What the Hell is going on in my belly?! It's constant movement, all the live long day. This baby is doing some kind of Jujitsu mixed in with a Krav Maga move that makes my stomach look like a game AT&T park during a rousing bout of "The Wave."
I thought my panicked Googling days were over, but in this case I found myself checking the internet for things like, "overactive fetus" and "pre-natal ADHD." This can't be right. Can a fetus move this much in that cramped a space? I'm just waiting to hear a "craaaa-aack" and a broken rib to protrude from my chest. This baby is trying to break out of the pokey a few months early.
And in other news: No more midnight shows of Aliens for me.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Thursday, December 9, 2010
From Speed Bump to Big Belly
The 23 week visit went relatively well...until doc told me I had had a "growth spurt" in the last month. Apparently I gained 5 pounds. My last visit I weighed in at a respectable 149. This visit, I tipped the scales at 155.
Coincidentally, this was also the week my cute bump morphed into an officially big belly. I now forage for clean maternity clothes anywhere I can find it in the house. The only criteria for wearing it is that it has to fit. It's a miracle I'm not a nudist at this point in my pregnancy.
Coincidentally, this was also the week my cute bump morphed into an officially big belly. I now forage for clean maternity clothes anywhere I can find it in the house. The only criteria for wearing it is that it has to fit. It's a miracle I'm not a nudist at this point in my pregnancy.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Full Brat Day
Today marked the very first time our kid went full-out brat. That means he whined, cried and freaked out at the park when he didn't get his way, and then came home and whined, cried and freaked out just to drive the point home. He pulled every classic maneuver in the book, including the limp-fish, which requires the child attempting it to go completely limp while throwing an impressive fit. On a tantrum-throwing skill level, it's about a seven.
Today was such a change in his behavior that my husband actually turned to me after dealing with his limp-fish son and said, "Seriously, we need to mark this in his baby book."
This is not to say that little man hasn't had a few choice tantrums before. He certainly has had his share of crying bouts. But none has been as completely annoying as the ones he threw today. We are spoiled by his good natured behavior every day of the week, so this should come as no surprise. It's just the universe saying, "Everyone who thinks their child is a perfect angel, step one foot forward. NOT so fast, couple with the limp-fish tot over there."
But honestly, we felt the brat thing was a little overdone. A little brat is ok, and could even be considered "determined" or "strong." A moderate helping of brat in a day can be tolerable, and some appreciate the kid who can pull off that much brat and still manage to come across as "endearing" or "tenacious." But a complete brat is nothing but...a complete brat.
Someone needs to take him aside and let him know that you NEVER go full brat.
Today was such a change in his behavior that my husband actually turned to me after dealing with his limp-fish son and said, "Seriously, we need to mark this in his baby book."
This is not to say that little man hasn't had a few choice tantrums before. He certainly has had his share of crying bouts. But none has been as completely annoying as the ones he threw today. We are spoiled by his good natured behavior every day of the week, so this should come as no surprise. It's just the universe saying, "Everyone who thinks their child is a perfect angel, step one foot forward. NOT so fast, couple with the limp-fish tot over there."
But honestly, we felt the brat thing was a little overdone. A little brat is ok, and could even be considered "determined" or "strong." A moderate helping of brat in a day can be tolerable, and some appreciate the kid who can pull off that much brat and still manage to come across as "endearing" or "tenacious." But a complete brat is nothing but...a complete brat.
Someone needs to take him aside and let him know that you NEVER go full brat.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Mr. Independent
Well, hello there month fifteen. You are sneaking up on me like a panther in a grassy field, but I am on to you, little man.
The baby has officially stumbled into toddlerhood, and by stumbled I mean he is walking like a drunk looking for his next fifth. I can't seem to keep up with him while five months along, so my husband has been doing a lion's share of the work, decent fellow that he is. He is doing the heavy lifting, too, since our kid is now 28 pounds and 32 inches long. I have trouble carrying him across the room, which pains me somewhat because that is the only time he will stay still long enough for me to smother him with cuddles and kisses. You see, apparently I am raising the World's Most Independent Kid. True story.
This becomes a real issue in public, when we are trying to stroll with him. He simply won't have it, this strolling thing, and MUST be released from his seatbelt IMMEDIATELY or ELSE HEADS WILL ROLL. And roll they do. I have bought stock in Tylenol...baby and adult formula.
Once put on the ground, we see nothing but a poof of dust and he's gone...down the street, stumbling with no fear. Try to hold his hand and he will attempt to gnaw it off at the wrist. He doesn't want pity! He can do it himself, dammit!
At the park, he wanders aimlessly, going from lap to lap and checking the food goods. If it's acceptable, he'll simply extend his hand and open his gaping maw in a gesture of, "FEED ME." This would be horribly embarrassing if he weren't a baby and cute. I know this because when I do it, my husband is just mortified.
But he doesn't seem to need us. That's the thing that both relieves and worries me simultaneously. He doesn't want us around, frankly. And when he's at the park, he's socializing with his peeps. He doesn't want us helping him up or holding him steady. He wants to fall down and find his way back up by himself. It's not a little heart-wrenching.
It's as if he's already walking away from me with a dismissive glance over his shoulder. "See ya, mom." And then he's grabbing the car keys out of my hand and driving to Burning Man with a girl named Jupiter.
Amazon has those "backpack" leashes, right?
The baby has officially stumbled into toddlerhood, and by stumbled I mean he is walking like a drunk looking for his next fifth. I can't seem to keep up with him while five months along, so my husband has been doing a lion's share of the work, decent fellow that he is. He is doing the heavy lifting, too, since our kid is now 28 pounds and 32 inches long. I have trouble carrying him across the room, which pains me somewhat because that is the only time he will stay still long enough for me to smother him with cuddles and kisses. You see, apparently I am raising the World's Most Independent Kid. True story.
This becomes a real issue in public, when we are trying to stroll with him. He simply won't have it, this strolling thing, and MUST be released from his seatbelt IMMEDIATELY or ELSE HEADS WILL ROLL. And roll they do. I have bought stock in Tylenol...baby and adult formula.
Once put on the ground, we see nothing but a poof of dust and he's gone...down the street, stumbling with no fear. Try to hold his hand and he will attempt to gnaw it off at the wrist. He doesn't want pity! He can do it himself, dammit!
At the park, he wanders aimlessly, going from lap to lap and checking the food goods. If it's acceptable, he'll simply extend his hand and open his gaping maw in a gesture of, "FEED ME." This would be horribly embarrassing if he weren't a baby and cute. I know this because when I do it, my husband is just mortified.
But he doesn't seem to need us. That's the thing that both relieves and worries me simultaneously. He doesn't want us around, frankly. And when he's at the park, he's socializing with his peeps. He doesn't want us helping him up or holding him steady. He wants to fall down and find his way back up by himself. It's not a little heart-wrenching.
It's as if he's already walking away from me with a dismissive glance over his shoulder. "See ya, mom." And then he's grabbing the car keys out of my hand and driving to Burning Man with a girl named Jupiter.
Amazon has those "backpack" leashes, right?
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Eight Pounds
I hit the 20 week mark on Sunday and saw my doctor for my monthly visit and weigh in. So far, I have gained a total of eight pounds. What'chu say? Eight pounds? That's barely a watermelon! And I KNOW I have eaten at least fifty pounds of watermelon since 20 weeks ago...that and In-N-Out burger...animal style.
My last pregnancy, I had gained nine pounds in 18 weeks, so by all accounts, I am definitely not eating my weight in food this time around. Although I kinda am. Also, I am the size of a manatee. So really, this makes no sense at all.
However, I do not look a gift horse in the mouth. Since hearing the news, I have tried my best not to shovel food in my mouth and eat the worst things possible just to settle my insatiable cravings for saturated fat and calories. Good on me!
Honestly, I do it for the sake of the baby. And the sake of my lady parts. If you have a giant baby like I did, that last push in labor is a doozy.
My last pregnancy, I had gained nine pounds in 18 weeks, so by all accounts, I am definitely not eating my weight in food this time around. Although I kinda am. Also, I am the size of a manatee. So really, this makes no sense at all.
However, I do not look a gift horse in the mouth. Since hearing the news, I have tried my best not to shovel food in my mouth and eat the worst things possible just to settle my insatiable cravings for saturated fat and calories. Good on me!
Honestly, I do it for the sake of the baby. And the sake of my lady parts. If you have a giant baby like I did, that last push in labor is a doozy.
Monday, November 1, 2010
The End of Teething
Congratulations to our little dude for cutting the last of a full set of teeth at 14 months. No more excessive drooling. No more Tylenol. It was a lot of pain and suffering, but now you can eat potato chips! Mom's potato chips! All of them! TOTALLY WORTH IT.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
The Toddler and His Agenda
Having a baby on the verge of becoming a toddler is one of those things that could go either way. At this point, he's learning at an exponential rate, eating up information and being excessively observant of everything around him. In other words, he's kicking ass and taking names in the brain development department.
However, as the two adults who spend the most time with him, his speedy growth makes me nervous in more ways than seven-thousand. I have seen him eyeball the trash can full of disgusting poopy diapers from across the room like it was a race and he was Steve Prefontaine. Catching him before he crawls into the recycling bags has become a challenge for both of us, and one I frequently lose. Eating things off the floor is something he seems to look forward to doing far more than eating an actual dinner off a nice, clean plate. He's basically the baby equivalent of a tornado, born to destroy things in his wake.
The little man has also taken to whining for things he cannot reach or have because they are either a) too far away from his reach or b) Ginzu knives. The issue we frequently have is: Do we give it to him to make the noise go away? The terrible, terrible noise?
More than not, we are bad parents and give in. The whining is intensely painful to the human ear, and sometimes, we just can't bear it. Knowing that we are most likely teaching our kid how to manipulate us for things is not making us more pro-active, either. We have become shadows of our former, hard-nosed selves.
The walking has been our main bone of contention. He prefers crawling, which is the quickest mode of transportation and gets him to the poopy diaper trash in a hurry. However, seeing all my friends' babies walk at ten months, twelve months, fourteen months...it's driving me a little crazy.
I bribe him with crackers, teething biscuits, cookies, cupcakes. Nothing will make him walk. He just takes a tentative wiggle wabble step and then BOOM...falls to his knees and disappears in a poof of dust. I fear he will skip walking altogether, jump up one day and take off in a sprint across the living room. He won't slow down, not even for dear ol' mom.
And I do mean "OLD." Feeling my bones creak and my head ache has become the norm nowadays. Being back a work has taken its toll on my body, mind, and soul. I ache from head to toe some days, and the pregnancy has undoubtedly caused some serious stress and anxiety. When I collapse onto the couch after a day at work, I wonder how I will survive TWO of these Tasmanian Devils?
Today I returned from work to find the little man sitting on the floor, smiling, fiddling with a toy block. He cooed and "talked" to himself, and then noticed me at the door and started grinning and babbling. The nonsense talk has become his daily routine since month ten, and I eat it up with a spoon. Every non-word is like a gold coin in my pocket.
Although I remember so clearly life before baby, I can't imagine life without little man now. He is a plump little ball of energy that makes my life rich beyond my expectations. Bringing up baby has been the most bittersweet of experiences. Seeing him change from baby to boy has made my heart feel as if it has grown too big for my chest, and on occasion, it aches. But oh, what a lovely ache it is.
However, as the two adults who spend the most time with him, his speedy growth makes me nervous in more ways than seven-thousand. I have seen him eyeball the trash can full of disgusting poopy diapers from across the room like it was a race and he was Steve Prefontaine. Catching him before he crawls into the recycling bags has become a challenge for both of us, and one I frequently lose. Eating things off the floor is something he seems to look forward to doing far more than eating an actual dinner off a nice, clean plate. He's basically the baby equivalent of a tornado, born to destroy things in his wake.
The little man has also taken to whining for things he cannot reach or have because they are either a) too far away from his reach or b) Ginzu knives. The issue we frequently have is: Do we give it to him to make the noise go away? The terrible, terrible noise?
More than not, we are bad parents and give in. The whining is intensely painful to the human ear, and sometimes, we just can't bear it. Knowing that we are most likely teaching our kid how to manipulate us for things is not making us more pro-active, either. We have become shadows of our former, hard-nosed selves.
The walking has been our main bone of contention. He prefers crawling, which is the quickest mode of transportation and gets him to the poopy diaper trash in a hurry. However, seeing all my friends' babies walk at ten months, twelve months, fourteen months...it's driving me a little crazy.
I bribe him with crackers, teething biscuits, cookies, cupcakes. Nothing will make him walk. He just takes a tentative wiggle wabble step and then BOOM...falls to his knees and disappears in a poof of dust. I fear he will skip walking altogether, jump up one day and take off in a sprint across the living room. He won't slow down, not even for dear ol' mom.
And I do mean "OLD." Feeling my bones creak and my head ache has become the norm nowadays. Being back a work has taken its toll on my body, mind, and soul. I ache from head to toe some days, and the pregnancy has undoubtedly caused some serious stress and anxiety. When I collapse onto the couch after a day at work, I wonder how I will survive TWO of these Tasmanian Devils?
Today I returned from work to find the little man sitting on the floor, smiling, fiddling with a toy block. He cooed and "talked" to himself, and then noticed me at the door and started grinning and babbling. The nonsense talk has become his daily routine since month ten, and I eat it up with a spoon. Every non-word is like a gold coin in my pocket.
Although I remember so clearly life before baby, I can't imagine life without little man now. He is a plump little ball of energy that makes my life rich beyond my expectations. Bringing up baby has been the most bittersweet of experiences. Seeing him change from baby to boy has made my heart feel as if it has grown too big for my chest, and on occasion, it aches. But oh, what a lovely ache it is.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
And Exhale...
The testing results were great. Normal across the board. Now, all that is left is the blood work that checks for Spina bifida, something I am not too worried about.
Knowing all the chromosomes are there and accounted for is a relief I wish I had experienced with my first pregnancy. Although the CVS testing was painful, I feel a calmness about this pregnancy that I never felt before. It makes me wish I had just gone ahead and gotten the testing done before.
There is something to be said for taking precautions, although my husband and I discussed what our options would have been if the outcome had been very different. Our conclusion?
We had no idea what we would have done. Testing just makes it clearer that there is no clear solution to having a child with special needs.
Knowing all the chromosomes are there and accounted for is a relief I wish I had experienced with my first pregnancy. Although the CVS testing was painful, I feel a calmness about this pregnancy that I never felt before. It makes me wish I had just gone ahead and gotten the testing done before.
There is something to be said for taking precautions, although my husband and I discussed what our options would have been if the outcome had been very different. Our conclusion?
We had no idea what we would have done. Testing just makes it clearer that there is no clear solution to having a child with special needs.
Friday, October 1, 2010
CVS Testing and the Suckiness of It All
We bit the bullet and went in for CVS testing. All of you who said it wouldn't hurt, and "Oh, it's a bit uncomfortable" can just stop with the pussy-footing. It DID hurt. It hurt like a mother. I can't believe how big the needle was and WHERE IT WENT.
Not only was the needle huge, it was inserted abdominally, which means it went through my skin to the uterus, which had to be punctured with a fairly intense push. The technician explained how she had to move the needle back and forth to get a good sample, otherwise she risked having to do the test again, which was unacceptable to everyone involved. In other words, I was not the best patient they had ever had.
Luckily, the technicians were very good, very comforting, and knowledgeable. Unfortunately, I was a big wuss and nearly hyperventilated. The technician was so concerned about my anxiety level, she had me sit for a good ten minutes after the procedure. I was even offered a juice box.
And now, the wait. The horrible wait, which seems to come with fertility and pregnancy after a "certain age." It's ironic I am made to wait with such terrible anticipation now when all throughout my teens I was obsessed with growing up faster. I was a stupid, stupid teenager. But being a smart forty-something has not been any easier than puberty.
Not only was the needle huge, it was inserted abdominally, which means it went through my skin to the uterus, which had to be punctured with a fairly intense push. The technician explained how she had to move the needle back and forth to get a good sample, otherwise she risked having to do the test again, which was unacceptable to everyone involved. In other words, I was not the best patient they had ever had.
Luckily, the technicians were very good, very comforting, and knowledgeable. Unfortunately, I was a big wuss and nearly hyperventilated. The technician was so concerned about my anxiety level, she had me sit for a good ten minutes after the procedure. I was even offered a juice box.
And now, the wait. The horrible wait, which seems to come with fertility and pregnancy after a "certain age." It's ironic I am made to wait with such terrible anticipation now when all throughout my teens I was obsessed with growing up faster. I was a stupid, stupid teenager. But being a smart forty-something has not been any easier than puberty.
Monday, September 6, 2010
What's Up, Doc?
Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right? I have been away in one-year-old-crawling-like-mad-baby-land for the last month, and it's been quite a whirlwind of crazy. My kid happens to be a world class crawler, including THE STAIRS, which have been deemed too dangerous for babies, apparently. Dumb rules.
Not only does this kid crawl, he scoots. He's been trying desperately to stand without help from the stationary objects (and parents) in the room. Although I have tried to curb this defiant behavior by picking him up for cuddling every three minutes, he fights me until I put him down and then takes off down the road until he's a small speck in the distance. I have to literally pick up my feet to chase him. It's getting to be a problem. I may call in Super Nanny to deal with this insolence.
In other news, he has decided what he likes and doesn't like. Quite emphatically, he will "say" what he will eat and won't, and then jettison the food out of his mouth like Tom Hanks in Big eating caviar for the first time. This has led to some horrific clean up jobs, which I have deemed unsuitable for pregnant women, like myself.
That's right. I said it. I'm PREGNANT. I'm ten, going on eleven weeks. Knowing this is a taboo subject to mention until safely into the second trimester, I have already spilled the beans to several people, who in turn have spilled their beans, and so on and so on. It's like a Faberge commercial, but with pregnant women...and without the fabulous hair.
We have seen the heartbeat at eight weeks, and are going in for our CVS testing soon. I figure, after seeing the heartbeat, it's a little safer to talk about it. Although I feel the superstitions creeping in again, telling me not to speak about it, not to jinx it, not to even think about it until next month. Being 40 will do that to you.
Ah, the geriatric pregnancy. Let the fear and loathing begin!
Not only does this kid crawl, he scoots. He's been trying desperately to stand without help from the stationary objects (and parents) in the room. Although I have tried to curb this defiant behavior by picking him up for cuddling every three minutes, he fights me until I put him down and then takes off down the road until he's a small speck in the distance. I have to literally pick up my feet to chase him. It's getting to be a problem. I may call in Super Nanny to deal with this insolence.
In other news, he has decided what he likes and doesn't like. Quite emphatically, he will "say" what he will eat and won't, and then jettison the food out of his mouth like Tom Hanks in Big eating caviar for the first time. This has led to some horrific clean up jobs, which I have deemed unsuitable for pregnant women, like myself.
That's right. I said it. I'm PREGNANT. I'm ten, going on eleven weeks. Knowing this is a taboo subject to mention until safely into the second trimester, I have already spilled the beans to several people, who in turn have spilled their beans, and so on and so on. It's like a Faberge commercial, but with pregnant women...and without the fabulous hair.
We have seen the heartbeat at eight weeks, and are going in for our CVS testing soon. I figure, after seeing the heartbeat, it's a little safer to talk about it. Although I feel the superstitions creeping in again, telling me not to speak about it, not to jinx it, not to even think about it until next month. Being 40 will do that to you.
Ah, the geriatric pregnancy. Let the fear and loathing begin!
Thursday, August 5, 2010
The Never-Ending Snot Machine
The baby is sick again. And considering he's only been sick a few times in his first year of life, I don't consider myself unlucky. I've heard worse, and worser still. Babies tend to get sick a lot, and mine has been holding off those germs pretty well. Of course, this will all backfire on me when he goes to preschool and catches every plague on the planet.
Regardless of how minor or major a cold is, hearing your child bark like a seal pup and cough up phlegm and snot while struggling to breathe is absolutely heart-wrenching. In my desperation to ease his discomfort, I begged for advice on the Internet. Asking for trouble, perhaps, but I had no other option aside from calling the advice nurse...whose advice is always, "Is he acting normal? Then he's ok."
The advice I received was interesting, and somewhat surprising. Here are the top suggestions I was given:
1) A teaspoon of corn syrup. Safer than honey and it coats the throat.
2) Hot steam.
3) Sleeping with him on your chest, or elevating the mattress so he can breathe easier.
4) Saline drops to loosen up the snot.
5) Erythromycin, which I looked up and could not understand the usage besides for eyes.
6) Humidifier.
I used the humidifier and the saline, but sleeping with him on my chest was out of the question. At his weight, he would easily crush me.
I may become desperate and try the rest, but at this point, he's up and about and acting fairly normal. Until he coughs up a lung, I think my HMO won't look twice at him.
Regardless of how minor or major a cold is, hearing your child bark like a seal pup and cough up phlegm and snot while struggling to breathe is absolutely heart-wrenching. In my desperation to ease his discomfort, I begged for advice on the Internet. Asking for trouble, perhaps, but I had no other option aside from calling the advice nurse...whose advice is always, "Is he acting normal? Then he's ok."
The advice I received was interesting, and somewhat surprising. Here are the top suggestions I was given:
1) A teaspoon of corn syrup. Safer than honey and it coats the throat.
2) Hot steam.
3) Sleeping with him on your chest, or elevating the mattress so he can breathe easier.
4) Saline drops to loosen up the snot.
5) Erythromycin, which I looked up and could not understand the usage besides for eyes.
6) Humidifier.
I used the humidifier and the saline, but sleeping with him on my chest was out of the question. At his weight, he would easily crush me.
I may become desperate and try the rest, but at this point, he's up and about and acting fairly normal. Until he coughs up a lung, I think my HMO won't look twice at him.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Try, Try Again
I'm 40. That would seem not-so-elderly to some, but in fertility world, that is geriatric. If you get pregnant after the age of 35, you are considered a "high-risk" and you are given the very flattering term "geriatric pregnancy." No kidding.
So at 40, my husband has been dropping big hints about trying again, saying stuff like, "I definitely want our child to have a sibling." He sucks at subtlety.
And to tell you the truth, at 40, I've been thinking, "Hmm, I better get to steppin'. I have no time to waste." It's pressure like no other. It's so much so, that I block out everything else that should worry me about having a second child and just obsess about HOW I will get pregnant and IF it is even possible at this point.
I'm so obsessed, in fact, that I don't even think about how little money we have for a second baby. I don't consider at all the idea that we have no place to put a second baby. I don't dwell on the fact that a second baby might be a horror-storm of colic, crying and basically the complete opposite of what we have now.
I don't waste a minute thinking about how dangerous it is to be pregnant at 40, gestational diabetes, miscarriage, the ridiculously high risk of Trisomy. I don't ponder the terrible things that the odds tell women my age. And it certainly doesn't even cross my mind that I have to go back to work soon, and that if I'm pregnant, I'll be pregnant...at work...and I'll be tired. The kind of 40 year old tired that makes you want to die in your sleep.
So we started trying. It's official. I'm off my rocker. Literally, because I'm THAT old.
So at 40, my husband has been dropping big hints about trying again, saying stuff like, "I definitely want our child to have a sibling." He sucks at subtlety.
And to tell you the truth, at 40, I've been thinking, "Hmm, I better get to steppin'. I have no time to waste." It's pressure like no other. It's so much so, that I block out everything else that should worry me about having a second child and just obsess about HOW I will get pregnant and IF it is even possible at this point.
I'm so obsessed, in fact, that I don't even think about how little money we have for a second baby. I don't consider at all the idea that we have no place to put a second baby. I don't dwell on the fact that a second baby might be a horror-storm of colic, crying and basically the complete opposite of what we have now.
I don't waste a minute thinking about how dangerous it is to be pregnant at 40, gestational diabetes, miscarriage, the ridiculously high risk of Trisomy. I don't ponder the terrible things that the odds tell women my age. And it certainly doesn't even cross my mind that I have to go back to work soon, and that if I'm pregnant, I'll be pregnant...at work...and I'll be tired. The kind of 40 year old tired that makes you want to die in your sleep.
So we started trying. It's official. I'm off my rocker. Literally, because I'm THAT old.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
"Real" Motherhood
I can hardly believe the kid is ten and a 1/2 months old. He has grown so much I have to re-watch videos of him to remind myself this is the same baby I gave birth to in August of last year. He is a big kid, by anyone's standards, weighing in at 26 pounds, 30 inches long. And this is after he LOST weight.
Yes, crawling around and being Destruct-o Baby is great cardio, apparently...for both of us. I've actually taken to groveling at this point, begging him to please DO NOT KILL MY MAGAZINES and NO EATING OF PLANTS AND/OR ELECTRICAL EQUIPMENT, PLEASE. Needless to say, it does not work at all. Difficult baby.
It seems like over a period of two weeks, he went from, "oooh timid timid...maybe I can reach that ball if I try to wriggle my way over there!" to "ZOOOOOOM VRRROOOOMMM!! EAT MY DUST, MA!"
He went from novice crawler to expert within a week, and now he's daredevil enough to pull himself up by his white-tipped fingertips. He attempts it on any surface, wall, door, and usually succeeds. And when he doesn't, like today, he crashes like a stunt dummy onto his head and starts wailing like he's being murdered.
Take today, for example. Wonderful husband put up the baby gate at the top of the stairs. Baby sees baby gate. Baby attempts to scale baby gate. Baby loses grip and falls on his head.
Oh, the bloody screaming begins. Poor little dude couldn't catch his breath, he was crying so intensely. I even got my first glimpse of the notorious "silent wail" that children sometimes do when they are so distraught they can't even manage a squeak for at least three seconds.
It was one of those moments that made me momentarily hate myself. How could I not know he was going to whack himself in the head? After all, I saw him struggling with the gate. I should have been watching carefully.
Shamed, I checked his head, which had a lovely little goose egg that was already turning purple. Great. Feeling like a horrible mother, I held him for several minutes and tried to soothe his broken pride. He eventually calmed down enough to pile his head onto my shoulder and just sniffle.
The moment of shame turned into the moment I felt like a real mom, perhaps for the first time. Not that I don't feel like a mother all the time...exhaustion and sleep deprivation prove that I'm definitely the mother of this little tornado.
But when I felt his hand on my neck, his hot forehead nuzzling into my ear, I felt like I had crossed a boundary into REAL MOTHERHOOD.
In other words, I fixed my first boo-boo.
Yes, crawling around and being Destruct-o Baby is great cardio, apparently...for both of us. I've actually taken to groveling at this point, begging him to please DO NOT KILL MY MAGAZINES and NO EATING OF PLANTS AND/OR ELECTRICAL EQUIPMENT, PLEASE. Needless to say, it does not work at all. Difficult baby.
It seems like over a period of two weeks, he went from, "oooh timid timid...maybe I can reach that ball if I try to wriggle my way over there!" to "ZOOOOOOM VRRROOOOMMM!! EAT MY DUST, MA!"
He went from novice crawler to expert within a week, and now he's daredevil enough to pull himself up by his white-tipped fingertips. He attempts it on any surface, wall, door, and usually succeeds. And when he doesn't, like today, he crashes like a stunt dummy onto his head and starts wailing like he's being murdered.
Take today, for example. Wonderful husband put up the baby gate at the top of the stairs. Baby sees baby gate. Baby attempts to scale baby gate. Baby loses grip and falls on his head.
Oh, the bloody screaming begins. Poor little dude couldn't catch his breath, he was crying so intensely. I even got my first glimpse of the notorious "silent wail" that children sometimes do when they are so distraught they can't even manage a squeak for at least three seconds.
It was one of those moments that made me momentarily hate myself. How could I not know he was going to whack himself in the head? After all, I saw him struggling with the gate. I should have been watching carefully.
Shamed, I checked his head, which had a lovely little goose egg that was already turning purple. Great. Feeling like a horrible mother, I held him for several minutes and tried to soothe his broken pride. He eventually calmed down enough to pile his head onto my shoulder and just sniffle.
The moment of shame turned into the moment I felt like a real mom, perhaps for the first time. Not that I don't feel like a mother all the time...exhaustion and sleep deprivation prove that I'm definitely the mother of this little tornado.
But when I felt his hand on my neck, his hot forehead nuzzling into my ear, I felt like I had crossed a boundary into REAL MOTHERHOOD.
In other words, I fixed my first boo-boo.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
The Baby Plague
When I mentioned to my friend that the baby had a runny nose and was cranky, her eyes widened. Then she said there was a "THING" going around. A big, nasty "THING" that doesn't go away. It just stays around and tortures the baby until you all want to vomit and cry along with him. The "THING" is going around, she said.
I pish-poshed and said, oh well. This baby is impervious to this "THING." He has not had a problem at all with "THINGS" since birth, aside from that little staph infection that planted itself on his little face for a week. He's never had a cold, flu or virus, as far as I can tell.
No sooner had I pish-poshed, the "THING" hit. It hit hard. The baby went from cute and adorable to OH MY GOD DISGUSTING SNOT EVERYWHERE. It literally ran down his nose, into his mouth, and down his chin. It saturated his clothing. He would wipe his face with his hand, and before we could all yell in unison, "NOOOOO!!!" he had snot smeared all over his eyes, cheeks, and forehead. It was in his hair, ears and on his elbows.
Not only was my son covered in yellow sticky snot, he absolutely detested tissue. I would come to him with a tissue, gently wipe his nose, and he would start howling like a car alarm. Soon, he realized what I was coming to do when I would reach for the tissue box and start shaking his head before beginning his screams of agony. To the outside neighbor watering his plants, it must have sounded like I was cutting off the baby's nose with a dull butter knife.
I let the snot go as much as I could, and eventually bought some saline and sprayed it in each nostril which went over as well as could be expected. I cranked up the humidifier our psychic friend bought for us, even though we didn't register for it when the baby was born.
The snot turned from clear to yellow to green to OH SO MUCH GROSSNESS. It was absolutely never-ending. Yeah, I felt sorry for the little dude. But honestly, I was starting to lose my patience with the "THING" that wouldn't leave.
I asked my friend how long the "THING" stayed around.
"Oh, my kids had it for about two weeks." She said in a matter-of-fact tone.
"TWO WEEKS?! I'M NOT GONNA MAKE IT TO TWO WEEKS!" I cried.
"Oh, we ALL had it for two weeks." She deadpanned. The sympathy drained out of her voice quickly. After all, I just had one snot baby. She had two. Plus a snot husband. Who was I to complain?
So I set the calendar to two weeks. Five days passed. Seven. The snot dissipated a tad. Now, on the tenth day, I am happy to report dry, crusty boogers instead of the river of mucus.
However, the baby lost his voice, and now he sounds like Harvey Fierstein. It's distracting, but at least he's not clawing my face off when I come near him with a Kleenex.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Nine Months
Crawling babies are dangerous. They creep around on all fours looking to destroy things, checking out the little details you forgot about because you're four feet taller and can't see under the couch. They're stealthy, like midget ninjas. Very scary stuff, here.
I have been keeping one eye glued on my kid ever since he started trying to launch himself from a crawl position. He has yet to be fully mobile, but he's trying every which way to get from point A to point B. He scoots, when he can, and now he's actually on his hands and knees eyeballing that loose wire sticking out of the floorboards. He is concentrating on it so intensely I fear he is calling upon The Force to bring it to him so he can clamp his little drooly mouth on it. Frightening.
Nine months has been an adventure so far. A scary, brain-melting adventure that is sure to kill me from a massive heart attack.
I have been keeping one eye glued on my kid ever since he started trying to launch himself from a crawl position. He has yet to be fully mobile, but he's trying every which way to get from point A to point B. He scoots, when he can, and now he's actually on his hands and knees eyeballing that loose wire sticking out of the floorboards. He is concentrating on it so intensely I fear he is calling upon The Force to bring it to him so he can clamp his little drooly mouth on it. Frightening.
Nine months has been an adventure so far. A scary, brain-melting adventure that is sure to kill me from a massive heart attack.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Without a Trace
Hi there. I know I've been absent for a month. The twelve people who read this blog may be wondering, "Gee, what happened?" I'll tell you what happened. Seven months happened.
It seems that there is a turbo charger build into babies that mature at exactly the seven month mark. When that day hits, the turbo charger revs up and BOOM! Your life is complete chaos and hysteria for God knows how long. That's what happened, and that's why I've been completely off the map for four weeks.
At six months I thought, "Eh, this isn't so bad. He's a little squirmy, but nothing I can't handle."
At six and a half months I thought, "Well, he's a handful, but I can keep up with him. At least he's not crawling yet.
At seven months I though, "Holy Baby Jesus, save me. Who fed the baby a double espresso?!"
And now, at eight and a half months, I feel as though my brain has been scrambled. Keeping up with this big baby has been keeping me at my wits' end. How am I supposed to keep up the pace when he's turned into an octopus baby, complete with sticky gecko-like fingertips that seem to grab everything in less than a micro-second?
Yesterday, after my husband came home from work, I handed him the baby and I literally fell down. For no apparent reason. Yup, just FELL DOWN.
I AM DOOMED.
It seems that there is a turbo charger build into babies that mature at exactly the seven month mark. When that day hits, the turbo charger revs up and BOOM! Your life is complete chaos and hysteria for God knows how long. That's what happened, and that's why I've been completely off the map for four weeks.
At six months I thought, "Eh, this isn't so bad. He's a little squirmy, but nothing I can't handle."
At six and a half months I thought, "Well, he's a handful, but I can keep up with him. At least he's not crawling yet.
At seven months I though, "Holy Baby Jesus, save me. Who fed the baby a double espresso?!"
And now, at eight and a half months, I feel as though my brain has been scrambled. Keeping up with this big baby has been keeping me at my wits' end. How am I supposed to keep up the pace when he's turned into an octopus baby, complete with sticky gecko-like fingertips that seem to grab everything in less than a micro-second?
Yesterday, after my husband came home from work, I handed him the baby and I literally fell down. For no apparent reason. Yup, just FELL DOWN.
I AM DOOMED.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Eight Months
Wow. I need to hire someone to help me with eight months. No one told me he'd turn into the road runner when he got this age.
He isn't even crawling yet. I'm planning on leaving the country for a while when that happens. If I'm this whipped when he's just on his stomach, cooing at me, what will become of me when he's fully mobile?!
He's grabbing something poisonous as I type this, I'm sure. I must run, and take some Tylenol...and maybe some valium.
He isn't even crawling yet. I'm planning on leaving the country for a while when that happens. If I'm this whipped when he's just on his stomach, cooing at me, what will become of me when he's fully mobile?!
He's grabbing something poisonous as I type this, I'm sure. I must run, and take some Tylenol...and maybe some valium.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Observations
I've learned one thing in the last month or so. Do NOT cut the little tags off the stuffed animals, blankets, etc. Why? Because these are the most fascinating things on the planet right now...according to the baby, that is.
He toys with the tag, not the toy. That's the general rule at the moment. If I give him the most amazing toy ever invented by man, he will go straight for the little white tag sewn into the corner of it and stare, mesmerized. He'll touch it between his thumb and forefinger for a good ten minutes before losing interest. And ten minutes in baby time is like ten hours to a regular adult. It's a good long time to be transfixed.
He also loves to make noises with his lips. Current favorite? Raspberries. Timing? Any time he has food in his mouth.
He's not a fan of anyone touching his nose or wiping any general area of his face. However, he loves to have his neck cleaned. In fact, he laughs when we do it. Weird baby.
His nursing has gone from 30 minutes on each boob to a lightening quick four minutes on just one. He's still a poor latcher, but has learned to eat quickly.
He naps in the morning for 2-3 hours, easily. He nearly claws my face off in the afternoon when I try to put him down for a second one, which usually lasts about one.
This baby is changing at such a fast pace! I feel like if I don't write all of it down, I will forget it in an instant. Things have been happening at such a quick pace, it's difficult to remember the little things that amazed me in the moment. I'm afraid I will lose appreciation for him in some way if I don't hang on to the tiny, miniscule things that slip away so quickly. We discover new things about the baby in an instant...and then it's gone.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Seven Months
It's not possible. The time has flown faster than I imagined it could. He's definitely the cutest boy in the world at this point, and growing cuter exponentially by the minute. Little gurgles have graduated into full-on ramblings of amamamamamamaa. His wild hair is somewhat tamed now, especially after I butchered it last week with a pair of dull scissors.
The rolling over is causing havoc, especially during diaper changes and in the middle of the night when he ends up face-down on the mattress and wakes himself because he can't move his arm.
A tooth popped up. In fact, two. It came without much fanfare, but I took at least 15 minutes trying to get a good close-up picture of them. He seems amused by me at this point, if nothing else. It's ridiculously easy to make him laugh out loud. Occasionally, a guffaw.
I didn't believe this day would come, simply because at one month I though I might die from exhaustion or post-partum depression. Now that we're at this point, everything seems so much brighter. Even when everything else in the world collapses on me on any given day, this seven month old makes me feel lighter.
So thank you, baby, for the seven months. It's been quite a trip...and quite a workout. You're humongous!
The rolling over is causing havoc, especially during diaper changes and in the middle of the night when he ends up face-down on the mattress and wakes himself because he can't move his arm.
A tooth popped up. In fact, two. It came without much fanfare, but I took at least 15 minutes trying to get a good close-up picture of them. He seems amused by me at this point, if nothing else. It's ridiculously easy to make him laugh out loud. Occasionally, a guffaw.
I didn't believe this day would come, simply because at one month I though I might die from exhaustion or post-partum depression. Now that we're at this point, everything seems so much brighter. Even when everything else in the world collapses on me on any given day, this seven month old makes me feel lighter.
So thank you, baby, for the seven months. It's been quite a trip...and quite a workout. You're humongous!
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Fighting the Sandman
The baby is asleep. Hallelujah. Not that I don't love the baby. I totally love the baby. But the baby is asleep. NOBODY MOVE.
When your baby is a light sleeper, or a non-napper, you will beat the living daylights out of the UPS man for ringing the doorbell. The mailman may have to mace you because you will attack him for being too loud walking up the steps of your home. I almost went out with a bat to beat a car to death for having a misbehaving alarm that wouldn't shut the Hell up. God forbid there's construction going on anywhere within earshot of your sleeping child. There will be bloodshed.
The other day I actually whisper-yelled at my husband for "breathing too loud." The baby is sleeping. THE WORLD MUST STOP REVOLVING.
There was a time when the baby slept all the live long day, but that was in the early, newborn weeks when he was trying to grow brain cells and whatnot. For three months or so, he literally slept all day long. It was heavenly bliss, looking back on it now, although when it was happening I complained that he "wasn't doing anything." What a moron I was.
Now, he's six months. SIX WHOLE MONTHS. I can hardly believe it! The changes we have all witnessed in this half a year have been mind boggling. But the sleep thing, oh my.
He stopped sleeping all day long and started napping. At first it was a nap every two hours awake. That was at around three, four months old. Now, it's two naps, if I'm lucky. One early morning long nap, which lasts around two to three hours, IF I'M LUCKY.
The afternoon nap used to be like clockwork. One or two o'clock, he'd pass out for two hours. Now? Not so much. He's just too alert, too awake, and too cute to sleep, apparently.
The problem is that when he doesn't sleep during the day, he is a miserable little turd. No offense to you babies out there, but when you don't nap, (and this seems to be a fairly universal thing I'm experiencing) you are little turds the entire time you are awake. You don't seem happy about anything, you want to be held and never put down, you whine, cry, whimper, pinch, bite. It's like a free for all bitch fest up in this house when the baby doesn't nap. And then, around bedtime, you pass out...and wake up...and pass out...and wake up...until the sun rises. It's just wrong on so many levels.
So I started forcing nap time. "Hey," I told the baby, "All the baby books say you can spoil a newborn up 'til about six months. Well, pal, you're SIX MONTHS OLD. The party's over."
It was like he was fighting death every time I put him down. He would whip his head from side to side violently, beat his tiny fists on the sofa cushion, and do leg lifts, just to beat off the sandman. It was impressive, but I was not giving up. After a few weeks of battle, he finally began sleeping on a regular routine. After waking in the morning, he'd eat, then quiet play, then he'd start yawning after about 2 hours. Nap would soon follow. It was perfectly set. I would get two to three hours of nap, or computer time, whatever I wanted. Ahhh, lovely.
His naps usually took place on the sofa, which used to be wide enough for him to lounge upon without fear of accidentally rolling off. But soon, he was too gigantic for the space. I had no choice but to try to nap him in his crib.
I thought napping on the couch was tough. The crib? Surely I was delusional. There was no way this baby was going to nap in his crib. I had been putting off this transition for months, thinking it would be pure torture for both of us.
So yesterday, I saw the rubbing of the eyes, the yawns, the red and watery stare. He whined when I put him down to play. It was now or never.
We walked into his room, I put him in the crib, played the Glow Worm and the Sleep Sheep...threw every calming trick I knew at him. I put a soft blanket over him and crossed my fingers. He grabbed the blanket and pulled it to his face, rolled on his side, sucked his Soothie, and promptly fell asleep.
And that's how it went today, just about a half hour ago. Which is why I'm on the computer typing this RIGHT NOW. Hallelujah!
When your baby is a light sleeper, or a non-napper, you will beat the living daylights out of the UPS man for ringing the doorbell. The mailman may have to mace you because you will attack him for being too loud walking up the steps of your home. I almost went out with a bat to beat a car to death for having a misbehaving alarm that wouldn't shut the Hell up. God forbid there's construction going on anywhere within earshot of your sleeping child. There will be bloodshed.
The other day I actually whisper-yelled at my husband for "breathing too loud." The baby is sleeping. THE WORLD MUST STOP REVOLVING.
There was a time when the baby slept all the live long day, but that was in the early, newborn weeks when he was trying to grow brain cells and whatnot. For three months or so, he literally slept all day long. It was heavenly bliss, looking back on it now, although when it was happening I complained that he "wasn't doing anything." What a moron I was.
Now, he's six months. SIX WHOLE MONTHS. I can hardly believe it! The changes we have all witnessed in this half a year have been mind boggling. But the sleep thing, oh my.
He stopped sleeping all day long and started napping. At first it was a nap every two hours awake. That was at around three, four months old. Now, it's two naps, if I'm lucky. One early morning long nap, which lasts around two to three hours, IF I'M LUCKY.
The afternoon nap used to be like clockwork. One or two o'clock, he'd pass out for two hours. Now? Not so much. He's just too alert, too awake, and too cute to sleep, apparently.
The problem is that when he doesn't sleep during the day, he is a miserable little turd. No offense to you babies out there, but when you don't nap, (and this seems to be a fairly universal thing I'm experiencing) you are little turds the entire time you are awake. You don't seem happy about anything, you want to be held and never put down, you whine, cry, whimper, pinch, bite. It's like a free for all bitch fest up in this house when the baby doesn't nap. And then, around bedtime, you pass out...and wake up...and pass out...and wake up...until the sun rises. It's just wrong on so many levels.
So I started forcing nap time. "Hey," I told the baby, "All the baby books say you can spoil a newborn up 'til about six months. Well, pal, you're SIX MONTHS OLD. The party's over."
It was like he was fighting death every time I put him down. He would whip his head from side to side violently, beat his tiny fists on the sofa cushion, and do leg lifts, just to beat off the sandman. It was impressive, but I was not giving up. After a few weeks of battle, he finally began sleeping on a regular routine. After waking in the morning, he'd eat, then quiet play, then he'd start yawning after about 2 hours. Nap would soon follow. It was perfectly set. I would get two to three hours of nap, or computer time, whatever I wanted. Ahhh, lovely.
His naps usually took place on the sofa, which used to be wide enough for him to lounge upon without fear of accidentally rolling off. But soon, he was too gigantic for the space. I had no choice but to try to nap him in his crib.
I thought napping on the couch was tough. The crib? Surely I was delusional. There was no way this baby was going to nap in his crib. I had been putting off this transition for months, thinking it would be pure torture for both of us.
So yesterday, I saw the rubbing of the eyes, the yawns, the red and watery stare. He whined when I put him down to play. It was now or never.
We walked into his room, I put him in the crib, played the Glow Worm and the Sleep Sheep...threw every calming trick I knew at him. I put a soft blanket over him and crossed my fingers. He grabbed the blanket and pulled it to his face, rolled on his side, sucked his Soothie, and promptly fell asleep.
And that's how it went today, just about a half hour ago. Which is why I'm on the computer typing this RIGHT NOW. Hallelujah!
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
The Return of the "What Ifs"
There must be a way to say this delicately, but I surely don't know how. I would rather Boxing Helena myself than get pregnant right now. The very thought of having another pregnancy right now makes my hair stand on end. That's how tired I am.
So when my husband looks longingly at little newborns in their strollers as we walk down the street, I break into a cold sweat. My heart feels like it may explode. I suddenly can't feel my face. It can't be that he wants ANOTHER baby so soon?!
The issue isn't that I don't think about having another baby. It's that I don't know if I want one. And if I think about it too much, my brain hurts. The conversation my head and heart have is something like this:
HEAD: You can't possibly think that having another baby will be a good thing. You're broke. You have no time. You're both working. How would you do it?
HEART: Yes, but wouldn't it be nice for our little boy to have a sibling? I mean, then he would have someone to commiserate with about his crazy family.
HEAD: A sibling would be nice. So would food and electricity.
HEART: Sure, it would be tight budgeting for a family of four, but in the long run, don't you think it's best to have two kids so they can keep each other company? Think of how much they can give to one another!
HEAD: No.
HEART: Yes!
In the end, it will be my uterus and aging eggs that will decide. If, in a few years, we start trying for another child, it will be after many conversations about the "what ifs."
Yes, the dreaded "what ifs" are back, and in full force.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
My Valentine
Just because you call a day a "holiday" doesn't make it so. However, since Valentine's Day (the most made up holidays of them all) requires chocolate to make it complete, I accept this fake day in honor of my insatiable candy craving. This chocolate thing may kill me. I can't stop eating it.
Since the birth of my little dude, I've craved chocolate since the first week of sleeplessness. It's been scratching at my gut for months now, and I can't seem to get a grip on it. For months, I've been plowing through stashes of chocolate I've strategically placed all over the house. And for V-Day, the only thing I asked for was a heart-shaped box of See's candies. The same went for Valentine's Day. Hey, I proudly eat chocolate to honor our Veterans...do you?
And now I'm thinking, the outcome of all this can't be good, right? I mean, I will eventually die of heart failure or some such hideousness if I keep this up.
But lo and behold...I stepped on the scale the other day and saw 133. At the height of my pregnancy weight I was 185. Before I was pregnant I was 145. How this was accomplished is a mystery, since I've been eating like a Hoover vacuum cleaner.
Granted, I've also been breast feeding for nearly six months, which has been said to aid weight loss by burning an additional 200-800 calories a day.
Now, at 5'2, I'm still over by my doctor's standards. My BMI is 24, which is on the border between healthy and overweight.
But in other news...chocolate and breast feeding may be the best diet I've ever been on...EVER.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Teething Pains...For Everyone
The teething has begun...I think. Actually, it's hard to tell what is teething and what is just baby being baby. He hits the 6 month mark in a short while, which is supposed to also usher in another growth spurt. This could also be causing the sleepless nights.
Once the kid started eating solids at four months (suggested by our pediatrician) we did notice a significant change in his sleep at night. He would pass out and sleep like a rock for solid stretches at a time. This new feeding regimen added to the sleep training my husband implemented around four months meant 7-9 hours of sweet, sweet sleep. It was pure heaven. Sleep is goooood.
However, around five months he started fussing again. It was cruel, like someone ripped a carpet from underneath our feet. Again, we were exhausted and sleep deprived. He was waking every hour to 90 minutes to soothe. We assumed it was teething, since we could see the little ridges outlining those front chompers on his gums.
To the local Walgreen's we went! We stocked up on teething rings, organic teething gel and tablets, drops, baby Motrin, baby Tylenol...basically, lack of sleep made us desperate. Camilla drops seemed harmless enough, so we bought that, too.
But the six month growth spurt looms overhead like the Hindenburg, ready to crash into without warning. We're not sure what we will do if the two events collide.
Teething + growth spurt = nose dive off the nearest bridge.
Once the kid started eating solids at four months (suggested by our pediatrician) we did notice a significant change in his sleep at night. He would pass out and sleep like a rock for solid stretches at a time. This new feeding regimen added to the sleep training my husband implemented around four months meant 7-9 hours of sweet, sweet sleep. It was pure heaven. Sleep is goooood.
However, around five months he started fussing again. It was cruel, like someone ripped a carpet from underneath our feet. Again, we were exhausted and sleep deprived. He was waking every hour to 90 minutes to soothe. We assumed it was teething, since we could see the little ridges outlining those front chompers on his gums.
To the local Walgreen's we went! We stocked up on teething rings, organic teething gel and tablets, drops, baby Motrin, baby Tylenol...basically, lack of sleep made us desperate. Camilla drops seemed harmless enough, so we bought that, too.
But the six month growth spurt looms overhead like the Hindenburg, ready to crash into without warning. We're not sure what we will do if the two events collide.
Teething + growth spurt = nose dive off the nearest bridge.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Teething Hell
Here are the things we bought the other day...
Boiron Camilia Drops
Hyland Teething Tablets
Hyland Teething Gel
Baby Motrin
Baby Tylenol
Vibrating Teething Toy
Raz-a-Dazzle Silicone Toothbrush
Finger Toothbrush
The other tricks people suggested, such as a frozen bagel, we did not try because I was afraid of the baby chewing a chunk of bread and choking on the pieces. I did freeze a wet washcloth, but the baby took one lick and rejected it outright.
The Vibrating Teething Toy is awesome and flat out works. Although to say something "works" with an infant is really saying "it works for five to ten minutes, and then he throws it across the room." Be warned, though. The toy does not come with replaceable batteries. Therefore, when it's done, it's done...although you can still use it as a toy. It's squishy and fun to chew on for baby.
The Raz-a-Dazzle baby toothbrush works well for baby because he can hold it on his own and chew on it without choking. It has a barrier that prevents him from stabbing himself in the back of the neck.
The Finger Toothbrush is simple, cheap, and works well. Also, you don't get a finger full of drool after massaging his gums.
The Boiron Camilia Drops combined with a squirt of Tylenol or Motrin seems to work, however. He went from sleeping in spurts of an hour to 90 minutes to sleeping in chunks of 3-4 hours.
We are careful to alternate Tylenol and Motrin, however, so he doesn't overdose on one or the other. Also, we don't give him medicine throughout the day. One squirt at night is our general routine, and only if it seems like he is in serious discomfort. Also, Motrin is only supposed to be given to babies six months and older. Tylenol can be given earlier. However, our baby is well within a healthy weight and size range to take Motrin at 5 1/2 months of age.
The Hyland products give me pause, only because they use Belladonna in their teething tablets. I found the following on a general website:
"Hyland's reports that there are no side effects associated with the use of their teething tablets, nor is there a risk of overdosing or encountering a drug interaction if taken in conjunction with another pain medication.
However, one of the ingredients found in Hyland's teething tablets, Belladonna alkaloids, is known to cause dry mouth, blurred vision and urinary retention when taken in larger quantities. Hyland's states that one teething tablet contains approximately 0.0002 mg of Belladonna alkaloids, and it would take at least 0.2 to 5 mg of Belladonna alkaloids to cause side effects.
Belladonna alkaloids produce a variety of effects in the body, including reduced muscle spasms in the urinary and digestive tracts, and a reduction in fluid secretions from certain organs and glands. Belladonna alkaloids are often used in conjunction with phenobarbital to treat irritable bowel syndrome and ulcers in the intestine.
Belladonna has the potential to be dangerous, but only if taken in large quantities and if you are taking another medication that Belladonna might interact with. Cold, allergy and pain medications are medications that Belladonna could interact with, causing increased sleepiness. When taken with alcohol, Belladonna can cause drowsiness and dizziness. Because Belladonna reduces fluid secretions, perspiration may decrease, which increases the risk of heat stroke."
I'm not usually an alarmist, so I will probably try the tablets, if pushed to inhuman limits of sleep deprivation.
But if there's a better product out there, I will surely find it. I am, after all, the Google queen. But the best teething toy so far by a landslide? It's cheap, easy, and readily available. And yes, I'm talking about my finger.
Boiron Camilia Drops
Hyland Teething Tablets
Hyland Teething Gel
Baby Motrin
Baby Tylenol
Vibrating Teething Toy
Raz-a-Dazzle Silicone Toothbrush
Finger Toothbrush
The other tricks people suggested, such as a frozen bagel, we did not try because I was afraid of the baby chewing a chunk of bread and choking on the pieces. I did freeze a wet washcloth, but the baby took one lick and rejected it outright.
The Vibrating Teething Toy is awesome and flat out works. Although to say something "works" with an infant is really saying "it works for five to ten minutes, and then he throws it across the room." Be warned, though. The toy does not come with replaceable batteries. Therefore, when it's done, it's done...although you can still use it as a toy. It's squishy and fun to chew on for baby.
The Raz-a-Dazzle baby toothbrush works well for baby because he can hold it on his own and chew on it without choking. It has a barrier that prevents him from stabbing himself in the back of the neck.
The Finger Toothbrush is simple, cheap, and works well. Also, you don't get a finger full of drool after massaging his gums.
The Boiron Camilia Drops combined with a squirt of Tylenol or Motrin seems to work, however. He went from sleeping in spurts of an hour to 90 minutes to sleeping in chunks of 3-4 hours.
We are careful to alternate Tylenol and Motrin, however, so he doesn't overdose on one or the other. Also, we don't give him medicine throughout the day. One squirt at night is our general routine, and only if it seems like he is in serious discomfort. Also, Motrin is only supposed to be given to babies six months and older. Tylenol can be given earlier. However, our baby is well within a healthy weight and size range to take Motrin at 5 1/2 months of age.
The Hyland products give me pause, only because they use Belladonna in their teething tablets. I found the following on a general website:
"Hyland's reports that there are no side effects associated with the use of their teething tablets, nor is there a risk of overdosing or encountering a drug interaction if taken in conjunction with another pain medication.
However, one of the ingredients found in Hyland's teething tablets, Belladonna alkaloids, is known to cause dry mouth, blurred vision and urinary retention when taken in larger quantities. Hyland's states that one teething tablet contains approximately 0.0002 mg of Belladonna alkaloids, and it would take at least 0.2 to 5 mg of Belladonna alkaloids to cause side effects.
Belladonna alkaloids produce a variety of effects in the body, including reduced muscle spasms in the urinary and digestive tracts, and a reduction in fluid secretions from certain organs and glands. Belladonna alkaloids are often used in conjunction with phenobarbital to treat irritable bowel syndrome and ulcers in the intestine.
Belladonna has the potential to be dangerous, but only if taken in large quantities and if you are taking another medication that Belladonna might interact with. Cold, allergy and pain medications are medications that Belladonna could interact with, causing increased sleepiness. When taken with alcohol, Belladonna can cause drowsiness and dizziness. Because Belladonna reduces fluid secretions, perspiration may decrease, which increases the risk of heat stroke."
I'm not usually an alarmist, so I will probably try the tablets, if pushed to inhuman limits of sleep deprivation.
But if there's a better product out there, I will surely find it. I am, after all, the Google queen. But the best teething toy so far by a landslide? It's cheap, easy, and readily available. And yes, I'm talking about my finger.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Solid...Solid like a Rock
By kid is big. Huge. By any standards, enormous. His stats: 29 inches long, 22 pounds, 5 months. That's not just large, that's Andre the Giant large.
And he hasn't "plateaued" like most people have been telling me would happen. He just KEEPS GROWING. Apparently, that's what babies like to do...grow into big humans!
I'm starting to dread when other mommies at the park ask me, "So, how old is yours?" When that question comes up, I immediately avert my eyes, mumble the response, and then wait for the same reaction I get every single time. "HOLY MOTHER YOUR BABY IS GIGANTIC."
Yes, I know. I have a big ol' baby. More of him to love, I say.
It could be the super-human breast milk I'm feeding him like clockwork, although he doesn't seem to eat as much as he could. He certainly doesn't empty the breast at all, and usually he just nibbles and has a jolly good time instead of getting down to business.
However, it could be the solids. Yes, we started him on solids, on the recommendation of our pediatrician. His weight and size qualifies him for REAL FOOD apparently. Big boy needs big eats.
Before you start quoting the ills of feeding your baby solids before six months of age, let me assure you, the pediatrician had no problem at all telling us to try out solids. This baby is a big boy. We go by weight and size more than actual age nowadays.
His appetite for solids started out well. He loved pretty much everything we put near, in, or around his mouth. Per doc's orders, we started him on rice ceral, then moved on to veggies. Fruit was last, for the obvious reasons. If someone gave you a peach and then said, "Here, eat this brussels sprout" would you be pleased?
Carrots were a hit. All squash and root vegetables went over well. He even liked turnips, which I have trouble choking down myself.
I have to give credit where credit is due, though. The Beaba Babycook is AMAZING. I use it regularly and the difference between store bought and home cooked is obvious. The color, taste, and general quality is so much more vibrant and baby friendly. The lil' dude ate it all and loved it.
So now the kid is breast feeding and eating 2 squares a day. Maybe this is contributing to his continued healthy growth. Either that or he will be writing a tell-all book about his steroid use.
And he hasn't "plateaued" like most people have been telling me would happen. He just KEEPS GROWING. Apparently, that's what babies like to do...grow into big humans!
I'm starting to dread when other mommies at the park ask me, "So, how old is yours?" When that question comes up, I immediately avert my eyes, mumble the response, and then wait for the same reaction I get every single time. "HOLY MOTHER YOUR BABY IS GIGANTIC."
Yes, I know. I have a big ol' baby. More of him to love, I say.
It could be the super-human breast milk I'm feeding him like clockwork, although he doesn't seem to eat as much as he could. He certainly doesn't empty the breast at all, and usually he just nibbles and has a jolly good time instead of getting down to business.
However, it could be the solids. Yes, we started him on solids, on the recommendation of our pediatrician. His weight and size qualifies him for REAL FOOD apparently. Big boy needs big eats.
Before you start quoting the ills of feeding your baby solids before six months of age, let me assure you, the pediatrician had no problem at all telling us to try out solids. This baby is a big boy. We go by weight and size more than actual age nowadays.
His appetite for solids started out well. He loved pretty much everything we put near, in, or around his mouth. Per doc's orders, we started him on rice ceral, then moved on to veggies. Fruit was last, for the obvious reasons. If someone gave you a peach and then said, "Here, eat this brussels sprout" would you be pleased?
Carrots were a hit. All squash and root vegetables went over well. He even liked turnips, which I have trouble choking down myself.
I have to give credit where credit is due, though. The Beaba Babycook is AMAZING. I use it regularly and the difference between store bought and home cooked is obvious. The color, taste, and general quality is so much more vibrant and baby friendly. The lil' dude ate it all and loved it.
So now the kid is breast feeding and eating 2 squares a day. Maybe this is contributing to his continued healthy growth. Either that or he will be writing a tell-all book about his steroid use.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Five Months Old
Holy cats. My baby is five months old. And he's a real baby now, which means he is grabbing my hair and pulling it out in clumps.
The difference between an newborn and an infant is remarkable. No longer does he need the head support when he is picked up. When you carry him around in your arms, he likes to sit up, not cradle. He whips his head around like a little hoot owl when you walk the room and soaks in everything he sees. He is amazingly entertaining in so many ways.
Not that the newborn stage isn't fascinating in its' own way. But it's like Dian Fossey living among the apes...you tend to study the baby more, wait for responses to be obvious and not so subtle. You wait...a lot. It's just a watching game to see what you can pick up and write down in your baby book.
But at five months...wowza. The amount of learning that occurs is staggering. He is on his tummy daily, trying to reach that fuzzy toy above his head. He leans to the right or left according to what he might want to grab. He has control over his arms and no longer punches himself in the face. That's right...no more baby fight club for this lil' guy.
He's also big for his age. 21 pounds, almost 29 inches long and growing every second. Not so much an obese baby, but a SOLID baby.
And mommy's back is always reminded of just how solid that baby is. Ow.
The difference between an newborn and an infant is remarkable. No longer does he need the head support when he is picked up. When you carry him around in your arms, he likes to sit up, not cradle. He whips his head around like a little hoot owl when you walk the room and soaks in everything he sees. He is amazingly entertaining in so many ways.
Not that the newborn stage isn't fascinating in its' own way. But it's like Dian Fossey living among the apes...you tend to study the baby more, wait for responses to be obvious and not so subtle. You wait...a lot. It's just a watching game to see what you can pick up and write down in your baby book.
But at five months...wowza. The amount of learning that occurs is staggering. He is on his tummy daily, trying to reach that fuzzy toy above his head. He leans to the right or left according to what he might want to grab. He has control over his arms and no longer punches himself in the face. That's right...no more baby fight club for this lil' guy.
He's also big for his age. 21 pounds, almost 29 inches long and growing every second. Not so much an obese baby, but a SOLID baby.
And mommy's back is always reminded of just how solid that baby is. Ow.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Adventures in Sleep Training
Baby slept like a dream from day one to about three months. He was out like a light all night long, only stirring once in a blue moon for a quick feed, then gently passing back into sleep.
And then November 22nd hit. It was a firestorm of night feedings, relentless rocking, soothing, pacifiers flying about the room in a frenzy of panic. Suddenly, baby was no longer a great sleeper. He was awake. All the friggin' time.
Every hour or 90 minutes or so he would wake up and cry. My husband and I started to get cranky. Real mean and cranky. It was terrible waking up knowing the long day was ahead of us. All day with the tot. And he had to go to work. I was exhausted by four. He was equally exhausted when he finally got home. It happened every single night for over a month and a half, and it was brutal. We were sniping at each other over dust on the table, lint in the dryer. It was madness...MADNESS, I TELL YOU.
So at four months, which is considered on the young side, we decided to try sleep training. My husband wanted to try the CIO method (Cry It Out) which required me wearing earplugs. The reason? When the baby would cry for more than a second, I would start bawling. I was not a big proponent of the CIO method. It was meant for tough guys. Admittedly, I was a big wimp.
I asked my friends about their experiences in sleep training, and 9 out of 10 said that CIO was better than the No-Cry Solution, which often took longer and was more sleepless nights than I wanted to endure. One friend even said that it took just three days for her little one to get it down. THREE. I was sold.
So last week, we tried CIO. He cried, we would let him cry, and then he would get soothed by a hand on his tummy or chest and a calm voice, "It's ok...daddy/mommy is here."
The next time he woke, which was usually an hour or two later, we would wait longer, and then repeat the routine.
Every time the baby would wake and cry, we would extend the time we would wait and then go in. It was a slow torture. I got little to no sleep, basically because I would lie awake waiting for him to call for me.
After that first week, Friday came. We put him down for the night and went to bed in anticipation that we would soon be up again to check on him. 7 1/2 hours later, we woke up.
A fluke? Perhaps. Saturday, we put him down. 7 hours later, he woke up.
Sunday, Monday, Tuesday...like a clock.
Now that's not to say it's a perfect sleep world. He wakes up at 4 a.m. and coos and smiles, and we have to get him to lay down again to sleep for a few more precious hours. But unlike before, he puts himself to sleep. We can put him down in the crib and he warbles and talks to himself until he drifts off to slumber. No more rocking and walking around in circles, which is a miracle in itself.
Sleep training worked. Hallelujah and thank you baby Jesus.
And then November 22nd hit. It was a firestorm of night feedings, relentless rocking, soothing, pacifiers flying about the room in a frenzy of panic. Suddenly, baby was no longer a great sleeper. He was awake. All the friggin' time.
Every hour or 90 minutes or so he would wake up and cry. My husband and I started to get cranky. Real mean and cranky. It was terrible waking up knowing the long day was ahead of us. All day with the tot. And he had to go to work. I was exhausted by four. He was equally exhausted when he finally got home. It happened every single night for over a month and a half, and it was brutal. We were sniping at each other over dust on the table, lint in the dryer. It was madness...MADNESS, I TELL YOU.
So at four months, which is considered on the young side, we decided to try sleep training. My husband wanted to try the CIO method (Cry It Out) which required me wearing earplugs. The reason? When the baby would cry for more than a second, I would start bawling. I was not a big proponent of the CIO method. It was meant for tough guys. Admittedly, I was a big wimp.
I asked my friends about their experiences in sleep training, and 9 out of 10 said that CIO was better than the No-Cry Solution, which often took longer and was more sleepless nights than I wanted to endure. One friend even said that it took just three days for her little one to get it down. THREE. I was sold.
So last week, we tried CIO. He cried, we would let him cry, and then he would get soothed by a hand on his tummy or chest and a calm voice, "It's ok...daddy/mommy is here."
The next time he woke, which was usually an hour or two later, we would wait longer, and then repeat the routine.
Every time the baby would wake and cry, we would extend the time we would wait and then go in. It was a slow torture. I got little to no sleep, basically because I would lie awake waiting for him to call for me.
After that first week, Friday came. We put him down for the night and went to bed in anticipation that we would soon be up again to check on him. 7 1/2 hours later, we woke up.
A fluke? Perhaps. Saturday, we put him down. 7 hours later, he woke up.
Sunday, Monday, Tuesday...like a clock.
Now that's not to say it's a perfect sleep world. He wakes up at 4 a.m. and coos and smiles, and we have to get him to lay down again to sleep for a few more precious hours. But unlike before, he puts himself to sleep. We can put him down in the crib and he warbles and talks to himself until he drifts off to slumber. No more rocking and walking around in circles, which is a miracle in itself.
Sleep training worked. Hallelujah and thank you baby Jesus.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Why I Might Not Be Mother's Group Material
I was thinking the other day...I may not be appropriate for a Mother's Group, and here's why:
1) Whenever breastfeeding is brought up, I always comment, "You breastfeedin'? Doesn't it SUCK? UGH."
2) I'm far too pretty for a Mother's Group and they'll all be jealous of me.
KIDDING. I actually look like Marilyn Manson on a bad day. Good day? Phyllis Diller.
3) I hate talking about how motherhood has been a life-altering, amazing, beautiful change. I prefer to discuss and vent about the days I wake up covered in baby vomit and smelling like pee.
4) My last discussion with a mom went something like this:
A MOM: Oh, I'm so happy.
ME: I woke up the other day and totally forgot I was a mom and I was SO RELAXED. Is that wrong?
5) I can't talk to women who have flat stomachs and kids. It makes me physically sick from depression.
6) I don't exercise and I eat crap. Yes, I'm breastfeeding. My milk expels twinkies and pork rinds.
1) Whenever breastfeeding is brought up, I always comment, "You breastfeedin'? Doesn't it SUCK? UGH."
2) I'm far too pretty for a Mother's Group and they'll all be jealous of me.
KIDDING. I actually look like Marilyn Manson on a bad day. Good day? Phyllis Diller.
3) I hate talking about how motherhood has been a life-altering, amazing, beautiful change. I prefer to discuss and vent about the days I wake up covered in baby vomit and smelling like pee.
4) My last discussion with a mom went something like this:
A MOM: Oh, I'm so happy.
ME: I woke up the other day and totally forgot I was a mom and I was SO RELAXED. Is that wrong?
5) I can't talk to women who have flat stomachs and kids. It makes me physically sick from depression.
6) I don't exercise and I eat crap. Yes, I'm breastfeeding. My milk expels twinkies and pork rinds.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Ingrate!
Hub and I were reading about the sleep issues we have been having with our four month old and found hundreds of posts on threads of various parenting sites by moms and dads looking for answers to their problems. All of them were desperately seeking advice on how to weather the storm of the relentless four month wakeful period...except one.
My husband and I read it aloud to one another several times rolling on the floor in fits, nearly crying from the hysterical laughter.
so-and-so posted:
"Our baby isnt waking up in the night, just at the crack of dawn. any ideas on how to get her to sleep later? I shouldnt complain, she sleeps from about 930-630 or 7. but that is early for me!"
Of course, no one posted a response to her query. Since she had just complained about getting 9 hours of uninterrupted sleep a night, and having to rise at 6:30-7 a.m. in the morning, she should have checked herself into the witness relocation program to avoid being bumped off by one of the sleep depraved, crazed women on this site.
Even my husband and I sobered up after a while and started resenting her. Here we were, exhausted from lack of sleep, bickering with one another, trying to find a way to soothe our kid into slumberland without permanently damaging him psychologically and she was complaining about 7 a.m. being "early for me!" ?!
At least when our baby was sleeping through the night we didn't COMPLAIN ABOUT IT. We knew we were pretty lucky. We also knew the party would end soon enough, so we appreciated every sleeping second of the time we had to rest.
I was tempted to flame her on the thread, but couldn't find the words to respond to such an unappreciative maroon. The best response I could come up with was, "Hey ass hat. #%$^@#$*."
But honestly, I thought that might come across as too subtle.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Four Months and What Happens Next
Here's what happened to us, from day one, with the sleep issue.
Baby started off great from the day he was born and slept through the night for three months straight. I was told by my friend to NEVER mention this to any mother that had even the slightest bag under her eye, in the fear I would be maimed or killed for my big mouth.
We knew it was a blessing, although it sometimes took 1-2 hours to get him to actually sleep. He'd fight it for as long as his little body could maintain the indignant screaming, and then pass out for 7-8 hours. We knew we were blessed. Every night we'd sneak smirky looks at one another, as if to say telepathically, "Heh, heh, heh...we're such lucky bastards."
Yeah, well here comes month four. Along with my hair falling out in clumps, the baby has decided to try to make me bald by depraving me of any and all sleep until I PULL MY HAIR OUT AT THE ROOTS. He is sleeping an hour at a time, waking up, crying or moaning like he's being tortured, and then continuing this relentlessly all night long. I woke up this morning feeling like the hair ball that was sitting in my bath tub drain. My husband resembled a frozen Jack Nicholson in The Shining, clutching a cup of hot coffee instead of an ax.
We immediately assumed we were being punished by God for our insolence. It was our smugness that was coming back to punch us in the face now. The baby was no longer the great sleeper. He was now in the throws of what is famously known as...THE FOUR MONTH WAKEFUL PERIOD.
I had no idea this even existed, and I Google everything under the sun. This took me totally by surprise. I felt blindsided as I read post after page about this horrible phenomenon. I always attributed his change in sleep to the dreaded sleep regression or some sort of spurt of growth...perhaps he was even teething early, who knew.
But no. It's this hideous four month wakeful period that's making my life Hell right now. Not sleeping is the worst feeling in the world when you wake up and look at that fully alert, cute-as-a-button face staring up at you from the crib. You think to yourself in a haze of semi-consciousness, "How am I going to function with this baby today? Am I going to drop him on his head? What will his SAT scores look like then?!"
Ugh. Gah. And Bleah.
Baby started off great from the day he was born and slept through the night for three months straight. I was told by my friend to NEVER mention this to any mother that had even the slightest bag under her eye, in the fear I would be maimed or killed for my big mouth.
We knew it was a blessing, although it sometimes took 1-2 hours to get him to actually sleep. He'd fight it for as long as his little body could maintain the indignant screaming, and then pass out for 7-8 hours. We knew we were blessed. Every night we'd sneak smirky looks at one another, as if to say telepathically, "Heh, heh, heh...we're such lucky bastards."
Yeah, well here comes month four. Along with my hair falling out in clumps, the baby has decided to try to make me bald by depraving me of any and all sleep until I PULL MY HAIR OUT AT THE ROOTS. He is sleeping an hour at a time, waking up, crying or moaning like he's being tortured, and then continuing this relentlessly all night long. I woke up this morning feeling like the hair ball that was sitting in my bath tub drain. My husband resembled a frozen Jack Nicholson in The Shining, clutching a cup of hot coffee instead of an ax.
We immediately assumed we were being punished by God for our insolence. It was our smugness that was coming back to punch us in the face now. The baby was no longer the great sleeper. He was now in the throws of what is famously known as...THE FOUR MONTH WAKEFUL PERIOD.
I had no idea this even existed, and I Google everything under the sun. This took me totally by surprise. I felt blindsided as I read post after page about this horrible phenomenon. I always attributed his change in sleep to the dreaded sleep regression or some sort of spurt of growth...perhaps he was even teething early, who knew.
But no. It's this hideous four month wakeful period that's making my life Hell right now. Not sleeping is the worst feeling in the world when you wake up and look at that fully alert, cute-as-a-button face staring up at you from the crib. You think to yourself in a haze of semi-consciousness, "How am I going to function with this baby today? Am I going to drop him on his head? What will his SAT scores look like then?!"
Ugh. Gah. And Bleah.
Monday, January 4, 2010
Nobody Told Me
1) Baby vomit is slippery. Wipe it off your floor with a scrub cloth. I almost broke a hip when I tried walking on a newly cleaned hardwood floor in my socks.
2) Babies love being skin to skin.
3) You don't need to use diaper rash cream every single time you change a diaper.
4) Baby poop doesn't start to stink until a few months, when their digestive tract matures a little more...then, you need a hazmat suit to change diapers, it's so gross. Two words: DIAPER GENIE.
5) Babies shed. At least, mine is. He looks like he's going through a Benjamin Button phase.
6) Babies drool a LOT around two months, even though they're not teething. Buy lots and lots of bibs.
7) Babies sleep all the time when they're brand new. You can eat out in restaurants, no matter what people warn you about before you give birth.
8) People like to see you suffer as much as they did when they had newborns, so they say things that aren't necessarily kind.
9) People also lie about their newborns sleeping through the night so you'll shut the hell up about how you didn't sleep a wink when he was born and how you can expect the same. (Although we were lucky and ours did sleep through the night...until a month ago. The honeymoon is definitely over.)
10) Pacifiers. They're awesome. And they help reduce the risk of SIDS.
11) This one is from my terrific husband: When washing the pumping equipment (twice daily) WEAR GLOVES. His hands became horribly cracked and dry without them. No amount of lotion helped.
2) Babies love being skin to skin.
3) You don't need to use diaper rash cream every single time you change a diaper.
4) Baby poop doesn't start to stink until a few months, when their digestive tract matures a little more...then, you need a hazmat suit to change diapers, it's so gross. Two words: DIAPER GENIE.
5) Babies shed. At least, mine is. He looks like he's going through a Benjamin Button phase.
6) Babies drool a LOT around two months, even though they're not teething. Buy lots and lots of bibs.
7) Babies sleep all the time when they're brand new. You can eat out in restaurants, no matter what people warn you about before you give birth.
8) People like to see you suffer as much as they did when they had newborns, so they say things that aren't necessarily kind.
9) People also lie about their newborns sleeping through the night so you'll shut the hell up about how you didn't sleep a wink when he was born and how you can expect the same. (Although we were lucky and ours did sleep through the night...until a month ago. The honeymoon is definitely over.)
10) Pacifiers. They're awesome. And they help reduce the risk of SIDS.
11) This one is from my terrific husband: When washing the pumping equipment (twice daily) WEAR GLOVES. His hands became horribly cracked and dry without them. No amount of lotion helped.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Weigh In
I took out my old jeans today and tried them on. I said with a little wince, "Hello, old friend. It's been a long time." These are jeans I couldn't fit into before the pregnancy, either. I figured, no pressure...I know I've been eating like a hog throughout the holiday season and even before then. My appetite has been ravenous and I have not been curbing it.
Holy baby Jesus. They fit.
I weigh 140. Baby weight be GONE and then some. If you can ignore the bloody, pussy, ridiculously painful aspect of breast feeding, it's pretty awesome to be burning an extra 500 calories a day while feeding your tot.
Holy baby Jesus. They fit.
I weigh 140. Baby weight be GONE and then some. If you can ignore the bloody, pussy, ridiculously painful aspect of breast feeding, it's pretty awesome to be burning an extra 500 calories a day while feeding your tot.
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