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?
Showing posts with label colic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label colic. Show all posts
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
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.
*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.
Monday, September 29, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Colic Sucks
It's 11pm. Do you know where your kid is?
My boy is in my husband's arms screaming his head off. Tomato face and all. This happens almost every evening between the hours of 8pm and 11pm. Sometimes a tad earlier or a tad later but always the same scenario.
He's been fed. He's been changed. He's been played with. He's been walked around and bounced. We've played music and turned the lights down low. We've put him in his swing. We've cuddled. We have exhausted almost all of our standbys to no avail. Putting him on the boob does tend to work but it also makes him spit up profusely, as he isn't really hungry but inevitably swallows the unwanted milk. I'm not sure if he just gets overtired or overstimulated or if it is true colic. Whatever it is - it stinks. I feel so helpless as Nate cries and there is nothing I can do to soothe him.
DH is losing patience. Fast. But he refuses to hand him over to me for help. He insists that the baby wants me, even though I assure him he would cry just as much in my arms. I know deep down inside, he'd probably cry a little less. But that's just because I'm the mommy. Mommies have that intuition. That instinct. Or in my case, they develop it as they get to know their little one. We can make things better. We're boo-boo fixers.
Of course, Nate prefers me slightly at this point. (1) I'm his food source. (2) I'm the one who has been home all day with him for the past 7 weeks. The only time I've left him is for an hour to get my hair cut while DH babysat (and believe me, I was dying to get out of the salon the minute I walked in).
DH, on the other hand, only had a week of paternity leave before returning back to work. He was supposed to have 2 weeks off but his work requested he return early. Yes, they are asshats but I have a whole 'nother post in the works about that. He works close to 50-60 hours a week, including some nights and weekends. He also cooks dinner every night for us after his 9am-6pm schedule. He's exhausted in the evenings and wants to unwind by working out, watching a movie, playing a video game or listening to some music. So, I take the baby and give him the R&R I know he needs. On weekends, he is the fundamental family man but it is really the only time he has one-on-one with Nate. At least when Nate is in a good or semi-good mood.
I want them to bond. But it is hard when the baby is crying and I can see the frustration written all over DH's face. My first instinct is to swoop in and take over. But I have to step back and I have to let DH learn for himself. I have to let him be the daddy. Even when he is obviously screwing things up (i.e. pouring water in the baby's eye during bathtime), I try not to nag. I've had to let the little stuff slide and realize that he is trying. It may not be up to my "standards" and I may not always agree with what he's doing (i.e. not using wipes after a pee) but I have to let him do it. I can offer suggestions or recommend things that have worked for me (i.e. "Have you tried holding him chest-to-chest? That seemed to help last time.") but that's as far as I can go. And it's not easy. But I realize Nate needs to be able to rely on and trust his father. He won't be able to do that if I'm always controlling everything.
It's funny how before Nate came along, I was the impatient one and DH was always the calm, cool and collected one. My how the roles have changed. It's like giving birth tamed me. Not that I have infinite patience but it certainly takes a lot to really upset me. I can take a lot of crying, screaming, fussing, etc. before it really gets to me. DH on the other hand can only take a few minutes before he starts to lose it.
Ahh, the sweet sound of peace. The boy is finally down. Only took an hour this go round. And DH has just breathed a sigh of relief. A much needed confidence/ego boost. There's another colic slayer in town.
My boy is in my husband's arms screaming his head off. Tomato face and all. This happens almost every evening between the hours of 8pm and 11pm. Sometimes a tad earlier or a tad later but always the same scenario.
He's been fed. He's been changed. He's been played with. He's been walked around and bounced. We've played music and turned the lights down low. We've put him in his swing. We've cuddled. We have exhausted almost all of our standbys to no avail. Putting him on the boob does tend to work but it also makes him spit up profusely, as he isn't really hungry but inevitably swallows the unwanted milk. I'm not sure if he just gets overtired or overstimulated or if it is true colic. Whatever it is - it stinks. I feel so helpless as Nate cries and there is nothing I can do to soothe him.
DH is losing patience. Fast. But he refuses to hand him over to me for help. He insists that the baby wants me, even though I assure him he would cry just as much in my arms. I know deep down inside, he'd probably cry a little less. But that's just because I'm the mommy. Mommies have that intuition. That instinct. Or in my case, they develop it as they get to know their little one. We can make things better. We're boo-boo fixers.
Of course, Nate prefers me slightly at this point. (1) I'm his food source. (2) I'm the one who has been home all day with him for the past 7 weeks. The only time I've left him is for an hour to get my hair cut while DH babysat (and believe me, I was dying to get out of the salon the minute I walked in).
DH, on the other hand, only had a week of paternity leave before returning back to work. He was supposed to have 2 weeks off but his work requested he return early. Yes, they are asshats but I have a whole 'nother post in the works about that. He works close to 50-60 hours a week, including some nights and weekends. He also cooks dinner every night for us after his 9am-6pm schedule. He's exhausted in the evenings and wants to unwind by working out, watching a movie, playing a video game or listening to some music. So, I take the baby and give him the R&R I know he needs. On weekends, he is the fundamental family man but it is really the only time he has one-on-one with Nate. At least when Nate is in a good or semi-good mood.
I want them to bond. But it is hard when the baby is crying and I can see the frustration written all over DH's face. My first instinct is to swoop in and take over. But I have to step back and I have to let DH learn for himself. I have to let him be the daddy. Even when he is obviously screwing things up (i.e. pouring water in the baby's eye during bathtime), I try not to nag. I've had to let the little stuff slide and realize that he is trying. It may not be up to my "standards" and I may not always agree with what he's doing (i.e. not using wipes after a pee) but I have to let him do it. I can offer suggestions or recommend things that have worked for me (i.e. "Have you tried holding him chest-to-chest? That seemed to help last time.") but that's as far as I can go. And it's not easy. But I realize Nate needs to be able to rely on and trust his father. He won't be able to do that if I'm always controlling everything.
It's funny how before Nate came along, I was the impatient one and DH was always the calm, cool and collected one. My how the roles have changed. It's like giving birth tamed me. Not that I have infinite patience but it certainly takes a lot to really upset me. I can take a lot of crying, screaming, fussing, etc. before it really gets to me. DH on the other hand can only take a few minutes before he starts to lose it.
Ahh, the sweet sound of peace. The boy is finally down. Only took an hour this go round. And DH has just breathed a sigh of relief. A much needed confidence/ego boost. There's another colic slayer in town.
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