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I Take My Albuterol Shaken, Not Stirred

12/14/2011

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Dear Log,

Today is Day 6 of the Sickness. I fear there is no end in sight.

The boy appears to be getting better, but we certainly take one step forward and two steps back. He managed to go all of Wednesday without a fever but without a nap. This does not bode well for my mental health. When your toddler wakes up screaming after fifteen minutes of nap time and you haven't even had a chance to plug the baby monitor in, you know you're headed for a long afternoon.

But not as long of an afternoon as Tuesday. Nap schedule was the same - 15 minutes down, woke up screaming (due to coughing) and since the cleaners were over, we literally found ourselves man (and Mom) without a country. While I'm really happy the ladies did a solid job scrubbing every surface of my home with bleach (including cleaning my coffee pot...?), it's very difficult to entertain a sick toddler when you cannot go to a.) friends' houses  b.) indoor play places and c.) the playground out of fear of becoming a social pariah. So we completed the trifecta of errands (Costco, grocery store, Target) and then had a late dinner out. Imagine my surprise when we returned and the cleaners were still there!  I'm not sure if I should be pleased with their effort or offended at how dirty they found my home. Regardless, it's lovely to be able to see your reflection in the bathroom mirror again.

The Sickness has turned the boy into a Level 5 Clinger. While I'm enjoying all of the snuggling, I've also been rendered useless on the home front. This includes cooking meals, washing dishes, bathing. I know the boy doesn't feel good and nothing feels better than sitting squarely on Momma's hip while watching Super Why! for the 12,000 time that day, but I need to be able to complete certain activities. Like brushing my teeth. Short of strapping the child to my body via duct tape, I plan to research "Toddler Bjorns"...just as soon as I'm able to sit at the computer...alone.

And after the past five days, I'm certain that while healthy toddlers regularly mimic drunk people (incoherent speech, stumbling, excessive displays of emotion), sick toddlers most resemble crackheads coming down from a bad trip. At one point yesterday, Scotty vacillated between throwing books at my face to suddenly being mesmerized with my nose, gently touching it and attempting to lick it while murmuring, "Looooove Moooooom." He is a wild card when ill, and this lack of predictability is starting to wear on me.

Speaking of drug use, watching your child use a nebulizer feels like you are watching them use a hookah. It's very Lost-esque flash forward-y, like I'm being given a glance of my toddler in college one day. I'm not sure if I'm proud or horrified with how easily Scotty puts the nebulizer hose in his mouth and inhales deeply. Once again, I find myself asking, "Am I just a really good mom or is my kid going to smoke a lot of um, things one day?" Needless to say, I've tried to weave in an anti-drug message to the little tyke many times in recent days, in the form of, "Who's ready for dinner? Don't use drugs!" and "Time for bubble tub...don't do drugs!" Let's hope it sinks in.

Likewise, I fear I may have lost my husband to the dark recesses of the legal world. Despite the many important-sounding phone calls he takes at night and mountains of paperwork he schelps back and forth to his car every morning, I secretly believe he is actually working on nothing at all. I believe that the stress of the Sickness has driven him to escape to the quiet, clean solitude that is his office. If I find out "arbitration" is Latin for "afternoon tee time," I will likely kill him this weekend.

And so, here I sit. Praying the Sickness goes away soon and the boy returns to his normal Bear self. Wishing the 4am breathing treatment ends on Friday or I may likely lose my mind. And hoping that the horrible antibiotic shot the Bear was forced to endure today - the one where he screamed for 30 minutes straight and caused a medical assistant to panic and run out of the room - works quickly.

Because I'm not sure how much longer my household can stand this.

Until next time, Log.

Kim

Editor's note: I wrote this entry last night around 9pm. I'm happy to report Scotty slept the whole night with only one waking (around 12:30). We fed him some crackers, nebulized him, and today, he woke up a new boy. I'm hoping we've turned a corner.
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Parenting Skillz

5/4/2011

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Brian haz them.

The big guy in the house is really hitting this parenting thing out of the park lately. Two situations recently came up and I'm delighted to say that it was Brian who produced two excellent solutions.

I know Brian tends to get a tough rap in the blog. There's just so much about him that is fun to talk about -- from garage shelving debacles to his rabid fanaticism over the Green Bay Packers, he's kind of an easy target. But at least now, know that he has some serious street cred on the toddler front.

Word.

Situation #1:

Scotty developed an extreme and completely irrational fear of the bathtub about two weeks ago. He went from a happy sudsy-baby to a screaming-his-little-head-off-until-the-final-cup-of-water-is-poured-kid.  We have no idea what triggered it. I went through an entire litany of possibilities, from the water being too hot to chemicals in the tub from when I scrubbed it, all the way to switching his shampoo and letting him bring a few treasured bop-bops in the tub. Nothing worked. We couldn't figure out a cause, and any attempt to soothe the little beast was simply met with more screaming.

Brian even donned the swim trunks and hopped in the tub with him one night. Scotty loved this a little too much. While he didn't cry in the tub, he certainly wailed his little head off when we asked him to get out. And as Brian so succinctly put it, "This is not going to be a regular occurrence." Logistically, it was just impossible to continue, since I don't think Brian's clients would appreciate him having to leave the office early so he could go home to bathe with his son.

And then one night, Brian took the bear by the horns and did something different. I was downstairs with our financial guy, waiting for the screams to erupt from the upstairs bathroom (and was mentally composing my story so he didn't think we were abusing our child or something), but all I heard was...silence. Beautiful, golden silence.  When Brian returned downstairs, he looked like the cat that ate the canary. "What did you do?" I pressed, between the annuities and variable funds discussion. "I let him stand up," Brian said smugly.

Oh.

Overall, a great solution. Not good as a forever solution, but you know what? It worked. Scotty, being the cautious Bear that he is, just stood gingerly in the water as Brian held his hand and scrubbed him. By Day 4 of the Vertical Bathing Challenge, Scotty was easily coaxed into a sitting position and went back to his normal happy, bathtub self.

Problem solved.

Point: Brian.

Situation #2:

Scotty decided he no longer wants to drink milk. This has been going on for a good month. We've supplemented with additional dairy in the form of yogurt and cheese, but the Bear will not drink his sippy cup of milk. So again, I did the parent-thing and started throwing wet paper towels at the wall to see what stuck. Changed the sippy cup. Nope. Warmed the milk. No. Gave him smaller amounts of milk. Uh-uh. Bought chocolate milk. No way, Jose. Begged. Pleaded. Modeled the behavior myself and drank gallons of milk in front of him.  Made Elmo drink milk. Acted like milk was the greatest thing in the world.

And...zero.  Nothing was going to convince him to touch that sippy cup. Juice and water were great, but he was definitely passing on the milk.  

Finally, Brian mentioned this to Uncle Jim, who suggested strawberry milk. I had never even heard of strawberry milk. Brian promptly went out and purchased a little container of Nestle strawberry Quik and guess what? 

We literally cannot keep his kid's cup full.

Scotty has gotten to the point of sucking down two cups full of milk pre-breakfast, has another with each meal of the day, and then a cup of milk before bedtime. That's almost 1,000 calories of milk per day. His favorite thing to say to me is, "More juice?" as he stands next to the fridge. And the best part? While adding processed red sugar to your child's milk is not ideal, we're down to less than 1/2 a teaspoon of Quik per sippy cup. As long as Scotty sees us with the spoon and the canister of Quik, he's happy. He has no idea he's getting a tiny portion.

Point: Brian.

Needless to say, I'm so pleased with Brian's ability to think around situations. (and Uncle Jim, too. Thank you!) I feel like those typical toddler frustrations are best handled when you work with the kid, versus against them (i.e. my way or the highway), and Brian has achieved this marvelously. And if you read his comment on the last entry, you'll know he's like, real smart and stuff.

Brian for the win!

::wild applause:: 
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Thursday Musings

10/21/2010

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Okay, there is so much going on these days my head is spinning.

First, I'd like to apologize to anyone I may have offended during No-Fat Talk Week. (Jill, thank you for pointing that out.) I did not realize it was No-Fat Talk Week since I have never celebrated it (honored it? Taken notice of it?) before, but now, I will.

Second, now two friends have had babies in recent days, leading me to believe we are in the second wave of Alpha Gam births (the first one was in July). Jen and baby D are resting comfortably and I found out earlier today Liz had a baby girl this morning. Congrats, Jen and Lizzie! 

I think April is next...! :-)

And speaking of Jen, I just have to say, I love her. She cracks me up. I think I'd mentioned before that she usually calls me around the same time each day; Scotty is down for his nap and Jen is driving to pick up Rowan from daycare. We talk for 15 minutes and then have to continue the conversation until the next day. And Tuesday was no different. She called at 2:45 and was like, "Hi...thought I'd call you like I normally do."I broke into slightly hysterical giggles. I mean, seriously. Who pushes out a baby two hours previously and then still has their wits about them to call and chat with friends? Only Jen. She relayed a little of her birth story to me, and if she wasn't my friend, I don't know if I would have believed her. Little Baby D (and he's not so little...8lbs, 10oz, 20.5 inches long) came into this world with a half of a push. Let me say that again: a HALF of a PUSH.

Mind you, I pushed for almost 60 minutes and lost my bladder in the process.

Not Jen. A half of a push and he entered the world. (I am just glad she was at the hospital...we had been talking for weeks that the little man was going to make an early entrance, and I was terrified for her she was going to give birth on the side of a rural country road in central Illinois.) I told her she was born for breeding and better continue to have kids.

And aside from babies, my new endeavor started last night: Junior League. It was a very informative meeting and I met some nice people.

I also learned the first rule of Junior League: you don't talk about Junior League.

The second rule of Junior League: you DO NOT talk about Junior League!

(obviously, I'm being silly...this is a quote from a movie. [guesses? Everyone should know this!] In all seriousness, it was a great meeting and I'm looking forward to volunteering.)

And finally, I haven't talked much about it on the blog, but I found out this morning that yes, I will definitely have to have surgery on the fibroid....in 19 days. That seems sudden, doesn't it? I am both happy and nervous; happy that the darn fibroid will finally meet his maker, and nervous because this is major surgery. Two nights in the hospital and six weeks until I can resume normal activities. How does chasing after an increasing-fast-moving-28-pound Bear factor into that picture? I have no idea. My mom is coming out to help, which is great, but I am worried that Scotty, Mr. Separation-Anxiety-Bear as of late, is going to be a total pill for her while I'm gone. I know he'll be fine (and I will too), it's just...blah. And blech. The idea of being cut open just isn't very appealing.

(I also wish I could call my mom and talk to her about this, but she is at Quilting Camp until Saturday. It's like sleep-away camp with quilts.)

Oh, and yes, George will be performing the surgery. In my recent consults with him, he told me extracting the fibroid is "just like shellin' a peach." (He went to school in Georgia.) Great. Such a lovely analogy. And for the record, when Adam and Tiffany were in town a few weekends ago, I tried to shell a peach (for our little brunch/breakfast) and it was WAY harder than I thought. I ended up throwing the peach away because I had mashed it into a pulp in my efforts to get the pit out. Technically, that would be my uterus...but I'm trying to not think about that.

So, there you have it: No-Fat Talk Week, more babies, Jr. League, and my uterus. Quite a mash-up, huh?
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Infant Development 2.0

6/14/2010

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I've decided to re-write what we know about baby development into a much more user-friendly guide. Current literature out there wants to 'fancy' it up, whereas most of us just want things broken down into easily understood bites.  Because let's face it - parenting is a crazy process and we just want things to go well.

So here you have it, infant development in three easy-to-understand stages. 

Months 0-3: The Alien Phase

Congratulations! You just welcomed a small, strange creature into your life. This little alien has absolutely no way to communicate with you except to scream and cry whenever it needs something. It's up to you to decipher the screams and not lose your sanity in the process.

The little alien doesn't like to sleep on a schedule, wants to eat at all hours of the night, and frequently will poop, pee, and spit-up on you. Without care to what you are wearing or if you are trying to get out of the door without having to change your outfit for the third time. And you are expected to handle this with grace and class, even though you are thinking to yourself, "If anyone else in my life pooped or peed on me, I would terminate the relationship." You don't get a lot back during this phase, but the good news is that when the little alien is sleeping, he/she looks angelic and snuggly, making you forgive them for the last time they puked on you.

During this phase, your life is going to be ruled by one word: SLEEP. Because you are not getting enough of it. Moms-to-be may dismiss this with a quick hand wave ("I went to college...I know what it's like to pull an all-nighter") when in reality, it's like pulling an all-nighter for TWO MONTHS straight. I think they intentionally make baby bath products smell good so you can at least snuggle up to your baby and breathe in their smell without packing up your car and joining the witness protection program. Your emotional brain loves your baby, but your logical brain is asking, "Um...when does this get better?"

Months 4-6:  The Blob Phase

Good news! That small little alien you welcomed into your life several months ago is growing. And growing, and growing, and growing. And with that growth means better sleep, for both you and the little alien. Best of all, the alien finally stopped its futile protest to re-enter the womb and has finally accepted his lot in life: to live in this world as a small blob. Because during this time, your baby doesn't do much.

You don't really care that your baby doesn't do much; you are just so excited to get more than 4 hours of sleep (in a row) at night that you high-five random strangers on the street. You whistle in the morning out of sheer joy that REM sleep has returned and the bags under your eyes are finally starting to go away. During this time, you might also seriously consider rejoining the human race. Because you finally have time to shower, put make-up on, and be pleasant to other people (i.e. when others ask how you are doing, you are able to use an indoor voice, instead of scream, "I AM SO TIRED!!".)

Baby development, however, is kind of stalled at this time. They are not really sitting up, so its hard to play with toys. They don't really acknowledge other babies, so playdates are also tough. They are still eating their very weird diet of breastmilk and/or formula, so its not like they can join you for a meal. Most of the time, they are happy to bounce in a jumperoo and cram their chubby legs into a Bumbo seat. Now is a very good time for you to get your hair highlighted, make a nice meal for your husband (to make up for the last three months of constant whining about how tired you are), and perhaps check your email. Welcome back, Mom.

Months 7-12: The Puppy Stage

And finally, the golden age of infant development. Your baby is not quite human yet and reached that moment I like to call 'the dawn of consciousness,' but they are awfully cute and fun to interact with. You can teach them tricks at this age ("high five!").  You can feed them table scraps and they bounce up and down with excitement. People stop you when you are out walking to comment on how adorable your 'puppy' is and you never, ever leave the house without a poopy bag (aka the Diaper Bag.) 

The downside of this stage? The mess. Like any good puppy, they are into everything. Nothing in your home is sacred. Just this past weekend, I skyped with my parents and sister (who is in IN visiting), and in the 10 minutes baby Ben was on camera, he managed to sit still for 2 minutes (only because he was pooping in his diaper), scuttle onto the carpet, avert my mother's arms and head straight for the coffee table, wedge himself into the coffee table and start chewing on the electrical cords. It was like watching a small, very determined tornado in action. I half expected him to put a hole in the drywall or knock down the desk, but my mom and sister were right there to stop him in his path of destruction.

So yes, while you will lavish in the praise of others who think your baby is adorable, your house will also never be the same. They will make a mess on your carpet, eat your houseplants, and lick anything that comes their way. But at this point, they are sleeping so you could really care less. 

*****

There you have it. Put down those silly baby books and just use my easy three-phase system. And be sure to get some sleep!
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Very Scary Wake-up Call

4/14/2010

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Like most stay-at-home-moms, I read mommy blogs. I write a mommy blog, so it only makes sense that I should read some, too. And there are some good ones out there -- among my favorites is babyrabies.com. (yes, it's when 'baby fever' reaches a fevered pitch and turns into baby rabies...). The author seems to have her stuff together and I relate to a lot of the things she blogs about. I am still laughing at her sleep training entry (and mentally writing my own in my head).

But today, she was a little more serious and published a link to probably the most disturbing article I've read in months. It was so disturbing that I promptly published it on my Facebook page, urging all parents to read it. Because it highlights every good parent's greatest fear: accidentally causing your child harm. Or in this case, death.

As I said on Facebook, the article is grisly. And tough to get through. But I also think it's important to bring awareness to this subject in order to prevent it from ever happening again. Because it doesn't just affect moms or dads...it could happen to grandparents, aunts, uncles, or any caregiver.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/02/27/AR2009022701549.html?sid=ST2009030602446

(sorry if you have to cut and paste the link...I don't know how to make it clicky).

Anyways...spread the word.
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Baby Talk

3/10/2010

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I'd always heard that having a baby changes a relationship, but I really had no idea just how much.

Aside from the fact that nearly all of our attention is fixated on our little bundle of joy, Brian's and my communication is clearly in need of help. I find this so interesting since pre-kids, we were seriously the model of How to Communicate Effectively with Your Partner. No really, look it up in the dictionary; you'll find our pictures.

I'm not trying to brag here, but if you put a therapist and a litigator in the same room, you're going to get some stuff accomplished. I handled the emotional direction of the conversation and Brian would skillfully navigate through complex logical issues. One thing I was so proud of between the two of us is that we, given a certain amount of time, could pretty much resolve any issue. And resolve it well. Differences aside, I would say we were on the same page about 90% of the time. And when we weren't discussing something, we were able to pick up on the other person's idea fairly quickly and run with it.

(And, just in case you are not familiar with studies that look for factors that contribute to successful marriage (and the work of John Gottman), please know that it's really the degree of resolution between a couple that predicts future happiness, not the number of conflicts between the two. Does that make sense? So if a couple has one big blow-out a year but get no resolution to the problem [i.e. they both walk away still mad, resentful, and like the other person did not hear them], they are much more at risk for future unhappiness than the couple that argues weekly but argues with a purpose (i.e. finding a solution to the problem) and both parties walk away feeling as though the problem has been resolved.)

(Look, you just learned something today.)

Anyways, so as I was saying, I would be lying if I didn't say that communication has seriously changed in our relationship.  But what I think is so funny is that it changed not in the way I expected, at all. I mean, yes, we don't nearly have time for a 3+ hour discussion on a problem like we did pre-Scotty. And yes, we are more tired and more cranky (um...me), but aside from working through differences, it's actually the content of our communication pattern that has changed, regardless of if we are in an argument or just talking through our day. It's Not that we are arguing or disagreeing more, it's that we just simply communicate on a whole different level now.

Let me give you an example.

The night we went to Joel Robuchon, there was a lull in the conversation. Just a normal dip. The waiter had just set our newest course in front of us. We had both taken a bite. And then, out of nowhere and without thinking, I blew a raspberry at Brian.

In the middle of Joel Robuchon.

I think we were both surprised.

And so was the waiter. And so was the snooty french couple sitting next to us, who made faces and turned in the other direction.

Unfazed, I just kind of shrugged and said, "Sorry...we have a baby at home."

And I'm not the only one guilty of regressing to baby behavior, either. That same night, as we were waiting for the valet, Brian was rubbing my back. Well, at least I thought he was. But then I realized he would make a circle...another circle...and then two hard pats.

After this happened twice, I finally looked up at him and asked, "Are you trying to burp me?"  He shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry," he said. "Habit."

See? This is what I'm talking about. Hang out with a six-month old and you will revert back to baby behaviors. Or you get so used to caring for the baby that you can't control when your parenting skills will rear their ugly heads. Like, in the middle of Joel Robuchon when you blow a raspberry at your partner.

Also, reading too many board books does weird things to your head. Brian and I will be out together, sans baby, and one of us will point to a bird and say, "Bird. Bird. Say it with me...BIRD." Or "Truck." Or "Tiger."

Lion. Penguin. Fish. (clearly, we've been working on animals recently).

We'll be sitting on the touch and Brian will point to my foot. "Toe," he'll say slowly. "Good boy," I tell him. "You're such a good boy." He grins.

One of our favorite series of books is the 'That's Not My..." series. They are books that you can touch while reading, and it's like, "That's not my dinosaur! His teeth are too bumpy. [touch the bumpy teeth.] That's not my dinosaur! His flippers are too slippery [touch the slippery fins]," etc. You get the drift. Well, recently I found the "That's not my train!" book and Brian and I love reading it to Scotty. (And yes, all of the books end happily with the reader finding their train/dinosaur/monkey/what have you).

So the other morning, I was playing with Scott on the rug when I noticed Brian emptying in the dishwasher. Before I could even think, I blurted out, "That's not my husband! He's doing some chores!" Brian scowled but we both giggled a little. 

Sadly, this change in communication is not limited to just between Brian and I, nor is it limited to verbal communication. A few weeks ago, a friend and I went out for drinks and dessert, sans children. When the waitress came to check on our table, she asked if we were done with our mountain of chocolate lava. I held up both hands and shook them. "All done," I told her, waving my hands. "All done."

So, it's clear that board books, burping, raspberries, and baby sign language definitely will bend one's brain. Take, for example, a recent phone call between Brian and I.

B: [picks up phone] Hello?
K: Hi sweetie. Bad news. We lost Spot.
B: What? Are you serious?
K: Yes. We can't find him anywhere. He didn't eat his supper.
B: Well, is he behind the door?
K: No...
B: Is he inside the clock?
K:  No....
B:  Is he in the piano?
K:  No...
B: Is he under the stairs?
K: No...
B:  Is he in the closet?
K:  No...
B:  Is he under the bed?
K:  No...
B:  Is he in the box?
K:  No...Oh, wait! I think I see him. He's under the rug.
B:  [waits patiently]
K:  He's in the basket!
B: Good boy, Spot. Good boy. 

Is it date night yet?

::sigh::

(and thank you to all of the authors I shameless quoted in this blog. They include: Eric Hill, Fiona Watt, and Rachel Wells. Please don't sue me.)
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Okay, okay, I get it

3/2/2010

1 Comment

 
So those crazy ideas of possibly having another baby? (and btw, I don't mean anytime soon...I mean, just at all. The first pregnancy was so traumatic that I originally swore off all future babies and vowed to adopt).  Gone. Dunzo. It only took the Universe 24 hours to remind me how hard this whole process can be.

So after our disasterous lunch date, Scotty rocked the afternoon by sleeping for two straight hours. He was in bed on time and sawing logs during my Bachelor post. I finally crawled into bed at 11:30pm only to be roused within a measly 45 minutes. My super-sleeper baby has once again return to the Land of Ye of The Night Wakings. Bottle in hand, I dutifully attended to the little monkey and started rocking...and rocking...and rocking.

I finally threw in the towel at 2am. And promptly woke Brian up, tearfully moaning, "I can't do it anymoooooore!"

Brian got him down by 3am. Based on what I heard on the monitor, it sounded akin to wrestling a small wild cougar.

The culprit: teeth. At least, that's what we think. (we blame everything on teeth these days. Scotty's mood? Teeth. Our dirty house? Teeth. The delay in getting us keys to the new house? Teeth again.)

And I woke up this morning to a massive case of mastisis. I can barely raise my right arm above my shoulder. (this is also making typing v.v. difficult). It feels like someone has taken a baseball bat to my right side. I called George's office this morning and spoke with a nurse, who curtly told me that I need to try warm compresses, pump more, and then maybe, just maybe, they'll see me tomorrow. Great. Because I really want to drag my 22+ infant into a doctor's office using only one arm. Can't they just call in an Rx for me? (insert whine here)

Scotty is still super grumpy today, we missed a playdate at 11am, I'm exhausted and in pain.

And I wanted to do this again...ever?

[This post was sponsored in part by Bayer HealthCare Pharmaceuticals, makers of Mirena. "Keep life a little simpler" Heck yeah. :-)]

 
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Second Greatest Moment of my Life

9/22/2009

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The greatest moment of my life (so far) has been the birth of Scotty. The moment he came into the world - seriously unbelievable. It made 9 months of pregnancy totally worthwhile (and immediately made me want to do it again, much to Brian's horror. Poor guy was still thinking about wheelchairs, bed rest, and back pain while I bathed in the glow of new motherhood.)

And now, I present the second greatest moment of my life: tonight, around 7pm. I had spent a horrible day yesterday with a very fussy infant that screamed for 3.5 hours in the morning and another hour when Brian got home. I googled reflux.I googled GERD. I looked up 'spit-up' and tried to figure out if my baby was normal. I posted my situation on Facebook, seeking advice from other mothers. I steeled myself for another 7+ weeks of this, telling myself I could do it. I might get a lot of lines around my eyes and mouth from the stress, but I could do it.

It was so bad yesterday morning that I actually had to step outside. I was crying so hard that I don't think Scotty could hear it over his crying. We were both a mess. The thought that I had to deal with a fussy, screaming baby for almost another two months seriously depressed me but this motherhood, I told myself. Buckle up and deal.

And then today, Brian showed me how to work the PlayStation so I could play a DVD. Our DVD player doesn't work (not sure why) so we play things through the PlayStation, a contraption I have zero experience with. A few months ago, one of Brian's co-workers gave him 'The Happiest Baby on the Block' DVD but I never watched it since I don't know who to work the damn PlayStation thing. After yesterday, I begged Brian to please set it up for me since I was desperate for any new ideas.

I had read the book (even reviewed it) but the book, like most books, is nothing like the movie. The DVD is 100x better - and gives real and actual descriptions of HOW TO swaddle, shush, side-position, swing, and suck. Scotty had a great day this afternoon, so I didn't get a chance to put my new skills into action until tonight.

And then, right on cue, around 7pm, Scotty began to fuss. We did our usual 'talk to the baby,' 'snuggle the baby,' 'walk with the baby' routine. And then I busted out my new swaddling technique. Scotty still screamed. I did the side-position move and in 30 seconds...silence. Blissful, lovely silence. I looked at him to make sure we weren't hurting him, and he looked absolutely content. Wonderfully content. Like a switch in his brain had been turned off, and now he was happy. I was so happy I started crying (again). BEST DVD EVER, PEOPLE. This man, Dr. Sears, needs a Nobel Prize or something.

When Scotty got fussy again in two hours, we repeated our behavior. And you know what? IT WORKED!!!!! Again. Phenomenal! Scotty is now blissfully asleep, growing and developing, without having to waste all kinds of useless energy on screaming and fussing. I now have so much time on my hands that I can blog, talk to friends, write a book, maybe even make dinner. Brian will have a hot meal waiting for him? Truly a blessed event.

Anyways, I HIGHLY recommend this DVD. An A+++++ on my rating scale. Don't get the book; get the DVD. Much more helpful.

And let's keep our fingers crossed that our good luck/baby wrangling skills continue to improve. :-)
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Pimp out my Nursery

9/8/2009

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My friend Sherri commented on the last post by suggesting adding a microwave to our bedroom to help with the bottle sterilization process. Funny, but I had been thinking along the same lines recently.

While I adore our nursery (the "swamp" as we call it, since we filled it full of turtles, frogs, a tree, and birds. Maybe we have some strange latent Shrek hang-up), I can't help but feel a little critical at our new-parent planning. First of all, we picked out all whites, taupes, sage greens, and navy as our color scheme. Aside from the navy (our only good idea), what the hell were we thinking? Did I really think babies are these clean entities that do not spit up, poop, and pee on everything? I love our beautiful (and insanely expensive) sage-colored glider, but as I feed Scotty, I am constantly thinking, "Did I Scotch-guard this? Is that breast milk? Will that come out? What is that crustiness?" Not necessarily thoughts a new mother needs or wants. If I could do it all over again, I think I'd decorate using navy, black and brown. Yes, not visually appealing, but damn, it's functional.

Also, let's talk about appliances. One of our good friends had joked about adding a plasma-screen TV to their son's nursery, so he could watch SportsCenter during the late night feedings. Since Brian does not get up for the late night feedings (see previous post, titled "Marriage Tip #387"), this would not work out. But - adding appliances to the nursery is a great idea. If I could pimp out out nursery, I would add:

1.) Built-in microwave for sterilizing bottles
2.) Mini-fridge for breast milk storage (and perhaps a snack for Mom)
3.) Working sink for bottle cleaning, hand-washing, and pre-rinsing of all poopy clothing (Scotty literally pooped in my mom's hand the other day...hysterical, though messy).
4.) Ample storage space - not just for clothes, but for dishes, bottles, pacifers, paper towels, etc.
5.) Washer and dryer. Have a load? Just toss it in! And if you have a baby...you have dirty clothes! They go together like peas and carrots.
6.) Some kind of built-in stereo system with surround sound that allows for white noise at night, soothing lullabies to fall asleep to (I don't know any lullabies...I am failing at motherhood. I keep singing the poor kid "America the Beautiful" and "The Star-Spangled Banner," since those are the only two songs I know all of the words to), and then some classical music for his alert time. 
7.) And finally, perhaps a mini-bar, for Mom, Dad, and Grandma, when there is nothing more you can do that pour yourself a drink and settle in for a long night with a cuddly baby. 

Essentially, reading this list over again, we are building Scotty his own apartment. I'm okay with that. Yes, it would be all stainless steel, black, and granite. Not necessarily baby-friendly, but you know, maybe he'd learn to love it.  If we could just live in the nursery and never have to go in another part of the house, ever, I'm fine. Anything to make this crazy time easier.
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Sleep deprivation

9/7/2009

1 Comment

 
So, we have these sterilizing bags that are used to clean baby bottles and the plastic parts from the breast pump. It's really the easiest process in the world; you rinse out said bottle, put the bottle in the sterilizing bag, and microwave it for about three minutes. After it's done, you dump it out on the counter on some paper towels and allow the parts to air dry. Viola. Sterilized bottle and parts, very little work.

You, however, know you are in the throes of sleep deprivation when you wake up at 3am to pump, walk downstairs with your freshly pumped milk and begin to assemble the parts for sterilization only to realize not all of the parts fit in the bag, necessitating two rounds of bag-microwaving. I would have to stay downstairs for an additional three minutes to get through Round Two of bottle sterilization. I was almost brought to tears last night at the idea of an extra three minutes preventing me from getting to bed sooner.

Three minutes. That is how important sleep is when it feels like you are getting none. Argh.
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