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.

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.)

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?!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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!