Sticky But Sweet

And So It Grows

2010-10-05T09:05:00.001-04:00

So, here I am on the cusp of 11 weeks and still *gulp* pregnant. It feels surreal to even say the word aloud. I'm almost afraid I will somehow jinx it and wake up sans baby. But the unrelenting nausea reminds me that there is indeed a little human growing somewhere in my pelvis.

On Friday, I got another little sneak peek into my uterus to see Dewdrop. To my delight, the heartbeat was still beating away. I was so amazed at how much he/she has grown in just three short weeks. He/She actually looks like a baby instead of a prehistoric sea creature. There is a distinct head, body, arms and legs. He/She kept putting his/her hands near his/her face, which reminded me of Nate in utero. And best of all, he/she flashed a little smile for the camera, as if to say "see, I'm fine in here Mommy!".

The doctor didn't measure the CRL, which was actually fine since I had been obsessing about being 3 days behind at the last scan. I am just choosing to trust her word that the baby has grown significantly and that all looks perfect. The yolk sac is being absorbed and the placenta should be taking over soon, which means I can stop the progesterone supplements in 8 days. Wow, what will I do without all that panty goo?

The first trimester always seems to be the most agonizingly slow one but when I consider that I'll hit the second trimester in just 15 days, it really seems like it has gone by speedily. I'm not actually rushing it away this time. Sure, I'd like not to have to sip ginger ale every time I wake up. But I want to soak in each and every moment. This time, I'd like to have no regrets.
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As for my firstborn, we had him evaluated for speech therapy over the course of the last month and a half. Last week, we learned that he has a 50% delay in expressive language and a 25% delay in receptive language (which is most likely the result of the expressive delay). He will begin therapy later this month. A teacher will come to the house weekly and do specific exercises with him, which I will repeat during the week and report the results. After 6 months, he will be reevaluated to see if he needs more intense therapy.

It's always disappointing to hear that your child has a developmental problem, but I was not surprised. I had been expecting to hear this so I was as prepared as I could be. It breaks my heart that he is unable to communicate effectively, as social as he is by nature. I just hope he gets the help he needs.

(Not So) Wordless Wednesday: Meet "Dewdrop"

2010-09-15T10:59:00.003-04:00

Before my appointment Friday, I was so intensely nervous that I thought I might spew all over the waiting room. I had convinced myself that I was going to see an empty sac. But lo and behold, there actually is a little baby growing in my belly. And he or she has a beautiful heartbeat. I was so amazed at the sight of that flicker that it didn't even occur to me to ask for the rate. But it was going pretty fast so I don't think there is anything to worry about in that department.

"Dewdrop" measured 6w6d and by ovulation I should've been 7w2d. 3 days off is really no big deal, as dating is not an exact science, but because of my history (i.e. paranoia), my OB kindly booked another scan for October 1st. Just for peace of mind. I'm eager to get another glimpse of this little bean and pray that he or she hangs in there for the long haul.

I said I wouldn't get attached but how could you not? I'm totally in love already so I won't bother denying it.
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As far as symptoms go, I must say that this pregnancy has been surprisingly, vastly different from my first. I hardly felt "pregnant" at all with Nate. I had no morning sickness, my face was vibrant and looked better than ever, and aside from some serious bouts of constipation and my slowly burgeoning belly, he never really made his presence known until he was too big to be ignored.

This time around, I'm not exactly running to the toilet, but I have an increasingly present yucky feeling. The kind of feeling where you think you may need to eat something but you're afraid that if you do, you might regret it. I snack every hour or two but some meals just seem to sit in my stomach and leave me queasy. I also gag if I'm not careful brushing my teeth, which is new. My face looks like a minefield. I have pinchy, pully round ligament pains if I get up too fast, sneeze or roll over quickly. And I also get dizzy occasionally - I'm assuming from the increased blood flow. The great thing is, as a SAHM, I can nap during the day when Nate naps so most days, I do get an hour or two of rest that helps.

DH is convinced Dewdrop is a girl. I have a feeling it's a girl too but if it's anything like with Nate, I will probably flip flop back and forth up until the big reveal. So much for motherly instinct!

Sigh of Relief

2010-08-19T17:44:00.000-04:00

Second beta (14dpo) : 163
Doubling Time: 36.19 hours

Music to my ears. Maybe now I can finally put the HPTs away.

Next up is the first ultrasound on 9/10. I'm just praying for a healthy heartbeat.

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday: Shock Factor

2010-08-18T08:51:00.003-04:00

Hopeful EDD: 4/27/11

First Beta @ 12dpo = 65
Progesterone = 11.6 (starting 200mg Prometrium nightly)
Second Beta @ 14dpo = ? (we'll find out tomorrow)

In. Shock.

Two

2010-07-29T07:16:00.007-04:00

Nate turned 2 on Monday. Can you believe it?! My baby...TWO?!

Where on earth does the time go? I'm getting whiplash from the speed of the clock passing me by. It feels like I was just holding him in my arms for the first time. Just when I think I can't possibly love him more, my heart swells just a little bit more. It's amazing how that happens.

Man, am I blessed.
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It's been an eventful couple of months over here at Chez Sticky. DH was laid off unexpectedly in late June. Seeing as though he is the sole financial provider, this was a scary time for us. But he found another - better paying - job in just two weeks. That whole saying, when God closes one door he opens another? Totally true. His commute is longer since he has to take the train into D.C. but he bought a new iPad to make it more "tolerable". What a nerd.

I was planning to have a huge party for Nate's birthday but with the timing of the layoff, we decided to delay it a few weeks. So, the big celebration is now scheduled for August 15th. We're doing a Yo Gabba Gabba theme, considering that is his all-time favorite show. I'm going domestic and plan to bake cupcakes and decorate them to look like the characters' faces. It's promising to be super cute. I can't wait.

Then there comes the strep throat that DH and I caught. Nate was spared somehow from the pure hell. Thank goodness for Penicillin. That's all I have to say about that.

I'm currently waiting to O in my fourth Clomid cycle. That means no BFP yet. I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't getting anxious. We're now in month 11 of TTC #2. You'd think that having been there, done that, I would feel a sense of comfort with all this business. But it still feels like new territory. With each day that passes, and as Nate grows older by the minute, my desire for his sibling burns brighter.

I find myself wondering what we'll do if Clomid doesn't work this time. Is IUI in our future? IVF? DH just got a new job and can't take huge chunks of time off so I'm just not sure where we're headed.

My mantra: I won't stop until the pain of disappointment becomes greater than the pain of longing.

All I know is no matter how down I get, I'm not quite there yet. So I just keep on keepin' on.

Negative

2010-05-16T16:47:00.000-04:00

12dpo. BFN.

I treated the pee stick like a pot that refused to boil should I stare. I would walk away, pace the hall anxiously and come back to analyze the results. After ten minutes of obsessive-compulsive behavior, I accepted the harsh reality that a line just wasn't going to magically appear where I hoped it would.

Disappointment initially hit me like a ton of bricks. My EDD would have been 1/25. Exactly the same as my dear "Snowflake" we lost three years ago. I had convinced myself we were destined for success this cycle. That it was meant to be so I could turn that day into a happy memory.

But I realized that, in a way, I am glad that "Snowflake" has that date all to herself. I wasn't able to give her life but at least I can give her that day. A proper commemoration of the short 11+ weeks we shared.

I didn't have time to shed a tear before Nate started beckoning me from his crib. I picked up his limp body and and rocked him gently in the glider as he fought to wake up. I swept his white blonde bangs from his tear-stained eyes and kissed his forehead. The light formed a comforting shadow in our little corner of the world. And just like that, I was at peace.

I'm still hopeful that we'll conceive a sibling someday. But I must remain thankful for the blessings that soften the blow.

Put On A Happy Face

2010-05-06T13:20:00.000-04:00

I love when I wake up in the morning to a smiling face, don't you?

This was the beautiful, surprising sight I saw on Monday - and again on Tuesday. It had been so long since I'd seen a positive OPK (on day 14 no less!) that I thought I was dreaming. I had to rub the crust from the corners of my eyes and turn on the bathroom light to be sure that there were indeed eyes and a mouth in that digital circle.

As of today, I've gotten my crosshairs and am officially 3dpo. Our timing was impeccable. We're now just sitting pretty until test day: May 15.

I'm amazed that the 50mg worked this time. Last time, pre-Nate, the 50mg did nothing but give me a monster cyst. Even 100mg had trouble releasing a golden egg. I'm shocked - and stoked - that my ovaries got the memo this time around, and on the lowest dosage. Funnily enough, my side effects have been much more potent this cycle. My past Clomid cycles incurred a week of hot flashes that were annoying but manageable. I remember sitting in business meetings, sweating like a prostitute in church. Well, this time, I had one minor hot flash that lasted all of sixty seconds but cramps, nausea and dizziness galore. You'd think the lower dose would mean less side effects. Not so in my case.

Today, as I was folding t-shirts and putting them away in his drawers, I told Nate that he could be a big brother in as soon as 8 months. I know he doesn't quite understand the magnitude of that statement. It's even hard for me to believe it is an actual possibility.

Right now it just seems like an illusion.

Consumed

2010-04-29T08:35:00.001-04:00

For the past 6 months, my posting here has been spotty at best. It's not really that I am so busy that I forget that I have a blog. And it's definitely not that I don't care. I want to write but the moment I sit down in front of the blank white box, the words escape me. I remember years ago how my thoughts would just pour out of me onto the page. I could succinctly express myself in some profound, poetic way without even really trying. But that was when I was struggling. When I'm in pain, it's so easy for me to write. Subtracting infertility from the equation has seemingly deducted my writing skills.

I've debated putting an end to this blog. Moving on. Telling myself that I just don't have the time or the talent anymore. But my heart won't let me give up. I don't want to just accept my current state as fact. So, here I am, in the midst of Infertility Awareness Week, committing myself to Bloggy Rehab so I can get back my groove back. I may have lost my way but I'm going to dig deep for that compass so I can get back on track.
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The best word I can use to describe my current state of mind is: consumed.

Not so much with our day-to-day routine. After our first year of mass confusion, we finally have that down pat. Wake up at 7am. Breakfast at 8am. Morning Snack at 11am. Nap at noon. Lunch at 2pm. Playtime/errands until 6pm. Dinner at 7pm. Bath at 7:30pm. Bedtime at 8pm. (Betcha wanted to know all about our monotony, am I right?!) There is little deviation from this schedule. No surprises. Moreso, I'm consumed with a sense of tremendous guilt.

I know I'm not the only mom on the planet who feels this emotion and I realize it is normal to an extent. I've always been one to hold myself to a high standard. And it was okay because if I failed, I was only affecting myself. With parenting, I have so much more at stake. My screw-ups now could affect my son for the rest of his life. So, I am acutely more aware of my mistakes. And well, those are aplenty.

At 21 months, Nate is still pretty much a mute. Don't get me wrong - he babbles incessantly. But it's a foreign language that only he seems to be able to comprehend. He's only said about 15-20 "real" words. And even those aren't consistent. He's perfectly content to point and grunt rather than enunciate his wants and needs. MIL assures me that DH was a late talker and that Nate will eventually gain vocabulary - probably after the age of 2. But naturally, I am concerned for his development. His comprehension is perfectly fine and he can follow simple commands like "brush your teeth", "brush your hair", "grab your shoes", "where's the ball?", etc. That's the only reason I haven't yet consulted a speech therapist. However, children younger than him are speaking in 2-3 word sentences. I'm trying not to do the whole comparison thing because I know there is a HUGE range of "normal" amongst toddlers. But I can't help but feel as if this is somehow my fault. Have I not communicated with him enough? Is he watching too much TV? Is he not socialized enough since he is an only child and I'm a SAHM? Guilt, guilt and more guilt.

And then there's the issue of TTC #2. We've been trying nonchalantly for almost 8 months now. Of course, I haven't ovulated once in that time. Par for the course. I didn't start charting until January but I've yet to see anything close to a temp shift during my 70+ day cycles. I can't say I was surprised but my OB/GYN wanted me to come in for some bloodwork, just to make sure my thyroid wasn't to blame. Come to find out, I do indeed have PCOS. As in polycystic ovaries. Why my RE didn't catch or disclose this in the year that I was her patient, I haven't the foggiest. I suspect I've had this problem all along, even though I am not technically overweight and I don't display all of the symptoms (unfortunately, skin tags and facial hair are ones that I happen to exhibit. Jackpot!) But this pretty much means I am unlikely to get - and stay - pregnant without some sort of medical intervention. So, here I am, back on wonder-drug, Clomid. Yesterday was my last pill and I'm hoping to release a magic eggie in the next week. There is hope. But I am still plagued by the what-ifs.

I am excited at the prospect of another baby. I feel ready to add to our family. But yet I question myself. Is this really the best timing? Do I really want to push my luck again and risk miscarriage? How in the hell would I deal with a loss when I have to care for a toddler? What if I have a high-risk pregnancy? There's no way I could do bedrest. Are we just being greedy? Shouldn't we just be thankful for what we have? After struggling with primary infertility, I feel guilty admitting that my family doesn't feel complete with just one child.

Last but not least, there's the SAHM guilt. I felt guilty working through the first 8 months of Nate's life, walking in the door as the clock ticked to witching hour. I thought putting my career in the backseat to invest my time in raising my son would mean zero guilt. Not the case. DH is working much longer hours (almost 80 hours a week between his 9-5 and running his business). He's under more stress. All because he's the sole provider now. I'm no spendthrift but I feel bad if I spend so much as $4 on a latte. I purchase toys and clothes from consignment and outlet sales. I knew that choosing this lifestyle would mean sacrifices. And luckily, we haven't had to give up much. I don't regret the transition. But I'd be lying if I said I never longed for a time when I could whip out my credit card and spend $150 on a salon visit. Or have the means to afford Mommy groups and summer camps and swim lessons.

I'm bombarded with so many decisions on a daily basis. I just hope I'm making the right ones.

Wordless Wednesday: Back In The Saddle Again

2010-04-28T14:26:00.002-04:00

A Cautionary Tale

2010-02-17T08:09:00.000-05:00

Valentine's Day is typically a day of taking comfort in the arms of the ones you love. And this year, that proved true but for extraordinary reasons.

On Saturday, the day before V-Day, my husband's cell phone suffered a casualty that rendered it useless. We decided to take a trip to the local mall to get a suitable replacement. There was a long wait at the kiosk and Nate grew restless with impatience as we waited for assistance. I thought it would be a good idea to take him to the kids' play area so he could release some of his pent-up energy.

As usual, he had a blast running about with the other toddlers and preschoolers. Unlike the other parents who sat by idly as their children played, I stalked Nate as he ran from post to post. He was spinning large wooden wheels, watching the enclosed beads tumble to the bottom of a transparent well. I watched him climb into a large plastic boat and crouch down as if he had found a hideout. He weaved his way in and out of a dragon maze. He even slid down the slide all by himself. We smiled and laughed as he toddled wildly through the playhouse, dodging the other youngsters like a wide receiver. As I watched him proceed into a small tunnel beneath the slide, a young boy (I'm guessing he was about 4 or 5) approached me with a worried look upon his face. He asked me if there was a nurse around. I scoured him over for signs of injury and asked him if he was hurt, to which he responded no. Thankful, I asked him if he was lost. Maybe he was looking for his mother or caregiver, who happens to be a nurse? Before he could answer, he ran off to his family on the sidelines. Whew, I thought. Crisis averted.

I looked up and glanced around. No sign of Nate. I walked over to the tunnel he had crawled into just 5 seconds prior. Empty. Panic set in as I ran laps around the playground, searching relentlessly for my blonde-haired boy. He had vanished.

That fast, in what felt like a split second, I had lost sight of my son. He was gone. I wasn't sure if I should piss my pants or vomit. Perhaps both. I had a wretched knot in my stomach and my heart had risen to my throat. I was so incredibly scared. This was not happening. I was living a nightmare at that moment.

I stood still, trembling, as I tried to gather my wits and develop of a plan of action. But all that flashed through my mind were images of someone abducting my precious son. Or him running off into a busy crowd to be trampled. Tears welled up in my eyes as I darted out of the play area and into the mall to search for a security guard - or anyone - who could help me put out an APB. Blonde-haired, blue-eyed 18-month old boy named Nathaniel. Nickname Nate. 26 pounds. 32.5 inches tall. I imagined the looks of disgust being shot my way as I explained the situation to law enforcement. Guilt washed over me as I thought about how I had allowed my son to be put in a dangerous scenario. I vowed from the moment I saw those two pink lines that I would do everything in my power to protect him. And here I was. I had let him down. I should not have let him out of my sight. Not for one second. I should have ignored that little boy. Or should I have? I thought I was doing the right thing. That I was helping. But now I'm here. What kind of mother does this...?

Suddenly, someone yanked me out of my internal monologue. A man, who had noticed the look of fear plastered across my face, asked if I was missing a little blonde-haired boy. Rather excitedly, I told him yes, I was. He said he and his wife had noticed him running out into the mall and his wife had gone chasing after him. I aimlessly ran in the direction of his pointed finger and sure enough, a young woman was walking toward me with Nate in her arms. He was smiling, blissfully unaware of what had just transpired. She told me that he was running full-speed ahead toward a Victoria's Secret. (Let's not even go there)

I don't think I have ever felt more relieved in my life, as I swooped him up and squeezed him so tight that I thought I might take the life out of him. I profusely and tearfully thanked the woman but I think I was still in a state of shock and disbelief. I smothered him in kisses, pressing my cheeks against his soft, white wisps of hair. I kept whispering, I am so sorry. I am so sorry. Even though I knew he couldn't grasp the weight of my words, I had to say it aloud. I knew it wouldn't absolve me but I wanted - I needed - him to know how missed he was. The two minutes that he had disappeared seemed like an eternity. And by the grace of God, the world stopped long enough for him to come back to me. The color could now return to my face.

On the way home, we passed an Amber Alert sign and I couldn't help but sob. That could've been my son's description on that billboard. My son could've been a news story. A statistic. Someone else wasn't as lucky to have a good samaritan step in and save the day. I cried myself to sleep that night. Thank God, I could spend the next day, Valentine's Day, with my family and try to forget this horrible incident. The hubby was very supportive and assured me that despite how I felt about myself, I was still a great mother and that I did everything right.

I keep replaying the scene over in my head, wondering how I could've prevented it. I couldn't in good conscience ignore the little boy that approached me. Try as I might, I won't be able to weed out distraction 100% of the time. So what do I do? Do I avoid play areas that aren't completely contained until Nate is older? I've never really cared for those harnesses. You know, the ones placed on a kids' wrist or around their body. I always thought it looked as though the child was a dog, and said I'd never use "one of those things". Save for the airport or something. But I'm seriously considering purchasing one now that I've been faced with the gravity of having my toddler run off. Not that I plan to ever look away from him for a second again. But for peace of mind.

Sharing this story is a bit therapeutic but it's also a PSA for something we all know but maybe don't always take as seriously as we should. All it takes is a second. Literally. Our babies are faster than we think. Don't take your eyes off of them.

The End of An Era

2010-01-23T21:54:00.001-05:00

The funny thing about wishes is that they may actually come true. Even if you speak of them out loud. I learned that lesson the hard way over the past two weeks.

It seems that Nate must have been peering over my shoulder when I wrote my last post, which if you'll recall, concluded with my quandary of weaning. Because he made the decision for me.

Our last nursing session was at naptime on January 8th. My little booby monster weaned himself almost overnight.

It happened rather abruptly. He never resisted the breast, but he would toss and turn, constantly pulling off, uninterested. He seemingly lost his focus - or will - until he stopped asking to breastfeed altogether. Where he used to lift my shirt, claw at my bra and "assume the position", he was now content to cuddle in the nook of my arm with a story. I figured it was a fluke and at any time, he would come to realize what he was missing. But that time never came. Just like that, the bond we shared for nearly 18 months was over.

Many would assume that I could now exhale. No more fearing how the process would go, or questioning whether I would damage Nate's psyche. No more wondering how long it would take for my cycles to return to "normal" so we could try to conceive a sibling. You'd think I would be shouting from the rooftops with a daiquiri in hand - and not a virgin one. After all, he basically ripped the band-aid off for me. But I guess I underestimated the pain of the aftermath.

I've found myself more sorrowful than celebratory at this sequence of events. Perhaps it is because it happened so quickly that I didn't have time to say a fond farewell. Perhaps I feel a smidge of guilt that our last nursing session was short and sweet and part of a routine, instead of an extra special consummation. Maybe I feel angry at myself for any of the times I thought nursing was an inconvenience or nuisance. Or maybe I always assumed I'd be the one in control of the cessation and the self-weaning caught me off-guard. Or it could be that it's just one more shred of evidence that my son, my baby, is growing up and becoming more independent. Honestly, it's probably a bit of all of the above.

But I miss it. With all my heart. I long for that unabated closeness. Sure, we cuddle and hug more these days, which is comforting. I am forced to find creative ways to fill the void. And I should note I am beyond proud that we made it for as long as we did. My initial goal was 12 months and we far surpassed that. But I am also mournful. Each day that passes, the feeling of his suckling and his tiny fingers wrapped around my breast become more and more fuzzy. I cry almost everyday, thinking how I'll never again look down to see him smiling as he feeds from me. I have beautiful memories that I will cherish forever, and I know I must close this chapter to open another. But I am struggling. Sometimes, I wonder if I've developed some sort of post-weaning depression. If that exists. I also wonder if my past with infertility has anything to do with why I am taking this particularly hard. But I've read that weaning can put your hormones in flux so I'm hoping my equilibrium will be rediscovered soon.

So, emotionally I'm a wreck and physically, it's not much better. Despite stuffing cold cabbage leaves in my bra for days a la Ariel, I've somehow managed to form plugged ducts on both sides. I have painful, firm lumps underneath the surface that are very sensitive if touched (or headbutted or rolled on, as my son loves to do). I've been taking hot showers and massaging regularly but they are still present. A ~~sick, irrational~~ part of me is kind of glad that my breasts haven't yet completely deflated into saggy pancakes. I guess I'm just trying to hold onto the last remaining proof of our breastfeeding journey. It's so hard to say goodbye to such a positive experience. I thought I was ready. I thought I wanted this. And I know all good things come to an end. But would I ever really be ready?

My son has saved me in so many ways. And he continues to rescue me from myself. It's bittersweet situations like this that really make me see how challenging parenting really is.

It's the end of an era.

How Dare I

2010-01-06T21:07:00.002-05:00

...just sneak in and post a cowardly Wordless Wednesday after not updating for over 2 months? The nerve. But seriously, the world has only just now stopped spinning fast enough for me to check in with the handful of you who still keep up with my sweetness. I'll try to play catch-up and let you know what we've been up to the past 8 weeks.

We moved into our new home on December 5th. It figures it was the first snow of the year that day, but we all survived and we're starting to get comfy. We've met the neighbors and they all have small children - 3 years old or younger. It's truly perfect for us. Although I've made my husband promise we will not move again for a VERY long time. As a matter of fact, I'd be happy staying here until my kid(s) put me in a retirement home. Just because I HATE moving THAT much.

Christmas was busy but fantastic. We hosted two family get-togethers at the new place and it went smashingly. I got a new Coach bag and wallet, a new coat and a Snuggie (woot!). DH got some gift cards, video games and some books. And Nate got plenty of toys that he dumped aside for the boxes they came in. I only wish the day had lasted longer. I feel like we just decorated our tree and now it is out next to the trash.

Nate is growing and thriving. I can hardly believe he'll be 18 months in just under 3 weeks. He looks less like a baby and more like a big boy everyday. He's still not much of a talker but he is becoming much more expressive so I think a vocabulary explosion may be around the corner. His newest words are "apple", "Grandmom", "dog", "more", "mine" (gotta love that one) and "night-night". Once, he even said "DJ Lance" when watching his favorite bizarro TV show, Yo Gabba Gabba. He can identify his ears and belly button. We're working on nose, mouth, eyes and other body parts. If I hand him a brush and tell him to brush his hair, he will follow my instructions. He can also clean his ears with a Q-Tip (with my assistance, of course) and brush his teeth. He's also starting to give kisses but he often turns away when I get close. Stinker. It's amazing how much he picks up, and how fast. Which is precisely why we now have to be extremely careful about unbecoming language. The last thing I want is for him to repeat sailor-speak after Mommy curses during Guitar Hero.

But, with the good comes the bad. The "terrible twos" have arrived a bit sooner than anticipated here at Chez Sticky. Nate has at least one major temper tantrum a day, usually after a well-deserved "N-O", involving throwing himself on the floor, flailing limbs and screaming at the top of his lungs. It's happened in public a couple of times, to the point where I've had to leave the premises. Yes, I was THAT mom. He has quite a temper and it can be rather. unpredictable. When we took a trip to visit Santa, he was a perfect angel waiting in line but flipped out at the sight of the round, jolly fellow. We did get one decent picture, in which he looks disgusted at our attempts to distract him with glorified dog toys. Just this past weekend, we attempted to get family portraits done but after a particularly horrid meltdown, we left on the brink of tears, empty-handed. As much as I hate how quickly time flies, I can say with certainty, I will NOT miss this stage. It's so hard because I feel like he is too young for a spanking or time out or other methods of behavior modification. So, I am unsure how to handle the situation. Most of the time, I just ignore him and walk away. He will usually come running back to me because he doesn't want to be alone, and most times, he will forget why he was so worked up in the first place. But I do feel chained to the house because of this difficulty. Thankfully, he is sleeping through the night consistently from 8pm to 7am so I can at least have some much-needed me-time.

One last thing...we're still dipping our toes in the water to TTC #2. Nate is still nursing twice a day (at naptime and bedtime), which I believe is interfering with my cycles. I'm only on PPAF #3 since August. Both cycles before the current one were anovulatory, so I'm not expecting much in the way of a surprise BFP. I'm considering calling my OB/GYN about a prescription for Clomid but it would mean weaning. As in the end of our nursing relationship. I just don't think Nate is ready to give it up completely yet. And I feel selfish for even thinking about forcibly weaning him just to try for another baby. So, basically, I'm undecided and I think a call to the doctor will at least give me some options to think about.

All in all, that's been our life the past few months. I've missed you all and plan to write more often in 2010. New Year's Resolution: regain the blogging mojo.

Wordless Wednesday: Baby, It's Cold Outside

2010-01-06T21:00:00.001-05:00

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday: Chicken Little

2009-11-04T22:53:00.005-05:00

All dressed up and ready to go

Mom, do I really have to wear this?

Where's Nate's belly? There it is!

Me. Want. Candy.

Chicken Little flew the coop...

Big News: Better Late Than Never

2009-10-15T21:37:00.007-04:00

I know from the title and my two-and-a-half-week absence you're expecting to see a picture of a pee stick with two brazen lines but you're about to feel cheated. I'm sorry to disappoint but I do have other exciting news to share.

DH and I are BUYING OUR FIRST HOUSE!

I know, I know, we just moved to this house back in February. Our lease isn't even up for another year. WTF are we thinking, moving again so soon?! But this just sorta landed in our lap and it was too good a deal to pass up. It's a brand spankin' new home. Energy efficient. Good neighborhood. Room to grow. Did I mention it is brand new? After weighing the risks vs. the benefits, we decided to jump on it. The $8k government tax credit certainly won't hurt. And we're confident our current residence will rent quickly. We've only had it posted for four days and we already have two showings scheduled. Hopefully, we won't end up having two payments. Cross your fingers.

We've ordered the appliances (all stainless), cabinets, countertops and the flooring. We're pretty much ready to settle right before Thanksgiving. It will be hectic but we'll be able to relax in our new home just in time for Christmas. Yippee!

Owning a home has been a dream of ours for what seems like eons. We are finally bringing that dream to life. Our hard work and our sacrifices are paying off. We couldn't be happier.
_________________________________________________

It's cycle day... oh, I don't know. I've lost count. But I believe it's in the early fifties. I spotted for two days and then nada. I'm so over it. I have enough to occupy my time at the moment so it's not driving me too insane. Yet. I'm sure as the holidays approach, the baby fever will burn bright. But I digress.

Nate is doing great, although he did manage to get his first fat lip last week. DH was playing with him on the bed when he flipped off and either hit or bit through his lip. There were copious amounts of blood and I freaked out. I believe screaming was involved, actually. We rushed him to the hospital but thankfully, he didn't need stitches. At first, I felt like the world's worst mother but after much consolation from friends and family, I feel less inadequate. The wound has pretty much closed up now and you can hardly tell there was ever an incident. Needless to say, Nate is no longer allowed on our bed. I'd rather be a party pooper than see my baby with stitches in his face. I did manage to take a picture to document this unfortunate "first".

Oh, and did I mention my little man now sleeps through the night? Seriously. It's been a solid week of sleeping straight through from 8pm to 7am. After several teasers, I thought this would never happen. It only took 14.5 months. Better late than never!

Pity Party of One

2009-09-25T11:25:00.005-04:00

CD 33. I tested with a cheapie Aimstick. Got the most beautiful evap you've ever laid eyes on. Confirmed when Answer test came revealed a singular pink line. Enter string symphony.

I have no right to be upset. I have a beautiful boy playing at my feet to ease the pain. For that I am eternally grateful. But I feel stupid. Stupid. Stoopid.

After more than two years of this very same disappointment, I should have known better. Did I really think that giving birth would somehow hit the reset button on my reproductive system? Was I so naive to believe that a couple of pregnancy dreams would really set the stage for reality? And most importantly, did I honestly think that we'd be so lucky as to conceive on the first month of trying? Sure, it could happen and does happen to some. But I am not some. I am undeniably different. And odds are, I will never be the urban legend.

My cycles have always been irregular and will inevitably remain so. By not temping this month, I'm in complete disarray - not knowing if I've ovulated at all. I'm just waiting, perplexed. I hate lacking knowledge. Lacking control. I feel helpess. There's nothing I can do. I'm in limbo until my dear aunt decides to appease me.

I have to face facts and stop allowing hope to upstage reason. I've been here before. But how quickly we forget.

Wordless Wednesday: My Future's So Bright...

2009-09-16T10:27:00.002-04:00

Happy Blogoversary to Me

2009-09-09T15:11:00.007-04:00

I've been blogging for almost 3 years but today marks 1 year since I made the transition from IF blogger to mommy blogger. In some ways, it feels like it's been forever. But yet it also feels as if it just kinda snuck up on me.

Have I really been a mom for 13+ months? Somebody pinch me.

Let's see...what have we been up to? Well, we took a much needed vacation to Norfolk/Virginia Beach, VA. It was Nate's first time at the beach and he celebrated by double-fisting sand by the bucketfuls. Not sure what food group that would count toward. Protein?

I'm amazed by how he develops each day. He can play pattycake, high/low five, dance, do "so big" and wave on command now and makes sure to perform his circus tricks anytime we're in public. He can even play ball, picking up a ball and throwing it to me. He hasn't quite gotten the hang of catching the ball but he will fetch it. LOL He's become a complete ham and makes everyone around him smile whether we're at the grocery store or grabbing a bite to eat. I just grin with pride as they comment how adorable he is. If they only knew how he acts at home, they might not think he's that cute *wink wink*

He's also growing more vocal everyday. But he's not really consistent. He's said "stinky", "sock", "block" and "bird" just in the last week. But after he says it once or twice or even three times, he stops and moves onto the next thing. It makes me second guess myself whether or not he actually said what he said. Apparently, he's inherited his daddy's ADD. That or I'm schizophrenic and my voices are playing tricks on me.

Sleeping through the night is back on track now that the bottom molars are through. Whew, that was rough. I'm not relaxing yet though because I know the top ones will be next. But I am enjoying the uninterrupted sleep in the meantime.

Weaning is at a standstill. We're still at 3-4 times a day, although while we were on vacation there were a few times we dropped down to two. We're doing what works for us and that's all that matters. I've ceased having expectations in this department or caring about what anyone else has to say about it, including some stupid doctor. As long as Nate and I are both happy, I will continue offering the breast. Who knows how long it will last but until he is ready to give up more feedings, I will continue on the current path. He will take just about any sippy cup these days so we are making progress there. He prefers water and milk to juice, which I am thrilled about. I'd like to avoid as much sugar in his diet as I can so he doesn't grow up to be a sugar junkie like his mama.

As for TTC #2, I never quite gathered the courage to pull out the thermometer. So, no charting this month for me. My first PPAF was super light but lasted 9 days. Very strange. We haven't been timing BD. We're just being very casual. Who knows when my fertile window is. Right now, I'm not too concerned. I just want to play the part of the naive chick for once. The one who does things spontaneously and not because its a certain day. The one who wouldn't know all the acronyms.

The one who doesn't know the pain that we know.

Welcome Back, Welcome Back, Wel-come Ba-ack

2009-08-24T16:44:00.006-04:00

No, you haven't flashed back 30 years. But I found the theme song appropriate in this case.

After 22 months, PPAF has finally made her appearance.

I don't know whether to laugh or cry. It's been nice being able to avoid the tampon aisle for as long as I have. I knew, logically, she had to come back sometime. And with Nate sleeping better at night, I knew it was imminent. But it still surprised me to look down today and see the evidence. It does reinforce that the weaning process is indeed working.

Tonight, I'll be pulling out the BBT that has been tucked away in my bedside table drawer for almost two years. We're not preventing. We're just seeing what happens.

I'm not sure if I'm ready for all this again. The charting. The timing. The waiting. The inevitable disappointment.

But when I look at Nate's sweet smile, I get a sense of hope. That, like the first go round, it will all be worth it in the end.

Molars and Monkey Wrenches

2009-08-18T21:41:00.002-04:00

I don't know what's wrong with me lately but I'm having some serious writer's block. Nothing stupendous has happened since the big birthday bash so I'm struggling to find something interesting enough in our daily routine to share. I know if I look deep enough, I have so much to say yet the words escape me. I can't write a marginally entertaining post to save my life. But I will at least try to give an update on the minor happenings here so the cricket symphony will fade.

We've been taking advantage of the remaining summer days by swimming and playing. I think Nate has gills hidden somewhere on his body. He's such a little fish. He adores the pool, splashing in the water and kicking his feet like a frog. If we're not at the pool, we're out in the backyard playing in the water table or his new toddler playhouse we scored for $30 from a neighbor. At least for as long as the heat is tolerable. Just keeping busy so I don't get stir crazy indoors all day.

Weaning is going slowly but surely. Today, I was actually able to get Nate to drink 8 oz. of water out of his sippy. That is a small miracle since I could only get him to take several sips for the past month. We've fully eliminated night feedings and are down to 4 nursing sessions a day. Some days, we have even gotten down to 3. It's sad but liberating at the same time. I've happily been a 24-7 buffet for over a year but it does feel strangely good to get a glimpse of what it's like to have my body all back to myself. As conflicted as I am about starting this process, for once, it is starting to feel like the right decision. I'm sure I'll be more devastated as we get closer to the ultimate end. But for now, I'm okay with it.

It seems teeth #9 and #10 will be making their apperance anyday now. I can see the white tips emerging from the gum and they are thisclose to breaking through. These first-year molars are much more of a beast than the previous eight. Nate cut those like a champ. You would hardly notice he was teething at all. In comparison, these suckers are huge and judging from the size of the lumps on his gums, quite painful. He's been drooling and crying and clinging to me much more than usual, begging for me to relieve him of the agony. We've been alternating the Hyland's and Motrin daily and that has helped us to keep the ratio of smiles to tears out of the red.

As a result of the emerging teeth, his already meager diet has dwindled down even more. Today, his diet consisted of a fistful of Cheerios, a handful of Cheez-its, a single green bean, and 4 oz. of banana berry puree. It's so frustrating when I go through the trouble of making meals, including every color of the rainbow, for him to toss it aside without even taking a bite. He'll clench his lips and turn his head so I can't even spoon feed him. I try to be patient but there are days - like today - where it takes its toll on me. The world of toddler nutrition (if such a thing exists) is not so welcoming.

Mealtime has obviously been a hassle but one thing is going smoothly is sleep. Nate has been sleeping 6-8 hour stretches just about every night. Once, there was a 9-hour stretch. And boy oh boy, it feels good! It makes you realize how sleep deprived you really were. There have been a few minor setbacks with the teething but I still have to give credit where credit is due. I *might* even venture to say he is officially "sleeping through the night" these days. And it only took a year! My little guy, the late-blooming insomniac.

And if I can politely shift the focus over to moi, I'm sad to report that I've gained 5 lbs. over the past month. Yes, I'm wearing my pouty face as the scale mocks me. I'm sure it has something to do with all the leftovers from the party as well as the weaning. I've never really had to watch what I ate before but I guess my metabolism had to slow down eventually. No more late night rendezvous with Chips Ahoy or Ben & Jerry. Bummer.

Nate and I can agree on one thing. Getting older is rough.

Wordless Wednesday: A Boy and his Blankie

2009-08-12T21:33:00.000-04:00

Can We Do It? Yes, We Can!

2009-08-10T21:15:00.005-04:00

Thank you all for your supportive comments on my last post. Even though I've been at this parenting thing for over a year now, there are times when you feel like an expert and others where you feel like a novice. After that appointment, I certainly fell into the latter category. But as you all suggested, I have been following my instincts and have been better off physically and mentally as a result.

After a spontaneous trip to VA to spend some quality time with my sister-in-law and the niece and nephews, I feel refreshed. We will get through this somehow, someway. Call me a linebacker 'cause I'm ready to tackle anything that lies ahead.

We're still introducing more table foods to Nate. He is a carb maniac so we struggle getting the proper amounts of fruits and veggies into his diet. Meats are hit or miss as well. I realize Atkins is so five years ago but can we have a resurgence, pretty please? I am continuing to offer him colorful meals to ensure a variety of vitamins, with the hopes that at least some of it will be ingested. We're still at 4 nursing sessions per day but for now, I am content with that. It's progress from the 5-6 sessions we had just a month ago. I'm gently phasing out the "baby food" although I still have some in reserve, just in case we have a particularly bad day. I can always count on my 'ole friend S.P. (Sweet Potato) to bail me out of a jam.

On the sippy front, DING DING DING! I *think* we may have found a winner. The Munchkin Mighty Grip cup has been working quite well the past few days. Perhaps it's because there are no handles or the spout is especially soft but Nate will voluntarily drink out of this one. He has some trouble tipping it but that is to be expected. It's a skill to be acquired in time.

And how could I forget...we've hit a MAJOR milestone this past week. For the past FOUR nights, Nate has slept through the night. Hear that?! It's the angels in heaven exclaiming Hallelujah! But its the truth. He's slept consistently from 9pm to 6am. If not more. Without waking. It started during our trip when he slept all night in his Pack 'n Play with nary a peep. Surely, this was a freak accident, I thought. The kids just wore him out since he's not used to that much rowdiness. The next night, the same thing. Again, I figured it was just sheer exhaustion. But it happened the next two nights at home sans kiddos. Please tell me its true. That there will be more divine sleep in my future. I had forgotten how good it feels to wake up somewhat energized. I am so proud of my little man. Despite all the changes we are implementing (i.e., torture we are performing on him), he is still sweet enough to give mama a much-needed break. ____________________________________________

I just remembered that I am long overdue on Nate's 12-month "can do" post. So without further ado, my not-so-little man can:

Run! Walking is old news. Of course, he has a Y chromosome. If you can go faster, why go slower?! We're having a bit of trouble transitioning to hard soled shoes, as they are much heavier, but after a bit more practice, I think he'll get the hang of it.

Walk down stairs assisted. It's the sweetest thing to hold one of his hands as he places his other hand on the wall and hesitantly steps down. He looks like such a big boy.

Imitate others' actions. If he sees me scoop a piece of food with a spoon, he will attempt to do the same. If he sees me bang a drum, he will bang on it too. And if I bounce a ball, he also tries to dribble it.

Throw a ball for a dog. Well, more like drop it. But he knows how to get my parents' dogs to play fetch. He'll also feed them from the table but that's another story.

Remember the steps to get things to operate. He knows to dunk his bath toy underwater and lift it up for the water to flow from the bottom. He knows to press his Elmo's tummy to get him to talk. And he knows just what buttons to press to turn on his radio. Ah, he's so smart.

Babble regularly. He is laughing and shrieking more and more each day. As a matter of fact, he's become quite the ham in front of the camera. I guess all those months of mamarazzi paid off.

Wave hi/goodbye much more consistently. He'll even do it without us prompting him now. That element of surprise makes it even more adorable.

Understands simple commands and tones of voice. All I have to give is a look or a grunt and he knows exactly what I'm saying. Not that he always obeys but he at least stops to take notice.

Be wary of strangers. I would call it "acquaintance anxiety". He draws into me and studies people that approach him intently. Sometimes, he plays bashful and buries his head in my neck. Sometimes, he smirks and flirts, playfully looking away. But if we spend enough time, he will eventually warm up to said person and interact more with them.

Climb and leap. He uses his ride-on toys as stepstools now and wants to jump or roll from them onto the floor. You can understand why my panic disorder is on overdrive right now. He also wants to climb onto the couch and leap off into my arms. That's my fearless daredevil. Not afraid of a thing.

Read books. He is now showing interest in his board books and will turn them page by page, examining the pictures and words. He turns them in different directions, analyzing the pages from all angles. Before confusing the corners as teething snacks. *sigh*

Give kisses. Not consistently but I do believe he knows what we are asking for when we prompt him. He's just a stinker and does it on his terms only. Typical macho man - not one for the PDA.

I could go on and on with the bragging rights but it's getting late so I'll put the brakes on tonight. Twelve months ago, his biggest skill was gripping my finger. I remember looking at him and wondering if I could ever love him more than that very moment. And to my surprise, yes. I could. And I do.

Weaning Worries

2009-08-03T11:51:00.003-04:00

I owe you all an apology for being so behind on my posting. Actually, my ISP should apologize since we've had some Internet connection issues but they appear to be resolved now. Back in business.

Nate had his 1-year appointment with his new pediatrician on Friday. He now weighs 21 lbs, 4 oz. and is 30.5 inches long. 25th and 75th percentiles respectively. Tall and thin. Male model-to-be, perhaps?

She examined him and issued him a clean bill of health. She asked about his verbal and physical capabilities and seemed satisfied with my answers. Everything was going perfectly.

Until I innocently inquired about weaning.

I explained to the doctor that Nate was still breastfeeding around 5x/day (every 2-3 hours) and I would like to begin the weaning process soon but I wasn't sure how to go about it. I described his picky choosy eating habits and illustrated my concern over eliminating this nourishment when it is currently filling the nutritional and caloric gaps. Also, since he hasn't fully adopted the sippy cup, how could I successfully replace breastmilk with whole milk? I explained that he is not consistently STTN and usually wakes to nurse once or twice a night – could this mean that he is not getting enough calories during the day? I wanted to nip all of these issues in the bud but didn't have a clue where to start. I was beyond overwhelmed.

Her advice: cut out breastfeeding entirely. Give him no other option and he'll have no choice but to eat solids and drink from a sippy. And whatever I do, don't give in. Children at this age have the “power to manipulate” and if I breastfeed him after a meal, he is just going to fight me at the next feed until he gets the breast. She told me I could start weaning as soon as I felt ready but the longer I waited, the harder it would be. Soon, breastmilk won't be enough nutritionally so she suggested I think about that when making my decision. Regarding night weaning, she said he is not STTN because I am instilling poor sleep habits. Not because he is not eating enough during the day. A 1-year old is fully capable of STTN for 10 hours or more without food. I should use the CIO method so that he learns to self-soothe and can put himself back to sleep when he wakes. I also shouldn't nurse and rock him to sleep initially or else I'll be doing it to a preschooler. I should put him down fully awake and let him cry if necessary.

I was aghast. Was she serious? I was hoping to wean gradually. Over time. Not change everything all at once without warning. That hardly seems like a healthy approach for Nate or for myself. More physically and emotionally traumatic than anything. Not to mention the backhanded irony of "do it when you're ready but it better be soon or else".

Does she think my son is a robot – a machine that should fall into place on the assembly line of social acceptability? It couldn't possibly be in his best interest to starve him until he succumbs to self-feeding. Okay, maybe he wouldn't starve per se, but it still seemed like cruel and unusual punishment to me. I wouldn't want to be treated in such a way. How could I do something like that to my own flesh and blood?

I nodded in disbelief as she made her way out the door. Nate shed pools of tears from his three vaccinations and I wanted to cry right alongside him. It seemed like I was doomed to fail before I even began. Why does everything have to be so black and white? Is there no gray area here? When it comes to breastfeeding, is it truly all or nothing?

I should have left the office thrilled to have a healthy toddler but instead, I left confused, angry and defeated. I felt strangely guilty – for what I'm not sure. For not starting to research this sooner? For not being more insistent with solid feeding? For allowing myself to become a human pacifier for my son when he needed comfort at night? I just felt ashamed, as if I was solely responsible for the sleep and feeding issues we are having.

Making the decision to wean is inevitable (either baby-led or mommy-led) but it is also an extremely emotional one. I was feeling guilty enough knowing that I would be the one to break the tie that has bonded us so tightly over this past year. I didn't need to be shot down with derision.

I never would have thought I'd say this a year ago but I see nothing wrong with extended breastfeeding. My plan was always to breastfeed for 6 months, possibly a year. But the best laid plans don't always come to fruition. Now that I have bonded with my son and we are in a routine, my plans have changed. My feelings have changed. I want to nurse Nate as long as it remains a positive experience for the both of us. I cherish that time together, especially at night before bed and first thing in the morning. When he looks up and smiles at me with milk running out of the sides of his teeny mouth. But I also want my body back. Is that too selfish? It's been over a year and I have yet to get PPAF. DH and I would like to begin TTC #2 later this year, but without AF, it will be unlikely. We have some time but I wanted to start now because, with Nate being so adverse to change, I know that it will probably take months for us to see progress.

I came home and put Nate down for his morning nap while I did some research online, looking for any tips I could find about weaning. Out of the roughly twenty sites I viewed, NOT ONE suggested a sudden, voluntary cold-turkey approach. Each site recommended a gradual, patient, gentle approach so as to avoid physical and emotional repercussions in the mother (such as plugged ducts, mastitis, depression from hormone fluctuations) as well as the obvious stress for the baby.

In all of my venting and my desperate search for solutions, a friend of mine referred me to a La Leche League coordinator. She lended me her supportive ears and shoulders and sent me some valuable links to help ease the transition. We came to the same conclusion.

This doctor is a QUACK with a capital Q. She certainly has never breastfed and has no business giving advice about such sensitive subject matter. I will possibly be choosing yet another pediatrician due to this experience. That, or I will request that I NEVER see that particular doctor again and will go out of my way to ensure Nate's well visits will be conducted by other pediatricians in the practice. The final verdict has yet to be made.

DH and I had a long talk about how we wanted to implement this change and came up with our own plan of action. We are working on eliminating night feeds as top priority. When Nate wakes during the night, DH is going in to comfort him. We will continue to Ferberize if need be, but so far (knock on wood) we haven't needed to go in more than twice in 20 minutes for him to soothe himself back to sleep. The past four nights, he has only been waking once during the night and goes back down fairly easily, sleeping in his crib until our usual wakeup time of 7am. That's 11-12 hours total. Not too shabby.

I am now offering 3-4 solid meals a day (plus snacks) and am offering a sippy with milk, juice or water with each meal. If he wants to nurse, I offer solids first. Sometimes he is satisfied with the solids and other times he wants to breastfeed afterward. Either way is okay with me. I am just letting him lead the way, as I encourage him to try different flavors and textures. I am confident that with consistency, he will eventually come around and accept these new noshes. I did hit up BRU and practically bought out their sippy cup department so hopefully, soon, we will find one that is up to Mr. Picky's standards.

As he becomes more accustomed to our new routine, I will attempt to remove midday nursing sessions. Last to go will be the first AM and last PM feeds. We'll take it a day at a time until we get there.

He has really surpassed my expectations these past several days. He is eating many more finger foods in addition to his purees. He still fights me sometimes - maybe I time it wrong and he's not really hungry or maybe he's just being obstinate - but as I offer more variety, I can see his interest is peaked. You should have seen his facial expression upon discovering kiwi for the first time. Whoa.

I think I'm still in a bit of denial that our breastfeeding relationship will soon come to an end. I can't imagine not sharing that with him anymore. The thought saddens me deeply. Being able to breastfeed for a year and counting is one of my biggest achievements to date. I am so proud to have been able to give my son this precious gift. But I know all good things must come to an end.

It's just too ironic that all of this happened just in time for World Breastfeeding Week, eh?

Party's Over

2009-07-28T22:28:00.000-04:00

It's official. I'm now the mommy of a 1-year old. One year plus two days to be exact.

The party on Saturday can be summed up in two words: delightful chaos. While the details remain one big blur, I will attempt an account to share.

I spent most of Friday doing some last minute cleaning (windows, floors, etc.) and organizing for the party. DH got off work a little early and stopped by a local farm to pick up some hay bales as seating in the backyard. I baked Nate's smash cake, filled the favor bags and assembled the party hats and blowouts.

Saturday morning, we woke up early to pick up the guest cake at the bakery and prep the food. I set up the food table, hung the decorations and blew up balloons. I had just enough time to shower and take a deep breath before the doorbell rang at noon with the first group of arrivals.

Nate was in the middle of his morning nap at the start of the party so I was able to finish up some last minute prep and socialize while DH grilled. I received some phone calls and texts from friends and family who were stuck in traffic. Apparently, there was a 9-mile backup at the Bay Bridge and many of our guests were unable to avoid it. This meant that many of them arrived late and understandably disheveled. Our party seemed to occur in shifts. I apologized profusely out of guilt for the poor timing.

The weather was sunny. A little too sunny, in fact. The high was about 88 degrees and it was simply too hot for many guests to stay outside. So, everyone piled into our house, which dwarfed with 40 people inside. At one point, it was standing room only. I'm sure I wasn't the only one that felt like a sardine. But despite the close quarters, everyone maintained good spirits - even the youngsters.

Around 230pm, the majority of our guests had arrived and we decided to roll out the cake. Nate looked a bit nonplussed as everyone sang Happy Birthday. He wasn't sure what the big deal was. We put the cake in front of him and he picked at the fondant lettering daintily, suspicious of the contents. Being ever the evil mama, I took his hand and shoveled it into the cake. What can I say? I was desperate for a photo opp. I let him taste some of the buttercream icing off of my finger and he licked his fingers clean from the mess we made. But after that, he was through with the sweets and voiced his dissatisfaction being on display upon his throne. He would much rather play with the other kiddos that were grounded.

Once everyone had been served and indulged in their dessert, it was time to open gifts. Mommy and Daddy gave him a Fisher Price Laugh and Learn Home and Bounce and Spin Zebra. But our lucky little guy received so many other generous presents including a water table, trike, ride-on, puzzles, board books and clothes. His favorite had to be his Elmo Live from Grandma. His eyes just lit up the moment he spotted the furry red monster. The kids just about tackled each other to get closer. He was definitely the highlight of the party for the little ones.

After the last of the cards and gifts had been opened, many of our guests hit the road. Some family lingered for a while longer but by 5pm, it was back to just the three of us. Nate passed out early from sheer exhaustion. Before I retired to bed myself, I looked around the room at the clutter of empty food plates and loose wrapping paper. I never felt more blessed.
___________________________________________

On Sunday, we decided to spend the day celebrating as the unit we created one year ago. As a family of three.

We took Nate on his first trip to the Baltimore Zoo. He marveled at the animals and the sights. His favorite exhibit was the giraffe house. He couldn't take his eyes off of them. He was so enthralled with the long-necked creatures that we stopped by the gift shop on our way out and got him a little stuffed giraffe so he could take a piece of our safari adventure home with him. He smiled at and cuddled with it the entire way home. It was so incredibly adorable.

The amazing thing was that he was on his best behavior all day. It's as if he knew it was his special day. No temper tantrums, like he has perfected as of late. No obstinence. He was in an unusually good mood - laughing, smiling, shrieking. He didn't shed a tear at all, all day long. I'd never seen him so happy. And I don't think I could have been happier either.

I tucked him in that night and shed a few tears as I reminisced about the happenings of the last year. It's always a little sad to close a chapter. After all, we had so many good times and learned so much about each other in the past 12 months.

But like any good story, I anticipate what's to come next. It can only get better from here.

On The Eve of Your Birthday

2009-07-25T21:08:00.005-04:00

My son,

Your first birthday party has ended and as you sleep soundly in your crib, I am sitting here - surrounded by your countless gifts - with balloons, favors and trinkets strewn about. And I am reminded of how incredibly lucky I am to have you in my life. I truly believe you were handpicked from the heavens for Daddy and I. Just for us.

Tomorrow, you will be one year old. I'm in disbelief with a dash of denial. I can't imagine there was life before you. And yet, it seems like just yesterday I was giving birth to you and meeting you for the very first time. As a matter of fact, at this very moment one year ago, I was laboring at home, waiting for permission to make that fateful drive into the hospital.

There are days like today in which I soak in each minute, trying to freeze-frame it in my mind. There are things about you that will inevitably change as you grow older, but I never want to forget you right now, as is. So, in an attempt to capture these moments in time, I will document them here. These special little things I love.

You are strong. You were never a wobbly-headed newborn. You had control of your neck muscles from the get go and could lift your head well, even if you despised tummy time. You even wanted to stand holding onto our fingers at just a month old. Your legs are powerful and you love to exercise, particularly by bouncing. If you were permanently suspended by coils, you would be a happy camper.

You are the handsome, rugged type. You are adventurous. An explorer. If you can see it, you can reach it is your motto. You love to examine things, take them apart or put them together. I think you might be an engineer like your Daddy. It's in your blood.

But you are sensitive. You are in tune with the emotions of those around you. If your friend cries, you will often look sad or cry right along with them. You are empathetic.

You are a social creature. You love cuddle time with Mommy and Daddy and playdates with friends. Even though you play independently, you don't like to be left alone.

You are stubborn and resistant to change. Something you get from both Daddy and myself. It takes you a long time to warm up to new things. But once you do, you embrace it with open arms.

You are determined. You never want to settle for less. You are not afraid to speak your mind if you are unhappy about something.

You have the cutest crease that runs horizontally across your nose when your nurse. It makes me smile each time I see it.

I love when you wake up in the morning and flash me the cheesiest grin. It starts my day off right even if I'm more sleep-deprived than ever.

Your hair is as blonde as blonde can get. Almost white. It's getting a bit long in the back and it's almost starting to look like a rat tail. I love to twirl it around my fingers. And its the funniest thing when it fluffs up in the wind, making you look like Albert Einstein.

You're a thin baby but you have the sweetest fat folds in your thighs and knees. I want to kiss them and squeeze them all the time. You are ticklish in the upper part of your thighs and you let out the most insane giggle when I get you just in the right spot.

You have wide, fat feet. Like Barney Rubble. I could nibble your chunky toes.

You have hairy ears. It's light blonde hair so you can't really tell at a distance but when you nurse, I can see the fine hair on your lobes up close.

Your eyes are a beautiful, bright blue. You have Daddy's eyes and I find them striking.

You stand up in the bathtub to play at bathtime and your little white tush gleams from the water. It's such an adorable baby booty.

You smile and laugh on the boob sometimes. Some of my fondest memories of us involve you nursing, pulling off to smile while milk trickles down your lips and chin.

You can be shy around strangers and I love when you bury your head in my chest when others try to hold you.

In reviewing all of these things I love about you, I get a glimpse of the man you'll someday become. And I am so proud. But I must admit a part of me is sad to let go of my baby. You'll always and forever be "my baby" but with this milestone comes new terminology. You will henceforth be referred to as a toddler. At least for the next couple of years. And rightfully so. You have accomplished so much and deserve to don that title as you graduate to this next phase.

I am amazed at how far we've come in twelve months. And I can't wait to see what's in store for the next twelve months. And beyond.

Happy First Birthday (Eve), my Sunshine. I'll love you to the moon and back.

Wordless Wednesday: Let Them Eat (Cup)Cake

2009-07-22T22:09:00.000-04:00

T Minus 5

2009-07-20T22:36:00.004-04:00

5 days until partytime. Actually closer to 4 at this hour. And mama is stressed to the max.

I've been absorbed in cleaning the entire house top to bottom. Deep cleaning. We're talking white glove test kind of clean. I want the house to be pretty much immaculate in time for the big day. I am naturally a slob but I will get my ass in gear when I have guests. I guess I don't want the viewing public to see the way I really live.

I've been panicking over everything from the weather to the food to the seating. The forecasters were calling for scattered thunderstorms but it now reads a clear and sunny 85 degrees. But what if it changes again? What if it rains? Will we have enough room in the house for everyone? Will we have enough food?

At 40+ people having RSVP'd - with 11 kids - I'm concerned about it becoming a circus. Will we have enough activities to keep everyone entertained? Will I be able to mingle with everyone so the newcomers won't feel out of place? It's a party and the bottom line is I want it to be fun. But it's exhausting for me to scheme the outcome for every possible scenario.

I'm confident it will be a success and I will look back on it with fond memories. But I'll be happy when it's all over.
__________________________________________

As I predicted, STTN did not last. We were fortunate enough to get two nights of uninterrupted, unadulterated sleep. But I haven't quite figured out the surefire recipe for the suspension of consciousness. I've tried putting him down at the same exact time, dressing him in the same footed sleeper, same room temperature. But alas, what produces eight hours gives us four the next.

Perhaps by the time he's two, he'll have this down pat. Let's hope.

Call For Support

2009-07-18T11:10:00.005-04:00

Remember how I mentioned in this post that I had devastating news about a friend? I wanted to elaborate because it has been on my mind everyday since then and I can't seem to shake it.

One of my dear online friends, Shauna, has a son, Christian, who is just a week younger than Nate. Christian always stood out to me because as a newborn, he and Nate could have been twins. I remember finding their resemblence uncanny. As they've gotten older, it's not as apparent but I still remember him as Nate's look-a-like.

On July 8, 2009, tragedy struck. Christian suffered a near drowning incident at their home. After an hour with little to no oxygen, it was uncertain whether he would make it. But he defied the odds. He is alive - Praise God! - but it is very likely that he has sustained a brain injury from the accident.

Christian continues to baffle the doctors with his progress. He has come much further than they ever expected. He is a fighter. There are small miracles everyday and we celebrate. But he still has a long road ahead. A questionable one as they are still testing and waiting to see the extent of his injuries. So prayers, thoughts - whatever you can spare - are very much needed and appreciated.

Shauna has set up a blog to chronicle Christian's progress, so please pay a visit and leave her some love. She is understandably feeling tremendous guilt right now and I know she could use all the well wishes she can get.

We Have A Winner

2009-07-16T10:22:00.003-04:00

The winner of the Laugh & Learn DVD giveaway is: Kim!

True Random Number Generator

Min: 1

Max: 16

Result: 2

Congratulations! You will be receiving an email from me shortly and will have 48 hours to contact me or else I will have to choose another winner.

Thank you to all who entered and thank you to Alice and Tadessa at Laugh and Learn for the opportunity!

(Nearly) Wordless Wednesday: And The Award Goes To...

2009-07-15T19:29:00.004-04:00

Biggest Ham:

I have another video nomination for Most Theatrical but it appears to be corrupted. It will only play on my camera - not the computer. Hmph. If I can find a way to repair it, I will post it here later.

Local Celebrity

2009-07-14T21:45:00.005-04:00

On Sunday, I had the pleasure of attending our esteemed infertility advocate, Mel's first book reading in D.C. at Politics and Prose. It had been well over a year since I'd met up with my girls of OOTPU fame and I couldn't think of a better reason to make my long-anticipated resurgence.

When I first stepped into the bookstore, I saw Mel's book front and center on display. I smiled smugly to myself. That's right. Infertility should not be hidden away in the depths of the Health or Self-Help aisles. It should be out in the open for all to see. After all, 1 out of every 6-8 patrons will likely have need for the material.

As I greeted Mel (and her hubby!) and waited for her to take the podium, I admit I got a little vaclempt. This little project, this dream that began way back in 2006 had now suddenly come to life. It was all coming full circle. Here she was. Our Mel. A local celebrity, shining light on the topic of which we've all become passionate. Albeit against our will. But the one good thing that has come of our inhabitance on the Land of IF is that we found each other. We built our community from the ground up. I was so proud. I had butterflies as Mel spoke of "peace of heart" and described scenarios that brought back so many memories of my journey.

After the reading and Q&A (which Mel has shared on her blog), I was able to converse with new and old faces. Some, like myself, had come a long way in a year - culminating with the pitter patter of little feet. Others were still waiting in limbo. But yet we all stood hand in virtual hand. It was empowering and in an ironic way, uplifting.

I even got an autograph from the author herself. So, years in the future when this book takes its rightful place on the ~~throne~~ shelf as the IF Bible, I can flaunt it and say I was there from its inception. I was an apostle.

Just A Motivating Monday

2009-07-13T23:20:00.003-04:00

My friend Amanda launched her brainchild today: Just a Motivating Monday. It's a sort of inspirational blog carnival, bringing people together to hold each other up on the roughest day of the week. We can share inspirational words or stories to motivate each other and get through the rest of the week.

This week, she queried about our purpose. What do you feel your purpose is in life? Why exactly are you living? It's a question I've asked myself many times in my life and I've always had different answers. My passions are always evolving - they are like living, breathing entities in themselves.

At this moment, I know:

I want to remain true to my wedding vows and deep down be the same woman my husband married three years ago.

I want to raise my son (and future children if I am so blessed) to be healthy, happy and independent. I want to instill solid values and morals in Nate so he is an upstanding young man.

I want to constantly seek ways to expand my mind and skill sets so that I can be a well-rounded individual. I want to create new boundaries for myself - never growing too comfortable in the present.

I want to tap more into my spirituality. I want to lead a more confident, Christian life.

As an IF survivor, I feel it is my duty to share my story. To educate but also inspire or support others in their journey toward parenthood.

I will conclude with a quote from Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. that is dear to my heart and helped me in my darker days:

"We must accept finite disappointment, but we must never lose infinite hope."

Jinx

2009-07-13T21:08:00.002-04:00

Pssst...I have something to tell you.

Why am I whispering, you ask? Because if I utter the words aloud, I am afraid it will never happen again. You might want to sit for this one.

Nate slept through the night last night.

Yes, my son - the chronically sleep-impaired - stayed down in his crib from 930pm to just shy of 6am. That would be 8+ hours of sleep, my friends. It only took 11.5 months to witness this phenomenon but it was indeed miraculous. When I awoke to see the time on the alarm clock, I about fainted. I had forgotten what it feels like to rest uninterrupted and wake up somewhat refreshed. For the first time in nearly a year, I didn't have to fight an inherent need for caffeine.

I'm not a very superstitious person by nature but in this case, I'm sure that by sharing this information, I just jinxed myself.

I don't have my hopes up that this is the start of a new trend. Don't get me wrong - that would be sweet. But if history has taught me anything, it's that we'll be back to wake-ups every 2 to 3 hours tonight. I'd rather find comfort in the fact that, contrary to popular belief, STTN really isn't just a myth. It does exist. And maybe one day, I will experience it again.

17 Going on 16

2009-07-09T22:31:00.012-04:00

Days, that is. Until a certain someone's first birthday.

With a little over two weeks to go, I've been engrossed in party planning. Engrossed meaning admittedly going overboard. My vision is coming together but not without its share of stress. As of this moment, we have 40+ invitees and I estimate that aside from a few declines, most will likely show. And our home is simply too small to accomodate that many guests in one place at one time. So, we are depending on Mother Nature to cooperate for an outdoor fiesta. (No silly tricks like a thunderstorm or tornado, ya hear me?!) I've been paranoid that we don't have enough outdoor seating for everyone, so I'm currently researching local farms to purchase some hay bales. To fit in with the whole cowboy theme and all.

Our wooded backyard is quite the hangout for mosquitos so we've been treating the lawn with every chemical known to man to keep them at bay. The last thing I want is for my guests to be attacked by bloodsucking insects and leave with favors of welts.

The biggest stressor is that DH and I just aren't seeing eye to eye about the fundamentals of this affair. I see a first birthday as a fairly big deal. He sees it as just another birthday - one that the kid won't even remember - and so, he thinks we should cheap out as much as we can. Granted, I'm no longer working and money is tight. But I still want to celebrate and do it up right. After all, he's our first son (and possibly only since I am well aware there are no guarantees) and he is only turning one once. It's been a battle of wills and lesson on compromise. After a dramatic "negotiation" regarding the cost of the cake, we are now in agreement and satisfied with our remaining budget. A quick visit to the crafts store and some grub from the grocery store and our corral will be complete.

All in all, I think we'll stay below $300, including invitations, food, decor and gifts. Astronomical, maybe. But it is an important day and I want to treat it as such. We can scale back for future years. But there's something about the first birthday.

________________________________________________

Today is the second anniversary of our second miscarriage. Two years since my little Snowflake was lost. It was fitting that today was pretty shitty in and of itself. Devastating news about a friend. A lingering headache. A disastrous dinner. I'm surprised I'm not in bed already, trying to forget the past 24 hours.

I remember my grief so profoundly. Of course, the knowledge that a real live baby is sleeping upstairs dulls the pain. But I still remember. And I still feel that gaping hole where a part of me is missing.

I've been going back and forth in my mind lately, pondering if I should give names to the babies I lost. Calling them Angel and Snowflake just seems so inconsequential as of late. Part of me feels like they deserve real names. And I should honor them like so. But on the other hand, I never knew their genders. I only have wild guesses linked to ancient instincts. Is it really suitable to name them under these circumstances?

I am still wavering. But no matter the final decision, these anniversaries are always tinged with heartache. I know my babies live in Heaven and serve a much higher purpose than I could imagine but what I wouldn't give to touch their tiny hands and kiss their tiny mouths. I miss them oh so much.

Wordless Wednesday: Sleepyheads

2009-07-08T19:10:00.001-04:00

Happy 4th

2009-07-04T22:07:00.010-04:00

I hope everyone had (or is having) a safe, happy 4th of July!

Last year on this day, I remember my belly looking as if I were smuggling a watermelon and my feet so swollen that my toes resembled little vienna sausages. Too much taco dip I recall. I couldn't drink then and I didn't drink today. But at least I could indulge in all the food I wanted and still recognize my extremities.

Fireworks are still exploding outside of my living room window and I can see the flashes of colored light between our venetian blinds. The boy is currently checking his eyelids for pinholes after our long day. The noise doesn't seem to be affecting him. Score.

As I was rocking him to sleep tonight, I realized that this holiday would be his last "first". It made the day a little bittersweet but I took heart knowing we celebrated the day to the fullest.

Here are some outtakes:

You know you're in Maryland when crab is served as dinner
and dessert

Daddy trying to coax a smile...unsuccessfully

Ahh, but Mommy has the magic touch!

Happy 4th of July, everybody!

To the little man that colors my world - I love you more than words can say. Happy first Independence Day.

Popping the Question

2009-07-03T21:38:00.006-04:00

With Nate rapidly approaching O-N-E (or perhaps love is in the air as we're in peak wedding season?) it seems as if everyone is proposing to me.

"So, when are you going to give Nate a brother or a sister?"

"Are you working on #2 yet?"

"Aren't you ready for another one?"

"You want them close in age, right? You'd better get started/get to practicing!"

"Now that you already have a baby, you can relax and it will happen when you least expect it."

That last one is my personal favorite. What a zinger. It implies that because I was able to carry a baby to term as a result of fertility treatment, I surely overreacted about my condition. If I had just relaxed...silly me. I could have saved myself thousands of dollars if I would have just taken this gem of assvice.

Not only have the suitors above infringed upon my privacy by delving into the topic that is (or rather is not) my sex life, but they've likely never experienced infertility or loss. Or else they'd know what a weighty, complex decision this is. It's not as simple as planning my children X years apart. Because we all know what a joke that is. I mean, my ovaries run amok, popping eggs at their random discretion. And my uterus acts like a choosy bouncer at a private, elite nightclub.

The likelihood that giving birth has somehow hit the reset button on my reproductive system is pretty low. Sure, I secretly hope that I've been miraculously healed but I'm trying to shuck the naivety and live in the land of cynicism. All in the name of self-preservation.

Despite all of the above, I have to admit I've been feeling the pressure to say yes. In the blogworld and in real life, BFPs abound. Most of them welcome surprises - sans third party intervention. And I find myself strangely battling jealousy. I feel selfish for wishing the same for myself. And greedy for craving another so soon when I've already been blessed with one amazing boy. I fear people may look at me and think, "why can't you just be happy with what you have?" They would have a point.

The only answer I have to that is: our family doesn't yet feel complete. I've always seen myself with two or three kids but after all we went through to get here, I wasn't initially sure I wanted to get back on the wagon. I was entitled to change my mind. But seeing how Nate adores other children - how our frequent playdates really bring out the best in him - I am positive about trying for a sibling. He prefers social situations to being alone so I don't feel as though having another baby would detract from him at all. And with me wearing the SAHM badge these days, I feel like there's no better time than the present. Well, we're actually considering October or November around the holidays but we're not preventing so anything could happen. Right?

I know it's foolishly optimistic of me to think I could be one of the urban legends that has an oopsie second. Especially when PPAF has yet to make her grand appearance. But yet this morning I found myself peeing on a stick. Just in case the headaches, fatigue and nausea I've had the past two days were more than just overnight interruptions and one too many cookies. Oh, and lest I forget the gas bubbles disguised as phantom kicks. I fell right back into old habits. Dumb. Dumb. DUMB. The blaring NOT PREGNANT was the wake-up call I needed. At least the expiration date on the stick was this month so I have an excuse. A poor one. But I couldn't stand to let it go to waste.

So, on one hand, I'm gung ho to pull out the BBT. But then I hesitate. I know what I could be up against. Realistically, the journey could be just as long as it was for Nate. Possibly longer. I could lose more babies. Nate doesn't sleep through the night - do I really want to perpetuate the sleeplessness? Especially when I'm home alone all day and sometimes at night as DH works two jobs? What if my recovery is just as hard or even harder? Could I honestly, truly love another baby like I love Nate?

It's hard to imagine I could be so lucky. I feel like I'm on the game show, Press Your Luck. I could win it all or a Whammy could pop up, taunt me and take it all away. But I guess I won't know unless I try.

Laugh and Learn DVD Series - Review and Giveaway!

2009-07-01T09:15:00.028-04:00

It's only been about a year but it feels like eons since I was pregnant, sporting a big 'ole belly and wondering what in the world to expect next. I had become an expert on infertility and trying to conceive but I had no clue about how to handle actually being successful. Everyone assured me my life was about to change and I wanted to do everything I could to prepare for the main event. I spent a fortune - buying up every book I could get my hands on in the Pregnancy/Parenting section at Borders to educate myself. From the time those two pink lines popped up on the pee stick, my mind was consumed with questions. Some so embarrassing that I was too intimidated to ask my own doctor, much less my family and friends. As my tummy protruded, I was given so much unwelcome advice and told so many horror stories that my fears overwhelmed me. I looked forward to our scheduled childbirth and breastfeeding classes so I could get the real scoop and make the right decisions for our soon-to-be family.

So, when I was contacted to review the Laugh and Learn DVD series, I happily obliged. I could wax nostalgic about all the first-time wonder, excitement and anticipation. And having now been there done that, I thought I could provide a true objective opinion on the content.

The Laugh and Learn series is hosted by Sheri Bayles, RN, an award-winning Lamaze Certified Childbirth Educator and International Board Certified Lactation Consultant. She draws upon her extensive career as a OB/GYN nurse, her education and her own personal experience as mom to twin boys to provide us with 4 videos that chronicle everything from labor to taking baby home.

A 2-DVD set, Laugh and Learn about Childbirth is an all-inclusive childbirth class divided into (6) 45-minute segments covering labor, delivery (both Cesarean and vaginal births are discussed in detail) and postpartum. There is also a special feature on cord blood banking.

I was very impressed with this class. It certainly lived up to its name, as I found myself chuckling at many points in the video. Sheri was very personable and created a pleasant, relaxed atmosphere. I felt as though I was sitting in her class, observing her as she spoke with other expectant couples. She included the fathers just as much as the mothers in the discussion, which was refreshing. There were no "crotch shots" or up-close-and-personal videos of live birth. Just conversational lecture, some visual aids and Q&A. It is apparent that Sheri is a natural childbirth advocate but was respectful and realistic in the fact that natural is not always possible. She also advised mothers to trust their body and motherly instincts and that it is okay to question medical staff, which I found interesting (in a good way) considering her profession.

I was particularly happy that Sheri did not gloss over the postpartum recovery for vaginal deliveries. The class I attended did not focus much on this and I found myself unprepared to handle the pain and complications that arose after my second degree tear. I was relieved to hear an honest explanation of what to expect physically after the baby arrives.

I wasn't expecting to learn anything new - having recently experienced this all firsthand - but surprisingly, there was information tailored to subsequent pregnancies and births. Not only would this DVD be useful to first-timers but it would also serve as a great refresher course for second or even third timers.

The only minor thing I wish I could change would be to cover more breathing techniques. I found those to be particular helpful during my personal labor experience, but I understand that the majority of couples focus on the most popular approach featured in the video.

The next DVD, Laugh and Learn about Breastfeeding, is a 45-minute class covering topics such as nursing positions, burping techniques, pumping, breastmilk storage guidelines, diet, apparel and challenges. Breastfeeding multiples is also discussed. Demonstrations of breastfeeding positions were given with baby dolls but live examples were also provided, which I found particularly helpful.

I found this DVD to be comprehensive and Sheri was just as witty as in the Childbirth class. I do think more attention could have been paid to the subject of pumping, perhaps with demonstrations of how to work both electric and manual pumps. The task of pumping can be daunting so a presentation would have been helpful for me.

The final DVD in the series, Laugh and Learn about Newborn Baby Care, is a 45-minute class covering bathing, dressing, diapering and swaddling. I personally found this session to be common sense. There wasn't much here that I didn't already know or couldn't figure out on my own. I believe this DVD would be best for those who have little to no experience with newborns. I would have liked to see some discussion regarding sleep issues and colic, but Happiest Baby on the Block remains my favored resource in that area. Formula feeding guidelines for those not breastfeeding would also be a good addition.

Overall, I was extremely pleased with the Laugh and Learn set and would highly recommend for any expectant mom or dad. I wish I had known about the series last year. Not only could I have saved myself over $50 - I spent $130 on our local hospital classes and the retail value of these DVDs are $79.95 - but I could have watched them at my convenience from the comfort of my own home. How perfect would this be for bedrest mamas? Or for the couples with hectic, incompatible schedules?

It's not hard to see why Laugh and Learn are the #1 DVD classes for pregnant couples in America, with their entertaining, easy-to-comprehend style.

BUY IT: Purchase the Laugh and Learn DVDs for $79.95 or watch the series online for $69.95. For a limited time, you can watch the Anatomy and Preliminary Signs of Labor segment online for free!

WIN IT: Laugh and Learn is offering one lucky reader the entire 4-DVD set! Interested? Read on!

TO ENTER THE GIVEAWAY:

1.) Visit Laugh and Learn and leave me a comment telling me which DVD you are most interested in and why. Feel free to share if this is for you or a loved one. This entry is mandatory and no other entries will be counted unless this one is fulfilled. If your email address is not visible on your profile, please leave it in your comment(s) so I can contact you if you win!

Bonus entries (max 1 entry for each):

2.) Follow my blog (see sidebar) and leave a comment telling me so. If you're already following me, this counts! Just leave a comment telling me you're a follower.

3.) Follow me on Twitter (see sidebar) and tweet this giveaway. Leave a comment with your Twitter name and/or tweet link.

4.) Blog about this giveaway and leave a comment with the post link.

5.) Expectant moms: what is your biggest fear about childbirth or breastfeeding? BTDT moms: was your labor and delivery experience better or worse than you thought it would be?

Giveaway will run from July 1 through July 15, 11:59pm EST. Open to U.S. addresses only. One winner will be chosen at random using random.org. Winner will be contacted via email and will have 48 hours to respond or prize will be forfeited. In case of forfeit, a second winner will be chosen.

The Last Month

2009-06-27T13:10:00.004-04:00

Update: I'm still a bit shaken up from our experience on Thursday. I am trying to focus on the positives - Nate is no worse for the wear and is not acting out of the ordinary. Thank God. But the thought that my carelessness could have led to something grave is overwhelming. So much so that I've been tempted to take my anti-anxiety medication to take the edge off. The only thing that has stopped me is that it's not exactly safe for breastfeeding and I refuse to end our nursing relationship due to these circumstances.

I've been slightly traumatized by the whole ordeal. I feel fragile. I am not perfect, nor will I ever be. But somehow I feel like I ought to be. For Nate's sake. I am my harshest critic and the hardest person for me to forgive is often myself. I just need time to get over the guilt and I'm confident that with each passing day, happiness will prevail.
________________________________________________

Yesterday, Nate turned 11 months old. T minus 29 days until his big birthday. The supplies have been ordered and are en route to our address. Once those are received, I will send out the invitations, visit the bakery to order the cake(s) and finalize the menu. I have a few more decorations to purchase in the coming weeks and then it's just a matter of bringing the vision to life. My excitement is mounting as we grow closer to the big day. It goes without saying that I'm amazed by how much he has blossomed in such a short amount of time.

At 11 months, my little guy:

Walks all over the place - all by his lonesome! At this point, he prefers walking over crawling unless he is tired or lazy (like if he falls mid-walk and decides crawling is an easier method of transportation to his destination). I'd estimate we're at 75/25 ratio to walking and crawling. He can also crouch down to pick up a toy and stand back up to walk. All that jumping in his jumperoo has given him some seriously strong legs.

Is starting to wave bye-bye. Backwards, as if waving to himself. He's not consistent but I've seen him do it a few times when he thought he'd go under the radar. I guess he'd rather not go public just yet with this new skill.

Can say mama and dada to the correct parent. Dada still comes out more like "baba" which makes me second guess whether or not he associates the word with DH. But since he tends to say it when DH is around or to mimic what we say, I believe he really does. For some reason, he is having trouble enunciating "d" sounds. I'm not concerned yet but will talk to the pediatrician about it at his next visit. You know, just in case speech therapy is an order.

Can throw a temper tantrum fit for a 2-year old. Gone are the days of casually removing an object from his grasp. Something as simple as a piece of paper causes a gargantuan meltdown, complete with arching of the back, stomping and waterworks so marvelous I should charge people to view them. Seriously. This kind of acting is sure to garner an Academy Award.

Understands "no" and "come". Of course, comprehension does not equal obedience. Though he may stop and look at me when he hears the dreaded "n-word", my insubordinate son typically continues on with his destructive, dangerous or bothersome behavior until I physically remove him from the situation. Aforementioned temper tantrum sure to follow.

Can boogie. To the radio. To television theme songs. His moves resemble squatting exercises but it's ever so cute to watch. He can get his groove on to any beat but seems to dance mostly to hip-hop and pop. Oh, and his newly discovered favorite, Yo Gabba Gabba. (Am I the only one who feels like I'm tripping on acid when I watch that show?)

Is a picky eater. We are going through a bizarre food phase right now. He is refusing almost all purees, eating maybe 2-3 oz. at a sitting before putting his dukes up. But finger foods are hit or miss. Most end up thrown over the side of his highchair for the thrill of the plop or splatter. It's so hard to get anything in that belly of his besides Cheerios and breastmilk. I assume he will eat when he is hungry so I am just riding this out until it gets old. To him. It's already getting pretty old to me.

Is back to two naps per day. Hallelujah! After a rough week of limited naptime, and ergo cranky baby, I am ecstatic to report that we are back on track. I'm chalking it up to a growth spurt or perhaps teething. 1030am and 3pm are necessary downtimes in this house. Any deviation from this makes for an unhappy baby and Mommy.

Is still not sleeping through the night. Some nights we get 5+ hour stretches and other nights, only 2-3 hours. I am unsure of how to handle it but I think CIO may be involved, as much as I wish to avoid it. He is now trained to eat several times during the night - which I admit is my fault since I never reestablished sleep training when his reflux waned - but I'd like to try and cut back on the night feeds so he will eat more calories during the day. I'm okay with one, possibly two, night feeds but I know he is capable of sleeping through. We just have to figure out what method is best for all of us to get there.

I think that about sums it up. This is the last month I will have a "baby". In 29 days, I will have a "toddler". So I'm soaking up as much as I can.

ETA: Another "skill" I forgot to mention - opening and closing doors and cabinets. He's strategically figured out how to get into the pots and pans in the kitchen so he can bang them together and create a ruckus. He's also learned how to open the front door (when it's unlocked of course) so he can peep outside at the dogwalkers. With opening, he's also learned its opposite - closing. A few times on his poor appendages. I once was talking on the phone and heard whining coming from the bathroom. Sure enough, he had closed the door and shut himself inside. Quite amusing.

I Am Not Worthy

2009-06-25T22:18:00.033-04:00

Have you ever had a day so horrific, you wished it was all just a nightmare? Like you could pretend you were an ostrich, pulling your head out of the ground to find a new reality?

Today was one of those days for me.

It started out well enough. The weather was hot and sunny. 90 degrees. Nate and I played for a bit outdoors, taking in the sunshine before retiring indoors to chill - literally - in the marvel that is central air. After his second nap, I decided to take advantage of Nate's good mood and run some errands. At the top of the list was hitting the grocery store to pick up some items for dinner.

I unlocked the Jeep and tossed my keys and purse onto the front seat. I buckled Nate in his carseat in the back and closed the door. But when I pulled on the door handle to hop into the driver's seat, I couldn't get in.

I was locked out.

When I flung my keys, it must have activated the automatic lock. My keys. My purse. My cell phone. My baby. All locked inside. Thank the Lord, I had cracked one of the back windows earlier so there was a tiny bit of fresh air making its way in amidst the humid, scorching heat.

I frantically pulled at all four doors and the trunk, using all my might and hoping by some grace of God, one would come loose. Of course, I knew it was a long shot but I was desperate and perhaps in shock at the situation. I peeked inside at Nate and he smiled, assuming we were playing yet another game of peek-a-boo. I ran to our backyard to see if I could find anything that could jostle the door lock. With no luck, I peeked inside again to a check on Nate (who was still in good spirits) and raced off around the corner to my parent's house to use their phone and call the fire department to rescue my baby. As I erratically explained our predicament, extreme guilt washed over me. I was ashamed that I had allowed this to happen.

With help on the way, I ran back to the scene of the crime. Beads of sweat had formed on Nate's face. His hair was matted. He looked uncomfortable. He was no longer smiling but he wasn't in distress. I grew slightly alarmed. My mom followed behind me and kept me company as we waited for the tell-tale red truck. She spouted off statistics on infant death due to similar circumstances that she had seen on the news. I assured her that those numbers were not comforting me and, in so many words, told her to knock the shit off. My fear rose as I imagined my son passing out from heat stroke. Panic set in.

Every minute that passed felt like an hour. I debated whether or not I should just screw it all, find a heavy rock and break a window. I was desperate to hold my son. I'm so sorry, baby. If you hang in there...stay with me...I promise, I'll never disappoint you again. I will find any way I can to make it up to you.

As my thoughts rambled, I heard the sirens blaring around the bend. I looked up and saw the rescue team heading toward me. One worker asked me a few questions while another hurriedly jimmied the lock until it clicked. Success! I rushed to the door and fumbled with the straps on Nate's carseat, freeing him from the restraint. His t-shirt was drenched in sweat. Droplets fell from his brow. I could have wrung him out to dry.

I tore off his clothes in an attempt to cool him down. I clutched him tightly to my chest, kissing his wet forehead. He was a little lethargic but his temperature was a perfect 98.6. I declined a hospital visit and signed a liability form. They told me if I were to change my mind, I could give them a call at anytime. I thanked them profusely. Then it was all over.

Or so I thought. As I walked in the house, I noticed my underwear was damp. Apparently, in all of the hustle and bustle, I had peed myself. Lovely. So I can add my overactive bladder to the list of things out of my control.

I had held it together this whole time, my determination outweighing the emotions bubbling beneath the surface. But now that all was said and done, I broke down, trembling with terror over what could've been. I was ever so thankful the situation did not escalate into something much more serious. But I am still overwrought with terror. My baby could have been that top local news story. A headline on tomorrow's newspaper.

I took Nate upstairs for a cool bath and kneeled beside the tub, tears falling from my swollen eyes, creating ripples in the bathwater. He splashed about independently, aloof, as if it were any other uneventful day. Sure, we can all agree this was an accident. And yes, it could have happened to anyone - and has happened to some. But it's my duty to protect him. And I failed miserably this time. While he'll never remember this incident, it will forever haunt me. Just how close we were to catastrophe.

I can't help but feel undeserving of this beautiful baby who has been bestowed upon me. I'm simply not worthy of such a blessing when I am obviously incapable of requisite multi-tasking.

We are taking appropriate measures to ensure this incident is never repeated. Car and house keys are being replicated tomorrow.

But it feels like too little too late. What's done is done. Irrevocable damage has been done to my self-esteem. Just when I thought I was getting good at this mothering thing.

Wordless Wednesday: Paging Dr. McDrooly

2009-06-24T17:46:00.002-04:00

Three

2009-06-21T21:10:00.013-04:00

Three years ago at this time, we had said our vows and were dancing at our reception. As the sun set below the horizon in favor of a starry night sky, I remember we made a wish. For a real live baby to fill our arms and our hearts.

Today, three years later, our soon to be 11-month old son is waddling about, babbling "dada" while experimenting with volume control.

In three short years, we became a family of three. So much has changed yet our love remains the same.

Our lives have become quite hectic lately - with me staying at home and you working two jobs - and we don't have as much time alone as we would like. Things aren't perfect. But we are ultimately happy. Our ups and downs over the years have made us stronger. I have no doubt we can make it through just about anything. As long as we are together.

Happy Anniversary, my love. And Happy First Father's Day.

Lost & Found

2009-06-20T15:43:00.003-04:00

My beloved mommy necklace has gone missing. I first noticed its displacement on Mother's Day. I checked all the usual suspects - jewelry box, dresser, bedside table drawers - and it was nowhere to be found. I thought about the last time I wore it. Moving day. I recalled seeing it as we were in the throes of last minute packing and I stuck it in my pocket for safe keeping. But I can't for the life of me remember taking it out of my pocket. Or ever seeing it again for that matter.

I was immediately overwashed with guilt. How could I allow such a sentimental piece such as this to slip away from me like this? How could I show such little attention to something that was supposed to mean so much to me? I admit the discovery - or lack thereof - made me feel despondent on a day I should have been completely and utterly joyful. But I was hopeful it would turn up. Surely, we would find it in our array of unopened boxes. Somehow, someway.

Both DH and I have searched high and low, leaving no stone unturned, but to no avail. I'm trying to convince myself that it's gone. Reasoning that it fell out of my pocket in transit. Or that it is in some secret, hidden place where I am unlikely to find it for years. But that is unacceptable to me. I need something tangible. Something to wear proudly, close to my heart. A token to signify my triumph. A gentle reminder of the journey that brought me full circle.

I feel absolutely empty without it.
__________________________________________________

As I was frantically rummaging through my closet trying to find the necklace, I uncovered a plastic tub of old clothes and accessories that I hadn't seen in years. I pulled out the articles one by one, holding them up to admire them in their entirety. They conjured up so many memories of high school and college. Those were chaotic times and in many ways, my life is simpler now. Even if there are aspects I miss sometimes - being a size 2/4 or my sole responsibility being to myself - I certainly don't want to trade places with my 19-year old self permanently. I traded the superficiality and angst for a much more enriching life. I feel much more wholesome and proud of myself now. I've lived a little bit. And while I still have a long way to go, I have more of an appreciation for life in general, and the little twists and turns you encounter along the way.

I came across a pair of low-rise pale blue corduroys courtesy of Abercrombie & Fitch. Size 0. They were cut a little big. More like a size 2. But I remember they made my ass look marvelous. Ah, the days of bare midriffs. I looked down at my tummy flab and love handles - my postpartum badges of honor. My body has written its own autobiography.

I recalled how healthy and alive I felt back then. When these pants adorned my hips. I had the energy to work out six days a week. I had the best figure I had ever had in my life. I had no problem working a full-time job during the day and attending school full-time in the evenings. Now I struggle to wake up in the morning. If I don't have a dose of caffeine, I can barely function. I have so much more to enjoy in my life right now but I have less vigor. So unfair.

I came to the bottom of the tub. The trip back in time was pleasant while it lasted.

I decided then and there to consign them. I can declutter our eaves and get some extra cash to afford a refreshing, new, mature yet stylish wardrobe. After all, I'll never be able to wear these again. That ship has long ago sailed. So what's the point in keeping them around? They're just taking up valuable space.

Although I admit it crossed my mind to keep the blue cords. For memory's sake.

Force To Be Reckoned With

2009-06-19T20:14:00.008-04:00

The apple must not fall far from the tree. I think DH's passion for engineering may have been instilled on Nate. I predict a major in the field of physics, with a minor in mathematical theory.

It appears he has grasped the concept of gravity. Thank you so much, Sir Isaac Newton. I can attest your contributions are laudable. (Grab your umbrella. It's dripping sarcasm in here.)

Feeding time has become quite the frenzy, as every last bit of food pretty much lands on the floor. Even once favorite treats like biter biscuits and cheese puffs are lobbed like grenades over the side of his highchair tray. Spoons, bowls, sippy cups - they all go over the wayside just for the thrill of the plop. All I can say is thank goodness for splat mats. But I have a hard enough time getting food into him as it is without this new "discovery".

It's not solely at mealtime. We've had to eliminate stoller toys after several teethers have mysteriously gone missing. Anything that can be clutched is now subject to a science experiment in gravitational pull.

This is an important lesson, I presume, albeit a frustrating one. 52 Pickup is going to get really old. Really fast.

Walkers Are For Sissies

2009-06-16T22:38:00.021-04:00

My not-so-little baby is taking more and more steps each day. All by himself.

As you may recall, he took his first steps about a month ago, but needed to gain the confidence to persevere. In the past week, he has gone from taking 6-8 unassisted steps at a time to walking across the room (20 or more steps) without falling. He's dared to walk longer distances and on varied terrain (carpet, hardwood, gravel, grass, etc.). He has proven yet another facet to his independence and hence, is now a part-time walker. Crawling is still necessary to travel at lightening speed but walking provides another perspective, fostering his curious nature. I suppose the fable of the Tortoise and the Hare would be a useful tale to introduce at our next storytime.

He's still a little bow-legged but it is endearing to watch him wobble from one end of the room to another. So eager. So proud. But all the while careful to concentrate and steady himself. And when he completes his mission, he falls on his bottom and delivers the most magnificent, boastful smile. I pick him up in my arms and twirl him around in praise. Its moments like those where I feel as if nothing in the world could bring me down from my high. I feel so incredibly lucky to be in a position so as not to miss any of the milestones. I get to be right in the thick of it - every moment of every day. There is nowhere else I'd rather be, honestly.

The walking phase is exciting, yet terrifying. We've already endured some painful bumps and bruises as a result of this quantum leap. I feel as if I hold my breath with fear each time he gains the courage to stand up and go for it. Waiting with bated breath for him to fall so I can race to his rescue. But to witness him succeed is indescribable. I'm watching his rebirth into a toddler with his every traipse.

Now, for your viewing pleasure:

Crime and Punishment

2009-06-14T22:05:00.032-04:00

As you can tell from this week's lovely Wordless Wednesday pictorial, we have an ankle biter on our hands. Well, not the ankle exclusively. Shoulders, chest, arms, thighs - even my big toe has fallen victim to Nate's overzealous chompers. The origin of this loathsome new habit of biting - insanely hard - is quite the enigma. My best guess is that he is the latest devotee of the Twilight/True Blood "fanpire" series'. Damn television. Already warping my kid.

In all seriousness, I'm unsure of the exact time this mannerism started. I remember his rooting reflex as a newborn, as he bobbed his head, pecking for a nipple like a hen for grain. This instinct disappeared just in time for the drool and discomfort of teething. I recall a smidge of toothless "gumming" originating around the 6-month mark, just prior to when teeth first made their grand entrance. Mostly on his own fingers. But now that said teeth have fully emerged, he seems to have discovered a novel way to put them to use. At 10.5 months, the biting is getting worse by the day. And with eight teeth, it certainly doesn't tickle. As a matter of fact, he has bitten me hard enough to leave welts and bruises on my skin.

It has to end. STOP. NOW. I absolutely, positively do NOT want to be the mom who gets a phone call that her child bit a classmate in preschool. The mom who avoids playdates because her son can't control his animalistic tendencies. The mere thought is mortifying. Not to mention it FREAKIN' HURTS. I do not like wearing long sleeves in summer to hide the evidence of abuse.

Let me say, I don't *think* this is in any way related to teething. I've been scrutinizing his behavior and searching for triggers so I can preempt the munching. Instead, it seems to occur as the result of (a) overstimulation or excitement and (b) frustration.

As far back as I can remember, Nate has been easily overstimulated. I personally believe that his colic, in large part, was due to his inability to process his environmental cues. He can better manage his senses these days but he can still become excitable. For example, if we've been playfully crawling around together and I collapse on the floor, he will crawl over to me and nuzzle affectionately. Charming, right? WRONG. That sweet, innocent hug quickly turns into a piercing "love bite".

Furthermore, if I'm on the computer or phone and he wants my undivided attention, he will accost me, crawl or walk over to me and bite me on the closest appendage. Since he is incapable of verbalizing his irritation, he bites as a way of communicating his disgruntlement. Sometimes, I think the bugger does it because he knows he'll get a reaction out of me.

Both situations - while understandable for a baby his age - are simply unacceptable. He HAS to learn. But how?

They say the punishment should fit the crime. But at this age, he doesn't have the capacity to understand right from wrong. He's not 2 or 3 years old. He has no idea that what he is doing hurts others. Nor can he tell me exactly what is bothering him.

I will NOT go medieval as some have suggested and bite him back. While it may, in fact, relieve the biting, what exactly does this teach? It's okay for Mommy to bite but not you? I don't want to reinforce that violence is an appropriate method of handling his emotions. Besides, I can't in good conscience bite my baby, even if it is to teach a lesson. There has to be a less aggressive means to get my point across.

I tried substituting a teething toy after the incident but it did nothing to hinder the situation. He'd just toss it aside listlessly. I even tried to put on an act, pretending to wail. But all he did was look at me and laugh in my face. Real sympathetic.

The only action that has shown any relative success is a stern "NO BITING" along with a time-out. Saying "NO" seems like common sense but when your first instinct is to scream, "F^%&*#$@! OUCH!", maintaining your composure can be problematic. After a firm rejection, I remove him from my body and ignore him for 60 seconds. Most times, this results in tears and a tantrum. But I walk away or put him down and leave him to his devices for one whole minute. When I return and pick him up, I sometimes get a second bite and other times, I am in the clear. My odds are about 50/50 right now.

I want him to learn that biting isn't going to get my attention - it's going to lose it. I'm hoping that with consistency in the punishment, my stubborn offspring will get the hint and quit cold turkey.

Do you think I'm on the right track? How would you handle this?

Wordless Wednesday: Biter

2009-06-10T19:45:00.002-04:00

The Indoor Gal's Guide to Camping

2009-06-08T21:45:00.029-04:00

It would probably come as no surprise to you that I am an indoor girl. Meaning I'd choose a luxury spa over the harsh jungle any day of the week. DH, on the other hand, is the handsome rugged type. Not afraid to get his hands dirty or sweat puddles. Opposites attract, I suppose.

However, considering our lean vacation budget this year, I temporarily lost my sanity and accepted an invitation for a spontaneous family camping trip with the in-laws. Primitive camping. None of this prissy cabin business with electricity that I had enjoyed once upon a time. We're talking dome tent with languid air mattress to mark your territory. Showering that requires shoes - and clemency for hard water. Resisting urination as you walk a mile uphill to the closest restroom facility. A persistent film of sunscreen, bug spray, smoke and dirt sealed on your skin.

While I knew up front it wasn't really my cup of tea, I reasoned that we so rarely get to act on impulse these days. We should take advantage of an opportunity to escape the normalcy. Variety is the spice of life, they say. And being the minority in my household with the lone vagina, I had better pull up my big girl panties and get accustomed to grime and filth. No better time than the present. So, we packed up the Jeep and drove for two hours to get here, preparing for our new adventure.

Things were off to a rough start as we hit stop-and-go traffic for the entire span of I-95. As we inched along, I had a moment of clairty and began to stress about the logistics of outdoor living with a 10-month old. I was tempted to turn the car around and call it off but I pushed on, motivated by DH's eagerness and excitement. The weather was turbulent and the rain cascaded over the hoods of our ponchos as we checked into the site and set up our gear. Well, I should say DH set up. I was on baby duty since Nate declined to sit in the comfort of his new warm, dry convertible carseat. It was cold and muddy. But I fought the will to complain. Instead, I quipped about what a hardcore camper I was. How my dedication should earn me some sort of merit badge. This led to a humorous discussion and chuckling over pieces of "flair".

That's pretty much how the trip went. We made lemonade from the lemons that were dealt.

I got zero sleep between a panic-stricken Nate waking repeatedly during the night and the sound of snoring coming from FIL's tent. But I still woke up with a smile on my face. Although I admit I was first in line for the instant coffee. Reeking of sweat and desperation.

When we discovered a tiny tick on Nate's neck and had to borrow tweezers from a neighbor to swiftly remove it, I laughed that despite dressing him in long sleeves and pants, the sucker - literally - was able to find the one bare spot on its defenseless victim. After the shock wore off, of course.

When DH spent the entire Saturday fishing and seemlingly deserted us, my frustration mounted but I remained composed. A little dripping sarcasm - and the ever useful silent treatment - earned me a deserved apology.

When a hike to Fossil Beach left us empty-handed of the remains for which we sought, we joked that at least we got our exercise for the day. And when I arrived at the beach to find I had forgotten my nursing cover - and had no blanket on hand - I nursed in public. Modestly and in a shaded area. But to hell with the consequences. It felt incredibly powerful to shed my timidity.

When Nate attempted to eat a fistful of dirt and rocks from the campground playground, I chided him and told him that he need not resort to sordid grub as a protein source.

It was a popular weekend at the campsite and there was never a dull moment. Peace and quiet were elusive. But there was one moment the first night - with the baby asleep in his playpen - where I laid awake in bed and stared at the apex of the tent, listening to the raindrops pelt us and slide down the nylon. At that moment, I felt detente. My stress melted off of me and I was ready to face the next day. Until Nate woke up, that is.

I ate so many hot dogs that I will likely have an aversion to them for months. I indulged in enough Little Hugs to warrant a cavity. But somehow I fell asleep and missed out on the classic campfire smores. If I have one regret, that would be it.

After roughing it for three days and two nights, it felt strange to come back home to plush carpeting and warm water. I - epitome of the indoor girl- almost missed the natural habitat. Unbelievable, right?!

I have to say this experience has given me a sense of pride. I have proven to myself that I can survive without television or a hairdryer. I extended my boundaries and surpassed my expectations. As did Nate, who I greatly underestimated. An unexpected side effect was to be able to truly distinguish necessities from luxuries. Toilet paper: necessity. Pillow: luxury.

This trip compelled me to put down the laptop and resist the usual distractions in order to focus on what's really important: making memories with family. So often, I'm caught up in documenting the happenings in my life that I fail to fully relish in it. It's in my nature to be introspective and that is unlikely to change. But when I can let go of the camera and the keyboard, I find that I am able to savor so much more. It's like being partially blind and resuming full vision. I can open my eyes and see the big picture instead of noticing things peripherally.

That explains why this is the one and only photo I took of our weekend getaway:

This has encouraged me. It's been a wakeup call. Maybe I need to put the blinders on more often.

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday: From Baby to Toddler

2009-06-03T19:24:00.008-04:00

I took this picture of Nate the night before his 10-month birthday but just recently uploaded it to my computer. As I opened the file and looked at this picture, I could no longer recognize a baby. It's as if he metamorphosed into a toddler overnight.

His growth - his maturation - manifested in a photograph. And I love it.

Aw, Nuts

2009-05-31T21:23:00.014-04:00

It was only a matter of time before my little pioneer dredged the depths below to find the buried treasure otherwise known as the twig and berries. Bait and tackle. Package. Junk. Family jewels. Whatever term you fancy, the bottom line is that Nate has discovered "himself".

It all happened last week during bathtime. He was playing with a squirt toy between his legs and I assume either his hand or his toy brushed against the [insert figurative language here]. The sensation must have been enticing because from that point forward, he refused to let "it" escape his grasp. He engaged in pinching, twisting and pulling his anatomy as I winced in sympathy. I was an innocent bystander, beholding my 10-month old son treating his goods like a Stretch Armstrong doll.

I didn't stop him from his exploration. I realize it is a perfectly normal, healthy - and inevitable - part of development. Especially male development. I don't want him to grow to be ashamed of his body or embarrassed. I don't want him to think of masturbation as dirty or disgusting - only that it should be something done in private.

I had a flash-forward moment, envisioning Nate as a hedonistic teenager and walking in on him in an American Pie-esque scenario. I must have turned seven shades of red as I pondered what I would do in such a situation. I promised myself I will always knock before entering.

I guess I was just caught a little off guard. He had never shown any interest in the past, despite countless diaper changes and naked time. I thought it would be awhile before the time I had to explain the technicalities of our body parts.

Every bathtime since has involved some sort of penile reconnaissance. Some of the expeditions last longer than others. But it is now a part of our routine, like shampooing.

I now have the dilemma of what to officially call "it" down there. Should I call "it" by the proper biological names? Or should I assign "it" a cutesy nickname, like "pee-pee", "wee-wee" or "willy"? I am strongly leaning toward proper terms. My reason being because, well, the parts are what they are. Why add to the confusion with various nicknames that will only be replaced eventually with their respective anatomical definitions?

The joys of raising a boy. It's only just beginning. That I'm sure of.

Double Digits

2009-05-28T21:52:00.014-04:00

That's right. Nate turned 10 months old on Tuesday.

As I think about how close we are to his very first birthday - 59 days and counting - I am a bit wistful. I wax nostalgic about the teeny tiny newborn days and part of me misses that period. Not the colic so much. Dear God no. But the little things that are noticeably gone forever. The uncontrollable, jerky movements. The limpness and fragility of his body. How he used to fit lengthwise in one arm. It's hard to imagine he was ever really 7 pounds and a mere 19 inches.

But it's also exciting to see my baby grow. Everyday, it seems he changes. As if he awakens as a different boy each morning. Not just physically but developmentally. He is so interactive and playful. How could I not look forward to the coming days when I know they will eventually include infectious smiles, hugs and giggles?

I've been occupying my recent days with party planning. The hardest part for me is keeping it simple. I want to give him everything under the sun, although I know that doing so would be disastrous on more than one level. I'm probably overdoing a bit with the finer details but I am having trouble binding and gagging the Type A-ness. We've decided on a cowboy theme. Outdoor event, weather permitting. Menu will be BBQ - thinking pulled pork sliders, burgers and hot dogs on the grill. Chips and pretzels in cowboy hats. Horseshoes - the game and the cake. My mind is bursting at the seams with so many ideas that I have to write them down in a notebook. DH has even hinted I should consider a career in event planning and coordination. In jest. I think.

Okay, enough about me. Back to the guest of honor. At 10 months, my little man:

Walks! After courageously taking several unassisted steps a few weeks ago, he now insists that crawling is more convenient and thus his preferred method of travel. However, he adores his new push toy and longs for unlimited space to walk in perpetuum, hand in hand with his lion pal, to his heart's content. I admit his tenacity is quite amusing, if not admirable, when he encounters a wall and grows increasingly frustrated as he tries to turn it around in the opposite direction. I can't help but take pity on him and remove the impediment. But this leads to a day-long game of "chase me, now help me" that wears on the 'ole latissimus dorsi.

Can go from sitting to squatting to standing without help. Quickly. He is also much less wobbly in the standing position and can easily stand for a minute or two. Probably could go longer if only there weren't so many distractions. He has always had strong legs and continues to demonstrate his vertical aptitude.

Can climb the entire flight of stairs. With Mommy playing the role of safety net. Hence, the purchase of this baby gate to be installed ASAP.

Can clap and wave goodbye. He is more consistent with the former since he loves playing pattycake but we are making progress with the latter.

Has limited his naps to once a day, much to Mommy's chagrin. He used to take two hour-plus long naps but lately, he will take a longish nap (hour+) in the early afternoon and a 20 or 30-minute catnap a few hours later. However, the catnap is optional. He often stays up until the start of our dinner/bedtime routine.

Is generally sleeping at least one 5-hour stretch at night. If not longer. Of course, now that I've written this, I am sure to have jinxed myself. I'm just waiting for him to revert back to the 2-3 hour wakeups. *shudder* I still believe sleeping entirely through the night is an urban legend. But we are worlds away from where we were just months ago. And for that, I am ever thankful. I don't know how to act now that I'm not drained of every ounce of energy I possess. I can also get him down 99.9% of nights without a fight, which gives me the warm and fuzzies.

Is jabbering more and more. He finally slipped us a "dada" for the first time today, as a matter of fact. We'd been waiting for this welcome addition to the ever-present "mama". I question whether he says them discriminantly and while I am not yet 100% convinced, he is no longer addressing his Cheerios by the maternal mantra so I have to think he is somehow associating me with the proper term. Nonetheless, he is surely trying to imitate more of what we are saying these days, whether it be "bye-bye", "hi", "baby", "more", etc. Guess it's time to scrutinize our hip-hop song selections and limit our own sailor vernacular. I admit my tongue is guilty of assaulting my ears more than I'd like. I shall henceforth substitute the sweeter nouns of Fudge and Sugar in the event of verbal whiplash.

Is eating more table foods. In addition to the usual suspects (steamed veggies/fruit, puffs and cereal), we've explored deli meat, saltine crackers, pasta, cheese, chicken nuggets, waffles, pancakes, soft pretzels and more. The list goes on and on. We still use reliable purees, especially if I'm in a time crunch and can't find the time to fix a solid meal. But finger foods are being offered more readily.

Is learning to drink from a sippy cup. He hasn't quite gotten the hang of it yet but in all fairness, we haven't introduced it regularly so he isn't all too familiar with this foreign object. He still bites the tip of the sippy to draw out liquid, rather than sucking. And he loses interest quickly, tossing the cup aside for a more interesting toy. I bought a straw cup with the hopes he would catch on but so far, the results have been equally blase.

Has a newfound fascination with books. I've invested in several board books that he will ruminate over again and again. His favorite right now is his baby bible board book. He will flip the pages himself and run his hands along the pages, as if tracing the illustrations. Such a little intellectual.

Listing all of his accomplishments illuminates me with sheer pride. I almost feel undeserving that I get to witness miracles on a daily basis. I still don't know why or how I got so lucky. But boy am I glad I am.

You've Gotta Fight For Your Right

2009-05-25T22:48:00.017-04:00

I spent my holiday researching jogging strollers. Given our recent time spent ogling flora and fauna, it seemed like a worthwhile investment. Not to mention considering how underwear shopping at Victoria's Secret nearly brought me to tears, this could be the ticket to a more esteemed body image.

So, I packed up the boy and headed to a popular baby superstore with the intention of taking a few for a test drive.

Nate fell asleep on the trip there and remained asleep as I transferred him to the stroller. I walked around and viewed their disappointing selection - only 4 floor models were available in-store - before recoiling to the baby gate aisle. Audible whimpers of a nearby infant woke Nate, who then decided to showcase his imperial vocal endowments. Arching his back in protest and chomping his forefinger in frustration, I could plainly see it was feeding time at the zoo.

One of the fringe benefits to the shopping experience at this particular outlet is an appointed nursing room, complete with changing table, hand sanitizer and homely, floral textiles. The decor may remind me of a funeral parlor and the odor of diapers and spit up pollute the air but I applauded them for accommodating breastfeeding mothers and allowing us a quiet place, free of distraction, for those like my nosey wiggleworm.

As I came upon the door to said room, I obeyed the sign that read "knock before entering" and rapped on the door gently. I overheard some whispers coming from inside but tread lightly, slowly turning the knob and peeking in. I caught a glimpse of a woman wearing a nursing shawl and a man sitting beside her. The man quickly bumrushed me, shouting "someone is in here!" and slammed the door in my face.

I was dumbfounded.

Was/Is this not a public room? There are no locks on the door. There are two substantial couches lining the walls. Surely, there is enough room for more than one nursing mother. I, myself, have welcomed many a nursing mother whilst occupying the room on previous excursions.

Instead, I was banished. Rejected. I stood in the hall, trying to soothe my hungry baby as I formulated Plan B.

I must have swallowed a bitter pill at that moment because the anger and frustration began to build inside of me. My son needs to eat as much as their child. It is my right to breastfeed. Who the hell did this guy think he was? Who anointed him as door guard? I had half a mind to excuse myself and enter stubbornly. But ever the submissive, respectful gal, I decided not to raise a ruckus. I chose not to involve management, fearful that I would again be shunned or told to wait in line. That would rile me up even moreso. And I didn't want to be branded as that mom. The one that gets up in arms about any political cause.

My inner lactivist stirred, urging me to relax in one of the display model gliders and whip out a boob in plain sight to breastfeed. State law doesn't prohibit me to do so. Go ahead, do it. Make a statement. You will not stand for this.

I was just so sick of hiding from the world, perpetuating the social delusion that breastfeeding is a dirty, disgusting habit that must be hidden. I've been so tired of fighting a loosing battle with Nate to keep him under wraps as he eats his lunch. I always try to be as discreet as possible but it is damn near impossible to shield all human anatomy while balancing a 10-month old acrobat. Not that I can blame him. I wouldn't want to dine with a blanket over my head either.

I was this.close to letting it all hang out - for standing up for what I believe in - but in the end, I couldn't. Instead, I departed to the car to feed my baby. With the door open to afford more leg room. After beads of sweat pouring off us in the 80 degree, hot, humid weather, I buckled Nate in, turned on the A/C and drove off, defeated.

I understand that the couple in the room may have been breastfeeding novices and perhaps they were a bit shy. I've been there. Once upon a time, I would have fainted at the thought of baring a nipple within arm's reach of a stranger. But you know - I had to adapt. I came to realize that every two hours - or less - comes quickly. Privacy is not always an option as nature calls. In my 10-month stint, I've breastfed on park benches, mall fountains, bathroom toilets, restaurant booths. You name it, I've probably done it. More than once. Sure, it's not glamorous. But if my son needs to eat, he needs to eat. His nutrition and well-being is decidedly more important than worrying about societal expectations. Now, I hardly think twice before stopping to nurse in public. With or without a cover. It comes naturally.

It is a beautiful, enchanting moment when I can look down at my son, seeing and feeling our bodies connect through nourishment. People often forget that the foremost purpose of breasts are feeding mechanisms. Objects of sexual desire lastly. If only everyone could see it for what it is rather than an eyesore.

I remember the first time I saw a nursing mother as a young girl. It was in a bookstore. The mother was breastfeeding her infant daughter, watching her so intently and stroking her face. I admired her from afar. I was too young to completely understand the process but I could sense there was something special about what they shared. That admiration has grown tenfold since I've been able to experience it firsthand. I nod knowingly and smile as I gaze at others cradling their babies and fidgeting with their tops. I personally enjoy the company. Knowing there's more of us out there. We're a community.

Would reporting the incident to management, begging them to clarify their nursing room policy, really make things better? Doubtful. The public mindset is still there. Whipping out my boob may have garnered some local buzz but it would hardly suffice to erase all ignorance from society.

I'm not looking to change the world. I'm not trying to be a martyr. I just want a fair shake. I don't want to have to retire to the car or some remote place to nurse just because people are ashamed. Because I'm not. I'm unabashedly proud to produce milk for my son. I've worked hard to make it this far and if I have my druthers, I will not be conceding anytime soon.

I regret my lack of assertiveness. For not holding true to what I believe. I regret slinking into the shadows, cowardly. I feel like in some ways, I've failed us. I had the opportunity to educate and foster patronage but I let it pass me by. I was too frightened of the consequences.

I guess it is true what they say: well-behaved women rarely make history.

Friendly Rivalry

2009-05-23T21:31:00.000-04:00

Perhaps my latest admission is a bit of a faux pas. But here goes anyhow.

Parenting sometimes feels like a competition. There. I said it.

The coveted prize: the MVP trophy. Most Valuable Parent, that is.

Sure, DH and I are cordial. We realize it is of the utmost importance that our son bond with each of us, equally. And we respect that. We may even enjoy witnessing said bonding with the auxiliary parent. For a moment.

But at the same time, we vie for Nate's affection. We secretly want him to prefer us. Selfish? Yes. Wrong? Probably. But true regardless. After all, who wouldn't want to be the center of his world? When he smiles and giggles, it's like a natural aphrodisiac. Neither of us can get enough. Especially when we're the wizard behind the curtain, evoking those delightful grins and squeals.

So, what exactly is the scoreboard status? It seems we're tied for today. 1-1.

I was in an early lead, as Nate woke for the day, babbling "mama" incessantly despite numerous fruitless "dada" cues. But my lead was soon shattered when DH returned home from work. I was mincemeat as he was greeted with unbridled jubilee to which I have never been a part.

We just volley back and forth. One point here. One point there. Neither a clear victor although we both keep a mental count.

You are probably mulling over how appalling we are. Deeming us unfit parents. But the old adage goes, "competition breeds success". By observing our significant others (or alternative caretakers) with our precious little ones, we can strive to be better. Watching from the sidelines, I discover new parenting tactics and strategies. Watching him quiet down as Grandma swings him to and fro. Spotting him nodding off as DH bounces him just so on his knee. Seeing him laugh while playing peek-a-boo with a friend. Without those "wish-I-had-thought-of-or-done-that", enviable moments, I may never grow to be the mom I aspire to be.

And while our petty jealousy will most likely continue to bubble under the surface, the bottom line is we are both winners.

The final score? Love-love.

When Storytime Goes Bad

2009-05-20T11:19:00.002-04:00

Times have changed. Or perhaps I'm the one who has changed over time.

At the suggestion of our pediatrician in an effort to extend his vocabulary, Nate and I trotted off to the library to rent a few children's books for storytime. I scoured the shelves for traditional, tried and true classics. The Very Hungry Caterpillar - check. Goodnight Moon - check. As I was browsing the alluring, illustrative covers for a suitable selection, I came upon a collective book of lullabies and nursery rhymes. This is perfect, I thought as I mused about reading and singing to him while breathing in his fresh, clean post-bathtime baby scent. I nonchalantly checked out the variety of titles tucked under my arm and retired home to get a head start on our new activity.

After a brief playtime, I decided to spice things up with a bit of literature. I retrieved the lullaby book from the pile. Innocent enough, right?

WRONG. Warning: all things are not what they appear.

My adult perspective was horrified at the contents of these so-called "classics". I could not believe the twisted, violent, somewhat macabre material that had eluded me in my childhood. Take for example:

Goosey Gander

Goosey, goosey, gander
Where do you wander?
Upstairs and downstairs
And in my lady's chamber
There I met an old man
Who would not say his prayers
I took him by the left leg
And threw him down the stairs

Ummm....how Christian is this? Throwing someone down the stairs for refusing to pray? That's a great tale to share with our children on how to tolerate and respect others' beliefs, even if they are different from our own.

Still not convinced? How about these nuggets of consternation:

The Old Woman in a Shoe

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe,
She had so many children, she didn't know what to do;
She gave them some broth without any bread,
She whipped them all soundly and put them to bed.

Wonderful. Yet another welfare slob popping out kids she can't afford. As if that isn't offensive enough, this terrible excuse for a mother takes out her frustrations on her poor victims by way of abuse and starvation. If this story teaches anything, it's why the field of psychiatry still proves to be lucrative.

The Three Little Kittens

Three little kittens
They lost their mittens,
And they began to cry,
Oh, Mother dear, we sadly fear
Our mittens we have lost.
What! Lost your mittens,
You naughty kittens!
Then you shall have no pie.
Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow,
No, you shall have no pie.

Ok, yes, they lost their belongings. But hello?! It was an ACCIDENT! Would you rather your children use methods of deception or subterfuge out of fear for the consequences? What is this teaching them? That there are no rewards for being honest? How unfortunate.

Peter, Pumpkin Eater

Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater,
Had a wife and couldn't keep her;
He put her in a pumpkin shell,
And there he kept her very well.

WTF? Number one, isn't this a wee bit illegal? To hold someone against their will? And secondly, why would you want to teach you child to stay in a relationship where the feelings obviously aren't reciprocated? Again, shameful.

Little Polly Flinders

Little Polly Flinders
Sat among the cinders,
Warming her pretty little toes.
Her mother came and caught her,
And smacked her little daughter
For spoiling her nice new clothes.

Has this mother of the year nominee ever heard of childproofing? Where the hell were you when your kid was sitting a spit away from a fire? Parenting at it's finest, people.

Now I fully recognize the irony of Grimms' fairy tales. These stories are downright alarming. I'm shocked that all of us don't have homicidal tendencies after being exposed at the most vulnerable, absorbent points in our lives. You know, being sponges and such.

I threw aside the book in favor of Goodnight Moon. And I have no regrets on the matter.

Purity

2009-05-18T22:39:00.004-04:00

Nate's baptism went off without a hitch yesterday.

It was an especially joyous, momentous occasion for me.

As I was dressing my son in his pristine, white romper, I remembered how we were seemingly called back to the church, after years of repudiation. I reminisced back to this service. The flood of emotions that renewed our faith. How our relationship with the Lord has evolved over the past two years.

We came to the church when we were in a dark place. A painful hole that had swallowed us. We were suffering and in great need of solace. I wasn't expecting much by attending but I was ever hopeful of finding an outlet to carry my heavy burden. Someone or something to serve as my map, guiding me out of my personal hell and into a brighter, more purposeful place. Little did I know, that night would be the first step toward achieving peace and happiness. The first missing puzzle piece to be put back in its place. The first step to feeling whole again.

I tied Nate's bonnet and took a step back, beaming at my miracle. The baby I prudently thought was beyond my grasp. And how grateful I was to be proven wrong. A few finishing touches and a photo shoot later, we were on our way to celebrate. Celebrate life.

As the ceremony began, I listened carefully to the pastor's words, reciting my pledge to raise my son with Christian values. My solemn vow to do whatever possible to denounce evil that may try to thwart him along the way. I promise, I will. I'd rather die a thousand deaths than allow anything to hurt you or lead you astray. My animalistic maternal instincts were revealed and I abruptly felt overprotective. I flashed forward fifteen plus years, imagining dilemmas he may encounter and how I hoped he would respond. I silently prayed to lead by example and surround him with those who would also be worthy. By doing so, he could deliver on those promises justly.

The water poured over his head, matting his downy hair. In one act of effusion, he was cleansed of sin. He was saved.

And so were we.

The First Step

2009-05-14T11:04:00.000-04:00

Nate took his first steps yesterday. Unassisted.

He was in rare form the night before with a temper tantrum the likes of which had never been seen. At least not in our house. This lead to a rough night of sleep for baby, which equated to a rough night for Mommy. DH was kind enough to run to Mickey D's and treat me to a hot mocha so I could jump start my day. As he returned and handed me the cup, Nate pulled up on a nearby TV tray and took a step toward me. After that first step, he couldn't quite discern what had just happened and he plopped down on his butt. Cheering erupted from the sidelines as DH and I couldn't contain ourselves.

Sure, he has been crawling and cruising (or attempting to cruise) for almost 2 months. And pulling himself up even longer. But it was still unexpected and surreal that my little boy just took his first step. It was quite exhilarating.

Of course, I had to test his abilities and ensure it wasn't a fluke. So after much enticing, I was able to get him to take two more unassisted steps. It's official. It's the real thing. We have a walker. Or we're at least on the brink of one.

I'm still unsure if I should celebrate or cry.

The Greatest Show on Earth

2009-05-13T15:43:00.009-04:00

Step right up, folks. Don't be shy. You will not believe your eyes. See sights beyond your wildest imagination. Grab your inflatable novelties and a bucket of popcorn as you take your front row seat to the greatest show on earth.

There are no elephants or white tigers at this performance. No motorcycle cage riders. Think Cirque du Soleil: The Breastfeeding Saga.

Watch my son defy gravity and logic as he contorts his body around my bosom into unthinkable positions. His aerial stunts will leave you spellbound, your mouth gaping with wonder and amazement. How is it possible that one could eat comfortably while simultaneously writhing into a downward facing dog stance? Have I been fooled into believing the coveted peacefulness at night is instead spent studying advanced yoga postures? More importantly, how can a human nipple be stretched and twisted to infinite proportions and not snap clean off?

It's a bit redundant to state there's lots of action going on under this Big Top.

Nursing has become quite the acrobatic feat these days. Ever since Nate learned how to crawl/pull up/cruise, he's been too lively to hunker down and eat a meal. To his defense, who can be bothered with sustenance when there is so much to observe? So many exotic places to travel? The cradle position is much too restrictive.

What started off as endearingly comical is now dreadfully aggravating. Especially at 3am when my motor functions are greatly delayed. I'm surprised he hasn't yet vaulted himself to the opposite end of the room. At this point, nothing short of a straight jacket can save us.

Will I be able to continue the juggling sideshow act? Stay tuned.

M Day Revamped

2009-05-11T11:07:00.006-04:00

So, most of us know yesterday as M_ _ _ _ _' s Day. You can fill in the blanks here. A day of appreciation and tribute to the women who have birthed and raised children. Flowers. Candy. Cards. Sappy, sentimental commercials. Reminders plastered on every street corner. Reminders to forget a gift at your own peril. Reminders to some of what they long to have - long to be - but haven't attained.

If infertility has taught me anything, it is just how painful this holiday can be. As if the rest of society hadn't excluded us due to our childless status, there was now a special day in history each year during which we were extra specially antagonized.

Please understand me. I'm not suggesting that mothers shouldn't be recognized for all they do. Not at all. I am one of the fortunate ones that understands how our efforts - no matter how tiny or large - are often overlooked or expected. I just happen to believe it should be more of a softly spoken year-round thing as opposed to one obnoxiously in-your-face event a year. Perhaps I'm low-key like that. I would personally rather have someone do something thoughtful for me out of the blue than because a holiday obligates them with the showering of gifts.

And while this year is the first year that I could officially celebrate the day for myself, I still found myself waking yesterday morning with a tear in my eye. For those of us who still haven't reached the Holy Grail of IF. As my husband rolled over and said "Happy M_ _ _ _ _'s Day", my mind flashed back to the days when I was the outsider. When I watched everyone else accept their handmade gifts with the glimmer of unconditional love in their eye and kiss their squealing, rosy-cheeked children.

I longed to be a part of this elite club for so long and now that I had been inducted, it honestly just felt like any other day. Complete with nosebleed (this makes #3 this week), vomit and poop. I'm grateful every single day for my blessings so it wasn't the magical epiphany I thought it'd be.

I did receive some lovely flowers from Nate (can you believe that at a mere 9.5 months old, he can already log into FTD.com and place an order? The eloquency of his notecard was easily on a 7th grade level.) and DH cooked me breakfast. We visited the in-laws and had dinner while the cousins played. But my mind wandered, as it tends to do. When people look at me, they see me and DH and now Nate. They have no idea of the scars and wounds I carry or the cross I bear from IF. The two angels I've lost, whose only tangible memories reside in the gemstone bracelet that gingerly caressed my wrist throughout the day.
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The lovely, talented Liv came up with the most faboosh idea to stick it to IF and take back the day. To transform the feelings of dread to anticipation. And so OMG You Rock Day was born. I just had to participate and give back to the community that helped me work through all those rotten times.

I received the most lovely goodies from Stacie, whose blog I just recently discovered and lurve. I can't believe I've been missing out on her story. I must have been living under a rock. Her gifts were way too awesome not to share for Show & Tell:

The hilarious card, which Nate ripped from my hand and mangled before I even got the chance to open it

The sweet message inside

Opening my box of treats

Aren't the wrapping paper and bows so cute?

The Willow Tree Angel's Embrace ornament. The interpretation reads "Hold close that which we hold dear." PERFECT.

All of my loot, including new reading material

Does this girl rock or WHAT?! Thank you, Stacie, for your generous and thoughful gifts. I love them and will definitely be putting them to good use.

(Nearly) Wordless Wednesday: Crime Scene Investigation

2009-05-06T15:56:00.003-04:00

I was startled by the sound of screaming coming from Nate's bedroom at naptime. Upon entering, I discovered this grisly scene. And almost suffered an anxiety attack.

Who could commit such a heinous act?

Our one clue: a ring of blood around Nate's right nostril.

We phoned the pediatrician and made a hasty trip into the office, fearing the worst. It was at our destination that the perpetrator was confirmed. An abrasion in the nasal cavity. Remedy is Vaseline applied nightly.

Mommy's heart can resume beating.

Cinco De Mayo and Other Celebrations

2009-05-05T21:48:00.006-04:00

Note: I started writing this post on 5/5 but I was embarrassingly lame and fell asleep midway through. Hence why I am not publishing until 5/6. What can I say? Mommy is exhausted. The college days of pulling all-nighters escape me. I feel old. But without further ado...

I'm celebrating Cinco de Mayo the "mommy way" tonight. Indulging in a strawberry daiquiri wine cooler and watching Bridget Jones' Diary on cable while the little man snoozes away in his crib and the hubby works. All alone. Some people may consider this mundane - I admit its no kegger - but to me, it is quite sensational. The 3.5% alcohol by volume isn't nearly enough for one to become inebriated but it does allow a breastfeeding mommy to feel like an autonomous adult without much guilt.

It's nights like tonight when I catch a glimpse of my former single, childless self. It's almost like seeing a childhood friend you've long grown apart from. She doesn't recognize me so I admire her from afar, thinking of the days I used to idolize her. And while I still have much love for her, I look around at my life now - toys scattered on the floor, laundry overflowing - and how I wouldn't trade in a thing.
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As if I need another reason to celebrate...

The past two nights have been a raving success in the sleep deprivation department with 5+ hour stretches. Last night, I put Nate down around 8pm. He woke at 2am and 6am. At 6am, I brought him back to bed with me where he slept until 730am. It was pure bliss. I didn't know what to do with myself.

I just hope I don't become spoiled should this be a new trend. A girl could get used to this thing called sleep.
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Nate had his 9-month appointment last week. He was 19 lbs, 13 oz and 28.5 inches long. I could have sworn he weighed more. Or perhaps my biceps are just reaching the peak of their strength, as my arms are giving out much faster than in days past. I was shocked he had dropped percentiles (now approximately 35th for weight and 50th for height) when he's always been in the upper 60-80th range. The pediatrician assured me that this decline in growth rate is common around this time and it is expected once they become so active. I asked her about his limited vocabulary and she seemed unconcerned. She said we would revisit the topic at 12 months but in the meantime, to continue storytime every night.

She examined his mouth, complete with now *eight* teeth. She asked if I had been brushing or wiping his teeth after meals, which I admittedly had not been doing. I was embarrased that I had no idea I should. She advised that I should at least wipe his teeth with a clean cloth after milk feeds, as those are common culprits for cavities. So, we went to the grocery store and picked up a baby toothbrush and some flouride-free, baby-safe toothpaste. I expected hysterics at the first introduction but the brush piqued his interest. He seemed to enjoy the taste of the gel. He even let out some chuckles as I glided over his gums.

After a clean bill of health, he got his long-awaited 6-month vaccinations. He did cry with each jab in his pudgy thigh but my tough little guy stuck it out and was back to smiling before we left the office. We will go back in a month or so to get the 9-month shots that will bring us up to date. ________________________________________________

Today, as I was cleaning up the living room, Nate was crawling on the floor and playing with some toys. I glanced down and noticed a dark spot on his skull. Initially, I thought it was a spot of dried blood but didn't recall him tumbling or bumping his noggin earlier. Being a blondie, it would be hard to miss something like that. Upon further inspection, I noticed it was not blood or dirt. It was a tick.

After a minor freak out, I conquered the eek factor and grabbed a credit card from my purse. I slid it along his hairline and the tick crawled onto the card. Whew, I exclaimed. It hadn't embedded itself yet. I ran the card into the bathroom and drowned it in the sink.

Crisis averted.

Rest In Peace

2009-05-02T22:02:00.002-04:00

I'd always heard it happens in threes. But I didn't want to believe it. Not after this post. So, I dismissed the myth as foolish.

Turns out I was the foolish one.

I woke up on Thursday morning, a bit groggy from the lack of sleep the previous night. I nursed Nate, changed his massive wet diaper and turned on the morning cartoons while I logged onto FF. It was an ordinary day. That was until I saw the tragic news.

One of my fellow August DD mommies - my friend, Kelli - had lost her precious baby girl, Maggie.*

Infant death is always deplorable. But this particularly hit too close to home. I was in shock and denial. This was a friend. Someone I knew. We had never "met" but we had gone through our pregnancies together. We shared our special moments and milestones over the past year and a half, from our BFPs and gender announcements to labor/delivery stories and baby pictures. We shared our innermost fears and joys. We were connected. United.

I feel as if I've lost a family member. A niece perhaps. Grief has consumed me for days, ever since I found out. I can't go a few minutes without thinking of Kelli and her family. What they must be feeling, doing or saying at that very same moment. How one moment she was putting her girl to bed and the next, she was burying her. Is she reliving the nightmare over and over again inside her head? How would she explain the loss to Maggie's 5-year old sister, Piper? How do you tell a kindergartner that she will no longer kiss her baby sister goodnight?

She posted photos of Maggie's last days. Smiling unknowingly. I just lost it. How could this happen? Why? A mother should never lose her child. Never.

No matter how many prayers for strength and peace I sent their way, I couldn't feel at ease. I had wicked insomnia and couldn't sleep. I would just lie awake in bed at night, heartbroken. Crying tears of sadness. I was so restless with survivor's guilt. I got to hold and kiss my baby today. I can push this aside, pretend it is all a bad dream while I run errands or do chores. I've been touched by this - significantly - but I can move on. This is her reality. Her family is forever changed. No escaping the catastrophe.

My "new mommy" paranoia has escalated to Code Red. I've been on high alert for anything that might lurk in the shadows, threatening Nate's life. I've been reconsidering my decisions on that quilted bumper in his crib and that fleece blanket I give him to cuddle as he sleeps. I'm extra careful about feeding him table foods so he doesn't choke and watching him as he cruises so he doesn't fall and injure himself. I hold him closer and tighter, even if against his will. I feel like it is my duty to live this day as if I won't be given a next.

Maggie was just a week younger than Nate. She would have been 9 months old today. My mind, there it goes...wandering again.

I've been quiet lately. Truth is, I haven't felt much like writing. All of my drivel about sleeping or food or whatever seem so grossly unimportant compared to my friend's suffering. I can't imagine how she feels. And I hope I never have to know firsthand.

Another angel too beautiful for earth. Gone too soon. Maggie Amelia Rose. Sweet dreams, little one. You will never be forgotten.

*(I won't go into the minor details I am aware of about her passing. It's just too delicate a subject. And to be frank, it doesn't matter. So please don't ask out of respect to her family.)

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday: That Can't Be Comfortable

2009-04-29T22:55:00.004-04:00

(In case you were wondering: yes, he's asleep.)

9 Months In, 9 Months Out

2009-04-26T21:41:00.004-04:00

My baby boy is 9 months old today. He has officially been out of the womb longer than he was ever in it. Blows. My. Mind.

I won't have a precise height and weight until Nate's 9-month appointment on Tuesday morning but I'm estimating 21 lbs. Poor guy is finally going to get his 6-month vaccinations, for which we are embarrassingly delayed ever since his illness in December that delayed his 4-month shots.

We are now onto size 4 diapers as of this week. Squeezing him into the size 3's was becoming ludicrous, even though the weight limit is supposed to be 28 lbs. My ass. That 28 pound prototype must have resembled an apple - a short, fat midget perhaps - or else those marketing executives at Pampers are huffing paint.

Nate is fitting in 12-month onesies and rompers perfectly at the moment. However, most 12-month pants are a little on the long side so we are sticking with the 9-month pants for now. Long torso and short legs. But he is wearing size 4-5 shoes. I scored 2 pairs of Robeez in EUC from some local consignment shops and he fits beautifully in the 12-18 month size. Can we spell B-I-G-F-O-O-T? My little chubster can now adorn his cankles with some fashionable footwear.

Mr. Mobile is crawling and pulling up like a ~~chimp~~ champ. Considering he just started crawling exactly one month ago, he has really developed physically. He is much more coordinated and can crawl from room to room without a single misstep. He is even attempting to climb, lifting his legs after pulling up on stairs, tables, ledges and shelves. Heaven, help me. I am currently harassing the hubby to bolt each and every piece of furniture that could remotely resemble a jungle gym to the wall. Pronto. And recently, my little daredevil has started getting brave and is letting go to stand unsupported for 5+ seconds before falling onto his butt. The boy is fearless. I predict more bumps and bruises in our not-so-distant future. He's going to look like a drunken sailor soon enough.

He is quite the explorer. Getting into everything and anything. I spend my days endlessly chasing after him as he scrambles about the house. I can surround him with the most fascinating toys he owns but he will go after the one thing that is prohibited. Like the wall outlet. Or the wire to my cell phone charger. I say "NO" in a firm, assertive voice. But it usually results in a mischevious smile or prompts him to continue misbehaving. I have visions, or should I say nightmares, of how toddlerhood is going to fare.

My only concern - a slight one at that - is that he isn't very vocal. He can babble and he can string consonants with vowels on occasion. But he hasn't shown much progress since saying "mama" at 7 months. "Dada" seemingly escapes him despite 2 months of daily pleading. It's been said that infants tend to focus on one aspect of their development - verbal or physical - at a time. If that is, in fact, true, Nate is by far the more rough and tumble type. Thus far, he is a man of few words. I plan to discuss this with the pediatrician in case it has anything to do with his frenulum. I would hate for his speech to suffer because of my lack of action in getting it clipped. However, I was a late talker so it is possible he is following in my footsteps and will come around when he is good and ready.

We're now venturing into stage 3 foods, since he has been on strike against Stage 2 mixes for several days. He may be ready for more chunky purees. Or he may be ready to go straight to finger foods. If only I could move past my fear of choking, we could experiment a bit more.

I can't believe we are 3/4 of the way to Nate's first birthday and the obligatory celebration. I'd be lying if I said I didn't have several party ideas already swirling in my head. I'm leaning toward Cowboy but Surfer would also be a pretty rad midsummer pool theme. I know it's 3 months away but the planner in me can't help myself.

It seems surreal to even think about my baby's first birthday. It's been 9 months and I still stare at him and question if he is really and truly mine. Did we really create this perfect little being? When it comes to Nate, seeing isn't really believing. He is and always will be my miracle.

I don't think I'll ever stop questioning his existence. It's all so hard to fathom how he came to be. Or maybe I just don't want to stop. Maybe I want the romance to stay alive.

Smelling the Roses

2009-04-24T21:42:00.004-04:00

The weather today was the kind you wish you could bottle up and save for a rainy day. Low 70's. Not hot. Not cold. Just clear with a warm summer breeze. Pure perfection.

I couldn't resist taking Nate out for an afternoon stroll. Traveling through a neighborhood hidden behind our community, I found a trail that led to the local parks and recreation, as well as the public library. The few passerbys I encountered on our trek volunteered friendly smiles accompanied with "Hello" or "Beautiful day, isn't it?" Have I mentioned that I adore our new abode? In the city, everyone is too busy yapping on a cell phone to be amiable or polite. But here in quintessential suburbia, people take the time to show courtesy to a stranger. At the grocery checkout or restaurant, a transaction can take a bit longer as conversation strikes. Quite frustrating at times, especially if I have a squirming baby in my arms and am in a hurried state. The pace is much slower here than what I'm used to. But, it's a pleasant change to live where people are genuine. It truly restores my faith in my fellow manhood.

I noticed Nate's eyelids getting heavy but every slight bump would enliven him. My pace was a tad too fast. I slowed my gait and right as rain, he fell asleep.

We've probably all heard it said that having a baby forces you to slow down. To appreciate the little things that often go unnoticed. Instead of blindingly whizzing by in an attempt to burn off the caloric excess of my lunch, I slowed down to relish the quiet. As a result, I noticed so much more of my surroundings.

There were faint sounds of laughter and horseplay coming from the direction of the playground. I could hear rustling of woodland creatures as we drifted past their territory. The wind whistled through the trees, making the leaves dance. Water rippled lightly on the lake. It was nature at its finest. So peaceful. It was infectious.

I stopped to smell the roses. And it was sweet. I can't wait for our next reunion.

Crunchy Granola Wannabe

2009-04-22T21:05:00.013-04:00

In honor of Earth Day, I feel it is only appropriate to dedicate this post to our environment. To the Mother of all Mothers: Mother Nature.

The theme of today's post is crunchiness.

If the title perplexes you, don't worry. I'm not referring to rolled oats. Instead, I am referring to an idiom describing a non-traditional lifestyle and parenting method.

crunch-y [krŭn'chē] - adj. - "green"; environmentally-friendly; environmentally-conscious; used to describe persons who have adjusted or altered their lifestyle for environmental reasons. Crunchy persons tend to strongly lean left politically and may be additionally but not exclusively categorized as vegetarians, vegans, eco-tarians, conservationists, environmentalists, neo-hippies, tree huggers, nature enthusiasts, etc.

Let me begin by saying, for the record, that I do not consider myself "crunchy". I strive to be but I'm just...not. I actually look up to and respect "those moms". I think I have some "crispy" qualities that stop me from being lumpish pudding. But I am far from the epitome of crunchy granola.

I have deduced this from the following:

1. I drive a Jeep Liberty. An SUV garnering an unimpressive 20 mpg on average. Hardly fuel efficient. However, now that I am dwelling in SAHM-dom, I no longer have to commute daily. Most of my trips are now local so I won't be guzzling as much fuel. I'd like to think this earns me some points. Just a few.

2. I use disposable diapers. The third largest consumer product piling up in our landfills. I was open to the idea of cloth diapers while pregnant. Especially the AIOs like Bumkins, BumGenius, Swaddlebees or DryBees that are almost as convenient as sposies. And lest we forget, they come in irresistible, super cute patterns. Who wouldn't want to match a diaper to an outfit? But DH scoffed at the idea of washing poo diapers so Pampers it is.

3. I vaccinate. On schedule. I considered selectively vaccinating based on Dr. Sears' recommendations but after performing extensive research and interviewing several pediatricians to get their take, I decided that vaccinating on schedule was the best option for our family.

4. Epidurals are heaven. I am intrigued by stories of waterbirths or homebirths. Even Hypnobabies peaks my curiosity. But I don't think I could ever trust my body enough to relax and go with it. Maybe it's the whole IF thing but I always feel as if something is about to go horribly wrong and it makes me more comfortable personally to know I am in good hands if that were to be the case. I should note I did make it to 8cm before getting meds. Despite my awareness of the risks, I do not regret my decision at all.

5. I make an effort to buy organic/locally grown produce when possible. But I''m often unable to do so due to budget constraints. We do, however, have our own little garden out back where we have planted our own tomatoes and peppers. DH has quite the green thumb so we will be cultivating more vegetables in time.

6. If you've followed along since the inception of this blog, you'll know that I heart cosleeping. Deep inside, I am very pro-attachment parenting (AP). But there came a point in time when Nate grew restless and all of our sleep began to suffer. Although painful, it was time to move him to his crib. I miss him but I do enjoy spending that quiet time with DH, rekindling our intimacy as we cuddle next to one another.

7. I love babywearing. No, I lurve babywearing. My Ergo is quite possibly the best baby item I have purchased. If I was a rich girl, I'd have a different carrier for every day of the week.

8. I shop at consignment stores weekly. And I check out Ebay regularly. I would much rather buy something in excellent used condition (EUC) than brand new. Saves me money and recycles clothing.

9. Speaking of recycling, we don't have trash pickup in our neck of the woods so as much as I'd like to salvage our plastics and glass, we often just go to the dump with our trash. We do use our yard clippings as compost occasionally.

10. We circumcised. A very sensitive topic, no doubt. Several of my older male relatives were uncircumcised and had severe urinary complications that led to a painful, memorable circumcision later in life. I did not want that for my son so we opted for the circ.

11. I plan to chart and use Natural Family Planning (NFP) in the future. No more birth control for me. When we feel our family is complete, DH may get the Big V but we want to be 100% sure before we make any final surgical decisions.

12. I breastfed exclusively for 6 months and plan to breastfeed along with solids for one year. Possibly beyond that but I can't see myself going much longer than that. Most importantly, I would like to start weaning around one year so we can prepare to TTC #2. I am open to tandem feeding during pregnancy but would want to completely wean before birth.

13. I do use homeopathic remedies like teething tablets and gripe water. But I still rely on medication like Motrin or Tylenol, and I see a doctor regularly. Some of the possible/unknown side effects of the homeopathic treatments make me nervous so I prefer to go with something that has been proven to be safe and effective.

14. I have no plans to homeschool my children. I want them to attend public or private school mainly for the socialization aspect.

15. I attempt to purchase natural cleaning supplies. Two of my recent favorites are my dishwashing detergent and my all-purpose cleaner.

16. I actively seek BPA-free supplies for Nate. I will go out of my way to find plastic alternatives. And I own many cloth/wooden toys.

I could go on and on but I'll end the list here.

I'm not totally mainstream but I'm also not unconventional. I fall somewhere in the middle. Story of my life. I have good intentions but I fall drastically short of the "crunchy" line.

In all honesty, I secretly desire to be the neo-hippy mom. The one who breastfeeds until the child self-weans, even if it means into toddler years. And out in public because they just don't give a damn and the baby needs to eat. The woman who does yoga or pilates to stay fit and eats a fresh, healthy, free-range diet. I envy their conviction and gumption. They all just scream "kick-ass" to me when they talk of their lifestyles.

I look at my list above and wonder how many of my responses are influenced by social norms and expectations, rather than my actual desires. Perhaps I'm subconsciously concerned by what others will think if I chose to follow through on some of them.

I think I've made strides in the "green" department since I conceived Nate. While I haven't altered my lifestyle completely, I can say I'm more aware of the world. Infertility has given me a new perspective. I'm much more conscious of the things I purchase and how it affects the earth and our health. I think all of us want our children to experience the world in its purest form. We naturally want what we deem is best for them. And I think that realization - that motivation - is a step in the right direction.

Are you a crunchy mom?

In A Flash

2009-04-21T08:37:00.001-04:00

As I rocked Nate to a peaceful slumber last night, I gazed between the slats of the blinds on the adjacent window. Flashes of lightening illuminated the grey night sky. I listened to the thunder roll as the rain pounded hard against the pane, creating an echo within the nursery walls.

It was then I was reminded of two profanely tragic tales I've come across this week. The stories of Maddie and Thalon have touched me profoundly. Two sweet children gone from earth much too soon.

I read each blog, page after page from the beginning, smiling as I encountered the chronicles of their adventures and milestones. I felt waves of emotion. A bizarre, cosmic connection, as if I were a fly on the wall watching them grow all this time. Then I reached the final posts. And my heart skipped a beat. The journals that celebrated the spirit of these two precious babies were transformed into memoirs of lives cut painfully short.

These weren't just sad works of fiction. These were people's lives. Family units. This was real.

I wept in confusion and dysphoria. A mother should never have to lose her child. And even though I am confronted with this seemingly everyday in the ALI community, I still don't understand how this could happen. Why it happens. I prayed for the families - that peace would somehow find them and God would grant them strength. That He would carry them through this.

At any moment, our lives could change. In a flash. As quickly as the storm that raged outside. In an instant, our cherished ones could be jettisoned from our lives. We know this but for some reason, it always takes something catastrophic to drive the message home.

If this were any other night, I would have laid Nate in his crib and said a silent prayer for him to sleep through the night and not wake. Please let me get some consistent sleep, I'd beg. But last night, I prayed for the opposite. Please let my son wake up. Let me hear his cry to know that he is still with me. When he woke at 330am for the second time, I did something I hadn't done in weeks. I took him back to bed with me. I just wanted to feel his warm body next to mine.

I was lucky enough to wake in the morning to the smiling face that makes my world complete. And I knew somewhere out there, there are those who are grieving and would give anything to share that feeling once again.

Many blessings to all of you out there. Give your little ones and/or loved ones some extra hugs and kisses today.

Thanks for the Mammaries

2009-04-19T21:45:00.011-04:00

In just one more week, I will have been breastfeeding for 9 months. Considering I have far surpassed my initial goal of 6 months, it feels like quite the achievement. The best part is that I see no reason why we can't make it three more months to my ultimate goal of 1 year. Perhaps even a bit longer. If you would have asked me 8 months ago, I would have laughed at the notion that I'd make it this far.

But there have been some consequences. Namely the aesthetic nature of the tatas.

My girls look fantastic when they're engorged with milk and they nearly cut off the circulation to my neck. They don't feel all that great but they sure do look good enough to be considered a work of art. At least the work of an acclaimed plastic surgeon (look, no scarring!). But after Nate drains them, they resemble donut sticks with shriveled raisin nipples. Not the nice, yummy round doughy donuts stuffed with the filling of your choice. We're talking the thin, elongated ones. With a texture similar to a cruller if you factor in the lovely, silver stretch marks on the sides. Get the picture? It's not a pretty sight.

I imagine that as finger foods become the primary source of nutrition in Nate's diet and my supply dwindles, the funbags are going to get even less "fun". How disappointing.

You see, before I conceived my darling son, I was a member of the IBTC with an A cup. A full A but an A nonetheless. Once I became pregnant, to my delight, they blossomed to a B cup. And when my milk came in, they grew to a C cup. I was ecstatic with my newfound curves. Once my supply regulated, I went back down to a full B. And that is where I remain today. Happily.

I was hoping I could hang onto the surplus I've been granted but I'm afraid my cans will be shelved once the dairy section closes shop.

I guess I should fluff the dirty pillows for the next few months while I still own them.

*Sigh*

Memories in the Making

2009-04-17T13:39:00.002-04:00

DH had to work on-site yesterday, which meant a late night return home. Instead of fixing dinner or performing any obligatory - albeit mundane - tasks, I decided to take advantage of the solo time with Nate and do what we do best: goof off.

I was crawling around on my hands and knees, snarling like a beast and chasing him frantically as he giggled and sped away. I snuck up behind him to grab his chubby little leg and he turned around to smile the most angelic smile I've ever witnessed. My heart melted like wax. His expression was effervescent, making my ovaries ache. It was then I had a "moment".

Pray tell, you say?

I'm sure any mom short of the likes of Andrea Yates can relate to this "moment". This epiphany. My entire soul - my whole being - felt such immense joy and enchantment that I wept. Tears streamed down my face as I thought about how incredibly blessed and lucky I was to have my miracle. I am no more deserving of motherhood than any other woman on the planet. As a matter of fact, I can think of many women off the top of my head who have been waiting in line much longer than I ever did to get the parenthood membership card. Yet somehow I get to share my days and nights with this little boy who brings so much sunshine into my life.

I felt guilty for all the times I may have lost my patience or been short with him for something as simple as wanting to be held as I used the bathroom. For all the times I was less than perfect, having struggled to meet his intrinsic needs. For any time that I may have inadvertently taken him for granted. This sense of awe enveloped me as I drew him near.

I held him extra close as I rocked him to sleep and recalled nights in the not-so-distant past when I curled up in a ball, wondering if I would ever feel a child suckle from my breast or grasp my finger in his/her tiny hand. I kissed him on the forehead before I placed him in his crib and as I watched him drift off to sleep, I studied his face intently. Every day he changes. Every day he is another day older. He'll never be this young or this innocent again. I never want to forget the way he looked at me this night.

I realized all we have are these moments. They become memories so quickly.

So this must be unconditional love.

Domestic Engineering

2009-04-16T20:27:00.011-04:00

After two and a half weeks, you'd think I'd start to get used to this SAHM thing. On the contrary; I'm still swimming in the river known as Denial.

I often feel like I'm on vacation and at any moment, I'm going to be yanked back into the harsh world of continuous deadlines, high-pressure projects and ever-increasing demands. I find myself aimlessly refreshing my email, simply out of habit. I've had about 15-20 hours worth of billable work since I've made the switch from full-time to freelance but the vast majority of my projects have simmered down. I just don't know what to do with myself now that the work stress has been all but eliminated. I'm so used to being balls-to-the-wall, can't-find-time-to-pee-or-eat, insanely busy that I am dumbfounded to find downtime exists. I can actually shower, brush my teeth and eat lunch daily. A fresh, homemade lunch - no fast food crapola. I can visit friends (during the week - gasp!) and have playdates. I don't have to cherry pick which tasks/activities I have time for. It's amazing. Even my IBS seems to have magically resolved itself, which leads me to believe it has been stress-related all along. You're welcome for the oversharing. *wink*

I love how I can design my own day and not feel limited by the clock. I can relax. Sure, chasing after a mobile 8.5 month old is not exactly a day at the spa but it is much more enriching than drilling out media plans.

I still have my "oh shit!" moments where I wonder if I'm doing the right thing and how it will affect our family in the long run. Can we honestly afford to sacrifice my entire income contribution? But I try not to let the pessimism bog me down. When I feel the negative thoughts brewing, I force myself to consider the good I'm doing for and all the ways I am still useful as a member of the family and community. It may sound like the kind of self-help visualization propaganda as seen on TV but it really does help take the edge off and help me to stay grounded.

I've seen Nate smile more in the past couple of weeks than I think I have in his entire lifespan. I get the distinct feeling that he feels much more content and secure to have me home with him 24/7. He hasn't been nearly as cranky as he used to be (aside from a bit of teething - nothing that Hyland's teething tablets couldn't handle). He's almost a different baby. That, or I'm just seeing a side of him that I haven't noticed before. This alone makes me question my decision less and less. The benefits are obvious.

I've been able to really focus on Nate and meeting his needs. Instead of working for unappreciative, undeserving clients, I can devote my time to being the best mom I can be for my son. I feel like we've bonded all over again.

I can do modified CIO at night without feeling guilty that he could be craving more personal interaction. Last night, I put him down at 730pm without a problem. He woke at 1030pm and I nursed him. He woke at midnight fussing but fell back asleep within a half an hour. I heard nary a peep from him until 3am, when I nursed him again. He slept until 730am when we both woke for the day. Total: 2 night wakings. Progress. All due to consistency. I've traded exhaustion for determination and it is paying off.

I can easily read his signs for naptime and ensure he gets his two essential naps a day. One in mid-morning and one in mid-afternoon. I can usually preempt the crankiness and put him in his swing after the first yawn, where he naps peacefully for 1-1.5 hours. Granted, the swing can just barely swing his heavy ass. But until nighttime sleep is under control, I will not be disturbing the nap routine.

I can allot more time to practicing with solids. Since the Great Sweet Potato Discovery of 2009, Nate will now eat two 2 oz. meals per day. A few times I've given an early morning meal but I only offer this if he seems dissatisfied after nursing on both sides. He generally gets 1/2 jar Stage 2 fruit for brunch and 1/2 jar Stage 2 veggie, meat or pasta in the evening along with a handful of puffs at each sitting. It's been a challenge and I still rely heavily on singing songs and making faces to get the job done. But ultimately, I'm just thrilled that he is open to the idea of swallowing more than breastmilk. Maybe - just maybe - I will be able to start weaning upon reaching my goal at one year. I was beginning to think I'd be breastfeeding until he was two. There is hope for us yet.

We have lots of playtime together and I rotate toys on a daily basis so he doesn't grow bored. I alternate between being the showman and the passive observer. I demonstrate but then allow him to follow suit. I watch him as he experiments and moves from one thing to the next. I can see the hamster wheel turning in his noggin as he tries to learn how to operate certain toys or to mimic my actions. He loves anything with lights and sounds but when my eardrums need a break from the repetitive refrains, there are also several simple toys that hold his attention.

I know I may get flamed for this but we also watch TV together. We aren't glued to the boob tube by any means. We enjoy the outdoors when the weather is nice and I certainly don't rely on it as a babysitter. But he loves the visual and audio combination so I'll turn on Nickelodeon, Disney or MPT to provide some background noise. Right now, his favorites are Dora the Explorer, Spongebob, Sesame Street (cutest thing - he smiles and laughs at loud whenever Elmo appears), and Backyardigans. I have to say that many of the shows nowadays have an element of adult entertainment so I'm not constantly searching for a sharp object to gouge my eyes out. My particular favorites are Back at the Barnyard, Olivia and iCarly. Yes, I probably should be watching soap operas and court shows but I admit it's nice to tap into my childish side now and again.

All in all, things appear to be working out well so far on the SAHM front. I am taking to it like a fish to water. Except the housework and cooking. Okay, so I'm no June Cleaver. I've never been great at managing more than dishwashing and laundry in a day. But I'm slowly improving in this department.

I knew all along my heart belonged at home with my son. The ability to surrender to this desire seems too good to be true.

Wordless Wednesday: Freshly Hatched

2009-04-15T22:12:00.003-04:00

Witch Hunt

2009-04-08T21:09:00.008-04:00

It's strange to say aloud but I haven't had a period since October 30, 2007.

That's right. Two thousand SEVEN. SEVENTEEN months ago. Almost EIGHT AND A HALF months postpartum and the witch is still M.I.A.

Before I allow you to get ahead of yourselves, I am not - I repeat - NOT pregnant. To achieve pregnancy, there are several prerequisites. Primarily ovulation and intercourse. And since these key players are noticeably absent from the marquee, chances are slim that anything short of immaculate conception or post-hysterectomy amnesia would account for her hiatus. So please refrain from testing chants and sweep away any babydust that may have crept away from the magical fairyland. I can only attribute this respite to a certain little person attached to my boob every 2-3 hours.

Don't get me wrong. Absence has not made my heart grow fonder. It's been nice to have this extended vacation from her hijinks. I can wear white blazenly. No mental inventory of pads or tampons. No leaks or gushes to make me squirm. Or changing bedsheets in the morning due to embarrasing accidents. No fumbling through my medicine cabinet for Midol. There have been some stellar advantages to our much-needed break.

As much as I'd like to say good riddance forever, I am a bit codependent on my Auntie. I need her to reappear eventually if I'm ever going to give Nate a sibling. No, we're not TTC #2 right away. Right now, it's just a prospect on the horizon. We are in no rush whatsoever, although the baby bug has nipped at me now and again. I mean, our firstborn is nowhere close to STTN and I'd have to be batshit crazy to double up when I'm already struggling. I could see us now - sharing our bed with a toddler and a newborn. We'd need to trade up our Queen for a California King just to get through the night. It's exhausting just to think about it. Besides, I'd like to give Nate a bit more time as our one and only. Spoil him as much as possible before he needs to share his belongings, personal space and parental attention.

And truth be told, I also question how my cycles will behave once she returns. Will I remain oligoovulatory or could childbirth have rebooted my system? If curiosity killed the cat, I'll be one crispy kitty.

I wonder when she'll arrive. I'm sure it will be at some inopportune moment. Like when I'm wearing my favorite panties. And I'm sure as soon as she turns up, I'll be wishing her farewell again.

Aunt Flo...can't live with her. Can't live without her.

Starting Over

2009-04-06T21:42:00.002-04:00

All hail the CIO warrior.

Before our move, Nate's nighttime sleeping pattern was consistent. Far from perfect but predictable. Waking every 3 hours to nurse but he would conk right back out and we could transfer him back to the crib with little or no bellyaching. Naps were another story but we stuck with the old reliable swing with the hopes that once nighttime sleep was established, we could convert naptime to the crib.

With our change of address also came a change in sleep habits. A full-blown sleep regression emerged, the likes of which we had never seen before. Nate cut out his second afternoon nap, dropping from 3 naps per day down to 2. As for bedtime, he was now up every hour on the hour. And since laying on his back is a thing of the past, he could now dramatize his commands by standing up and banging on his crib rail like a bongo. If I thought I was exhausted before, I was sadly mistaken. I would fervently rock him back to sleep in the glider - he'd be out within minutes - but the moment I laid him in the crib, he would scream bloody murder. Shrill, deafening screams that would pierce your eardrums and make you beg for mercy. In my despondency, I did the unthinkable. I picked him up and brought him back to our bed. I sure looked fashionable, cloaked in failure.

This went on for about a month. We were back to square one with the cosleeping. All of our hard work with gradual extinction went down the drain. This was the only way we could all get enough sleep to be functional the following day. We were stuck in this vicious cycle.

On St. Patrick's Day, the same day I gave my two-week notice to my job, I was feeling brave. I somehow found the cajones to give the sleep training another try.

The first few nights were pure hell, as anticipated. Nate wailed for close to an hour (DH going in here and there to soothe) before finally sacking out and succumbing to the sandman. And even then, the peace would only last an hour or two and he was up to his antics again. Wash, rinse, repeat. I decided to reset my expectations. If I could get him to spend half the night in his crib, I would cosleep the remaining half of the night. It was a trade-off. But it worked. His stretches grew to two hours. Then three. We even got some 4-5 hour stretches in there. It wasn't my desired end result but I was pleased to progress to our penultimate goal.

Last night was the first night I decided to go for the gold: all night in the crib. No cosleeping. I was apprehensive but I felt like it was now or never.

He was fed solids at 6:30pm and we had bathtime around 7pm complete with some baby massage and lotion. I sang some nursery rhymes and read him some board books as he played with some toys. With the first eye rub cue, I turned out the lights and nursed him. He was asleep within 5 minutes. I transferred him to the crib where he tossed and turned a bit before his eyelids once again grew heavy. He slept soundly until 11:30pm. 4 hour stretch - not bad. I nursed him again - with both breasts - until he was drunk and drowsy. However, this time, the relocation did not go as smoothly. The fussing turned to crying, which in turn led to a temper tantrum fit for a toddler. I was at a loss. I used the same formula for success that I had utilized earlier that evening. What was so different this time? Was it just out of habit in that he expected to be brought to bed?

I held my own and did not give in. I kissed his forehead, patted his bum, wished him a good night and closed the door behind me as I made a swift exit. I retired to bed with DH, where we could hear his contention growing more intense. After 15 minutes, DH went in for soothing duty but it only amplified his cries. He wanted to be held. I knew that was all he wanted. And with every cough and sniffle between the fountain of tears, I wanted to rescue him. I wanted to cave. I longed for his warm little body next to me, safe and sound. I questioned my motives. Was I doing the right thing? Did I not feed him enough? Did I not give him enough personal attention during the day? How could something that was supposed to be so good for them feel so bad?

I allowed my inner monologue to drown out the histrionics taking place in the room across the hall. Before I knew it there was silence. I glanced at the clock. It was midnight. It took us 30 minutes but we made it. The force was strong.

He woke once again at 3:30am. Half asleep, I ventured to his room to find him crumpled up in the corner of his crib, cuddling with his teddy bear. I retrieved him and nursed him in the glider. Five minutes and he was out. He woke up as his back made contact with his mattress and fussed. No surprise there. But I stayed strong and tucked him in, my mind determined to revisit dreamland. Before my head hit the pillow, there was silence. Until 7am when he woke for the day.

Total night wakings: 2

Average stretch: 3-4 hours

Total hours in crib: 11 hours

Not too shabby. If he can lengthen his stretches to 5 hours each, with only one night waking, I can live with that.

Tonight, he went down at 7:30pm without a fight but just woke at 9:30pm - face down on the opposite side of the crib, BTW - to eat. Hopefully his tummy will now be full enough to make it through a longer stretch. Fingers and toes crossed.

Next step will be to cut night feedings down to one (or none) but we're taking one baby step at a time.

A Foodie is Born

2009-04-05T22:59:00.003-04:00

As most of you are aware, I have been trying earnestly to solve the Case of the Repugnant Solids for over 2 months now. Nate just hasn't been a fan of eating off of a spoon. I originally thought he rejected rice and oatmeal because he needed something less bland and more flavorful. I was positive that when I broke out my amazing Babycook, he would be unable to resist my all-natural concoctions. I was proven wrong time and time again. Banana. Apple. Pear. Green Beans. Avocado. Carrot. No matter how many tricks I tried to play, how many funny faces and voices I made or how infinitely patient I was, they all produced the same result: utensils and dishware flung angrily aside in a fit of rage. We even resorted to organic jarred food to see if the change in consistency would persuade him. No sir. He was firmly planted in his anti-puree stance.

Funnily enough, he has no problem snacking on tiny bits of steamed fruit or veggie or little chunks of bread or pasta. He adores puffs, zwieback toast and biter biscuits. Likely due to the fact that he can independently feed himself. Mr. Do-It-Himself. But I cannot get past my fear of choking enough to give in completely to BLW right now.

Naturally, I grew perturbed. I had never known a baby in my life not to like baby food. Was I destined to breastfeed him until his stubbornness succumbed to the temptation? What if he decided breastmilk was an unparalleled diet? Would our future involve food therapists, nutritionists and speech-language pathologists? The premonition was agonizing.

Then, out of the blue clear sky, we had a breakthrough.

Thanks be to the savory sweet potato.

I'm not sure if he just suddenly became "ready" to put in an honest effort at this eating thing or if he gradually grew accustomed to spoon-feeding after months of practice. But he gobbled up that orange porridge as if it were his last supper. As a matter of fact, after he had scarfed down the two ounce jar, he cried in protest. The little piggy wanted more! I couldn't believe my eyes. The kid who fought me tooth and nail in opposition had now turned on a dime, playing the submissive role. I could hardly contain my excitement, as evidenced by my clever little ditty below:

Ode to the Sweet Potato

So orange, so sweet
The only food my son will eat
Delectable, nutritious
Tasty and delicious
There isn't much more one can say
All I know is you're here to stay!

I guess my little aficionado just needed to find something he liked enough to motivate and inspire him. Since he tasted sweet potato, he's been much more open to eating solids. He doesn't share the same enthusiasm he exhibited with his beloved vegetable but at least he is now receptive to the idea of the spoon. He will even dip the spoon in the bowl and with some gentle guidance from Mommy, bring it to his mouth. I have learned to bound and gag the Type-A-Don't-Get-Too-Messy part of my personality and acquiesce to his demands. I now let him dig in, basically finger painting with his food. Stripped down to only a diaper of course. The messier the experience, the more accepting he tends to be. Must be a boy thing.

We've since tried mango, spinach, white potatoes and plum - and he's ingested at least 1 ounce, if not more, of each in a sitting. I know it may not seem like much but it's worlds of progress compared to just two weeks ago.

Just like that, the food war was won.

Things That Go Bump in the Night...or Day

2009-04-04T21:34:00.011-04:00

That mark you see tainting my son's handsome face is Nate's first shiner from two days ago.

Ever the eager, active baby, he awoke on Thursday morning ready and rearing to exercise. Sitting is old news so first on the agenda was crawling to the edge of the bed and pulling himself up on the bed frame. Before I could reach out to support him in his efforts, he tripped on his footed sleeper and fell forward, hitting his face on the solid beechwood frame. HARD.

There were tears shed - by both of us. I was afraid to look at him, as I was scared to see blood. I swooped him up in my arms, rocking and cuddling him, when I immediately noticed swelling on his cheek. My attempts to ice it were fruitless, as he resisted the frigid washcloth. I could only kiss it softly and soothe him by singing his favorite song, Jingle Bells. The above photo was taken several hours after the incident, when the wound looked its worst.

The bruise is now yellow and, thankfully, is fading quickly. I wanted to take him to get his picture taken with the Easter Bunny this coming week and the last thing I want is an ugly blemish to forever serve as pictorial evidence of how I wasn't there to protect him.

I know kids will be kids. These things are bound to happen. This is just the first in a long line of bumps, bruises, scrapes, cuts, broken bones, etc. But seeing my poor baby hurt for the first time caused an ache in my chest. I should have been there to catch him. I should have stopped him from climbing. I could have prevented this. But I couldn't. I didn't.

I felt a slight pang in my heart. He's becoming more independent by the hour and I want to foster that independence. I want him to explore and learn lessons on his own. But he's only 8 months old. He still needs me. He doesn't know the meaning of danger. He doesn't realize his handicap. He's fearless and dives right into each new milestone full force, no matter the consequences. My responsibility as a mother is to guide him. Inevitably, I will witness mistakes and missteps. I will behold his pain but will at times be helpless to thwart it. It's indescribably hard to stand by and watch your greatest love suffer when your whole existence serves to eliminate said suffering. Especially when your greatest love is 2.5 feet tall and utterly defenseless.

One thing's for sure, I doubt I'll be nominated for any Mother of the Year awards anytime soon.

April Fool

2009-04-01T10:08:00.001-04:00

I bet you thought I snuck out and was never going to return, didn't you? Well, April Fools! Here I be. Before you ask, I do have a note from my mom so you can mark this as an excused absence. *wink*

I come bearing good news and bad news. What shall I begin with? I guess I'll get the bad out of the way.

My grandfather passed away a week and a half ago.

It was not unexpected or sudden. We all knew that his number could be called at any moment. But somehow, it didn't really make it any easier. We were quite close through my childhood. I was possibly his undeclared "favorite" since I was the only grandchild with a special nickname: Sweets. He suffered a massive stroke several years ago that left him speechless and largely immobile. He was not a vegetable. He could comprehend his surroundings and perform on cue, but his brain did not allow him to respond vocally. His quality of life was obviously not optimal but he was a strong man and toughed it out for those years. He had lost his appetite and had been having seizures as of late. Sometimes over 10 a day. So, we suspected that it was his time. Sure enough, the Lord took him to heaven on March 20.

While I always believed I lost the grandfather I knew with the aforementioned stroke, it was so hard to say the final goodbye. It was the first time I had to participate in such an event avec baby. While Nate was on his best behavior, I still found it difficult to grieve. I wanted to put on a happy face so he couldn't sense my melancholy. At the wake, I stared at Grandpop in the casket. The last time I had seen him was Christmas and since Nate was so sick that day, I barely got to speak to him at all. I was regretful that we didn't have more time. That I couldn't tell him how much I loved him. I just hope he knew.

He served in the National Guard so he was given miltary honors, complete with playing Taps at his funeral. Nothing gets me choked up more than that bugle. There weren't enough tissues in a pack to saturate all my tears. But I do find comfort that he is no longer in pain and he is in a better place, alongside his twin brother who passed years ago.

Grandpop, you'll be forever missed. Love Always, Sweets.
_________________________________________________

Ok, now onto the good news.

Nate turned 8 months old on Thursday. 2/3 of a year has passed since he was born. It seems like things have gone by at light speed but yet I can't even remember what life was like before he came a part of our lives. My entire day revolves around this little guy. I wonder how on earth I spent my free time before. Probably sleeping. Those were the days. But I digress...

For a month, Nate had been thisclose to crawling. He would get up on all fours and rock but the moment he would attempt to move forward, he would flop on his belly and "swim", frantically kicking his legs and flailing his arms. He would quickly become frustrated with his lack of ability and would scream for someone to rescue him. He seemed much more interested in pulling himself up to a standing position. I was sure I would see my son walk before he would crawl.

But everything changed the moment he turned 8 months old. Ever the punctual baby, he crawled - belly off the ground - for the very first time. His bait? The remote control. As if I needed to demonstrate more proof that he indeed has a penis.

Relief was written all over his face, as he was finally able to reach the object he had been dying to reach for ages. Guess he had enough of soap operas and reality TV and was putting in his request for more Nickelodeon. I was so incredibly proud. And a bit sad. One more milestone away from that newborn I carried home. He is gradually growing up on me.

Since he has mastered the fine arts of crawling and pulling up, he is now building speed and fine-tuning his precision. The boy can go from laying on his back to standing, holding onto the entertainment center in 5 seconds flat. Or from sitting in the middle of the bedroom with a rattle to eating one of DH's dirty socks by the hamper in under 10. I swear he has a radar ingrained somewhere inside of his skull that tips him off to prohibited articles. I have determined our home to be a death trap and am currently in the throes of a babyproofing tirade. Heavy furniture must be bolted and secured to the wall. Floors must be vaccuumed or swept daily to avoid ingestion of questionable, potentially harmful items. I'm trying not to be that mom. I know Nate is going to get into things, regardless of my efforts to distract him. But I have yet to curb the paranoia.

Did I mention he is now trying to cruise? Yes, I heard you. I am about to have my hands FULL. Do I have an early walker in my midst? Is it legal to knock him over so we can have time to adjust to all these new milestones?

Stay tuned...topics to come next: why sweet potatoes bring me immense joy, sleep regression in all its glory, why I dread clothes shopping, spring cleaning, and my first week home sweet home.

Since I am a SAHM now and all, I should have plenty of time for my neglected blog, right?

The Only Constant in Life is Change

2009-03-14T14:10:00.002-04:00

"We can no longer accomodate your current schedule. The company is making some exciting changes as a result of our growth. Unfortunately, telecommuting will no longer be an option. We would prefer if you could work full-time in the office 5 days per week but will accomodate at least 3 days per week in the office. If you choose to go part-time however, your health insurance, vacation/sick time, 401K and other benefits will be withdrawn."

I nodded in compliance, taking in each word and letting its meaning swirl around in my head. By the end of the meeting, the blabber began to resemble the incoherent voice of the teachers of the Pea.nuts comics. Wa Wah Wa Wah Wah Wah.

Although I was caught off-guard, I was not angry. I was not emotional. I was surprisingly at peace.

I have been struggling with balancing work and motherhood for months. Notably ever since the New Year with our company restructuring. My workload tripled from what it had been in 2008. Of course, my pay remained the same. While my job performance has not been lacking - I honestly work harder now than I ever have before - I spend most of my days feeling like a complete and utter failure. I sit Nate down on his playmat surrounded by a lovely array of toys, hoping that would make up for our lack of personal interaction while I worked on media plans and made phone calls. As he becomes more and more mobile, I am simply unable to give him the attention he craves. Case in point: one day, I put Nate down so I could free up both hands to work on a project with a tight deadline. I peeked out of my peripheral vision as he rolled across the floor over to my pump bag. I saw he was sucking on the strap. I didn't think much of it and continued hammering out my proposal. Another minute passed and I looked up to find him chewing the cardboard box of zwieback toast that had fallen out of the bag. I rushed over to find pieces of cardboard scattered on the carpet. I checked his mouth and did not see any remnants but that incident forever haunts me as one of my many "bad momma" moments. Several times, I found myself working at 11pm just to feel like I could get ahead for the next day. I am barely keeping my head above water in the sea of work.

I knew executive management wanted me to come into the office more but I didn't have a solution better than my current arrangement. So, I procrastinated. This meeting was the ultimatum I needed to make a move. My kick in the pants.

After discussing the idea ad nauseum with DH, we decided it was not in our family's best interest to stick Nate in full-time daycare. We vowed from the beginning that we didn't want to bend our family around our jobs so we were staying true to our beliefs. We also discussed the possibility of me working part-time (3 days/week) and decided that the bulk of my salary would basically be paying for childcare. Plus, DH would have to pick up the benefits anyway. Would it really be worth it? After much consideration, we decided no.

I found some side work for DH shortly after our move doing networking and tech support in the evenings and on weekends. He is also working on expanding his own consulting business, which has been in a bit of a lull lately. All of this is sporadic right now, mind you - certainly not matching my monthly contribution - but is looking promising as he has several partnerships in the pipeline. He wants me to use my marketing and advertising ~~talent~~ skills to help get it off the ground.

SAHM-land, here I come. On Monday, I will be putting in my two-weeks notice. My last day of being a working mom will be March 27, 2009.

I am excited yet scared. I've always been a go-getter. Determined. Motivated. I haven't NOT worked since I was 16 years old. I worked full-time and went to school full-time (12+ credits) simulatenously while maintaining a 3.91 GPA so that should speak to my willfulness. It will be a welcome change to have more solo time dedicated to Nate and the housework I've neglected for years. To focus on things in which I am personally vested.

But on the heels of my enthusiasm, I am scared about longevity. I worry about how this employment gap will affect my career opportunities in the future. I worry about making sure I get the adult interaction I need to be fulfilled. I worry about DH burning out from working two jobs and how it could affect our marriage. Would he resent me? But most of all, I'm concerned about our finances. We have enough savings to last us for months but what if DH's side business doesn't live up to our expectations? What in God's name will we do? Maybe I could go back to school or get a home daycare license. Perhaps learn a new trade like crochet or crafts (I did all of my wedding invitations, programs and favors myself!) and start my own little business. Worst case, I guess I could waitress or work retail. Not the greatest option considering my credentials and gargantuan student loans, but it would pay the bills. I would do it for the greater good of my family. They will always come above all else.

If everything works out, as I am hoping and praying, we can even work on TTC #2 this winter without wondering how to afford childcare x 2. Of course, we'll need to ensure our stability before diving in headfirst. But being a SAHM could make family planning more simplistic. See, there is simplicity hidden in the complexity if I dig deep enough.

I'm not entirely sure if this is the right decision. Things could end up being really really good or really really bad. We could end up looking back on this chapter of our lives as being one of the happiest times or being a pennypinching, stressful time we beg to forget. There's really no way to foresee how this will turn out.

I'm putting my faith in the man upstairs. Life as we know it is about to change forever.

The Sweetest 4-Letter Word

2009-03-08T14:35:00.011-04:00

Mama.

Nate said it for the first time today.

DH and I have been coaxing him relentlessly for ages to indulge us with a "mama" or "dada" but he declined. Heck, if I had known that K.mart would serve as his vocabulary muse , I would have driven him there months ago.

My mom and I decided to take a trip to the discount store to pick up some Easter goodies and get out of the house on such an unusually warm March day. After enduring aisles upon aisles of baskets, candy, gift wrap and other seasonal merchandise, Nate grew tired and fussy. Seated in the shopping cart, he reached up to me with both arms, tears in his eyes and pleaded, "mama". I was immediately taken aback. It must have been a fluke, I thought. Even though my mother heard it twenty feet away. It couldn't possibly be real, could it?

I picked him up and whispered in his ear, "mama". He repeated it back to me, "mama". We bantered back and forth several times and each time, he repeated my words verbatim. He was grinning ear to ear, as if he knew how proud I was of him.

It just lit me up inside like nothing else. It touched my heart and made me feel immense joy I hadn't felt since his first smile and laugh. I always assumed "dada" would be the first word since it was easier to roll off the tongue. Touche, little man, touche.

I'm not 100% positive that he identified me as "mama" or if he was babbling and spouted off the long-awaited word simply by accident but regardless, it was spectacular. I wish I could clone that moment in the middle of K.mart. And, boy, I never thought I'd say that.

Just when I think I couldn't possibly love this little guy more, I find one more thing to stretch those heartstrings.

As if there were any doubt. I love you, my Sunshine.

Once Bitten, Twice Shy

2009-03-07T21:56:00.008-05:00

Tonight, one of my fears came to fruition. My nipples came under attack of Nate's newfound chompers.

Although I had predicted this day would come since the first tooth appeared, it was still a shock to me when I felt the pain searing through the tip of my breast. In my stupor, before I could even react appropriately, Nate unclenched his jaws, apologetically. I stared down at him and pondered what to do next.

I had always been told to push his face deeper into my breast if he should clamp down. This may seem counterproductive (isn't it instinctual to pull him off?) but the idea is to briefly inhibit breathing through his nose. As appalling as this approach seems, it causes him to gasp for air, hence opening his mouth up wide enough for the nipple to be released. But since, in this case, Nate had already unlatched after the great bite, I was dumbfounded. It's not like I could punish him, as he is an infant and unaware of the consequences of his actions. He is teething and doesn't know that biting is wrong. All he knows is that the pressure against his gums is soothing. Regardless if it comes from a frozen washcloth, a teething ring or mommy's nipple. I can't - and won't - practice negative reinforcement out of anger or frustration.

So, I removed him from the cradle position - no more cuddles - and placed him down on the floor near a toy or two while I accessed the damage. There was a small gash on the underside of my boob, but surprisingly, it did not break the skin enough to bleed. I was able to escape trauma. This time.

Granted, this is the first occurrence. And I realize it is likely to happen more than once. I'm bound to suffer more significant injuries along the way.

I worry about how this compromises our nursing relationship. I am already anxious about our next nursing session, fearful that the next time he decides to bite, I won't be so lucky to walk away relatively unscathed. I am concerned that the biting will become commonplace and nursing will no longer be the peaceful, bonding experience that I've come to know and love.

I really am not ready to wean - or to pump exclusively. The thought brings incredible sadness to me. I know all good things must come to an end eventually. But I hope the end is not in sight just yet.

Laugh or Cry

2009-03-03T22:36:00.002-05:00

In need of a constipation remedy? I have one word for you. Pears. They're the new prunes. They will get the job done in under an hour. Though I must warn you of the fountain of poo that is likely to occur.

I'm not sure at what point this happened - somewhere around the 6 month mark I believe - but Nate's poo has transitioned from a mildly noticeable stench to a full-on, heaveworthy funkfest. Diapers so heinous that my nose hairs burn atrociously with one innocent whiff. So vile that I question whether they are actually the result of a natural bodily function. I cringe with every fart. And since he is his father's son, that's a lot of cringing. Seriously, my kid is the human equivalent of the whoopie cushion.

Gone are the days of the thin, runny 2-wipe poos. We now have thick, sticky, lava-like 4-wipe poos. Could it be that the every 3-4 day frequency of BM's is causing a backdraft of epic proportions? Or is the simple introduction of solids, no matter how meager the quantity, to blame for the foulest odor known to man?

I'm obviously not liking this change so much. Especially when my dear son decides to let loose just as I've removed the diaper from under his bottom. I tried desperately to clean up the mess, scrambling to pull wipes out of the plastic container. But just as the wipe broke free, more poo oozed out. I stared in amazement and disbelief, wipe in hand, but frozen and unable to move.

Never to leave a job unfinished, the little sprinkler decided to take this opportunity to urinate on said hand before the wipe could shield me from the spray. Thankfully, I have a strong stomach and my gag reflex is not overly sensitive or else I would have been cleaning up more than just the indescribable slop of waste on the changing table pad. My initial reaction of disgust quickly turned into an eruption of laughter.

Sometimes, you just have to laugh or you'll cry.

P.S. I bet you were really in the mood for TMI, weren't you?

Resurfacing

2009-02-27T21:09:00.002-05:00

Well, we did it. It's been about two weeks already (gasp!) but I am happy to report we survived the change of address. Despite several days without Internet access or cable television I lived to tell the tale. Forgive me if I have implied otherwise by deserting my beloved blog.

Although weather forecasts predicted rain, the only earthly element we battled was wind. The sky was merciful and remained clear over the entire weekend. The only casualties claimed by the move were my hamper - some unruly screws decided to escape while in transit - and Nate's bookcase, a hand-me-down which was on its last leg to begin with. Overall, it was a success. I compare it to a festering wound that finally scabbed over. Yes, my view on moving hasn't changed. It still aspirates hardcore.

We're not exactly settled in. In fact, the only rooms that are complete are Nate's nursery and the bathrooms. I just haven't been able to muster the energy to unpack in addition to performing our everyday routine tasks. But regardless of the numerous boxes I must detour, it is slowly beginning to feel like home. It feels right.

No more third story travels, arms laden with groceries or a portly baby. No more lugging trash to a dumpster on the opposite side of the community. No more fighting over vacant parking spaces or worrying about sound travelling through paper thin walls to annoy the adjacent neighbors. We've traded a view of asphalt for a view of trees and nature galore. Best of all, it seems we've nearly doubled our living space. We will need additional furniture just to keep it from looking too bare.

Even though the positives far outweigh the negatives, I can't help but reminisce. Our apartment was where our son was conceived. I peed on the infamous test in the guest bathroom. DH took photos of my burgeoning belly in front of our bedroom door. I labored on the couch in the living room. And we brought our baby home to that apartment. As shiteous as it may have been at times, I will always have fond memories of how our lives evolved there. Call me crazy but there are times I actually miss it. All part of adjustment process.

But I also look forward to making new memories here in our new house. There's sure to be some amazing stuff in store for us.
__________________________________________________

Nate turned 7 months old yesterday. I know I say this every month but it never ceases to amaze me as the months pass by so hastily. I hardly remember what life with a newborn was like. I often look back at photos just to recall how much he's changed since we've been properly introduced.

In the span of a month, he now has 4 - going on 5 - teeferoos. It didn't take long for his mouth to blossom with little white slivers once the first one erupted. Everyday I seem to find a sharp, new tenant in his orifice. At this rate, he'll have a complete set by his first year.

Nate is also starting to show signs of crawling. He can get up on all fours and rock back and forth. But as soon as he tries to go forward, he lands flat on his belly. It's only a matter of time until he gets the hang of it and I'll be chasing him, shooing him away from sockets and wires. I can picture the chaos now. He's getting so big on me.

I'm beginning to retire his 9 month clothes in favor of 12 month apparel. With the move, I packed up all of his 6 month clothes. I shed a few tears as I folded them and stuffed them in a big brown box. I also traded his 6-12 month socks for the 12-24 month TODDLER size. Yes, my son could now be mistaken for BigFoot. That is, if he had more than his tuft of blonde fluff upon his noggin.

Solids are still a work in progress. Nate is still not a fan of being spoon-fed and will cinch his lips closed so that no one - not even the most savvy or entertaining folk - can penetrate the fleshy barrier. We've moved beyond rice cereal and oatmeal to banana, peaches, melon, avocado and pears. Out of all the delicious aforementioned fruits, it seems pears are his favorite. But that's not saying much. Only that he shudders rather than gagging. I follow his pace and I refuse to force feed him, even if it means wasting ounces of fresh homemade food (courtesy of my trusty Beaba Babycook, to which I shall dedicate a separate post to its awesomeness). I've tried various textures ranging from thin and watery to thick, soft and chunky. But it doesn't seem to make a difference. Purees - he's just not that into you. I'm beginning to consider that he would best adopt baby-led weaning (BLW).

He seems to be breastfeeding more often than usual and I'm worried that my supply alone won't be able to keep up with his dietary needs much longer. I know Nate can sustain nutritionally on breastmilk exclusively for a year or even more. But pumping is becoming a nuisance. I can barely pump enough to satisfy his appetite for the two days per week that I am at work. I was hoping that we could rely on fruits and veggies to fill in the gaps where my pump fails. Alas, due to Nate's rejection, I fear that we'll have to resort to formula in that instance. Although I will do everything I can to avoid it and stick with mamma's milk.

I'm sure you got more than you bargained for with my incessant droning so I will wrap this up neatly by saying it's good to be back. If you'll have me.

What's Going On

2009-02-09T23:14:00.005-05:00

I apologize for leaving a void where my posts should be. I owe you all an explanation for my absence. I'd like to admit I've abandoned my blog in exchange for the drudgery of packing up innumerable boxes of ~~useless trinkets~~ belongings and deep cleaning areas that haven't been tended to since my nesting tirade in my 9th month of pregnancy. But that would only be a half truth.

DH turned the big 3-0 on Thursday. Although he prefers the ersatz "twenty-ten". We celebrated with a relatively low-key dinner and dessert here. Simply delish. Oh, not to mention my generous gift to him. Or should I say to us. It was a bit of a selfish purchase since we both expressed interest in learning the fine art of photography and had both been eyeing an SLR for quite some time. His birthday was the perfect excuse to splurge.

I should note that my first idea was a ski trip to Western Maryland but since I couldn't bear to leave Nate with my parents for an entire weekend to partake in amusing winter-themed activities, it would have required DH to hit the slopes solo. He politely declined the woo of the Black Diamond in favor of the well-reviewed camera.

Despite his continuous bereavement of his youth (his words - not mine), I think he secretly enjoyed the occasion. He waxed nostalgic about his twenties and realized that he had accomplished much in the past decade. He earned two degrees. Joined the workforce with a job applicable to said degrees. Fostered his inner entrepreneur by forming his own side consulting business. (Sure, right now it costs more in taxes to maintain than the profit it provides - but it is a startup after all. And I'm proud of him for even having the cajones to bring his vision to life.) Not to mention he made the best decision of his life when he decided to make me his wife and procreate with me. *wink wink*

As he talked aloud ad nauseum about how far he's come, my mind wandered as I thought about how far we had come and how our relationship has morphed over the years. I've tried to articulate the thoughts that swirled around in my mind but I've yet to be pleased with the results. Maybe one day soon I can be eloquent enough to share my babblings in a post all its own.

Somewhere between organizing boxes and celebrating my loved one's milestone, my immune system managed to infect itself with another cold, complete with head congestion and leaky nose (and to think I paid my dues in December...how foolish). Thankfully, it seems to have halted its progress. I am hopeful I can avoid a full-blown infection this go round. I am willing to suffer if it means Nate can be spared from its wrath. Much gratitude, booby milk.

Speaking of Nate and boobs - er, food - we're still riding the solids train. I often muse over why we call cereal a solid when the consistency is undoubtedly liquid. But let's not lose sight of the topic at hand. They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. And if that's true with my son, well...I'm in trouble.

We started two weeks ago with the rice cereal, which went better than I had expected for the initial attempt. However, in the days that followed, Nate became increasingly obstinate (I know, my son? Obstinate? I must be mistaken). He refused to open his mouth in anticipation of the spoon, shaking his head and combating the utensil in objection. His jaws were impervious even to the fail safe "airplane" game. It got to the point where he would bust into tears just to be seated in his highchair. The last thing I wanted was poor associations with mealtime. And in all fairness, the rice did smell rather putrid even mixed with breastmilk.

So, in the face of a conundrum, I searched the kitchen and pantry high and low for any safe alternative to cereal and discovered bananas. I cut off a small chunk and mashed it into a puree. Same result. Gagging. Refusal. Mr. Fussypants in all his splendidness.

After forcing bananas for two days, I decided to give oatmeal a try. No gagging. Just a little residual spit. And I even got him to open up for a few bites. Sneaky bitch that I am found a loophole to his resistance. Ever pretending to be larger than life, he prefers to hold the spoon himself and put it in his mouth on his own. So, I dip the spoon in the oatmeal just enough for him to get a taste when he transfers it to his mouth. Also, as he goes in to lick the inside edges of the bowl like a desperate canine, I sneak a spoonful of oatmeal into his vacant oral cavity. Works like a charm. Last night, I actually got him to finish a whole tablespoon this way.

Just like our journey with bottle acceptance: practice will make perfect. I guess I just bred a boy who knows what he likes. As long as it starts with a B and ends in OOBIES.

Wordless Wednesday: First Supper

2009-02-04T23:03:00.003-05:00

Mashed Post-ato Friday

2009-01-30T21:13:00.002-05:00

I apologize for the trite headline but this post is going to be a mash-up of several topics that aren't worthy of their own posts. Yes, I guess I'm exhibiting the Judging part of my ENFJ personality.

So, after a supremely fussy/clingy/generally pissy day on Tuesday, I was convinced we were in the throes of a 6-month growth spurt. I was bracing myself for a week of misery. But to my pleasant surprise, Nate woke up completely refreshed and was all smiles Wednesday morning. He began using my fingers as teethers and as he glided the tip across his bottom gumline, I felt a sharp, pointy stranger where a knot used to reside.

His first tooth had erupted (as I illustrated for Wordless Wednesday).

I shrieked with surprise and excitement and he smiled pompously, as if he knew what he had just sprouted and knowlingly affirmed "there's more where that came from, Mommy".
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Nate's 6-month appointment was on Tuesday afternoon. My boy is 18 lbs, 2 oz and 27.5 inches long. His growth has slowed down a bit but he is still in the 70th percentile for weight and 80th percentile for height. Perfect physically and developmentally. Because his 4-month shots were delayed due to illness that lasted the entire month of December, he was spared from further vaccinations until mid-March.

We were given the green light to start solids so we introduced rice cereal - mixed with pumped breastmilk - that night. He tolerated it commendably and adeptly swallowed more than he spit out. But he quickly grew tired and began gagging on the soupy texture. After several spoonfuls, he was clearly full and disinterested in continuing the process.

Don't worry - I took more photos of the event than I would like to admit. They'll make for a perfect Wordless Wednesday next week. *wink*

After a few more days, I may introduce oatmeal and see if he favors it over the rice. But I probably won't pull out my trusty Beaba BabyCook for homemade fruits and veggies until after we make our move. *sigh*
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Nate hasn't pooped in 4+ days. I understand it is normal for a breastfed baby to go for days without a bowel movement but we're talking about the kid who had monster blowouts 3-4x a day for more than 5 months. It doesn't seem normal to have a sudden, drastic change in bowel patterns. Even the rectal thermometer isn't stimulating things.

Please tell me my son hasn't inherited my awful IBS/chronic constipation.

Tomorrow, I think I'll send DH out to pick up some 100% prune or pear juice. From what I understand, it's like an enema in a bottle. I can't wait to see what fun this shall bring.
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It's about time for another CIO report.

Bedtime has been fairly consistent since my last post. Nate has pushed up his bedtime to 8-830pm instead of his typical 9pm. Sometimes, he seems ready around 7 or 730pm, which saddens me if I've been at the office all day and don't return home until 6pm. On those days, I have to squeeze cuddle time and playtime into one hour. Just not enough. But once I see the signs of fatigue (rubbing eyes, yawning, attention deficit, general malaise, desire to nurse from both sides, etc. ), I retire to his room for a quick nurse and glide in the dark. I sometimes softly sing or hum a lullaby while I stroke his head. I should note that I rarely nurse him to sleep anymore. Instead, I unlatch him (or he unlatches himself), lay him in his crib awake with his beloved blankie and kiss his forehead, while reciting "nighty night". I leave the room and shut the door behind me.

Sheer silence. I don't hear one peep out of him as he first puts himself to sleep. *knock on wood* What an amazing transformation from just a week ago, when putting him down meant enduring hours of aural assault. It's a welcome improvement.

But he's still waking every 2-3 hours, almost to the minute. It's more out of habit than out of hunger, so I allow him to fuss for several minutes before going in to comfort him. Most times, he can fall back asleep on his own within 10 minutes. If he doesn't, a quick pat by Daddy or another quick "top-off" from Mommy will do the trick. But if he does in fact go back down, he is only down for another 2 hours or so before waking again and crying. It gets progressively more difficult for him to self-soothe as time goes on and usually by 4-5am, he is back in bed with us so we can all get some uniform rest for the last hour or two before waking for the day. We've had one or two 4-5 hour stretches, but those seem to be the exception rather than the rule.

I thought he may have been waking due to the winter weather, as his hands are often chilled when I go in for checks, but even on warmer nights or in fleece sleepers with a cotton onesie underneath, he wakes often. I also suspected the snow and hail falling on his bedroom window could have disturbed him, but he wakes even when the atmosphere is still. I've considered shopping for a sound machine but I'm not convinced that will solve the problem.

I'm beginning to accept that, like adults, every baby's habits will be different. Some are going to be naturally "good" sleepers - STTN at a mere "x" weeks old - and others will need more assistance to get to that final destination. My son happens to subscribe to the latter.

That being said, naptime - which used to be dreamy - has gone to H.E. Double Hockeysticks. He never used to put up much of a fight when I would place him in his swing at the 90-120 minute mark. But now he retrieves his gloves and starts boxing the moment my hands are removed from his back. It takes several attempts to get him down, despite displaying explicit signs that he is weary from being awake for 4+ hours. And even if we're lucky enough for him to give in, the shuteye only lasts long enough to be a catnap. Today, he napped a cumulative 30-40 minutes, as opposed to the usual 3-4 hours. I'm assuming this is due to teething and am hoping it will pass.

All I know is Mommy needs sleep if she's ever going to fill these empty boxes. Have I mentioned I hate moving?

Until next time...

Wordless Wednesday: Where's The Teef?

2009-01-28T21:33:00.002-05:00

Six Months

2009-01-26T02:35:00.009-05:00

Nate is 6 months old today.

Has it really been half a year already? It seems like just yesterday we were driving home from the hospital with our brand new little guy, going 10 miles below the speed limit in the slow lane because we were afraid to jostle or damage our fragile newborn.

When I think of how far we've come, I am astonished. I admire Nate each day and query how he was once the size of a poppyseed inside me. Proof of his existence was just a pale pink line on a stick. And now, here he is. My baby boy - my hopes and dreams - in the flesh.

At 6 months, my little man:

Wears 9 month clothes and size 3 diapers comfortably. Whoa. I'm expecting him to top the scales at a whopping 19+ lbs at his checkup tomorrow. He's quite the hefty load these days, which makes walking in heels risky.
Can roll both ways, although he is much more consistent rolling back to tummy. When on his tummy, he "swims" and gets frustrated, as he can only move in circles and not forward. It's quite amusing to watch actually but I have a feeling it won't be long until crawling commences.
Can sit without toppling over for 15 minutes. He can counterbalance himself if he starts to lean to one side. But if he looks up too high, his body follows his eyes and he inevitably falls backward.
Can jabber like a monkey, stringing consonants and vowels together like pearls on a necklace. Mostly "aah" type sounds ("da", "ba", "ga") with an occasional "ooh" thrown in for good measure. He is currently acing the "mmm" sound, to which we are coaxing "mama". He tries to mimic our lip motions but is still a tad too immature for words. He is very observant but he is also quite social. He loves to interact with people and talk to himself in the mirror. He is very intrigued by faces and always tries to grab eyes, ears, noses and mouths. Not to mention hair. Ouch. Or jewelry. Yikes.
Can laugh and giggle. His most ticklish spot is his chunky thigh. Trust me when I say there is nothing more endearing than a baby's chuckle. After his spell of colic for the first 3 months of life, I never thought I'd see him smile so much. It's more gratifying than I can describe.
Can pass a toy from one hand to the other, although he's only done this on several occasions. He can grab an object, such as daddy's remote, and pull it to him in an instant. Once he gets his paws on said object, it goes directly into the mouth. Oral fixation much?
Is cutting his first tooth. I can feel a knot under his front left bottom gumline. And he is slobbering so much that I am frightened to lay him face down out of fear he shall drown in the volume of his saliva . I can't quite see it breaking through but I assume it is a matter of time. My breasts are quivering at their fate.
Can reach out to be held or shy away when he wants to stay put. He's developing slight separation anxiety when I am not in his line of sight. Even when daddy is attempting to entertain him, he wants to know where mommy is. Luckily, he does not have an aversion to strangers. Yet.
Can recognize his name. He will turn toward you if you call him. But only if you are not interjecting while he is captivated by coexisting lights and/or sounds.

While I could go on and on, I should make note that this milestone isn't entirely about age and growth. I'm also proud to say that I've been able to exclusively breastfeed for 6 months. I accomplished the goal I set out to meet way back when I first decided to embark on my journey to parenthood.

I have been able to resist the temptation of formula, even when my nipples were raw from cluster feeding and I cried through clenched teeth, questioning my supply. I have been able to withstand the monotony of pumping in bathroom stalls and storage closets. I have been able to defy societal expectations - or asinine opinions - as to when to wean and begin solid foods. I have been able to fulfill my son's nutritional needs with my body alone. It feels sublime.

I took photos of him this weekend in all of his naked glory (which DH made me promise not to share). Just to remember the body that my milk duds were responsible for. Each roll, each ounce of chub, all from the milk which I produced. I wanted to document this milestone so I can look back fondly in a few years at the result of my success. Our success. I couldn't do without my little partner in crime, who has fine-tuned his latch and suction into an art. That is, when he's not too distracted by his surroundings to demonstrate his abilities.

Happy half birthday, little man. You'll never know how incredibly loved you are.

In Pursuit of Magic Tricks

2009-01-25T16:05:00.008-05:00

We may have cracked the code at getting Nate to go down without an hours-long temper trantrum. The magic to this CIO thing is keeping him down. That's the trick I need to master.

After a 90 minute stretch last night, Nate woke up expressing his extreme discomfort through abbreviated grunts that reminded me of Morse Code. I delayed entry into his nursery, waiting with bated breath for tranquility to return. But, alas, it wasn't meant to be.

After much hesitancy, I went in, picked him up and cuddled him in the nursery. He smeared the remnants of his tears on my camisole as he searched for a boob. I obliged, recalling that he was too distracted during our earlier playdate to be bothered with nutrition. I suspected that he was now compensating for the lack of calories.

I was able to get him to go down without protest once he was satiated. I succumbed to sleep myself but 2 hours later, my dreams were disturbed by panicked cries. In the shadows, I could see spit-up under his nose. The ugly, uninvited return of reflux. I picked him up and he began choking and gasping for air. I patted and rubbed his back, cradling him close to me. Eventually, the episode ended but he continued to be disgruntled. Despite my best efforts, I was consumed with fatigue and brought him to bed with me, where we both slept comfortably until 730am.

I know, I need to grow a backbone. But the positive side is that we can get him down in the crib. That part is getting progressively easier. We just need to work on prolonging the stretches. One step at a time, I say.
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Today marks the one-year anniversary of Snowflake's unfulfilled due date. The memory of her loss still stings, as I think back to the blood, the cramps, the fear, the agony of waiting for confirmation of what I already knew to be true. I could never forget my baby girl. I will always miss her and this date will always carry with it a somber tone.

Instead of celebrating a one-year birthday, I'm on the brink of a 1/2 birthday. And despite my melancholy, I could not feel more fortuitous.

Silence is Golden

2009-01-24T21:34:00.002-05:00

On last night's episode of CIO, you were left with a cliffhanger. Nate had been down for 2 consecutive hours. I'm sure you're dying to know what happened next, so here goes.

Nate woke up crying within 5 minutes of my last entry. Not screaming but crying for attention. I went in to soothe him and noticed he was a bit twisted in his blanket. So, I picked him up and readjusted him, patting his back and doing the Mama Sway. He quickly fell asleep on my shoulder, sighing loudly as if he had found sweet relief in mommy's embrace. I laid him down delicately in his crib and walked out, crossing my fingers.

There was no noise. No fuss. No crying. No screaming or wailing. Just silence.

DH and I quietly scampered off to bed. I laid awake, waiting for him to pitch a fit, demanding a warm body to cuddle beside. After several minutes of contemplation, I heard some grunting through our adjoinging wall so I sent DH in to mediate. As he exited the nursery, there was again serenity. I made note of the time. 11:47pm.

I was apprehensive, among many other emotions. I was cynical, believing that sleep was only a pipe dream; I'd only be woken to my son exercising his lungs. I was elated that I didn't have to resort to earplugs in order to catch some zzz's. But I missed his soft little body and the whisper of his breath on my chest. I was lonely. I had slept next to Nate for 6 months - not including the months prior when he would tussle about inside me as I would attempt to doze off. I can't even recall what sleep was like when it was just DH and I. I realized that this wasn't just an adjustment for Nate. It was an adjustment for me as well.

Before I knew it, my eyes were peeled open as I heard Nate bawling. I turned to look at the clock. It was 4:54am.

Some quick arithmetic confirmed a 5 hour stretch. F-I-V-E consecutive hours. In addition to the 2 before that. A total of 7 hours in his crib. I could not believe my eyes.

My breasts were like two swollen boulders under my neck but I hurried out of bed and into the nursery, swooping Nate up in my arms and covering him with kisses. I was so proud of my little guy. I cheated and brought him back to bed to nurse, where he slept for another 2 hours.
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Today, Nate and I travelled to VA for a playdate with some of my FF gal pals. He slept the entire way there (1.5 hours) and the entire way back. He also napped for a bit in his Ergo as we shopped at the outlet mall.

We arrived home around 6pm. I fixed myself some dinner, we played for a bit and I gave him a bath. At 8pm, I took him in his nursery, turned off all the lights and nursed him in the glider, wrapping him in a velour blanket. Our new nightly routine.

He fell asleep at the boob and I gently transferred him to the crib. He was awake but drowsy. I walked out and closed the door, expecting a bit of fussing or crying.

But there was nothing. Absolute silence. And it's been like that for an hour now.

I guess I underestimated this CIO thing. It may be mentally, physically and emotionally draining - to say the least - but it really can work.

Dead or Alive

2009-01-23T22:12:00.007-05:00

The protruding silence in my son's nursery leaves me with much time to muse about its origin. Has he actually fallen asleep after just 20 minutes of tears? Has he suffocated on his lovie? Rolled against the crib bumper and smothered himself? Will I walk in to find him strangled in his mobile? Yes, these are the persistent, morbid thoughts that cross my mind in the wee hours of the night.

Once Nate gives in to the Sandman, I find myself in a state of nihilism. I am constantly pacing back and forth in front of his door. I could swear I hear him crying or struggling even though he isn't making a peep at all.

This is what CIO does to a frazzled mother's mind. It breeds paranoid schizophrenia.

Despite my frequent surrender to cosleeping and lack of consistency throughout the night, I am noticing an improvement. We're on Day 5 of The Great Transformation and he has been down for 120 minutes. His best yet. And with less of the drama beforehand.

We're making progress. Slowly. Very slowly. But surely. I have low expectations so I am proud of any minute achievement.

Wordless Wednesday: Sitting Pretty

2009-01-21T21:28:00.011-05:00

The Great CIO Disaster of 2009

2009-01-20T23:08:00.003-05:00

I'm sure you can gather from my title that last night didn't go so well after all. Well, it actually went beautifully for about 34 minutes before it all went to hell in a handbasket.

I guess I should start back at the beginning.

While I heart cosleeping, I have to admit it is taking its toll. On all of us. Nate is still waking 2-3 times a night to feed, even though I know he isn't truly hungry. It's purely out of habit. The boy has the nose of a bloodhound and can smell when fresh milk is in the vicinity because he is nestled tightly against my bosom. A few suckles and he's back to his coma. But if I offer his beloved Soothie, he wants none of it. Apparently, our fickle little paci snob will only accept it during daylight hours. This means we are all up every 3 hours during the night. Sometimes more. It could be much, much worse so please don't interpret this as a griping, woe-is-me whinefest. I am just recognizing the limitations of our current arrangement.

I have fared quite well living on broken sleep intervals for just under 6 months. But I am running on fumes. I am so forgetful and exhausted most days that espresso can't even save me. It's a wonder how I manage a full-time job on top of mommyhood. And Nate is also affected when he doesn't get enough nighttime sleep. He will become overtired and will refuse to nap, leading to a high-needs, spirited baby begging for mercy. DH is also increasingly afraid of rolling over into him as his girth expands. DH We decided that as we are on the brink of Nate's 1/2 birthday, there was no better time than the present to get him accustomed to sleeping in his crib.

Around 8pm, Nate caught a case of the evening "fussies". Short attention span, zero tolerance for amusement, rubbing of the eyes and a dash of crankiness. This lets me know when he's had enough and is ready to hit the sack. So, instead of taking him to bed and nursing him side-laying as we normally do, I took him to his nursery, changed his diaper and turned off all the lights. I cuddled him in the glider and nursed him until his eyes glazed over. He wasn't completely asleep but was drowsy enough to pass the limp wrist test. I wrapped him in a soft blankie (a SIDS risk, I know...but he likes to grip it as he drifts off to la-la land) and gently laid him in his crib.

We had success. After several minutes of peacefulness, I took the time to write the previous post. Full of hope but not exactly brimming with confidence. I was a bit scared yet composed.

The tranquility was pierced with screams and wails approximately 10 minutes after I hit publish. He had just eaten 45 minutes ago so he couldn't possibly be hungry. He had a fresh diaper. He was not sick or feverish. His reflux has all but resolved itself entirely in the past month.

It was time to Ferberize.

I went in to soothe him - patting his back and butt and shushing him, trying to get him to take his pacifier. It was a lost cause. After 30 seconds, I retreated back out to the living room, while my son cried exponentially harder. It was as if I had strapped him down on the Wheel of Torture and was tearing him limb from limb, all while using an apple on his head for target practice. The five minutes I restrained myself before returning to him were downright dreadful. My heart shattered in a million little pieces as I listened to his cries, and I confess I shed some tears right along with him.

I sauntered back into the nursery, trying desperately not to make eye contact and get down to business. But how could I not look at my baby as he implored me to hold him close? I again made an attempt to soothe him to no avail. If anything, I felt my presence made the situation worse. He began choking on his saliva, nearly throwing up from the power of his shrieking. He reached his chubby arms out to me, shaking and crying louder than ever. It was so intense I almost broke down weeping. I rubbed his head, kissed his sticky, tear-stained cheek, swaddled him up in his blanket and turned away, walking out and closing the door.

This dance lasted for 2-1/2 hours (yes, you read right - TWO AND A HALF HOURS) before I had had enough. I did the unthinkable - I gave in and picked him up. His crying immediately ceased and all I could hear was his raspy breath muffled in the crook of my neck. Defeated, we both sunk into bed for the long night.

I'm at a loss. I can't just shut the door and let him cry it out until he passes out from sheer exhaustion. I don't want him to completely lose confidence that I will respond to his needs. And I don't want him to associate his crib with a traumatic experience. But surely if he didn't go to sleep after 2-1/2 hours of gradual extinction, something is amiss. Most Ferber advocates claim their child only cried for 30 minutes - possibly an hour - before settling down. But Nate gets so worked up that it's impossible for him to soothe himself. He just gets more overtired, inflating the problem.

At this point, having a toddler sleeping in our bed is appealing.

I feel like a terrible mother. Did I create a monster by facilitating attachment parenting? I feel like a failure because my son has atypical sleep habits, at which most adults balk. He naps in a swing he is quickly outgrowing and he sleeps with mommy and daddy. I feel like I am doing him a disservice to allow him to sleep with me because he is growing dependent on me to fall asleep. But it feels wrong to just stick him in his crib cold turkey and listen to him cry out for me. Is this really what is best for him long-term when the short-term is so agonizing?

Tonight is round two and so far, it's been over an hour of fruitless Ferberizing. Am I forever doomed? Once you cosleep, do you never look back? I mean, animals cosleep with each other and naturally wean, sleeping independently as they age. Should I take the same approach with the hope that he will one day desire his own space? Or should I take the reins now and adjust his sleep patterns while he is still young enough to mold? No matter what it takes or what sacrifices must be made?

Sleep is so incredibly important for a healthy lifestyle. Just as important as diet or exercise. I realize this. I never in my wildest dreams conceived how hard it would be to execute.

I just wish I knew if I was doing the right thing.

Ten minutes is up. Time to go back inside the ring. May we emerge victorious and unscathed.

Dare I

2009-01-19T21:13:00.001-05:00

We may be celebrating the inauguration of the president elect tomorrow but I am revelling in our own initiation here in the Sticky household.

Dare I even speak of the monumental event that is occurring right now?

I am sure that the mere act of typing the words is enough to jinx it. But I may implode if I can't share my elation.

My son is asleep.

In his crib.

And has been for about 20 minutes now.

Do you realize how big a deal this is? Not just big. Monumental.

Let's see how long this lasts.

The Mama Sway and Other Developments

2009-01-18T11:27:00.005-05:00

I am feeling quite wordy this morning, as Nate naps comfortably in his swing. But in the interest of retaining your attention rather than antagonizing you with an unorganized, jumbled bout of verbal diarrhea, I will utilize bullet points to constrain myself.

Move over Macarena. Crank this Soulja Boy. There's a new dance craze in Chez Sticky. I've acquired the "Mama Sway". Seriously, it's impossible for me to stand still. Even without the baby in my presence, I subconsciously rock back and forth. I don't even realize I'm doing this until other people - primarily mothers - point it out to me, declaring that only mothers have "that tender sway". Perhaps we all inherit the "Mama Sway" gene as soon as we release our placentas? It's like I've been inducted into a secret society. A slow dance. A knowing nod. And I'm outed without saying a word. I guess I should praise Dr. Karp for that.
Just like the evil that masqueraded as colic for 9+ weeks, Nate's reflux seemed to dissipate overnight. For the past few weeks, I've been able to sport brand-name gear, unsoiled and curdled-milk-fragrance free. Sure, he will still spit up now and then after a feeding but ***knock on wood*** we've had no actual vomiting incidents ( > tablespoon) in almost a month. No more waking in the middle of the night to gagging and choking. No more receiving blankets substituted as burp cloths, drenched in the contents of his stomach. I'm marveled by the difference. It's nothing short of a Festivus miracle. I guess all the hoopla about reflux resolving itself in time really was true. The cynic in me can rest assured that medication was unneccessary after all.
We have a thumbsucker in our midst. Yes, after almost 6 months of unfettered fist and finger love, Nate finally discovered his abandoned appendage. I should say he is more of a thumbbiter, as he uses it more for teething relief than for self-soothing at this point. I've yet to capture this new development on camera but the mamarazzi is sure to catch it in her relentless pursuit of treasured candids.
After two weeks of daily entrapment, Nate has learned that the jumperoo serves more of a purpose than to spin in circles and look pretty. He can now jump so high that I fear he may completely fly out of the apparatus. Watching him spring himself into oblivion is the most amusing, adorable thing. It could provide hours of entertainment if his legs could withstand it. His new nickname is Jumping Bean.
With his new exercise routine in full swing, his already hearty appetite is giving me a run for my money. Nate is eating every single ounce I pump, despite my record of 21 oz. in 3 pumping sessions. I know it's hardly Guinness Book material but it sure made me proud nonetheless. I can barely keep up with him in my absence. He is also showing extreme curiosity in food during mealtimes. Meaning I spend more time keeping his sticky fingers off my plate than gobbling up my lunch. He's even taken to crying when I push my meal outside of grasping range. This is especially enthralling in the middle of a crowded restaurant, where onlookers gasp in horror at this poor, starving babe and the abominable mother who denies him one small morsel of food. I am but a week away from my goal of 6 months exclusive breastmilk and I'm hell bent and determined to get there. We will get there. Then, it can be a solids free-for-all. Until that day, you can brand me as the strict, unsympathetic, possessive, add-your-own-adjective-here mama bear that I am.
Effective Thursday, Nate's usual whopping 3-4 bowel movements per day has lessened to a humble once a day. As a matter of fact, yesterday was completely poopless until his explosive blowout upon waking this morning. We're talking poop in the armpits, people. How exactly does that happen? I'm not sure if this is a sign of digestive distress or if his body is telling me that it's ready for more than just mundane liquids. He doesn't seem to be uncomfortable or constipated so I feel it's likely the latter.
After weeks of a sunny disposition, a storm is brewing. The crankiness. The clinginess. I'm identifying bits of foreshadowing. A taste of what's to come. I know the 6 month milestone brings along another growth spurt so I'm donning my cloak and armor, preparing for another battle.

A big apology if you made it this far. Not even the bullets could stop me from being verbose.

Wordless Wednesday: Holding His Own

2009-01-14T21:21:00.001-05:00

Change of Address

2009-01-11T19:57:00.014-05:00

Your eyesight isn't failing you. You read correctly. It's official. We're moving on February 15th.

We have gradually outgrown our apartment. We knew even before Nate's arrival that it was only a matter of time until we would need a larger place. We hoped to save up enough to put a downpayment on a house. And while we are close to the standard 20% down on a modestly priced single family home in this area, we aren't comfortable risking our entire savings to invest in a home that may or may not pay off down the road in this questionable economy.

So, we found the next best thing. A house to rent.

It's a simple, unassuming cape cod, just one block away from my parents. Over 300 square feet more living space than our current nest. Plenty of room to accomodate Nate's overflowing fountain of toys, clothes and miscellaneous belongings. A yard for him to run and play. A community pool, playground, docks for fishing and boating, and a private beach. Space to welcome any new family members that may arrive in the ~~distant~~ future. The kitchen is a little small and outdated but that is hardly a dealbreaker, all things considered.

On our tour of the residence, I envisioned memories of things that have yet to occur. Nate crawling across the living room floor. Taking his first steps in the hallway. Playing ball out back with Daddy. It just felt right.

Our very own place with no shared walls or parking lot views. All for the same rent we are paying for our apartment. Not to mention this buys us a year or two so we can evaluate the market and save even more in the meantime.

While I share similar sentiments with Geohde when it comes to the acts of cleaning, packing, lifting, moving and unpacking, I am eager for a change of scenery. I am excited to be able to offer more for Nate than a narrow walkway with adjacent shoebox rooms as he becomes more nomadic.

It's not permanent but it's better. It's a step in the right direction.

Resolutions

2009-01-05T21:44:00.003-05:00

I rang in 2009 snuggling with my son - who was nearly comatose from overindulging warm milk - in bed, shielding him from the blaring pyrotechnics occurring just outside of our bedroom window.

Nate was born LAST year. I was pregnant with him the year BEFORE LAST. How insane is that?! What's even scarier is that THIS year, he'll turn one. Goodness! Before I know it, with the exponential speed with which time has been travelling, he'll be starting school, driving, and dating.

As with all New Years celebrations, the descent of the gigantic, luminous orb had me not only reflecting on the monumental year that was 2008, but also pondering self-improvement. I've lived and I've learned much over the past 12 months but I can't stop in my tracks. I can't relish in the comfortableness when there is so much potential beyond the present. The only constant from year to year is change. Things - life - will inevitably morph and shift, and we will struggle to adapt. I have to strive to be a better mother. A better wife. A better daughter and sister. A better friend and person.

Is it possible to transplant the best parts of 2008 into the new year? How can I better myself so that I become more valuable to those around me?

I was never much of a believer in setting resolutions. It seems that the moment you utter the r-word, it is a self-fulfilling prophecy to fail. Even an honest attempt to achieve a resolution is moot if left unresolved when the sand runs out at the end of the year. I am more inclined to set goals - both short-term and long-term. That way, I can still hold myself accountable but I will not be held under the duress of a stringent annual deadline.

Without further ado, my newfound objectives are as follows:

1. Grow spiritually

I want to strengthen my faith and attend church more frequently. Oftentimes, the daily rigamarole of life supersedes making time for the Lord. It's easy to make excuses as to why we just couldn't make it this particular Sunday (i.e. the service is during baby's naptime, it's just too far to travel in the morning, etc.). But I really want to make our spirituality a priority, as are our careers or quality time with friends and family. The pastor's word makes us feel so wholesome and rejuvenated after a challenging work week. I'd like to lengthen that feeling of integrity all week, month and year-long.

I'd also like to study Bible passages in an effort to understand the text around which we center our Christian values.

2. Revitalize intimacy

Since we became a family of three, DH and I have struggled to redefine intimacy. Not just physically but also emotionally. The overwhelming needs of an infant often dominate our lives and it is easy to overlook or outright ignore our spouses' or our own needs. We can no longer rely solely on romantic movie nights, candlelit dinners or a passionate evening to bring us closer. We need to exercise our creativity to find other fulfilling ways to show our affection.

I want to be more aware of this and not just circumvent the issue or procrastinate. I want to be more proactive, which leads me to my next goal.

3. Communicate more effectively

I have never been confrontational so I tend to sweep things under the rug in order to avoid strife. I want to be more open with my feelings so I am not forcing DH to speculate as to my needs or desires. It is unfair to set unrealistic expectations of him or others if I am not explicit.

I also want to deepen my interpersonal relationships with friends by maintaining contact. Since becoming a mom, my social life has dwindled to email or MySpace or Facebook comments. I was never really a party animal but I would like to reconnect with friends face-to-face, whether it be a family-friendly dinner with the boy in tow or a girls' night out sans baby.

May I add, in the blogworld, I'd like to comment more and discover new blogs related to IF, specifically parenting after IF. I used to be a master commenter before the p-words - pregnancy and preparation - consumed my life. Now, with my new 27 inch boss, I hardly have the time to construct an admissable post much less offer useful advice and support to my online buddies. I want to make the time to be there for those who were there for me in my darkest days and continue to follow me on my lighter path.

While I am happy to put my family first above all else, I don't want to lose the small yet priceless support system I have. I do not have many friends so it is imperative to show appreciation to the ones I do have.

4. Lose 5 to 10 more pounds

Perhaps the most generic and selfish of all my goals. It won't really benefit anyone but myself - unless you consider yourself a member of the "happy mommy, happy daddy/baby" camp. Yet I think it would improve my self-image to lose the poundage I gained during my dreaded Clomid days.

As of Christmastime, I have officially reached my prepregnancy weight. Since I was able to do so through breastfeeding alone, I consider that a huge accomplishment. But these pesky 5 to 10 more lbs. will probably be more problematic. I will need to eat healthier - perhaps join Weight Watchers or a similar diet program that is safe for nursing mothers - and exercise (gasp!) to shed them and keep them at bay.

And I will need to accept that I may hang onto a portion of my spare tire until I wean. As much as I love my new faux boob job, I will have to start mourning their loss now, as they are unlikely to hang around once my milk is expired and once they are subjected to the diet and exercise regimen I plan to implement.

5. Transition Nate to his crib successfully for naps and nighttime sleep

This is a small albeit substantial short-term goal. I cherish co-sleeping but I know our days are numbered. I have several sleep books in my arsenal and hope to devise a method to transition him in the next month or two. And since naps are still isolated to his swing, I'd also like to move those to his big, beautiful, yet motionless crib.

Like anything else, it's one step at a time.

Flutters and A Finale

2008-12-31T16:40:00.026-05:00

There is only one word that can describe 2008.

Change.

Exhilarating change. (Okay, that was two words. So sue me.)

Not unlike the anticipation and apprehension as you wait for a rollercoaster ride to descend into its cyclonic whirlwind. The butterflies that playfully swirl around in your abdomen as you await what is to come. And then once you are released, it all happens so fast that can hardly catch your breath. In a flash, it's over and you have this stupified grin plastered across your face.

It was like that to the infinitieth power.

2008 began with a glimmer of hope. I had just handed in my ticket and boarded the p-word rollercoaster. I was excited yet fearful. Uncertain of what to expect - if anything at all. Would the ride stop before it had even started? Would I ultimately be disappointed and leave empty-handed as I had in the past? Or could it be the ride of a lifetime that I would never forget?

I had so much at stake emotionally. Having been burned twice before, it was hard to put my chips on the table. To let go and find the strength from within to believe. To not expect another setback. I knew there were no guarantees. The fear and anticipation escalated the further along I went. I just had that much more to lose. And I was that much more attached to those butterflies in the pit of my stomach.

But somewhere along the way, I did find sweet release from the pressure. I did shed layers of angst to find unadulterated happiness. I'm not sure at what point this happened because before I realized it, the joyride was over.

My son was born. And I'm still trying to process everything 5 months later. The day I gave birth was the greatest day of my life hands down. I can't wipe the smile from my face. Each day is a new learning experience. A new memory. Not that everything is always sunshine, wine and roses. Quite the contrary. But I must admit - even in the toughest times - I have the greatest reward I could ever dream of.

2009 is beginning with great promise. Although I'm unsure of what the future holds, I feel like we have much opportunity and much to look forward to.

Sadly, I know not everyone is starting the new year with the same outlook. There are people out there - possibly even some of my readers - who also bet big. But instead of hitting the jackpot, they may have lost their fortune. Some who are still waiting in line to board the rollercoaster, watching others repeatedly cut in front of them.

My greatest wish for 2009 is that you may depart the free-falling drop tower of IF and board the p-word rollercoaster without fear of loss.

I wish everyone could feel those butterflies free of consequence.

Roly Poly

2008-12-30T08:42:00.002-05:00

HFMD is still wrecking havoc in our household - fever is over but diarrhea still runs rampant, pardon the pun. There's nothing like waking up at 2am to pffft...squirt. He even has a gash on his nose from the midnight thrashing with those Freddie Kreueger talons of his - which Mommy is afraid to cut too low. But my little trooper never ceases to amaze me. Even while feeling like crud, he can still gather the strength to accomplish a new milestone.

Nate can officially roll both ways.

On Saturday night, I placed him down on the floor on his back for playtime. Playtime consists of me making absurd faces with equally ridiculous voices that prompt uncontainable squeals and giggles. After some toe-touching exercises, he suddenly whipped himself around, landing right onto his belly and nearly hitting his head on a nearby TV tray. Once he discovered that he was on his loathed stomach, he cried out for assistance in readjusting his position.

Yes, this is an important milestone. As is tummy to back rolling, which he has been able to do since October. But Nate is inconsistent with these activities. Sometimes he will roll like a pro and other times he will be stubborn as an ass and lie there whimpering as if he simply cannot move himself and how dare I challenge him this way. It's almost as if he just needs to reassure himself. To prove he can do it at least once to refute any doubts regarding his abilities. Then, with an inexplicable, flagrant disregard for his competence, he seemingly loses interest and is on to the next new mission - whatever that may entail. A touch of ADD, I assume?

In all actuality, I am somewhat relieved by his fickle nature. I can still leave him unattended on his blanket or playmat to throw some clothes in the wash or answer the door and return to him in the same exact position. As long as this is an option, I shall retain my freedom.

The Grinch Who Stole Christmas

2008-12-28T10:02:00.008-05:00

I wish I could say I had a fabulous holiday and that Nate's first Christmas was everything I had hoped for and more. Unfortunately, it was memorable for all the wrong reasons.

I woke up on Christmas morning to an overwhelming sense of joy. My first sight upon awakening was my two loves laying beside me, peacefully asleep. Despite an absence of mistletoe hanging from the stucco above, I planted a kiss on DH's cheek and Nate's forehead. It was then that I noticed Nate was hot to the touch. He was outfitted in a fleece sleeper so my first instinct was that I overdressed him. I nursed him and took his rectal temperature during his morning diaper change.

101.4. Poor little guy had yet another fever. Hadn't we had enough of this a few weeks ago with those dreadful sinus infections?!

I mixed some Tylenol with breastmilk and fed him a bottle. As he drifted back off to sleep in his swing, DH and I exchanged gifts. Blu-Ray player for him. Beaba BabyCook for me. I was delighted about my present but my happiness was short-lived as I was reminded of my sick baby.

When Nate awoke, he still felt warm but seemed to be in decent spirits. In other words, he was not wimpering in agony or showing signs of distress. We opened his gifts but there was little enthusiasm on his part. No smiles. No laughter. He was lethargic and generally disinterested in his surroundings. He would examine each gift for a few seconds before looking or turning away. It was evident that he was not himself.

I gave him another dose of Tylenol before heading out to see family. He slept for the hour-long car ride and woke just as we pulled into the driveway. I brought him inside and took his temperature again. 101.2. I was hoping for better after 2 doses of meds. He opened presents from Grandma and Grandfather with the same general malaise he had shown earlier. As more and more family arrived and the children became more boisterous, it didn't take long for a total meltdown to commence. After being passed around from person to person like a hot potato - despite the warnings of his current condition - he had had enough. The annoyed griping amplified to deafening screams in record timing.

I spent the majority of the party upstairs in a quiet bedroom, trying to soothe him while simultaneously watching reruns of A Christmas Story on TBS. While he was obviously hungry, he was rejecting the breast in favor of hibernation. During his naps, I would rush downstairs to greet neglected guests and stuff leftover hor d'oeuvres in my mouth. Trying to hold a conversation with someone was a lost cause. A not-so-funny joke. My attention was concentrated on canceling out the hullabaloo to hear Nate's distinct cries.

The sky grew dark and the guests cleared out. Nate still had a fever. I gave him a bath, thinking it would cool him off and lower his temperature. Instead, it was up to 102.4. My heart was pounding as I called the urgent care center. All sorts of scenarios ran through my head on the way to our appointment. I imagined spending the night in the ER with a baby so feverish that a seizure could erupt at any moment.

When we arrived, they took us back almost immediately. His fever was now up to 103.5. My heart sunk. The doctor examined him. Ears, nose and chest were clear. But his throat was sore and blistery.

Diagnosis: Hand, Foot and Mouth Disease. Expect high fever and sore throat for 3-5 days, followed by diarrhea and body rash.

Treatment: Motrin as needed every 6-8 hours

I didn't think Motrin could be given to babies under 6 months but because of the severity of the fever and Nate's weight, the doctor said it was fine. Since we had no pump on-hand, he had to be given the meds with a dropper. He promptly puked up the first dose but with a patient nurse, we were able to get it all down the second try.

Within half an hour of the visit, our baby boy was back to his sweet, smiling self. Shame his true personality only showed during the tenth hour on Christmas night. But he slept like a log and I was able to rest knowing exactly what we were up against.

I'm still quite miffed over the situation. How unfair is it that our baby's first Christmas was ~~ruined~~ dampered by such an awful, unexplainable virus? I had high expectations and reality just threw a wrench into everything. I have just a handful of acceptable pictures that were taken sporadically during the day. No pictures of us all together as a family. I know I should keep my trap shut and be grateful I even have a baby to be sick. Gain some perspective. I'm just really bummed that we had to be miserable on such a special occasion. I feel as if Christmas truly was stolen by a grinch this year.

HFMD: the one gift from Santa that I brutally rebuff.

Happy Holidays To All

2008-12-25T08:45:00.001-05:00

Unlike gifts that come and go,

Or tinsel in the attic stowed,

May the spirit of peace we hold so dear,

Remain with us all throughout the year.

Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, and a Blessed Holiday to you and yours