree with him. It's horrible and evil and mean, and I don't blame him for being totally miserable. Especially since he spent the first hour of the trip sitting in 2 inches of juice because his sippy cup leaked and I didn't know it. And he also spent an hour or so in a pile of poop diaper because it didn't smell and Maddie didn't know it was there. Poor little fella.
I will, of course, try to exact a little sympathy for me, since I got injured. Maddie, who is new to driving a stick shift vehicle, jolted the car while pulling out of a parking lot and I had already started nursing O, so he bit down and I screamed and he cried and I discovered my nipple was bleeding...
Not fun.
Getting here was interesting.
We spent two days in the car, and what should have been a 16 hour trip took (if you don't count the hotel room semi-sleep time) approximately 21 hours. We took turns driving, and I honestly think we both prefer the driving to the time in the back seat with Owen. He did really well for some periods of time, and he slept a few times, too. But mostly he was pissed. I imagine his thought process to be something like this:
You guys suck! Why am I in this stupid seat again? You just took me out 8 minutes ago, and all I got to do was lay on my back and get a clean diaper before you threw me back in here?! Are you insane?!?!? Why do you hate me? Why do you torture me? LET ME OUT OF HERE YOU EVIL BITCHES! This is a severe injustice you are inflicting upon me. This is egregious. I demand satisfaction!! Fucking hell, this is so wrong!! I need to crawl and play and try to pull things down on my head and put things in my mouth all day, not sit wedged in a plastic seat with polyester lining! I HATE YOU!!!
And I totally agree with him. It's horrible and evil and mean, and I don't blame him for being totally miserable. Especially since he spent the first hour of the trip sitting in 2 inches of juice because his sippy cup leaked and I didn't know it. And he also spent an hour or so in a pile of poop diaper because it didn't smell and Maddie didn't know it was there. Poor little fella.
I will, of course, try to exact a little sympathy for me, since I got injured. Maddie, who is new to driving a stick shift vehicle, jolted the car while pulling out of a parking lot and I had already started nursing O, so he bit down and I screamed and he cried and I discovered my nipple was bleeding...
Not fun.
6.14.2011
Tuesday's Take
Ok, so it doesn't sound as good as Photo Friday, but I wanted to put up some new pics of my cutie pie. And I am too tired and too stressed to write much, so pictures seemed the easy way out :)
Snuggling with Aunt Pandy
BOTTOM TEETH!
Chubby baby legs are so fun to pinch!
I got a cell phone Chelsea! Mwuah-ha-ha!
Nom nom nom!
Yeah, I like hip hop. What about it?!
I have orange toes like Chelsea does! Yay!
6.11.2011
Changing Again (Me, This Time.)
My body is changing again. Altering itself based on what my baby needs, and takes, and what he doesn't.
He doesn't nurse as much anymore, now that he (messily and with great angst) feeds himself pasta wheels and chicken chunks and peas. So my once bouncy-flouncy milk-makers have shrunk back to their pre-pregnancy proportions...except now they are flat and lifeless like deflated bicycle tires. Ugh. No amount of underwire will save them at this point. I look down at my cleavage and am surprise to find that I don't really have any to speak of anymore. So sad.
Also, with much dismay and without preparing for it, I have rejoined the ranks of womanhood. And let me just tell you that it is NOT going well. I was having these nice, cramp-free, pantyliners-only kinds of periods before I got myself knocked up. They were brief, easy, and painless. This period, however, is like their evil stepsister. I should have bought stock in Tampax. Hell, I should have bought some Tampax! I was not ready for this, and it's distinctly unpleasant. I should have seen it coming, I guess, but I was living blissfully in my world without menstrual cycles.
One good thing is the weight loss. Thanks to Weight Watchers, and my dutiful adherence to its principles, I have lost about 26 pounds so far. This is a wonderment that I do not get tired of talking about. I am halfway to my goal of losing 50 pounds, and I feel pretty damn great about it. I still get to eat pizza and milkshakes (on OCCASION, mind you) but I am rapidly approaching the day when my pre-preggie fat jeans will fit again...and then, oh heavenly joy, my skinny jeans will fit me someday, too!! It's delightful to see myself slowly but surely shrinking to a healthy and acceptable size. I don't need to be a size 4. I just need to be a good size for me. Like an 8/10 :)
The one teensy problem with losing this weight (and I do hate to be a beggar AND a chooser, here) is the floppy body it leaves behind. I grew this monstrous large belly, and my skin had to stretch itself to accommodate. Now the belly is shrinking, but the skin is hanging out, confused, wondering where to go. I have gone from preggie tummy to fat tummy to smaller but floppy/flabby tummy. It's odd, and disconcerting. I never expected to have flat abs, nor do I need to. I am not a super model and I don't aspire to be. But this drooping mass is interfering with my plans of maybe someday wearing a bikini again.
Wow, having a baby really does a number on you.
He doesn't nurse as much anymore, now that he (messily and with great angst) feeds himself pasta wheels and chicken chunks and peas. So my once bouncy-flouncy milk-makers have shrunk back to their pre-pregnancy proportions...except now they are flat and lifeless like deflated bicycle tires. Ugh. No amount of underwire will save them at this point. I look down at my cleavage and am surprise to find that I don't really have any to speak of anymore. So sad.
Also, with much dismay and without preparing for it, I have rejoined the ranks of womanhood. And let me just tell you that it is NOT going well. I was having these nice, cramp-free, pantyliners-only kinds of periods before I got myself knocked up. They were brief, easy, and painless. This period, however, is like their evil stepsister. I should have bought stock in Tampax. Hell, I should have bought some Tampax! I was not ready for this, and it's distinctly unpleasant. I should have seen it coming, I guess, but I was living blissfully in my world without menstrual cycles.
One good thing is the weight loss. Thanks to Weight Watchers, and my dutiful adherence to its principles, I have lost about 26 pounds so far. This is a wonderment that I do not get tired of talking about. I am halfway to my goal of losing 50 pounds, and I feel pretty damn great about it. I still get to eat pizza and milkshakes (on OCCASION, mind you) but I am rapidly approaching the day when my pre-preggie fat jeans will fit again...and then, oh heavenly joy, my skinny jeans will fit me someday, too!! It's delightful to see myself slowly but surely shrinking to a healthy and acceptable size. I don't need to be a size 4. I just need to be a good size for me. Like an 8/10 :)
The one teensy problem with losing this weight (and I do hate to be a beggar AND a chooser, here) is the floppy body it leaves behind. I grew this monstrous large belly, and my skin had to stretch itself to accommodate. Now the belly is shrinking, but the skin is hanging out, confused, wondering where to go. I have gone from preggie tummy to fat tummy to smaller but floppy/flabby tummy. It's odd, and disconcerting. I never expected to have flat abs, nor do I need to. I am not a super model and I don't aspire to be. But this drooping mass is interfering with my plans of maybe someday wearing a bikini again.
Wow, having a baby really does a number on you.
6.04.2011
Life Lessons
I wonder sometimes what I will teach my son. What life lessons, what important tidbits, and what necessary information will I impart? I think about the things I see, looking back, that my mom tried to teach me. Self-respect. Confidence. A sense of adventure. Devotion to what I love, whether it be person, career, or place. But those things aren't enough. I have to teach him things my mother didn't have to teach me.
I have to find a way to teach him how to be a man.
I don't say this with the idea of a lumberjack in the back of my mind, or while picturing Hulk Hogan. I am not thinking of stock brokers, or triathletes, or those dudes who strut around the club late at night, oozing testosterone.
I say this while thinking of men I would like my son to emulate, at least in some specific ways. I would like him to be gentle and charming, like my father. I would like him to be smart, like my mom's friend Joe. I would like him to be creative, like Raymond. I would like him to be kind, patient, and generous, like his daddy. I would like him to be sensitive and perceptive, like JJ. And I would like him to be brave, like his Granny Ann, who was obviously not a man, but I think her overt swearing and cigar smoking puts her in the Boys' Club.
These sound like great characteristics for a man to have. And yet it is very hard to find a man who has them all. It is such a struggle to grow up as a boy in this culture. Boys get the message over and over that they are supposed to be tough, that they're superior to girls, that they're not supposed to be emotional, and that their power as human beings comes from their sexual prowess. They see glorified images of muscled dimwits, or snide and condescending snobs, and think that's who they're supposed to be.
I don't want that for Owen. I want him to be a full person, to experience and express a full range of thoughts and feelings, and not be afraid of that. I want him to respect himself, and women, and other men. I want him to find his power in his openness, and his intelligence, and his compassion.
I want him to be one of the good guys. I want someone, someday, to say about him that they got themselves a good man.
So the question becomes...how do I help him become that?
I have to find a way to teach him how to be a man.
I don't say this with the idea of a lumberjack in the back of my mind, or while picturing Hulk Hogan. I am not thinking of stock brokers, or triathletes, or those dudes who strut around the club late at night, oozing testosterone.
I say this while thinking of men I would like my son to emulate, at least in some specific ways. I would like him to be gentle and charming, like my father. I would like him to be smart, like my mom's friend Joe. I would like him to be creative, like Raymond. I would like him to be kind, patient, and generous, like his daddy. I would like him to be sensitive and perceptive, like JJ. And I would like him to be brave, like his Granny Ann, who was obviously not a man, but I think her overt swearing and cigar smoking puts her in the Boys' Club.
These sound like great characteristics for a man to have. And yet it is very hard to find a man who has them all. It is such a struggle to grow up as a boy in this culture. Boys get the message over and over that they are supposed to be tough, that they're superior to girls, that they're not supposed to be emotional, and that their power as human beings comes from their sexual prowess. They see glorified images of muscled dimwits, or snide and condescending snobs, and think that's who they're supposed to be.
I don't want that for Owen. I want him to be a full person, to experience and express a full range of thoughts and feelings, and not be afraid of that. I want him to respect himself, and women, and other men. I want him to find his power in his openness, and his intelligence, and his compassion.
I want him to be one of the good guys. I want someone, someday, to say about him that they got themselves a good man.
So the question becomes...how do I help him become that?
6.02.2011
Opposites Attract
Owen has a baby best friend, Ezra. Ezra is 8 weeks older than him, but they're about the same size, and they're developmentally pretty close to each other, so they have play dates. Cute, giddy, adorable play dates.
They adore each other. They squeal as soon as Ezra walks in the door. Owen wiggles and jiggles all over, he practically trips over his own feet (ok, he DOES trip over his own feet) crawling at light speed to get to Ezra, and Ezra breaks out in a big grin and waves his little arms. It is obvious how happy they are.
The funny thing is, they're total opposites.
Ezra will sit in one spot for 20 minutes, totally absorbed with one toy, quietly inspecting it and turning it over in his hands. He will smile a few times, but is kind of serious and intense. He doesn't make much noise; he's a very quiet and calm baby boy. When his mommy feeds him, he sits still and opens his mouth like a little bird, and doesn't squish it into his eyelashes or on top of his head.
Owen, while Ezra is sitting peacefully and engaged, is doing laps around him at the speed of sound. He plays with 12 different toys in 4 minutes, screeches and babbles incessantly, grinning and showing his toofs. He gets excited, he gets mad, he gets bonked on the head and cries. And we all know what happens when I feed him...chaos.
But they love playing together. They love just being on the same floor of the same room together. They have some utterly endearing connection that transcends their obvious differences. It's the sweetest thing I have ever seen.
They adore each other. They squeal as soon as Ezra walks in the door. Owen wiggles and jiggles all over, he practically trips over his own feet (ok, he DOES trip over his own feet) crawling at light speed to get to Ezra, and Ezra breaks out in a big grin and waves his little arms. It is obvious how happy they are.
The funny thing is, they're total opposites.
Ezra will sit in one spot for 20 minutes, totally absorbed with one toy, quietly inspecting it and turning it over in his hands. He will smile a few times, but is kind of serious and intense. He doesn't make much noise; he's a very quiet and calm baby boy. When his mommy feeds him, he sits still and opens his mouth like a little bird, and doesn't squish it into his eyelashes or on top of his head.
Owen, while Ezra is sitting peacefully and engaged, is doing laps around him at the speed of sound. He plays with 12 different toys in 4 minutes, screeches and babbles incessantly, grinning and showing his toofs. He gets excited, he gets mad, he gets bonked on the head and cries. And we all know what happens when I feed him...chaos.
But they love playing together. They love just being on the same floor of the same room together. They have some utterly endearing connection that transcends their obvious differences. It's the sweetest thing I have ever seen.
6.01.2011
A short story in which Monkey tries to decapitate himself, flirts with an ER doctor, and traumatizes his nanny.
Today started like any other day. We woke up, ate breakfast, played, took a nap. Our friend Alice came over, and the nanny took my little pooper for his mid-day nap so Alice and I could make Chex mix and chat. Suddenly, a crash! A scream! I run into the nanny's bathroom and Monkey is laying a pile of shattered glass and the nanny is picking a giant free-standing mirror off of him (see below).
the dent where all the glass radiates from was made my by child's skull...
I was totally calm, the nanny was kind of freaking out, and poor Alice kept saying "What can I do?" I inspected him from head to toe, and he wasn't bleeding or anything. We decided to take him to the ER anyway because even though he only had a few teeny scratches on him, he had pulverized glass dust all over his face and I was worried it might have gotten in his eyes. After waiting 40 minutes, and after Monkey flirted shamelessly with the handsome ER doctor, they irrigated his eyes and said he seemed totally fine.
It was uncanny how calm I was. The nanny remarked on it later several times. I have always been pretty good in emergency situations (I mean, why else would I join a fire department?!) and I can stay level headed and focused when everyone else is either a zombie or falling apart. But I was surprised I was still able to do that, instinctively, with my own son. I guess I anticipated being more hysterical.
It's good to know this, because I doubt this is our last trip to the emergency room with a {potentially} injured little boy.
Man, am I in for it...it's going to be a long 18 years.
5.30.2011
"Go on, he won't bite!"...will he?
He has teeth. Two top, two bottom. And he has discovered how to use them. Woe is me.
I am no longer nursing a baby, who pats my collarbone while he gently suckles and gazes at me lovingly. No, those days are over.
Now, I am nursing a pirana, who swings his leg up to kick me in the chest while he bites me and darts his gaze all over the room, and even this only happens when he decides he has the free time to eat, and can be pulled away from entertaining himself with an empty water bottle long enough for some breakfast.
It's much less fun this way.
I hated nursing the first few months. It was excruciating and draining. He wouldn't latch. Then he wouldn't latch well. Then he would latch but he only wanted the right one. It was so stressful, and felt so unnatural for us. We did not take to it quickly, and we did not find our rhythm until he was several months old.
But when we did...oh, it was lovely. It was snuggly, and warm, and sweet. He was happy, he would fall asleep in my arms and I felt so tender, so capable. I enjoyed it so much. And we figured out how to nurse lying down, and in the car, and sitting on the floor of a strange place without our special nursing pillow, and it was great. I was Queen of the World! I was doing it! I was going to be a good Mom after all!!
Now it's hard again. He's squirmy, he's bored, and he bites. I feel anxious about it again. I do not feel satisfied and calm. I feel like I am wrestling a python and asking it to sink its teeth in. I feel crazy.
Sigh...
Is it too late to sell him to gypsies?
I am no longer nursing a baby, who pats my collarbone while he gently suckles and gazes at me lovingly. No, those days are over.
Now, I am nursing a pirana, who swings his leg up to kick me in the chest while he bites me and darts his gaze all over the room, and even this only happens when he decides he has the free time to eat, and can be pulled away from entertaining himself with an empty water bottle long enough for some breakfast.
It's much less fun this way.
I hated nursing the first few months. It was excruciating and draining. He wouldn't latch. Then he wouldn't latch well. Then he would latch but he only wanted the right one. It was so stressful, and felt so unnatural for us. We did not take to it quickly, and we did not find our rhythm until he was several months old.
But when we did...oh, it was lovely. It was snuggly, and warm, and sweet. He was happy, he would fall asleep in my arms and I felt so tender, so capable. I enjoyed it so much. And we figured out how to nurse lying down, and in the car, and sitting on the floor of a strange place without our special nursing pillow, and it was great. I was Queen of the World! I was doing it! I was going to be a good Mom after all!!
Now it's hard again. He's squirmy, he's bored, and he bites. I feel anxious about it again. I do not feel satisfied and calm. I feel like I am wrestling a python and asking it to sink its teeth in. I feel crazy.
Sigh...
Is it too late to sell him to gypsies?
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