Oh, what a month. Mastitis, followed by the ambiguous thrush, and now Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease. If you have no clue what that last one is, think of the flu and throw strep throat on top of the heap. It's the nastiest of all the kiddie ailments out there, imho.
It begins with what seems like a low-grade fever, then turns into a rash on the...what else? Hands, feet, and mouth. In my son's case, he got the rash on his bottom first, then we saw it on his wrists and feet. When we checked his mouth, we saw why had had been rubbing his throat and cheeks. The rash had very quickly turned into sores.
Having herpe-like sores on the inside of your mouth, all over your tongue and down your throat is pure Hell for adults. Imagine how difficult it is for a toddler, just beginning to be verbal but not quite there yet. He can't complain adequately enough with words, so he just screams and screams in pain, day and night. It was horrifyingly bad.
Also, the things that comfort him...eating, drinking...are unavailable to him. Not only that, those things now cause him a great deal of pain. It's awful for him, and awful for a parent to witness.
I tried to keep calm while thinking of the baby, but just the thought of him catching this evil thing from his brother made me break out in a cold sweat. We did as all the sites on HFMD recommended...washed everything down, cleaned like a psycho, washed hands until they cracked. The boys were separated, not allowed to touch for at least two weeks. Since HFMD is transmitted through saliva, and the kid was drooling like mad since he was in so much discomfort, we had to wash everything every night for two weeks. That's every toy, blanket, plushy...anything he touched with his hands or mouth. I must have done eight loads of laundry that first day we discovered the rash. After that, one to two loads a day. After dealing with thrush, which was basically the same cleaning regimine, I was beyond stressed, getting depressed, and feeling exhausted.
The poor little man was so miserable. It wasn't the same boy. He was cranky, unconsolably upset, and crying at the drop of a crayon. I could not imagine living this way indefinitely. Luckily for us, there was a light at the end of the tunnel.
He did get better, but it took about five days until the rash turned into sores which then popped and dried up. Eventually, they disappeared, leaving no trace of the nastiest, meanest sickness I have ever seen. Apparently, once you get the disease, you are immune to that particular strain. Other strains? Not so much.
This pre-school "catch everything every kid in the building has" thing will be giving us the gift of a powerfully strong immune system in the end, but until then, %#$!@ YOU, COMMUNICABLE DISEASES!
Monday, October 3, 2011
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
F@#$%# Thrush
After a course of antibiotics to kill off the hideous mastitis, I found myself wondering if I had a yeast infection in my nipples, better known as thrush or "candida." Yay me.
Here's the skinny on thrush. It's evil. It's the dumbest ailment known to nipples. I can't get over how much information is out there on the Internet, and how useless it all is. Symptoms of thrush are so vague and all over the map there's no way of determining if you or your baby have it, unless you have the classic "white spots," which is also an ambiguous descriptor because there are NO pictures of nipples with thrush on the internet that are helpful.
Every site I visited (foolishly, I know) had the same descriptions, with the disclaimer, "May or may not" before each one.
What good is that?! "May or may not" does not help me figure out what to do with this insipid yeast. I can't believe what a pain in the ass it has been trying to get rid of it...that is, IF I ACTUALLY HAVE IT.
The baby has no symptoms, but one of the symptoms of thrush is that the baby could have no symptoms. Did you get that? Confusing, ain't it?
The only symptom I had was shooting pain in my nipple. And when I say "shooting" I really mean it felt like someone was stabbing me with a knife over and over again. It was as if the milk had ground glass in it. This happened maybe 15 minutes after feeding the baby.
When I looked up "shooting pain," a hundred sites came up, all citing the dreaded THRUSH. I could not get over how hysterical people were about this thing. It was worse than mastitis, worse than plugged ducts...it was the invisible enemy, and one that multiplied at an exponential rate. After reading several dozen pages, I realized one thing...I was screwed.
I started cleaning everything with bleach (not vinegar.) I did six loads of laundry, with bleach. I used several remedies, including grapefruit seed extract (liquid) and extra virgin coconut oil (solid like butter) on my nipples (and the gse in his mouth.) I called the advice nurse several times, the lactation specialists, my obgyn's office, and my friends who had experienced this hell before. The doctors wouldn't see me, nor would the specialists. They all said the same thing. There is no definitive diagnosis for thrush. They could only go by my description, because all nipples look somewhat different. None are "obviously" thrush nipples. What?!
Everyone was saying something different, yet one thing remained: Do NOT reinfect yourself. Treat yourself and the baby at the same time. Strangely, the only person who did not agree with this assessment was the baby's pediatrician, who took one look in the baby's mouth, shrugged and said, "He doesn't have thrush." I had to strong arm a prescription for Nystatin out of him."
Eventually, I got in to see a nurse practitioner. She took one look at my nipples and said, "They're puffy and meaty." Translation: You have thrush. She sent in a prescription for Diflucan and sent me on my way.
The problem with thrush is that if you have vague symptoms that kinda sorta match the usual symptoms, there is no answer to the question, "Do I have it?" It's a horrible guessing game that always ends the same way. You treat it anyway, because your fear of the thing makes you paranoid.
This game of "thrush" or "not thrush" messed with my head in a terrible way. It stressed me out, gave me bouts of hysteria at any given moment, and really exhausted my patience. If you ever get it, I wish you luck and recommend you go to your happy place immediately. Otherwise, every tinge, tickle, or funny feeling you get in your breast will make you break into a cold sweat.
The sites I found helpful were few and far between, but for what it's worth, here they are:
Jay Gordon - Information on Thrush and how to treat it with Grapefruit Seed Extract
How long does Candida live on surfaces?
Babycare Advice - Very detailed and informative
Pinstripes and Polkadots - How to disinfect laundry, and other interesting information on bleach vs. vinegar
Here's the skinny on thrush. It's evil. It's the dumbest ailment known to nipples. I can't get over how much information is out there on the Internet, and how useless it all is. Symptoms of thrush are so vague and all over the map there's no way of determining if you or your baby have it, unless you have the classic "white spots," which is also an ambiguous descriptor because there are NO pictures of nipples with thrush on the internet that are helpful.
Every site I visited (foolishly, I know) had the same descriptions, with the disclaimer, "May or may not" before each one.
Your nipples may or may not show signs of redness.
Your baby may or may not have white patches on the inside of his mouth.
Your breasts may or may not have shooting pain.
Your baby's saliva may or may not be shiny.
Your nipples could be red, pink, purple or white.
What good is that?! "May or may not" does not help me figure out what to do with this insipid yeast. I can't believe what a pain in the ass it has been trying to get rid of it...that is, IF I ACTUALLY HAVE IT.
The baby has no symptoms, but one of the symptoms of thrush is that the baby could have no symptoms. Did you get that? Confusing, ain't it?
The only symptom I had was shooting pain in my nipple. And when I say "shooting" I really mean it felt like someone was stabbing me with a knife over and over again. It was as if the milk had ground glass in it. This happened maybe 15 minutes after feeding the baby.
When I looked up "shooting pain," a hundred sites came up, all citing the dreaded THRUSH. I could not get over how hysterical people were about this thing. It was worse than mastitis, worse than plugged ducts...it was the invisible enemy, and one that multiplied at an exponential rate. After reading several dozen pages, I realized one thing...I was screwed.
I started cleaning everything with bleach (not vinegar.) I did six loads of laundry, with bleach. I used several remedies, including grapefruit seed extract (liquid) and extra virgin coconut oil (solid like butter) on my nipples (and the gse in his mouth.) I called the advice nurse several times, the lactation specialists, my obgyn's office, and my friends who had experienced this hell before. The doctors wouldn't see me, nor would the specialists. They all said the same thing. There is no definitive diagnosis for thrush. They could only go by my description, because all nipples look somewhat different. None are "obviously" thrush nipples. What?!
Everyone was saying something different, yet one thing remained: Do NOT reinfect yourself. Treat yourself and the baby at the same time. Strangely, the only person who did not agree with this assessment was the baby's pediatrician, who took one look in the baby's mouth, shrugged and said, "He doesn't have thrush." I had to strong arm a prescription for Nystatin out of him."
Eventually, I got in to see a nurse practitioner. She took one look at my nipples and said, "They're puffy and meaty." Translation: You have thrush. She sent in a prescription for Diflucan and sent me on my way.
The problem with thrush is that if you have vague symptoms that kinda sorta match the usual symptoms, there is no answer to the question, "Do I have it?" It's a horrible guessing game that always ends the same way. You treat it anyway, because your fear of the thing makes you paranoid.
This game of "thrush" or "not thrush" messed with my head in a terrible way. It stressed me out, gave me bouts of hysteria at any given moment, and really exhausted my patience. If you ever get it, I wish you luck and recommend you go to your happy place immediately. Otherwise, every tinge, tickle, or funny feeling you get in your breast will make you break into a cold sweat.
The sites I found helpful were few and far between, but for what it's worth, here they are:
Jay Gordon - Information on Thrush and how to treat it with Grapefruit Seed Extract
How long does Candida live on surfaces?
Babycare Advice - Very detailed and informative
Pinstripes and Polkadots - How to disinfect laundry, and other interesting information on bleach vs. vinegar
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Mastitis...
AGAIN. This is my third round with mastitis, and I can safely say that I am an expert in all things breast infected. Not exactly the silver lining I was looking for during my stint with breast feeding.
This time it was a little different, however. I felt the pain and knew right away...mastitis. It had to be. There was no mistaking it. It was an aching hot throb that made one side of my breast hurt so badly I winced when I fed the baby. Then, the pain got worse, but very quickly. Before the fever hit, I had already told my husband to call the advice nurse to get a prescription for antibiotics straight away. By the next hour I had a fever steadily rising. See? Expert.
As soon as I started feeling the pains and the lumps of clogged milk in my breast, I started hand expressing and warm compresses to get the infection out. I knew it was important to get all the milk out of the breast, so the infection wouldn't linger. For over an hour I groped myself. It was pretty (not) awesome reaching second base with myself.
The next day was my older son's birthday party, which I attended, feeling a little deathly. Two Tylenol and a playground full of kids pumped me up for the next three hours, which seemed ok compared to the hideous time I had with this beastly ailment before. But that night I collapsed in a heap with a 102 fever. It had come back with a vengeance and I was sick as a dog.
The antibiotics finally kicked in, everything stopped looking like a big disgusting purple bruise, and I felt much better the next day. I kicked mastitis' ass and lived to talk about it...again.
The next day I had shooting pains so powerfully painful I thought to myself, "Holy God, I'd rather go through LABOR again than feel this." When I looked it up on the internet, the only thing that kept popping up repeatedly? THRUSH. Not possible. NOT OK.
After calling the advice nurse, she confirmed it was thrush. "Thrush happens when you take antibiotics for mastitis. Antibiotics kill the good bacteria that keeps your yeast in check. Now, there's an overgrowth of yeast." Ok, now what? "Apply Vagasil to your nipples." What? Gross. I'll do it, but gross.
Somehow, applying a vaginal yeast infection cream to my nipples didn't seem right, so I called the lovely ladies at the lactation center who promptly said, "Thrush? No. Damaged nerve ending? Yup!" They suggested a cocktail of B-6 (for the damaged nerve) and probiotics (to take while taking antibiotics.)
To triple check the possibility I had thrush and had given it to the baby, we also saw the pediatrician, who checked the baby's mouth for the tell-tale white spots, looked at me like I was a loon, and said in his thick accent, "No thrush. Usually, baby gives thrush to mama. Not mama give thrush to baby. No thrush." And then I was sent on my way with a prescription for Nystatin (just in case thrush popped up in the next day or two) and a pat on the head.
So what have we learned? Don't look on the internet. The internet is not a doctor. The internet will drive you mad with unnecessary worry. Also, NO GOOGLE IMAGE SEARCHING. It's for your own good.
Also, when websites tell you that thrush can be stealthy and that the symptoms can be hidden? Not true, sayeth the wise and sage lactation specialists I talked to. And the pediatrician confirmed it. There are always white spots in the baby's mouth, and always raw hamburger-looking nipples. Not comforting, but there it is.
This time it was a little different, however. I felt the pain and knew right away...mastitis. It had to be. There was no mistaking it. It was an aching hot throb that made one side of my breast hurt so badly I winced when I fed the baby. Then, the pain got worse, but very quickly. Before the fever hit, I had already told my husband to call the advice nurse to get a prescription for antibiotics straight away. By the next hour I had a fever steadily rising. See? Expert.
As soon as I started feeling the pains and the lumps of clogged milk in my breast, I started hand expressing and warm compresses to get the infection out. I knew it was important to get all the milk out of the breast, so the infection wouldn't linger. For over an hour I groped myself. It was pretty (not) awesome reaching second base with myself.
The next day was my older son's birthday party, which I attended, feeling a little deathly. Two Tylenol and a playground full of kids pumped me up for the next three hours, which seemed ok compared to the hideous time I had with this beastly ailment before. But that night I collapsed in a heap with a 102 fever. It had come back with a vengeance and I was sick as a dog.
The antibiotics finally kicked in, everything stopped looking like a big disgusting purple bruise, and I felt much better the next day. I kicked mastitis' ass and lived to talk about it...again.
The next day I had shooting pains so powerfully painful I thought to myself, "Holy God, I'd rather go through LABOR again than feel this." When I looked it up on the internet, the only thing that kept popping up repeatedly? THRUSH. Not possible. NOT OK.
After calling the advice nurse, she confirmed it was thrush. "Thrush happens when you take antibiotics for mastitis. Antibiotics kill the good bacteria that keeps your yeast in check. Now, there's an overgrowth of yeast." Ok, now what? "Apply Vagasil to your nipples." What? Gross. I'll do it, but gross.
Somehow, applying a vaginal yeast infection cream to my nipples didn't seem right, so I called the lovely ladies at the lactation center who promptly said, "Thrush? No. Damaged nerve ending? Yup!" They suggested a cocktail of B-6 (for the damaged nerve) and probiotics (to take while taking antibiotics.)
To triple check the possibility I had thrush and had given it to the baby, we also saw the pediatrician, who checked the baby's mouth for the tell-tale white spots, looked at me like I was a loon, and said in his thick accent, "No thrush. Usually, baby gives thrush to mama. Not mama give thrush to baby. No thrush." And then I was sent on my way with a prescription for Nystatin (just in case thrush popped up in the next day or two) and a pat on the head.
So what have we learned? Don't look on the internet. The internet is not a doctor. The internet will drive you mad with unnecessary worry. Also, NO GOOGLE IMAGE SEARCHING. It's for your own good.
Also, when websites tell you that thrush can be stealthy and that the symptoms can be hidden? Not true, sayeth the wise and sage lactation specialists I talked to. And the pediatrician confirmed it. There are always white spots in the baby's mouth, and always raw hamburger-looking nipples. Not comforting, but there it is.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Two
How is it possible? Two years have flown by already? My little man is two. I am at once amazed and disturbed. I thought we had a deal that he would stay cute and chubby forever. This kind of blows.
But seriously, the party was all kinds of awesome. I rocked the goodie bags, and believe me, it wasn't an easy feat. Whoever created the concept of this stress-inducing addition to children's birthday parties should be smacked. It was the most difficult part of the planning process for me, and I am not one to enjoy complications when planning anything.
The party was low-key and at our favorite playground, which made for an ideal situation for the adults: Let the kids go wild and play with one another while we mack on sandwiches and chocolate milk. We bought mini cupcakes to downplay the sugar. Presents were welcome but not required. Everything was simple. Easy. No-frills. Loved it.
I made 16 goodie bags, and they were a big hit with the parents and kiddies. I bought cutesy animal boxes off Amazon for cheap and filled them up with a CD of the kid's favorite music, a beanie baby, a chocolate horse/cow/pig, a party blower, a mini playdoh and a small bottle of robot bubbles. Tell me you wouldn't be stoked if you was two. Robot bubbles?! Fuggedaboudit.
And by the way? I made extra goodie bags, and thankfully so. Kids and their parents showed up without an RSVP, which was fine. More the merrier, I say. But if I hadn't had those extras, whoa. There might have been two-year old rioting.
Anyway, the kiddo loved it, until the end of the party when he was on the playground without his friends. It was a little heartbreaking, watching him play with the straw from his milk box, wandering aimlessly and poking things. It made me wish we had made an early exit to avoid that wistful scene. Seeing him that way made my heart ache. Ah, motherhood.
But seriously, the party was all kinds of awesome. I rocked the goodie bags, and believe me, it wasn't an easy feat. Whoever created the concept of this stress-inducing addition to children's birthday parties should be smacked. It was the most difficult part of the planning process for me, and I am not one to enjoy complications when planning anything.
The party was low-key and at our favorite playground, which made for an ideal situation for the adults: Let the kids go wild and play with one another while we mack on sandwiches and chocolate milk. We bought mini cupcakes to downplay the sugar. Presents were welcome but not required. Everything was simple. Easy. No-frills. Loved it.
I made 16 goodie bags, and they were a big hit with the parents and kiddies. I bought cutesy animal boxes off Amazon for cheap and filled them up with a CD of the kid's favorite music, a beanie baby, a chocolate horse/cow/pig, a party blower, a mini playdoh and a small bottle of robot bubbles. Tell me you wouldn't be stoked if you was two. Robot bubbles?! Fuggedaboudit.
And by the way? I made extra goodie bags, and thankfully so. Kids and their parents showed up without an RSVP, which was fine. More the merrier, I say. But if I hadn't had those extras, whoa. There might have been two-year old rioting.
Anyway, the kiddo loved it, until the end of the party when he was on the playground without his friends. It was a little heartbreaking, watching him play with the straw from his milk box, wandering aimlessly and poking things. It made me wish we had made an early exit to avoid that wistful scene. Seeing him that way made my heart ache. Ah, motherhood.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Potty Training
At 18 months of age, my husband broke out the brand new Bjorn potty we bought in anticipation of potty training our eldest. At first, the boy just looked at it with curiosity. But as soon as he found it had no wheels to spin or buttons to push to make lights turn on, he discarded it as trash.
For months, my husband tirelessly jumped up and down like a giddy cheerleader whenever my son has pooped in the potty. It has been a remarkable display of enthusiasm, considering the source. The poop, by the way, is absolutely vile. The smell is not unlike pure evil and will literally burn your face off like a chemical spill landed on you. I can't possibly describe it aptly without offending most or all of you, so I won't go further. Just know that solids make toddler diapers into deadly weapons. If we just lobbed them at our enemies, there would be no war.
We can count on one hand the amount of times our son has gone #1 or #2 in the potty, which I think is pretty good, considering he isn't even 2 yet. But the more impressive feat is the fact that now we can usually tell when he is about to go in his diaper just by looking at his face. He will be playing at the table, with his cars, trains, whatever. Then, quite suddenly, he will stop mid-step and just gaze off into the nothingness. Occasionally, he'll look in my direction as if to say, "HERE IT COMES."
The times we have actually acted fast enough to get him into the toilet, he has managed a little tiny nugget. Alas, it is not usually the case. The husband hides a horrified grimace while he cleans the kid's bottom and dumps the offending diaper in the trash.
Our diaper pail smells like several things died inside.
For months, my husband tirelessly jumped up and down like a giddy cheerleader whenever my son has pooped in the potty. It has been a remarkable display of enthusiasm, considering the source. The poop, by the way, is absolutely vile. The smell is not unlike pure evil and will literally burn your face off like a chemical spill landed on you. I can't possibly describe it aptly without offending most or all of you, so I won't go further. Just know that solids make toddler diapers into deadly weapons. If we just lobbed them at our enemies, there would be no war.
We can count on one hand the amount of times our son has gone #1 or #2 in the potty, which I think is pretty good, considering he isn't even 2 yet. But the more impressive feat is the fact that now we can usually tell when he is about to go in his diaper just by looking at his face. He will be playing at the table, with his cars, trains, whatever. Then, quite suddenly, he will stop mid-step and just gaze off into the nothingness. Occasionally, he'll look in my direction as if to say, "HERE IT COMES."
The times we have actually acted fast enough to get him into the toilet, he has managed a little tiny nugget. Alas, it is not usually the case. The husband hides a horrified grimace while he cleans the kid's bottom and dumps the offending diaper in the trash.
Our diaper pail smells like several things died inside.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Two Teething Tots
So big brother is teething. His back molars are finally coming in, as all the books and Internet sites predicted they would around age two. And now little brother has decided to cut a few teeth, too, at almost 4 months. He's been drooling pretty crazily for about two months, however, so we believe his gums were bothering him far before now. He regularly drenches at least 5 or 10 bibs a day, depending on how much he throws up after eating. Sounds glamorous? Totally is.
Big brother teethes at night, but chews on things during the day. When he chews, we know he's feeling something unpleasant in his mouth, and he's trying to relieve that discomfort. He gets tons of sympathy, as long as he doesn't turn into the Terrible Two Tot. That gets very little sympathy from either of us.
However, at night, he's been waking up crying, usually looking for his pacifier. (Yes, we still give him a pacifier at night. He uses it to sleep, and we are unapologetic about it. Without the pacifier, life would suck and suck hard.)
It's the crying at night that kills me. We have considered ourselves lucky with the baby, because his five hour stretches at night usually give us enough time to recharge our batteries. But big brother waking at any given moment during his sleep has been killing us. It's interrupting important REM sleep, and this old body is not having it. In fact, it regularly tells me how displeased it is with me by giving me various bouts of illness, gastrointestinal issues, and a variety of unpleasant symptoms that are brought on by exhaustion. That and my hair falling out in clumps due to the post-pregnancy "fall" is making me one hot MILF.
Oh, Lord, please give me some sleep. Or hair.
Big brother teethes at night, but chews on things during the day. When he chews, we know he's feeling something unpleasant in his mouth, and he's trying to relieve that discomfort. He gets tons of sympathy, as long as he doesn't turn into the Terrible Two Tot. That gets very little sympathy from either of us.
However, at night, he's been waking up crying, usually looking for his pacifier. (Yes, we still give him a pacifier at night. He uses it to sleep, and we are unapologetic about it. Without the pacifier, life would suck and suck hard.)
It's the crying at night that kills me. We have considered ourselves lucky with the baby, because his five hour stretches at night usually give us enough time to recharge our batteries. But big brother waking at any given moment during his sleep has been killing us. It's interrupting important REM sleep, and this old body is not having it. In fact, it regularly tells me how displeased it is with me by giving me various bouts of illness, gastrointestinal issues, and a variety of unpleasant symptoms that are brought on by exhaustion. That and my hair falling out in clumps due to the post-pregnancy "fall" is making me one hot MILF.
Oh, Lord, please give me some sleep. Or hair.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Sleepless in the City
After reading a fellow mommy's blog, I realize what a slacker I have become when it comes to posting. I remember fondly those days of one child and blogging, and I laugh at my past self for complaining relentlessly about not having time to do things on the Internet. Ha. Hahaha.
Now I have two little boys and it has not only become difficult to find a moment of time to myself, it has become downright impossible. Without my fabulous husband, I fear I would never NOT have a child either clinging to my skirt or to my boob.
At three and a half months, my newborn is no longer a newborn. That reddish hue on his unsettled skin has become predictably soft and impossibly pink. His sleeping patterns have become more consistent at three to five hour stretches a night...more than we could have possibly asked for at this point in his life. Why are we so thankful for what seems like a pittance of sleep? We remember our first born, that's why. The wailing went on for hours...oh the wailing and screaming. And it always happened around the same time every night, right before we tried to put him down for the night. It was as if he thought he was never going to wake again. Ugh, it was straight up awful for about four months solid. We thought we might die from exhaustion.
However, our not-so-newborn took to sleep like a champ from the get go. He slept three hours at a time, all through the day and night until he hit his stride at ten weeks or so when he began stretching his night time sleep to five hours. Bliss, I tell you.
The only problem with having a baby that sleeps is that I am tempted to stay up until midnight and watch what my Tivo has saved for me. The urge to reconnect with the outside world is powerful and I never resist it for too long. Sure, it feels great to go to sleep at eight or nine, but what fun would that be? I'm missing good trash television and I need to be informed of the ins and outs of Brangelina. This is important stuff, people.
Of course at 5:30 a.m. when both boys seems to wake within twenty minutes of one another I am rueing the moment I decided that Law and Order reruns were far more important than getting to bed. It's torturous to pull my body into clothes and brush my hair...which is why my hair often looks like I have been hit repeatedly by a car. I smell bad, too. Shower? What's that? OH, THAT. No, that doesn't happen every day, either.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Reflections on the Baby Registry
I received a notice from one of the many baby registries I signed up for when I found out I was pregnant with my first. It said, "Come on! If every item is purchased off your registry, you get a special thingy! DO IT!!"
Tempted by special thingies, I looked at my registry, which had collected dust since the last time I had checked. After all, having two boys, you don't need a whole lot of things. Also, people don't WANT to give you more stuff. They feel as if they paid their dues with number one, which is understandable. We have all the boy clothes we will ever need until they reach pre-school. I'm drowning in patterns of trucks and cars and puppies and blue. I have to admit, I sometimes long for the overpriced pink baby hair clip that will be lost in two seconds flat. Enough to have a third? NOT BLOODY LIKELY.
My registry, from just a glance, was pretty well bought out. There were the straggling items, which I still need (HINT HINT GO BUY IT) and there were the things that I definitely appreciated getting when I did. All in all, I covered the basics, the cool things, the organics, the unnecessary but oh-so-adorable-I-must-have-it things that every person who has a baby should have.
So here's a list for all my pregnant friends who are expecting or will be soon (Hurry up. I need playdates.) These are the must-haves on my baby registry that made my life so much easier. These are the items we used for a newborn/infant, mind you. The toddler stuff is a much different list!
The Diaper Genie
Refills for the Diaper Genie
The Munchkin wipes warmer (made night time changes way less traumatic for everyone and has a night light button)
Pampers swaddlers diapers. Sizes nb and 1. When we moved to size 2, we changed to Huggies, which was cheaper and better for boys, it seems. No leaks.
Pampers sensitive wipes, which we used until the baby was 3 or 4 months old.
Contoured changing pad for the changing table (Non-slip bottom, bolts to the top of a dresser)
Changing pad cover
Changing table pads, at least six
City Mini Stroller
Rain cover
Console (for holding drinks, snacks, etc.)
Belly bar (for when they're a sitting up and engaging with stroller toys.)
Child tray (for when they're older and want to have a sippy cup.)
Infant car seat bar
Pack and play
Swaddle Designs ultimate receiving blanket (We have two.)
SwaddleMe Swaddlers (in all sizes)
Petunia Picklebottom blanket (super soft and huggable. My son can't sleep without his.)
Newborn pajamas (which you never get as gifts, because everyone buys you the larger sizes because babies grow "so fast.")
Newborn undershirts (short sleeve or long sleeve, for cold nights.)
Gumdrop pacifiers. Love them. (I start with the round kind.)
The Binky Bungee (super soft)
The Sleep Sheep (white noise machine. Also comes in mini sizes and other animals.)
For Crying Out Loud (or any white noise "music" cd)
The Happiest Baby on the Block (a "how-to" manual for new parents)
What to Expect When Your Expecting (a tad alarmist, but still chock-full of information)
What to Expect the First Year
Angelcare Baby Monitor (the one that comes with a non-motion detector and also doubles as a night light)
Levana video monitor (saved us many unnecessary walks to the baby's room to check on squeaks and growly noises. Also has night vision and a lullaby feature, which we never used, but was nice to have)
Petunia Picklebottom diaper bag (oh so chic and cool. And expensive. We got ours as a gift)
Kiddopotamus Snuzzler (also known in some parts as Summer Snuzzler. I got two...one for the car seat and one for the bassinet stroller)
Ergo (universally comfortable, baby faces you)
Ergo Sucking Pads
Bjorn (better for daddy frames, baby faces you, but as he/she gets older is faced away from you)
Kangaroo carrier sling (discontinued, but can be found in discount sales on some mommy sites and at used baby clothing stores like Chloe's Closet in Bernal Heights)
Breastflow bottles (sizes 1, 2, 3)
Medela breast pump-in-style
Hands-free breast pump bra
Ameda ComfortGel Hydrogel Pads
Hooter Hider or Bebe au Lait nursing cover
Nipple shields (Only if you choose this route or if you're in pain while trying to nurse. There are pros and cons to using nipple shields. Talk to your lactation specialist about it if you're unsure.)
Washable Breast pads
Mother's Milk nipple cream (slather it on)
Gerber's hot and cold pads for sore breasts. Also, hot water in a diaper applied to the breast will give you that wet heat you need to encourage milk flow.
Sterilizer (for microwave) (Although I still recommend washing in very hot water before putting your pumping equipment in. Of course, boiling is the only sure-fire no-doubt method for sterilizing. But I do love this sterilizer. It's cheap and it seems to work well.)
Drying Rack
Bottle Brush
Boppy
Boppy organic cover
Baby nail clippers (No matter what brand you get, you will have a slight heart palpitation every time you clip their teeny tiny nails. You can file them, which is what some recommend, but I chose to clip. I would wait to clip until they are at least six weeks or two months, however. My son had nails that were basically fused to his skin. When I clipped, his finger bled and I was mentally scarred for life. I cried far more than he did.)
Mustela foaming shampoo/body wash for infants (Easy to squirt on their little heads, cry-proof, dual purpose. It worked well for our sensitive boy, who was allergic to Johnson's and Johnson's shampoo.)
Washcloths (We have at least a dozen strategically placed all over the house. They're great at bath time, for both washing and to soak in warm water and place over the baby's body so he doesn't get too cold.)
Bibs (Many, many, many bibs. Preferably water-resistant, like Carter's. The drool and spit up is impressive, especially around two to three months of age.)
Nose Frieda (This worked so much better than the bulb to get the snot out of little noses.)
Waterproof crib mattress pad (We have two, to switch off in case of accidents.)
Grobag Egg Nursery Thermometer (Nice to have, although the temperature is often shown on some monitors. But it was cool!)
Braun Ear Thermometer (Some doctors have said the ear thermometers are not as reliable, but we loved this gift. It's so easy to use, and my husband has been able to take my very active son's temperature while he was asleep without waking him.)
Tempted by special thingies, I looked at my registry, which had collected dust since the last time I had checked. After all, having two boys, you don't need a whole lot of things. Also, people don't WANT to give you more stuff. They feel as if they paid their dues with number one, which is understandable. We have all the boy clothes we will ever need until they reach pre-school. I'm drowning in patterns of trucks and cars and puppies and blue. I have to admit, I sometimes long for the overpriced pink baby hair clip that will be lost in two seconds flat. Enough to have a third? NOT BLOODY LIKELY.
My registry, from just a glance, was pretty well bought out. There were the straggling items, which I still need (HINT HINT GO BUY IT) and there were the things that I definitely appreciated getting when I did. All in all, I covered the basics, the cool things, the organics, the unnecessary but oh-so-adorable-I-must-have-it things that every person who has a baby should have.
So here's a list for all my pregnant friends who are expecting or will be soon (Hurry up. I need playdates.) These are the must-haves on my baby registry that made my life so much easier. These are the items we used for a newborn/infant, mind you. The toddler stuff is a much different list!
The Diaper Genie
Refills for the Diaper Genie
The Munchkin wipes warmer (made night time changes way less traumatic for everyone and has a night light button)
Pampers swaddlers diapers. Sizes nb and 1. When we moved to size 2, we changed to Huggies, which was cheaper and better for boys, it seems. No leaks.
Pampers sensitive wipes, which we used until the baby was 3 or 4 months old.
Contoured changing pad for the changing table (Non-slip bottom, bolts to the top of a dresser)
Changing pad cover
Changing table pads, at least six
City Mini Stroller
Rain cover
Console (for holding drinks, snacks, etc.)
Belly bar (for when they're a sitting up and engaging with stroller toys.)
Child tray (for when they're older and want to have a sippy cup.)
Infant car seat bar
Pack and play
Swaddle Designs ultimate receiving blanket (We have two.)
SwaddleMe Swaddlers (in all sizes)
Petunia Picklebottom blanket (super soft and huggable. My son can't sleep without his.)
Newborn pajamas (which you never get as gifts, because everyone buys you the larger sizes because babies grow "so fast.")
Newborn undershirts (short sleeve or long sleeve, for cold nights.)
Gumdrop pacifiers. Love them. (I start with the round kind.)
The Binky Bungee (super soft)
The Sleep Sheep (white noise machine. Also comes in mini sizes and other animals.)
For Crying Out Loud (or any white noise "music" cd)
The Happiest Baby on the Block (a "how-to" manual for new parents)
What to Expect When Your Expecting (a tad alarmist, but still chock-full of information)
What to Expect the First Year
Angelcare Baby Monitor (the one that comes with a non-motion detector and also doubles as a night light)
Levana video monitor (saved us many unnecessary walks to the baby's room to check on squeaks and growly noises. Also has night vision and a lullaby feature, which we never used, but was nice to have)
Petunia Picklebottom diaper bag (oh so chic and cool. And expensive. We got ours as a gift)
Kiddopotamus Snuzzler (also known in some parts as Summer Snuzzler. I got two...one for the car seat and one for the bassinet stroller)
Ergo (universally comfortable, baby faces you)
Ergo Sucking Pads
Bjorn (better for daddy frames, baby faces you, but as he/she gets older is faced away from you)
Kangaroo carrier sling (discontinued, but can be found in discount sales on some mommy sites and at used baby clothing stores like Chloe's Closet in Bernal Heights)
Breastflow bottles (sizes 1, 2, 3)
Medela breast pump-in-style
Hands-free breast pump bra
Ameda ComfortGel Hydrogel Pads
Hooter Hider or Bebe au Lait nursing cover
Nipple shields (Only if you choose this route or if you're in pain while trying to nurse. There are pros and cons to using nipple shields. Talk to your lactation specialist about it if you're unsure.)
Washable Breast pads
Mother's Milk nipple cream (slather it on)
Gerber's hot and cold pads for sore breasts. Also, hot water in a diaper applied to the breast will give you that wet heat you need to encourage milk flow.
Sterilizer (for microwave) (Although I still recommend washing in very hot water before putting your pumping equipment in. Of course, boiling is the only sure-fire no-doubt method for sterilizing. But I do love this sterilizer. It's cheap and it seems to work well.)
Drying Rack
Bottle Brush
Boppy
Boppy organic cover
Baby nail clippers (No matter what brand you get, you will have a slight heart palpitation every time you clip their teeny tiny nails. You can file them, which is what some recommend, but I chose to clip. I would wait to clip until they are at least six weeks or two months, however. My son had nails that were basically fused to his skin. When I clipped, his finger bled and I was mentally scarred for life. I cried far more than he did.)
Mustela foaming shampoo/body wash for infants (Easy to squirt on their little heads, cry-proof, dual purpose. It worked well for our sensitive boy, who was allergic to Johnson's and Johnson's shampoo.)
Washcloths (We have at least a dozen strategically placed all over the house. They're great at bath time, for both washing and to soak in warm water and place over the baby's body so he doesn't get too cold.)
Bibs (Many, many, many bibs. Preferably water-resistant, like Carter's. The drool and spit up is impressive, especially around two to three months of age.)
Nose Frieda (This worked so much better than the bulb to get the snot out of little noses.)
Waterproof crib mattress pad (We have two, to switch off in case of accidents.)
Grobag Egg Nursery Thermometer (Nice to have, although the temperature is often shown on some monitors. But it was cool!)
Braun Ear Thermometer (Some doctors have said the ear thermometers are not as reliable, but we loved this gift. It's so easy to use, and my husband has been able to take my very active son's temperature while he was asleep without waking him.)
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Spelling Bee
Tonight after a fairly gag-worthy dinner (not because of my cooking, mind you. Have you ever eaten with an almost two-year-old? 'Nuff said) the topic of E-L-M-O came up.
Sidebar: How do you know a person is a parent? They spell fast. Almost as fast and furiously as they eat their dinner in a restaurant with two kids under the age of three. That's really fast, y'all.
Now back to the topic at hand. E-L-M-O has been the bane of my existence for as long as I can remember, and even before I had children. I just hated E-L-M-O and his squeaky little voice and his stupid dancing stuffed animal robot thing that creeps me out just thinking about it. Ewww.
Now that I have these two mini-me kids in my house, E-L-M-O has been a daily exercise in tolerance. I watch him only when I absolutely have to, since just the sight of him gives me hives. We have never turned on the television in front of the tasmanian tot, so he doesn't even know what it is, except something that he can MacGyver his way into destroying. However, technology has bitten us in the ass. Elmo is on YouTube.
We watch E-L-M-O on the iPad and my iPhone. The very sight of these two electrical things makes the boy quiver with excitement and squeal, "EH-MO, WATCH WIT MOM-MY." How am I supposed to resist that? I CAN'T.
So we lay together in the morning, me holding the iPhone in one hand, precariously balancing it on my husband's hip or a pillow. I turn on the longest running E-L-M-O video I can find and try to go to sleep for five minutes or so with my arm in a jacked up position, hoping the blood won't drain out of it before the clip ends.
Is one clip enough? HELL NO. We watch clip after clip after clip. I have memorized most of the songs, and can even do the inflections and slides with Patti LaBelle. Not that I'm comparing myself to Patti LaBelle, mind you. I might give a Patti LaBelle impersonator a run for his/her money, however.
Basically, Sesame Street should hire me to be on their show. I know all the music. I know the entire set by heart. I know the characters, the monsters, the guest stars, the gaffer. And they owe me. They owe me big. Creating E-L-M-O has taken over any semblance of the normal non-puppet life I used to take for granted.
We put the iPad and iPhone away. We hid them and basically tried to Hitchcock his little butt by pretending he had just imagined them. Elmo? What's that? A type of vegetable? Never heard of it.
But he's not easily fooled, this one. He's smart, which I blame on the manufacturers of DHA and Omega 3 supplements that I have been choking down every day for three years. All those pregnancy sites and doctors said it would build fabulous brain development in babies. They never warned me of the babies that would use those big fat brains for EVIL.
So tonight, when the topic of E-L-M-O came up between my husband and I, I spelled my sentence carefully, as I usually do. "Did you put the iPad away? If he sees it he will want to watch E-L-M-O before bed."
Then I heard it. A little voice. "Watch. ELMO."
My greatest fears realized. A two year old who can spell. And just when I was getting good at spelling out swear words. How am I supposed to be a grown up now?!
Sidebar: How do you know a person is a parent? They spell fast. Almost as fast and furiously as they eat their dinner in a restaurant with two kids under the age of three. That's really fast, y'all.
Now back to the topic at hand. E-L-M-O has been the bane of my existence for as long as I can remember, and even before I had children. I just hated E-L-M-O and his squeaky little voice and his stupid dancing stuffed animal robot thing that creeps me out just thinking about it. Ewww.
Now that I have these two mini-me kids in my house, E-L-M-O has been a daily exercise in tolerance. I watch him only when I absolutely have to, since just the sight of him gives me hives. We have never turned on the television in front of the tasmanian tot, so he doesn't even know what it is, except something that he can MacGyver his way into destroying. However, technology has bitten us in the ass. Elmo is on YouTube.
We watch E-L-M-O on the iPad and my iPhone. The very sight of these two electrical things makes the boy quiver with excitement and squeal, "EH-MO, WATCH WIT MOM-MY." How am I supposed to resist that? I CAN'T.
So we lay together in the morning, me holding the iPhone in one hand, precariously balancing it on my husband's hip or a pillow. I turn on the longest running E-L-M-O video I can find and try to go to sleep for five minutes or so with my arm in a jacked up position, hoping the blood won't drain out of it before the clip ends.
Is one clip enough? HELL NO. We watch clip after clip after clip. I have memorized most of the songs, and can even do the inflections and slides with Patti LaBelle. Not that I'm comparing myself to Patti LaBelle, mind you. I might give a Patti LaBelle impersonator a run for his/her money, however.
Basically, Sesame Street should hire me to be on their show. I know all the music. I know the entire set by heart. I know the characters, the monsters, the guest stars, the gaffer. And they owe me. They owe me big. Creating E-L-M-O has taken over any semblance of the normal non-puppet life I used to take for granted.
We put the iPad and iPhone away. We hid them and basically tried to Hitchcock his little butt by pretending he had just imagined them. Elmo? What's that? A type of vegetable? Never heard of it.
But he's not easily fooled, this one. He's smart, which I blame on the manufacturers of DHA and Omega 3 supplements that I have been choking down every day for three years. All those pregnancy sites and doctors said it would build fabulous brain development in babies. They never warned me of the babies that would use those big fat brains for EVIL.
So tonight, when the topic of E-L-M-O came up between my husband and I, I spelled my sentence carefully, as I usually do. "Did you put the iPad away? If he sees it he will want to watch E-L-M-O before bed."
Then I heard it. A little voice. "Watch. ELMO."
My greatest fears realized. A two year old who can spell. And just when I was getting good at spelling out swear words. How am I supposed to be a grown up now?!
Saturday, May 28, 2011
The Complaints Box
Every household should have one. And it should be hung right on the door exiting the house, so as not to miss it while life whirls past. There should be a complaint box because no one ever lets me complain about anything out loud...ever.
Apparently, it's forbidden once you have a baby. Sounds odd, considering having a baby is tough work, consisting of giving selflessly of yourself 24/7 for...well...EVER. There's no break to be had until you are resting comfortably on your satin pillow seven feet under ground. You will always be a parent, always be worried, always be afraid of losing what you love most in the world. For a OCD like myself, that's a recipe for a lot of sleepless nights.
I've been complaining a lot lately, almost indignant about the sore nipples, sagging skin, sleep deprivation, lack of communication with my spouse, my friends, or any adult, for that matter. I complain for the greater good, for if I didn't vent my parental angst, I would simply explode like the ticking time bomb I have become. Once that little person is born from you, you are born into a new person...one that is all at once in love, nurturing, motherly, compassionate, caring, exhausted, lonely, depressed, binge eating, cranky, bitchy, resentful and spiteful of the childless people of the world who get to sleep in and eat at fancy restaurants at 8:00 at night. Lucky bastards.
Confusing? You bet. Having children is the best thing I have ever experienced in my life, and will no doubt continue to reward me throughout my life. However, it seems that instantaneous gratitude comes with conditions.
Apparently, it's forbidden once you have a baby. Sounds odd, considering having a baby is tough work, consisting of giving selflessly of yourself 24/7 for...well...EVER. There's no break to be had until you are resting comfortably on your satin pillow seven feet under ground. You will always be a parent, always be worried, always be afraid of losing what you love most in the world. For a OCD like myself, that's a recipe for a lot of sleepless nights.
I've been complaining a lot lately, almost indignant about the sore nipples, sagging skin, sleep deprivation, lack of communication with my spouse, my friends, or any adult, for that matter. I complain for the greater good, for if I didn't vent my parental angst, I would simply explode like the ticking time bomb I have become. Once that little person is born from you, you are born into a new person...one that is all at once in love, nurturing, motherly, compassionate, caring, exhausted, lonely, depressed, binge eating, cranky, bitchy, resentful and spiteful of the childless people of the world who get to sleep in and eat at fancy restaurants at 8:00 at night. Lucky bastards.
Confusing? You bet. Having children is the best thing I have ever experienced in my life, and will no doubt continue to reward me throughout my life. However, it seems that instantaneous gratitude comes with conditions.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Feeling Like a Million Bleahs
The sinking feeling of depression has set in yet again, as I anticipated it would. I waited for it like I was waiting for a late bus. No matter how much I hoped, I just knew in my gut there was no way to avoid post-partum depression.
I'm isolated with a baby, a toddler, and a husband who is preoccupied with the excitement/exhaustion of having a new addition to our already energetic family. My friends have come and gone in limited quantity, and none are staying around this time...the second baby isn't the same. People just don't think it's that big a deal, and it's definitely not the new experience that always had my heart racing with my first. But without company, it has become lonely. I'm looking around for me time and coming up woefully short.
There are some distinct differences with the depression this time around. It's far less relentless, and it strikes at unpredictable times of the day and for no reason at all. It's also less consistent than with my first round. Instead of being a sob-fest of guilt and self-pity, it has manifested itself in a way that is indescribably horrible.
You see, I have these images of my kids being hurt. My kids, my family, my life...being killed by various, nameless ghouls. And not just killed, but murdered in ways I do not care to rethink. It's pretty horrific, and always so unforgivingly graphic, almost cinematic in its clarity. Sometimes I have to close my eyes tight and shake my head violently to get it out of my mind. And sometimes, that just doesn't work.
When I mentioned it to my lactation nurse, she said that it was best if I stop watching the news, crime shows, reality crime shows, anything to do with kids being hurt, people being hurt, the world being in turmoil.
So in other words, that excludes all television, radio, print newspapers and/or magazines. I might as well seal myself up in a bubble and send myself to the North Pole.
I realize that the images and daynightmares are all a part of my psyche trying to process the stress of having a newborn and a toddler and no down time at all. There's also the stress of no paycheck for over a year, which seems to magnify when I pay the bills and realize we have to dip into our savings to pay Mastercard.
I spoke to my obgyn about it at my last visit. As she was inspecting the c-section incision (which is healing nicely, thank you) I asked her if she thought I needed to see a therapist. Surprisingly, she said no. "I think that's normal." She said without a hint of concern in her voice. "I had a friend who had exactly the same thing happen."
The question that sits on my chest, making it hard to breathe is: Is it better to be crying into my breast pump all day long for months? Or to live in fear that something will take away everything I have? The saying goes, "The more you have, the more you have to lose."
I guess I have taken that a little too much to heart.
I'm isolated with a baby, a toddler, and a husband who is preoccupied with the excitement/exhaustion of having a new addition to our already energetic family. My friends have come and gone in limited quantity, and none are staying around this time...the second baby isn't the same. People just don't think it's that big a deal, and it's definitely not the new experience that always had my heart racing with my first. But without company, it has become lonely. I'm looking around for me time and coming up woefully short.
There are some distinct differences with the depression this time around. It's far less relentless, and it strikes at unpredictable times of the day and for no reason at all. It's also less consistent than with my first round. Instead of being a sob-fest of guilt and self-pity, it has manifested itself in a way that is indescribably horrible.
You see, I have these images of my kids being hurt. My kids, my family, my life...being killed by various, nameless ghouls. And not just killed, but murdered in ways I do not care to rethink. It's pretty horrific, and always so unforgivingly graphic, almost cinematic in its clarity. Sometimes I have to close my eyes tight and shake my head violently to get it out of my mind. And sometimes, that just doesn't work.
When I mentioned it to my lactation nurse, she said that it was best if I stop watching the news, crime shows, reality crime shows, anything to do with kids being hurt, people being hurt, the world being in turmoil.
So in other words, that excludes all television, radio, print newspapers and/or magazines. I might as well seal myself up in a bubble and send myself to the North Pole.
I realize that the images and daynightmares are all a part of my psyche trying to process the stress of having a newborn and a toddler and no down time at all. There's also the stress of no paycheck for over a year, which seems to magnify when I pay the bills and realize we have to dip into our savings to pay Mastercard.
I spoke to my obgyn about it at my last visit. As she was inspecting the c-section incision (which is healing nicely, thank you) I asked her if she thought I needed to see a therapist. Surprisingly, she said no. "I think that's normal." She said without a hint of concern in her voice. "I had a friend who had exactly the same thing happen."
The question that sits on my chest, making it hard to breathe is: Is it better to be crying into my breast pump all day long for months? Or to live in fear that something will take away everything I have? The saying goes, "The more you have, the more you have to lose."
I guess I have taken that a little too much to heart.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Compare and Contrast
I know your not supposed to compare kids. But here's the skinny on the differences I've noticed between my two boys.
The baby screams when he's hungry, screams when he's being changed, screams when he's being dressed...but totally quiet and content when he's not.
He is also an eating machine. I don't ever remember the tot eating as much as this baby does. He eats every hour, if he can get away with it. And he is constantly rooting, opening his mouth, sticking his tongue out. He's on the hunt for anything he can possibly get in his stomach. The lactation nurse suggested this might be gas, however. This would explain the red-faced grunting.
He sleeps through anything. With a toddler brother and his friends at the house, constantly screaming and yelling and banging their toys on everything, this baby has slept for hours on end through the noise. It amazes us, since the tot used to wake up to me turning on my cel phone.
He sleeps without screaming for two hours before bedtime. The tot used to scream his head off for at least two hours, sometimes more. It drove my husband and I insane for at least two months. There was no rhyme or reason to these fits...he just didn't like going to bed. And when he woke up the next day, he was the happiest baby on the block. It was Jekyll and Hyde baby with the tot. With this baby, it's quiet, relaxing evenings. He simply drifts off to sleep on most nights, unless there's an evil gas bubble lurking.
Other than that, they're both very cute, very boy, and both are keeping me running around like a maniac. Partners in crime. I'm doomed.
The baby screams when he's hungry, screams when he's being changed, screams when he's being dressed...but totally quiet and content when he's not.
He is also an eating machine. I don't ever remember the tot eating as much as this baby does. He eats every hour, if he can get away with it. And he is constantly rooting, opening his mouth, sticking his tongue out. He's on the hunt for anything he can possibly get in his stomach. The lactation nurse suggested this might be gas, however. This would explain the red-faced grunting.
He sleeps through anything. With a toddler brother and his friends at the house, constantly screaming and yelling and banging their toys on everything, this baby has slept for hours on end through the noise. It amazes us, since the tot used to wake up to me turning on my cel phone.
He sleeps without screaming for two hours before bedtime. The tot used to scream his head off for at least two hours, sometimes more. It drove my husband and I insane for at least two months. There was no rhyme or reason to these fits...he just didn't like going to bed. And when he woke up the next day, he was the happiest baby on the block. It was Jekyll and Hyde baby with the tot. With this baby, it's quiet, relaxing evenings. He simply drifts off to sleep on most nights, unless there's an evil gas bubble lurking.
Other than that, they're both very cute, very boy, and both are keeping me running around like a maniac. Partners in crime. I'm doomed.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Potty Training the Tot
at 18 months, the kid went poop in the potty the other day, and I must say, I've never been this excited about poop before.
Here's the deal. After his bath, he walked over to the potty and sat, which is not unusual since the husband has been trying to get him to sit every time they change his diaper.
When he was sitting, he said, "Poop. Pooooop!" Also, not a big shocker, since my husband has read him books about potty time and poop every time they've stepped foot in the bathroom.
When the boy stood up, my husband noticed something on his butt. He thought, "Oh, crap, he has poo on his ass."
But when he looked at the potty, THERE IT WAS. Yes, my son pooped in the potty. All can rejoice the poop.
Here's the deal. After his bath, he walked over to the potty and sat, which is not unusual since the husband has been trying to get him to sit every time they change his diaper.
When he was sitting, he said, "Poop. Pooooop!" Also, not a big shocker, since my husband has read him books about potty time and poop every time they've stepped foot in the bathroom.
When the boy stood up, my husband noticed something on his butt. He thought, "Oh, crap, he has poo on his ass."
But when he looked at the potty, THERE IT WAS. Yes, my son pooped in the potty. All can rejoice the poop.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Breast Feeding the Second Time Around
NOT easy the second time around. Everyone who told me it was...LIES, ALL LIES. Or maybe it's me and my boobs. With my first son, it was painful, but gradually so. This time, it was excruciating right off the bat. I was instructed to pump in lieu of feeding because of the incredible discomfort. My first pump was an ounce of bright red blood. Gross, to say the least.
I had blisters, abrasions, scabbed-over nipples...the first two weeks were brutal. I decided not to mess around and go to my favorite lactation nurse again. She took one look at the baby's mouth and suggested getting his frenulum snipped, just like his brother did.
Once we had the procedure done, (which was far more harrowing for me than for the baby) he seemed to latch on better, but still chomped me like he was in the Donner party. My milk had come in full-force and was making him cough and gag from the let-down. I was instructed by the nurse to pump six times a day, which made me tear up in anticipation of how much work it was going to be to get this baby some breast milk.
By "work" I mean pumping for 10 to 20 to 30 minutes, six times a day. That's in addition to washing and sterilizing everything over and over again to avoid the dreaded MASTITIS. Yes, I said MASTITIS. And whenever I say it, or anyone else says it, I shiver with dread. It's the breast feeding mom's equivalent of saying VOLDEMORT in Harry Potter books.
But here's the thing...pumping helps drain your milk, which helps prevent plugged ducts, which is a big reason women GET mastitis. For that reason, and for the nourishment of my newborn, I will endlessly pump my poor, National Geographic looking boobs until I get this breast feeding down.
I had blisters, abrasions, scabbed-over nipples...the first two weeks were brutal. I decided not to mess around and go to my favorite lactation nurse again. She took one look at the baby's mouth and suggested getting his frenulum snipped, just like his brother did.
Once we had the procedure done, (which was far more harrowing for me than for the baby) he seemed to latch on better, but still chomped me like he was in the Donner party. My milk had come in full-force and was making him cough and gag from the let-down. I was instructed by the nurse to pump six times a day, which made me tear up in anticipation of how much work it was going to be to get this baby some breast milk.
By "work" I mean pumping for 10 to 20 to 30 minutes, six times a day. That's in addition to washing and sterilizing everything over and over again to avoid the dreaded MASTITIS. Yes, I said MASTITIS. And whenever I say it, or anyone else says it, I shiver with dread. It's the breast feeding mom's equivalent of saying VOLDEMORT in Harry Potter books.
But here's the thing...pumping helps drain your milk, which helps prevent plugged ducts, which is a big reason women GET mastitis. For that reason, and for the nourishment of my newborn, I will endlessly pump my poor, National Geographic looking boobs until I get this breast feeding down.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Losing the Pregnancy Weight...Again.
I was 172 before the birth. 12 days later and I'm at 147. Today (4/10) I weighed in at 145. The all-you-can-stuff-in-your-face-before-passing-out breast feeding diet has begun!
Sunday, April 3, 2011
There's a Newborn in the House
There's a newborn in the house, and he's waking up at 1, 3, and 5 a.m. Sometimes he lets us sleep a good 4 hours uninterrupted, but then we had the tot to give us a wake-up call at 5:59 a.m. Thoughtful boy.
Speaking of the tot, he's been acting a little off lately, which we have been mostly categorizing in the "TANTRUM" files. It's been a daily thing, these annoying breakdowns, which I'm sure will pass eventually. And if they don't, I'm moving to Finland. They're pretty unbearable when you're nipples are sore and raw and you're post-partum hormones are making you want to punch and hug simultaneously.
I started noticing the strange change in his behavior about a week after we brought his brother home from Labor and Delivery. At first, there was no change at all. He seemed to be fine, just hanging out and doing his normal thing. We both figured he was just waiting it out, seeing when this baby was going home to HIS mommy and daddy.
When the baby stayed, the tot started getting squealy. He started crying at any given moment for what seemed like no reason at all. He also started getting more tenacious, stubborn, and would hold his ground until it came to a showdown between parent and tot. Tot usually loses, but I must admit to giving in on occasion. What can I say? I felt bad for the little man, dealing with this littler man invading his space.
The tot also started lying on the baby's pillows, saying, "Sleep...sleeeeep!" He's also been trying to crawl into the baby's bassinet while saying the baby's name, which at first I thought was adorable. Now, I think he may be trying to eat the baby.
But mostly, it's just the screaming fits of inconsolable crying that gets me down. I know he's going through a change. I also know he's 18 months. People always complain about the "Terrible Twos." But really, it's the terrible 1 1/2s you need to be concerned about. Two is easy. They can talk and communicate fairly well. They understand consequence and reward in a somewhat cognitive way. You can reason with a two year old, if you have the patience for it.
However, 1 1/2? Not so much. Add a newborn brother to the mix and you get an explosive combination of confused jealousy and uninhibited resentment. Fun for all!
Speaking of the tot, he's been acting a little off lately, which we have been mostly categorizing in the "TANTRUM" files. It's been a daily thing, these annoying breakdowns, which I'm sure will pass eventually. And if they don't, I'm moving to Finland. They're pretty unbearable when you're nipples are sore and raw and you're post-partum hormones are making you want to punch and hug simultaneously.
I started noticing the strange change in his behavior about a week after we brought his brother home from Labor and Delivery. At first, there was no change at all. He seemed to be fine, just hanging out and doing his normal thing. We both figured he was just waiting it out, seeing when this baby was going home to HIS mommy and daddy.
When the baby stayed, the tot started getting squealy. He started crying at any given moment for what seemed like no reason at all. He also started getting more tenacious, stubborn, and would hold his ground until it came to a showdown between parent and tot. Tot usually loses, but I must admit to giving in on occasion. What can I say? I felt bad for the little man, dealing with this littler man invading his space.
The tot also started lying on the baby's pillows, saying, "Sleep...sleeeeep!" He's also been trying to crawl into the baby's bassinet while saying the baby's name, which at first I thought was adorable. Now, I think he may be trying to eat the baby.
But mostly, it's just the screaming fits of inconsolable crying that gets me down. I know he's going through a change. I also know he's 18 months. People always complain about the "Terrible Twos." But really, it's the terrible 1 1/2s you need to be concerned about. Two is easy. They can talk and communicate fairly well. They understand consequence and reward in a somewhat cognitive way. You can reason with a two year old, if you have the patience for it.
However, 1 1/2? Not so much. Add a newborn brother to the mix and you get an explosive combination of confused jealousy and uninhibited resentment. Fun for all!
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Birth Story Redux
I went to see the doc and she poked around in the nether-regions for a bit. When she looked at me, there was a distinct crease in her brow. "You're three centimeters." she said with concern.
Just two days before I had had a version, which was an attempt to turn the baby from transverse to engaged (head down in the cervix.) My baby was not so cooperative, which may not bode so well for me when he's born if this is his attitude about life.
Now my baby was completely breech, which meant his feet were doing a Riverdance on my cervix and he was standing up inside me, using my insides as punching bags. I could feel him moving all over the place all the time, never breaking for a moment.
And now my doctor was looking at me with concern, saying I was three centimeters dilated. This was a problem, she said, because if I continued to have contractions, I could dilate further. And if my water broke, the cord could slip out before the baby which would be a major concern.
So now I was worried. After the version failed, the doctors hastily scheduled a cesarian for April 1st. Yes, our baby was a planned April Fool's Day kid, forever to be joked, teased, tortured on his birthday. And we CHOSE that date. Sadistic parents.
But now my doctor was saying she wanted that baby out...now. She wanted to schedule it for the following day, the 24th of March. I asked for a day to schedule a sitter for our toddler, and she hesitantly agreed to make it the 25th. Stress attacked my nervous system and I started tearing up from the impending freak out.
When I explained everything to my husband, he went into immediate planning mode, called several people and got things packed for the hospital. We were ready to go within an hour. Dealing with the idea of being cut open and having my organs shuffled around was weighing heavy on my mind, and the guilt of leaving my toddler overnight for the first time in his life was literally knifing me in the heart. I felt like things were out of control and quickly spiraling towards crazy-town.
I slept fitfully that night, and the next morning I woke up with what felt like a stomach ache. Perhaps I had stored all that stress inside and it was causing gastrointestinal distress, I thought. But as the morning wore on, I felt twinges and pangs of pain that were unfamiliar. During my pregnancy with my toddler, I didn't have a single Braxon-Hicks contraction, barely a twitch. When the labor started, it hit like a wall of bricks.
This pregnancy I had felt Braxton-Hicks throughout the third trimester, although I hardly noticed it at first. Now, I noticed it. Boy howdy, did I notice it. The contractions were steady, uncomfortable and predictable. I remembered what my doctor had told me the day before...if the contractions were ten minutes apart or less, call Labor and Delivery and go in.
She had tried to get my c-section planned for two days after my last appointment, but the head of the department had shut her down, saying they had a policy about c-sections being performed only at 39 weeks or over. I was just hitting 38 weeks, and although my doctor told me not to worry, the tone in her voice was not convincing.
Now I was contracting regularly...five minutes apart, to be exact. My husband called Labor and Delivery and told them the situation. My toddler was playing with his friend, who was visiting for the day. No one could watch them right away, so I drove myself to the E.R. and prayed for clear roads.
The drive to the hospital was nothing short of white-knuckled and intense. The pain of the contractions kept me alert to how easy it would be to drive into a light pole during a painful cramp. The weather had turned nasty and the wind was throwing buckets of rain onto the car, making for a very dramatic scene.
I arrived at the parking lot and wobbled the two blocks to the E.R. waiting room. Drenched and shivering from the cold, I told them I was in labor. To their credit, they didn't wait for the baby to drop on the floor and whisked me away in a wheelchair to Labor and Delivery, where I was given only a minute to grasp the situation.
The doctor checked my cervix...four centimeters. The contractions had become increasingly more and more intense as I lay on the bed. Being the wimpy gal I am, I quickly asked for pain medication.
Doctors flew in and out of the room, nurses checked the baby's pulse, and everyone asked me the same question, "Is your husband coming?"
"Yes, he is. And if he isn't here soon I will kill him." I answered with a not-so-sincere laugh.
The reason everyone kept asking if my husband was coming was because they wanted to cut me...soon. And it wasn't a matter of if he showed up or not. They were going to get the baby out within 30 minutes.
Husband showed up in the nick of time. I was rushed into the O/R and given a series of shots in my back, a spinal tap, which numbed me from the chest down. It was so odd, the sensation of no sensation. At one point, I panicked because when I tried to cough, I couldn't. The helplessness was overwhelming.
Once I was numbed up, my husband was allowed in. He held my hand, told me it was ok, and not to be scared. My fears were multiplying with the controlled chaos of the room. Technicians and doctors were all around, shoving things in my IV, my nose, my mouth. It was too much all at once, and at breakneck speed.
They finally cut, and within five minutes, baby boy was out and screaming his disapproval of the whole scene. Two weeks early and totally unexpected, at 8 lbs, 13 oz, he had arrived. Healthy, high apgar, and with a perfectly round head (thanks, c-section!)
Just two days before I had had a version, which was an attempt to turn the baby from transverse to engaged (head down in the cervix.) My baby was not so cooperative, which may not bode so well for me when he's born if this is his attitude about life.
Now my baby was completely breech, which meant his feet were doing a Riverdance on my cervix and he was standing up inside me, using my insides as punching bags. I could feel him moving all over the place all the time, never breaking for a moment.
And now my doctor was looking at me with concern, saying I was three centimeters dilated. This was a problem, she said, because if I continued to have contractions, I could dilate further. And if my water broke, the cord could slip out before the baby which would be a major concern.
So now I was worried. After the version failed, the doctors hastily scheduled a cesarian for April 1st. Yes, our baby was a planned April Fool's Day kid, forever to be joked, teased, tortured on his birthday. And we CHOSE that date. Sadistic parents.
But now my doctor was saying she wanted that baby out...now. She wanted to schedule it for the following day, the 24th of March. I asked for a day to schedule a sitter for our toddler, and she hesitantly agreed to make it the 25th. Stress attacked my nervous system and I started tearing up from the impending freak out.
When I explained everything to my husband, he went into immediate planning mode, called several people and got things packed for the hospital. We were ready to go within an hour. Dealing with the idea of being cut open and having my organs shuffled around was weighing heavy on my mind, and the guilt of leaving my toddler overnight for the first time in his life was literally knifing me in the heart. I felt like things were out of control and quickly spiraling towards crazy-town.
I slept fitfully that night, and the next morning I woke up with what felt like a stomach ache. Perhaps I had stored all that stress inside and it was causing gastrointestinal distress, I thought. But as the morning wore on, I felt twinges and pangs of pain that were unfamiliar. During my pregnancy with my toddler, I didn't have a single Braxon-Hicks contraction, barely a twitch. When the labor started, it hit like a wall of bricks.
This pregnancy I had felt Braxton-Hicks throughout the third trimester, although I hardly noticed it at first. Now, I noticed it. Boy howdy, did I notice it. The contractions were steady, uncomfortable and predictable. I remembered what my doctor had told me the day before...if the contractions were ten minutes apart or less, call Labor and Delivery and go in.
She had tried to get my c-section planned for two days after my last appointment, but the head of the department had shut her down, saying they had a policy about c-sections being performed only at 39 weeks or over. I was just hitting 38 weeks, and although my doctor told me not to worry, the tone in her voice was not convincing.
Now I was contracting regularly...five minutes apart, to be exact. My husband called Labor and Delivery and told them the situation. My toddler was playing with his friend, who was visiting for the day. No one could watch them right away, so I drove myself to the E.R. and prayed for clear roads.
The drive to the hospital was nothing short of white-knuckled and intense. The pain of the contractions kept me alert to how easy it would be to drive into a light pole during a painful cramp. The weather had turned nasty and the wind was throwing buckets of rain onto the car, making for a very dramatic scene.
I arrived at the parking lot and wobbled the two blocks to the E.R. waiting room. Drenched and shivering from the cold, I told them I was in labor. To their credit, they didn't wait for the baby to drop on the floor and whisked me away in a wheelchair to Labor and Delivery, where I was given only a minute to grasp the situation.
The doctor checked my cervix...four centimeters. The contractions had become increasingly more and more intense as I lay on the bed. Being the wimpy gal I am, I quickly asked for pain medication.
Doctors flew in and out of the room, nurses checked the baby's pulse, and everyone asked me the same question, "Is your husband coming?"
"Yes, he is. And if he isn't here soon I will kill him." I answered with a not-so-sincere laugh.
The reason everyone kept asking if my husband was coming was because they wanted to cut me...soon. And it wasn't a matter of if he showed up or not. They were going to get the baby out within 30 minutes.
Husband showed up in the nick of time. I was rushed into the O/R and given a series of shots in my back, a spinal tap, which numbed me from the chest down. It was so odd, the sensation of no sensation. At one point, I panicked because when I tried to cough, I couldn't. The helplessness was overwhelming.
Once I was numbed up, my husband was allowed in. He held my hand, told me it was ok, and not to be scared. My fears were multiplying with the controlled chaos of the room. Technicians and doctors were all around, shoving things in my IV, my nose, my mouth. It was too much all at once, and at breakneck speed.
They finally cut, and within five minutes, baby boy was out and screaming his disapproval of the whole scene. Two weeks early and totally unexpected, at 8 lbs, 13 oz, he had arrived. Healthy, high apgar, and with a perfectly round head (thanks, c-section!)
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
A Version of a Version
I knew it. The baby is transverse. Sideways. I could tell because the kid kicks me all the live long day, and not gently. He puts all his weight into it as if to say, "HEY, NO SLEEP FOR YOU, HUMAN INCUBATOR." It has been a very bumpy ride so far.
I also knew when I would dare look in the full-length mirror without clothes and see that my belly looked like I had swallowed a chopping board. It was very obvious this baby was either Stewie from Family Guy or transverse.
So the doctor took one look on the sonogram at my last appointment and officially declared it, and I said, "CALLED IT" rather loudly. She laughed, and then paused uncomfortably before launching into her explanation as to why I should have this procedure that would correct the baby's position and land his head in my cervix. A version.
A version requires me to actually go to Labor and Delivery and get a shot of medicine that will prevent contractions. They insert an IV, which is always fun, and then give fluids to make sure I'm hydrated just in case I go into labor and have an emergency c-section. Also fun.
When the medicine is given, the doctors take 15-20 minutes of the baby's heartbeat. Then two doctors push on my lubed up belly. One pushes toward my chest, and the other pushes toward my cervix.
When I asked people about the procedure, most online said, "Oh, it's not painful. Just uncomfortable. They gave me pain meds and an epidural" I wasn't worried so much as curious when I got to the hospital to have it done. I was so comfortable with the idea of the version that I didn't have my husband accompany me, just a good friend in case I needed her to call him for an emergency.
However, I didn't get pain meds. Nor did I receive an epidural. When the doctors started applying Herculean pressure onto my stomach, they squeezed out tears. I'm here to say to all the online ladies that have had painless versions, MY VERSION HURT.
It hurt like a mother. I couldn't imagine a worse pre-labor moment. It was pain times ten.
I can't recommend the version for anyone with a pain threshold like mine, which is this: I can handle pushing a 8 lb 3 oz baby out of my vagina. That's how much a version hurt me.
And in the end, it didn't friggin' work. The doctor tried...twice. After the second attempt she looked at me and said, "It seems like he's pretty darn comfortable where he is. Do you want to try a third time?"
To which I believe I said, "HELL no."
To add insult to injury, when they did a final sonogram to make sure the baby was ok, they found he had turned...to a complete breech position. Basically, he went in the opposite direction, just to be spiteful.
Yeah, no more versions for me, thanks.
I also knew when I would dare look in the full-length mirror without clothes and see that my belly looked like I had swallowed a chopping board. It was very obvious this baby was either Stewie from Family Guy or transverse.
So the doctor took one look on the sonogram at my last appointment and officially declared it, and I said, "CALLED IT" rather loudly. She laughed, and then paused uncomfortably before launching into her explanation as to why I should have this procedure that would correct the baby's position and land his head in my cervix. A version.
A version requires me to actually go to Labor and Delivery and get a shot of medicine that will prevent contractions. They insert an IV, which is always fun, and then give fluids to make sure I'm hydrated just in case I go into labor and have an emergency c-section. Also fun.
When the medicine is given, the doctors take 15-20 minutes of the baby's heartbeat. Then two doctors push on my lubed up belly. One pushes toward my chest, and the other pushes toward my cervix.
When I asked people about the procedure, most online said, "Oh, it's not painful. Just uncomfortable. They gave me pain meds and an epidural" I wasn't worried so much as curious when I got to the hospital to have it done. I was so comfortable with the idea of the version that I didn't have my husband accompany me, just a good friend in case I needed her to call him for an emergency.
However, I didn't get pain meds. Nor did I receive an epidural. When the doctors started applying Herculean pressure onto my stomach, they squeezed out tears. I'm here to say to all the online ladies that have had painless versions, MY VERSION HURT.
It hurt like a mother. I couldn't imagine a worse pre-labor moment. It was pain times ten.
I can't recommend the version for anyone with a pain threshold like mine, which is this: I can handle pushing a 8 lb 3 oz baby out of my vagina. That's how much a version hurt me.
And in the end, it didn't friggin' work. The doctor tried...twice. After the second attempt she looked at me and said, "It seems like he's pretty darn comfortable where he is. Do you want to try a third time?"
To which I believe I said, "HELL no."
To add insult to injury, when they did a final sonogram to make sure the baby was ok, they found he had turned...to a complete breech position. Basically, he went in the opposite direction, just to be spiteful.
Yeah, no more versions for me, thanks.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
The Flu + Pink Eye + 8 Months Pregnant = ONE SEXY BEAST
The flu hit my house like a brick through a window. There was no warning, no preventative medicine, no hope once it arrived. My husband had it first, which I thought was a simple cold. But suddenly, it morphed into a nasty, snot-filled, coughing, phlegm-coated hot mess. I had coughing fits that required dozens upon dozens of pairs of underwear, due to the incontinence issue that has been plaguing me since my first born arrived. I also sneezed quite frequently, which required a second dozen pairs of underwear. Obviously, my hotness factor was out of control.
I was in the urgent care room with a doctor with the personality of a stale piece of bread. He took a culture for strep, handed me a prescription for Robitussin with codine and shoved me out the door. I immediately downed the cough syrup and felt the urge to hack up a lung crawl back into my throat. That night I actually slept four hours straight. A MIRACLE.
At three o'clock in the morning, I woke with a leaking face. My eye was tearing up so badly it had actually gotten me out of a dead sleep. Now at eight months, the only thing waking me up on a regular basis was the urge to pee or the baby practicing his Krav Maga on my internal organs. A tearful eye? This I had to check out.
I looked in the mirror, which I regretted immediately. Puss, crust, watery tears...PINK EYE. At this point, I looked to the heavens through a fuzzy eye and silently prayed for death. Being sick for over a week, and now PINK EYE, quite possibly the most disgusting, least sexy of all the infections.
I was back in the urgent care room with the same stale piece of bread doctor. He recognized me and pushed me out the door with another prescription with hardly a glance. Not that I blame him...I was hideous. If I were treating me, I would have looked away in disgust and poked me with a stick for good measure.
I went to work the next day and told my tale of woe to anyone who would listen, but there wasn't much sympathy to be had. Nearly everyone and their families had suffered through the same flu and some were still trying to rid their house of it. The pink eye just made them stay the Hell away. The only solace I took was knowing there was no way this could get worse.
Then, a kid threw up on my shoes.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Maverick Belly
People keep asking me how this pregnancy is comparing to the last, and honestly, this time around it's been a cake walk...except...
1) Exhaustion. I'm definitely old.
2) Working full time sucks when you're pregnant. No getting around it.
3) More frequent heartburn. Fire burps.
4) The 50 foot waves on my belly are simply unreal. I see elbows poking out of my side at any given moment.
5) Cramping in my pelvis. Weird, unexplained cramping that comes and goes.
6) Incontinence. It was a little annoying in the last pregnancy. Now, it's constant and gross. I hate smelling like pee...especially when it's MY pee.
Of all the things I just mentioned, I think the belly thing is the craziest. Sometimes I just grab random people's hands and put them on my stomach, just to have someone validate how insane the movement is. This baby is always moving. ALWAYS. So much so, when the doctor gave me the kick count card, I snickered.
Other than that, this pregnancy has been a pretty decent ride. I can't complain...except, I just did.
1) Exhaustion. I'm definitely old.
2) Working full time sucks when you're pregnant. No getting around it.
3) More frequent heartburn. Fire burps.
4) The 50 foot waves on my belly are simply unreal. I see elbows poking out of my side at any given moment.
5) Cramping in my pelvis. Weird, unexplained cramping that comes and goes.
6) Incontinence. It was a little annoying in the last pregnancy. Now, it's constant and gross. I hate smelling like pee...especially when it's MY pee.
Of all the things I just mentioned, I think the belly thing is the craziest. Sometimes I just grab random people's hands and put them on my stomach, just to have someone validate how insane the movement is. This baby is always moving. ALWAYS. So much so, when the doctor gave me the kick count card, I snickered.
Other than that, this pregnancy has been a pretty decent ride. I can't complain...except, I just did.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Comparing Numbers
My last pregnancy:
Start weight 144
153 - 18 weeks - 9 pounds gained - 0.5 pound a week
164 - 24 weeks - 20 pounds gained - 0.54 pound a week
169 - 28 weeks - 25 pounds gained - 1.25 pounds a week
172 - 32 weeks - 28 pounds gained - 0.75 pound a week
177 - 35 weeks - 33 pounds gained - 1.6 pounds a week
180 - 36 weeks - 36 pounds gained
185 - 40 weeks - 41 pounds gained
This pregnancy:
Start weight 140
148 - 20 weeks - 8 pounds gained
155 - 24 weeks - 15 pounds gained
157 - 28 weeks - 17 pounds gained
162 - 31 weeks - 22 pounds gained
166 - 34 weeks - 26 pounds gained
170 - 37 weeks - 30 pounds gained
Start weight 144
153 - 18 weeks - 9 pounds gained - 0.5 pound a week
164 - 24 weeks - 20 pounds gained - 0.54 pound a week
169 - 28 weeks - 25 pounds gained - 1.25 pounds a week
172 - 32 weeks - 28 pounds gained - 0.75 pound a week
177 - 35 weeks - 33 pounds gained - 1.6 pounds a week
180 - 36 weeks - 36 pounds gained
185 - 40 weeks - 41 pounds gained
This pregnancy:
Start weight 140
148 - 20 weeks - 8 pounds gained
155 - 24 weeks - 15 pounds gained
157 - 28 weeks - 17 pounds gained
162 - 31 weeks - 22 pounds gained
166 - 34 weeks - 26 pounds gained
170 - 37 weeks - 30 pounds gained
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Heartburn and Heart Attacks
Oh the joys of the third trimester! Right?
The last time I was pregnant, the third trimester was pretty great. In fact, it was fabulous. I was off work and sitting on my butt the entire time. There was no toddler to chase around the house, no cooking, no working. The Food Channel was on 24/7 and I would occasionally sent my husband out for my latest craving. I was just an incubator, sitting pretty, growing a human in my uterus. No big whoop.
This time it's a little different. I'm working full time in a very challenging job. I have a toddler who is trying to kill me by giving me a heart attack with every move he makes. My back is killing me, heartburn is like a plague, and I'm leaking. Yes, I'm leaking. One strong cough, surprise sneeze, or hearty laugh and I'm done for. In other words: HOT.
Meanwhile, the little man of the house is finding out he can not just walk, but run at a tilted-angel, full-speed ahead. He can also not look where he's stepping and fall flat on his face. Depending on how much of a nap he has, he screams or just dusts himself off and keeps on running.
He also is figuring out how to climb...on everything. The sofa is his easiest accomplishment. Now he has moved on to the kitchen chairs, which he likes to stand on once conquered. He eyeballed the coffee table the other day, too. Watching him walk used to be such a fun sport. Now, it's, "Holy God, where is he going and what is he going to destroy now?!"
He is a problem solver, like his daddy. Watching him look at something gives me the chills. He stands like a deer, just examining whatever he is trying to unlock, unscrew, or undo. Then, he gingerly pokes at it with a finger or two, touching all of the details, seeing what goes where. When I open a cabinet, he is often watching from a close distance, seeing how everything works.
In other words, I just spent $120 on childproofing supplies...and I have little faith that any of them will outlast our kid's wit.
The last time I was pregnant, the third trimester was pretty great. In fact, it was fabulous. I was off work and sitting on my butt the entire time. There was no toddler to chase around the house, no cooking, no working. The Food Channel was on 24/7 and I would occasionally sent my husband out for my latest craving. I was just an incubator, sitting pretty, growing a human in my uterus. No big whoop.
This time it's a little different. I'm working full time in a very challenging job. I have a toddler who is trying to kill me by giving me a heart attack with every move he makes. My back is killing me, heartburn is like a plague, and I'm leaking. Yes, I'm leaking. One strong cough, surprise sneeze, or hearty laugh and I'm done for. In other words: HOT.
Meanwhile, the little man of the house is finding out he can not just walk, but run at a tilted-angel, full-speed ahead. He can also not look where he's stepping and fall flat on his face. Depending on how much of a nap he has, he screams or just dusts himself off and keeps on running.
He also is figuring out how to climb...on everything. The sofa is his easiest accomplishment. Now he has moved on to the kitchen chairs, which he likes to stand on once conquered. He eyeballed the coffee table the other day, too. Watching him walk used to be such a fun sport. Now, it's, "Holy God, where is he going and what is he going to destroy now?!"
He is a problem solver, like his daddy. Watching him look at something gives me the chills. He stands like a deer, just examining whatever he is trying to unlock, unscrew, or undo. Then, he gingerly pokes at it with a finger or two, touching all of the details, seeing what goes where. When I open a cabinet, he is often watching from a close distance, seeing how everything works.
In other words, I just spent $120 on childproofing supplies...and I have little faith that any of them will outlast our kid's wit.
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