Four, Three, Two…

We’re on day number two following the second night of Michael in his crib all night long. All three of us decided over the weekend that the “family bed” just wasn’t working anymore. We had breakfast for dinner on Monday evening and discussed our strategy over home fries and sausage gravy. Later that night, I changed the baby into his super deluxe pocket diaper, as always, slathered his neck and limbs down with Aquaphor, as always, read his nighttime story to him in the rocker, as always, shut off the lamp and turned on the green ghost night light, as always, and lovingly sang him a Nick Cave tune as I rocked and nursed him, as always. But instead of bringing him with me into my bedroom and lying down with him in my bed, as I always had before, I put him down in his very own crib with his green bear blankie and shushed and patted him off to dreamland.

He woke up an hour later, when the daddy went in to comfort and soothe him. He woke up three more times, but had a nice chunk of sleep between 1:30 and 4:45 that we took as a good sign for longer independent sleep chunks to come. It was that 4:45 wake up, though, that nearly did us all in. He was up and crying or almost sleeping but then crying again for almost two hours. And when he finally conked back out, he stayed that way until I actually had to go and wake him up at 8:30 to start our day, which involved keeping a doctor’s appointment later that morning.

James and I agreed that it went better than we’d anticipated.

Last night, he woke up three times. And it was easier than the night before to get him back to sleep. At least it was for me, seeing as how I was the one that ended up rising each time his tired little cries escalated enough to echo to our bedroom and penetrate my dreams.

Again, better than we’d anticipated.

I am cautiously optimistic about tonight and the future of our separate beds. Even if he continues to wake three times, I think I can deal with that. He doesn’t seem too put out, and might even be sleeping better than before, though it’s hard to tell for sure. I know that it was a little bit odd for me at first, though. I seemed to have forgotten how I used to sleep. I knew that I would be on heightened alert with him all the way in the adjacent bedroom, which I expected to keep me up, but what I didn’t expect was not knowing what to do with my hands, my arms, how to put the pillow, which side was more comfortable, or was it my back? But by the second night, last night, I think I’m getting the hang of it all again. I do miss having that tiny little cuddle bug up against me in the near darkness, but I also kind of don’t. Because husband cuddles are also just wonderful, and I almost hadn’t realized, with the baby there, how much I’d really missed my man.

Bettering

I am becoming better. In several ways. It is not easy. But it is very, very good.

I am feeding my baby food from my own table. That is, I am preparing and making what he eats because I’m too cheap/broke to spend a small fortune on convenience, packaging and preservatives. It’s another chore on an already impossible daily list, but it’s going well so far. Bananas are easy and freeze well. When I cook them long enough, the sweet potatoes come out lovely. Oatmeal gets easier every time I make it. I still have the box of rice cereal we started with, and I admit that I’ve already cheated a little with the applesauce. I bought a big jar of the regular stuff, the organic “this only has apples and water and nothing else in it” kind. Because I’d already made oatmeal, sweet potatoes and blended bananas the day before. And the dishes hadn’t been done yet. This isn’t anything momentous or excessively daring, but I’m glad to do it, because even though I don’t have a garden, nor would I know what to do with one if I did, I’m saving some money and feeding him good, healthy food in a form that’s really close to how we eat it.

The stroller fitness class I took last month is offered every month, and so I went back this morning. I wasn’t sure I wanted to shell out the dough again, but as I weighed the pros and cons, the pros came back too heavy to lift with my flabby, flabby arms. Which means I still get out of the house three times a week for awhile longer and will continue getting closer to fitting in my old pants even if I happen to have a slice of chocolate cake for dinner every now and again. I feel better when I exercise, I know I do, but I don’t exercise on my own because I have trouble motivating myself. When I’m part of something like this class, which costs me hard-earned money, I have made a commitment. I know that the instructor and the other moms and babies could care less if I show up every time or not, but I care if I miss a session, and that’s just enough to keep me going.

I have been reading offline. I still catch up on my blog reads, but I have shifted my thinking about those. I don’t have to read everything all at once. All those words will be there when I have time for them. They don’t need to be read immediately, and the email doesn’t need to be checked twelve hundred times a day. It’s funny that reading an actual book feels productive where reading on the Internet feels less productive, but that’s how it feels to me. Maybe because when you finish a book, you can close it up and see this object that contains words which are now part of your memories, whereas the Internet is endless, and blogs will extend into infinity as long as the blogger is living his or her life. I still enjoy my blog reads, but I no longer feel that I am missing out if I choose instead to close the laptop and crawl around on the floor making faces at my boy.

I think there are other things I’m doing better. But those are the main ones. I’m still working on the chore list. Trying to organize my days so that I can get the bathrooms, floors, counters, bedrooms and office into the rotation that currently includes dishes and laundry. But I’ll get there. And if we do the math again and come out with a few extra dollars a month, I might see if we can work out some sort of arrangement that involves outside help. Because there are a couple of nooks and crannies around here that could probably use a professional touch. I mean, I’m totally awesome and all, but so far I haven’t figured out the exact formula for adding a few extra hours and a couple of heaping tablespoons of both energy and stamina to my days.

You’ve Missed Me

I know you have. I went one whole entire week without checking email. Without writing a thing. Reading actual books that I held in my hand instead of staring vacantly at a computer screen for hours on end. And you know what? I didn’t die.

Sure, my feed reader is showing an insanely large number of unread things now that I’ve gone a week instead of a few hours between log-ons, but I hardly even missed the computer while I was in Wisconsin. I enjoyed my family, who incidentally curbed some of their own addictions in order to interact with me and mine. Like turning the TV off when it became an obvious distraction.

So what have I been up to the last week? Let me tell you all about it.

On Thursday, we got up at four in the morning to get on a plane by 6:30. Security was a breeze, and we didn’t have to wait long before boarding. M was an angel, even though he didn’t exactly sleep much. He was quiet enough and fairly content. Adorable as usual, our fellow passengers were quite complimentary. My mom picked us up from the airport once we landed, and we went to breakfast with the in-laws. I ate an omelet without cheese, and the baby finally passed out for good in the car on the way back to the house.

I have to say that the spoiling of the grandchild has begun in earnest. When we got to James’ parents’ house, there in the middle of the living room was the Fisher-Price Rainforest Jumparoo. And about fifteen cute little summer outfits. Including a safari hat and sunglasses.

On Thursday, M ate his first banana. He loved it. And one valuable lesson was learned. Banana stains. Not a big deal, because what doesn’t get stained when you have a baby around, really? But good to know for strategically planning his dining location when bananas are on the menu, anyway.

Thursday night, after naps and showers, we headed over to my folks’ place for a hearty dinner of meat and potatoes. It was probably the last time I will have seen their dog, our family dog, Barney, as he is old and decrepit and has a consultation with the vet this Saturday about potentially “ending his suffering.” Sad.

Anyway, Friday morning we had another breakfast out with both sets of parents followed by a brief visit before mine had to get on with their errands. In the afternoon I got my hair cut. I had done a somewhat passable job hacking most of the length a couple of weeks ago, but it needed a bit of help. So my father-in-law scheduled me with Robert, also known as “my Robert” by James’ little girl cousins. First time I think I ever had a man cut my hair, not to mention a straight man. He was very meticulous and complimentary, mistaking me for 17 at first glance (ha!), and going on and on about what a great head of hair I had. He didn’t even make fun of the hack job I had done. Much.

We had a date that night with Rob, his fiancee, the maid of honor and her husband. Fabulous French food and a delicious pomegranate martini. Meanwhile, James’ parents had a nice time with their grandson, which was good to hear because he had been very attached to the mommy during the time we had spent with everyone so far. They gave him some oatmeal, bananas and a bath, and went for a little walk around the neighborhood, where M got to smile and flirt with all the curious neighbors who came out to peek at him. We got back from dinner fairly early, and James went out for a few beers with Nick and Jeff. I cuddled up with the boy and slept.

Saturday was Rob’s wedding, which was very casual but really fun. It was great to see a bunch of friends and watch his mom’s friends get DRUNK. I swear, they were worse than us “kids” with the open bar. It was hilarious. There was no dj, so that group of hooligans got to singing, and while they were at it, I looked at Shari and Michelle and we realized that we were experiencing the future. In thirty years, it’ll be us bellowing some old tune at one of our kids’ weddings. Something to look forward to.

I’m so glad that we got to share Rob’s day, that James got to stand up as his best man. It was nice to hang out with Rob and Lindsey, who we really hadn’t had much chance to get to know very well until their wedding weekend. They seem right together, and so happy and in love, and I really don’t know what more to say about their wedding without getting all sappy.

Since it was an early wedding and reception, we got back to my parents’ place, where they and my sister and future brother-in-law had been watching our boy, by dinner time. We had brats and burgers, and the evening ended with James, Nick and Mom doing tequila shots. They made it to two apiece before M fell asleep on Mom’s shoulder and she was immediately down for the count.

Sunday morning, my boy got baptized. The ceremony itself seemed a little off the cuff. It took place during a regular Sunday mass, and the church lady and the priest each told us something different about where to sit and stand. It was nice, though, and somehow only lasted about an hour. M loved the part where we were standing up front and everyone was looking at him. He was so proud of himself, despite having no idea what was going on.

After church, we went back to my parents’ house, where we all ate way too much food. The weather was gorgeous, family and friends gathered together, M had trouble napping with all that was going on, but he was able to remain fairly sociable for almost the entire time. We took a lot of pictures after most of the guests left, and he looked really adorable in his little white suit, sewn by my mother out of the skirt of my wedding gown.

Monday was a pretty mellow day. My sister had to head back up to Minnesota, and then we headed back to James’ parents’ house. I got to read and relax while M slept for quite some time, and we all had dinner together at the Olive Garden. We determined that the boy must be going through a growth spurt because all he seemed to do all day was eat and sleep. I’ve never really noticed growth-spurt-type behavior like that in him before, so this was pretty new to me. He’s getting heavier, and his belly is getting all round. And I guess that’s just what’s supposed to happen.

Yesterday was spent packing up and saying goodbye. We don’t really like those days as much. The flight back home was pretty good, though M only slept five minutes and was completely exhausted by the time we landed. At least he was easily distracted and the pressure didn’t seem to have much effect on his ears or good spirits. He’s become an old pro at this flying stuff, and he even seemed to remember our home once we got here. He slept great last night, and today went down for naps in the crib without too much fuss.

Of course, now that he’s tasted the sweet nectar of bananas and sweet potatoes, when I only had rice cereal in the house this morning, he spat back every bite and looked at me with this smile like, “I’m sure you must be joking” every time I got the spoon anywhere near his messy little face.

Well, I’m off to finish unpacking, do some more laundry, go with my husband to take the car to be fixed, stop at the bank and the post office, cook some more sweet potato, mash some bananas, and oh yeah, maybe bathe myself sometime today.

My goal with this blogging thing is not really to go a week between posts, but maybe to say a little bit at more frequent intervals. Nap times are good for that. So until the next good nap, I bid you good day.

Thinking

So we’re heading back to the motherland on Thursday, which has my mind in packing mode. I’m thinking about breast milk and oatmeal. About dresses and haircuts. Car seats, strollers and baby gear.

I’m thinking about my computer. It would be easy enough to bring it along. I mean, I brought it with me when I flew by myself without issue. It was nice to have. But this is a short trip. I’m thinking that a camera and a notebook will suffice. I can check my email anywhere. Write a blog post on someone else’s machine. If I have any period of time in which to do so.

I’ve been trying to cut the cord between me and this little old laptop. I can get more done when I leave it shut off, as I’ve mentioned. I can connect better to other people when I can focus both eyes in their direction. And the visits to the family are always so short anyway. No matter how much time we plan.

So I guess I’m thinking I’ll leave it home this time. Even though a laptop is so portable. And one of the reasons I got it was to bring it with me when I went places. But since I don’t have any work to do on it right now, and we’re only gone less than a week, there’s really no good reason to lug it around.

I’m going to try to get a few things washed and eaten before the boy wakes up. I know my posting has been less frequent lately, but I’m alright with that.

Six Months

Dear Michael,

Today you are six months old. One half of a whole year. It has been a big month for us. You are still the sweetest and most adorable little one I know, and even when things are rough, I’ve really found myself loving every minute we get to spend together.

Our greatest accomplishment of the month only really happened a few days ago. You have started taking your naps in your crib. You put up a bit of a fight the first couple of days, but now, you’re all, “Oh yeah, it’s time to sleep here. Zzzzz.” It’s funny how much I stressed about the transition. How badly I felt that we were still putting you to sleep in the car seat. Because it hasn’t done any harm. And the worst part is, I can’t take any credit for the crib sleeping. Because it’s all you. You are just that adaptable. I often talk to you about what’s going on, what we plan for your immediate future, and even though I know that you don’t understand the words exactly, you seem to know exactly what we expect. Sure not always, you are a baby, after all. But in general, I should probably just shut up and work with you instead of fearing the worst.

We have started giving you your first solid food. So far, it’s been rice cereal. The first time you tried this new concoction, you made faces and we ended up tossing out about half of what we made. You seemed more interested in the spoon than what was on it. The next morning, however, it was a whole new ballgame. You opened wide and held your hands up and out of the way so that you could have uninterrupted access to the deliciousness coming at you over and over again. Every cereal meal since then, you have shown great enthusiasm as soon as you see that dish and spoon. And no matter how much I make, you always seem disappointed when it’s all gone. I can’t imagine what will happen once you taste oatmeal, applesauce, sweet potatoes, bananas, and all the other flavors we will introduce to you.

Speaking of your mouth, it cracks me up daily how you use that thing. You talk a lot, and your tongue is out almost constantly. You have this teether toy that I often give you when we go out somewhere, and one end is a little sphere shape that you rub your mouth on while shaking your head back and forth and yelling, so it comes out sounding like, “babababababababa.” I laugh and laugh and laugh. And you look around for me and smile, too. You do the same thing with my knees or shoulders, too. Sometimes even my breast. And it’s funny every time. I’m sure it’s because you’re beginning some serious teething, but so far it hasn’t bothered you much. I hope that you stay happy even when they start cutting through.

You are sitting up easily now without help, even though we still sometimes will put the Boppy around your butt, you don’t need it. When you tip over, you actually catch yourself. Or you land on your face and turn around to your tummy to go after a water bottle or the tag on one of your toys. You love those tags. But the best part about playing on the floor is when you grab onto mine or Daddy’s fingers and pull yourself up to standing. You’ve started doing it without our help, now, and your smile is enormous every time you do it. You’re still not crawling, but that doesn’t seem to bother you at all. And it’s fine with me because we have yet to finish baby-proofing this place.

You have gotten familiar enough with your environment that you are starting to see the humor in it. Sometimes the most mundane things will just crack you up. Your dad and I have always enjoyed laughing together, and it’s even better when there are three of us laughing. I can’t believe how happy you are. You seem to know you’ve got it pretty good, and you don’t often complain. Not even when you have horrible, horrible diarrhea.

That poop issue showed me again what being a parent is all about. And even though cleaning up (and catching) some of the green water was never exactly something I looked forward to when I dreamed of you before you were born, it wasn’t as bad as it sounds. Poop does come out in the wash. The stench fades. Either the rice cereal or my lack of dairy intake seems to have solved the issue. And you are strong and happy.

We walked in the March of Dimes March for Babies a few days ago. It was a long morning for you, full of pouring rain, loud music, tons of people and even actual thunder. You had a smile for everyone you saw. You usually do. Everyone wants to cuddle with you, and you are more than happy to let them. I love how much you love people. I hope that you always have such an open heart. Your life will be so rewarding if it continues to be so full of love. You show your love in so many new ways every day, I can hardly begin to describe each one and how it makes us feel so lucky to know you. To be in your life. To have you in ours. Thanks for that. You have no idea what it means.

Love,
Mommy

Gasping

I decided at some point over this past weekend that Monday would begin the Naps In Crib (NIC). I had to gear myself up for the struggle, because I knew it would be a struggle. It would mean less “me time” because who knows how long a nap would last with the change in setting.

We’re going to wait to move him to the crib for night time until he’s comfortable sleeping in there during the day. I refuse to make the bedtime a battleground. Besides, we are all at least getting some sleep together in the bed, so I’m not quite ready myself to kick him out when he is just such a ball of cuddles who greets me with the biggest smile in the world every morning. We’ll get there, eventually, and hopefully it won’t be too traumatic a transition for any of us.

He is napping in the crib right now. But it wasn’t easy. I wound him down, we did our routine, and it ended with him in the crib instead of the car seat. He was very upset. So I sang the lullaby and tried to shush him down, but eventually just left the room to let him cry in a Ferber-esque fashion. I went back in three minutes later. Then five. He was on his belly and seemed very close to shutting his eyes. But he had a wet diaper. So I changed him and he yelled a lot, but I put him back down on his belly again, patted and rubbed his back talking softly and shushing, and he did actually fall asleep.

But it’s that agonizing baby sleep where he’s still so upset that he keeps gasping. Or sobbing. Whatever the action is, it’s so heartbreaking. I’m glad he’s asleep on his own, but I really hate those little gasps. His nose also sounds a little stuffy.

He’s usually so active when he’s on his stomach that I didn’t think he would end up a tummy sleeper. At night, he sleeps on his side or back mostly. I guess when he’s all by himself and not strapped into a cozy little seat, the tummy just feels better. In any case, if we can keep it going this way, we might have a champion crib sleeper before too long. Keep your fingers crossed.

Unplugged

Recently, I spend most of my days with the television off. I watch a few select shows, and a little bit more when the husband is home, but overall, I think I’ve pretty much kicked that habit. It’s nice. I really kind of enjoy the quiet for the most part, and when I don’t, there’s always music.

But the Internet has been the other 300lb gorilla on my back. Because I have a laptop, it just sits here in the middle of the living room, reminding me that there is email to check, blogs to read (or write), and other things that might need looking up (see: green+watery+baby+poop). I tend to have one eye on the screen as I feed my son or watch him play on the floor. And I realized that I don’t like giving half of my attention to things. Maybe it was this blog post on Internet addiction that made it really hit home, but whatever it is that made me wake up to it, I have been trying to shut the computer more and give my life the undivided attention it deserves.

But it hasn’t been easy. Babies do pretty much the same thing all the time. And even though he’s incredibly adorable and entertaining, making silly faces and talking about whatever nonsense is going on around the house for hours on end can really wear a mother down. I’ve had a couple of days when I felt like I might be able to be superwoman. To get a household project done beyond dishes and laundry, which I’m pretty good at completing fairly regularly. I have yet to actually get into the costume, but I’ve imagined the glory of what my superpowers will accomplish, and it is glorious indeed.

One thing that’s especially difficult about reducing my online time is the fact that family and friends far away from us enjoy a consistent flow of photos and thoughts from our little corner of the world. And uploading photos and editing (where needed) always takes longer than it should. So maybe I’ll need to devote a certain time or day specifically for that purpose. It will take planning and discipline, probably more than I realize, but in the end, I won’t just have the photos to remember my boy’s babyhood, but I’ll have real live memories in my head, too. And that will be something.

I think that not only closing my computer but also eventually putting it away in the office when not in use will help me be better. Physically and emotionally as well as a better wife and friend, a better mother. If I can kick this habit, now, and indulge in moderation, I might just become invincible. So, watch out for that.

To Find the Time

I have been busy. Doing what? I’m not entirely sure. I’ve been going to my fitness class with the baby for two weeks now. And I’ve had some afternoons out and about. There’s work. Attempting to keep house. Failing to keep house. And caring for a stinky little baby butt.

The doctor’s no longer concerned about the poop. But there may be other things going on. We’ve got an appointment for the 29th to see how everything is coming along.

On Thursday, we gave him rice cereal for the first time. Since then, morning and evening meals have included this new taste sensation. At first, he seemed put off. But every time we’ve tried it since, he’s gobbled it down like it’s the most amazing thing that’s ever going to happen to him. He has no idea. There is oatmeal in store. And sweet potatoes, bananas, applesauce even! He’s going to be so psyched.

I’ve been trying to stay off the computer more. I realized that I sometimes favor the screen over the baby when I have it running. That’s another explanation for my absence lately. But already, I hear him waking from his nap, so I must unplug again for another little while.

I have my March of Dimes walk tomorrow morning, so if you’ve noticed the purple and pink graphic over there in my side bar and have any desire to make a little contribution, now would be the time. Thanks. I’m out.

Frak

So we’ve been working our way through the first three seasons of Battlestar Gallactica on DVD. We had planned to record the new episodes when they started so that we could move seamlessly into season four, but alas, I think we’ve already missed one. Of course, with technology the way it is, we might be able to catch it online.

A few years ago, I remember seeing a commercial here and there for the show. Never caught my interest. And frankly, the snippets of dialog totally turned me off. Because there was this one made up word used over and over again to get around the fact that you can’t drop a real f-bomb on television. I rolled my eyes, and I figured that this was just another one of those nerd shows and it probably isn’t very good if swearing  (or blatant substitution for swearing) is the only way to make a point.

But it is a good show. Yeah, sure, it’s a total nerd show, no question. But it’s good. And I’m enjoying it. But I still roll my eyes to myself every time they use the f-word. Frak. Frakking, frakker, frakked. Doesn’t matter the context really, though my eye rolls become more exaggerated with the noun and verb (”mother-frakker” or “he totally frakked her”) forms than with the adjective, adverb or just plain expletive usage (”frak this,” “it’s all frakked up”). Though even the lesser eye-roll inducing usages are still noticeable enough that I have to make a concerted effort to ignore them and just follow the story already.

Maybe it’s just me. But as a word nerd, this just strikes me as a cop out. There have been plenty of times in my own writing where I have forgone the use of a four-letter word in favor of something that turned out to be even more powerful. Sure, I’ve utilized the cursing here and there, but the words do tend to lose some of their steam after you hear them over and over again. Even the f-word (the real one).

Now, James brought it to my attention that since the show has a military majority as far as the characters go, the consistent and excessive use of any type of curse word is actually quite realistic. And I get that. I totally do. But this frak word? Well, I guess because it’s not really a cuss word but a stand-in, it just sounds sillier and sillier the more dramatically and intensely it is invoked. Why not just stick to the swears you can actually say on television? There really aren’t too many that are off the table anymore.

I’m just saying.

See Sara Run

So let’s ditch the poop talk for a moment and talk about the mommy a little bit. I want to take a minute to say that my first week of “Oh Baby! Stroller Fitness” at our community fitness center has both kicked my butt and thrilled me enormously. We meet three times a week (right around nap time, of course), and there are other moms there with babies right around M’s age who are like me enough in that they are also interested in getting up and moving around so that an entire new wardrobe won’t be necessary to purchase.

We have two different instructors because the official instructor has a scheduling conflict, but it’s actually working out to be more of a good thing than a bad thing. Each one has her own way of leading the workout. One is more free-form and the other more structured, so we get the chance to work a variety of muscles in a variety of ways. Also? I’m learning how to use my own yoga ball for something other than baby bouncing.

So every day we do some warm up laps followed by the stroller lunges. And let me just tell you that after Monday’s class, I was hurting. And I had a lot of walking around to do on Monday and Tuesday. And the lunges on Wednesday morning again? Brutal. But today… today I feel awesome. Even though I couldn’t finish the suicides. Which, if you (like me) are not really the sporty type, is a running exercise. Run a short distance, touch the ground, run back to the start, touch, run a longer distance, touch, back to start, touch, longer, touch, back to start, etc. We were supposed to do five of these runs. I got to three, and that was pushing it. Sara is not a runner.

It was a good workout, but I didn’t really expect the running today because we hadn’t done that yet. I really like the parts of the workout when we actually get the babies out of the strollers and use them as weights and such. M loves those parts, too.

I’ve gotten to talk go a couple of the other moms, and the nice part about this class thing is that there are only six of us. Which means that we won’t be learning names until it’s over. I’m hoping that I can find some other common ground with these gals, and maybe we can continue to get together with our strollers for lunges that won’t require a monthly fee.

No Poop for You!

Don’t you just love it when you spend a whole day collecting liquid stool from an unpredictable little butt and call two different nurse advice lines wondering how much you should catch and if it’s okay to combine multiple movements into the same sample cup to make sure there’s enough to test and then finally bring the little cup with its barely 20ml of foul smelling waste over to the lab so that someone can tell you what the hell is going on with your baby’s intestines, only to have them take one look at the little plastic baggie with its formerly sterile collection cup and say, “oh, that’s the wrong container, we can’t test that.”

So then they give you another little vial with this red liquid in it that preserves whatever they need to look at in the mess that for the love of all that is holy should just soak into the diaper, get tossed in the pail and be forgotten just like all the other hundreds of messes you’ve already changed and laundered, and you look at the woman like, “Are you kidding me?” Because it’s not like this is an easy way to spend one’s day. Hovering around a baby’s butt with a cup and a prayer, thinking that he might have been grunting just now, which might possibly, maybe, perhaps indicate that if I stand here long enough with this cup pressed against his little hole there might dribble something worth saving for whatever vigilant scrutiny will allow us to know a little more about the digestive mysteries that have been plaguing this household for the last 96 hours or so.

So you ask, yes, you finally remembered to ask right then and there all the important questions. Do I catch it just once? Will a tiny little bit be enough? How would you suggest I go about it? An empty cup is one thing, a cup already half filled with red chemicals is entirely another. And you get answers, go home with your peacefully-napping-for-ten-minutes child, who promptly wakes up as soon as you’re out of your sneakers mad that he’s got to go (yes, go) again right now when you both only wish he would just keep his eyes closed for another few blessed minutes so you could maybe pee or have a snack, and you realize that the going already happened, and you missed your chance for the whole thing to maybe be over once and for all (unless someone tomorrow changes the rules again), and he’s still crabby and sleepy but fighting it, or maybe he’s not really sleepy and it’s just your wishful thinking because you are amazed to still be standing yourself, but finally, somehow, you manage to catch a tiny bit of that stuff oozing from his bottom, drip it into the red stuff in the cup and put it all away to think about later, or hopefully never, ever again…

Yeah, don’t you just love it when that happens? Me too.

But if you’re lucky, you manage to perform the miracle that is getting an overtired baby to nap with only a mild emotional spillover, and finally, finally relax and read a book that has nothing at all to do with babies or poo, and if you’re super duper lucky, there is also chocolate and a phone call from your sister who is, as of a few hours ago today, officially engaged to the man of her dreams.

Goodbye

Doctor’s orders are for me to be more conscious. Of course, this is my take, not his words. I had a hunch before we went in that it might be a later-manifesting allergy. It’s not certain yet, because the possibility still exists that it’s just a virus, bacteria or other nasty little bug on its way out, but we’re also going to give the elimination thing a go, just to see what happens.

I’m not the most conscious eater. I mean, I try to choose wisely what goes onto my plate and into my mouth, attempting to avoid over processed and fast foods more often than not. I try to include veggies and fruits and proteins, etc. And one of the healthier ways I’d come to snack was to snack on things like cheese or yogurt.

Dairy has so much good in it. And it’s so delicious. And I’m really, really going to miss the big things like frozen custard, my daily yogurt and lunches of spinach and melted sharp cheddar folded in a warm tortilla. But I think what’s going to be most difficult is cutting the stuff I hardly think about. Like the addition of Parmesan cheese to my pasta. Or butter to… well, lots of things.

But I’ll do it. I’ll drink soy milk and eat plainer pasta and try to stay conscious of all those places dairy hides in plain sight. Because as gross as my boy’s poop was before, at least it didn’t concern me beyond the wiping and laundering. This new brand makes me a little more uneasy the longer it lingers. And if my diet is the culprit, well then, at least the solution also lies with me. And for the sake of his little intestines, I’ll give up whatever it takes.

So goodbye for now, my ice cream, custard, butter, moo-cow milk, cheese, chocolate, yogurt and every delicious food product originating from a bovine teat. I will miss you, but we’ll meet again so joyously when we either find out there’s no allergy after all or once my own milk ceases to flow.

The Things We Do

When I called the doctor’s office this morning, I waited on hold for several long minutes to talk to the nurse, knowing that the next few sentences to leave my mouth were going to be poop related.

I explained the poop situation as briefly and as accurately as possible, and because I’m one of those annoyingly laid-back parents, I was hopeful that she’d just have an answer for me that wouldn’t necessitate me bringing the boy in for a once-over. No such luck. The poop query turned into scheduling an appointment for later today in less time than I had been on hold.

Because the issue has to do with what’s coming out of my son’s butt, the advice nurse asked me if I had saved the diaper in question. I told her that I was just about to wash them, so technically, I did still have it available to me. She suggested that it might help the doc to bring the diaper with me if I could find it.

I’m pretty sure that whatever is going on with my son’s butt will be fixable with minimal inconvenience, and perhaps the diaper isn’t entirely necessary for diagnosis. But what did I do as I prepared the diaper load for washing? I picked each moist cloth rectangle from its bag and revisited every diaper since yesterday morning, lovingly tossing them one by one into the washer until I found that one particular piece of cotton.

This kind of love doesn’t just happen. I’m not sure how we get there, but as parents, we end up doing things for these little humans that we probably would never do for anyone else. Ever. And we do them without question. Because they need us to.

Thoughts from the Ladder

At work yesterday, I was up on the ladder down-filling the stock, which is exactly what it sounds like, and my mind got to working. This was, of course, early enough in the day that my brain had not yet gone blank with exhaustion. So I was moving pacifiers, bottles and sippy-cups on down the wall, and I was thinking about life and plastic.

I’m not going to get into the chemical stuff, though that question has come up quite a lot in my first few shifts at the store. What I was thinking about in the feeding room yesterday was my own childhood and my kid, and how the whole “sippy” thing has exploded.

Because we have half a wall of sippy-cups. All shapes, sizes and colors. We stock cups that snap together with snack bowls, packs of cheap disposable ones, stainless steel and those that convert from bottle on up. We have sippy caps that screw onto standard size, vending machine drink bottles (I’m thinking water and juice, though I’m sure they screw right onto soda bottles just as nicely), and handles sold separately that can make the regular bottle into one that’s easier on little hands.

Back in my day, we had brightly colored plastic cups that had one type of translucent snap-on lid. And the ones with weighted round bottoms that rolled around a little but rarely spilled. Over the months or years of use, the sippy spouts became chewed and ragged. They had no valves or other fancy technology to prevent the spillage of water, milk or juice. And spill we did. But it worked, and it wasn’t long before we could be trusted with regular cups. Which also spilled on occasion, I’m sure.

I had a customer ask me the other day for a sippy cup that wasn’t spill-proof. He left my department empty handed. Because I couldn’t find one sippy without the fancy valve. Not one brand, including the “Take and Toss,” had forgone the “no-drip” feature. He got me thinking that to take away the ability to spill might deprive us of a teaching opportunity and our kids of a learning opportunity, even if it means having to wipe up a few drips and dribbles along the way. If once cannot spill by tipping over a cup full of liquid, one must find an alternative method of learning that certain actions carry with them certain consequences. I suppose that’s where Baby Einstein comes into play.

As I looked at package after package of sippy-cups, I also wondered when I should get one for my kid. Some of these had age recommendations from 3 months up. When I asked my manager about the appropriate “sippy-cup age,” she answered that the sippy cup is often used as a transition away from the bottle and yes, as early as 3 months. But as with pretty much every step involved in raising small children, the timing varies. I actually think M would get a kick out of a new cup, especially something neat looking that was designed with the intention of him sucking on it and drinking from it. He’s fascinated by every glass, mug and water bottle that we have used in our house, so why not? I guess I never really thought of the sippy going with breast milk (or formula if that’s the way you roll), and that’s all that M is drinking right now. But I suppose there’s no reason it can’t serve that purpose.

In conclusion, I guess I just found myself a little overwhelmed by all the options that a parent has when it comes to feeding their baby and/or toddler. It would probably allow me to better recommend stuff if I end up using one or several of these bottles, pacifiers, sippys, teethers, etc. And since he already has no interest in a pacifier and rarely drinks from a bottle, perhaps a sippy-cup is the next logical purchase.

I’m not sure why I’m over thinking all of this, but I am sure that this post about my disjointed thoughts on the subject is getting lengthy and dull. I’m even starting to bore myself, over here. But I guess that’s how it goes sometimes when everything’s just going along as it should be.

Our new washing machine was delivered this afternoon. The baby is happy, and the husband is home. I’ve been reading a book that has nothing to do with how to take care of a baby or raise a child (I’m swearing those off for awhile, I think). We made our reservations for our May flight to Milwaukee, and I ordered a new swimsuit. Besides the sippy-cups, there’s not a whole lot on my mind at the moment. And you know what? I’m good with that.

No Foolin’

Seems like we’ll be shopping the sales for a new washer. Since the estimated repairs with labor and parts will most likely exceed $1000.

Of course, the guy couldn’t say for sure because it would have taken a second guy to help him take a real good look at the back of the disabled appliance, so we could have them come take another look after we have arranged things more appropriately, but it’s not looking good based on the technician’s best guess.

So I guess we’ll be stimulating the economy with our check from Uncle Sam after all, instead of paying back the money we used to stimulate the economy over the past few years. Curses.