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.