3:50am - Baby boy wakes up feverish. Temp is 101 and he's due for a dose of Tylenol. Dose administered, diaper changed and I pull him into the guest room with me. I'm not freaking out (despite this being our first serious cold) but I would like him near me until his fever goes down.
5:25am - Baby boy perfects the "volcano-effect" with vomit. Its everywhere. I had no idea that I had the ability to produce that much breastmilk..... in my life. I swear he threw up gallons. Clearly the sleeping gods are punishing for me for co-sleeping with a sick child. Clean up commences, day begins.
5:45am - Make pot of coffee. Sweet nectar of life.
6:45am - Baby boy rejects all solids as he has for the past 24 hours, which means he'll be attached to my chest until this plague passes.
7:00am - I nurse him and then while changing his diaper I get peed on. I then successfully get baby boy back down to sleep (he's showing signs of exhaustion.) Normal nap schedule aborted.
7:15am - Let dogs out. Our longer haired dog, Riot, love her though I do has this issue with the hair on her ass. Its too long and very prone to crap dingleberries. Every once in a while it "complicates" things and she needs a bath IMMEDIATELY after her walk. Of course today would be one of those days.
7:20am - Giving a Riot an ass bath in the tub and literally cutting the crap off her. I want to cry.
7:30am - After cleaning the tub I sterilize myself with the hottest shower I can stand. I try to compose myself until the water turns ice cold due to my husband getting in the other shower.
7:35am - I crawl into bed with my bathrobe and towel on turban-style and pull the comforter over my head.
Thankfully, Jim is working from home today (he's not feeling that great himself) so I don't feel as desperate to throw myself from the roof. However, while trying to maintain sanity I was remembering in elementary school when something unfair or not right happened on the playground. Everyone would yell, "Do over!"
I would like to request a "do over" on May 21th.
Showing posts with label general thoughts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label general thoughts. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Child induced injury
As if pushing him out wasn't enough, as if the fact that he physically sucks the life out of me on a daily basis wasn't enough - throw chronic injury from over-usage to the list! That's right kids, mommy has tendinitis of the wrist! And yet I'm still typing to tell you about it. That's love, people.
The pain in my left wrist began shortly after the littlest king's arrival. Initially I thought it was all due to the fact that I've been using my laptop almost exclusively since he was born. My previous workstation, in the cave of our basement was better equipped for typing and such. I thought it was going to be the price I was going to have to pay for the convenience of working upstairs. I tried to improve my working conditions, bought a new keyboard, wrist support, blah, blah, blah and yet no improvement. Bah.
My next strategy was just to grin and bear it because really - who has time for this? The pain isn't THAT bad, its more annoying than anything. It will go away.
It hasn't.
Its now been months that my wrist has been sore and the most troubling part is that I couldn't figure out why. I sincerely think this blockage of reason was my mother mind trying to block out the true reason for the pain, for some instinctual fear the realization would cause me to abandon my son. But ah-ha! I'm smarter than my primal mind - maternal instincts be damned.
Recently, I was schlepping the boy on my left hip, my hip of choice and realized my left hand was wrapped way around him in a hyperextended position. I looked at him and said, "It's YOU! You, my dear boy, are making me ache."
Off to the (expectedly useless) general practitioner we went. Apparently this is very common for new moms as they carry their increasingly heavy babies in ways their bodies aren't used to. She doled out some sage advice like, "Ice, Ibuprofen and rest." I got me a super duper wrist support that is so honking I only wear when I can stand it (not now.)
As I left the doctor's, she said, "The only real relief will come when he starts walking and you won't have to carry him everywhere."
Suddenly, my wrist doesn't hurt so bad. I'm definitely not ready for walking.
The pain in my left wrist began shortly after the littlest king's arrival. Initially I thought it was all due to the fact that I've been using my laptop almost exclusively since he was born. My previous workstation, in the cave of our basement was better equipped for typing and such. I thought it was going to be the price I was going to have to pay for the convenience of working upstairs. I tried to improve my working conditions, bought a new keyboard, wrist support, blah, blah, blah and yet no improvement. Bah.
My next strategy was just to grin and bear it because really - who has time for this? The pain isn't THAT bad, its more annoying than anything. It will go away.
It hasn't.
Its now been months that my wrist has been sore and the most troubling part is that I couldn't figure out why. I sincerely think this blockage of reason was my mother mind trying to block out the true reason for the pain, for some instinctual fear the realization would cause me to abandon my son. But ah-ha! I'm smarter than my primal mind - maternal instincts be damned.
Recently, I was schlepping the boy on my left hip, my hip of choice and realized my left hand was wrapped way around him in a hyperextended position. I looked at him and said, "It's YOU! You, my dear boy, are making me ache."
Off to the (expectedly useless) general practitioner we went. Apparently this is very common for new moms as they carry their increasingly heavy babies in ways their bodies aren't used to. She doled out some sage advice like, "Ice, Ibuprofen and rest." I got me a super duper wrist support that is so honking I only wear when I can stand it (not now.)
As I left the doctor's, she said, "The only real relief will come when he starts walking and you won't have to carry him everywhere."
Suddenly, my wrist doesn't hurt so bad. I'm definitely not ready for walking.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Post music class stupidity
Henry and I had our first music class today. We danced, we sang, we wiggled. All fun stuff. Super.
The class starts precisely at the time Henry's morning nap typically commences. This worries me but I figure (correctly) that he'll be memorized by the music and put up with the class with no fuss. Mommy intuition dead on.
The class winds down and I can tell he's just done. His diaper is wet and I want to get him out of there STAT. So we pile up our stuff which includes the honking big diaper bag, (love my bag though I do, I'm a small purse kind of gal. This big bag stuff sucks.) my Bjorn, and the big bag of materials we receive in the first class. Apparently there are CDs, reference materials, the sheet music (oh, we are not messing around. Little did I know this was music class for baby Mozarts.)
So back to the state of Henry - its not looking good. We dart for the car, boy on my hip, bag on my shoulder, music crap and Bjorn under my arm.
Keys. Where the eff are my keys?
The boy is squirming due to wet diapers and it dawns on me I can't just put him down on the pavement of the parking lot. We are momentarily locked out of the car. Crap.
I put the music and the Bjorn on the roof of the car and kind of lean the child on the hood of my car while I rifle through my bag to find the elusive keys. Ah-ha! I break in, change the boy on the front seat and I'm sure you guys know the end of this story already. We zip out of there and leave the Bjorn and the music crap on the roof. I don't even realize it until I get home and there is this condescending message on my machine:
"Um hello - Lauren? This is Diane from the Rec. department. We found a Bjorn in the parking lot and have been tracking down all the babies in your class to see who it might belong to."
What she was really saying was,
"Um - hi Lauren? We are looking for the worst mother in your music class. So we've been calling everyone individually and the unanimous vote was that its you."
Despite the complex I'm refusing to admit that I'm developing - I'm pissed. There was no mention of the music materials in the message which means its somewhere on the streets of my town. I paid precisely a million dollars for this class and I want the freaking materials. What's really annoying is that I can't even go do a quick look around because music class officially kicked Henry's ass and he's been asleep for 2+ hours. So instead of enjoying this deliciously long nap, kicking my heels up and enjoying my saved episode of Top Chef, I'm seething at the pure annoyance of it all.
Bah!
The class starts precisely at the time Henry's morning nap typically commences. This worries me but I figure (correctly) that he'll be memorized by the music and put up with the class with no fuss. Mommy intuition dead on.
The class winds down and I can tell he's just done. His diaper is wet and I want to get him out of there STAT. So we pile up our stuff which includes the honking big diaper bag, (love my bag though I do, I'm a small purse kind of gal. This big bag stuff sucks.) my Bjorn, and the big bag of materials we receive in the first class. Apparently there are CDs, reference materials, the sheet music (oh, we are not messing around. Little did I know this was music class for baby Mozarts.)
So back to the state of Henry - its not looking good. We dart for the car, boy on my hip, bag on my shoulder, music crap and Bjorn under my arm.
Keys. Where the eff are my keys?
The boy is squirming due to wet diapers and it dawns on me I can't just put him down on the pavement of the parking lot. We are momentarily locked out of the car. Crap.
I put the music and the Bjorn on the roof of the car and kind of lean the child on the hood of my car while I rifle through my bag to find the elusive keys. Ah-ha! I break in, change the boy on the front seat and I'm sure you guys know the end of this story already. We zip out of there and leave the Bjorn and the music crap on the roof. I don't even realize it until I get home and there is this condescending message on my machine:
"Um hello - Lauren? This is Diane from the Rec. department. We found a Bjorn in the parking lot and have been tracking down all the babies in your class to see who it might belong to."
What she was really saying was,
"Um - hi Lauren? We are looking for the worst mother in your music class. So we've been calling everyone individually and the unanimous vote was that its you."
Despite the complex I'm refusing to admit that I'm developing - I'm pissed. There was no mention of the music materials in the message which means its somewhere on the streets of my town. I paid precisely a million dollars for this class and I want the freaking materials. What's really annoying is that I can't even go do a quick look around because music class officially kicked Henry's ass and he's been asleep for 2+ hours. So instead of enjoying this deliciously long nap, kicking my heels up and enjoying my saved episode of Top Chef, I'm seething at the pure annoyance of it all.
Bah!
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Not funny....blood
Maybe when you have kids your sense of humor drops down a notch, maybe our level of sophistication is somehow debased - whatever the case I can't help but be amused at a recent episode in our household.
This is truly the not funny part:
Earlier this week I was clipping Henry's ridiculously fast growing nails. If I don't keep up with him, he scratches the crap out of his face and I hate to see that. Now, I know this is something that most moms hate doing but I had thought I was getting really good at doing this, given the frequency I seem to have to do it.
So I get the job done, Henry puts up with me with relatively no fuss. I give the boy to his father for a quick story before bed. I clean up and return to the scene to retrieve the boy to make way for bedtime.
What's that?!
A smear of something on his face, and stains on his sleeper. The boy is bleeding! I nicked his finger and my boy-made-of-steel didn't even complain. I tried to react as coolly as possible, given my first-time mom synapses are firing, "Oh my God - BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD." We bandage him up, good as new. This fire has been put out and no frantic calls to the pediatrician were made. Phew.
The next morning, my husband realizes in our moment of need we totally dropped the ball and missed the PERFECT opportunity to quote one of my favorite YouTube movies.
Not FUN-KNEEEE! Not FUN-KNEEEE! Bluuud!
Regardless, I've been chuckling about it all week.
This is truly the not funny part:
Earlier this week I was clipping Henry's ridiculously fast growing nails. If I don't keep up with him, he scratches the crap out of his face and I hate to see that. Now, I know this is something that most moms hate doing but I had thought I was getting really good at doing this, given the frequency I seem to have to do it.
So I get the job done, Henry puts up with me with relatively no fuss. I give the boy to his father for a quick story before bed. I clean up and return to the scene to retrieve the boy to make way for bedtime.
What's that?!
A smear of something on his face, and stains on his sleeper. The boy is bleeding! I nicked his finger and my boy-made-of-steel didn't even complain. I tried to react as coolly as possible, given my first-time mom synapses are firing, "Oh my God - BLOOD, BLOOD, BLOOD." We bandage him up, good as new. This fire has been put out and no frantic calls to the pediatrician were made. Phew.
The next morning, my husband realizes in our moment of need we totally dropped the ball and missed the PERFECT opportunity to quote one of my favorite YouTube movies.
Not FUN-KNEEEE! Not FUN-KNEEEE! Bluuud!
Regardless, I've been chuckling about it all week.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Just one day
Don't even get me started on what was required when Henry and I went to Florida for five days, but this past weekend I was marveling at the sheer volume of stuff that is required for a simple day trip, no overnight.
The crappage includes:
I laugh remembering the days when all I needed to get out the door was my purse.
The crappage includes:
- Many spare diapers
- Wipes
- More than one receiving blanket
- Henry's top three toys
- Spare outfit (in case of blow out)
- Sleeping outfit (for the ride home, in the futile hope that he'll just stay asleep when we get home)
- Bottle
- Cereal
- Baby spoon
- Activity Mat (?!!! - in order to put him down somewhere when we eat dinner at my in-laws.)
- Car seat
- Blanket for the car
- Camera to photograph baby with all above crappage.
I laugh remembering the days when all I needed to get out the door was my purse.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Pacifier = sign of the devil
A while back I wrote about our pacifier addiction and I have to believe that even back then I had an inkling of an idea of what I was setting myself up for. Well I have to say if I knew then what I know now I would have taken all 1 million of our pacifiers and torched them into a pile of hot, runny plastic latex on our driveway.
Pacifier withdrawal is no joke people.
In chatting with friends and reading ever more books I one day had this epiphany that the root of all our sleeping issues just might have been the blasted Nuk. I don't want to make any sweeping statements just yet since we're only a few weeks without it but I have a feeling dropping the cursed accessory is doing far more good than harm.
However, it all came at a steep price. Over the course of a few days I tried to take it away from him for naps and when he was fussing during the day. Then the true test came - the first night without. I will shamefully admit I didn't even last half the night until I gave it back to him because he was crying so specifically for it. I gave it to him, and like the little addict he was he aggressively sucked on it for maybe 20 seconds and passed out. Poor little man.
What I should I have known was it was more like, poor little mumma. After giving him the pacifier he proceeded to get up on the hour for the rest of the night, desperately needing his fix without the motor skills to help himself. Dawn broke and my resolve was back. We've been pacifier free ever since.
The following night was treacherous. He cried so intensely and for such a duration that I swear he and I both showed signs of insanity. He thrashed for it and managed to scratch the bejesus out of his face in the process. I wanted to put my head through a glass window.
The night after that was slightly better, and then finally what do you know - he's forgotten all about the silly thing. I have also had to hide them on myself for I realized what an enabler I was, how easily and quickly I would give into him, and how I was the sole reason for his addiction.
Let this be the first of many apologies, Henry, for any emotional damage I might have caused. I sincerely hope this to be the last of any ill addiction you form on my watch.
Pacifier withdrawal is no joke people.
In chatting with friends and reading ever more books I one day had this epiphany that the root of all our sleeping issues just might have been the blasted Nuk. I don't want to make any sweeping statements just yet since we're only a few weeks without it but I have a feeling dropping the cursed accessory is doing far more good than harm.
However, it all came at a steep price. Over the course of a few days I tried to take it away from him for naps and when he was fussing during the day. Then the true test came - the first night without. I will shamefully admit I didn't even last half the night until I gave it back to him because he was crying so specifically for it. I gave it to him, and like the little addict he was he aggressively sucked on it for maybe 20 seconds and passed out. Poor little man.
What I should I have known was it was more like, poor little mumma. After giving him the pacifier he proceeded to get up on the hour for the rest of the night, desperately needing his fix without the motor skills to help himself. Dawn broke and my resolve was back. We've been pacifier free ever since.
The following night was treacherous. He cried so intensely and for such a duration that I swear he and I both showed signs of insanity. He thrashed for it and managed to scratch the bejesus out of his face in the process. I wanted to put my head through a glass window.
The night after that was slightly better, and then finally what do you know - he's forgotten all about the silly thing. I have also had to hide them on myself for I realized what an enabler I was, how easily and quickly I would give into him, and how I was the sole reason for his addiction.
Let this be the first of many apologies, Henry, for any emotional damage I might have caused. I sincerely hope this to be the last of any ill addiction you form on my watch.
Oh neglected blog...
I honestly hate when I let my writing fall by the wayside like this. To make it worse, when sufficient time passes breaking the lull becomes a way bigger deal than it actually is. I keep putting it off, and putting it off essentially making the problem worse. Well tonight, no more. I am back and hopefully with some renewed regularity.
Things here with us have been all over the map. I'm going to try and hit some of the highlights and lowlights in separate entries because I feel we've made some pretty interesting discoveries.To my loyal readers (all two of you) I apologize for the break in programming. I know you were disappointed.
Friday, February 1, 2008
The eff-it cake
Today was a rainy, gloomy day here on the eastern coast of Connecticut and since I found myself sleep deprived and in a rancid mood I decided Henry and I should NOT brave the elements. Instead, we had an "in-house day" and to brighten my spirits I decided I should bake. Surely a chocolate cake made of blissful devil's food iced with chocolate ganache would make up for the fact I haven't slept well in a very, very long time.
I'm supposed to be focused on dropping the baby weight and honestly I have been fairly diligent so a little regression in light of the current environment of sleep wakings isn't the worst thing in the world. What I'm trying to say is that I've justified that I deserve it, dammit. All day I've been calling it "the eff-it cake." Diets be damned, parenting is hard and I need a little sweetness.
Just the act of baking it made me feel better. Mixing and baking it up, making my house smell lovely. Its a good thing people.
The truly sick and perhaps ironic thing is that immediately after icing my eff-it cake it broke a huge crack in the middle of it from the stress of itself. Awesome. My cake is speaking to me.
I'm supposed to be focused on dropping the baby weight and honestly I have been fairly diligent so a little regression in light of the current environment of sleep wakings isn't the worst thing in the world. What I'm trying to say is that I've justified that I deserve it, dammit. All day I've been calling it "the eff-it cake." Diets be damned, parenting is hard and I need a little sweetness.
Just the act of baking it made me feel better. Mixing and baking it up, making my house smell lovely. Its a good thing people.
The truly sick and perhaps ironic thing is that immediately after icing my eff-it cake it broke a huge crack in the middle of it from the stress of itself. Awesome. My cake is speaking to me.
Mumma amiss
Yes, I know, I know - I haven't posted in a while. Yah, yah, yah.
Truthfully, I've been frustrated.....on many fronts.
First, the silly Google Ads that are supposed to be highlighting text ads for readers to click on are only featuring Katrina PSAs. Truly, Katrina was a horrible, devastating event, but a natural disaster has nothing to do with my blog (or maybe Google is trying to tell me something.) Upon reading up in troubleshooting forums, one suggestion to encourage Google to switch them out was to add more content, topic-specific content. So perhaps if I repeat the words: mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, motherhood, mom, child, mom, baby, mom... that would work.
Yah, I didn't think so.
(UPDATE: oh-ho! Maybe it did work!)
The second frustration has been in the ever grim sleep department. Henry has shown zero improvement in sleeping overnight, in fact he's often worse than ever. Last night I found myself hissing to my unoccupied side of the bed as I paced next to it, "I hate the nights, I hate the nights, I hate the nights."
I'm trying desperately not to race into Henry's room to soothe him the instant he starts crying so as a result I feel like a crazy woman at night. The most I can do is let him cry for 5 minutes, but to be perfectly honest if I saw that was making any impact on him whatsoever I would be encouraged. Instead he will cry in 5 minute bursts, and after an hour and a half I'm physically and emotionally done and I pull him into bed with me....and of course he sleep soundly for hours that way. I think attachment parenting has backfired on me.
So this weekend I'm getting the Ferber book. He is the last of the "sleep experts" that I need to introduce myself to. I've hesitated for many reasons, but I'm approaching my wit's end. I'm not saying that because I'm perusing the book I'll apply the techniques (and quite honestly Henry is probably a bit young for his school of thought) but dear God when Henry won't sleep for more than 2 hours in row I'm a freaking basket case. I would take advice from a bum on the street.
Truthfully, I've been frustrated.....on many fronts.
First, the silly Google Ads that are supposed to be highlighting text ads for readers to click on are only featuring Katrina PSAs. Truly, Katrina was a horrible, devastating event, but a natural disaster has nothing to do with my blog (or maybe Google is trying to tell me something.) Upon reading up in troubleshooting forums, one suggestion to encourage Google to switch them out was to add more content, topic-specific content. So perhaps if I repeat the words: mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, mom, motherhood, mom, child, mom, baby, mom... that would work.
Yah, I didn't think so.
(UPDATE: oh-ho! Maybe it did work!)
The second frustration has been in the ever grim sleep department. Henry has shown zero improvement in sleeping overnight, in fact he's often worse than ever. Last night I found myself hissing to my unoccupied side of the bed as I paced next to it, "I hate the nights, I hate the nights, I hate the nights."
I'm trying desperately not to race into Henry's room to soothe him the instant he starts crying so as a result I feel like a crazy woman at night. The most I can do is let him cry for 5 minutes, but to be perfectly honest if I saw that was making any impact on him whatsoever I would be encouraged. Instead he will cry in 5 minute bursts, and after an hour and a half I'm physically and emotionally done and I pull him into bed with me....and of course he sleep soundly for hours that way. I think attachment parenting has backfired on me.
So this weekend I'm getting the Ferber book. He is the last of the "sleep experts" that I need to introduce myself to. I've hesitated for many reasons, but I'm approaching my wit's end. I'm not saying that because I'm perusing the book I'll apply the techniques (and quite honestly Henry is probably a bit young for his school of thought) but dear God when Henry won't sleep for more than 2 hours in row I'm a freaking basket case. I would take advice from a bum on the street.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
A mommy logic problem
If I ever had the interest or the aptitude to apply for a consulting position I imagine I would get slammed with some horrible logic question in the interview like, "How many tennis balls can fit into a 747?" Now is that the passenger compartment alone, or are we including the cargo store?
An interview like that might be the equivalent to my worst nightmare.
Problem: A new mom and her (adorable) three month old son are out running errands. The new mom has precisely two boxes to drop off to be shipped. The boxes are large, cumbersome and the mom and son are alone. How, without leaving her son unattended in the car, does the mom deliver the boxes?
Answer: The mom grows another arm so she can carry the annoying large boxes and her (adorable) son into the store.
I'm not going to lie, I was mentally plagued by this situation all morning. In all fairness Henry would have been fine if I left him for a split second while I dropped off the pre-paid, already packed up boxes and if the year were 1950 I probably would have. But since we are now in the dangerous age of 2008 and last year marked the year of the negligent mother (thank you Britney Spears) I just couldn't do it.
So somehow I managed to get Henry's infant carrier out of the car, then opened the front door to grab the boxes with my free hand while balancing the load against my chest and under my chin. I took the few steps toward my destination and said a quick prayer that someone would open the door for me so I didn't topple all over myself. Somehow I timed it just perfectly and my prayers were answered. A very nice man took one look at me, with all my hair in my face from the blustering wind, he smiled and held the door wide open. I thought I saw sympathy in his eye which is lucky for me for surely he would have been the one to report me to child services if I had left Hank for that instant alone. Thank God for good decisions.
An interview like that might be the equivalent to my worst nightmare.
Problem: A new mom and her (adorable) three month old son are out running errands. The new mom has precisely two boxes to drop off to be shipped. The boxes are large, cumbersome and the mom and son are alone. How, without leaving her son unattended in the car, does the mom deliver the boxes?
Answer: The mom grows another arm so she can carry the annoying large boxes and her (adorable) son into the store.
I'm not going to lie, I was mentally plagued by this situation all morning. In all fairness Henry would have been fine if I left him for a split second while I dropped off the pre-paid, already packed up boxes and if the year were 1950 I probably would have. But since we are now in the dangerous age of 2008 and last year marked the year of the negligent mother (thank you Britney Spears) I just couldn't do it.
So somehow I managed to get Henry's infant carrier out of the car, then opened the front door to grab the boxes with my free hand while balancing the load against my chest and under my chin. I took the few steps toward my destination and said a quick prayer that someone would open the door for me so I didn't topple all over myself. Somehow I timed it just perfectly and my prayers were answered. A very nice man took one look at me, with all my hair in my face from the blustering wind, he smiled and held the door wide open. I thought I saw sympathy in his eye which is lucky for me for surely he would have been the one to report me to child services if I had left Hank for that instant alone. Thank God for good decisions.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
BPA in bottles
Now I don't mean to stir the pot, but if any of you new parents out there want to speak up, I'd love to hear your thoughts. The topic is BPA. Now previous to having Henry I kind of dismissed the idea of BPA being a harmful agent in many baby bottles. Today, I'm still not sure about it, but I'm starting to think if we have the means to use a different bottle brand maybe we should. Henry only gets one bottle a day usually from his dad and so switching to glass wouldn't be an inconvenience at all. What are your thoughts on it?
My chemist friend and mother of an adorable toddling boy sent me these links to peruse:
http://zrecs.blogspot.com/2007/05/sippy-cup-showdown-safer-bpa-free-sippy.html
http://zrecs.blogspot.com/2007/07/z-report-bisphenol-in-polycarbonate.html
http://zrecs.blogspot.com/2007/11/z-report-bisphenol-in-baby-bottles-and.html
Kind of makes me wonder...
My chemist friend and mother of an adorable toddling boy sent me these links to peruse:
http://zrecs.blogspot.com/2007/05/sippy-cup-showdown-safer-bpa-free-sippy.html
http://zrecs.blogspot.com/2007/07/z-report-bisphenol-in-polycarbonate.html
http://zrecs.blogspot.com/2007/11/z-report-bisphenol-in-baby-bottles-and.html
Kind of makes me wonder...
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Mommy meltdown
One of our cars is iced in which means my husband has been taking my car to work because its the only way he can get out of the driveway. This leaves me stranded and shut in with a SUPER fussy baby. Sweet.
After dinner tonight I might have looked wild-eyed at my husband and mother (who is visiting) and said, "I think I'm going to go to Babies R' Us and buy a mobile. Henry needs a mobile." They, perhaps sensing how important it was for me to physically get out of the house begged me to be careful but wished me well.
If anything has been learned in these past few weeks since Henry's birth its the importance of my sporadic escapes. I need a break and thankfully my husband knows it.
Humorously, I didn't really look to see what I had on before I left the house but there I was blissfully wandering the aisles of Babies 'R Us in black leggings and a sweatshirt. I was one fine looking, run down, ragged mommy. Its phased me not - Babies 'R Us never looked so much like Disney World. I swear I was on vacation.
After dinner tonight I might have looked wild-eyed at my husband and mother (who is visiting) and said, "I think I'm going to go to Babies R' Us and buy a mobile. Henry needs a mobile." They, perhaps sensing how important it was for me to physically get out of the house begged me to be careful but wished me well.
If anything has been learned in these past few weeks since Henry's birth its the importance of my sporadic escapes. I need a break and thankfully my husband knows it.
Humorously, I didn't really look to see what I had on before I left the house but there I was blissfully wandering the aisles of Babies 'R Us in black leggings and a sweatshirt. I was one fine looking, run down, ragged mommy. Its phased me not - Babies 'R Us never looked so much like Disney World. I swear I was on vacation.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
The mommy dance
As I write this, I am currently entwined in "the mommy dance."
The dance is something I do with my son every night in order to get him down to sleep. A normal night typically goes like this:
Somewhere around 6:45pm-7pm Henry starts to fuss signaling his day is done and he is ready for bed. As he gives us his "tired cry" we frantically prepare his end-of-the-day bottle. (Henry is exclusively breastfed but I do pump one bottle's worth of milk for him a day so that his dad can feed him from time to time.)
Around 7:15 or 7:30, in the midst of his bottle Henry dozes off, and thus the dance begins. Carefully, whomever is feeding him quietly attempts to transfer his to his crib. If he settles into his crib without thrashing, the dance has gone about as smoothly as possible. However, normally we need to bring in old faithful: the pacifier. I know I've gone on about the pacifier previously but it really is amazing to see how the simple act of giving him the pacifier transforms his body to Jell-O and his eyes slam shut.
My only complaint is that Henry has learned the fine art of pacifier slingshot. Somehow, with just the muscles of his mouth he can sling his pacifier clear across his crib and then, of course, immediately regret it. The dance becomes me having to pace back and forth from here at my computer, to his room to reinsert his precious Nuk. From the sounds on the baby monitor I have sitting next to me I can outline the progression of his annoyance - first he'll start to grunt (and usually kick his legs up simultaneously), then the whining begins and ultimately he will cry for his precious oral fixation. I enter the room quietly give him what he seeks and leave quickly.
The dance is performed at least two or three times before he ultimately succumbs and drifts off to sleep. Usually at that point the pacifier will fall out of his mouth, his only dance prop, and I pray to God the simple act of it isn't enough to wake him so to start us dancing from the very beginning.
The dance is something I do with my son every night in order to get him down to sleep. A normal night typically goes like this:
Somewhere around 6:45pm-7pm Henry starts to fuss signaling his day is done and he is ready for bed. As he gives us his "tired cry" we frantically prepare his end-of-the-day bottle. (Henry is exclusively breastfed but I do pump one bottle's worth of milk for him a day so that his dad can feed him from time to time.)
Around 7:15 or 7:30, in the midst of his bottle Henry dozes off, and thus the dance begins. Carefully, whomever is feeding him quietly attempts to transfer his to his crib. If he settles into his crib without thrashing, the dance has gone about as smoothly as possible. However, normally we need to bring in old faithful: the pacifier. I know I've gone on about the pacifier previously but it really is amazing to see how the simple act of giving him the pacifier transforms his body to Jell-O and his eyes slam shut.
My only complaint is that Henry has learned the fine art of pacifier slingshot. Somehow, with just the muscles of his mouth he can sling his pacifier clear across his crib and then, of course, immediately regret it. The dance becomes me having to pace back and forth from here at my computer, to his room to reinsert his precious Nuk. From the sounds on the baby monitor I have sitting next to me I can outline the progression of his annoyance - first he'll start to grunt (and usually kick his legs up simultaneously), then the whining begins and ultimately he will cry for his precious oral fixation. I enter the room quietly give him what he seeks and leave quickly.
The dance is performed at least two or three times before he ultimately succumbs and drifts off to sleep. Usually at that point the pacifier will fall out of his mouth, his only dance prop, and I pray to God the simple act of it isn't enough to wake him so to start us dancing from the very beginning.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Once upon a time...
Alright, alright - people gather round. Allow me to tell a tale of woman who didn't have a clue about what it was to bring a person into this world. There need be no dancing around the fact, its my story of how I got here and how naive I was before this whole thing started.
Back in the day, I was a fairly ambitious woman in my pre-motherhood days. Like a lot of the people I surrounded myself with I had a career and tended to it diligently. In fact, I had started a little home business based on my skills as a graphic designer, had a very strong client base and was even featured in a national magazine or two for my work. It was a labor of love, but quite honestly nothing in comparison to what lay ahead.
As all strong minded young women, I felt I could take on just about anything I put my mind to. There was no time to fret the details, just forge ahead and all will fall into place. Such might have been my attitude about getting pregnant and having a child. "It's time." I thought. Heck, if women all over the world have done it, why can't I? And thus, after some consulting with the dear husband, the decision was made.
The very first humbling experience came before things were even out of the gate, so to speak. Emotions ran high with the very first positive pregnancy test. However, the happy reality hardly set in before a very sad miscarriage took place and all came crashing down. It would be months before I could talk about it without welling up. But I can say the silver lining was that if anything it really solidified the fact that I wanted to become a mother, because I never expected to be so upset after such a loss.
Within a few short months, emotions ran high again with the second positive test. This time, however, there was way more apprehension and way more caution as the weeks ticked by. It would be several months before I could breathe easy knowing that the risk of miscarriage had passed. But with the second trimester statistics told me I was most likely okay and I made the decision to have a happy pregnancy rather than live in fear.
The following months went well. No real complications to speak of - sure, I had my bouts with sleepless nights and general aches and pains, but I considered myself lucky. Not so much as one incident of hormone-induced loss of lunch. Never found myself praying to the porcelain God. I'm not going to lie, the last month was a challenge as anticipation set in and my body was at capacity. Luck would have it, however, I would go late with my delivery.
Relief came in the form of an induction date. My dear doctor must have seen desperation in my eyes when I started to complain about a painful, wrenching back. I was a hobbling mess, but even still the little man didn't want to come out on his own. Enter Pitocin, the single most effective yet terrifying drug I've ever encountered. (to read the blow by blow of the birth click here.)
Within a matter of hours, we had our Henry and a new love. In some ways it feels futile to me to try and put into words what the experience of having Henry in our lives has been like, however I'm going to try to explain it, through the contents of this blog and if nothing else it might be just a stream of conscience that serves me as a written album of my daily thoughts and discoveries. Its entirely different road than I expected, its challenged me in ways I never thought possible - but I can say with all certainty that it is entirely worthwhile.
Back in the day, I was a fairly ambitious woman in my pre-motherhood days. Like a lot of the people I surrounded myself with I had a career and tended to it diligently. In fact, I had started a little home business based on my skills as a graphic designer, had a very strong client base and was even featured in a national magazine or two for my work. It was a labor of love, but quite honestly nothing in comparison to what lay ahead.
As all strong minded young women, I felt I could take on just about anything I put my mind to. There was no time to fret the details, just forge ahead and all will fall into place. Such might have been my attitude about getting pregnant and having a child. "It's time." I thought. Heck, if women all over the world have done it, why can't I? And thus, after some consulting with the dear husband, the decision was made.
The very first humbling experience came before things were even out of the gate, so to speak. Emotions ran high with the very first positive pregnancy test. However, the happy reality hardly set in before a very sad miscarriage took place and all came crashing down. It would be months before I could talk about it without welling up. But I can say the silver lining was that if anything it really solidified the fact that I wanted to become a mother, because I never expected to be so upset after such a loss.
Within a few short months, emotions ran high again with the second positive test. This time, however, there was way more apprehension and way more caution as the weeks ticked by. It would be several months before I could breathe easy knowing that the risk of miscarriage had passed. But with the second trimester statistics told me I was most likely okay and I made the decision to have a happy pregnancy rather than live in fear.
The following months went well. No real complications to speak of - sure, I had my bouts with sleepless nights and general aches and pains, but I considered myself lucky. Not so much as one incident of hormone-induced loss of lunch. Never found myself praying to the porcelain God. I'm not going to lie, the last month was a challenge as anticipation set in and my body was at capacity. Luck would have it, however, I would go late with my delivery.
Relief came in the form of an induction date. My dear doctor must have seen desperation in my eyes when I started to complain about a painful, wrenching back. I was a hobbling mess, but even still the little man didn't want to come out on his own. Enter Pitocin, the single most effective yet terrifying drug I've ever encountered. (to read the blow by blow of the birth click here.)
Within a matter of hours, we had our Henry and a new love. In some ways it feels futile to me to try and put into words what the experience of having Henry in our lives has been like, however I'm going to try to explain it, through the contents of this blog and if nothing else it might be just a stream of conscience that serves me as a written album of my daily thoughts and discoveries. Its entirely different road than I expected, its challenged me in ways I never thought possible - but I can say with all certainty that it is entirely worthwhile.
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