Baby, It's Cold Outside

The weather outside may be frightful but inside, I'm soaking in the sun. Yes, we're in the midst of an unmistakable sunny week.

I find myself wondering who swapped my willful prince with this even-tempered angel who only complains when weary or famished. "Nate Lite" has even adopted a pacifier - the object that he would, until recently, barely tolerate. No hesitation. A trip to the mall just weeks ago would have resulted in an embarassing tantrum and a swift exit. But thanks to our new silicone comrade, we were able to finish 98% of our Christmas shopping without so much as a peep from the stroller. Just observant eyes taking in the surrounding scenery.

He has been delivering more cheesy, toothless grins than ever. Even some giggles here and there that make me feel wealthier than Oprah. He's also discovered his voice and now babbles and squeals incessantly, despite the moon's plea for peace and quiet at 1am. We're talking notes only a Bee Gees brother could hit. But since the ruckus comes from such a rosy-cheeked cherub, there's no way I could shush him in my fit of laughter and glee.

I just hope this pleasantness prevails through the holidays.

Looking back on the past month, there has been evident advancement in his fine motor skills. At 3 months, Nate was merely batting at toys and still pretty much living in his own little world, oblivious to our fervent attempts to entertain him. Either that or he just plain ignored our idiocracy. But at 4 (almost 5!) months, he can now deliberately grab objects with an iron grip and bring them to his mouth where they will inevitably drown in the drool pool. With this greater coordination comes great responsibility. I seem to have grown an invisible antenna to identify anything remotely dangerous within his grasp. I have to contain wandering arms and legs so fingers don't reach onto my dinner plate and feet won't knock over fragile goods.

It's only a matter of time until more skills emerge. With its corresponding wonder week. So, I'm enjoying this congeniality while it lasts.
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In unrelated news, a coworker announced her pregnancy today. She is 38 and while I'm not sure how long she and her husband had been TTC, I do know she miscarried last summer. Due July 9, 2009.

I am truly delighted for her, despite the repugnant date.

But I'm also a wee bit jealous. And I have no clue as to why.

I'm nowhere close to feeling ready for another baby. I can't even fathom it right now. And though I've dodged those bullets that put the pressure on ("you want them close in age so they get along better", "you should do it soon since you're already accustomed to the baby phase" or my personal favorite, "you've got to try for a girl!"). I'm in absolutely NO hurry.

I mean, physically, with all of my lovely scar tissue courtesy of a second-degree tear, my vagina can barely perform the necessary function to make childbearing possible. Mentally, I'm plum tuckered out. Most days, I can hardly keep my eyes open much less stay organized at work and at home. We live in a 3-bedroom apartment, which is already bursting at the seams. I can barely meet the needs of one infant. How the hell would I manage two under two? So, you see, there are many factors as to why I'm not even considering TTC a sibling for Nate until he turns 1. Not even uttering a word about it until that point. And possibly even later if I still can't muster the courage to initiate that conversation.

But yet I reminisce about my pregnancy. And I miss it. Even the miscarriage worries, listeria concerns, crotch pain and tremendous weight gain aren't enough to wake me up to reality. The announcement tugged at my heartstrings and made me wish it were me going through that anticipation and excitement again.

I need to be committed.

Sleepyhead

Nate has decided to take advantage of the weekend and sleep in.

Normal routine is asleep by 10pm and up at 7am, with 2-3 awakenings during that time. Last night, he fell asleep an hour early at 8pm and dreamfed 3 times during the night before finally waking up for good at 8am. Not even close to sleeping through the night but I'll gladly take what I can get.

Despite his slumber, he napped all day long like he hadn't slept in years. Hour long nap. Wake long enough to feed, babble a bit and get a diaper change. Repeat. I even questioned if someone had slipped him some tranquilizers while I was in the shower this morning.

He did have moss-colored poo last night but it has since returned to its usual chartreuse shade. So I don't think he's coming down with a cold. Perhaps just a temporary foremilk/hindmilk inbalance.

He's been in pretty good spirits - only getting fussy when he's ready for naptime and I've missed his cues. I have to put him down at the sight of the first yawn or risk the misery of overtiredness. I've learned that lesson the hard way.

I'm thinking the hibernation is just more evidence of a wonder week in full swing.

Holiday Spirit

So sorry for the drive-by posting last night. I didn't mean to hit publish and run. But a screaming baby hinders my creativity and willingness to write. Seems we're smack dab in the middle of a wonder week. Yeah, wonder how I don't bludgeon myself to death. There is comfort that there is light at the end of the tunnel. Sunny weeks to come, albeit not soon enough.

It could be the snow flurries we had today, the reintroduction of the Pumpkin Spice Latte at Starbucks or the fact that Thanksgiving is fast approaching, but I'm getting in the holiday spirit. The holidays mean so much more this year with a little one.

In holidays past, I was full of anguish and envy. I'd see parents in line at the mall, waiting with their fresh-faced younglings to see Santa. I'd see babies in strollers, surrounded by gifts. Kids dressed up in their Sunday best for picture-perfect Christmas cards. My heart ached as I watched the life I longed for lived out through others. Every Christmas commercial on TV twisted the knife in deeper. Maybe I had a touch of seasonal affective disorder but it was downright painful to spend one more holiday childless.

Now, I can truly appreciate the holidays again without being blinded by my depression. I can see everything through Nate's new eyes. The wonder and amazement. We can create new traditions. As a family. We'll be the ones standing in the ridiculously long line to see Santa and stocking up on anything branded "Baby's First Christmas ".

I know being his first Christmas, Nate won't really have a clue as to what it's all about or what is going on, for that matter. But I want to make all of his firsts as special as I can. I want to make beautiful memories. Sorta selfish since I'll be the only one remembering the details but he's only this little once so I feel like I need to capture this moment. I want to indulge. So it's hard not to go overboard. I want to give him everything.

Which begs the question: what presents do you get a baby for his first Christmas?

So far on the list are:

Highchair
BPA-free sippy cups
BPA-free bowls and utensils
Wooden and organic teethers
Few 6 month+ toys
9 month & 12 month apparel
Lullaby CD's / DVD's
Books
Winter bunting

I'm sure I'll think of more but I'm trying to keep it within a reasonable budget. Mostly practical gifts but some fun ones thrown in for good measure.

Now that I've shown you mine, you have to show me yours. Wishlist that is. Do you have any special holiday traditions with your little ones that you wouldn't mind me imitating? They say imitation is the best form of flattery, right? Nate's a little too young for cookies and milk and letters to Santa so I'm at a loss. I'm also lacking originality in the worst way.

Perhaps some hot cocoa will inspire me.

Postponed

Disgruntled baby on my lap means posting will be delayed until tomorrow.

I'd prefer it was just plain old writer's block.

Out of Sight, Out of Mind?

I think Nate is beginning to develop a sense of object permanence - that people and things exist even if they are not present. Unfortunately, this intellectual milestone is disguising itself in the form of separation anxiety.

Over the course of this week, I've noticed several changes to his behavior. I can no longer leave him in his swing or bouncer and walk out of the room without the onset of tears. I can no longer face away from him for more than a minute or two without a distress signal. As a matter of fact, I've had to change the direction of my computer so that he can see my face and not the back of my head from his swing as I work. I need to be in his direct line of sight, if he allows me to put him down at all.

The funny part is that as soon as I walk back in the room or look into his eyes, he calms down immediately. He still implores me to hold him but the hooting and hollering ceases instantly. I try to get to him promptly when he cries but there are some times, I just can't get there straight away. Like when I'm stepping out of the shower, toweling off water droplets. Or when I'm disinfecting the toilet or kitchen and have soot or chemical resin on my hands. I don't want to create an insecure child but I also don't want to create a monster that can't soothe himself.

It may be totally unrelated to the aforementioned anxiety but I've also noticed he is startling more easily. If DH or I sneeze, cough, speak in an excited tone or make sudden movements, he pouts in terror and cries frantically. I can usually distract him during one of these fits but not before feeling overwhelming guilt. I don't want to frighten him but I do want him to be accustomed to noise. No home can avoid clatter entirely. And I really don't want to walk on eggshells everytime he drifts off to dreamland.

He napped a cumulative hour and a half yesterday - when he usually does so easily in one stretch - and the catnaps he had were all on my lap, at the boob. My little piggy has also been eating up my supply. He ate 17 oz. today while I was at work when he normally eats about 12-13 oz. in my 9-hour absence. I can barely pump enough to replenish what he eats while I'm away. No leftovers like we used to have.

Perhaps the escalating panic and separation anxiety are just more remarkable side effects of those "wonder" weeks?

He may have inherited my sweaty feet but I hope and pray he doesn't acquire my panic attacks.

That's a Nice Way of Putting It

It appears that medical professionals have now applied an alias to the abyss of clusterf#$% feeding and erratic agitation otherwise known as growth spurts. They are now referred to as wonder weeks.

More like a pseudonym. Take it from me - there is nothing wonderful about a "wonder week". But it's nice to see the glass half full. And reassuring to know there's a legitimate reason behind the torment.

The theory is that there are predictable weeks during the first year of a child's life where they may be more fussy or demanding as they make progress in their cognitive and physical development. They will have seemingly regressed in their behavioral pattern as they attempt to comprehend this next milestone. Once they have completed a phase of growth, they will have what is referred to as "sunny weeks", during which babies exercise their new skills and are less temperamental.

Looking back at their timeline, it does appear to hold water. Remember this post from 12 weeks?

I suppose I should enjoy these so-called sunny weeks because in approximately 2 weeks, we'll be thrust back into pandemonium.

Come and Gone

The "newborn phase" is officially over. My baby is 3 months old. I guess the proper classification is now "infant".

*insert pout here*

I opened up his drawer of newborn clothes yesterday with every intention to pack them away and make room for the larger sizes, along with the 0-3 month collection that is now much too snug for comfort. I held up the articles of clothing, reminiscing about a time when my current roly-poly fit into them with room to spare. So tiny. Fragile. Like doll clothes. I fingered the felt adornment on the front of a onesie and brought it to my face, breathing in the intoxicating baby aroma that still lingered. The floodgates opened. I hurried and threw the disheveled onesie back into the drawer as if it were about to infect me with the Black Plague and rapidly shut the drawer. I'm just not ready to close that chapter. Not yet. The drawers are going to have to overflow to the point that my dire need to organize overrides my resistance to change.

With each milestone we reach, I think about how far we've come. I remember the early days when every peep Nate made would send me into a panic. When the mere thought of breastfeeding made me wince. When the moonlight would perpetuate howling from not only werewolves but my colicky boy. Everything was a guessing game. I may still rely on trial and error but I have my bearings. I don't know why it took me 3 months to realize this - perhaps I'm a slow learner in this arena - but the bottom line is babies cry. It's inevitable. It's no reason to feel like a failure. It is Nate's sole method of communication. Even adults - who have mastered the art of language - can't smile 24/7. So, how can I expect that of a baby? All I can do is equip myself with tools for success (a.k.a read and research) and strive for happiness.

I can now identify when he's crying from tiredness ("ooh" or "eww"), overstimulated/overtired ("waah"), hunger ("geh" or "neh") or gas pain ( sudden bursts of "eh", with legs drawing up to chest). Similar to the Dunstan system but not exact. I can recognize his patterns. Now we have the "educated guess"-ing game.

Around 9 weeks, it was as if someone flipped a switch. I think it is finally safe to say that the colic is kaput. Nate is still fussy around dinnertime - forget about a hot meal for the foreseeable future - but it is nowhere close to the nights we endured just over a month ago. Cluster feeding still rules around this time, as he builds up his caloric intake for the night. My arse is still firmly planted in the glider as the sun goes down. But no more incessant wailing. I'm sure our neighbors are just as grateful as we are.

For as difficult as those first few weeks were as we were both schooled in breastfeeding, it is now a completely natural routine. My nipples must have toughened up from their time in the penitentiary because they can even stand up to the rigors of near-constant suckling without slathering on the Lanolin. I am pleased as punch for making it to 3 months of exclusive breastmilk. It hasn't been easy by any stretch of the imagination but when my baby looks up from my breast and flashes a winning smile, that is all the reward I need.

Everyone - and I mean everyone, even strangers at the mall - told us that 3 months was the magic number. Things would get easier. And while it was hard to believe at the time, I can see the fog giving way to brighter days. It may be hard to admit when we're in the middle of an all-nighter - thank you, f*&^ing growth spurts! - but all it takes is one look back to see how good we really have it.

We may have a long way to go but I can't disregard the great progress we've made. And that we continue to make.

Lonely So Lonely

DH's aunt passed away Thursday from lung cancer. We knew it was coming since she had been in grave condition for some time. But when we heard the news, it was still a surprise. Funny how that happens.

He flew out to Atlanta yesterday afternoon for the viewing, to be held tonight. He'll fly back tomorrow. I opted to stay at home with the boy - going on a plane with an infant, my infant, is beyond mind boggling to me - but sent my condolences.

So now I find myself quite lonely. Sure, DH pissed me off by playing video games for his final hours at home rather than cleaning the dirty dishes in the sink or taking out the trash. But I still miss the lovable ass.

Instead of going to the pumpkin patch like we had planned, I'm currently drinking a milkshake and subjecting Nate to Sex and The City reruns OnDemand. I've been too couped up recently, working from home. It is not as relaxing as one would think. I go stir crazy when I can only see sunlight through the slats of our Venetian blinds. I need to get out of the house and take in some fresh air. The brisk October weather would be a perfect retreat from the incendiary boredom.

At 12 weeks (!) Nate seems to be going through yet another growth spurt. He's been permanently attached to my boob for two days now, eating like a starving orphan. And on the rare instance that he isn't on the boob, he is chomping on his hands. Hasn't quite mastered the art of the thumb but instead gags himself with his entire fist. I often mistake this for a hunger cue and am quick to whip out the boob, but there are times he will act silly - smacking, unlatching, storing milk in his cheeks like a chipmunk until it all dribbles out of his mouth onto my side - and I know it's just his sucking reflex in full swing. He can't seem to soothe himself unless something is in his mouth but he's so stubborn that he will only accept a paci as an act of desperation. On the instances that he concedes to a paci, I've noticed a pattern. He'll suck quietly and gently for a few minutes and gradually get louder and angrier - grunting with every thrust of the tongue - until he becomes downright belligerent. I have tried two different types - the Soothie and Ortho-Pro - and while he prefers the Soothie, he's not really a fan of either. See for yourself:

I bought some Gerber Natural Flex pacis on a whim at BRU but when I came home and did some research, I found they possibly contained BPA. So, those were a complete waste of $5. I could have had a foot-long Cold Cut Trio from Subway, dammit. I hate the fact that I have to worry about toxic chemicals in baby products but that is an entire post in itself.

And Nate's been much more clingy than usual. He'll only tolerate being put down for about 5 minutes before the crank-fest kicks off and I can only keep him in his miracle swing if he is clearly about to doze off. Proof is in the pudding:

1 minute

3 minutes

5 minutes

He insists I spend the entire day standing or walking while bouncing him. Not that he cares if his limp 14 lb. body cuts off all circulation in Mommy's arms. Or if my knees buckle from under me due to sheer exhaustion.

He's also back in the habit of fighting sleep. But this time - instead of fighting bedtime - he's fighting his daytime naps. He'll yawn relentlessly and he can barely keep his rosy eyelids from closing, but he'll pout and cry until he's nearly unconscious. And when he wakes up from his coma, he does it with a vengeance. He's sure to let me know he's in need of some lunch and some afternoon delight cuddles.

I have to admit that while I miss the adult interaction and despite his recent cantankerousness , I am fond of our time together alone. Just us. Every smile reminds me that I'm doing something right. Each day we get through, I gain more confidence that maybe I'm not so clueless at this whole motherhood thing.

In The Blue Corner...

...weighing in at approximately 13 lbs., all the way from Mother's Womb, the Birth Canal featherweight champion...Nathaaaaaniel Robert!

And in the red corner, weighing a combined total of 330 lbs., hailing from the Land of Sleep Deprivation...the Parentaaaaaal Units!

[in my best Michael Buffer impersonation] "Let's get ready to rumble!"

Are you placing bets yet? Who's your money on?


What a rumble it was. One for the history books. I never knew such a tiny being could put up such a huge fight when it came to bedtime. You would have thought we were attempting to solicit him as bait for mountain lions or something.

The funny thing is that Nate, for the most part, has always been a good sleeper. Well, as good as one can expect from a youngling of his stature. We can squeeze a couple of 3-4 hour stretches at night out of him. Sometimes even a 5 hour stretch if he cluster feeds all evening long. Normally, we retreat to bed around 10 or 11pm and after 15-20 minutes of side-laying nursing (which I call "cuddle time" even though it involves nipple play), he and I would slowly drift into co-sleeping dreamland. Easy peazy lemon squeezy. Or so I thought.

Like the flick of a switch, he did a 180 and decided he would protest bedtime. My itty bitty activist could no longer be lulled to sleep.

Round 1: Friday night

Nate came out strong, unyielding. He was "in the zone" and ready to show us who was boss (and no, Tony Danza was nowhere to be found). He was not going to sleep without a showdown. It was surprising. His tactics threw DH and I through a loop. We were knocked into a stupor. Was he hungry? In need of a clean diaper? A soothing glider? Was he overstimulated? Understimulated? Just plain pissed off? From 10pm to 1pm, we tried just about every trick in the book. My poor girls needed a break from their role as human pacifier so this was his retaliation, I thought. Finally, some alone time on the Bouncing Daddy ride helped to quiet him down enough to concede.

Rounds 2-5: Saturday through Tuesday

Or not. The fight continues. He was not ready to surrender to those heavy eyelids just yet. For four more straight nights, he left us in a perplexed daze. We wondered if this was going to be the new nightly routine. Brush teeth. Put on some moisturizer and eye cream. Pray for serenity while baby screams incessantly. Nate was clearly the victor. As DH and I scrambled for the energy to hit the snooze button each morning, he slept soundly. Even smiling in his sleep. What an ego on this kid.

Round 6: Wednesday

We had to make a comeback. We couldn't let him make a mockery of us. We needed a strategy. At 9pm, I decided to take preemptive strike - a bath, soaking him in lavender bath wash. I dried him off, dressed him in a onesie and swaddled him tight with one of his thick, yet soft and cozy blankets, being careful to leave his arms loose but his body tight. I turned off all the lights but turned on our oscillating fan. We crawled into bed, where I began to nurse him.

20 minutes later, ladies and gentlemen, we had a knockout. The parental units were triumphant. We're not sure what the secret weapon was or if he just snapped out of a phase. But there was a return to tranquility. Not just Wednesday but Thursday as well. We are grateful.
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In other news, the cluster feeding has ceased. The girls are relieved and are no longer pleading for my sympathies. I thought I was going to have to invest in these, but it seems two may actually be enough.

His hands are still fair game, however. Those poor souls have not been able to save themselves from the slobber monster. I fear they may never escape. But alas, better them than my nips. I doubt they feel pain equally.

Let's just hope there's no relapse.

Owie Wowie

You can file this one under TMI but I have to share what's on my mind today.

My nips hurt.

Not the licked-by-a-kitten, scruffy kind of hurt. More like I'm-a-two-dollar-hooker-on-a-good-day kind of sore. Or maybe that would be a bad day? Anyway, you get my drift. I can barely stand the sensation of my breast pads rubbing against them. My first instinct is to cup them and protect them from the elements, until I realize that my hands are capable of afflicting the same agony.

Can we say OWWWWW?! Guess I need to break out the Lanolin again. I haven't needed it since the first week or two after beginning the Great Breastfeeding Expedition.

For the past few days - and nights - Nate has been quite literally attached to my boobs. Big shocker. We all know they are his most favorite toys in the whole wide world, which have the added bonus of providing nourishment. But lately, it's been so bad that should I remove the boob from his mouth, we get maybe 5 minutes of happy time before I have to plug him back up to quell the wailing. Stubborn child won't be satisfied with a pacifier. Should I offer the colorful apparatus, he shoots me a look of disgust, as if to say, "you must be joking, woman. Fetch me a breast and stop this nonsense!". Just when I thought we might be out of the woods with the whole colic thing, I again found my butt firmly implanted in the recliner all weekend with my girls on display. I felt like a human keg.

Growth spurt perhaps? Homeboy has been gnawing on his hands and slobbering profusely whenever he's actually not nursing. Cute, check. Confusing, check. I'm not sure if he just likes the way they taste and feel or if he is truly giving me a hunger cue.

Tell me it's not teething. Not this soon. I beg of you.

Because, if it is, my poor twins may just detach themselves from my body and run off to a land far far away.