Yesterday I went to Wal-Mart. I really, really don't like Wal-Mart. I don't like how their guaranteed-lowest-price policies have affected suppliers, I don't like how big they are, I don't like the store layouts or lighting or flooring, I don't like that they have become the largest employer in the country with such crap low-end service jobs. (I'm not going to judge you if you shop at Wal-Mart. The prices are the lowest and money's tight.) Baby L had a birthday present duplicated and it was purchased at Wal-Mart, and I don't feel like throwing money into the street, so I was at Wal-Mart.
There was a petitioner table set up outside the Wal-Mart that had a sign: "Stop big box stores." I did a double-take. The Wal-Mart has not called the cops to drive away the petitioners collecting signatures to ban Wal-Mart?
On the way out, I stopped. "Sign here," a woman directed me, and I said, "I want to read the draft of your proposition." So I did.
Two weeks ago, in San Diego, the city council passed an ordinance that would force big-box developers to conduct community impact studies--how will these stores affect local business studies--before developing a store. (I'm sure they're conducting these studies already to determine where to put a store; they're just not keen on sharing that info with the community at large.) The mayor tried to veto the measure, and the council overrode it.
The petition is a referendum that would strike that measure and put any development of a Wal-Mart to a public vote. I don't know if you've noticed this, but with certain obvious exceptions (Hi, Meg and Carly!) elections seem to swing in the direction of who's got the most money. Wal-Mart has a lot of money.
The guy I talked to began trying the tactic on the sign, big box stores are coming into our community, and I said, "But that's the complete opposite of what this measure does. This measure breaks what the city council just fixed to let big-box stores into our community."
Then he changed tactics: we live in a free enterprise society, bigger companies than Wal-Mart have come and gone, Wal-Marts are good for their communities because they bring jobs and give back to the community. To which I said, more free the more wealth you have; we are seeing the greatest concentration of wealth in the hands of a few than we've ever seen in this country; the jobs are crap and they're not giving back nearly as much as they could.
No, I did not sign it. "But you're here bargain shopping," he said to me.
"I'm exchanging a present."
I've seen similar signs outside my beloved Trader Joe's in the liberal bastion of Hillcrest; I'm wondering how many people signed it without reading it. How despicable and desperate do you have to be to advertise the exact opposite of what your measure does to get signatures?
Friday, December 17, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
Movie day: too tired to read
Yep, it's movie day, also known as Mommy-is-sick day. My throat is sore, my head is thick with snot, and I'm just dumb today. I could crawl back into bed and sleep, but so far, the children are not accommodating my wishes by taking their naps like they certainly should be. I'm frankly too tired and unaware to go for a drive to put them to sleep. I already had a home improvement project gone awry, so I'm taking the hint and limiting the amount of damage I can do today.
So. Ponyo goes into the DVD player and I close doors to adjacent rooms. Mr. A watches Ponyo. The baby climbs all over the furniture. I stare into the middle distance in a stupor until someone yells. I would like to drink large pots of tea but unfortunately I do not trust myself with hot tea and babies. I'm not even reading, people, and I got a new book in the mail today, a picture book. That's how tired I am.
So. Ponyo goes into the DVD player and I close doors to adjacent rooms. Mr. A watches Ponyo. The baby climbs all over the furniture. I stare into the middle distance in a stupor until someone yells. I would like to drink large pots of tea but unfortunately I do not trust myself with hot tea and babies. I'm not even reading, people, and I got a new book in the mail today, a picture book. That's how tired I am.
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
Advertising or article?
C and I are trying to instill un-merchandised joys in our kids. We decided that we couldn't teach our kids that the best things in life aren't things you own while supplying them with lots and lots of things. God knows they have toys and games, but we try to err on the generic, open-ended, unbranded side. We don't have Transformers, Spiderman, Zhuzhu pets, and the like. A has some Disney shirts and that's about it for the branded things. (Toy brands we have: Lego, Playmobile, Melissa & Doug, bring it on.)
I was reading a magazine with A and he started asking me about the articles, specifically, a "Top Twenty-Five Toys This Christmas" kind of article. I explained to him that it looked like an article but it was actually an advertisement, which is a picture or story to get me to buy something from a company. [Note: I know lots of this is whoosh, over his head. But I didn't talk down to A when he was a baby and I'm not going to start now.] We tried "guess the ad" through the rest of the magazine and that's difficult for a grownup, let alone a four-year-old.
We drove to school that morning and A saw a picture on a billboard that had been in the magazine and pointed it out. So then we had a discussion about advertising again and all the ways companies advertise: magazines, radio, Internet, movies, billboards, clothing. I tried explaining to A that when he wears a shirt with someone else's picture on it, he's advertising for that company, and that I thought he was special enough that the only shirts we let him have with people or characters on them were the ones he really liked: Buzz, Pooh, Tigger.
He thought about this, and then said, "I want a shirt with all my friends' names on it so I can advertise them."
We do have the sweetest boy in the universe. Amazingly, adorably sweet.
I was reading a magazine with A and he started asking me about the articles, specifically, a "Top Twenty-Five Toys This Christmas" kind of article. I explained to him that it looked like an article but it was actually an advertisement, which is a picture or story to get me to buy something from a company. [Note: I know lots of this is whoosh, over his head. But I didn't talk down to A when he was a baby and I'm not going to start now.] We tried "guess the ad" through the rest of the magazine and that's difficult for a grownup, let alone a four-year-old.
We drove to school that morning and A saw a picture on a billboard that had been in the magazine and pointed it out. So then we had a discussion about advertising again and all the ways companies advertise: magazines, radio, Internet, movies, billboards, clothing. I tried explaining to A that when he wears a shirt with someone else's picture on it, he's advertising for that company, and that I thought he was special enough that the only shirts we let him have with people or characters on them were the ones he really liked: Buzz, Pooh, Tigger.
He thought about this, and then said, "I want a shirt with all my friends' names on it so I can advertise them."
We do have the sweetest boy in the universe. Amazingly, adorably sweet.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Halloween
A decided he wanted to be an orca for Halloween. A killer whale? you say. Like Shamu? the locals say. Yes, a killer whale, or as it is known in its less pejorative way here, an orca.
Naps for all small children and I sewed. My last iron was tossed haphazardly into a box in the move and the steam reservoir did not survive, so a new iron was purchased last weekend. It's a fancy Rowenta and I can honestly say I've never felt this way about an iron before. It irons like a happy five-hundred-degree slice of heaven; I feel like I should have Snow-White-esque woodland animals holding up my skirts as I iron.
I got most of the costume together, which only meant two trips to the dreaded Joann's fabrics. I have not placed the all-important white spots on either side of the orca's head, nor have I put the actual eyes in place. And I was debating whether or not the costume looked like a sixth grader's craft project and whether I should resew some seams or rethink the entire configuration, when my darling husband said to me, "He doesn't care. All he will remember is that he wanted to be an orca and his mommy made him an orca costume." So then I felt better. I'm a mommy who made her kid a costume, yay!
The orca's just one of several projects going here, but next week C is off for comp time for the awfulness that were the 70-to-80 hour workweeks and we'll get traction, I swear. Now I just need to get L and A together for a little mommy-indulgent Halloween photo shoot...
[Edited to add images: boy as orca, brothers as Calvin and Hobbes. Enjoy!]
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Vowels and consonants
We've started teaching A to read. Well, not true. We've been reading to him since he came home from the hospital, and that's part of teaching A to read. I read from early, early and don't remember learning to read, so I just assumed A would have picked it up by now because we read all the time. I'm surprised L doesn't read yet either.
Then I realized, hmm, maybe I'm a little naive about these things.
His pre-K teacher told me, "A's got a memory I can't believe. That kid remembers everything." They were learning new songs, and A knew all the words before the teachers. He's interested in words, books, and songs, and he's got a good memory. Time to read.
So I got a book on teaching reading through phonics, since C learned phonics and his guesses on pronunciation of new words are more to the mark than mine. The book we have talks about the difference between consonants and vowels, as well as the different types of consonant sounds (voiced, unvoiced, nasal). I thought this was a little much but lo and behold, he was able to differentiate for me between the different types. ("That one doesn't need air, Mommy.")
We're up to M now. Now everything that has words is "Look, there are some vowels and consonants on there!" Not letters. Not words. Vowels and consonants.
We've had a couple instances where I'm not sure if he was reading or just memorized something. I'm guessing memorization since his Pre-K has an extensive library and so I don't know all the books he's read. When we actually finish the book, it's going to be difficult to get a book the Pre-K doesn't have to test him.
Then I realized, hmm, maybe I'm a little naive about these things.
His pre-K teacher told me, "A's got a memory I can't believe. That kid remembers everything." They were learning new songs, and A knew all the words before the teachers. He's interested in words, books, and songs, and he's got a good memory. Time to read.
So I got a book on teaching reading through phonics, since C learned phonics and his guesses on pronunciation of new words are more to the mark than mine. The book we have talks about the difference between consonants and vowels, as well as the different types of consonant sounds (voiced, unvoiced, nasal). I thought this was a little much but lo and behold, he was able to differentiate for me between the different types. ("That one doesn't need air, Mommy.")
We're up to M now. Now everything that has words is "Look, there are some vowels and consonants on there!" Not letters. Not words. Vowels and consonants.
We've had a couple instances where I'm not sure if he was reading or just memorized something. I'm guessing memorization since his Pre-K has an extensive library and so I don't know all the books he's read. When we actually finish the book, it's going to be difficult to get a book the Pre-K doesn't have to test him.
Mama, hi, A!
Baby L has been saying, "Mama, mama, mama," when he's hungry or when I am not nearby, so we're getting pretty close to calling that his official first word. He's been sick and unhappy, but he's getting better, which always makes me remember how cheery and happy he is by nature. When he's not sick, he's one of the happy generation. When he is sick, I think he's how most people walk around in the world.
But now he's got words popping out all over. He signs for milk, just like his brother did. (It's important to be able to get food.) Yesterday, while we were playing, "How big is L? So big!" over and over again, he stopped to wave at me and say, "Hi!"
This morning, C called out the window to A, who was in the backyard, "Hey, A?" and baby L said, "Aaaaaaaaaa-ay." Someone told me that the first baby's first word is, "Mama," and the second baby's first word is the first baby's name, since it's the word he hears the most. We'll see if he repeats it.
But now he's got words popping out all over. He signs for milk, just like his brother did. (It's important to be able to get food.) Yesterday, while we were playing, "How big is L? So big!" over and over again, he stopped to wave at me and say, "Hi!"
This morning, C called out the window to A, who was in the backyard, "Hey, A?" and baby L said, "Aaaaaaaaaa-ay." Someone told me that the first baby's first word is, "Mama," and the second baby's first word is the first baby's name, since it's the word he hears the most. We'll see if he repeats it.
Friday, October 01, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Four is not a discreet age
A and I had a conversation recently. He said, "L has such pretty hair that I think he should be a girl."
And I explained that yes, L had pretty hair, but that no, it didn't work that way. L was a boy and he would remain a boy. "But we can make him a girl," A said so I explained that L had a penis just like A did, that boys were boys because they had penises, and that L was going to continue to have a penis and be a boy just like A.
Of course, per Chekhov, you don't put a gun on the mantel in Act 1 without it being fired in Act 3.
So I picked A up from school yesterday and the aide stopped me. "Your boy is so funny." Apparently, there had been some gender divisions on the playground, where the boys were going to do some things without the girls and there was some discussion as to who qualified. Never fear, A was there.
"Listen everybody," he announced. "Wait and listen to me. Boys are boys because they have penises, and girls are girls because they do not have penises. So the boys have the penises." The aide apparently whooshed them all inside without further discussion--or gender verification--but she wanted to know where he'd come up with that bit of information.
And I explained that yes, L had pretty hair, but that no, it didn't work that way. L was a boy and he would remain a boy. "But we can make him a girl," A said so I explained that L had a penis just like A did, that boys were boys because they had penises, and that L was going to continue to have a penis and be a boy just like A.
Of course, per Chekhov, you don't put a gun on the mantel in Act 1 without it being fired in Act 3.
So I picked A up from school yesterday and the aide stopped me. "Your boy is so funny." Apparently, there had been some gender divisions on the playground, where the boys were going to do some things without the girls and there was some discussion as to who qualified. Never fear, A was there.
"Listen everybody," he announced. "Wait and listen to me. Boys are boys because they have penises, and girls are girls because they do not have penises. So the boys have the penises." The aide apparently whooshed them all inside without further discussion--or gender verification--but she wanted to know where he'd come up with that bit of information.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
The baby got into the cat food
Yep, that day has come. I always think 8-9 months of age is about the apex of babydom, and then the tumble to toddlerhood takes on speed.
My baby can now pull himself up. He usually doesn't get as far as his feet, although he has, but this means several things:
If you've got tips, I'd love to hear them, because if I don't get some time to myself soon, I'm going to lose it. All our babysitters are waylaid by illness or jobs, or I'd be calling out the cavalry for a movie and a junk-food binge, trust me.
My baby can now pull himself up. He usually doesn't get as far as his feet, although he has, but this means several things:
- The crib is no longer exactly safe and the mattress needs to be lowered.
- All the outlets are now fair play for tiny little fingers. This means things that had been placed on outlets (like the CO2 detector and the open-garage-door monitor) are now completely in play. The CO2 detector sounds an annoying and ear-splitting screech when it's mostly disconnected from the wall.
- The cat food, which had been out of reach on a box, is now well within reach. I think a file cabinet would put it out of reach but that might be at the max of my heavy lifting abilities.
- The computer power button is within reach.
- Items on the couch, chairs, and A's bed are all fair game.
If you've got tips, I'd love to hear them, because if I don't get some time to myself soon, I'm going to lose it. All our babysitters are waylaid by illness or jobs, or I'd be calling out the cavalry for a movie and a junk-food binge, trust me.
Friday, September 10, 2010
"Mommy, I am not ruding you!"
Another month, another entry. Little L just rolled 9 months, thus starting his period of being out longer than he was in. He's quite the little character. He's such an amazingly good-natured baby, but I think he's going to be the mischievous one. He just has that glint in his eye sometimes. No real signs of separation anxiety yet, but he has gotten to the ever-annoying "drop things to see if they fall" stage.
A is back in preschool, same teacher as last year. I've been told that all the boys chase the girls at recess, "except A, because he is sweet." That he is.
At lunch today, we rearranged our chairs on the patio so everyone was out of the sun (ah yes, California, where all meals are eaten on the patio every day in our gorgeous, gorgeous weather). A had his feet up on my chair and I asked him to move them since we sit upright to eat our meals.
Then he started laughing. I looked down and he'd put his feet under my seat.
"I'm sticking my big toes out at you, Mommy!" he said. Indeed, he was. "I am not ruding you, Mommy; I am just silly." Somehow, rude has become a verb in this house.
A is back in preschool, same teacher as last year. I've been told that all the boys chase the girls at recess, "except A, because he is sweet." That he is.
At lunch today, we rearranged our chairs on the patio so everyone was out of the sun (ah yes, California, where all meals are eaten on the patio every day in our gorgeous, gorgeous weather). A had his feet up on my chair and I asked him to move them since we sit upright to eat our meals.
Then he started laughing. I looked down and he'd put his feet under my seat.
"I'm sticking my big toes out at you, Mommy!" he said. Indeed, he was. "I am not ruding you, Mommy; I am just silly." Somehow, rude has become a verb in this house.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Visitors and overtime and miracles happening
This is where we are: swinging wildly on the pendulum of visitors (yay, visitors) and overtime (boo, overtime).
Friends of ours who are expecting their first baby had her water break at 8 weeks to go. They've been able to stabilize her, get steroids into the bambino, and are hoping to keep her stabilized for another week or so to give the kid as much in-oven time as possible.
She just posted about it on Facebook, and I was shocked by the tone of the responses. I don't know why. They were mostly in the "praying for you, much love, thoughts are with you," category. It's not like I was expecting nasty comments, but there was something about the tone that reminded me of people dealing with bad stuff, like they'd announced a cancer diagnosis or something truly awful.
Now, yes, preemies have issues and I get that. But it didn't occur to me--and this might be because they are at a relatively-safe 32 weeks and not a scary pre-28-weeks--to be anything but excited for them. When my sister was born, she had problems, serious, life-threatening problems, and people kept saying to my mother, "I'm so sorry."
And she got indignant, and said, "Nobody died; someone was born." That's how I feel when I read all those well-intentioned and laden-with-love comments. Someone's being born. Someone's being born to two people who should really be parents. They should have six or eight kids and raise them all to be hell-raisers and world-beaters because these are the kind of people they are. The world needs more people like them.
But again: Someone's being born. That's an amazing thing.
Friends of ours who are expecting their first baby had her water break at 8 weeks to go. They've been able to stabilize her, get steroids into the bambino, and are hoping to keep her stabilized for another week or so to give the kid as much in-oven time as possible.
She just posted about it on Facebook, and I was shocked by the tone of the responses. I don't know why. They were mostly in the "praying for you, much love, thoughts are with you," category. It's not like I was expecting nasty comments, but there was something about the tone that reminded me of people dealing with bad stuff, like they'd announced a cancer diagnosis or something truly awful.
Now, yes, preemies have issues and I get that. But it didn't occur to me--and this might be because they are at a relatively-safe 32 weeks and not a scary pre-28-weeks--to be anything but excited for them. When my sister was born, she had problems, serious, life-threatening problems, and people kept saying to my mother, "I'm so sorry."
And she got indignant, and said, "Nobody died; someone was born." That's how I feel when I read all those well-intentioned and laden-with-love comments. Someone's being born. Someone's being born to two people who should really be parents. They should have six or eight kids and raise them all to be hell-raisers and world-beaters because these are the kind of people they are. The world needs more people like them.
But again: Someone's being born. That's an amazing thing.
Monday, August 09, 2010
Blog? What blog?
Hi. I'm Kim. I'm sure we've met.
It's been a humdinger of a month or two here. We got a new house. We love it. The garage is stacked to the ceiling with boxes, yet we seem to be living comfortably. This means we have too much stuff (and also, I apparently can live just fine wearing the same three skirts over and over again). But the boxes loom on my mental horizon like a boogieman. Someday, I'm going to have to vanquish the box boogieman.
A's fourth (fourth!) birthday was last month. It's the first one he's ever anticipated. Grandma and Grandpa came out to visit; we got a bounce house in the backyard and everything went smoothly. Now he's bemoaning the fact that he's got a long time until he's five and can have another birthday.
It's been a rough patch here. C is working late, late, late, including the weekend, for a thirteen-day stretch, and I think it's fair to say that we are all feeling the strain. If he had not taken last weekend (you know, the one that ended yesterday) off, I'm not sure how any of us would have done. Sometimes it sucks to be all grown-up and independent.
Watching kids full-time, without a break, is really hard manual labor. Babies need fed; preschoolers need direction. And they don't take breaks, not easily. They notice as well as I do when Daddy's not around. I'm building a support structure so I can have some breaks, but it's summer and people have vacations, bike trips, and broken hips. I feel intensely time-crunched and constantly needed.
But. I try to grab breaks and focus on the good. A has started making up jokes. L has three teeth now and three more making a break for it. He's decided he loves cereal and sweet potatoes. We have breakfast and dinner on the patio in the backyard. Two mornings ago, some wild parakeets flew into our neighbor's tree during breakfast. Two nights ago, as we were eating at dusk, an owl swooped into our tree, sat for a while, circled our yard, then swooped onto another tree.
"That owl is cool," A said. "I'm going to tell Miss Rita about that owl." And I'm telling you.
It's been a humdinger of a month or two here. We got a new house. We love it. The garage is stacked to the ceiling with boxes, yet we seem to be living comfortably. This means we have too much stuff (and also, I apparently can live just fine wearing the same three skirts over and over again). But the boxes loom on my mental horizon like a boogieman. Someday, I'm going to have to vanquish the box boogieman.
A's fourth (fourth!) birthday was last month. It's the first one he's ever anticipated. Grandma and Grandpa came out to visit; we got a bounce house in the backyard and everything went smoothly. Now he's bemoaning the fact that he's got a long time until he's five and can have another birthday.
It's been a rough patch here. C is working late, late, late, including the weekend, for a thirteen-day stretch, and I think it's fair to say that we are all feeling the strain. If he had not taken last weekend (you know, the one that ended yesterday) off, I'm not sure how any of us would have done. Sometimes it sucks to be all grown-up and independent.
Watching kids full-time, without a break, is really hard manual labor. Babies need fed; preschoolers need direction. And they don't take breaks, not easily. They notice as well as I do when Daddy's not around. I'm building a support structure so I can have some breaks, but it's summer and people have vacations, bike trips, and broken hips. I feel intensely time-crunched and constantly needed.
But. I try to grab breaks and focus on the good. A has started making up jokes. L has three teeth now and three more making a break for it. He's decided he loves cereal and sweet potatoes. We have breakfast and dinner on the patio in the backyard. Two mornings ago, some wild parakeets flew into our neighbor's tree during breakfast. Two nights ago, as we were eating at dusk, an owl swooped into our tree, sat for a while, circled our yard, then swooped onto another tree.
"That owl is cool," A said. "I'm going to tell Miss Rita about that owl." And I'm telling you.
Monday, July 19, 2010
A boy after my own heart
I was baking A's birthday cake this afternoon. He'd collapsed into a nap on the couch after a long, happy day of play with his friend H at the Fleet; I had L in the baby bouncer in the kitchen with me as I baked.
L was not too keen on being trapped while I baked, but I handed him some scraps of parchment paper to teethe on and he seemed okay with that--until I started pouring out cake batter. If I was still eating cake batter, this is the cake batter I would eat: thick, rich, chocolately-buttery-delicious. Then L started to tantrum madly. It looked to the casual eye like he was happy with parchment until he realized there was cake batter in play.
If my life were a sitcom, this is where I would have handed him a spoon of batter, salmonella and allergy-introduction be damned, and I would have an adorable photo of a batter-smeared baby to show you. But my life is my life, so L screamed at me until I put the cake pans in the oven. Then I changed his diaper.
L was not too keen on being trapped while I baked, but I handed him some scraps of parchment paper to teethe on and he seemed okay with that--until I started pouring out cake batter. If I was still eating cake batter, this is the cake batter I would eat: thick, rich, chocolately-buttery-delicious. Then L started to tantrum madly. It looked to the casual eye like he was happy with parchment until he realized there was cake batter in play.
If my life were a sitcom, this is where I would have handed him a spoon of batter, salmonella and allergy-introduction be damned, and I would have an adorable photo of a batter-smeared baby to show you. But my life is my life, so L screamed at me until I put the cake pans in the oven. Then I changed his diaper.
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
New house
We moved. It was the Worst. Move. Ever. The movers were high, possibly gangsters, and very, very incompetent.
But I love the house. I love that my ILs showed up and painted it in lovely colors; I love that our friends showed up and finished painting and moved furniture around (and set up our internet tubes, bonus).
But I love the house, and I love having the house. I love the big dead backyard with its one huge shade tree over the big patio; I love that Henry the mailman brings mail to our front step. I love the sound of the fountain out front; I love the lizard without a tail in our backyard that I've named Stumpy. I love the light inside. I love the view of the canyon. I love the neighbors who brought me a bouquet of their own home-grown roses.
When we're unpacked and it's not overflowing with boxes, I'll love it more. But for now, I love this house.
But I love the house. I love that my ILs showed up and painted it in lovely colors; I love that our friends showed up and finished painting and moved furniture around (and set up our internet tubes, bonus).
But I love the house, and I love having the house. I love the big dead backyard with its one huge shade tree over the big patio; I love that Henry the mailman brings mail to our front step. I love the sound of the fountain out front; I love the lizard without a tail in our backyard that I've named Stumpy. I love the light inside. I love the view of the canyon. I love the neighbors who brought me a bouquet of their own home-grown roses.
When we're unpacked and it's not overflowing with boxes, I'll love it more. But for now, I love this house.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
It's good to be the mommy
I decamped everyone today upstairs to our bedroom to pack, but then discovered the truly monstrous pile of laundry that would need to be done before I could start in earnest. (Does anyone else feel like all of an item category, whether it's socks, canning jars, or baby blankets, must be clean before you commence packing them?)
Anyway, the three-year-old assisted me on sorting, right up his alley. I went to put the first load in and when I came back, both boys were giggling madly. A had parked himself under one of the piles and would leap out of it toward L, saying, "I'm digging, I'm digging!" And then they'd both laugh and laugh and laugh.
Mr. L is on the move. I am now officially barricading the top of the stairs if he's anywhere up here because he is skerry-fast.
Anyway, the three-year-old assisted me on sorting, right up his alley. I went to put the first load in and when I came back, both boys were giggling madly. A had parked himself under one of the piles and would leap out of it toward L, saying, "I'm digging, I'm digging!" And then they'd both laugh and laugh and laugh.
Mr. L is on the move. I am now officially barricading the top of the stairs if he's anywhere up here because he is skerry-fast.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Mean mommy
Today, I told A, "After you have a nap, we can make some cookies. But if you don't take a nap, then we won't make cookies. No nap, no cookies."
Well, he wasn't taking a nap. He was playing quietly in his room (which is the accepted alternative to naptime) but wasn't napping.
About the time his nap should have been done, he came in to me and said, "Mommy, I'm done not taking a nap. Can I go downstairs and not make chocolate chip cookies now? I don't get any cookies since I didn't take a nap."
I know consistency is the name of the game, but I almost want to give him cookies for his demonstration of logic.
Well, he wasn't taking a nap. He was playing quietly in his room (which is the accepted alternative to naptime) but wasn't napping.
About the time his nap should have been done, he came in to me and said, "Mommy, I'm done not taking a nap. Can I go downstairs and not make chocolate chip cookies now? I don't get any cookies since I didn't take a nap."
I know consistency is the name of the game, but I almost want to give him cookies for his demonstration of logic.
Wednesday, June 02, 2010
Niles loves L Part 2
L had a hard time getting to sleep tonight. He was cranky and beside himself; I think he's got teething pain and I know he's got ear infection pain. Normally he goes to the crib, goes to sleep, voila.
Tonight, even when I got him asleep in my arms, he would wake when put in the crib. Sleep, transfer, cry. Sleep, transfer, cry. Sleep, transfer, cry, scream.
At this point, Niles jumped into the crib, and I was too preoccupied by the screaming (ear-splitting, shrieking) baby to do my normal scoot-scoot-scoot noise at him.
Sleep, transfer. Niles leaps out just as I am putting L down--because he is stretched out exactly where L sleeps. Exactly. And L stays asleep.
I don't want to sound like the crazy cat lady, but I think Niles was warming up the crib for L.
Tonight, even when I got him asleep in my arms, he would wake when put in the crib. Sleep, transfer, cry. Sleep, transfer, cry. Sleep, transfer, cry, scream.
At this point, Niles jumped into the crib, and I was too preoccupied by the screaming (ear-splitting, shrieking) baby to do my normal scoot-scoot-scoot noise at him.
Sleep, transfer. Niles leaps out just as I am putting L down--because he is stretched out exactly where L sleeps. Exactly. And L stays asleep.
I don't want to sound like the crazy cat lady, but I think Niles was warming up the crib for L.
Recovery
We're getting better, slowly slowly. I didn't realize how much I missed my easy-going baby until his smiles started coming back and he did not needed to be held and comforted non-stop. Having said that, yesterday was a trip to the needy farm and I accomplished nothing more than a one-item trip to Costco, so let's hope everyone continues to recover here.
As I write this, I can look over at my bed and see one sleeping husband, one awake and smiling baby, and one mostly-awake preschooler who is gently patting the baby on his belly, saying, "Baby drum, baby drum, baby drum." And now he's touching his feet to L's.
It's funny how tuned in the boys are to each other, even at this age. They communicate on some level C and I are excluded from. L has huge smiles that he bestows on A and sometimes just wants to stare at A until A looks back at him. A has been super-sweet to L and spends his time trying to get L to laugh at him. Yesterday I asked A if he was going to help teach L how to crawl. He said, "Not until I'm four, Mommy; he's too little."
As I write this, I can look over at my bed and see one sleeping husband, one awake and smiling baby, and one mostly-awake preschooler who is gently patting the baby on his belly, saying, "Baby drum, baby drum, baby drum." And now he's touching his feet to L's.
It's funny how tuned in the boys are to each other, even at this age. They communicate on some level C and I are excluded from. L has huge smiles that he bestows on A and sometimes just wants to stare at A until A looks back at him. A has been super-sweet to L and spends his time trying to get L to laugh at him. Yesterday I asked A if he was going to help teach L how to crawl. He said, "Not until I'm four, Mommy; he's too little."
Thursday, May 27, 2010
When are we not sick?
So I recovered (mostly) from pneumonia, only to watch little L get a head cold that then added a goopy eye thing, then a cough, then a low-grade fever, then laryngitis. Poor guy's been getting worse and worse in tiny increments; he's probably still not considered fussy by most people but he is by us.
After numerous phone calls and two doctor's visits, L's been diagnosed with an ear infection and aggravated respiratory system or something like that. It's asthma-lite. So he's on antibiotics (both oral and topical) and albuterol, plus steroids on hand just in case his breathing needs a little help.
And I had to take him for chest X-rays, because maybe he has pneumonia too. Argh. We'll hopefully find out that's a no later today. Baby X-rays are odd. Do not take your baby in a shirt with snaps at the shoulder for an X-ray because they will make your baby put on a hospital johnny that is not a baby size. I think it would have swamped my three-year-old, so it was essentially wrapping the baby in a Snuggie. A polyester, string-tied, Loony Tunes-printed Snuggie.
They have tiny little lead vests to drape over the baby's lap, and they put the mom (that's me) into position, holding the baby's hands above his head and feet so he's stretched out on the bed, then drape me in lead vests. Then they run like hell out of the room to try and do the X-ray as fast as possible.
L could tolerate the one on his back but could not stand the one on his side. Happily, they did them both in one shot each and we were out of there. The X-ray place was in the same place as a radiation treatment facility, so it was interesting waiting with people who needed to see a cute little baby.
After numerous phone calls and two doctor's visits, L's been diagnosed with an ear infection and aggravated respiratory system or something like that. It's asthma-lite. So he's on antibiotics (both oral and topical) and albuterol, plus steroids on hand just in case his breathing needs a little help.
And I had to take him for chest X-rays, because maybe he has pneumonia too. Argh. We'll hopefully find out that's a no later today. Baby X-rays are odd. Do not take your baby in a shirt with snaps at the shoulder for an X-ray because they will make your baby put on a hospital johnny that is not a baby size. I think it would have swamped my three-year-old, so it was essentially wrapping the baby in a Snuggie. A polyester, string-tied, Loony Tunes-printed Snuggie.
They have tiny little lead vests to drape over the baby's lap, and they put the mom (that's me) into position, holding the baby's hands above his head and feet so he's stretched out on the bed, then drape me in lead vests. Then they run like hell out of the room to try and do the X-ray as fast as possible.
L could tolerate the one on his back but could not stand the one on his side. Happily, they did them both in one shot each and we were out of there. The X-ray place was in the same place as a radiation treatment facility, so it was interesting waiting with people who needed to see a cute little baby.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Don't talk during a dental cleaning
I had a cleaning, I got water down my throat, and poof, pneumonia hit me like a Mack truck. I'm getting better, but I'm on heavy meds, which make the nursling cranky, which makes the rest of us cranky.
So the only update is that L no longer stays put. You put him down, bam, thirty seconds later he's across the room. Not crawling, just rolling and wriggling. And this sucker is fast. Good grief.
So the only update is that L no longer stays put. You put him down, bam, thirty seconds later he's across the room. Not crawling, just rolling and wriggling. And this sucker is fast. Good grief.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
This has got to be a children's book
[scene: downtown San Diego. In car, driving.]
A: Look, Mommy, pigeons.
me: Uh-huh, pigeons in the street.
A: Mommy, I want you to hit a pigeon because then I can take it home and take care of it.
me: Uhhhhhhh, no. I don't think I want to hit a pigeon. We can get you something to take care of without hitting something. Would you like to help take care of the cats?
A: No. I want to take care of a pigeon. No, a lot of pigeons.
me: Uh-hmmmm.
A: But maybe we should have three cats.
A: Look, Mommy, pigeons.
me: Uh-huh, pigeons in the street.
A: Mommy, I want you to hit a pigeon because then I can take it home and take care of it.
me: Uhhhhhhh, no. I don't think I want to hit a pigeon. We can get you something to take care of without hitting something. Would you like to help take care of the cats?
A: No. I want to take care of a pigeon. No, a lot of pigeons.
me: Uh-hmmmm.
A: But maybe we should have three cats.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Action-packed weekends
Sometimes, we just have them, the weekends that seem to have everything in the world to do. First up, a reading on Friday night. Saturday, bridal shower. Sunday, plumeria society meeting. Monday, board meeting.
Now bridal showers are not typically my thing, because I think anyone who's gone to Bryn Mawr has spent enough women-only chatty-chat time to last the rest of her natural life. But this bridal shower was fabulous: friends from out of town, happy baby in tow, and just the most charming bride-to-be you've ever seen. I don't think I'm remiss in saying there are some weddings I go to with some misgivings, as in how long will this marriage last, when will the groom stop me from hanging out with the bride, when will the bride crush the groom's joie de vivre. As I get older, I realize I'm not going to know both parties as well, so maybe I love the groom and just assume the bride/other groom is super. But there's very few weddings that I go to where I know enough about both participants to say, "Wow, I love these people and they are perfect for each other and I'm so eager to see them have happy long lives together." And that's how I feel about this wedding, and from the party, so did everyone else. So that was fabulous.
And then Mother's Day. Again, most of the day for me was spent in a meeting with my littlest guy, but what a great Mother's Day. My almost-four-year-old is amazingly charming ("Mommy, you look like a princess,") and my five-month-old is deliciously sweet.
Last night was not such a good night. For the shower, I went off the dairy-free reservation, which meant that I wasn't in a mind to pass up the glorious Louisiana chicken (oh my) or French silk pie (heavenly, heavenly) that I've been passing up in my dairy-free quest. And yesterday morning, C said to me, "Gosh, L hasn't had any bad side effects at all; I wonder if you can go back on dairy again."
Then enter last night. Our normally fuss-free, easy-going babe was replaced by someone who cried even when he was being held and fed and couldn't sleep for more than a few hours at a time from intestinal distress. Poor baby. I know it takes ten days for the dairy to completely leave my system, but I hope he gets over it soon because he was so unhappy.
Now bridal showers are not typically my thing, because I think anyone who's gone to Bryn Mawr has spent enough women-only chatty-chat time to last the rest of her natural life. But this bridal shower was fabulous: friends from out of town, happy baby in tow, and just the most charming bride-to-be you've ever seen. I don't think I'm remiss in saying there are some weddings I go to with some misgivings, as in how long will this marriage last, when will the groom stop me from hanging out with the bride, when will the bride crush the groom's joie de vivre. As I get older, I realize I'm not going to know both parties as well, so maybe I love the groom and just assume the bride/other groom is super. But there's very few weddings that I go to where I know enough about both participants to say, "Wow, I love these people and they are perfect for each other and I'm so eager to see them have happy long lives together." And that's how I feel about this wedding, and from the party, so did everyone else. So that was fabulous.
And then Mother's Day. Again, most of the day for me was spent in a meeting with my littlest guy, but what a great Mother's Day. My almost-four-year-old is amazingly charming ("Mommy, you look like a princess,") and my five-month-old is deliciously sweet.
Last night was not such a good night. For the shower, I went off the dairy-free reservation, which meant that I wasn't in a mind to pass up the glorious Louisiana chicken (oh my) or French silk pie (heavenly, heavenly) that I've been passing up in my dairy-free quest. And yesterday morning, C said to me, "Gosh, L hasn't had any bad side effects at all; I wonder if you can go back on dairy again."
Then enter last night. Our normally fuss-free, easy-going babe was replaced by someone who cried even when he was being held and fed and couldn't sleep for more than a few hours at a time from intestinal distress. Poor baby. I know it takes ten days for the dairy to completely leave my system, but I hope he gets over it soon because he was so unhappy.
Wednesday, May 05, 2010
Rollie pollie
L is now rolling over and putting his head up in the classic baby pose. Last night at 2am, he was fussing and I woke up to see what was wrong with him. He had his legs completely sticking out of the crib; his butt up against the slats.
I moved him so he was completely in the crib again and then went to the bathroom. And as I was sitting there, half awake, I realized that the bottoms of his feet had been up and not the front of his knees. I had put the baby back into the crib on his stomach.
This freaked me out since I've been indoctrinated by the back-to-sleep movement, and I couldn't get out of the bathroom fast enough to roll L onto his back. Only later when I was more awake did I realize that I probably didn't need to freak out and that a baby who can roll over and lift his head is probably not the baby who will smother to death when left on his tummy.
I moved him so he was completely in the crib again and then went to the bathroom. And as I was sitting there, half awake, I realized that the bottoms of his feet had been up and not the front of his knees. I had put the baby back into the crib on his stomach.
This freaked me out since I've been indoctrinated by the back-to-sleep movement, and I couldn't get out of the bathroom fast enough to roll L onto his back. Only later when I was more awake did I realize that I probably didn't need to freak out and that a baby who can roll over and lift his head is probably not the baby who will smother to death when left on his tummy.
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
Changing Identity
A has many names now. We have to ask to figure out who we're talking to. Over the weekend, he's been Ponyo, Sparky the dog, a dragon, a pirate dragon, and a baby dolphin.
We took the baby dolphin to a local seafood place for fish, since he was a dolphin at the time. I grabbed a table with A and L while C waited for our food. When C came out with our food, I was nursing L. C picked up the ketchup to put some in a paper cup for A and ended up squirting ketchup all over L's sock-clad feet and my skirt. He completely missed himself, however.
We took the baby dolphin to a local seafood place for fish, since he was a dolphin at the time. I grabbed a table with A and L while C waited for our food. When C came out with our food, I was nursing L. C picked up the ketchup to put some in a paper cup for A and ended up squirting ketchup all over L's sock-clad feet and my skirt. He completely missed himself, however.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Songs from a commode
A also likes to sing in the bathroom. (The acoustics, darling.)
Here's a list of what he's been caught singing:
Here's a list of what he's been caught singing:
- Baby Beluga, Raffi
- Alligators All Around, Carole King (based on the Maurice Sendak book)
- Yellow Submarine, the Beatles
- Everybody Needs Somebody to Love, the Blues Brothers
- You Can't Always Get What You Want, the Rolling Stones
- Hit the Road Jack, Ray Charles
Underpants revisited
"Mommy, my underwear aren't wearing."
"What?"
"My underwear." [Enter bathroom, discover boy trying to pull up not only pants and underpants, but pants and two pairs of underwear.]
"Why do you have two pairs of underwear on? Did you have an accident at school?"
"No. I wanted stripes and Mr. Incredible."
"What?"
"My underwear." [Enter bathroom, discover boy trying to pull up not only pants and underpants, but pants and two pairs of underwear.]
"Why do you have two pairs of underwear on? Did you have an accident at school?"
"No. I wanted stripes and Mr. Incredible."
Hovering
Ever hover on the edge of your decision-making process? We've got major decision-making processes all hovering right now. Are we going to have to move? Think so, but don't know so. Will we be able to afford a house we like? Don't know. Where would this house be specifically? Don't know.
Maybe baby L will be pointing the way for us. For months he's been tantalizing us with his own hovering. He got most of the way to rolling over and then--nothing. He hung out on his side, then rolled over onto his back. I honestly thought he's going to be too contented and happy to make developmental milestone progress. He's so easy-going.
Until this weekend. Then boom, he rolled over, all the way. Head up, looking around, checking everything out from a new perspective. Now he's all about rolling over. When I've strapped him into the neglect-o-matic (like when I got my rotary cutter out to do some sharp cutting), he's protested. He's decided. It's time.
Maybe baby L will be pointing the way for us. For months he's been tantalizing us with his own hovering. He got most of the way to rolling over and then--nothing. He hung out on his side, then rolled over onto his back. I honestly thought he's going to be too contented and happy to make developmental milestone progress. He's so easy-going.
Until this weekend. Then boom, he rolled over, all the way. Head up, looking around, checking everything out from a new perspective. Now he's all about rolling over. When I've strapped him into the neglect-o-matic (like when I got my rotary cutter out to do some sharp cutting), he's protested. He's decided. It's time.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Doctor visit: four months
L had his four-month checkup this week. Another round of shots (three! again!). He's 15 pounds, 8 ounces, and 25 and a half inches long. Everyone says he's a big kid, but he's actually average for weight but tall. I think it's just that he's a chub-meister.
A showed great interest in L's band-aids and wanted to pull them off for him. No thanks, sweetie.
A showed great interest in L's band-aids and wanted to pull them off for him. No thanks, sweetie.
Consult needed
Anyone who has successfully convinced a three-year-old that while it seems more effective to put on underpants and pants at the same time, it's actually a lot easier to put on underpants and then pants, please contact said blog owner with details.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Tour guide
A knows most of the animals in the zoo. He knows what they are and what the little placard says and anything else we've talked about. So now when we go to the zoo, he plays tour guide.
Example: Yesterday we were walking through Elephant Odyssey's bug section when someone said, "What is that?" And A stopped to say:
Those are diving beetles. They swim down, down, down here to get some food and then they swim up and get air. Then they swim down to get food, and up to get air, and down, and up.
[This is all him narrating while pointing at a particular beetle who was kindly illustrating his points.]
Example: Yesterday we were walking through Elephant Odyssey's bug section when someone said, "What is that?" And A stopped to say:
Those are diving beetles. They swim down, down, down here to get some food and then they swim up and get air. Then they swim down to get food, and up to get air, and down, and up.
[This is all him narrating while pointing at a particular beetle who was kindly illustrating his points.]
Thursday, April 08, 2010
Little pitchers
I was stopped at a light at intersection. The little red hand that means "Don't Walk" was flashing when I first noticed the little old lady with her wheelie cart of groceries, and when it stopped she decided to walk out across six lanes against the traffic.
"Oh, you stupid lady. Stupid, stupid, stupid," I said to myself, but of course the three-year-old in the car heard me.
"Yes, that's a stupid lady," he said from the backseat.
"Hey, you can't call her a stupid lady," I started, all a-fluff, then I thought about what to say. I didn't want to say "Don't say stupid," because some things in life just are, and I didn't want to say, "Don't call old ladies stupid," because some of them are and hey, I just did that, you know?
I said, "Why do you think I'm calling her stupid, A?"
"Because the hand is red and she's crossing the street. And you have to wait for the white man to cross so you are safe."
"Yes, A, that's right. That's exactly why she's a stupid lady. But Mommy wasn't yelling at her; Mommy was just worried and nervous for her."
"Oh, you stupid lady. Stupid, stupid, stupid," I said to myself, but of course the three-year-old in the car heard me.
"Yes, that's a stupid lady," he said from the backseat.
"Hey, you can't call her a stupid lady," I started, all a-fluff, then I thought about what to say. I didn't want to say "Don't say stupid," because some things in life just are, and I didn't want to say, "Don't call old ladies stupid," because some of them are and hey, I just did that, you know?
I said, "Why do you think I'm calling her stupid, A?"
"Because the hand is red and she's crossing the street. And you have to wait for the white man to cross so you are safe."
"Yes, A, that's right. That's exactly why she's a stupid lady. But Mommy wasn't yelling at her; Mommy was just worried and nervous for her."
L at four months
L was four months old yesterday (how does the time fly). I think it's about time to make this pronouncement.
L is the sweetest, most adorable, good-as-gold baby in the entire world.
I haven't wanted to jinx this, but I've just reached a point where it's so terribly self-obvious that I can't deny it any more. We always thought A was an easy-going baby, so-called false advertising to all our childfree friends, but my God, L is like photoshopped false advertising.
He's sleeping through the night, in his own bed. Sleeping through the night means he goes down at 8-ish or 9-ish and doesn't get up until 5 or 6. It's unbelievable. If he wasn't so baby-chub plump, I'd worry that he was malnourished from not nursing during the night.
Last weekend, I did the plumeria cutting sale. I'm the coordinator of the event, so I had to be there for three days from 8:30AM until 4PM or later. This is a really long time for a nursing mommy to be away from a baby, so L was with me the whole time. Since I do have an amazing husband, he agreed to take off Friday to take care of the three-year-old and they came to visit and help me out.
But that meant I still had a four-month-old in a baby sling for 8+ hours for three days in a row. And you know how he did? Beautifully. Amazingly beautifully. Slept, stayed awake and watched, smiled at people, indicated politely (a little wiggling) when he wanted to eat and get a new diaper, but didn't make a peep or fuss the entire time. When he got home, he wanted stretch out time on the floor, but then it was pretty much back to the normal routine for bedtime.
I thought the second one would be our hellion since A was so easy, but so far (knock wood, fingers crossed), L's abnormally super easy-going and sweet. He's got huge smiles now and baby giggles and I could spend all day staring at the amazingness that is little L. He's gorgeous enough that people stop me and say, "That is a beautiful baby." Like all the other babies just get that comment out of politeness, but L really is.
Wednesday, April 07, 2010
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
"The trees, damnit!"
A has discovered that books are made of words and words are made of letters. He spends a lot of time pointing to signs and saying, "A for me!" But this also means he wants his texts strictly adhered to without deviations when you read them, and he follows along with a finger to try and figure out what's going on.
Recently, I was nursing L while A held The Lorax. I couldn't quite hold the book and read it to him how I was sitting, so we were turning pages while I asked A to tell me the story. He's getting good at story telling, so this was fine. We turned to a picture of the Lorax knocking on the Once-ler's new office door, and I said, "What's the Lorax saying here, A?"
"He says, 'The trees, damnit!'"
Recently, I was nursing L while A held The Lorax. I couldn't quite hold the book and read it to him how I was sitting, so we were turning pages while I asked A to tell me the story. He's getting good at story telling, so this was fine. We turned to a picture of the Lorax knocking on the Once-ler's new office door, and I said, "What's the Lorax saying here, A?"
"He says, 'The trees, damnit!'"
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Appliance suicide
Last weekend, our washing machine tried to throw itself under a bus. No, no, C said, and took it apart, put it together, and wah-la. He claims he did nothing but it worked again, so I did not care.
We just got home from various errands and the dryer was still going. Uh-oh. Open the door and while the clothes are moving, the dryer is cold.
It seems like we're being pushed in the direction of a new washer and dryer. Sigh.
We just got home from various errands and the dryer was still going. Uh-oh. Open the door and while the clothes are moving, the dryer is cold.
It seems like we're being pushed in the direction of a new washer and dryer. Sigh.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Niles hearts L
So L looks like C. A fair amount, actually, although so far he does have blue eyes. (For now--A seems to suddenly have green eyes now. Who knew?)
Niles loves C. C is his person. At the end of the day, Niles wants to be in C's lap. When C wakes up and his feet hit the floor, Niles runs to him and starts meowing at him. When C leaves a T-shirt on the floor, Niles rolls around in it in a frenzy of joy, looking as high as he does on catnip.
Niles loves L. Loves him. Licks his tiny mostly-bald baby head, curls up next to him on my lap, sleeps in his crib and changing table pad, and rolls around in L's car seat in a frenzy of joy.
I'm sure I could believe that Niles is now used to babies so this is how he shows his acceptance of L into our tribe, but I'm pretty sure it's because L looks like C, or gives off some pheromone like C, or somehow reminds Niles of C. Seriously.
Niles loves C. C is his person. At the end of the day, Niles wants to be in C's lap. When C wakes up and his feet hit the floor, Niles runs to him and starts meowing at him. When C leaves a T-shirt on the floor, Niles rolls around in it in a frenzy of joy, looking as high as he does on catnip.
Niles loves L. Loves him. Licks his tiny mostly-bald baby head, curls up next to him on my lap, sleeps in his crib and changing table pad, and rolls around in L's car seat in a frenzy of joy.
I'm sure I could believe that Niles is now used to babies so this is how he shows his acceptance of L into our tribe, but I'm pretty sure it's because L looks like C, or gives off some pheromone like C, or somehow reminds Niles of C. Seriously.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Productivity
It's hard in the trenches. I hit a wall--or I keep hitting the same wall, where I realize how much time and energy new nurslings take up. L's been having a growth spurt (maybe? the Wii tells us he's only gained a pound or so), so he's been spending a lot more time in arms. And when the baby's nursing, I'm not doing anything else (except for reading, watching DVDs, or playing Settlers of Catan on the TV).
And there's a lot going on that I want to be doing. In February, I thought, okay, I'll resume my grown-up attachment responsibilities. So back to being secretary of this organization and that one, back to organizing the cutting sale, back to committees and meetings and minutes. And I often bring L along with me, since I need to pump to be away from him, and let me tell you, when he's on a nursing streak, the absolute last thing I'm interested in doing is pumping.
But. Today's been good. Everyone's well. All the shopping is done; I've done some clothing repairs that have not been done since they require both the iron and the sewing machine, which is not something that can often co-exist with one parent, a baby and a preschooler. I'm hoping to finish, as a bonus, a bag to store my super-deluxe-find-cheap kite that I bought last fall, which will probably serve no purpose other than to make me absurdly happy.
I've purged some clothes and pulled others out of storage. I've realized that I've not been wearing any of my maternity clothing for some time since it's too big and that I can pitch it--if we go for number three, and that's a mighty big and far-off if at this time, I'm going to want some different clothes. I don't know if it's nursing, or the life without dairy, or the Wii Fit Plus, but I'm getting fitter.
L is smiling big now, huge radiant smiles. He talks and sings along with me, little goo-goo-goo noises that make me want to eat him up. He is such a mellow creature, so easy-going and cheerful, just a snuggler.
A is still taken with his big brother role; today he had a moment of huff when L managed to pick up one of A's toys. So I laid down the rule: take away a toy, give the baby another toy. And that seemed to work, at least today.
I'm hoping to call a half a dozen people this week. I just need to get the time and the phone all in the same place. And don't you love when someone tells you they're expecting twins, and you think, "Wow, you are exactly the right people to have twins. You will rock twins." I do. (I'm not expecting twins. No! I would not do well with them.)
And there's a lot going on that I want to be doing. In February, I thought, okay, I'll resume my grown-up attachment responsibilities. So back to being secretary of this organization and that one, back to organizing the cutting sale, back to committees and meetings and minutes. And I often bring L along with me, since I need to pump to be away from him, and let me tell you, when he's on a nursing streak, the absolute last thing I'm interested in doing is pumping.
But. Today's been good. Everyone's well. All the shopping is done; I've done some clothing repairs that have not been done since they require both the iron and the sewing machine, which is not something that can often co-exist with one parent, a baby and a preschooler. I'm hoping to finish, as a bonus, a bag to store my super-deluxe-find-cheap kite that I bought last fall, which will probably serve no purpose other than to make me absurdly happy.
I've purged some clothes and pulled others out of storage. I've realized that I've not been wearing any of my maternity clothing for some time since it's too big and that I can pitch it--if we go for number three, and that's a mighty big and far-off if at this time, I'm going to want some different clothes. I don't know if it's nursing, or the life without dairy, or the Wii Fit Plus, but I'm getting fitter.
L is smiling big now, huge radiant smiles. He talks and sings along with me, little goo-goo-goo noises that make me want to eat him up. He is such a mellow creature, so easy-going and cheerful, just a snuggler.
A is still taken with his big brother role; today he had a moment of huff when L managed to pick up one of A's toys. So I laid down the rule: take away a toy, give the baby another toy. And that seemed to work, at least today.
I'm hoping to call a half a dozen people this week. I just need to get the time and the phone all in the same place. And don't you love when someone tells you they're expecting twins, and you think, "Wow, you are exactly the right people to have twins. You will rock twins." I do. (I'm not expecting twins. No! I would not do well with them.)
Friday, March 12, 2010
He is a reader, by gum.
"Mommy, there was a boy and he put this in his roast beef." [A waves comb around]
"A comb?"
"Yes."
"He put a comb in his roast beef. Hold on, sweetie." [call up Amazon, type in "comb in roast beef" and get a hit on If Roast Beef Could Fly by Jay Leno]
"Is this the book?"
"Yes. Can you get it out of the library for me?"
"Yes, sweetie."
"On the computer. You get it on the computer."
"A comb?"
"Yes."
"He put a comb in his roast beef. Hold on, sweetie." [call up Amazon, type in "comb in roast beef" and get a hit on If Roast Beef Could Fly by Jay Leno]
"Is this the book?"
"Yes. Can you get it out of the library for me?"
"Yes, sweetie."
"On the computer. You get it on the computer."
Monday, March 08, 2010
Daddy curses too
At some point last week, I asked A what he thought Daddy would say about an unfortunate situation. "Damnit, damnit, damnit!" he said, in a pretty good imitation of C.
But of course, the unfortunate moment came when A was playing with the new Wii Fit Plus we have here and missed a step. "Damnit, I missed the ball," he said.
"Don't say damnit," I said. "It's a grownup word." Oy. Let the potty mouth begin.
But of course, the unfortunate moment came when A was playing with the new Wii Fit Plus we have here and missed a step. "Damnit, I missed the ball," he said.
"Don't say damnit," I said. "It's a grownup word." Oy. Let the potty mouth begin.
Saturday, March 06, 2010
Why is VBAC a vital option?
This is a birth post, while we climb out of the mire of sickness. ICAN, which is an organization dedicated to giving moms the support and knowledge they need to avoid unnecessary repeat C-sections, is having a blog carnival on VBAC and why they're important.
I didn't have a VBAC--but I wanted one. Desperately. My first C-section was on the heels of 45 hours of labor, including three hours of pushing, and it took months until I felt like myself again.
This place in this post is where typically, now, I would list the reasons for the C-section. But I'm not going to, because I've learned something in the three-and-a-half years since my first son was born: most of my pro-natural-birth sisters believe a necessary C-section is rarer than a polar bear in the Sahara.
And I knew I wanted a VBAC for my second. I wanted the otherworldly thrill of pushing another being out of my body; I wanted to have a sore bottom for a couple weeks instead of intense pain while walking or lifting for a couple months. When I got pregnant, I researched doctors to find the one most committed to VBACs; we hired a monitrice/doula to help me labor at home for as long as possible before we went to the hospital. I perched on a birth ball for the last trimester for optimal fetal positioning and took my vitamins and thought positive thoughts.
Then, birth number two happened. I had a husband, a monitrice, an OB/GYN all pulling for the VBAC and it didn't happen. I'm a statistical freak: two births that each have a different almost-never-happens legitimate reason for C-section.
So why would I, a woman who's never had one, consider a VBAC a vital option? Making VBACs a true option would help me connect with other mothers. I've already had the unfortunate experience of having someone ask me my birth story, and once I said, "Repeat C-section," it was as if I've admitted to flaying my children or formula-feeding them, at least. The first C-section is a mistake; the second one is apparently a choice.
For the most part, the ICAN crowd wants to know what interventions I had. They want me to tell stories about the mean, pushy doctors; the awful hospital policies; how foolish and uneducated I was. They want my medical chart. They want to point out my first misstep, whether it was walking into the hospital to deliver or having an OB/GYN instead of a midwife in the first place. If I think the C-sections were necessary, I haven't done enough homework yet.
Lots of C-sections are done for the wrong reasons. I get that. Mine weren't.
If every woman in this country had loving support for VBACs, then when a statistical anomaly like me tells her birth stories, I could get the same respect as every other mother for birthing my children. If VBACs were the norm, then my C-sections would be assumed to be necessary until proven otherwise. Right now, my friends, that's not what's assumed at all.
I didn't have a VBAC--but I wanted one. Desperately. My first C-section was on the heels of 45 hours of labor, including three hours of pushing, and it took months until I felt like myself again.
This place in this post is where typically, now, I would list the reasons for the C-section. But I'm not going to, because I've learned something in the three-and-a-half years since my first son was born: most of my pro-natural-birth sisters believe a necessary C-section is rarer than a polar bear in the Sahara.
And I knew I wanted a VBAC for my second. I wanted the otherworldly thrill of pushing another being out of my body; I wanted to have a sore bottom for a couple weeks instead of intense pain while walking or lifting for a couple months. When I got pregnant, I researched doctors to find the one most committed to VBACs; we hired a monitrice/doula to help me labor at home for as long as possible before we went to the hospital. I perched on a birth ball for the last trimester for optimal fetal positioning and took my vitamins and thought positive thoughts.
Then, birth number two happened. I had a husband, a monitrice, an OB/GYN all pulling for the VBAC and it didn't happen. I'm a statistical freak: two births that each have a different almost-never-happens legitimate reason for C-section.
So why would I, a woman who's never had one, consider a VBAC a vital option? Making VBACs a true option would help me connect with other mothers. I've already had the unfortunate experience of having someone ask me my birth story, and once I said, "Repeat C-section," it was as if I've admitted to flaying my children or formula-feeding them, at least. The first C-section is a mistake; the second one is apparently a choice.
For the most part, the ICAN crowd wants to know what interventions I had. They want me to tell stories about the mean, pushy doctors; the awful hospital policies; how foolish and uneducated I was. They want my medical chart. They want to point out my first misstep, whether it was walking into the hospital to deliver or having an OB/GYN instead of a midwife in the first place. If I think the C-sections were necessary, I haven't done enough homework yet.
Lots of C-sections are done for the wrong reasons. I get that. Mine weren't.
If every woman in this country had loving support for VBACs, then when a statistical anomaly like me tells her birth stories, I could get the same respect as every other mother for birthing my children. If VBACs were the norm, then my C-sections would be assumed to be necessary until proven otherwise. Right now, my friends, that's not what's assumed at all.
Friday, March 05, 2010
And of course it's this day
Where I discover the automated litter box was not plugged in, so the poop's been building up until someone finally protested by pooping on the towel we keep the litter box on, which is fine, but then whichever cat it was tracked a certain amount of poop all over the upstairs.
Of course it's today.
Of course it's today.
And we're back...
A has the imprint of someone's jaws on his thigh, upper and lower, but thankfully the skin wasn't broken. He is beside himself, crying at the drop of a hat, so he stayed home today.
They got a nap at the same time, which is good, but my plans for Target, pumping milk, and making it to a reading tonight are all shot to hell. Even if I had a wet nurse, the only thing I'd be good for tonight is scowling and twitching.
This is when it's not fun to be the mommy. Oh, to have my kids farmed out to some day care/babysitting situation where I can say, "Gosh, can't you take them? Thanks." But then someone else would be raising them, right?
They got a nap at the same time, which is good, but my plans for Target, pumping milk, and making it to a reading tonight are all shot to hell. Even if I had a wet nurse, the only thing I'd be good for tonight is scowling and twitching.
This is when it's not fun to be the mommy. Oh, to have my kids farmed out to some day care/babysitting situation where I can say, "Gosh, can't you take them? Thanks." But then someone else would be raising them, right?
Thursday, March 04, 2010
Back to school
The fever's abated so A's back in school. Whew. Although he got bit this morning, so sayeth his teacher, who was tipped off that A was getting bit by A saying, "Miss Rita, he's eating me."
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
Conversations with the three-year-old
"Mommy?"
"Yes, A?"
"Are you taking care of me?"
"Yes, A; I'm trying, anyway."
"Thank you for taking care of me, Mommy."
"Yes, A?"
"Are you taking care of me?"
"Yes, A; I'm trying, anyway."
"Thank you for taking care of me, Mommy."
Pneumonia!
A's got pneumonia. This explains the incessant coughing and no naps, which in turn explains the lack of blog updates. The goal this week is to not go to the hospital.
L's 12 weeks and 13 pounds, 13 oz. Yeesh.
L's 12 weeks and 13 pounds, 13 oz. Yeesh.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
"I'm doing the princess thing!"
We're all better here. I should say, we all are better here. We're not all better here. Damned modifiers. But we're better than we were. A's been back at school for two days, and I'm not hopped up on enough decongestant to knock out an elephant.
I hit AmVets this morning with the L-man. He's getting so big so fast that it's nice to stop in and see if I can get anything for him on the cheap. Today, I scored shirts for A with a couple rompers (hello, Hanna Andersson romper for $1.50) for L.
When I got A home, he asked me what was in the bag. "Shirts for you, a couple things for L."
"Oh, let me see," he said. And he went through the bag, trying on shirts. When he got to the one decided was his favorite, he spun around slowly with his arms flung out to each side, like Julie Andrews in the Alps. "Look, Mommy, I'm a princess! I'm doing the princess thing!"
I hit AmVets this morning with the L-man. He's getting so big so fast that it's nice to stop in and see if I can get anything for him on the cheap. Today, I scored shirts for A with a couple rompers (hello, Hanna Andersson romper for $1.50) for L.
When I got A home, he asked me what was in the bag. "Shirts for you, a couple things for L."
"Oh, let me see," he said. And he went through the bag, trying on shirts. When he got to the one decided was his favorite, he spun around slowly with his arms flung out to each side, like Julie Andrews in the Alps. "Look, Mommy, I'm a princess! I'm doing the princess thing!"
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
I'll take my Daddy-cereal with a side of puke, please
At least, I would if I was A.
He fell asleep yesterday at 3PM in the car. We drove home to drop off groceries then were off for the calorie-laden deliciousness of In-n-Out, since their buns are dairy-free (oh, thank God).
And he slept, and slept, and slept. He slept through the drop-off of me to a reading, and he slept through the pick-up, and he slept until late this morning.
Then he sat at the table, started in on a bowl of cereal, and threw up into it. And all over the table. Oy.
He's thrown up the little bit of water he got afterwards, so now he's tucked away on the (sheet-covered) couch watching Mary Poppins, after which it will be nap time.
I just got L to go to sleep, and let me tell you, there's nothing quite like a vomiting preschooler and a two-month-old to make you break out the bleach and the Purell. I fear my hands will be crackling dry by this evening.
When you think about the joys of having two kids, you don't think about the joys of cross-contamination challenges.
He fell asleep yesterday at 3PM in the car. We drove home to drop off groceries then were off for the calorie-laden deliciousness of In-n-Out, since their buns are dairy-free (oh, thank God).
And he slept, and slept, and slept. He slept through the drop-off of me to a reading, and he slept through the pick-up, and he slept until late this morning.
Then he sat at the table, started in on a bowl of cereal, and threw up into it. And all over the table. Oy.
He's thrown up the little bit of water he got afterwards, so now he's tucked away on the (sheet-covered) couch watching Mary Poppins, after which it will be nap time.
I just got L to go to sleep, and let me tell you, there's nothing quite like a vomiting preschooler and a two-month-old to make you break out the bleach and the Purell. I fear my hands will be crackling dry by this evening.
When you think about the joys of having two kids, you don't think about the joys of cross-contamination challenges.
Monday, February 08, 2010
Nine week checkup
We're at nine weeks today for Baby L, which means it was a big bad shot visit.
First off, the check-up. He's fine, a little snorty, but fine. He's huge: 12 pounds, 12 ounces; 24+ inches long. Dairy is a common irritant and the good doctor recommends that I give up the dairy for at least a month (!), because it won't clear my system for two weeks at least. So then I need to give it another few weeks to see if the lack of dairy is actually having an effect on L. Otherwise, she says, it's a waste of effort in giving up dairy in the first place.
I don't think the woman understands how much I love dairy or how I would happily give a minor appendage for a pint of Ben & Jerry's or a really good brie. I think she didn't get how much I was looking for a, "Don't act on crazy things you read on the internet; have a big glass of milk on me," response. L does seem less gassy, so I will soldier on and remind him of my sacrifice for the next sixty years.
Second up, the shots. Oh, the shots. Five immunizations, three shots and an oral solution (rotavirus, which wasn't available when A was born and can only be given in the 2-6 month window). L gets the first shot and turns bright red. Absolutely brilliant red. He gets the second shot and begins to cry. He gets the third shot and it turns to screams, heart-rending sad screams.
"Most babies, they just sound mad when they start to scream," the nurse said as she tried to pour rotavirus immunization down his throat. "This guy, he sounds like, I don't know."
"Like his heart is breaking," I said. L can scream like he's sure nobody loves him and no one ever will. He doesn't do it very often, but when he does, it's like a cattle prod in my chest. I must get to him immediately and make it stop, whatever it is.
"Yeah," she said. "Emotional." Oh, poor baby, mine too.
First off, the check-up. He's fine, a little snorty, but fine. He's huge: 12 pounds, 12 ounces; 24+ inches long. Dairy is a common irritant and the good doctor recommends that I give up the dairy for at least a month (!), because it won't clear my system for two weeks at least. So then I need to give it another few weeks to see if the lack of dairy is actually having an effect on L. Otherwise, she says, it's a waste of effort in giving up dairy in the first place.
I don't think the woman understands how much I love dairy or how I would happily give a minor appendage for a pint of Ben & Jerry's or a really good brie. I think she didn't get how much I was looking for a, "Don't act on crazy things you read on the internet; have a big glass of milk on me," response. L does seem less gassy, so I will soldier on and remind him of my sacrifice for the next sixty years.
Second up, the shots. Oh, the shots. Five immunizations, three shots and an oral solution (rotavirus, which wasn't available when A was born and can only be given in the 2-6 month window). L gets the first shot and turns bright red. Absolutely brilliant red. He gets the second shot and begins to cry. He gets the third shot and it turns to screams, heart-rending sad screams.
"Most babies, they just sound mad when they start to scream," the nurse said as she tried to pour rotavirus immunization down his throat. "This guy, he sounds like, I don't know."
"Like his heart is breaking," I said. L can scream like he's sure nobody loves him and no one ever will. He doesn't do it very often, but when he does, it's like a cattle prod in my chest. I must get to him immediately and make it stop, whatever it is.
"Yeah," she said. "Emotional." Oh, poor baby, mine too.
Thursday, February 04, 2010
Conversations with the three-year-old
A is sitting on my lap as I try to type.
A: "Look at me! Let me see your blue eyes!"
I laugh.
A: (Staring deeply into my eyes, an inch or so away) "Let me see your smile!"
I smile.
A: "Oh, what a beautiful smile!"
A: "Look at me! Let me see your blue eyes!"
I laugh.
A: (Staring deeply into my eyes, an inch or so away) "Let me see your smile!"
I smile.
A: "Oh, what a beautiful smile!"
Sunday, January 31, 2010
The Purge
We're on the cusp of eight weeks. Faced with increasing baby fussiness, I'm embarking on a 7-10 day dairy purge. This is an undertaking and I am really, really grouchy. No cheese? No milk? No ice cream?
But L seems quite gassy and irritated. Some resources say milk proteins in the breast milk cause that; some resources say a rapid milk-eject response does that and if he's coming off gasping during nursing, he's swallowing a lot of air along with his milk and thus, gas.
But. I can't throw out the breast milk (formula? you're kidding, right?) or the nursing, so out with the dairy and we'll see what happens. We're stocked now with bagels and non-dairy buttery-like spread, so I'm going to give it a week at least to see if L improves. If not, then we can say, okay, it's probably the rapid eject on milk and there's not much to be done, bring on the ice cream. We see the doctor in a week for his two-month anyway.
A has announced to preschool that babies eat mommy's milk (so sayeth his teacher). He's been walking around here nursing his dolls and animals, so I can't wait until he tries that at school.
But L seems quite gassy and irritated. Some resources say milk proteins in the breast milk cause that; some resources say a rapid milk-eject response does that and if he's coming off gasping during nursing, he's swallowing a lot of air along with his milk and thus, gas.
But. I can't throw out the breast milk (formula? you're kidding, right?) or the nursing, so out with the dairy and we'll see what happens. We're stocked now with bagels and non-dairy buttery-like spread, so I'm going to give it a week at least to see if L improves. If not, then we can say, okay, it's probably the rapid eject on milk and there's not much to be done, bring on the ice cream. We see the doctor in a week for his two-month anyway.
A has announced to preschool that babies eat mommy's milk (so sayeth his teacher). He's been walking around here nursing his dolls and animals, so I can't wait until he tries that at school.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
First outgrown sleeper
L officially has his first item of clothing that's too small, a sleeper in the 0-3 month, 8-11 lb. range that I tried to put him in this evening and his little feet strained the seams in the little sleeper feet.
Sniff.
Sniff.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Conversations with the Three-Year-Old
"Mommy, you have a big belly."
"Excuse me? I have a what?"
"You have a big belly."
"Now?"
"No."
"I had a big belly when I was pregnant with L, when L was in my belly?"
"Yes. You had a BIG belly. Your belly was bigger than Daddy's belly. But now we have L and Daddy has the big belly."
Thanks, sweetheart.
Earlier today, I made A the deal that if L took a nap upstairs in his bassinet (instead of in my arms), A and I could have cookies and tea (and milk) together. I just brought L up now and laid him down. He was fussy but got suddenly quiet. A explained to me, "I put the monkey upright," which indeed, A had stood the monkey toy in the corner right on L's eye line.
L's now asleep, and A's grabbed me in a whisper: "Mommy, we have to go downstairs and eat chocolate stars NOW because L is sleeping." You betcha, kiddo.
"Excuse me? I have a what?"
"You have a big belly."
"Now?"
"No."
"I had a big belly when I was pregnant with L, when L was in my belly?"
"Yes. You had a BIG belly. Your belly was bigger than Daddy's belly. But now we have L and Daddy has the big belly."
Thanks, sweetheart.
Earlier today, I made A the deal that if L took a nap upstairs in his bassinet (instead of in my arms), A and I could have cookies and tea (and milk) together. I just brought L up now and laid him down. He was fussy but got suddenly quiet. A explained to me, "I put the monkey upright," which indeed, A had stood the monkey toy in the corner right on L's eye line.
L's now asleep, and A's grabbed me in a whisper: "Mommy, we have to go downstairs and eat chocolate stars NOW because L is sleeping." You betcha, kiddo.
Friday, January 22, 2010
First week of school
Last weekend, our fabulous friends the Bumps came to town and met Mr. L, played with Mr. A, and a fabulous time was had by all. They brought a quilt made by Mrs. Bump (the quilter, not the runner). L has a quilt made just for him! And it's gorgeous and useful in the cold we've been having.
All our visitors have had the sucky weather. Both the Bumps and the grandparents got stuck with the cold snaps, and now we're in the middle of the deluge. Today we even had bean-bag-filler hail, so it's pretty serious for weather here. No signs of flooding for us, which is good, and no signs of ants, which is the bad part about days of rain.
It was the training-wheel week this week, where A went back to school (happy A) while C had one more week before returning to work. I've been alone with L and alone with A and L a couple times, so we'll see how next week goes. A s so thrilled to be in school again and we're thrilled to be back on a more normal schedule for life and naps.
I realized this week that the thank you notes are still sitting half-composed in piles on our bookcases. Christmas cards are a lost cause. Oy.
L is six weeks old and quite the snuggler. He's having a growth spurt, because he's been nursing a lot and is unhappy to be out of my arms for very long. He's gassier than A was (is this rude to report?). I'm starting to eliminate the obvious gassy things from my diet (onions, broccoli, etc.), but I'm a-feared that there will be a dairy-fast in the near future. I have the diet of a Northern European milkmaid: milk and cereal, cheese and bread, cheese and apples, yogurt and fruit, and more milk. I'm not sure what I will eat for protein when I don't have milk (beans? that seems contraindicated by the gassiness).
All our visitors have had the sucky weather. Both the Bumps and the grandparents got stuck with the cold snaps, and now we're in the middle of the deluge. Today we even had bean-bag-filler hail, so it's pretty serious for weather here. No signs of flooding for us, which is good, and no signs of ants, which is the bad part about days of rain.
It was the training-wheel week this week, where A went back to school (happy A) while C had one more week before returning to work. I've been alone with L and alone with A and L a couple times, so we'll see how next week goes. A s so thrilled to be in school again and we're thrilled to be back on a more normal schedule for life and naps.
I realized this week that the thank you notes are still sitting half-composed in piles on our bookcases. Christmas cards are a lost cause. Oy.
L is six weeks old and quite the snuggler. He's having a growth spurt, because he's been nursing a lot and is unhappy to be out of my arms for very long. He's gassier than A was (is this rude to report?). I'm starting to eliminate the obvious gassy things from my diet (onions, broccoli, etc.), but I'm a-feared that there will be a dairy-fast in the near future. I have the diet of a Northern European milkmaid: milk and cereal, cheese and bread, cheese and apples, yogurt and fruit, and more milk. I'm not sure what I will eat for protein when I don't have milk (beans? that seems contraindicated by the gassiness).
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Four-to-five weeks
Eyelashes start growing in at two weeks and actually arrive in full-force by five weeks.
First voluntary, reactive smiles are at four weeks. Little happy sleep smiles happen all the time before then.
First voluntary, reactive smiles are at four weeks. Little happy sleep smiles happen all the time before then.
Monday, January 11, 2010
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Saturday, January 09, 2010
One Month
Baby L is just over a month old and still sweet as pie. He's spending more time being awake and alert and he's starting to get some neck control. His eyes are starting to look seriously blue.
L had a one-month weight check this week since he hadn't regained his birth weight within two weeks (met the minimums for weight gain, but the doctor wanted to re-check to make sure he nursing alright). Within the last two weeks, he gained two pounds (!) to bring him up to a whopping ten pounds, four ounces. So I feel pretty safe in saying the nursing is going well and I think he's (we've) got the hang of it.
Big bro A is still sweet-as-pie himself. We went to a two-year-old's birthday party today and A shared away the contents of his party favor bag with all the other kids, then hugged everybody on the way out. Oh my, these are two sweet boys we've got. Just like their daddy.
L had a one-month weight check this week since he hadn't regained his birth weight within two weeks (met the minimums for weight gain, but the doctor wanted to re-check to make sure he nursing alright). Within the last two weeks, he gained two pounds (!) to bring him up to a whopping ten pounds, four ounces. So I feel pretty safe in saying the nursing is going well and I think he's (we've) got the hang of it.
Big bro A is still sweet-as-pie himself. We went to a two-year-old's birthday party today and A shared away the contents of his party favor bag with all the other kids, then hugged everybody on the way out. Oh my, these are two sweet boys we've got. Just like their daddy.
Monday, January 04, 2010
Holiday recap
In retrospect, having a baby before Christmas is super and I highly recommend it as the ultimate experiment in letting go of all your expectations.
Christmas was very low-key here. Being the Type-A personality I am, all the critical wrapping for A was done months and months ago, so we went to bed pretty normally for people with a newborn on Christmas Eve. Christmas morning we actually slept in and stayed in our PJs all day.
Grandma and Grandpa came to town the next day, which was wonderful. They had snuggle time with L (Grandma is smitten), play time with A (so many many books read so many times), and cleaned our bathroom and kitchen (which is both mortifying and fabulous). Grandma and A baked cookies, which thrilled them both; Grandpa and A took a walk together, which was great. A had his new camera, the hit present from Grandma and Grandpa, and the entire walk is documented.
How's the sleep? Well, C fell asleep playing a video game in the middle of the day. Playing a video game. That's how the sleep is.
So far (note the caution), the only things that make L cry are wet diapers, diaper changes (so cold and rude) and city driving in the car (so stop-and-go). He's been super easy-going. He's been so easy-going that I've been worried that he's dehydrated and has brain damage, but he's got tons of wet and dirty diapers, super chubby cheeks, and periods of being awake and alert, so it's not that. He's just a mellow little guy.
I'm still healing. I hit frustration at the 4-week point, where I said, okay, I should be done with the healing because I'm sick of being out of commission. It turns out I'm not done with healing. I'm still sore, dependent on meds for activity, and easily tired. But C is still on paternity leave and we're taking things extremely easy, so I'm trying to just enjoy this time and focus on L.
Baby announcements went out, which was an accomplishment. Christmas cards were in various stages of being written when L arrived, so those may or may not make it into the mail. (I'm not re-opening already-written ones to add L's name and photo to the card. I'm not.) Babies first, parents next, everything else after that. You may be getting your cards in March.
Christmas was very low-key here. Being the Type-A personality I am, all the critical wrapping for A was done months and months ago, so we went to bed pretty normally for people with a newborn on Christmas Eve. Christmas morning we actually slept in and stayed in our PJs all day.
Grandma and Grandpa came to town the next day, which was wonderful. They had snuggle time with L (Grandma is smitten), play time with A (so many many books read so many times), and cleaned our bathroom and kitchen (which is both mortifying and fabulous). Grandma and A baked cookies, which thrilled them both; Grandpa and A took a walk together, which was great. A had his new camera, the hit present from Grandma and Grandpa, and the entire walk is documented.
How's the sleep? Well, C fell asleep playing a video game in the middle of the day. Playing a video game. That's how the sleep is.
So far (note the caution), the only things that make L cry are wet diapers, diaper changes (so cold and rude) and city driving in the car (so stop-and-go). He's been super easy-going. He's been so easy-going that I've been worried that he's dehydrated and has brain damage, but he's got tons of wet and dirty diapers, super chubby cheeks, and periods of being awake and alert, so it's not that. He's just a mellow little guy.
I'm still healing. I hit frustration at the 4-week point, where I said, okay, I should be done with the healing because I'm sick of being out of commission. It turns out I'm not done with healing. I'm still sore, dependent on meds for activity, and easily tired. But C is still on paternity leave and we're taking things extremely easy, so I'm trying to just enjoy this time and focus on L.
Baby announcements went out, which was an accomplishment. Christmas cards were in various stages of being written when L arrived, so those may or may not make it into the mail. (I'm not re-opening already-written ones to add L's name and photo to the card. I'm not.) Babies first, parents next, everything else after that. You may be getting your cards in March.
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