What she says is true

I'm going to be honest here. Mean Mommy has guided me more than once before and I can't help but think what she recently posted about is more than true. The 14 month itch. Dear God, its intense. As of late I've felt positively insane. I'm thinking about how I can start another business, perhaps write a book or take on some other enormous creative project....or maybe we can just have another baby and I can start all over again. Jesus.

I'm not giving away any secrets here in saying that the dear husband and I want more than one kid but I do feel seriously bi-polar about it. One minute I'm all on board, come honey, let's go. The next minute I freak out about how what little time I have to myself will be decimated, and how I'll never sleep again. Its not helping that EVERYONE I know has gotten pregnant all at once. Its like freaking post-war baby boom among my friends. Its causing me to forget how uncomfortable it is to sleep when you are huge, how gross than nauseous feeling is, and that is not even speaking of the labor or the post partum crap.

Awh, babies.
Gimme, gimme, gimme.

Someone please sedate me before I mistakenly seduce my husband. Surely I can find something to fill my days.

Maternity leave

I know, I know, I know - I went MIA on you. I don't even have a good excuse, other than I just kind of fell away from blogging. But I will say, Henry and I had a great summer. We got outside a ton, and now that the weather is cooling down and I'm officially crippled and couped up again with cold and flu season there will be more time for writing.

So let's see - what have I missed?
Henry turned one, started walking. Big man on campus.
Henry has his first dump in the tub. A very loose dump indeed.
He's learned how to "high five" and give open mouthed kisses.
We also started swimming lessons this past summer and had one lesson canceled because another child in the classes booted in the pool. Fun times.

So that about sums it up. I do promise to be back with some regularity from now on.
Right now I need to get one more cup of caffeine in me, take a shower and start the laundry, all while the boy sleeps.

Have teeth, will travel

Getting your child a passport is undeniably a pain in the arse. Yeah, yeah, yeah - I get it - we live in a whole new post 9/11 world. Identity creation and proving one's citizenry is a tricky thing. That still doesn't help me here.

So a good friend and I have been leaping through all the required hoops to get our sons their passports for - get this - trips to the freaking Carribean. Remember when traveling to the Carribean simply required showing your pearly white American teeth....maaaybe flashing a driver's license? Bah. No more. Now apparently the land of pina coladas and margaritas is on lock down to everyone including my highly suspicious son complete with angelic baby curls and big blue eyes. Everyone knows 9 months olds are renown smugglers and terrorists.

I will say that if anyone in security so much as suggests that they need to touch him I'm pulling my insane momma bear routine. Back away from the new mom, folks. Back away.

But I guess its for the best, the real intention of it all is probably to prove that he's ours and not some kidnapped cherub from the Dominican. I digress.

So after filling out what seemed like the longest form in history AND getting a freaking notarized explanation of why only ONE parent could be present for the formal application (umm, because daddy makes the pay-pah?) we are closing in on the final piece of the puzzle: the passport photos.

Wouldn't you know the moment we arrive at our local CVS my dear son breaks into a fever, becomes the most ornery child on the planet and I swear is pushing teeth out like there is no tomorrow. He freaks at the mere sight of the overly enthusiastic photo girl, and proceeds to lose it even more when she dare whips out her camera. The situation became so dire that we decided that moment might not be the best time for this milestone. Perhaps tomorrow.

Tomorrow comes and we are right back where we left off. Freaking out, squinty and crying surely does not meet the US standards for acceptable photos. I try everything - I walk with him around the store, I give him the previously thought "never fail" zwieback toast. Nada. I become the mother whom everyone looks at, "What is she doing to that poor child?"

Trying to take him out of the country, that's all. Christ.

Finally, I slowly make my way back to the photo desk while trying to distract Henry so he should not realize it. I give the signal to the girl, quickly toss him up in front of the white background and SNAP. The result is the saddest passport photo in the history of passport photos. The poor child looks like he's being held hostage or just ate a lemon.

I thank the kind passport lady profusely for helping us through the required task. We then make our way to the post office to complete the epic adventure. Paperwork in, mission accomplished.

However, it doesn't end there. My good friend, whom I mentioned earlier goes to the same CVS later that day to get her son's photo taken. Apparently the same "kind" passport lady was so amused at the influx of baby passport photos that she shows off Henry as, most likely, an example of what you do NOT want your photo to look like. My friend was amused to see Henry up on the photo screen for all the town to see.

Did I mention that photo stays with us for five years?
At the very least, we are bound to amuse some depressed customs official.

And for your first Father's Day ... I'll break my face

No one has ever called me graceful, I think I know why.

My husband, who has risen to fatherhood with a natural ability and sweetness that brings a tear to my eye, had to fly up the stairs today after I yelled for him to find me on my knees - face covered in blood. Somehow I slipped on our dining room floor and connected my face to the hard corner of our rocking chair. Thankfully I wasn't holding Henry at the time of my flight. I also don't think I broke my nose, its not swelling too badly, and I don't think I'll have a black eye - but dear GOD it hurt. And the blood. I was dizzy from the volume lost. It wasn't pretty people. Not pretty at all.

So happy Father's Day my love. I thought I would give you something to remember your first with.

Momma said there'd days like this..

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.

wind from my sails

He's sick. Figures that the FIRST TIME my son sleeps through the night is probably because he was sick.

He woke up Monday with a loose cough but I just thought I would keep an eye on it. Later in the day I changed him and he felt warm. He had a low grade temp and the pediatrician said, "non-specific virus." I asked if this virus could cause unusual behavior "non-specifically." She said yes.

Sigh.

However, I am trying to appreciate the fact that now I know he physically can sleep that long.... even if a stupid virus made him do it.

milestone of milestones

Even as I type this I can hardly believe it. Last night, Sunday May 18th, my son slept soundly from 7pm to 6am, straight through, for the ... first ....time ....ever. I woke up this morning so happy, and yet feeling like I must still be in some strange dream state. But no, thank you God no, it was TRUE.

My acceptance speech:
It has been such a long time coming and such a hard road to get to this point, but I would like to thank everyone who has supported us in getting us here. We surely would have fallen much to pieces a million times over without all of you. We have no expectations for tonight or even tomorrow night, but we are optimistic and are going to try our best for a repeat performance some time in the near future. To all our fans, we love you and would like to dedicate this award to you.

Thank you and GOOD NIGHT!

night-night nursing no more

Somehow we have regressed. I'm fully aware that I've played a big part in this. I've been a big softy and night-nursed him with much frequency. I've given my little man every excuse in the book, (Maybe its that he's is at the height of separation anxiety. Maybe its a "wonder week." Maybe its that he's teething. Maybe he's not getting enough calories during the day. Maybe he's cold. Maybe he's wet.) Well all of that - no more! I think the moment of clarity came when a friend reminded me that I really need to get a handle on this before he starts standing in his crib. I paused and whispered, "sweet baby Jesus, you are so right."

Friday night came and I was full of new resolve. I decided that a near 8 month old need NOT eat at night. We had a rough hour from 1am -2am, but I decided my will was stronger and he was not getting any boob juice. By the grace of some higher power, he did finally succumb and slept until 6:45am. Ummm people, that's 12 hours (not uninterrupted, of course, but still.)

Last night we had a similar performance, not quite as strong as night one but my optimism is not wavering. I have convinced myself that he can go the night without eating and that's where we are going to stay.

So it is on bended knee, with a weary head that I beg....Dr. Ferber please don't fail me now. I need you more than ever.

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.

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!

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.

Henry's multiple choice

After significant progress in the sleep department with Henry, we've seen an average of two wakings a night (thank you Dr. Ferber!) Last night, however, the boy decided to throw me under the bus and was up from 10:30pm to 2am, then waking for the day at 6am. Was the reason for this regression:

a) his long, late afternoon nap (from 2:30 to 5pm)
b) the fact that we started sweet potatoes yesterday, his first non-cereal food
c) he is teething- at his last pediatrician's visit the nurse practitioner felt "bumps" - but we all know that could be the state of things for weeks.
d) he is killing me slowly
e) all of the above

It almost seems silly to try and guess, because quite honestly it could have been the freaking phases of the moon keeping him up, but part of me can't stop myself for hypothesizing.

Gerber, I ain't

Go ahead call me a hippie, earth mother. I've been called worse. That's right I'm making my own baby food.

Now here is the deal: I like to cook and quite honestly the idea of making my own baby food actually sounded like fun. I have friends who have done it and claim its not all that much work, if you make bigger batches and freeze it so I thought I'd take a stab at it.

Today was our first attempt: sweet potatoes.

Because it seems to be my approach to all things parenting I went to the library and got out every book on the subject that I could find. After sifting through the stack I ultimately bought this book and this book. Mostly I liked the nutritional information in the Yaron book (the purple cover) and I liked the menus in the Young book. Everything that I did today was a result of something I read in one of those two books.

I started the experiment out with a trip to the supermarket - boy in tow. We bought two sweet potatoes (he picked them out), two ice cube trays, some freezer bags, and a frozen bag of organic sweet peas for our next meal in a few days (sweet peas were surprisingly hard to find without salt added.)

I got home washed my hands, washed the counter surfaces, the ice cube trays and tried to be as clean as possible in general. I peeled the sweet potatoes and decided that if I'm going to keep this up I DEFINITELY need a better vegetable peeler- because honestly, is there anything worse?

I boiled the potatoes until they were tender - about 15 minutes, and then spooned the cooked veggies into my (WICKED AWESOME) Cuisinart Food Processor. I can't find a link for the exact model I have, but I swear this thing could drive you to work its so powerful. If I could only remember what wonderful person(s) picked it off our wedding registry a million years ago I would make them something incredible using it.

Anyways, back to the task at hand: I pureed the crap out the veggies until it looked well, like baby food. I was surprised at how easy this was to achieve. My potatoes were velvety smooth and tasted pretty damn good (yes, I tasted them!) I spooned my orange puree into my ice cube trays and before it cooled I wrapped it in tin foil to freeze. (I think the reason for this is it reduces the possibility of bad bacteria infiltrating my orange colored goodness.)

I didn't freeze all of it though, I left one serving out and let that cool down to slightly warmer than room temperature. Tentatively I approached the boy with baby spoon and orange goo in hand fearing the worst.

Dear God, he likes it! AND, he didn't get sick! Amazing!

Once I scrounge up the receipt from today's venture to the market I can tell you exactly how much I spent per serving. I'm expecting it to be pretty freaking affordable because those two potatoes are going to yield us 14 quarter cup servings. Heck, I might start feeding the whole family this way.

Edited to add:
I found the receipt! I'm including the price of the sweet potatoes as well as our recent adventures.

This is of course using my supermarket and adding a touch of water to get the right consistency for a baby just starting on solids.

Each serving is 1/4 cup, or 4 tablespoons, or 2 ounces
Sweet potatoes: $.11
Peas: $.13
Pears: $.29

April Fools comes early

This is a great trick to play on your husbands/boyfriends. At the time I had no idea, but I just might have to do it every April 1st from now on...

Last night when Jim came home I had our digital thermometer in my hand. Apparently it looks JUST like a pregnancy test. He looked at me and demanded, "What is THAT?"

I think its the closest he's ever come to crapping his pants, which he of course denies, but I saw the terror in his eyes.

"Sweetness, I'm .......98.6 degrees!"

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:

• 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.

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.

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.

The Wonder Weeks

Okay people, know something. Know that I've read A LOT about parenting. While I can't say reading volumes has made me any better of a mother I will say I've learned how to sift the crap from the crap, so to speak. A lot of books about parenting say the same thing over and over again while the others make you feel inadequate if your child doesn't fit the mold. I learned pretty much from the moment I had Henry that all of these books need to be taken with a grain of salt. Having said all that please know it takes quite a bit for me to get excited about a parenting book.

In my frustration with Henry's sleep habits I've been talking with many of my mom friends, commiserating, venting, complaining. Right around the time Henry turned 4 months a friend mentioned the words "sleep regression" -- almost like a whisper, a murmur of some sinister thing that people just don't talk about. Then it came up with another friend, The Mean Mommy said, "You won't find it any book. Google it."

I'm starting to believe.

I hit Google so fast it would make your head spin and sure enough people are talking about these regressions and they are real! It was almost like a funny validation to find these posts and discussions online. Reading them felt like someone took me by the hand and said, "Don't you worry dear, there is a reason for all this but it will get better."

Sleep regressions refer to the deteriorating sleep patterns you can see just before or during a neurological growth spurt. The demand placed on a child just as he or she is going to acquire a new skill is enough to throw them completely off kilter and thus make them not find deep sleep. The book that I'm drooling over lately is this: The Wonder Weeks: How to Turn Your Baby's 8 Great Fussy Phases into Magical Leaps Forward

Tragically, its out of print and thus ridiculously expensive to purchase. If you are lucky enough to have a copy at your local library I highly suggest you go and get your hands on it and renew it repetitively. I, myself, was able to obtain a copy at my library but some other obsessed parent has requested it so sadly soon they are going to attempt to pry it off me. Jerks.

But the dork in me had taken this book, chapter by chapter and summarized it. I did it for my own benefit, but the humanitarian in me is willing to share. If you email me I will send you my notes, no strings attached (just be sure to put the words "Wonder Weeks" in the subject line of your email.) At the time of this posting I still have a few chapters to cover, but if you are patient I promise it will be better than 90% of the parenting "literature" out there.

The standoff

Now truly, honestly THIS is the post that years from now my son is going to read and say, "Ma, really? You had to tell the world about that?" But I can't help it, I'm elated.

I'm elated about crap. Not a general theoretical reference, but actual crap.

We've had somewhat of a blockage here in our house the last few days. We started cereal last week, and while its been fun I couldn't help but notice the effect its played on my son's GI tract. "Iron Fortified" it says on the box but it fails to also promote that it will make you child's little bum the baby equivalent of Fort Knox. I was starting to get concerned.

In chatting with other mom friends I knew there were such remedies as adding a little prune juice to his bottle, and even more extreme... glycerin suppositories. In just thinking about it I decided that if we had to go the suppository route that it was definitely a daddy job (which of course he emphatically disagreed with.)

However, miracles of miracles this morning, just hours before I planned to call his pediatrician, we all got some relief. I noticed Henry's tell-tale red face grunting and wah-lah! I was actually happy to find the single nastiest, thickest paste of crappy diaper. Even Jim, who often claims whatever diaper he is stuck with is the absolute worst to date, agree this one took the cake.

I can only imagine what we are going to see when we start real food. Good lord.

Holy hair loss

As if accepting myself in my new post-partum body wasn't hard enough, lately I've been finding full handfuls of my hair are falling out. After reading up on it, I know not to be concerned. Apparently its a balancing effect after all the lustrous locks I gained while with child, but dear God this is GROSS. I'm constantly pulling long strands off the boy, and every time I wash my hair within minutes I'm standing in 2 inches of water for my sheddings that have slowed the drain. Bleck.

If that weren't enough, my once blemish-free skin is anything but. What the heck, hormones? Why you gotta be like that? Combine all this with the few extra pounds I still need to shed and man oh man, I am feeling like one fine looking momma.

Did I mention I've been living in sweatpants this winter?
Hotness.