Belly Laughs

Post-Partum Prolonged

2012-01-21T21:34:00.000-08:00

Depression after giving birth to the most wonderful thing to ever enter your life is a cruel twist of fate that seems unnatural and poorly timed. How can one be so unhappy after seeing those ten tiny toes, ten impossibly small fingers, button nose to die for? It makes no sense.

After my second was born, I felt the urge to brag about the fact I had just given birth to another adorable addition to our perfectly appointed family. Big brother was a fabulously chubby tot with a deep, infectious laugh and a personality that drew people in like the sun. Little brother was roundly shaped in every way, chubby and handsome, c-section perfect. He cooed on command, smiled when he had gas, ate like a lumberjack. Aside from the no-sleep-ever-for-the-rest-of-eternity thing, we were pleased with our accomplishments as parents so far...just having these two around were our bragging rights, and we hadn't even done any real parenting yet.

A few weeks after the birth, I began to feel the familiar stirrings of what life used to be like when my first was a tiny baby. Those stirring were sharp reminders of how I should have been concerned about my predisposition to depression, and that post-partum depression was guaranteed in my case. My doctors both said, be warned. If you have had post-partum with the first, you will definitely have it with the second, and more than likely it will be worse and more intense because of your history of depression. Apparently, doctors get those medical license thingies for a reason, because they were annoyingly right.

A month after giving birth, I found myself staring off into nothing. A wall, a bookshelf, reading the letters on the side of a building, the dashboard of the car while my husband was driving us to fun activities in the city. I was distracted, but thought it must be the exhaustion. Yes, the exhaustion must be it. I am SO TIRED. Being a mommy is so much work. Whew.

Being distracted is harmless, benign behavior that happens to the best mommies. My distraction wasn't just mindless nothing, however. It was coupled with thoughts that were so awful, it seems wrong to write them down. Writing them down gives them reality, power, life. It makes my stomach churn to think about it for too long.

I will say the thoughts were more daydreams. Images, not ideas. And they mostly involved me being evicted from life, giving my family the freedom to be happy without being burdened with me and my debilitating sadness. My guilt over not being "normal" was destroying any chance for happiness. I couldn't breathe or move or think without having these horrible thoughts of death, dying, terrible things happening to my loved ones that I couldn't prevent. Basically, things that were out of my control were my biggest fear. The "what-ifs?" They're terrifying.

The guilt. The tremendous GUILT. It weighed heaviest during the day when I was alone with the baby, trying to smile for him, keep him happy, oblivious to the fact that I was falling to pieces right before him. I performed motherly duties. I fed him from my body, gave him sustenance, peace of mind that I would always be there to comfort him when he cried. In the back of my mind, all I could think of was the possibility that his life might be improved by my absence. I felt worthless as a person, a mother, a wife, a daughter (as I was reminded on a regular basis by my own mother.)

Months have passed. Nine.

The depression has not left me. It remains, firmly rooted in my gut. If anything, it has gotten worse...splintered and spread. When I try to exorcise it from my body, it pulls on me like tentacles grasping and tightening their grip. I can't take a breath without thinking of how to make it all stop and go away. I can't hold my child without stifling sobs of defeat. He looks at me and smiles as a reflex, because I'm there, his mother. I'm always there. But I feel as if I am a million miles away.

Motherhood, although amazing and beautiful in so many ways, is also the most life-changing event I will ever experience. It erases you as the person you once were without kids and creates an entirely new person, one that struggles to be something other than a mother. If you surrender to it, you will lose the person you were entirely and be swallowed whole by motherhood, as if that is all you are and that is all you will ever be. Some embrace it willingly, without a second thought. I hear, "I was born to do this." and I am full of jealousy. Why can't I be that perfect mother?

Calls to my doctor go unanswered. I get no relief from pills due to the breastfeeding. I won't take anti-depressants until I'm done. I feel like my fingertips are whitened on the edge of a cliff as I hang precariously off the end of the world.

As it stands, I await a call from my doctor. Monday, I keep thinking. Monday, I will get a break from this suffocation. I pray this is true. I pray for some light in this dark place I have landed. There must be a window I can open. I crave that fresh air so much.

Nine Month Old Baby with the Gigantic Head

2012-01-03T21:11:00.000-08:00

We just had our well-baby visit with our pediatrician, and I can safely say our second is well on his way to being a big, fat baby. 21 pounds, 28 inches long, and off-the-charts head size. And I do mean off-the-charts. No, really. When I looked at the chart, his head was not on it.

Compared to our elder boy, who was 21 pounds, 29 inches at FIVE months, this one is a skinny Minnie. I can't imagine why, since it seems like I'm feeding him around the clock breastmilk. I'd better bulk this baby up soon or people will start talking. After all, I am well known around the neighborhood for having humongous children.

Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease...the Meanest Sickness

2011-10-03T09:31:00.000-07:00

Oh, what a month. Mastitis, followed by the ambiguous thrush, and now Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease. If you have no clue what that last one is, think of the flu and throw strep throat on top of the heap. It's the nastiest of all the kiddie ailments out there, imho.

It begins with what seems like a low-grade fever, then turns into a rash on the...what else? Hands, feet, and mouth. In my son's case, he got the rash on his bottom first, then we saw it on his wrists and feet. When we checked his mouth, we saw why had had been rubbing his throat and cheeks. The rash had very quickly turned into sores.

Having herpe-like sores on the inside of your mouth, all over your tongue and down your throat is pure Hell for adults. Imagine how difficult it is for a toddler, just beginning to be verbal but not quite there yet. He can't complain adequately enough with words, so he just screams and screams in pain, day and night. It was horrifyingly bad.

Also, the things that comfort him...eating, drinking...are unavailable to him. Not only that, those things now cause him a great deal of pain. It's awful for him, and awful for a parent to witness.

I tried to keep calm while thinking of the baby, but just the thought of him catching this evil thing from his brother made me break out in a cold sweat. We did as all the sites on HFMD recommended...washed everything down, cleaned like a psycho, washed hands until they cracked. The boys were separated, not allowed to touch for at least two weeks. Since HFMD is transmitted through saliva, and the kid was drooling like mad since he was in so much discomfort, we had to wash everything every night for two weeks. That's every toy, blanket, plushy...anything he touched with his hands or mouth. I must have done eight loads of laundry that first day we discovered the rash. After that, one to two loads a day. After dealing with thrush, which was basically the same cleaning regimine, I was beyond stressed, getting depressed, and feeling exhausted.

The poor little man was so miserable. It wasn't the same boy. He was cranky, unconsolably upset, and crying at the drop of a crayon. I could not imagine living this way indefinitely. Luckily for us, there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

He did get better, but it took about five days until the rash turned into sores which then popped and dried up. Eventually, they disappeared, leaving no trace of the nastiest, meanest sickness I have ever seen. Apparently, once you get the disease, you are immune to that particular strain. Other strains? Not so much.

This pre-school "catch everything every kid in the building has" thing will be giving us the gift of a powerfully strong immune system in the end, but until then, %#$!@ YOU, COMMUNICABLE DISEASES!

F@#$%# Thrush

2011-09-14T20:48:00.000-07:00

After a course of antibiotics to kill off the hideous mastitis, I found myself wondering if I had a yeast infection in my nipples, better known as thrush or "candida." Yay me.

Here's the skinny on thrush. It's evil. It's the dumbest ailment known to nipples. I can't get over how much information is out there on the Internet, and how useless it all is. Symptoms of thrush are so vague and all over the map there's no way of determining if you or your baby have it, unless you have the classic "white spots," which is also an ambiguous descriptor because there are NO pictures of nipples with thrush on the internet that are helpful.

Every site I visited (foolishly, I know) had the same descriptions, with the disclaimer, "May or may not" before each one.

Your nipples may or may not show signs of redness.
Your baby may or may not have white patches on the inside of his mouth.
Your breasts may or may not have shooting pain.
Your baby's saliva may or may not be shiny.
Your nipples could be red, pink, purple or white.

What good is that?! "May or may not" does not help me figure out what to do with this insipid yeast. I can't believe what a pain in the ass it has been trying to get rid of it...that is, IF I ACTUALLY HAVE IT.

The baby has no symptoms, but one of the symptoms of thrush is that the baby could have no symptoms. Did you get that? Confusing, ain't it?

The only symptom I had was shooting pain in my nipple. And when I say "shooting" I really mean it felt like someone was stabbing me with a knife over and over again. It was as if the milk had ground glass in it. This happened maybe 15 minutes after feeding the baby.

When I looked up "shooting pain," a hundred sites came up, all citing the dreaded THRUSH. I could not get over how hysterical people were about this thing. It was worse than mastitis, worse than plugged ducts...it was the invisible enemy, and one that multiplied at an exponential rate. After reading several dozen pages, I realized one thing...I was screwed.

I started cleaning everything with bleach (not vinegar.) I did six loads of laundry, with bleach. I used several remedies, including grapefruit seed extract (liquid) and extra virgin coconut oil (solid like butter) on my nipples (and the gse in his mouth.) I called the advice nurse several times, the lactation specialists, my obgyn's office, and my friends who had experienced this hell before. The doctors wouldn't see me, nor would the specialists. They all said the same thing. There is no definitive diagnosis for thrush. They could only go by my description, because all nipples look somewhat different. None are "obviously" thrush nipples. What?!

Everyone was saying something different, yet one thing remained: Do NOT reinfect yourself. Treat yourself and the baby at the same time. Strangely, the only person who did not agree with this assessment was the baby's pediatrician, who took one look in the baby's mouth, shrugged and said, "He doesn't have thrush." I had to strong arm a prescription for Nystatin out of him."

Eventually, I got in to see a nurse practitioner. She took one look at my nipples and said, "They're puffy and meaty." Translation: You have thrush. She sent in a prescription for Diflucan and sent me on my way.

The problem with thrush is that if you have vague symptoms that kinda sorta match the usual symptoms, there is no answer to the question, "Do I have it?" It's a horrible guessing game that always ends the same way. You treat it anyway, because your fear of the thing makes you paranoid.

This game of "thrush" or "not thrush" messed with my head in a terrible way. It stressed me out, gave me bouts of hysteria at any given moment, and really exhausted my patience. If you ever get it, I wish you luck and recommend you go to your happy place immediately. Otherwise, every tinge, tickle, or funny feeling you get in your breast will make you break into a cold sweat.

The sites I found helpful were few and far between, but for what it's worth, here they are:

Jay Gordon - Information on Thrush and how to treat it with Grapefruit Seed Extract

How long does Candida live on surfaces?

Babycare Advice - Very detailed and informative

Pinstripes and Polkadots - How to disinfect laundry, and other interesting information on bleach vs. vinegar

Mastitis...

2011-08-31T14:42:00.000-07:00

AGAIN. This is my third round with mastitis, and I can safely say that I am an expert in all things breast infected. Not exactly the silver lining I was looking for during my stint with breast feeding.

This time it was a little different, however. I felt the pain and knew right away...mastitis. It had to be. There was no mistaking it. It was an aching hot throb that made one side of my breast hurt so badly I winced when I fed the baby. Then, the pain got worse, but very quickly. Before the fever hit, I had already told my husband to call the advice nurse to get a prescription for antibiotics straight away. By the next hour I had a fever steadily rising. See? Expert.

As soon as I started feeling the pains and the lumps of clogged milk in my breast, I started hand expressing and warm compresses to get the infection out. I knew it was important to get all the milk out of the breast, so the infection wouldn't linger. For over an hour I groped myself. It was pretty (not) awesome reaching second base with myself.

The next day was my older son's birthday party, which I attended, feeling a little deathly. Two Tylenol and a playground full of kids pumped me up for the next three hours, which seemed ok compared to the hideous time I had with this beastly ailment before. But that night I collapsed in a heap with a 102 fever. It had come back with a vengeance and I was sick as a dog.

The antibiotics finally kicked in, everything stopped looking like a big disgusting purple bruise, and I felt much better the next day. I kicked mastitis' ass and lived to talk about it...again.

The next day I had shooting pains so powerfully painful I thought to myself, "Holy God, I'd rather go through LABOR again than feel this." When I looked it up on the internet, the only thing that kept popping up repeatedly? THRUSH. Not possible. NOT OK.

After calling the advice nurse, she confirmed it was thrush. "Thrush happens when you take antibiotics for mastitis. Antibiotics kill the good bacteria that keeps your yeast in check. Now, there's an overgrowth of yeast." Ok, now what? "Apply Vagasil to your nipples." What? Gross. I'll do it, but gross.

Somehow, applying a vaginal yeast infection cream to my nipples didn't seem right, so I called the lovely ladies at the lactation center who promptly said, "Thrush? No. Damaged nerve ending? Yup!" They suggested a cocktail of B-6 (for the damaged nerve) and probiotics (to take while taking antibiotics.)

To triple check the possibility I had thrush and had given it to the baby, we also saw the pediatrician, who checked the baby's mouth for the tell-tale white spots, looked at me like I was a loon, and said in his thick accent, "No thrush. Usually, baby gives thrush to mama. Not mama give thrush to baby. No thrush." And then I was sent on my way with a prescription for Nystatin (just in case thrush popped up in the next day or two) and a pat on the head.

So what have we learned? Don't look on the internet. The internet is not a doctor. The internet will drive you mad with unnecessary worry. Also, NO GOOGLE IMAGE SEARCHING. It's for your own good.

Also, when websites tell you that thrush can be stealthy and that the symptoms can be hidden? Not true, sayeth the wise and sage lactation specialists I talked to. And the pediatrician confirmed it. There are always white spots in the baby's mouth, and always raw hamburger-looking nipples. Not comforting, but there it is.

Two

2011-08-28T14:45:00.000-07:00

How is it possible? Two years have flown by already? My little man is two. I am at once amazed and disturbed. I thought we had a deal that he would stay cute and chubby forever. This kind of blows.

But seriously, the party was all kinds of awesome. I rocked the goodie bags, and believe me, it wasn't an easy feat. Whoever created the concept of this stress-inducing addition to children's birthday parties should be smacked. It was the most difficult part of the planning process for me, and I am not one to enjoy complications when planning anything.

The party was low-key and at our favorite playground, which made for an ideal situation for the adults: Let the kids go wild and play with one another while we mack on sandwiches and chocolate milk. We bought mini cupcakes to downplay the sugar. Presents were welcome but not required. Everything was simple. Easy. No-frills. Loved it.

I made 16 goodie bags, and they were a big hit with the parents and kiddies. I bought cutesy animal boxes off Amazon for cheap and filled them up with a CD of the kid's favorite music, a beanie baby, a chocolate horse/cow/pig, a party blower, a mini playdoh and a small bottle of robot bubbles. Tell me you wouldn't be stoked if you was two. Robot bubbles?! Fuggedaboudit.

And by the way? I made extra goodie bags, and thankfully so. Kids and their parents showed up without an RSVP, which was fine. More the merrier, I say. But if I hadn't had those extras, whoa. There might have been two-year old rioting.

Anyway, the kiddo loved it, until the end of the party when he was on the playground without his friends. It was a little heartbreaking, watching him play with the straw from his milk box, wandering aimlessly and poking things. It made me wish we had made an early exit to avoid that wistful scene. Seeing him that way made my heart ache. Ah, motherhood.

Potty Training

2011-07-21T12:37:00.000-07:00

At 18 months of age, my husband broke out the brand new Bjorn potty we bought in anticipation of potty training our eldest. At first, the boy just looked at it with curiosity. But as soon as he found it had no wheels to spin or buttons to push to make lights turn on, he discarded it as trash.

For months, my husband tirelessly jumped up and down like a giddy cheerleader whenever my son has pooped in the potty. It has been a remarkable display of enthusiasm, considering the source. The poop, by the way, is absolutely vile. The smell is not unlike pure evil and will literally burn your face off like a chemical spill landed on you. I can't possibly describe it aptly without offending most or all of you, so I won't go further. Just know that solids make toddler diapers into deadly weapons. If we just lobbed them at our enemies, there would be no war.

We can count on one hand the amount of times our son has gone #1 or #2 in the potty, which I think is pretty good, considering he isn't even 2 yet. But the more impressive feat is the fact that now we can usually tell when he is about to go in his diaper just by looking at his face. He will be playing at the table, with his cars, trains, whatever. Then, quite suddenly, he will stop mid-step and just gaze off into the nothingness. Occasionally, he'll look in my direction as if to say, "HERE IT COMES."

The times we have actually acted fast enough to get him into the toilet, he has managed a little tiny nugget. Alas, it is not usually the case. The husband hides a horrified grimace while he cleans the kid's bottom and dumps the offending diaper in the trash.

Our diaper pail smells like several things died inside.

Two Teething Tots

2011-07-19T12:21:00.000-07:00

So big brother is teething. His back molars are finally coming in, as all the books and Internet sites predicted they would around age two. And now little brother has decided to cut a few teeth, too, at almost 4 months. He's been drooling pretty crazily for about two months, however, so we believe his gums were bothering him far before now. He regularly drenches at least 5 or 10 bibs a day, depending on how much he throws up after eating. Sounds glamorous? Totally is.

Big brother teethes at night, but chews on things during the day. When he chews, we know he's feeling something unpleasant in his mouth, and he's trying to relieve that discomfort. He gets tons of sympathy, as long as he doesn't turn into the Terrible Two Tot. That gets very little sympathy from either of us.

However, at night, he's been waking up crying, usually looking for his pacifier. (Yes, we still give him a pacifier at night. He uses it to sleep, and we are unapologetic about it. Without the pacifier, life would suck and suck hard.)

It's the crying at night that kills me. We have considered ourselves lucky with the baby, because his five hour stretches at night usually give us enough time to recharge our batteries. But big brother waking at any given moment during his sleep has been killing us. It's interrupting important REM sleep, and this old body is not having it. In fact, it regularly tells me how displeased it is with me by giving me various bouts of illness, gastrointestinal issues, and a variety of unpleasant symptoms that are brought on by exhaustion. That and my hair falling out in clumps due to the post-pregnancy "fall" is making me one hot MILF.

Oh, Lord, please give me some sleep. Or hair.

Sleepless in the City

2011-07-12T12:11:00.000-07:00

After reading a fellow mommy's blog, I realize what a slacker I have become when it comes to posting. I remember fondly those days of one child and blogging, and I laugh at my past self for complaining relentlessly about not having time to do things on the Internet. Ha. Hahaha.

Now I have two little boys and it has not only become difficult to find a moment of time to myself, it has become downright impossible. Without my fabulous husband, I fear I would never NOT have a child either clinging to my skirt or to my boob.

At three and a half months, my newborn is no longer a newborn. That reddish hue on his unsettled skin has become predictably soft and impossibly pink. His sleeping patterns have become more consistent at three to five hour stretches a night...more than we could have possibly asked for at this point in his life. Why are we so thankful for what seems like a pittance of sleep? We remember our first born, that's why. The wailing went on for hours...oh the wailing and screaming. And it always happened around the same time every night, right before we tried to put him down for the night. It was as if he thought he was never going to wake again. Ugh, it was straight up awful for about four months solid. We thought we might die from exhaustion.

However, our not-so-newborn took to sleep like a champ from the get go. He slept three hours at a time, all through the day and night until he hit his stride at ten weeks or so when he began stretching his night time sleep to five hours. Bliss, I tell you.

The only problem with having a baby that sleeps is that I am tempted to stay up until midnight and watch what my Tivo has saved for me. The urge to reconnect with the outside world is powerful and I never resist it for too long. Sure, it feels great to go to sleep at eight or nine, but what fun would that be? I'm missing good trash television and I need to be informed of the ins and outs of Brangelina. This is important stuff, people.

Of course at 5:30 a.m. when both boys seems to wake within twenty minutes of one another I am rueing the moment I decided that Law and Order reruns were far more important than getting to bed. It's torturous to pull my body into clothes and brush my hair...which is why my hair often looks like I have been hit repeatedly by a car. I smell bad, too. Shower? What's that? OH, THAT. No, that doesn't happen every day, either.

Reflections on the Baby Registry

2011-06-26T20:23:00.000-07:00

I received a notice from one of the many baby registries I signed up for when I found out I was pregnant with my first. It said, "Come on! If every item is purchased off your registry, you get a special thingy! DO IT!!"

Tempted by special thingies, I looked at my registry, which had collected dust since the last time I had checked. After all, having two boys, you don't need a whole lot of things. Also, people don't WANT to give you more stuff. They feel as if they paid their dues with number one, which is understandable. We have all the boy clothes we will ever need until they reach pre-school. I'm drowning in patterns of trucks and cars and puppies and blue. I have to admit, I sometimes long for the overpriced pink baby hair clip that will be lost in two seconds flat. Enough to have a third? NOT BLOODY LIKELY.

My registry, from just a glance, was pretty well bought out. There were the straggling items, which I still need (HINT HINT GO BUY IT) and there were the things that I definitely appreciated getting when I did. All in all, I covered the basics, the cool things, the organics, the unnecessary but oh-so-adorable-I-must-have-it things that every person who has a baby should have.

So here's a list for all my pregnant friends who are expecting or will be soon (Hurry up. I need playdates.) These are the must-haves on my baby registry that made my life so much easier. These are the items we used for a newborn/infant, mind you. The toddler stuff is a much different list!

The Diaper Genie
Refills for the Diaper Genie

The Munchkin wipes warmer (made night time changes way less traumatic for everyone and has a night light button)

Pampers swaddlers diapers. Sizes nb and 1. When we moved to size 2, we changed to Huggies, which was cheaper and better for boys, it seems. No leaks.

Pampers sensitive wipes, which we used until the baby was 3 or 4 months old.

Contoured changing pad for the changing table (Non-slip bottom, bolts to the top of a dresser)
Changing pad cover
Changing table pads, at least six

City Mini Stroller
Rain cover
Console (for holding drinks, snacks, etc.)
Belly bar (for when they're a sitting up and engaging with stroller toys.)
Child tray (for when they're older and want to have a sippy cup.)
Infant car seat bar

Pack and play

Swaddle Designs ultimate receiving blanket (We have two.)

SwaddleMe Swaddlers (in all sizes)

Petunia Picklebottom blanket (super soft and huggable. My son can't sleep without his.)

Newborn pajamas (which you never get as gifts, because everyone buys you the larger sizes because babies grow "so fast.")

Newborn undershirts (short sleeve or long sleeve, for cold nights.)

Gumdrop pacifiers. Love them. (I start with the round kind.)

The Binky Bungee (super soft)

The Sleep Sheep (white noise machine. Also comes in mini sizes and other animals.)

For Crying Out Loud (or any white noise "music" cd)

The Happiest Baby on the Block (a "how-to" manual for new parents)

What to Expect When Your Expecting (a tad alarmist, but still chock-full of information)

What to Expect the First Year

Angelcare Baby Monitor (the one that comes with a non-motion detector and also doubles as a night light)

Levana video monitor (saved us many unnecessary walks to the baby's room to check on squeaks and growly noises. Also has night vision and a lullaby feature, which we never used, but was nice to have)

Petunia Picklebottom diaper bag (oh so chic and cool. And expensive. We got ours as a gift)

Kiddopotamus Snuzzler (also known in some parts as Summer Snuzzler. I got two...one for the car seat and one for the bassinet stroller)

Ergo (universally comfortable, baby faces you)

Ergo Sucking Pads

Bjorn (better for daddy frames, baby faces you, but as he/she gets older is faced away from you)

Kangaroo carrier sling (discontinued, but can be found in discount sales on some mommy sites and at used baby clothing stores like Chloe's Closet in Bernal Heights)

Breastflow bottles (sizes 1, 2, 3)

Medela breast pump-in-style

Hands-free breast pump bra

Ameda ComfortGel Hydrogel Pads

Hooter Hider or Bebe au Lait nursing cover

Nipple shields (Only if you choose this route or if you're in pain while trying to nurse. There are pros and cons to using nipple shields. Talk to your lactation specialist about it if you're unsure.)

Washable Breast pads

Mother's Milk nipple cream (slather it on)

Gerber's hot and cold pads for sore breasts. Also, hot water in a diaper applied to the breast will give you that wet heat you need to encourage milk flow.

Sterilizer (for microwave) (Although I still recommend washing in very hot water before putting your pumping equipment in. Of course, boiling is the only sure-fire no-doubt method for sterilizing. But I do love this sterilizer. It's cheap and it seems to work well.)

Drying Rack

Bottle Brush

Boppy

Boppy organic cover

Baby nail clippers (No matter what brand you get, you will have a slight heart palpitation every time you clip their teeny tiny nails. You can file them, which is what some recommend, but I chose to clip. I would wait to clip until they are at least six weeks or two months, however. My son had nails that were basically fused to his skin. When I clipped, his finger bled and I was mentally scarred for life. I cried far more than he did.)

Mustela foaming shampoo/body wash for infants (Easy to squirt on their little heads, cry-proof, dual purpose. It worked well for our sensitive boy, who was allergic to Johnson's and Johnson's shampoo.)

Washcloths (We have at least a dozen strategically placed all over the house. They're great at bath time, for both washing and to soak in warm water and place over the baby's body so he doesn't get too cold.)

Bibs (Many, many, many bibs. Preferably water-resistant, like Carter's. The drool and spit up is impressive, especially around two to three months of age.)

Nose Frieda (This worked so much better than the bulb to get the snot out of little noses.)

Waterproof crib mattress pad (We have two, to switch off in case of accidents.)

Grobag Egg Nursery Thermometer (Nice to have, although the temperature is often shown on some monitors. But it was cool!)

Braun Ear Thermometer (Some doctors have said the ear thermometers are not as reliable, but we loved this gift. It's so easy to use, and my husband has been able to take my very active son's temperature while he was asleep without waking him.)

Spelling Bee

2011-06-22T21:21:00.000-07:00

Tonight after a fairly gag-worthy dinner (not because of my cooking, mind you. Have you ever eaten with an almost two-year-old? 'Nuff said) the topic of E-L-M-O came up.

Sidebar: How do you know a person is a parent? They spell fast. Almost as fast and furiously as they eat their dinner in a restaurant with two kids under the age of three. That's really fast, y'all.

Now back to the topic at hand. E-L-M-O has been the bane of my existence for as long as I can remember, and even before I had children. I just hated E-L-M-O and his squeaky little voice and his stupid dancing stuffed animal robot thing that creeps me out just thinking about it. Ewww.

Now that I have these two mini-me kids in my house, E-L-M-O has been a daily exercise in tolerance. I watch him only when I absolutely have to, since just the sight of him gives me hives. We have never turned on the television in front of the tasmanian tot, so he doesn't even know what it is, except something that he can MacGyver his way into destroying. However, technology has bitten us in the ass. Elmo is on YouTube.

We watch E-L-M-O on the iPad and my iPhone. The very sight of these two electrical things makes the boy quiver with excitement and squeal, "EH-MO, WATCH WIT MOM-MY." How am I supposed to resist that? I CAN'T.

So we lay together in the morning, me holding the iPhone in one hand, precariously balancing it on my husband's hip or a pillow. I turn on the longest running E-L-M-O video I can find and try to go to sleep for five minutes or so with my arm in a jacked up position, hoping the blood won't drain out of it before the clip ends.

Is one clip enough? HELL NO. We watch clip after clip after clip. I have memorized most of the songs, and can even do the inflections and slides with Patti LaBelle. Not that I'm comparing myself to Patti LaBelle, mind you. I might give a Patti LaBelle impersonator a run for his/her money, however.

Basically, Sesame Street should hire me to be on their show. I know all the music. I know the entire set by heart. I know the characters, the monsters, the guest stars, the gaffer. And they owe me. They owe me big. Creating E-L-M-O has taken over any semblance of the normal non-puppet life I used to take for granted.

We put the iPad and iPhone away. We hid them and basically tried to Hitchcock his little butt by pretending he had just imagined them. Elmo? What's that? A type of vegetable? Never heard of it.

But he's not easily fooled, this one. He's smart, which I blame on the manufacturers of DHA and Omega 3 supplements that I have been choking down every day for three years. All those pregnancy sites and doctors said it would build fabulous brain development in babies. They never warned me of the babies that would use those big fat brains for EVIL.

So tonight, when the topic of E-L-M-O came up between my husband and I, I spelled my sentence carefully, as I usually do. "Did you put the iPad away? If he sees it he will want to watch E-L-M-O before bed."

Then I heard it. A little voice. "Watch. ELMO."

My greatest fears realized. A two year old who can spell. And just when I was getting good at spelling out swear words. How am I supposed to be a grown up now?!

The Complaints Box

2011-05-28T20:03:00.000-07:00

Every household should have one. And it should be hung right on the door exiting the house, so as not to miss it while life whirls past. There should be a complaint box because no one ever lets me complain about anything out loud...ever.

Apparently, it's forbidden once you have a baby. Sounds odd, considering having a baby is tough work, consisting of giving selflessly of yourself 24/7 for...well...EVER. There's no break to be had until you are resting comfortably on your satin pillow seven feet under ground. You will always be a parent, always be worried, always be afraid of losing what you love most in the world. For a OCD like myself, that's a recipe for a lot of sleepless nights.

I've been complaining a lot lately, almost indignant about the sore nipples, sagging skin, sleep deprivation, lack of communication with my spouse, my friends, or any adult, for that matter. I complain for the greater good, for if I didn't vent my parental angst, I would simply explode like the ticking time bomb I have become. Once that little person is born from you, you are born into a new person...one that is all at once in love, nurturing, motherly, compassionate, caring, exhausted, lonely, depressed, binge eating, cranky, bitchy, resentful and spiteful of the childless people of the world who get to sleep in and eat at fancy restaurants at 8:00 at night. Lucky bastards.

Confusing? You bet. Having children is the best thing I have ever experienced in my life, and will no doubt continue to reward me throughout my life. However, it seems that instantaneous gratitude comes with conditions.

Feeling Like a Million Bleahs

2011-05-10T21:21:00.000-07:00

The sinking feeling of depression has set in yet again, as I anticipated it would. I waited for it like I was waiting for a late bus. No matter how much I hoped, I just knew in my gut there was no way to avoid post-partum depression.

I'm isolated with a baby, a toddler, and a husband who is preoccupied with the excitement/exhaustion of having a new addition to our already energetic family. My friends have come and gone in limited quantity, and none are staying around this time...the second baby isn't the same. People just don't think it's that big a deal, and it's definitely not the new experience that always had my heart racing with my first. But without company, it has become lonely. I'm looking around for me time and coming up woefully short.

There are some distinct differences with the depression this time around. It's far less relentless, and it strikes at unpredictable times of the day and for no reason at all. It's also less consistent than with my first round. Instead of being a sob-fest of guilt and self-pity, it has manifested itself in a way that is indescribably horrible.

You see, I have these images of my kids being hurt. My kids, my family, my life...being killed by various, nameless ghouls. And not just killed, but murdered in ways I do not care to rethink. It's pretty horrific, and always so unforgivingly graphic, almost cinematic in its clarity. Sometimes I have to close my eyes tight and shake my head violently to get it out of my mind. And sometimes, that just doesn't work.

When I mentioned it to my lactation nurse, she said that it was best if I stop watching the news, crime shows, reality crime shows, anything to do with kids being hurt, people being hurt, the world being in turmoil.

So in other words, that excludes all television, radio, print newspapers and/or magazines. I might as well seal myself up in a bubble and send myself to the North Pole.

I realize that the images and daynightmares are all a part of my psyche trying to process the stress of having a newborn and a toddler and no down time at all. There's also the stress of no paycheck for over a year, which seems to magnify when I pay the bills and realize we have to dip into our savings to pay Mastercard.

I spoke to my obgyn about it at my last visit. As she was inspecting the c-section incision (which is healing nicely, thank you) I asked her if she thought I needed to see a therapist. Surprisingly, she said no. "I think that's normal." She said without a hint of concern in her voice. "I had a friend who had exactly the same thing happen."

The question that sits on my chest, making it hard to breathe is: Is it better to be crying into my breast pump all day long for months? Or to live in fear that something will take away everything I have? The saying goes, "The more you have, the more you have to lose."

I guess I have taken that a little too much to heart.

Compare and Contrast

2011-04-17T10:59:00.000-07:00

I know your not supposed to compare kids. But here's the skinny on the differences I've noticed between my two boys.

The baby screams when he's hungry, screams when he's being changed, screams when he's being dressed...but totally quiet and content when he's not.

He is also an eating machine. I don't ever remember the tot eating as much as this baby does. He eats every hour, if he can get away with it. And he is constantly rooting, opening his mouth, sticking his tongue out. He's on the hunt for anything he can possibly get in his stomach. The lactation nurse suggested this might be gas, however. This would explain the red-faced grunting.

He sleeps through anything. With a toddler brother and his friends at the house, constantly screaming and yelling and banging their toys on everything, this baby has slept for hours on end through the noise. It amazes us, since the tot used to wake up to me turning on my cel phone.

He sleeps without screaming for two hours before bedtime. The tot used to scream his head off for at least two hours, sometimes more. It drove my husband and I insane for at least two months. There was no rhyme or reason to these fits...he just didn't like going to bed. And when he woke up the next day, he was the happiest baby on the block. It was Jekyll and Hyde baby with the tot. With this baby, it's quiet, relaxing evenings. He simply drifts off to sleep on most nights, unless there's an evil gas bubble lurking.

Other than that, they're both very cute, very boy, and both are keeping me running around like a maniac. Partners in crime. I'm doomed.

Potty Training the Tot

2011-04-07T21:11:00.000-07:00

at 18 months, the kid went poop in the potty the other day, and I must say, I've never been this excited about poop before.

Here's the deal. After his bath, he walked over to the potty and sat, which is not unusual since the husband has been trying to get him to sit every time they change his diaper.

When he was sitting, he said, "Poop. Pooooop!" Also, not a big shocker, since my husband has read him books about potty time and poop every time they've stepped foot in the bathroom.

When the boy stood up, my husband noticed something on his butt. He thought, "Oh, crap, he has poo on his ass."

But when he looked at the potty, THERE IT WAS. Yes, my son pooped in the potty. All can rejoice the poop.

Breast Feeding the Second Time Around

2011-04-06T09:23:00.000-07:00

NOT easy the second time around. Everyone who told me it was...LIES, ALL LIES. Or maybe it's me and my boobs. With my first son, it was painful, but gradually so. This time, it was excruciating right off the bat. I was instructed to pump in lieu of feeding because of the incredible discomfort. My first pump was an ounce of bright red blood. Gross, to say the least.

I had blisters, abrasions, scabbed-over nipples...the first two weeks were brutal. I decided not to mess around and go to my favorite lactation nurse again. She took one look at the baby's mouth and suggested getting his frenulum snipped, just like his brother did.

Once we had the procedure done, (which was far more harrowing for me than for the baby) he seemed to latch on better, but still chomped me like he was in the Donner party. My milk had come in full-force and was making him cough and gag from the let-down. I was instructed by the nurse to pump six times a day, which made me tear up in anticipation of how much work it was going to be to get this baby some breast milk.

By "work" I mean pumping for 10 to 20 to 30 minutes, six times a day. That's in addition to washing and sterilizing everything over and over again to avoid the dreaded MASTITIS. Yes, I said MASTITIS. And whenever I say it, or anyone else says it, I shiver with dread. It's the breast feeding mom's equivalent of saying VOLDEMORT in Harry Potter books.

But here's the thing...pumping helps drain your milk, which helps prevent plugged ducts, which is a big reason women GET mastitis. For that reason, and for the nourishment of my newborn, I will endlessly pump my poor, National Geographic looking boobs until I get this breast feeding down.

Losing the Pregnancy Weight...Again.

2011-04-05T11:01:00.000-07:00

I was 172 before the birth. 12 days later and I'm at 147. Today (4/10) I weighed in at 145. The all-you-can-stuff-in-your-face-before-passing-out breast feeding diet has begun!

There's a Newborn in the House

2011-04-03T09:21:00.000-07:00

There's a newborn in the house, and he's waking up at 1, 3, and 5 a.m. Sometimes he lets us sleep a good 4 hours uninterrupted, but then we had the tot to give us a wake-up call at 5:59 a.m. Thoughtful boy.

Speaking of the tot, he's been acting a little off lately, which we have been mostly categorizing in the "TANTRUM" files. It's been a daily thing, these annoying breakdowns, which I'm sure will pass eventually. And if they don't, I'm moving to Finland. They're pretty unbearable when you're nipples are sore and raw and you're post-partum hormones are making you want to punch and hug simultaneously.

I started noticing the strange change in his behavior about a week after we brought his brother home from Labor and Delivery. At first, there was no change at all. He seemed to be fine, just hanging out and doing his normal thing. We both figured he was just waiting it out, seeing when this baby was going home to HIS mommy and daddy.

When the baby stayed, the tot started getting squealy. He started crying at any given moment for what seemed like no reason at all. He also started getting more tenacious, stubborn, and would hold his ground until it came to a showdown between parent and tot. Tot usually loses, but I must admit to giving in on occasion. What can I say? I felt bad for the little man, dealing with this littler man invading his space.

The tot also started lying on the baby's pillows, saying, "Sleep...sleeeeep!" He's also been trying to crawl into the baby's bassinet while saying the baby's name, which at first I thought was adorable. Now, I think he may be trying to eat the baby.

But mostly, it's just the screaming fits of inconsolable crying that gets me down. I know he's going through a change. I also know he's 18 months. People always complain about the "Terrible Twos." But really, it's the terrible 1 1/2s you need to be concerned about. Two is easy. They can talk and communicate fairly well. They understand consequence and reward in a somewhat cognitive way. You can reason with a two year old, if you have the patience for it.

However, 1 1/2? Not so much. Add a newborn brother to the mix and you get an explosive combination of confused jealousy and uninhibited resentment. Fun for all!

Birth Story Redux

2011-03-27T09:19:00.000-07:00

I went to see the doc and she poked around in the nether-regions for a bit. When she looked at me, there was a distinct crease in her brow. "You're three centimeters." she said with concern.

Just two days before I had had a version, which was an attempt to turn the baby from transverse to engaged (head down in the cervix.) My baby was not so cooperative, which may not bode so well for me when he's born if this is his attitude about life.

Now my baby was completely breech, which meant his feet were doing a Riverdance on my cervix and he was standing up inside me, using my insides as punching bags. I could feel him moving all over the place all the time, never breaking for a moment.

And now my doctor was looking at me with concern, saying I was three centimeters dilated. This was a problem, she said, because if I continued to have contractions, I could dilate further. And if my water broke, the cord could slip out before the baby which would be a major concern.

So now I was worried. After the version failed, the doctors hastily scheduled a cesarian for April 1st. Yes, our baby was a planned April Fool's Day kid, forever to be joked, teased, tortured on his birthday. And we CHOSE that date. Sadistic parents.

But now my doctor was saying she wanted that baby out...now. She wanted to schedule it for the following day, the 24th of March. I asked for a day to schedule a sitter for our toddler, and she hesitantly agreed to make it the 25th. Stress attacked my nervous system and I started tearing up from the impending freak out.

When I explained everything to my husband, he went into immediate planning mode, called several people and got things packed for the hospital. We were ready to go within an hour. Dealing with the idea of being cut open and having my organs shuffled around was weighing heavy on my mind, and the guilt of leaving my toddler overnight for the first time in his life was literally knifing me in the heart. I felt like things were out of control and quickly spiraling towards crazy-town.

I slept fitfully that night, and the next morning I woke up with what felt like a stomach ache. Perhaps I had stored all that stress inside and it was causing gastrointestinal distress, I thought. But as the morning wore on, I felt twinges and pangs of pain that were unfamiliar. During my pregnancy with my toddler, I didn't have a single Braxon-Hicks contraction, barely a twitch. When the labor started, it hit like a wall of bricks.

This pregnancy I had felt Braxton-Hicks throughout the third trimester, although I hardly noticed it at first. Now, I noticed it. Boy howdy, did I notice it. The contractions were steady, uncomfortable and predictable. I remembered what my doctor had told me the day before...if the contractions were ten minutes apart or less, call Labor and Delivery and go in.

She had tried to get my c-section planned for two days after my last appointment, but the head of the department had shut her down, saying they had a policy about c-sections being performed only at 39 weeks or over. I was just hitting 38 weeks, and although my doctor told me not to worry, the tone in her voice was not convincing.

Now I was contracting regularly...five minutes apart, to be exact. My husband called Labor and Delivery and told them the situation. My toddler was playing with his friend, who was visiting for the day. No one could watch them right away, so I drove myself to the E.R. and prayed for clear roads.

The drive to the hospital was nothing short of white-knuckled and intense. The pain of the contractions kept me alert to how easy it would be to drive into a light pole during a painful cramp. The weather had turned nasty and the wind was throwing buckets of rain onto the car, making for a very dramatic scene.

I arrived at the parking lot and wobbled the two blocks to the E.R. waiting room. Drenched and shivering from the cold, I told them I was in labor. To their credit, they didn't wait for the baby to drop on the floor and whisked me away in a wheelchair to Labor and Delivery, where I was given only a minute to grasp the situation.

The doctor checked my cervix...four centimeters. The contractions had become increasingly more and more intense as I lay on the bed. Being the wimpy gal I am, I quickly asked for pain medication.

Doctors flew in and out of the room, nurses checked the baby's pulse, and everyone asked me the same question, "Is your husband coming?"

"Yes, he is. And if he isn't here soon I will kill him." I answered with a not-so-sincere laugh.

The reason everyone kept asking if my husband was coming was because they wanted to cut me...soon. And it wasn't a matter of if he showed up or not. They were going to get the baby out within 30 minutes.

Husband showed up in the nick of time. I was rushed into the O/R and given a series of shots in my back, a spinal tap, which numbed me from the chest down. It was so odd, the sensation of no sensation. At one point, I panicked because when I tried to cough, I couldn't. The helplessness was overwhelming.

Once I was numbed up, my husband was allowed in. He held my hand, told me it was ok, and not to be scared. My fears were multiplying with the controlled chaos of the room. Technicians and doctors were all around, shoving things in my IV, my nose, my mouth. It was too much all at once, and at breakneck speed.

They finally cut, and within five minutes, baby boy was out and screaming his disapproval of the whole scene. Two weeks early and totally unexpected, at 8 lbs, 13 oz, he had arrived. Healthy, high apgar, and with a perfectly round head (thanks, c-section!)

A Version of a Version

2011-03-22T20:12:00.000-07:00

I knew it. The baby is transverse. Sideways. I could tell because the kid kicks me all the live long day, and not gently. He puts all his weight into it as if to say, "HEY, NO SLEEP FOR YOU, HUMAN INCUBATOR." It has been a very bumpy ride so far.

I also knew when I would dare look in the full-length mirror without clothes and see that my belly looked like I had swallowed a chopping board. It was very obvious this baby was either Stewie from Family Guy or transverse.

So the doctor took one look on the sonogram at my last appointment and officially declared it, and I said, "CALLED IT" rather loudly. She laughed, and then paused uncomfortably before launching into her explanation as to why I should have this procedure that would correct the baby's position and land his head in my cervix. A version.

A version requires me to actually go to Labor and Delivery and get a shot of medicine that will prevent contractions. They insert an IV, which is always fun, and then give fluids to make sure I'm hydrated just in case I go into labor and have an emergency c-section. Also fun.

When the medicine is given, the doctors take 15-20 minutes of the baby's heartbeat. Then two doctors push on my lubed up belly. One pushes toward my chest, and the other pushes toward my cervix.

When I asked people about the procedure, most online said, "Oh, it's not painful. Just uncomfortable. They gave me pain meds and an epidural" I wasn't worried so much as curious when I got to the hospital to have it done. I was so comfortable with the idea of the version that I didn't have my husband accompany me, just a good friend in case I needed her to call him for an emergency.

However, I didn't get pain meds. Nor did I receive an epidural. When the doctors started applying Herculean pressure onto my stomach, they squeezed out tears. I'm here to say to all the online ladies that have had painless versions, MY VERSION HURT.

It hurt like a mother. I couldn't imagine a worse pre-labor moment. It was pain personified.

I can't recommend the version for anyone with a pain threshold like mine, which is this: I can handle pushing a 8 lb 3 oz baby out of my vagina. That's how much a version hurt me.

And in the end, it didn't friggin' work. The doctor tried...twice. After the second attempt she looked at me and said, "It seems like he's pretty darn comfortable where he is. Do you want to try a third time?"

To which I believe I said, "HELL no."

To add insult to injury, when they did a final sonogram to make sure the baby was ok, they found he had turned...to a complete breech position. Basically, he went in the opposite direction, just to be spiteful.

Yeah, no more versions for me, thanks.

The Flu + Pink Eye + 8 Months Pregnant = ONE SEXY BEAST

2011-02-03T19:11:00.000-08:00

The flu hit my house like a brick through a window. There was no warning, no preventative medicine, no hope once it arrived. My husband had it first, which I thought was a simple cold. But suddenly, it morphed into a nasty, snot-filled, coughing, phlegm-coated hot mess. I had coughing fits that required dozens upon dozens of pairs of underwear, due to the incontinence issue that has been plaguing me since my first born arrived. I also sneezed quite frequently, which required a second dozen pairs of underwear. Obviously, my hotness factor was out of control.

I was in the urgent care room with a doctor with the personality of a stale piece of bread. He took a culture for strep, handed me a prescription for Robitussin with codine and shoved me out the door. I immediately downed the cough syrup and felt the urge to hack up a lung crawl back into my throat. That night I actually slept four hours straight. A MIRACLE.

At three o'clock in the morning, I woke with a leaking face. My eye was tearing up so badly it had actually gotten me out of a dead sleep. Now at eight months, the only thing waking me up on a regular basis was the urge to pee or the baby practicing his Krav Maga on my internal organs. A tearful eye? This I had to check out.

I looked in the mirror, which I regretted immediately. Puss, crust, watery tears...PINK EYE. At this point, I looked to the heavens through a fuzzy eye and silently prayed for death. Being sick for over a week, and now PINK EYE, quite possibly the most disgusting, least sexy of all the infections.

I was back in the urgent care room with the same stale piece of bread doctor. He recognized me and pushed me out the door with another prescription with hardly a glance. Not that I blame him...I was hideous. If I were treating me, I would have looked away in disgust and poked me with a stick for good measure.

I went to work the next day and told my tale of woe to anyone who would listen, but there wasn't much sympathy to be had. Nearly everyone and their families had suffered through the same flu and some were still trying to rid their house of it. The pink eye just made them stay the Hell away. The only solace I took was knowing there was no way this could get worse.

Then, a kid threw up on my shoes.

Maverick Belly

2011-01-20T19:19:00.000-08:00

People keep asking me how this pregnancy is comparing to the last, and honestly, this time around it's been a cake walk...except...

1) Exhaustion. I'm definitely old.
2) Working full time sucks when you're pregnant. No getting around it.
3) More frequent heartburn. Fire burps.
4) The 50 foot waves on my belly are simply unreal. I see elbows poking out of my side at any given moment.
5) Cramping in my pelvis. Weird, unexplained cramping that comes and goes.
6) Incontinence. It was a little annoying in the last pregnancy. Now, it's constant and gross. I hate smelling like pee...especially when it's MY pee.

Of all the things I just mentioned, I think the belly thing is the craziest. Sometimes I just grab random people's hands and put them on my stomach, just to have someone validate how insane the movement is. This baby is always moving. ALWAYS. So much so, when the doctor gave me the kick count card, I snickered.

Other than that, this pregnancy has been a pretty decent ride. I can't complain...except, I just did.

Comparing Numbers

2011-01-07T19:04:00.000-08:00

My last pregnancy:

Start weight 144

153 - 18 weeks - 9 pounds gained - 0.5 pound a week
164 - 24 weeks - 20 pounds gained - 0.54 pound a week
169 - 28 weeks - 25 pounds gained - 1.25 pounds a week
172 - 32 weeks - 28 pounds gained - 0.75 pound a week
177 - 35 weeks - 33 pounds gained - 1.6 pounds a week
180 - 36 weeks - 36 pounds gained
185 - 40 weeks - 41 pounds gained

This pregnancy:

Start weight 140

148 - 20 weeks - 8 pounds gained
155 - 24 weeks - 15 pounds gained
157 - 28 weeks - 17 pounds gained
162 - 31 weeks - 22 pounds gained
166 - 34 weeks - 26 pounds gained
170 - 37 weeks - 30 pounds gained

Heartburn and Heart Attacks

2011-01-04T19:00:00.000-08:00

Oh the joys of the third trimester! Right?

The last time I was pregnant, the third trimester was pretty great. In fact, it was fabulous. I was off work and sitting on my butt the entire time. There was no toddler to chase around the house, no cooking, no working. The Food Channel was on 24/7 and I would occasionally sent my husband out for my latest craving. I was just an incubator, sitting pretty, growing a human in my uterus. No big whoop.

This time it's a little different. I'm working full time in a very challenging job. I have a toddler who is trying to kill me by giving me a heart attack with every move he makes. My back is killing me, heartburn is like a plague, and I'm leaking. Yes, I'm leaking. One strong cough, surprise sneeze, or hearty laugh and I'm done for. In other words: HOT.

Meanwhile, the little man of the house is finding out he can not just walk, but run at a tilted-angel, full-speed ahead. He can also not look where he's stepping and fall flat on his face. Depending on how much of a nap he has, he screams or just dusts himself off and keeps on running.

He also is figuring out how to climb...on everything. The sofa is his easiest accomplishment. Now he has moved on to the kitchen chairs, which he likes to stand on once conquered. He eyeballed the coffee table the other day, too. Watching him walk used to be such a fun sport. Now, it's, "Holy God, where is he going and what is he going to destroy now?!"

He is a problem solver, like his daddy. Watching him look at something gives me the chills. He stands like a deer, just examining whatever he is trying to unlock, unscrew, or undo. Then, he gingerly pokes at it with a finger or two, touching all of the details, seeing what goes where. When I open a cabinet, he is often watching from a close distance, seeing how everything works.

In other words, I just spent $120 on childproofing supplies...and I have little faith that any of them will outlast our kid's wit.

Womb Soccer

2010-12-22T11:54:00.000-08:00

What the Hell is going on in my belly?! It's constant movement, all the live long day. This baby is doing some kind of Jujitsu mixed in with a Krav Maga move that makes my stomach look like a game AT&T park during a rousing bout of "The Wave."

I thought my panicked Googling days were over, but in this case I found myself checking the internet for things like, "overactive fetus" and "pre-natal ADHD." This can't be right. Can a fetus move this much in that cramped a space? I'm just waiting to hear a "craaaa-aack" and a broken rib to protrude from my chest. This baby is trying to break out of the pokey a few months early.

And in other news: No more midnight shows of Aliens for me.

From Speed Bump to Big Belly

2010-12-09T23:05:00.000-08:00

The 23 week visit went relatively well...until doc told me I had had a "growth spurt" in the last month. Apparently I gained 5 pounds. My last visit I weighed in at a respectable 149. This visit, I tipped the scales at 155.

Coincidentally, this was also the week my cute bump morphed into an officially big belly. I now forage for clean maternity clothes anywhere I can find it in the house. The only criteria for wearing it is that it has to fit. It's a miracle I'm not a nudist at this point in my pregnancy.

Full Brat Day

2010-11-22T18:27:00.000-08:00

Today marked the very first time our kid went full-out brat. That means he whined, cried and freaked out at the park when he didn't get his way, and then came home and whined, cried and freaked out just to drive the point home. He pulled every classic maneuver in the book, including the limp-fish, which requires the child attempting it to go completely limp while throwing an impressive fit. On a tantrum-throwing skill level, it's about a seven.

Today was such a change in his behavior that my husband actually turned to me after dealing with his limp-fish son and said, "Seriously, we need to mark this in his baby book."

This is not to say that little man hasn't had a few choice tantrums before. He certainly has had his share of crying bouts. But none has been as completely annoying as the ones he threw today. We are spoiled by his good natured behavior every day of the week, so this should come as no surprise. It's just the universe saying, "Everyone who thinks their child is a perfect angel, step one foot forward. NOT so fast, couple with the limp-fish tot over there."

But honestly, we felt the brat thing was a little overdone. A little brat is ok, and could even be considered "determined" or "strong." A moderate helping of brat in a day can be tolerable, and some appreciate the kid who can pull off that much brat and still manage to come across as "endearing" or "tenacious." But a complete brat is nothing but...a complete brat.

Someone needs to take him aside and let him know that you NEVER go full brat.

Mr. Independent

2010-11-20T18:27:00.000-08:00

Well, hello there month fifteen. You are sneaking up on me like a panther in a grassy field, but I am on to you, little man.

The baby has officially stumbled into toddlerhood, and by stumbled I mean he is walking like a drunk looking for his next fifth. I can't seem to keep up with him while five months along, so my husband has been doing a lion's share of the work, decent fellow that he is. He is doing the heavy lifting, too, since our kid is now 28 pounds and 32 inches long. I have trouble carrying him across the room, which pains me somewhat because that is the only time he will stay still long enough for me to smother him with cuddles and kisses. You see, apparently I am raising the World's Most Independent Kid. True story.

This becomes a real issue in public, when we are trying to stroll with him. He simply won't have it, this strolling thing, and MUST be released from his seatbelt IMMEDIATELY or ELSE HEADS WILL ROLL. And roll they do. I have bought stock in Tylenol...baby and adult formula.

Once put on the ground, we see nothing but a poof of dust and he's gone...down the street, stumbling with no fear. Try to hold his hand and he will attempt to gnaw it off at the wrist. He doesn't want pity! He can do it himself, dammit!

At the park, he wanders aimlessly, going from lap to lap and checking the food goods. If it's acceptable, he'll simply extend his hand and open his gaping maw in a gesture of, "FEED ME." This would be horribly embarrassing if he weren't a baby and cute. I know this because when I do it, my husband is just mortified.

But he doesn't seem to need us. That's the thing that both relieves and worries me simultaneously. He doesn't want us around, frankly. And when he's at the park, he's socializing with his peeps. He doesn't want us helping him up or holding him steady. He wants to fall down and find his way back up by himself. It's not a little heart-wrenching.

It's as if he's already walking away from me with a dismissive glance over his shoulder. "See ya, mom." And then he's grabbing the car keys out of my hand and driving to Burning Man with a girl named Jupiter.

Amazon has those "backpack" leashes, right?

Eight Pounds

2010-11-14T18:15:00.000-08:00

I hit the 20 week mark on Sunday and saw my doctor for my monthly visit and weigh in. So far, I have gained a total of eight pounds. What'chu say? Eight pounds? That's barely a watermelon! And I KNOW I have eaten at least fifty pounds of watermelon since 20 weeks ago...that and In-N-Out burger...animal style.

My last pregnancy, I had gained nine pounds in 18 weeks, so by all accounts, I am definitely not eating my weight in food this time around. Although I kinda am. Also, I am the size of a manatee. So really, this makes no sense at all.

However, I do not look a gift horse in the mouth. Since hearing the news, I have tried my best not to shovel food in my mouth and eat the worst things possible just to settle my insatiable cravings for saturated fat and calories. Good on me!

Honestly, I do it for the sake of the baby. And the sake of my lady parts. If you have a giant baby like I did, that last push in labor is a doozy.

The End of Teething

2010-11-01T18:27:00.000-07:00

Congratulations to our little dude for cutting the last of a full set of teeth at 14 months. No more excessive drooling. No more Tylenol. It was a lot of pain and suffering, but now you can eat potato chips! Mom's potato chips! All of them! TOTALLY WORTH IT.

The Toddler and His Agenda

2010-10-27T20:14:00.000-07:00

Having a baby on the verge of becoming a toddler is one of those things that could go either way. At this point, he's learning at an exponential rate, eating up information and being excessively observant of everything around him. In other words, he's kicking ass and taking names in the brain development department.

However, as the two adults who spend the most time with him, his speedy growth makes me nervous in more ways than seven-thousand. I have seen him eyeball the trash can full of disgusting poopy diapers from across the room like it was a race and he was Steve Prefontaine. Catching him before he crawls into the recycling bags has become a challenge for both of us, and one I frequently lose. Eating things off the floor is something he seems to look forward to doing far more than eating an actual dinner off a nice, clean plate. He's basically the baby equivalent of a tornado, born to destroy things in his wake.

The little man has also taken to whining for things he cannot reach or have because they are either a) too far away from his reach or b) Ginzu knives. The issue we frequently have is: Do we give it to him to make the noise go away? The terrible, terrible noise?

More than not, we are bad parents and give in. The whining is intensely painful to the human ear, and sometimes, we just can't bear it. Knowing that we are most likely teaching our kid how to manipulate us for things is not making us more pro-active, either. We have become shadows of our former, hard-nosed selves.

The walking has been our main bone of contention. He prefers crawling, which is the quickest mode of transportation and gets him to the poopy diaper trash in a hurry. However, seeing all my friends' babies walk at ten months, twelve months, fourteen months...it's driving me a little crazy.

I bribe him with crackers, teething biscuits, cookies, cupcakes. Nothing will make him walk. He just takes a tentative wiggle wabble step and then BOOM...falls to his knees and disappears in a poof of dust. I fear he will skip walking altogether, jump up one day and take off in a sprint across the living room. He won't slow down, not even for dear ol' mom.

And I do mean "OLD." Feeling my bones creak and my head ache has become the norm nowadays. Being back a work has taken its toll on my body, mind, and soul. I ache from head to toe some days, and the pregnancy has undoubtedly caused some serious stress and anxiety. When I collapse onto the couch after a day at work, I wonder how I will survive TWO of these Tasmanian Devils?

Today I returned from work to find the little man sitting on the floor, smiling, fiddling with a toy block. He cooed and "talked" to himself, and then noticed me at the door and started grinning and babbling. The nonsense talk has become his daily routine since month ten, and I eat it up with a spoon. Every non-word is like a gold coin in my pocket.

Although I remember so clearly life before baby, I can't imagine life without little man now. He is a plump little ball of energy that makes my life rich beyond my expectations. Bringing up baby has been the most bittersweet of experiences. Seeing him change from baby to boy has made my heart feel as if it has grown too big for my chest, and on occasion, it aches. But oh, what a lovely ache it is.

And Exhale...

2010-10-14T20:23:00.000-07:00

The testing results were great. Normal across the board. Now, all that is left is the blood work that checks for Spina bifida, something I am not too worried about.

Knowing all the chromosomes are there and accounted for is a relief I wish I had experienced with my first pregnancy. Although the CVS testing was painful, I feel a calmness about this pregnancy that I never felt before. It makes me wish I had just gone ahead and gotten the testing done before.

There is something to be said for taking precautions, although my husband and I discussed what our options would have been if the outcome had been very different. Our conclusion?

We had no idea what we would have done. Testing just makes it clearer that there is no clear solution to having a child with special needs.

CVS Testing and the Suckiness of It All

2010-10-01T20:14:00.000-07:00

We bit the bullet and went in for CVS testing. All of you who said it wouldn't hurt, and "Oh, it's a bit uncomfortable" can just stop with the pussy-footing. It DID hurt. It hurt like a mother. I can't believe how big the needle was and WHERE IT WENT.

Not only was the needle huge, it was inserted abdominally, which means it went through my skin to the uterus, which had to be punctured with a fairly intense push. The technician explained how she had to move the needle back and forth to get a good sample, otherwise she risked having to do the test again, which was unacceptable to everyone involved. In other words, I was not the best patient they had ever had.

Luckily, the technicians were very good, very comforting, and knowledgeable. Unfortunately, I was a big wuss and nearly hyperventilated. The technician was so concerned about my anxiety level, she had me sit for a good ten minutes after the procedure. I was even offered a juice box.

And now, the wait. The horrible wait, which seems to come with fertility and pregnancy after a "certain age." It's ironic I am made to wait with such terrible anticipation now when all throughout my teens I was obsessed with growing up faster. I was a stupid, stupid teenager. But being a smart forty-something has not been any easier than puberty.

What's Up, Doc?

2010-09-06T08:26:00.000-07:00

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right? I have been away in one-year-old-crawling-like-mad-baby-land for the last month, and it's been quite a whirlwind of crazy. My kid happens to be a world class crawler, including THE STAIRS, which have been deemed too dangerous for babies, apparently. Dumb rules.

Not only does this kid crawl, he scoots. He's been trying desperately to stand without help from the stationary objects (and parents) in the room. Although I have tried to curb this defiant behavior by picking him up for cuddling every three minutes, he fights me until I put him down and then takes off down the road until he's a small speck in the distance. I have to literally pick up my feet to chase him. It's getting to be a problem. I may call in Super Nanny to deal with this insolence.

In other news, he has decided what he likes and doesn't like. Quite emphatically, he will "say" what he will eat and won't, and then jettison the food out of his mouth like Tom Hanks in Big eating caviar for the first time. This has led to some horrific clean up jobs, which I have deemed unsuitable for pregnant women, like myself.

That's right. I said it. I'm PREGNANT. I'm ten, going on eleven weeks. Knowing this is a taboo subject to mention until safely into the second trimester, I have already spilled the beans to several people, who in turn have spilled their beans, and so on and so on. It's like a Faberge commercial, but with pregnant women...and without the fabulous hair.

We have seen the heartbeat at eight weeks, and are going in for our CVS testing soon. I figure, after seeing the heartbeat, it's a little safer to talk about it. Although I feel the superstitions creeping in again, telling me not to speak about it, not to jinx it, not to even think about it until next month. Being 40 will do that to you.

Ah, the geriatric pregnancy. Let the fear and loathing begin!

The Never-Ending Snot Machine

2010-08-05T10:27:00.000-07:00

The baby is sick again. And considering he's only been sick a few times in his first year of life, I don't consider myself unlucky. I've heard worse, and worser still. Babies tend to get sick a lot, and mine has been holding off those germs pretty well. Of course, this will all backfire on me when he goes to preschool and catches every plague on the planet.

Regardless of how minor or major a cold is, hearing your child bark like a seal pup and cough up phlegm and snot while struggling to breathe is absolutely heart-wrenching. In my desperation to ease his discomfort, I begged for advice on the Internet. Asking for trouble, perhaps, but I had no other option aside from calling the advice nurse...whose advice is always, "Is he acting normal? Then he's ok."

The advice I received was interesting, and somewhat surprising. Here are the top suggestions I was given:

1) A teaspoon of corn syrup. Safer than honey and it coats the throat.
2) Hot steam.
3) Sleeping with him on your chest, or elevating the mattress so he can breathe easier.
4) Saline drops to loosen up the snot.
5) Erythromycin, which I looked up and could not understand the usage besides for eyes.
6) Humidifier.

I used the humidifier and the saline, but sleeping with him on my chest was out of the question. At his weight, he would easily crush me.

I may become desperate and try the rest, but at this point, he's up and about and acting fairly normal. Until he coughs up a lung, I think my HMO won't look twice at him.

Try, Try Again

2010-07-25T10:08:00.000-07:00

I'm 40. That would seem not-so-elderly to some, but in fertility world, that is geriatric. If you get pregnant after the age of 35, you are considered a "high-risk" and you are given the very flattering term "geriatric pregnancy." No kidding.

So at 40, my husband has been dropping big hints about trying again, saying stuff like, "I definitely want our child to have a sibling." He sucks at subtlety.

And to tell you the truth, at 40, I've been thinking, "Hmm, I better get to steppin'. I have no time to waste." It's pressure like no other. It's so much so, that I block out everything else that should worry me about having a second child and just obsess about HOW I will get pregnant and IF it is even possible at this point.

I'm so obsessed, in fact, that I don't even think about how little money we have for a second baby. I don't consider at all the idea that we have no place to put a second baby. I don't dwell on the fact that a second baby might be a horror-storm of colic, crying and basically the complete opposite of what we have now.

I don't waste a minute thinking about how dangerous it is to be pregnant at 40, gestational diabetes, miscarriage, the ridiculously high risk of Trisomy. I don't ponder the terrible things that the odds tell women my age. And it certainly doesn't even cross my mind that I have to go back to work soon, and that if I'm pregnant, I'll be pregnant...at work...and I'll be tired. The kind of 40 year old tired that makes you want to die in your sleep.

So we started trying. It's official. I'm off my rocker. Literally, because I'm THAT old.

"Real" Motherhood

2010-07-14T20:29:00.000-07:00

I can hardly believe the kid is ten and a 1/2 months old. He has grown so much I have to re-watch videos of him to remind myself this is the same baby I gave birth to in August of last year. He is a big kid, by anyone's standards, weighing in at 26 pounds, 30 inches long. And this is after he LOST weight.

Yes, crawling around and being Destruct-o Baby is great cardio, apparently...for both of us. I've actually taken to groveling at this point, begging him to please DO NOT KILL MY MAGAZINES and NO EATING OF PLANTS AND/OR ELECTRICAL EQUIPMENT, PLEASE. Needless to say, it does not work at all. Difficult baby.

It seems like over a period of two weeks, he went from, "oooh timid timid...maybe I can reach that ball if I try to wriggle my way over there!" to "ZOOOOOOM VRRROOOOMMM!! EAT MY DUST, MA!"

He went from novice crawler to expert within a week, and now he's daredevil enough to pull himself up by his white-tipped fingertips. He attempts it on any surface, wall, door, and usually succeeds. And when he doesn't, like today, he crashes like a stunt dummy onto his head and starts wailing like he's being murdered.

Take today, for example. Wonderful husband put up the baby gate at the top of the stairs. Baby sees baby gate. Baby attempts to scale baby gate. Baby loses grip and falls on his head.

Oh, the bloody screaming begins. Poor little dude couldn't catch his breath, he was crying so intensely. I even got my first glimpse of the notorious "silent wail" that children sometimes do when they are so distraught they can't even manage a squeak for at least three seconds.

It was one of those moments that made me momentarily hate myself. How could I not know he was going to whack himself in the head? After all, I saw him struggling with the gate. I should have been watching carefully.

Shamed, I checked his head, which had a lovely little goose egg that was already turning purple. Great. Feeling like a horrible mother, I held him for several minutes and tried to soothe his broken pride. He eventually calmed down enough to pile his head onto my shoulder and just sniffle.

The moment of shame turned into the moment I felt like a real mom, perhaps for the first time. Not that I don't feel like a mother all the time...exhaustion and sleep deprivation prove that I'm definitely the mother of this little tornado.

But when I felt his hand on my neck, his hot forehead nuzzling into my ear, I felt like I had crossed a boundary into REAL MOTHERHOOD.

In other words, I fixed my first boo-boo.

Ten Months

2010-06-27T20:20:00.000-07:00

Someone wake me when he stops spinning circles around my comatose body, please.

The Baby Plague

2010-06-20T10:57:00.000-07:00

When I mentioned to my friend that the baby had a runny nose and was cranky, her eyes widened. Then she said there was a "THING" going around. A big, nasty "THING" that doesn't go away. It just stays around and tortures the baby until you all want to vomit and cry along with him. The "THING" is going around, she said.

I pish-poshed and said, oh well. This baby is impervious to this "THING." He has not had a problem at all with "THINGS" since birth, aside from that little staph infection that planted itself on his little face for a week. He's never had a cold, flu or virus, as far as I can tell.

No sooner had I pish-poshed, the "THING" hit. It hit hard. The baby went from cute and adorable to OH MY GOD DISGUSTING SNOT EVERYWHERE. It literally ran down his nose, into his mouth, and down his chin. It saturated his clothing. He would wipe his face with his hand, and before we could all yell in unison, "NOOOOO!!!" he had snot smeared all over his eyes, cheeks, and forehead. It was in his hair, ears and on his elbows.

Not only was my son covered in yellow sticky snot, he absolutely detested tissue. I would come to him with a tissue, gently wipe his nose, and he would start howling like a car alarm. Soon, he realized what I was coming to do when I would reach for the tissue box and start shaking his head before beginning his screams of agony. To the outside neighbor watering his plants, it must have sounded like I was cutting off the baby's nose with a dull butter knife.

I let the snot go as much as I could, and eventually bought some saline and sprayed it in each nostril which went over as well as could be expected. I cranked up the humidifier our psychic friend bought for us, even though we didn't register for it when the baby was born.

The snot turned from clear to yellow to green to OH SO MUCH GROSSNESS. It was absolutely never-ending. Yeah, I felt sorry for the little dude. But honestly, I was starting to lose my patience with the "THING" that wouldn't leave.

I asked my friend how long the "THING" stayed around.

"Oh, my kids had it for about two weeks." She said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"TWO WEEKS?! I'M NOT GONNA MAKE IT TO TWO WEEKS!" I cried.

"Oh, we ALL had it for two weeks." She deadpanned. The sympathy drained out of her voice quickly. After all, I just had one snot baby. She had two. Plus a snot husband. Who was I to complain?

So I set the calendar to two weeks. Five days passed. Seven. The snot dissipated a tad. Now, on the tenth day, I am happy to report dry, crusty boogers instead of the river of mucus.

However, the baby lost his voice, and now he sounds like Harvey Fierstein. It's distracting, but at least he's not clawing my face off when I come near him with a Kleenex.

Sick Baby

2010-06-14T14:50:00.000-07:00

Dear People in Charge of The Universe,

Really, what is the point of snot?

Signed,

Exhausted and Sleepy

Nine Months

2010-05-27T09:36:00.000-07:00

Crawling babies are dangerous. They creep around on all fours looking to destroy things, checking out the little details you forgot about because you're four feet taller and can't see under the couch. They're stealthy, like midget ninjas. Very scary stuff, here.

I have been keeping one eye glued on my kid ever since he started trying to launch himself from a crawl position. He has yet to be fully mobile, but he's trying every which way to get from point A to point B. He scoots, when he can, and now he's actually on his hands and knees eyeballing that loose wire sticking out of the floorboards. He is concentrating on it so intensely I fear he is calling upon The Force to bring it to him so he can clamp his little drooly mouth on it. Frightening.

Nine months has been an adventure so far. A scary, brain-melting adventure that is sure to kill me from a massive heart attack.

Without a Trace

2010-05-18T20:25:00.000-07:00

Hi there. I know I've been absent for a month. The twelve people who read this blog may be wondering, "Gee, what happened?" I'll tell you what happened. Seven months happened.

It seems that there is a turbo charger build into babies that mature at exactly the seven month mark. When that day hits, the turbo charger revs up and BOOM! Your life is complete chaos and hysteria for God knows how long. That's what happened, and that's why I've been completely off the map for four weeks.

At six months I thought, "Eh, this isn't so bad. He's a little squirmy, but nothing I can't handle."

At six and a half months I thought, "Well, he's a handful, but I can keep up with him. At least he's not crawling yet.

At seven months I though, "Holy Baby Jesus, save me. Who fed the baby a double espresso?!"

And now, at eight and a half months, I feel as though my brain has been scrambled. Keeping up with this big baby has been keeping me at my wits' end. How am I supposed to keep up the pace when he's turned into an octopus baby, complete with sticky gecko-like fingertips that seem to grab everything in less than a micro-second?

Yesterday, after my husband came home from work, I handed him the baby and I literally fell down. For no apparent reason. Yup, just FELL DOWN.

I AM DOOMED.

Eight Months

2010-04-27T20:26:00.000-07:00

Wow. I need to hire someone to help me with eight months. No one told me he'd turn into the road runner when he got this age.

He isn't even crawling yet. I'm planning on leaving the country for a while when that happens. If I'm this whipped when he's just on his stomach, cooing at me, what will become of me when he's fully mobile?!

He's grabbing something poisonous as I type this, I'm sure. I must run, and take some Tylenol...and maybe some valium.

Observations

2010-04-17T12:21:00.000-07:00

I've learned one thing in the last month or so. Do NOT cut the little tags off the stuffed animals, blankets, etc. Why? Because these are the most fascinating things on the planet right now...according to the baby, that is.

He toys with the tag, not the toy. That's the general rule at the moment. If I give him the most amazing toy ever invented by man, he will go straight for the little white tag sewn into the corner of it and stare, mesmerized. He'll touch it between his thumb and forefinger for a good ten minutes before losing interest. And ten minutes in baby time is like ten hours to a regular adult. It's a good long time to be transfixed.

He also loves to make noises with his lips. Current favorite? Raspberries. Timing? Any time he has food in his mouth.

He's not a fan of anyone touching his nose or wiping any general area of his face. However, he loves to have his neck cleaned. In fact, he laughs when we do it. Weird baby.

His nursing has gone from 30 minutes on each boob to a lightening quick four minutes on just one. He's still a poor latcher, but has learned to eat quickly.

He naps in the morning for 2-3 hours, easily. He nearly claws my face off in the afternoon when I try to put him down for a second one, which usually lasts about one.

This baby is changing at such a fast pace! I feel like if I don't write all of it down, I will forget it in an instant. Things have been happening at such a quick pace, it's difficult to remember the little things that amazed me in the moment. I'm afraid I will lose appreciation for him in some way if I don't hang on to the tiny, miniscule things that slip away so quickly. We discover new things about the baby in an instant...and then it's gone.

Seven Months

2010-03-27T12:03:00.000-07:00

It's not possible. The time has flown faster than I imagined it could. He's definitely the cutest boy in the world at this point, and growing cuter exponentially by the minute. Little gurgles have graduated into full-on ramblings of amamamamamamaa. His wild hair is somewhat tamed now, especially after I butchered it last week with a pair of dull scissors.

The rolling over is causing havoc, especially during diaper changes and in the middle of the night when he ends up face-down on the mattress and wakes himself because he can't move his arm.

A tooth popped up. In fact, two. It came without much fanfare, but I took at least 15 minutes trying to get a good close-up picture of them. He seems amused by me at this point, if nothing else. It's ridiculously easy to make him laugh out loud. Occasionally, a guffaw.

I didn't believe this day would come, simply because at one month I though I might die from exhaustion or post-partum depression. Now that we're at this point, everything seems so much brighter. Even when everything else in the world collapses on me on any given day, this seven month old makes me feel lighter.

So thank you, baby, for the seven months. It's been quite a trip...and quite a workout. You're humongous!

Fighting the Sandman

2010-03-16T09:45:00.000-07:00

The baby is asleep. Hallelujah. Not that I don't love the baby. I totally love the baby. But the baby is asleep. NOBODY MOVE.

When your baby is a light sleeper, or a non-napper, you will beat the living daylights out of the UPS man for ringing the doorbell. The mailman may have to mace you because you will attack him for being too loud walking up the steps of your home. I almost went out with a bat to beat a car to death for having a misbehaving alarm that wouldn't shut the Hell up. God forbid there's construction going on anywhere within earshot of your sleeping child. There will be bloodshed.

The other day I actually whisper-yelled at my husband for "breathing too loud." The baby is sleeping. THE WORLD MUST STOP REVOLVING.

There was a time when the baby slept all the live long day, but that was in the early, newborn weeks when he was trying to grow brain cells and whatnot. For three months or so, he literally slept all day long. It was heavenly bliss, looking back on it now, although when it was happening I complained that he "wasn't doing anything." What a moron I was.

Now, he's six months. SIX WHOLE MONTHS. I can hardly believe it! The changes we have all witnessed in this half a year have been mind boggling. But the sleep thing, oh my.

He stopped sleeping all day long and started napping. At first it was a nap every two hours awake. That was at around three, four months old. Now, it's two naps, if I'm lucky. One early morning long nap, which lasts around two to three hours, IF I'M LUCKY.

The afternoon nap used to be like clockwork. One or two o'clock, he'd pass out for two hours. Now? Not so much. He's just too alert, too awake, and too cute to sleep, apparently.

The problem is that when he doesn't sleep during the day, he is a miserable little turd. No offense to you babies out there, but when you don't nap, (and this seems to be a fairly universal thing I'm experiencing) you are little turds the entire time you are awake. You don't seem happy about anything, you want to be held and never put down, you whine, cry, whimper, pinch, bite. It's like a free for all bitch fest up in this house when the baby doesn't nap. And then, around bedtime, you pass out...and wake up...and pass out...and wake up...until the sun rises. It's just wrong on so many levels.

So I started forcing nap time. "Hey," I told the baby, "All the baby books say you can spoil a newborn up 'til about six months. Well, pal, you're SIX MONTHS OLD. The party's over."

It was like he was fighting death every time I put him down. He would whip his head from side to side violently, beat his tiny fists on the sofa cushion, and do leg lifts, just to beat off the sandman. It was impressive, but I was not giving up. After a few weeks of battle, he finally began sleeping on a regular routine. After waking in the morning, he'd eat, then quiet play, then he'd start yawning after about 2 hours. Nap would soon follow. It was perfectly set. I would get two to three hours of nap, or computer time, whatever I wanted. Ahhh, lovely.

His naps usually took place on the sofa, which used to be wide enough for him to lounge upon without fear of accidentally rolling off. But soon, he was too gigantic for the space. I had no choice but to try to nap him in his crib.

I thought napping on the couch was tough. The crib? Surely I was delusional. There was no way this baby was going to nap in his crib. I had been putting off this transition for months, thinking it would be pure torture for both of us.

So yesterday, I saw the rubbing of the eyes, the yawns, the red and watery stare. He whined when I put him down to play. It was now or never.

We walked into his room, I put him in the crib, played the Glow Worm and the Sleep Sheep...threw every calming trick I knew at him. I put a soft blanket over him and crossed my fingers. He grabbed the blanket and pulled it to his face, rolled on his side, sucked his Soothie, and promptly fell asleep.

And that's how it went today, just about a half hour ago. Which is why I'm on the computer typing this RIGHT NOW. Hallelujah!

The Return of the "What Ifs"

2010-03-10T20:11:00.000-08:00

There must be a way to say this delicately, but I surely don't know how. I would rather Boxing Helena myself than get pregnant right now. The very thought of having another pregnancy right now makes my hair stand on end. That's how tired I am.

So when my husband looks longingly at little newborns in their strollers as we walk down the street, I break into a cold sweat. My heart feels like it may explode. I suddenly can't feel my face. It can't be that he wants ANOTHER baby so soon?!

The issue isn't that I don't think about having another baby. It's that I don't know if I want one. And if I think about it too much, my brain hurts. The conversation my head and heart have is something like this:

HEAD: You can't possibly think that having another baby will be a good thing. You're broke. You have no time. You're both working. How would you do it?

HEART: Yes, but wouldn't it be nice for our little boy to have a sibling? I mean, then he would have someone to commiserate with about his crazy family.

HEAD: A sibling would be nice. So would food and electricity.

HEART: Sure, it would be tight budgeting for a family of four, but in the long run, don't you think it's best to have two kids so they can keep each other company? Think of how much they can give to one another!

HEAD: No.

HEART: Yes!

In the end, it will be my uterus and aging eggs that will decide. If, in a few years, we start trying for another child, it will be after many conversations about the "what ifs."

Yes, the dreaded "what ifs" are back, and in full force.

My Valentine

2010-02-14T10:09:00.000-08:00

Just because you call a day a "holiday" doesn't make it so. However, since Valentine's Day (the most made up holidays of them all) requires chocolate to make it complete, I accept this fake day in honor of my insatiable candy craving. This chocolate thing may kill me. I can't stop eating it.

Since the birth of my little dude, I've craved chocolate since the first week of sleeplessness. It's been scratching at my gut for months now, and I can't seem to get a grip on it. For months, I've been plowing through stashes of chocolate I've strategically placed all over the house. And for V-Day, the only thing I asked for was a heart-shaped box of See's candies. The same went for Valentine's Day. Hey, I proudly eat chocolate to honor our Veterans...do you?

And now I'm thinking, the outcome of all this can't be good, right? I mean, I will eventually die of heart failure or some such hideousness if I keep this up.

But lo and behold...I stepped on the scale the other day and saw 133. At the height of my pregnancy weight I was 185. Before I was pregnant I was 145. How this was accomplished is a mystery, since I've been eating like a Hoover vacuum cleaner.

Granted, I've also been breast feeding for nearly six months, which has been said to aid weight loss by burning an additional 200-800 calories a day.

Now, at 5'2, I'm still over by my doctor's standards. My BMI is 24, which is on the border between healthy and overweight.

But in other news...chocolate and breast feeding may be the best diet I've ever been on...EVER.

Teething Pains...For Everyone

2010-02-10T10:32:00.000-08:00

The teething has begun...I think. Actually, it's hard to tell what is teething and what is just baby being baby. He hits the 6 month mark in a short while, which is supposed to also usher in another growth spurt. This could also be causing the sleepless nights.

Once the kid started eating solids at four months (suggested by our pediatrician) we did notice a significant change in his sleep at night. He would pass out and sleep like a rock for solid stretches at a time. This new feeding regimen added to the sleep training my husband implemented around four months meant 7-9 hours of sweet, sweet sleep. It was pure heaven. Sleep is goooood.

However, around five months he started fussing again. It was cruel, like someone ripped a carpet from underneath our feet. Again, we were exhausted and sleep deprived. He was waking every hour to 90 minutes to soothe. We assumed it was teething, since we could see the little ridges outlining those front chompers on his gums.

To the local Walgreen's we went! We stocked up on teething rings, organic teething gel and tablets, drops, baby Motrin, baby Tylenol...basically, lack of sleep made us desperate. Camilla drops seemed harmless enough, so we bought that, too.

But the six month growth spurt looms overhead like the Hindenburg, ready to crash into without warning. We're not sure what we will do if the two events collide.

Teething + growth spurt = nose dive off the nearest bridge.

Teething Hell

2010-02-05T10:55:00.000-08:00

Here are the things we bought the other day...

Boiron Camilia Drops

Hyland Teething Tablets

Hyland Teething Gel

Baby Motrin

Baby Tylenol

Vibrating Teething Toy

Raz-a-Dazzle Silicone Toothbrush

Finger Toothbrush

The other tricks people suggested, such as a frozen bagel, we did not try because I was afraid of the baby chewing a chunk of bread and choking on the pieces. I did freeze a wet washcloth, but the baby took one lick and rejected it outright.

The Vibrating Teething Toy is awesome and flat out works. Although to say something "works" with an infant is really saying "it works for five to ten minutes, and then he throws it across the room." Be warned, though. The toy does not come with replaceable batteries. Therefore, when it's done, it's done...although you can still use it as a toy. It's squishy and fun to chew on for baby.

The Raz-a-Dazzle baby toothbrush works well for baby because he can hold it on his own and chew on it without choking. It has a barrier that prevents him from stabbing himself in the back of the neck.

The Finger Toothbrush is simple, cheap, and works well. Also, you don't get a finger full of drool after massaging his gums.

The Boiron Camilia Drops combined with a squirt of Tylenol or Motrin seems to work, however. He went from sleeping in spurts of an hour to 90 minutes to sleeping in chunks of 3-4 hours.

We are careful to alternate Tylenol and Motrin, however, so he doesn't overdose on one or the other. Also, we don't give him medicine throughout the day. One squirt at night is our general routine, and only if it seems like he is in serious discomfort. Also, Motrin is only supposed to be given to babies six months and older. Tylenol can be given earlier. However, our baby is well within a healthy weight and size range to take Motrin at 5 1/2 months of age.

The Hyland products give me pause, only because they use Belladonna in their teething tablets. I found the following on a general website:

"Hyland's reports that there are no side effects associated with the use of their teething tablets, nor is there a risk of overdosing or encountering a drug interaction if taken in conjunction with another pain medication.

However, one of the ingredients found in Hyland's teething tablets, Belladonna alkaloids, is known to cause dry mouth, blurred vision and urinary retention when taken in larger quantities. Hyland's states that one teething tablet contains approximately 0.0002 mg of Belladonna alkaloids, and it would take at least 0.2 to 5 mg of Belladonna alkaloids to cause side effects.

Belladonna alkaloids produce a variety of effects in the body, including reduced muscle spasms in the urinary and digestive tracts, and a reduction in fluid secretions from certain organs and glands. Belladonna alkaloids are often used in conjunction with phenobarbital to treat irritable bowel syndrome and ulcers in the intestine.

Belladonna has the potential to be dangerous, but only if taken in large quantities and if you are taking another medication that Belladonna might interact with. Cold, allergy and pain medications are medications that Belladonna could interact with, causing increased sleepiness. When taken with alcohol, Belladonna can cause drowsiness and dizziness. Because Belladonna reduces fluid secretions, perspiration may decrease, which increases the risk of heat stroke."

I'm not usually an alarmist, so I will probably try the tablets, if pushed to inhuman limits of sleep deprivation.

But if there's a better product out there, I will surely find it. I am, after all, the Google queen. But the best teething toy so far by a landslide? It's cheap, easy, and readily available. And yes, I'm talking about my finger.

Solid...Solid like a Rock

2010-01-28T11:07:00.000-08:00

By kid is big. Huge. By any standards, enormous. His stats: 29 inches long, 22 pounds, 5 months. That's not just large, that's Andre the Giant large.

And he hasn't "plateaued" like most people have been telling me would happen. He just KEEPS GROWING. Apparently, that's what babies like to do...grow into big humans!

I'm starting to dread when other mommies at the park ask me, "So, how old is yours?" When that question comes up, I immediately avert my eyes, mumble the response, and then wait for the same reaction I get every single time. "HOLY MOTHER YOUR BABY IS GIGANTIC."

Yes, I know. I have a big ol' baby. More of him to love, I say.

It could be the super-human breast milk I'm feeding him like clockwork, although he doesn't seem to eat as much as he could. He certainly doesn't empty the breast at all, and usually he just nibbles and has a jolly good time instead of getting down to business.

However, it could be the solids. Yes, we started him on solids, on the recommendation of our pediatrician. His weight and size qualifies him for REAL FOOD apparently. Big boy needs big eats.

Before you start quoting the ills of feeding your baby solids before six months of age, let me assure you, the pediatrician had no problem at all telling us to try out solids. This baby is a big boy. We go by weight and size more than actual age nowadays.

His appetite for solids started out well. He loved pretty much everything we put near, in, or around his mouth. Per doc's orders, we started him on rice ceral, then moved on to veggies. Fruit was last, for the obvious reasons. If someone gave you a peach and then said, "Here, eat this brussels sprout" would you be pleased?

Carrots were a hit. All squash and root vegetables went over well. He even liked turnips, which I have trouble choking down myself.

I have to give credit where credit is due, though. The Beaba Babycook is AMAZING. I use it regularly and the difference between store bought and home cooked is obvious. The color, taste, and general quality is so much more vibrant and baby friendly. The lil' dude ate it all and loved it.

So now the kid is breast feeding and eating 2 squares a day. Maybe this is contributing to his continued healthy growth. Either that or he will be writing a tell-all book about his steroid use.

Five Months Old

2010-01-27T11:22:00.000-08:00

Holy cats. My baby is five months old. And he's a real baby now, which means he is grabbing my hair and pulling it out in clumps.

The difference between an newborn and an infant is remarkable. No longer does he need the head support when he is picked up. When you carry him around in your arms, he likes to sit up, not cradle. He whips his head around like a little hoot owl when you walk the room and soaks in everything he sees. He is amazingly entertaining in so many ways.

Not that the newborn stage isn't fascinating in its' own way. But it's like Dian Fossey living among the apes...you tend to study the baby more, wait for responses to be obvious and not so subtle. You wait...a lot. It's just a watching game to see what you can pick up and write down in your baby book.

But at five months...wowza. The amount of learning that occurs is staggering. He is on his tummy daily, trying to reach that fuzzy toy above his head. He leans to the right or left according to what he might want to grab. He has control over his arms and no longer punches himself in the face. That's right...no more baby fight club for this lil' guy.

He's also big for his age. 21 pounds, almost 29 inches long and growing every second. Not so much an obese baby, but a SOLID baby.

And mommy's back is always reminded of just how solid that baby is. Ow.

Adventures in Sleep Training

2010-01-15T21:16:00.000-08:00

Baby slept like a dream from day one to about three months. He was out like a light all night long, only stirring once in a blue moon for a quick feed, then gently passing back into sleep.

And then November 22nd hit. It was a firestorm of night feedings, relentless rocking, soothing, pacifiers flying about the room in a frenzy of panic. Suddenly, baby was no longer a great sleeper. He was awake. All the friggin' time.

Every hour or 90 minutes or so he would wake up and cry. My husband and I started to get cranky. Real mean and cranky. It was terrible waking up knowing the long day was ahead of us. All day with the tot. And he had to go to work. I was exhausted by four. He was equally exhausted when he finally got home. It happened every single night for over a month and a half, and it was brutal. We were sniping at each other over dust on the table, lint in the dryer. It was madness...MADNESS, I TELL YOU.

So at four months, which is considered on the young side, we decided to try sleep training. My husband wanted to try the CIO method (Cry It Out) which required me wearing earplugs. The reason? When the baby would cry for more than a second, I would start bawling. I was not a big proponent of the CIO method. It was meant for tough guys. Admittedly, I was a big wimp.

I asked my friends about their experiences in sleep training, and 9 out of 10 said that CIO was better than the No-Cry Solution, which often took longer and was more sleepless nights than I wanted to endure. One friend even said that it took just three days for her little one to get it down. THREE. I was sold.

So last week, we tried CIO. He cried, we would let him cry, and then he would get soothed by a hand on his tummy or chest and a calm voice, "It's ok...daddy/mommy is here."

The next time he woke, which was usually an hour or two later, we would wait longer, and then repeat the routine.

Every time the baby would wake and cry, we would extend the time we would wait and then go in. It was a slow torture. I got little to no sleep, basically because I would lie awake waiting for him to call for me.

After that first week, Friday came. We put him down for the night and went to bed in anticipation that we would soon be up again to check on him. 7 1/2 hours later, we woke up.

A fluke? Perhaps. Saturday, we put him down. 7 hours later, he woke up.

Sunday, Monday, Tuesday...like a clock.

Now that's not to say it's a perfect sleep world. He wakes up at 4 a.m. and coos and smiles, and we have to get him to lay down again to sleep for a few more precious hours. But unlike before, he puts himself to sleep. We can put him down in the crib and he warbles and talks to himself until he drifts off to slumber. No more rocking and walking around in circles, which is a miracle in itself.

Sleep training worked. Hallelujah and thank you baby Jesus.

Why I Might Not Be Mother's Group Material

2010-01-09T12:18:00.000-08:00

I was thinking the other day...I may not be appropriate for a Mother's Group, and here's why:

1) Whenever breastfeeding is brought up, I always comment, "You breastfeedin'? Doesn't it SUCK? UGH."

2) I'm far too pretty for a Mother's Group and they'll all be jealous of me.

KIDDING. I actually look like Marilyn Manson on a bad day. Good day? Phyllis Diller.

3) I hate talking about how motherhood has been a life-altering, amazing, beautiful change. I prefer to discuss and vent about the days I wake up covered in baby vomit and smelling like pee.

4) My last discussion with a mom went something like this:

A MOM: Oh, I'm so happy.

ME: I woke up the other day and totally forgot I was a mom and I was SO RELAXED. Is that wrong?

5) I can't talk to women who have flat stomachs and kids. It makes me physically sick from depression.

6) I don't exercise and I eat crap. Yes, I'm breastfeeding. My milk expels twinkies and pork rinds.

Ingrate!

2010-01-08T19:39:00.000-08:00

Hub and I were reading about the sleep issues we have been having with our four month old and found hundreds of posts on threads of various parenting sites by moms and dads looking for answers to their problems. All of them were desperately seeking advice on how to weather the storm of the relentless four month wakeful period...except one.

My husband and I read it aloud to one another several times rolling on the floor in fits, nearly crying from the hysterical laughter.

so-and-so posted:

"Our baby isnt waking up in the night, just at the crack of dawn. any ideas on how to get her to sleep later? I shouldnt complain, she sleeps from about 930-630 or 7. but that is early for me!"

Of course, no one posted a response to her query. Since she had just complained about getting 9 hours of uninterrupted sleep a night, and having to rise at 6:30-7 a.m. in the morning, she should have checked herself into the witness relocation program to avoid being bumped off by one of the sleep depraved, crazed women on this site.

Even my husband and I sobered up after a while and started resenting her. Here we were, exhausted from lack of sleep, bickering with one another, trying to find a way to soothe our kid into slumberland without permanently damaging him psychologically and she was complaining about 7 a.m. being "early for me!" ?!

At least when our baby was sleeping through the night we didn't COMPLAIN ABOUT IT. We knew we were pretty lucky. We also knew the party would end soon enough, so we appreciated every sleeping second of the time we had to rest.

I was tempted to flame her on the thread, but couldn't find the words to respond to such an unappreciative maroon. The best response I could come up with was, "Hey ass hat. #%$^@#$*."

But honestly, I thought that might come across as too subtle.

Four Months and What Happens Next

2010-01-07T21:41:00.000-08:00

Here's what happened to us, from day one, with the sleep issue.

Baby started off great from the day he was born and slept through the night for three months straight. I was told by my friend to NEVER mention this to any mother that had even the slightest bag under her eye, in the fear I would be maimed or killed for my big mouth.

We knew it was a blessing, although it sometimes took 1-2 hours to get him to actually sleep. He'd fight it for as long as his little body could maintain the indignant screaming, and then pass out for 7-8 hours. We knew we were blessed. Every night we'd sneak smirky looks at one another, as if to say telepathically, "Heh, heh, heh...we're such lucky bastards."

Yeah, well here comes month four. Along with my hair falling out in clumps, the baby has decided to try to make me bald by depraving me of any and all sleep until I PULL MY HAIR OUT AT THE ROOTS. He is sleeping an hour at a time, waking up, crying or moaning like he's being tortured, and then continuing this relentlessly all night long. I woke up this morning feeling like the hair ball that was sitting in my bath tub drain. My husband resembled a frozen Jack Nicholson in The Shining, clutching a cup of hot coffee instead of an ax.

We immediately assumed we were being punished by God for our insolence. It was our smugness that was coming back to punch us in the face now. The baby was no longer the great sleeper. He was now in the throws of what is famously known as...THE FOUR MONTH WAKEFUL PERIOD.

I had no idea this even existed, and I Google everything under the sun. This took me totally by surprise. I felt blindsided as I read post after page about this horrible phenomenon. I always attributed his change in sleep to the dreaded sleep regression or some sort of spurt of growth...perhaps he was even teething early, who knew.

But no. It's this hideous four month wakeful period that's making my life Hell right now. Not sleeping is the worst feeling in the world when you wake up and look at that fully alert, cute-as-a-button face staring up at you from the crib. You think to yourself in a haze of semi-consciousness, "How am I going to function with this baby today? Am I going to drop him on his head? What will his SAT scores look like then?!"

Ugh. Gah. And Bleah.

Nobody Told Me

2010-01-04T21:23:00.000-08:00

1) Baby vomit is slippery. Wipe it off your floor with a scrub cloth. I almost broke a hip when I tried walking on a newly cleaned hardwood floor in my socks.

2) Babies love being skin to skin.

3) You don't need to use diaper rash cream every single time you change a diaper.

4) Baby poop doesn't start to stink until a few months, when their digestive tract matures a little more...then, you need a hazmat suit to change diapers, it's so gross. Two words: DIAPER GENIE.

5) Babies shed. At least, mine is. He looks like he's going through a Benjamin Button phase.

6) Babies drool a LOT around two months, even though they're not teething. Buy lots and lots of bibs.

7) Babies sleep all the time when they're brand new. You can eat out in restaurants, no matter what people warn you about before you give birth.

8) People like to see you suffer as much as they did when they had newborns, so they say things that aren't necessarily kind.

9) People also lie about their newborns sleeping through the night so you'll shut the hell up about how you didn't sleep a wink when he was born and how you can expect the same. (Although we were lucky and ours did sleep through the night...until a month ago. The honeymoon is definitely over.)

10) Pacifiers. They're awesome. And they help reduce the risk of SIDS.

11) This one is from my terrific husband: When washing the pumping equipment (twice daily) WEAR GLOVES. His hands became horribly cracked and dry without them. No amount of lotion helped.

Weigh In

2010-01-01T21:49:00.000-08:00

I took out my old jeans today and tried them on. I said with a little wince, "Hello, old friend. It's been a long time." These are jeans I couldn't fit into before the pregnancy, either. I figured, no pressure...I know I've been eating like a hog throughout the holiday season and even before then. My appetite has been ravenous and I have not been curbing it.

Holy baby Jesus. They fit.

I weigh 140. Baby weight be GONE and then some. If you can ignore the bloody, pussy, ridiculously painful aspect of breast feeding, it's pretty awesome to be burning an extra 500 calories a day while feeding your tot.

Advice to New Mothers

2009-12-31T14:43:00.000-08:00

My friend just called with bad news: She has the dreaded mastitis.

I feel so helpless about the situation, even though I know exactly what she's going through. It's brutal. There's really nothing I can do except pray her husband is taking care of her.

I talked to my husband about her situation, which is similar to mine...baby won't latch, baby is being bottle fed, feeling overwhelmed...and we thought about ways to advise her that would actually be helpful, not just talking out of our asses. Here are some of the words of wisdom we came up with while brainstorming last night:

1) Sleep when the baby sleeps. No, really. SLEEP WHEN THE BABY SLEEPS. If you can't sleep when he sleeps, then LIE DOWN. Don't move. Close your eyes. Relax.

2) Pump when the baby is in a swing or asleep. If you can't finish pumping because the baby wakes up or becomes fussy then cut your session short and pump again when he is content. Use a hands-free pumping bra so you can actually do something other than hold two flanges up to your breasts. Pump for no more than 20-25 minutes at a time, and less if you can get away with it. Hand compressions help, so be firm but don't bruise yourself. Drink lots of water while pumping. For some strange reason, I always get thirsty when I am on the Medela.

3) Don't worry about breast feeding so much. It's great for the baby, but it's not worth losing your mind over. If you are having a hideous time and are not crazy stubborn to keep it up like I am, then bottle feed or supplement. There is no law that says you must breast feed. The pressure put on new moms to breast feed is unfair and sometimes cruel. Just because you bottle feed (we use breastflow bottles to avoid nipple confusion) your child does not mean you're a bad mother. It's a choice you make, not a damaging decision that will hurt your baby.

However, if you choose to breast feed and you're hating it right now, I will say this: It does get better. It may not seem like it now, but in a few months, something happens. Maybe the baby gets it. Maybe his mouth gets bigger. I have no idea what happened, but my baby went from hating breast to loving it. The only good advice I ever received about it was "The more you do it, the better he will get at it. Practice, practice, practice." So I fed him and winced and cried while I did it. Four months later, he's eating like a pro.

Use nipple shields, breast shells, and refrigerate gel pads if you can't stand the pain. However, if you use nipple shields for a prolonged period of time, you will have to wean your baby off them and it may be difficult for a few weeks. Talk to your local lactation center for advice and help if you use them, too. They are usually quite good at what they do. I didn't have as much luck with the La Leche League, but you might. I generally got better advice from Kellymom.com.

So if you can stand the bloody, sore, peeling nipples that feel like they're on fire and about to fall off for two or three months, definitely try to hold out and keep up the feedings. It may be hideous now, but it does get easier. I have to admit, I was a naysayer, but now I see how whipping out your breast instead of mixing a bottle of formula is pretty much the simplest thing to do.

4) Eat well. Eat often in little amounts. DO NOT DIET. The weight will come off eventually, if you get enough exercise and eat well, and especially if you are breast feeding and burning those extra 500 calories a day. Also, drink lots of water. Fluids are good for exhaustion and help your body normalize after the trauma of labor and delivery, IMHO.

5) Let people help you. Do not say no to ANYTHING. Take everything anyone gives you. If someone offers to stop by with food, LET THEM. Let people come over to hold the baby while you sleep or eat or even check your emails...so you can feel like a normal human being again.

On the other side of that coin, however...do NOT let relatives drive you crazy, and that includes your mother. Whenever I said anything like, "I don't want people around right now, mom..." she would always respond in an insulted tone, "WELL I AM NOT PEOPLE!!" Amen to that, you crazy humanoid.

That goes for inlaws, too. Let them know, and let your significant other know, that you are calling the shots. This is your time to heal, your time to bond, and you get to say when you want family over. Now, if you have fabulous family, that's great. Let them in, hand them the baby and have a love fest.

However, if your family is coo coo for cocoa puffs, then SHUT THE DOOR and tell them to come back when you're good and ready. Don't feel guilty and don't worry about insulting them. You have your own family now, and taking care of yourself is a part of making sure your child is healthy and happy, too.

6) Don't expect to be in love with motherhood right away. If you are one of those lucky ladies that falls immediately in love with being a mom, then good on ya. However, for me, it was hormones gone crazy. I was miserable and exhausted. I hated motherhood at first, and no one told me it was going to be that way. All I ever heard was how amazing it was. And it is. Three months later.

7) Don't feel guilty. If you make mistakes, you will not be doing anything that any other mother has done in the history of mothers. You are a human being and you learn from your mistakes. Take them as life lessons and appreciate them as they come. Don't be hard on yourself, and you will be hard on yourself...harder than anyone else will be, probably.

If you are depressed, talk to someone. Get help. Don't wait. Postpartum Depression is evil and must be wiped out. There is always an option, be it therapy, medication (some are compatible with breast feeding) and resources. Reach out and someone will catch you when you fall.

8) NIPPLE CREAM. Loads of it. Liberally apply nipple cream at every feeding and pumping. Damaged nipples usually happens when skin dries out and becomes cracked. I made the mistake of thinking my nipples were tough enough to take missing a few nipple cream applications. I was wrong. I got mastitis a second time at 3 1/2 months.

9) Clean everything that comes in contact with your nipples, and do not leave any wet nursing pads in contact with them. Cleaning your pumping equipment will help keep you mastitis free, and you do not want mastitis. It will knock you to your knees. The nursing pads should be dry because wet and warm is where bacteria grows and you do NOT WANT THRUSH (yeast infection on your nipples) because it will most likely get into your baby's mouth. Gross and hard to get rid of.

10) You don't have to do laundry every single day. Let the crap pile up. It's ok. Pick a day during the time your husband is home and do a big clean, or better yet, let him clean.

11) Your husband has to help more than he is, no matter how much he is helping you right now. He may be awesome, but if you are feeling overwhelmed and tired, he needs to help more. The reason? If you just gave birth, you are still healing. You won't heal if you are stressing out and not getting enough sleep. You need to give him the bulk of the responsibilities. That means handing off the baby when your husband/boyfriend comes home from work and taking some time to yourself. You are working, too, after all. And you don't get lunch breaks and have support staff to help you out when you're beat.

12) Let your husband bottle feed your baby at night. Let him take at least one feeding so you can get a good chunk of sleep. Pump some milk for the night or supplement formula. It won't hurt the baby, and in fact, some people think it's best to bottle feed at night so it will be easier to wean him later on. Also, it's a good time for father to bond with baby. He won't get that opportunity unless you relinquish a feeding or two.

13) Don't pump on the highest setting. Are you trying to rip your nipples off? 'Cus they don't grow back.

14) The milk will come when the milk comes. Don't stress if your milk doesn't come in right away or is low quantity. It's actually not the quantity of milk that matters so much. A few feedings a day should give your baby the nutrients and benefits from breast milk he needs for the entire day, no matter how much milk you give him.

15) If you want to up your milk, take fenugreek and eat well. Fenugreek comes in liquid form, pill form, and tea. I took mine in tea, three cups a day, and it worked with a vengeance. I was pumping upwards of 9-12 ounces a SESSION. It was too much and eventually I had to step it back a little because it was causing plugged ducts.

16) Freeze your milk supply. Frozen milk, if stored properly, lasts at least 3 months. If you have a separate freezer from your fridge, it lasts 6 months. Save it for those days you want to leave the baby with a friend or daddy.

17) Let your friends come over. You feel gross, right? WHO CARES. Let them come in and hold the baby while you take a shower and rinse the stink off.

18) Call friends daily. If you don't have a connection with a human being other than your baby or husband, you will go insane. Even a ten minute conversation while walking the baby in a sling back and forth in your living room will help you feel normal again, even if only for that ten minutes.

19) Sling sling sling. They work and babies benefit from being close to you. Kangaroo slings are awesome for my baby, although he's stretching the seams. He sits in it while I walk around, and sometimes dozes off. At 4 months old, babies don't nap like newborns do. At times they need a little encouragement to go to sleep. Later on, when they have better neck control, Ergos are awesome, although not as stylish as the Beco. The Moby was interesting, but made me feel like either Obi Wan Kenobi or like I was being strangled with yards and yards of fabric. And the Bjorn, although popular, hurt my back after the baby was heavier than 12 pounds.

20) Binky it. We use the gumdrop pacifier and our baby loves it. Some people have an aversion to the pacifier. I don't, and here's why. He needs to be soothed, and he's sucking on my fingers when I need to use my fingers. Also, pacifiers are said to help lower the risk of SIDS. If you are worried about your kid being addicted to pacifiers and having the wean them later on, think about it: You can take away the pacifier, but you can't take away his thumbs.

If you're concerned about the pacifier popping out of his mouth when he's falling asleep and waking him up, then put the pacifier in while he's falling asleep, and then wait until he's in deep REM. Slooooowly take the pacifier out while he's sleeping.

If you use the pacifier only when he needs soothing, it shouldn't be too much of a concern, IMHO.

21) Swaddle until he's too big. We swaddled until 3 months. Some swaddle to 6 months. Babies love swaddling. They sleep better swaddled, too. We weaned him off the swaddle and he had a few restless weeks, but now he's fine. Now we put him in The Guardian Sleeper. Although he's still getting used to it, he's secure, warm, and won't roll over onto his stomach.

22) Buy everything you need online. If you don't live next to a baby supply store, ORDER AMAZON. They literally have everything you would ever need, and usually at lower prices and with no shipping fees. The items come to your door, and that removes one more trip to the store.

23) If you are pumping, BUY EXTRA EQUIPMENT. Buy lots and lots of bottles, tops with membranes, nipples for your bottles...so you don't have to constantly be washing everything. Buy extra nipple flanges, too, and IN THE CORRECT SIZE. I can't emphasize that enough. The wrong size rubs up against your nipple and causes friction and damage. Your nipple should NOT touch the sides of the flange.

24) Join a mother's group, like the Day One centers, GGMG or a Yahoo group for moms or parents in your area. Eventually, you will want to meet moms with babies the same age as yours. Also, they often have great tips for childcare, infantcare, playgroups and used equipment you may not want to spend $100 on. Some groups are free, while others are not. DO IT. You will be glad you did.

25) LEAVE YOUR HOUSE. Take a walk. Sling the baby while he's tiny and walk. Don't take a humongous diaper bag with you. My husband bought a tiny manly man diaper bag and he loves it. It's compact and he can carry it on his shoulder without feeling like Mr. Mom. All you're going to need is a few diapers, some wipes and an emergency bottle, if you're not breast feeding. If you are breast feeding, bring a Hooter Hider instead.

26) Don't be obsessive about the diaper cream. Seriously, you'll go broke. The baby will not get a raging case of diaper rash if you skip diaper cream a few times a day. It's the acidic chemicals/ammonia dermatitis in urine that causes diaper rash most of the time. Just be sure to wipe every little bit of your baby's bottom and front before sticking him back in the diaper. Let him air out a little, if you can. Babies like to be naked. Just watch out for the boys...they will hose you if they feel so inclined.

27) Two Costco sized boxes of diapers per size should do you. We used two boxes from Costco Huggies in size one before the baby grew out of them. Same for size two. Don't go crazy with diaper purchases, however. Wait for the sales and coupons.

28) Sign up for the Enfamil and Similac sites. Along with a bunch of spam and junk mail, you will get coupons for formula in the mail, and sometimes free samples. Also, Walgreens coupons are sometimes 2 for 1 on formula. If you get lucky like we did, you'll hit them on a day they're having a sale, use your coupon, and buy two big things of formula for $15.

29) Go to a restaurant while he's still a newborn. The baby will sleep through most meals when he's tiny. Not so much when he's bigger.

30) God forbid you get mastitis, but if you do USE A DISPOSABLE DIAPER and put warm/hot water in it until it is saturated, but not soaking and dripping. Apply it to your breast to get the wet heat you need to get your milk flowing. When it gets cold, microwave it for 5-10 seconds and it will be warm/hot again. Be careful not to burn yourself.

Also, take warm to hot showers before pumping/feeding. Cover your tender nipple with your hand and let the water hit your breast for a good 5-10 minutes. Then, pump or feed to get the infection out. When you get the infection to come out, you may or may not see gross stringy stuff in your milk and that's normal. Your baby can eat it or you can strain it out, but let the baby have your milk. All the antibodies that are fighting the infection in your breast will help him, too.

Call your advice nurse or doctor and they should just send the prescription to the pharmacy for you. Have your husband/boyfriend pick it up, since most likely you will be too weak to go anywhere. The antibiotics they give you are not the usual antibiotics, like Penicillin. Take care to follow the instructions VERY CAREFULLY, or you may vomit or have nausea.

Sleep and pump constantly. And if you have leftover meds from the labor/delivery for the pain, TAKE THEM. Tylenol OR Motrin, but not both at simultaneously.

After you take all the antibiotics (TAKE ALL THE MEDS) then you should look into acidophilus or probiotics in pill form to replenish the good bacteria that was killed along with the bad. If you don't, you are at greater risk of getting a yeast infection, otherwise known as the dreaded thrush. Take the pills during or after the course of antibiotics, it doesn't really matter as far as I can tell. But take them.

What causes Mastitis? Bacteria, not emptying your milk often enough, and STRESS. If you are not taking care of yourself or do not have a good support system, you are more vulnerable to Mastitis. Take care of yourself.

Kellymom is a great site for breast feeding issues. Use it!

31) White noise. It saved us many nights. Most babies love white noise because it reminds them of the womb. It soothes babies to sleep and makes them calmer, for the most part. We use For Crying Out Loud and the Sleep Sheep. If your baby is freaking out and screaming, try shushing. It does work, although it seems weird to be two inches from the baby's ear while making a continuous "SHHHHHHHH" noise. Do it loudly enough and he will usually calm down.

32) The DVD Happiest Baby on the Block is worth purchasing if you're having confusion and questions about how to soothe your baby. We also loved the Armin Brott books and DVDs.

33) We received a wipes warmer as a gift and ended up loving it. Newborns hate the wet cold wipe in the middle of the night, and it wakes them up in a jarring way. The warm wipe took some of the bite out of that midnight changing.

34) Speaking of midnight changings, DON'T. If your baby is wet, let him ride it out if he is still sleeping. It won't hurt to leave him in a diaper that's wet overnight. Disposable diapers, if you're using them, don't leave them soaking wet anyway. Unless it's poop or leaking, leave it be.

35) If your baby is sleeping through the night (LUCKY YOU) then DON'T wake him/her for feedings. I was advised this before I gave birth and thank God I didn't listen. We slept well the first three months of the baby's life because he was a great sleeper. As long as your baby is gaining weight and healthy, he doesn't need to be fed every two hours. If your baby is underweight, you may be advised by your pediatrician to wake him for feedings, however.

37) Your hair will fall out. And I mean it will FALL OUT. You will think you are going bald at 2 or 3 months. You won't. My husband is keen on saying, "You're hair is NORMALIZING. This is the amount of hair that didn't fall out when you were pregnant."

38) When the baby hits a certain age, the jumper seat and the kicky seat. Get them second hand if you can, but they are terrific for play time. And you can put them in the bathroom while you take a shower, which is AWESOME. The jumper is for when the baby has good neck control. The kicky seat is great for any age up to the weight restriction. Swings are great, if you can afford one, but not absolutely necessary, IMHO.

39) For you iPhone users, the Total Baby application is awesome for keeping track of diaper changes, feedings, sleep schedules, bathing schedules...anything and everything you want to monitor. It also averages out everything for you, so you can see what you are doing with the little guy. We use it religiously and it keeps everything on a consistent schedule.

40) Don't listen to any advice you don't need or want, including this post I'm writing now. All women are different. All babies are unique. What may work for one may not work for another. It's not as if there's a rule book that gives you all the answers...otherwise motherhood would be a breeze...and we all know it's not.

41) Lastly, things do change. You will not always feel like jumping off a bridge. You will not always be fighting with your husband because you are both sleep deprived. It will taper off eventually.

The cruel part is: Post Partum Depression and baby blues arrive just when you're feeling your worst...right after delivery and when you're thrown into this new world of responsibility. I told a friend the other day that motherhood, while amazing and rewarding, was like totally deconstructing my old life and building a completely new one from scratch in record time. I also said it was not uncommon for me to wake up some mornings completely forgetting I had a baby and feeling a weightlessness. Although that sounds horrible, even as I type it, it's honest. Some days I just want my old life back.

But what always comes through that doubt and insecurity and feeling of being drowned in responsibility is that baby. What an incredible gift. With all the complaining, bitching, moaning and times of pain and suffering, you get a prize. And he's nothing you would ever trade a lifetime of freedom for.

I won't say it gets easier, however, as many moms told me when I complained. It becomes hard in a different way. You get used to the difficulties. You learn how to tolerate and cope. You become a mother...the mother you always wanted to be. Be positive whenever possible. Cry when you want to. Lean on your family and friends if you can. Stay strong, and hold out for that moment when the lightbulb appears above your head. It will come and it will be enlightening.

Beastfeeding

2009-12-29T11:38:00.000-08:00

Ok, so the thing about breastfeeding is this: Everything that everyone says about it is absolutely true. It's amazing, wonderful, fabulous, and brings you a closeness to your child that you will probably never ever experience again in your relationship. It's truly one of those things that makes you feel more "motherly" because you are nourishing your child with the best possible food...your own milk generated by your body.

But that's the sugary sweet stuff that people love to ram down your throat when you're in the midst of trying to teach your little beastie how to latch on correctly while he chomps, pulls, and scrapes most of your nipple off your breast, and, as most of us know, nipples don't grow back after they fall off.

Here's my take on breastfeeding: It's horrible. It's terrible. It's scarring. I hated it. And here's my story of how I came to not hate it so much.

When I was in the hospital, surrounded by the lactation specialists, I was taught the first thing about breastfeeding that every new mother hears: Do NOT use bottles. Do NOT supplement. Keep trying until it works.

I did. I tried. Even with no milk for 9 days, I kept trying. But after the sixth day of nothing but the colostrum, which I never personally saw come out, the baby started screaming. And when I say "screaming" I mean "YOU ARE KILLING ME, BAD PARENTS!"

My husband and I decided to use formula that day. We gave our little man two ounces of Similac, which he promptly guzzled down...and then passed out for eight hours of sleep. It was the first time we had seen him sleep peacefully since the hospital.

That was the day we also decided to supplement with formula. My milk came in four days later, but it was a pathetic amount that barely filled a two ounce bottle. I pumped religiously eight times a day and took fenugreek tea until my supply was up to par, but it was still impossible. The baby would not latch.

The other issue were my nipples, which were bloody raw and so painful I could not even wear a shirt or take a shower without crying out in pain. Whenever I had to feed the baby, I would literally sob. It was ridiculously bad. Contracting mastitis certainly didn't help matters much. Seeing puss come out of your nipples is worse than seeing blood, believe it or not.

I used nipple cream, which probably saved me some serious suffering, and gel pads, which were a Godsend. But still, the baby was not latching properly and my nipples were being destroyed. It was a truly traumatic experience to feed him, which was not helping with my milk supply any. The stress made pumping difficult, as it often causes your milk to deplete.

I visited the lactation specialist weekly, bringing the baby in and trying to teach him how to eat. It helped, but not enough, and the baby kept nibbling instead of sucking. We used all the paraphernalia available...nipple shields, breast shields, warm wet diapers on the breast to get the milk moving...nothing worked well enough to ease the pain.

A month passed and we still used bottles, even with the threat of nipple confusion looming overhead. But I was still breastfeeding during the day and using supplements only at night, so I could rest. We used special breastflow bottles to help with the nipple confusion, which worked, I believe.

Two months passed, and even after a nasty bout of mastitis I persisted. I was determined to keep breastfeeding, even though my own doctor told me it was ok to stop. The pressure to continue came from everywhere, especially the mother's groups that seemed fanatical about it. It was a breastfeeding cult.

Even after the two month mark, the time everyone told me when things would get better, I was suffering through the feedings. The baby was thriving on bottled milk I expressed daily, which in itself was pure hell. But I was miserable. Breastfeeding was not a joy, nor was it the amazing bonding experience I had imagined it would be. In fact, I began resenting the baby. The guilt over not being able to nurse him was killing my self-esteem and I was starting to dwell in my post-partum depression. After researching anti-depressant medication and breastfeeding, I refused to take the medication my doctor prescribed to battle the baby blues, which had not gone away since the birth. My emotions were running ramshackle and driving me insane...and failing at breastfeeding was fueling the insanity.

Three months passed, and a second bout of mastitis nearly ended it. The first time I had a breast infection, I nearly quit breastfeeding for good. I told myself it was a sign from the almighty. But when the infection ended, the baby started nursing again and his latch had miraculously improved. I was encouraged enough to continue.

But the second time I had mastitis I was finished with breastfeeding. It was stupid to continue, I thought. How could I keep doing this to myself? Is it worth it just to give him milk from my breast? I could express it and he would still get the nutrients. THIS MUST STOP.

The infection finally went away, and when I was ready I breastfed. I took the first feeding with a great deal of trepidation, feeling the dread of the first painful latch. Instead, I was shocked to find that the baby latched easily, drank long, slow draws of milk, and everything had magically turned right side up again. Breastfeeding had become easy, suddenly and without any graduation. It was that instantaneous.

I have no idea how it happened. I tried to guess...maybe his mouth grew? Maybe he's just matured into a good nurser? The mystery remains.

So you new mothers out there struggling with breastfeeding your newborn baby, take heed/comfort...it is harder than you ever believed it could be. But yes, it does get easier. For me, it was three months. But no one ever tells you how difficult it will be before it does.

Things I wished knew about breastfeeding before I started:

1) It hurts beyond pain. The BS I heard over and over again was that if it hurts, you're not doing it right. The latch is wrong, the baby's mouth is off-center, you need to get the whole areola in his mouth...the pain is your fault or your baby's fault. Breastfeeding doesn't hurt.

Look...nipples are sensitive before you even start breastfeeding. After you begin the latching and the nursing, they feel like they are on fire. You have this little mouth on you, struggling to suck milk out of your ducts. My baby sucked so hard in the hospital that a duct actually CAME OUT. It was hanging off my nipple like a bloody teardrop. And the nurse had the balls to tell me it was NORMAL?! Please.

2) Nipple cream helps (Motherlove is awesome), gel pads and breast shields also help, but nothing will really help. It will hurt until it doesn't anymore. And even when it supposedly doesn't hurt, it's still not completely comfortable.

3) I used nipple shields, per the instructions from the lactation specialist. What they didn't tell me was that the baby would have to be weaned off the shields, which, when the time came, was very difficult.

4) Milk letdown HURT. It was like lightening pain down my breasts. In a few months, however, it now feels just like a pinch.

5) The baby sucks so hard my nipples turn temporarily white and I get shooting pain, which is a sign of vasospasms.

6) I felt like the baby was rejecting ME. It wasn't just the breast he was refusing, it felt like he was telling me to shove off. It hurt my feelings and I cried...a LOT. Crazy hormones did not help any.

7) Feeding the baby with a bottle was not hard. In fact, it was easy. And there was no nipple confusion. He literally takes anything and sucks on it. We did use special bottles that helped, however, and we listened to the lactation specialist and followed her instructions to a tee.

8) Mastitis is evil. Don't get it. And if you do get it, go to Kellymom and get all the advice you can.

After you get mastitis, don't get thrush, which is a yeast infection for breasts/nipples. If you do get it, your baby will probably also get it, and it's very difficult to get rid of. To avoid thrush after mastitis, take probiotics or acidophilus to counteract the antibiotics the doctor will most likely give you to get rid of the infection. And change your breast pads often. Don't let your nipples sit in a wet, moist environment.

9) Let your nipples breathe. Go without a bra after feedings and just air dry. They need air to heal. Then slather on the nipple cream. Be generous with it.

10) Use gel pads on your nipples. Put them in the refrigerator and make them cool first, then apply after feedings. It helps with the pain for a short while.

11) Use a wet, warm disposable diaper on your breast to get the milk flowing, if you have trouble with the letdown. If the diaper becomes cold, pop it in the microwave for 5-10 seconds and it will warm up nicely. Be careful not to burn yourself if you're using the microwave.

12) Take hot showers. Cover your nipples with your hands and let the water hit your breasts. This will help get the milk flowing, too.

13) Pumping is hideous. Buy lots of supplies, so you don't have to wash everything every time you pump. Don't use the highest setting, and don't pump for long periods when you don't have to. When pumping, drink water. Also, try to zone out so you don't go insane. I used to watch television, but now I read books. It helps make the monotony a little easier to take.

If you are pumping, make sure you have the correct size flanges. If your nipples are touching the sides of the flange, you should get a larger size.

14) Breastfeeding in public is not as easy as they say. It's much easier to give the kid a bottle, IMHO, especially if you're shy like I am. Whipping out a boob in public is hard if you're not completely comfortable with being semi-nude in front of strangers. If you use a nursing cover or hooter hider, breastfeeding with your baby squirming underneath a little colorful tent is most definitely going to be a peep show for some lucky dude walking by you. So no, it's not easy...at least for me. At home? Piece of cake. In public? Not so much.

15) There are two sides to every coin. There is the side that says breastfeeding is the miracle of nutrition, and that your baby will be dumb as a stump, get ear infections all the time, be sickly with allergies...blah blah blah...if you don't breastfeed. Then there's the other side that says it's untrue that breastfeeding gives you all the benefits claimed. Yes, your baby may have fewer ear infections. But all the other stuff is really opinion.

You can pick a side, but either way, there is proof for both arguments.

16) Nursing shouldn't take forever. At first, it will, and it will eat up your entire day mercilessly. I would feed the baby 30-40 minutes EACH SIDE and be completely doubled over in pain and miserable. Ugh. But now that he's got it down and knows how to nurse correctly, he eats for about 8 minutes total. Remember, you aren't a milk machine. Your milk will get on a schedule as your baby does, so give it some time and be patient. A doctor told my friend that a newborn gets all the nutrients and benefits he needs to stimulate the immune system from a few ounces of breastmilk a day. Just a few. The rest is just gravy (and bonding, natch.)

Dr. Newman has a great site that shows babies nursing correctly and incorrectly, in case you're interested.

17) Formula is not the devil. Honestly, people who think formula is poison for the baby are a tad fanatical. In fact, some pediatricians believe a little formula is a good thing, when it's fortified with vitamin D.

18) Set short goals. When you start breastfeeding, don't jump the gun and say, "I'm going to breastfeed for a YEAR!" because you'll beat yourself up if you decide breastfeeding isn't for you. Just make your goals a month at a time. At one month, I patted myself on the back and said, "Ok, two months." It's helped me not give up completely.

19) Don't listen to women who say things definitively. Women are different, and everyone has a different experience with breastfeeding. There is no rule book out there that will give you the answers for the entire breastfeeding population on the planet. What may be right for one woman may be completely wrong for another. Own your experience and learn from your mistakes. Don't beat yourself up over breastfeeding just because someone else says you should.

20) It gets easier, but you'll want to quit a million times before it does. And if you do stop, you're not a bad person. If your baby is thriving, gaining weight and growing, you are doing a great job at nourishing him. Formula, breastmilk, bottles or boob, you are doing right by your baby.

The No-Fun Sonogram

2009-12-28T22:54:00.000-08:00

Sonograms were usually a fun treat whenever my husband and I went to the doctor's office. In fact, we were addicted to them, and would slyly interject the suggestion every time we went in for a checkup. "Sooo, are we going to see our baby today?" My husband was a cool operator, but rarely did the doctor say yes. We managed to get a few extra glimpses at our son, but it was always after some form of begging. Embarrassing? Sure...but every visit we asked anyway.

The last sonogram I had was last week, and it was the NO FUN sonogram. This was a sonogram of my right breast, which contained what felt like a small, pea sized lump that hadn't gone away as my ob/gyn had hoped.

I was referred to a breast surgeon, who then referred me to the sonogram/ultrasound department where I had an obscene amount of jelly goo put on my chest. They checked for about ten minutes, and then called in the head radiologist to take a final look. She poked around with the wand and said, "Well, I can't tell you that I see anything for certain. I'll send the films over to your doctor and you'll get a call." That was last week. No call yet.

In the end, there was no prognosis, seeing as there were no actual doctors in the room to make a definitive decision. I am not awaiting a call from my specialist who will give me the news that it's probably nothing (crossing fingers, toes, and eyeballs.)

Four Month Old?

2009-12-27T13:00:00.000-08:00

I have this friend who also has a lovely little boy baby. He is 8 months old. Last week we had this exchange on a thread:

ME: He's 4 months old and so heavy. 18 pounds!!

FRIEND: 18 pounds!? My baby is 8 months and HE'S 18 pounds!

ME: Yeah, well, my baby is really long, too. 27 inches!

FRIEND: MY baby is 27 inches, too!

ME: (pause) I HAVE A HUMONGOUS GIGANTIC BABY!!!!

FRIEND: You have a healthy, thriving baby!

ME: YES! A HEALTHY, THRIVING BABY WHO WILL EAT YOUR BABY IF YOU PUT HIM IN THE SAME PLAY PEN!

Ok, so the conversation didn't exactly go like that. But it was close.

Doctor, Doctor

2009-12-18T21:04:00.000-08:00

The 4 month visit is misleading, since the baby isn't yet 4 months...YET. He is hitting that milestone in a few weeks.

However, the visit was revealing. My sore wrist and aching back do not lie. He weighs just shy of 18 pounds and is 26 inches long!

That's pretty much 90th percentile in everything. No wonder he's ripping his 3-6 month sized clothes apart like a little baby Hulk.

P.S. I stayed to see him get his vaccination shots...and although it was horrible for me to see, I did not cry. He did, however, lightweight that he is.

A Wrinkle In Time

2009-12-06T21:16:00.000-08:00

Seeing the date of my last post has made me realize how time has mysteriously disappeared in the blink of an eye. It seems like yesterday I typed on this computer, and now it's December. I'm losing my ability to appreciate the minutes passing by and the seconds ticking away. Time is the enemy...it is quickly making my baby into a toddler.

Getting used to the new addition has not been an easy transition. Sleep has been hard to come by lately, since he hit the three month mark. He has stopped sleeping through the night and now wakes every two to three hours to feed, be changed, or to cuddle. This can be attributed to the three month growth spurt he was scheduled to have, but I believe it's also what is known as sleep regression. His brain is simply too active to shut down at night, causing him to wake up to learn and grow.

Since my husband is awesome, he has taken the night shift since birth. I have been able to sleep fairly well, even if it's not the deep REM sleep I crave. Without sleep, I fear, I would be a monster during the day. Depression without sleep is a scary thing. My husband is understanding of this fact and takes on the task of night feedings without question. He's a great father, and always says he loves the time he can spend with his baby son, even if he's bleary-eyed by morning.

I believe I am getting used to the routine of motherhood, although some days, like today, I feel like I'm burnt out and tired of the monotony. The baby is pure light and love, no doubt. But I am occasionally overwhelmed by the huge changes and want to run away from it all. My husband doesn't seem to understand how it affects me adversely to be with our son all day long, all week long. He goes to work, and although he works hard he also gets breaks, has peers to talk to, has mini-escapes. I am confined to the baby, and that's the entirety of my day.

In other news, I have lost all the baby weight. However this does not mean I have gained back any of the muscle tone. If I suck in my gut 24/7, I can fit into my jeans again. However, as soon as I take a breath, I look like the before picture in a Weight Watcher's ad.

My hair is also falling out in fistfuls, but so is the baby's. By the end of the year, we'll both require comb-overs.

Over the River and Through the Woods

2009-11-28T21:46:00.000-08:00

Too many grandmas...that's my problem. I know some would say that's not a problem at all. Some would consider it a blessing to have two sets of grandparents involved in your child's life. I am not "some people" and have always been ungrateful in the respect that I can not be around family for extended periods of time without developing a stress rash or the urge to hurl myself off a tall building. That's not meant to be cruel, but it is the truth.

My mother has been slowly driving me to an early grave. I can't listen to the phone ring anymore without cringing, and my left eye has developed a twitch that borders on a tick. My mother has taken to the bad practice of just "stopping by" whenever she feels like it. When my husband asked her to please call ahead of time and give us at least a day notice, she became horribly offended and said, "I'm not going to ASK PERMISSION to visit. I KNOW YOU'RE THERE WITH THE BABY." Can we all agree that it's just creepy? I nearly crawled out of my own skin when my husband told me what she had said. GET YOUR OWN BABY, CRAZY LADY.

Other than that, I must admit it's sweet to see her with the kid, cooing and talking her maniacal, loud nonsense to him over and over again. He loves the babble, and although I worry that he will come to like the incessant high volume of noise she exudes, I am glad he makes her a little happy during this time of hardships for her. She has been dealing with a Democrat in office and can't manage to hold back her resentment and hatred of liberals in the White House.

Oh yes, it's practically a Republican convention up in here. I hope it isn't rubbing off. Can babies catch conservative right-wing disease?

The husband has been enjoying the company of his own parents for the past four days (and counting) and has had many opportunities to parade his son around and show him off. All in all I've been taking it easy from the visit this year, hiding out in my room with a cold and napping most of the day away. But occasionally, I've run upstairs to rescue the baby from watching television and having loud toys held up to his face. The overstimulation is making him cranky, methinks.

I can't understand the logic of vacationing away from home just to sit in front of the television for hours on end. It makes no sense to me, and I've always been a little bugged by it. They just stay in the house. They don't go anywhere. Year after year, it's the same.

So Thanksgiving this year was not full of thanks, I'm afraid. I was not in a good place psychologically, which I will blame on being sick with a cold.

Actually, I am thankful it wasn't the swine flu. So there.

Three Months

2009-11-27T21:16:00.000-08:00

The three month mark has arrived, and I can hardly believe how big this kid has gotten. He must weigh at least 15 pounds, if not more. His head is bobble-headed and feels like a bowling ball. He's developed the tell-tale signs of a big boy...chub bracelets on his arms and legs. He has grown out of his zero to 3 month clothing, which made me a little misty just typing it.

He is no longer a newborn. He is now a real honest-to-goodness baby. Wow.

Bump to Lump

2009-11-13T13:58:00.000-08:00

It's still there. The lump.

In my third trimester, I found a lump in my right breast. It was fairly small, but it was hard and didn't move. I'd say it was about the size of a pea.

The doctor said there was little we could do about it at that point, since my breasts were lumpy anyway due to the impending flow of milk. She said to keep an eye on it and wait a few months. If it didn't go away, she'd check it again and refer me to a breast surgeon to get a second opinion.

Well, it's still there. I have my appointment with my doctor next week, and I'll be pushing for a referral for the breast surgeon. I don't want to take any chances, since my mother just recently battled breast cancer.

Also, I just found out a friend of mine had a mastectomy and didn't say anything until it was over and done with. She just didn't want to take any chances, so she cut most of her breast off.

I take that as a sign that I should take this to heart and take care not to ignore a flashing sign in my face when it's there. Although I'm praying it's nothing, I know that if it's something, I'll be better off knowing sooner than later.

Cross your fingers and wish me luck.

Two Months

2009-10-27T14:09:00.000-07:00

Today on his two month birthday I said this:

"I'm just starting to feel like I couldn't imagine not having him."

I believe I'm almost over the hump. The postpartum depression is still egging me on from time to time. Anxiety attacks hit without warning, and my mother is driving me insane. I have had hideous thoughts about her, and actually looked up real estate in Illinois so I can dream about getting away from her. She is truly crazy and not helping at all at this point.

The doctors have been checking up on me with some consistency, and they dispense medication at the drop of a hat. But I've been resisting the urge to pop an anti-depressant, due to the breast feeding. Every time I'm tempted, I am awash with feelings of guilt. It is impossible for that pill to pass my lips knowing it will end up in the baby.

So I deal with the feelings of dread and worry, knowing most of it is in my head and totally irrational: No, the baby won't die in his sleep. No, he isn't a down syndrome baby. No, he isn't going to be kidnapped. No, you won't fall down the stairs and die and leave the baby in the house alone, screaming for his mother who is dead as a door nob.

It's a daily battle, and I sometimes wish I wouldn't wake in the mornings so I don't have to face it again. But I love my son, and my son needs a healthy mother. I need to pull it together somehow and beat this depression.

Holding Out

2009-10-25T16:10:00.000-07:00

Every day, I hold out until 4:00 p.m. That's the time I know my husband is on his way home. I imagine him weaving in and out of traffic trying to get to the front door. It's comforting and relieves some of the anxiety I always have built up in my gut at that time. It usually sits there from noon until evening, poking my stomach, daring me to eat something spicy.

Now that the breast infection, also known as mastitis HELL, has pretty much gone, I am dealing with plugged ducts. It's as if someone is testing me, or testing my breasts.

A plugged duct is not nearly as horrific as mastitis. Instead, it's just annoying and achey pain that seems to go on and on and on. I've been massaging it for a while but it's stubborn. I have a feeling I'm in for more of this kind of discomfort as long as I breast feed. People keep telling me it will get better after two or so months, so I hold out. But it just keeps getting more and more frustrating and I'm losing patience.

I'm feeling the beginnings of being burnt out. Five days a week, nine to ten hours a day I'm alone with my baby, trying to soothe him, play with him, keep him happy, content...it's more exhausting than I thought it would be. It's also hard to stop and enjoy being a mother when you're so tired, although I try to remember to be thankful for what I've got in my arms, even when it's screaming bloody murder.

Mastitis Hell

2009-10-23T05:14:00.001-07:00

At 5:15 in the morning, I sit on the couch watching Tivo'd shows feeling not unlike a naughty kid trying to get away with something she shouldn't be doing. That's what motherhood feels like to me when I get a moment to myself...I'm getting away with something.

But the reason I'm up at 5:15 in the morning instead of sleeping while the baby slumbers is something far more sobering than daydreaming about being a naughty kid. I have mastitis.

For those who have never had mastitis, here's a medical description from Dr. Sears:

Mastitis means that the breast is inflamed, and there is swelling, redness, tenderness and pain. There may be an infection, so it is wise to consult your health-care provider to determine whether or not an antibiotic is necessary. A breast infection can become a breast abscess that requires surgical draining, but this can almost always be prevented by treating mastitis promptly.

Signs of mastitis include:

Part or all of the breast is intensely painful, hot, tender, red, and swollen. Some mothers can pinpoint a definite area of inflammation, while at other times the entire breast is tender.
You feel tired, run down, achy, have chills or think you have the flu. A breastfeeding mother who thinks she has the flu probably has mastitis. Mothers with mastitis will sometimes experience these flu-like symptoms, even before they get a fever or notice breast tenderness.
You have chills or feel feverish, or your temperature is 101F or higher.These symptoms suggest that you have an infection.
You are feeling progressively worse, your breasts are growing more tender, and your fever is becoming more pronounced. With simple engorgement, a plugged duct, or mastitis without infection, you gradually feel better instead of worse.
Recent events have set you up for mastitis: cracked or bleeding nipples, stress or getting run down, missed feedings or longer intervals between feedings.

Now here's my personal description of mastitis:

First, you feel like you may shiver to death. It comes out of nowhere and hits you like a sledgehammer. Then, the fever comes on even faster. Mine rose from 101 to 103 in less than a few hours.

So you think, "Hm, I have the flu. This too shall pass." But NO. It shall NOT pass. It shall continue to get worse until you are praying for death. In fact, you FEEL like death. One of your breasts suddenly starts getting pink in a spot, then it gets warm. Perhaps it starts to itch. One way or another, your breast is in pain. You notice it most when you try to breast feeding and your baby's tongue feels like it has spikes on it. It literally brought tears to my eyes.

Then you call the advice nurse or the lactation specialist. She gets you connected with your doctor who prescribes you some antibiotics that will supposedly kill whatever has obviously created evil in your milk ducts. While you are waiting for your medication to work you pump 10-12 times a day or your breastfeed constantly to drain your breast of the infection. Sounds gross to be feeding your baby infected boob milk? The baby is the one who probably gave you the infection, so he/she won't mind.

Now the antibiotics have been in your system for a little while and suddenly you start to feel queasy. You pick up the instructions for the meds and see the first symptoms on the sheet...nausea and vomiting. Then, you vomit.

You can't eat because you feel sick to your stomach 24/7. Then, you can eat, but you throw it up. Meanwhile, you're still trying to get rid of the fever and pain you've had for two days with prescription Motrin, which you can't take on an empty stomach. But wait, you can't take antibiotics unless you're on an empty stomach. You're screwed.

So here I sit at 5:15 in the morning, starving, but on antibiotics. I pray the meds will get rid of this crap because I can't seem to get over the feeling that I may actually be dying of mastitis. I may be the first person ever on the planet to die from this stupid infection. I'll be in all the medical journals for sure.

It's all in the name of breast feeding my baby. Am I being punished for having inverted nipples? Or maybe it's because I've been sneaking a supplement of formula in at night when I'm too tired to nurse...either way, someone up there hates my guts...and my boob.

Changes

2009-10-21T17:16:00.000-07:00

Losing friends is messed up. Losing friends because you had a baby is confusing. The hard truth is that I have lost friends over this huge life change, and there's nothing I can do about it.

I can't give the baby away. I can't shove it back in. I can't turn back time. I'm no longer one. I am two now, and three, if you count the terrific husband.

But some friends believe they have to discard friends because they have something new that does not fit into their lifestyle. They stop seeing you as someone who can relate to their life. It's harsh, and possibly true. Maybe I can't relate, or maybe I don't fit anymore. I'm the square peg in their round hole world.

But it's painful. I'm in pain right now, for one. I have mastitis and can barely function....and I look around me and see no one to call to come over and give me comfort. It's hard.

After the baby was born, I was in a very dark place. I still linger there on occasion, yet I manage to dig myself out every time with the skin of my teeth. Yet when I was at my lowest point in this whole journey into motherhood, no one was sitting by me to hold my hand. I was without a friend.

I do have friends, that's certain. But the closest friends I have are scattered to the far ends of the earth, as far as I'm concerned. They're in Chicago, Hawaii, London, New York...no where close by where I can get a daily dose of support. Phone calls and emails just don't cut it sometimes.

The closest friends I have in the area are too busy or simply gone. Gone in spirit, in heart, in mind. I'm feeling like I'm on the "out" list with this baby on my arm. It makes me sad.

Friendships are supposed to be bulletproof, even when babies are the bullets.

Baby Mine

2009-10-19T21:59:00.000-07:00

The baby smells good. I love his scent right out of the bath. I put my hand on his head and feel his freshly washed hair and it's like down feathers. He's so lovely.

I love him. He is precious, clean or not. But straight out of a bath he is perfect. It's as if he was just handed to me, reborn and placed on my chest so I can nuzzle my face into his and take in a deep breath. That's the memory I have.

He smells the same way he did when he was born when he's right out of the bath.

Alone with Company

2009-10-13T22:48:00.001-07:00

Today was the first rain of the season, and boy it was a doozy. Monsoon-like torrents fell from the skies like a warning from God: Be a good mommy or I will smite you with the croup baby from Hell.

Today was also the first day I felt truly, absolutely alone. It was a haunting feeling of seclusion that overwhelmed me around noon, when nap time was over and Chucky wanted to plaaa-aayyy...

Baby started bemoaning the lack of milk coming from my breasts. Then, it took too long to warm up the bottle of expressed milk. After eating, he was uncomfortably gassy. And then he was too damn tired to nap. All in all, a stormy day inside and out.

But it wasn't the squirmy baby that just discovered he had the capability to raise the volume to eleven that drove me to near insanity today. It was the fact that it was raining and I no longer had the choice to go outside. There was no break from the monotony of the couch, Tivo remote, and finicky baby on my lap. I had no options. It was maddening.

It was also lonely. I realized how isolated I was feeling, and that it was a familiar feeling I had been having since the husband returned to work full time. Having no friends with babies, I was the odd-man-out among my non-child-having pals who sometimes looked at me as if I had a third eye. They had all scattered as soon as I brought the little dude home. The few friends who love babies, regardless of their situation, are in other parts of the country, or out of the country altogether.

So, here I sit, friendless, lonely, and bored to tears. My little buddy is staring at me like I'm a milk dispenser. My husband won't be home until it's too late to save me from another anxiety attack. I wait with iPhone in hand, playing scrabble. I feel like The Little Prince...but the version where the Prince is lactating and hasn't taken a shower in days.

Truths

2009-10-06T21:53:00.000-07:00

After months of irresponsible Googling and good/bad/horrible advice I received from numerous sources, I finally had my moment and gave birth to a son...and it was NOTHING like what was described to me from dozens of people who shared their birth stories with me.

1) I was in labor for 22 hours, 20 of which were relatively painless thanks to the epidural.

2) The epidural did not hurt at all. I barely felt the needle and catheter go in.

3) I had a catheter put in to collect urine. No one told me this would happen, and they still wouldn't let me drink water even though it did.

4) The epidural bag ran out, which was horribly painful. Once they replaced it, it was never quite the same. My leg went numb for about 3 days afterwards.

5) The epidural did not make me shake uncontrollably, like so many warned. Also, I did not get nauseous from medication given to me pre-birth.

6) A resident delivers your baby, not your OB/GYN.

7) I did not poop/pee on the table during delivery.

8) I could totally feel the contractions during the pushing part of the delivery, which was beyond painful.

9) I did not feel the head or shoulders come out. All I felt was relief.

10) The resident/doctor scraped my uterus with her hand and it was worse than the delivery of the baby.

11) I had a medium tear, due to the suctioning of the baby. It was not painful at all. In fact, I never felt pain from the tear.

12) I DID feel terrible pain from the hemorrhoids. They were the size of walnuts. The first bowel movement after giving birth was really frightening, and for good reason.

13) The hospital stay was awesome, post delivery.

14) The baby does not instinctively know how to nurse. Breast-feeding in the hospital was a bad experience for me, and continues to be extremely challenging nearly six weeks later.

15) The nurses/doctors/lactation specialist do not discuss formula. Ever. And they push the breast-feeding like a cult. It's a lot of pressure on the mother, and it shouldn't be.

16) Colostrum isn't always enough for the baby.

17) They massage your abdomen after delivery and it HURTS. However, they need to do it to get the placenta out. Mine did not cooperate, however, no matter how much they massaged.

18) After you go home, you're so shell-shocked you don't know which end is up and you are in so much pain you want to die. Medication saves you a little suffering, but what is essential is an amazing husband/family member/friend.

19) Having visitors right after getting home SUCKS. It's more of a chore for you than a help, in my case.

20) Your mother/mother-in-law WILL drive you insane, no matter how good the intentions.

21) The baby will not be cute until he/she has somewhat of a routine established. For me, it took two weeks to get there.

22) You may not bond with your child right away, and that's ok. It will happen when you're not exhausted, in pain, or depressed from the hormones raging through your system.

23) The "Baby Blues" can be "severe depression" in disguise.

24) I did not have a raging appetite due to my breast-feeding.

25) My body looks like hell. I lost 30 pounds, but still look 6 months pregnant. Also, my breasts look like deflated footballs.

Waiting for the Flood

2009-10-03T22:42:00.000-07:00

I read my own gripes and complaints and I feel guilty about how ungrateful I must seem. Honestly, I feel blessed to have this amazing experience. I have been waiting a long time to be a mother, and now that the moment has arrived, it doesn't seem real. It's as if I'm watching a reality show with someone else as the star.

When the baby was born, the first day was exciting and unbelievable. I was in love immediately, but it didn't last. The first two weeks were so brutal, I didn't feel that connection or bond that mothers are supposed to feel with their newborns. I felt so detached, apart from the family unit. It was a horrible feeling. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die from the guilt.

In the third week, things were still healing, but it was tolerable. The baby was getting into his routine. I wasn't crying every minute of the day anymore. It became more of a reality...I was taking care of a new baby. But I still did not feel like the mother of this child. I loved him because I was his mother, but I didn't feel the bond. It just didn't feel honest.

A month old and the baby was into his routine like a pro. The pain was nearly gone, except for the breastfeeding, which was (and still remains) terribly hard. I had my husband to help me, even if it was part of the day. My head seemed cloudy, I was still exhausted, but feeling more levelheaded. I was still waiting for that epiphany that would jolt me into reality. My body had just gone through this incredible experience of pregnancy and childbirth. It pushed a baby out into the world. It knew I was a mother. But my mind was still closed off to the idea. After nearly four decades of taking care of me, myself and I, my mind was not ready to accept the fact that I had a new life to look after. It was a commitment I was not ready to accept.

Then one day, suddenly, the baby spit up blood (which turned out to be MY blood from breastfeeding, but little did I know until we called the advice nurse.)

I panicked. The thought of the baby being sick made me want to vomit. I couldn't stand the thought of losing my child. The very idea of him in pain made me cry hysterically.

This is when I bonded with my child.

When your body and mind don't agree on what reality is, ultimately it will be your heart that will break the tie.

Update

2009-10-01T23:08:00.000-07:00

Emotions have been controlled this week. The husband went back to work full time on Thursday, which made me want to run away from home or hire a nanny, either one. At first I felt complete panic. Being left alone with a newborn for 8-9 hours seemed impossible to me, considering I had been crying nonstop the first two weeks of his life. When he cried, I cried. When he screamed, I had to leave the room. How was I going to survive for the entire day without help?

Thursday and Friday went without too much trouble, however, and increased my confidence level a tad. Although I still feel anxiety, I know that I can hold out until my husband comes home. At least I hope I can.

My energy is still low, and knowing my history I know it's depression that's sapping my strength and not the baby. Not to say the baby isn't work. It's hard to imagine a more stressful job. But there are moments with him that make me at peace. He can be the most calming influence when he's quietly staring at me with those impossibly large eyes.

The difficulties so far have been far harder than I could have ever imagined. I never thought it would be so hard to recover from the birth. The pain was intolerable at times, and always intense. It was trying to be happy about having this lovely baby in my arms when I was cringing inside because of the hemorrhoids and bleeding.

Breastfeeding has been the bane of my existence, however. I can't seem to enjoy it just yet, but I can understand why women love doing it. Even though it's painful and seemingly neverending at times, it gives you a moment with your child that no one else can share. I sit quietly, holding his head and neck to my breast while he is nourished by milk I have produced. Really, it's pretty cool when you think about it.

But the grating pain can be horrifying. It literally takes my breath away when it's bad. But when the baby latches on properly and everything is working smoothly, it's a time I cherish. So at the same time I dread and look forward to it. I believe this qualifies as a paradox.

Month One

2009-09-27T06:34:00.000-07:00

The last time I wrote "Month One" was when I was one month pregnant. This month, however, indicates the first thirty-some days of my son who was born not long ago. I can hardly believe he has hit this mini-milestone already. He has grown heavier, smiles more, almost giggles (but not quite)...he's becoming himself. I wanted to take credit for creating this life, but in reality, he's creating his own. I have very little to do with the character he is turning into.

Lately, I have been staring at him while he sleeps, sneaking peeks at him while he lays quietly on a pillow, smelling his freshly washed hair, stealing kisses from his soft cheeks. Babies are intoxicating. They make you forget the world around you, the troubles that surround you. They are the best cure-all for a bad day...when they're not screaming, that is.

When he screams and cries, I die a little inside. My heart aches in a way that is physically painful to me. I can't seem to hold back a few tears of insecurity. I feel incapable of caring for him, even for that short time of chaos. It throws me back into a sad state of being, one I have tried so hard to get over.

But after the crying, I realize the misinterpretation. I always assume it's because he hates me. It's not that at all, I rationalize to myself. It's a baby. Babies cry for no reason at all, sometimes. Burping, eating, pooping...sometimes nothing will sooth him. Live with that, mommy. You have to be ok with that. There is no choice in the matter.

I thought about this mini-milestone and what I should do to commemorate this occasion. Should I eat a cupcake? Blow out a candle? Instead, I wrote this letter to my one month old son...

Dear Darling Boy,

I love you more than life. You are my heart. I will never feel love for someone the way I feel love for you, sweet boy.

But when I think of your birth and your first month on this earth, I have to apologize for how sad I was. I should have celebrated more, appreciated you more. Instead, I cried a lot. I felt despair. I couldn't feel happy to have you. I felt as if I didn't deserve you, because you were perfect and you were amazing.

I'm different after one month of having you, though. I loved you from the first kick in my belly. I loved you from the moment I felt you push through me. I never loved you less, I always loved you more. But now that I've had you in my arms for a month, I know why I love you so much. You are a person who deserves the most love I can muster.

So I promise you, baby boy, that I will persevere through depression. I will be the best I can be. I will become the person you deserve to have as your mother.

I love you.

Your Mommy

The Best of Times, the Worst of Times

2009-09-22T11:10:00.000-07:00

Aside from being tired every minute of the day, the baby has been doing quite well in most areas of life, including eating like a hoover vacuum cleaner. This kid can put it away like no newborn I've ever seen. It was so impressive, in fact, the nurse at the lactation center said we needed to feed him less. I guess gaining one pound in 5 days isn't in vogue anymore.

The best parts about being a parent of a newborn is the feeling of accomplishment when your baby burps, poops, pees, latches on properly...basically anything he does, you praise with that annoying baby voice that drives all non-parents insane. It's dumb parent pride, I guess. I love feeling like my husband and I have created something good.

It's also amazing to see my husband with the baby when they're cooing at each other like lovebirds. My favorite thing in the world right now is seeing him so enamored. He holds the baby in his arms and turns into a nurturing machine. The baby stares at him, they lock eyes, and you can feel the adoration. It's pure bliss.

Our son has been showing us up in the sleep department lately, taking in anywhere between 6 and 9 hours a night. He's also been keeping us entertained with his strong Pele kicks. Other things that impress us include his eye contact, as if he's doing the mind meld and trying to control our every move...it works like a charm, too.

The baby has been locking eyes since week one, albeit sometimes those eyes are crossed in an effort to focus. He seems very alert for a newborn, although I've heard these stories of parents with delusions of grandeur bragging about their baby like he belongs in mensa already. Apparently, I have turned into this type of parent already. I'm hopeless.

Breathing

2009-09-19T09:24:00.000-07:00

It's 9:30 a.m. I'm sitting upstairs with the baby monitor by my side waiting to hear a peep, squeak, wail or all of the above. I woke up at 6:45 a.m. in anticipation of noise, and instead heard nothing but the occasional soft crackling of the monitor. The baby has been asleep since 11:45 p.m. last night.

The argument on the mommy internet sites rages on about when to wake the baby, or if you should wake the baby at all. My head is pounding with a consistent ache that has plagued me since yesterday. I say let the baby sleep until he wakes and let my head recover from a day of fussy behavior.

He was alert and cranky yesterday for hours. When my husband came home from work I immediately handed the parenting reigns over to him, pumped milk, and promptly lay down on the sofa and breathed steadily for five minutes. I thought I was going to explode.

But on a positive note, I haven't freaked out or hysterically cried in a few days. I don't want to jinx it, but I am starting to believe that the worst is over. Perhaps I've dodged the post-partum bullet. I'm hoping my hormones have settled into place and that I'm coming back to life again.

My feelings about the baby and being a mother have remained somewhat muted, if not detached at times. In one moment, I'm completely overwhelmed and unenthusiastic about this abrupt new life change. Then things change instantaneously and I'm in complete love with this little boy. I kiss his little fingers and toes with gusto. I eat his soft cheeks.

Breastfeeding goes along the same lines. I love touching his downy hair and slowly rubbing his cheeks with my fingers while he suckles. But then he'll chomp down and cause me real pain. It wakes me from a happy state of nurturing and violently shoves me into a creepy feeling of unsettled resentment. And although I do find some sense of accomplishment from seeing how much milk I can produce in one sitting, I equally dislike pumping with a machine. It feels like being milked like a cow.

But all in all I have more of a positive feeling about my new life. It's up and down, and never consistently good or bad. It's easier knowing I won't be returning to work soon. It's harder when I realize my husband will be returning full time October 1st.

Today he was required to go to a conference from 8:30 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. It's the first full day away for him and the first full day alone with the baby for me. When he kissed me goodbye in the morning, I cried. I'm still afraid of being alone with my son. That's hard to admit, and not something I'm terribly proud of.

Now I feel like I'm just waiting for everything to normalize. My pain has subsided, the hemorrhoids have shrunk to a manageable size, my belly is slowly shrinking to a mass of jelly rolls that makes me think I won't be wearing a bikini anytime soon.

But I still wait for that feeling that everything is as it's supposed to be. That is still beyond my reach.

Exhaustion

2009-09-18T16:46:00.000-07:00

Baby turned 3 weeks. Now it's official. I'm exhausted.

It's not because of anything tangible. In fact, we've been spoiled by all the generous and good natured friends delivering us food in exchange for a turn holding the baby. I'm actually surprised at how many people have never held a newborn before. They all come in, looking for a turn holding him. And when they do, they gingerly cup his head and balance him with two hands like he's a breakable sculpture...every one who has come by has done this. It's pretty amusing.

And it's not the baby keeping me up at night that is making me so tired. In fact, he's been a good baby, sleeping all night and waking in the morning light, just like clockwork since day one.

He's also been doing a number of other things that are unbearably cute, such as sucking his fingers and finding his thumb, smiling and making newborn noises...(which aren't really that much to describe but are still adorable.) He is the first person who makes me melt by yawning at everything I say to him. He sticks out his tongue and my heart dissolves.

In the morning he tends to wake up in a good mood, sit around on a pillow for 30 to 45 minutes, just staring at things. Then, he eats, naps for two hours or so, wakes up, eats again, and then makes more noises and smiles some more.

The witching hour comes around 8 or 9 p.m. when the sun sets. Then he turns into the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde baby.

Oh, the screams. He eats, he screams. He poops, we change him, he screams. We swaddle him, he screams. We rock him. Screams. It's neverending and in the first two weeks I thought I would lose my mind. Nothing seemed to soothe him, not even a finger in him mouth, which usually pacifies him for a good 20-30 minutes.

He finally passes out after a 3-4 hour marathon, sometimes less, sometimes more. Around midnight, he is so over-tired he simply can't keep up the drama. He is knocked out for hours after that. We've managed to get him to sleep at 11:30 p.m., but that was the earliest he's ever gone down. It's usually midnight or 12:30.

Admittedly, my husband is far better at soothing him at night. He has the right temperament for it, and doesn't get upset easily, unlike me and my raging hormones. They're still finding their balance, apparently. And although my mood swings have calmed down considerably, there is the occasional "burst into tears" moment that I can't seem to contain.

The only thing I can reason when it comes to being exhausted is that I'm emotionally wrecked and still healing from the birth. The baby can be tiring, on occasion, especially when I just can't figure out what he needs from me. I tend to get frustrated and throw my hands up in the air more than I care to admit, but it's getting better, slowly but surely.

Also, the pain is pretty uncomfortable. I'm still trying to breast-feed, which has been no picnic. I won't give up, but I will complain about it. It hurts. A lot. I'm cracked and bleeding a lot, which leads to bloody breast milk. When I pumped the other day, it was pink, not white. And when the baby spit up clots of blood the other week, I freaked out. Then, we called the advice nurse and she explained it was most likely MY blood, and I freaked out some more.

Breast-feeding is a chore right now, but I'm anticipating a change soon. Hopefully, what everyone tells me is true...it will be better by the 1st or 2nd month. I'm holding out with a clenched jaw until then.

The pelvic pain has subsided somewhat, and the hemorrhoids have calmed down to a manageable state. But I'm still popping prescription Motrin and praying for my body to return to a normal state eventually.

Being in pain on top of being depressed, and then capping it off with caring for a newborn is what pushes me over the edge on bad days. If I was tackling one of those three things, it would be far easier for me to remain positive. But these three things all at once make me feel...well, exhausted.

Little Voice

2009-09-13T15:10:00.001-07:00

I saw my doctor the other day and she discussed medication for the postpartum depression. I felt relieved and disillusioned at the same time. The relief was because I now had an option, a choice. The disillusionment was because I swore I would never take medication while pregnant, and now I was posed with this dilemma...taking medication while breast feeding.

She also recommended a weekly therapy group for postpartum mothers, which I'm still thinking about. I do not do well in group therapy, as I am very self-conscious and tend to shrink away from speaking out loud. But the thought that it is there for me is a comfort nonetheless.

Either way, there's no definitive cure for what I have fallen upon. Although things have seemed to calm down somewhat since last week, I am still in constant discomfort/pain and working through a recovery that I couldn't have guessed would be this prolonged. It's only been two weeks, everyone says. I just want it to end so I can start feeling normal again. Perhaps then, I hope against hope, I will be a better mother to my baby.

The baby is sleeping in his bassinet next to the sofa while I watch television, trying to drown out the little voice inside me that keeps saying the things I'm afraid to say out loud. "You'll never be able to do this. You should give up now. Leave while you can. The baby and your husband will be better off without you there to burden them."

It's a horrible little voice, with a very loud message. I am simply not good enough to be a mother to this infant.

I ignore it as much as possible, and that's the best I can do for now. Ignore. I ignore the screaming when the baby is upset. I ignore the hatred I have for my own incompetence. I ignore the fact that I am exhausted for no apparent reason other than a debilitating depression. I ignore the fact that I resent my own child when he won't stop crying.

I remember being in my third trimester, pregnant belly out to *here* and feeling excited, joyful, amazed by the ability to create life within me. I was happy.

Now, two weeks and some days later, all I can imagine is being trapped with this responsibility for the rest of my life, knowing in my heart I will never be as good as this child deserves. It breaks me in two and shoves me aside like nothing.

So all I can do at this point is wait for the bonding that everyone says will happen soon enough. I wait for the hormones to pass through me, leaving me a clear path away from this sadness. I hope for a better future with this baby. I want to appreciate him, to love the days we have together while he is smaller than I ever imagined he would be when I was dreaming of him in my pregnant state.

Pass Baby Blues...Go Directly to Post-Partum Depression

2009-09-07T22:54:00.000-07:00

As I sit here typing, husband is trying to calm a screaming baby. I feel as if I have failed yet another night, unable to soothe my own son into sleep.

Seeing that I can't even soothe myself, I shouldn't be surprised. I have been suffering the after-effects of pregnancy, and my hormones have been raging like a waterfall of uncontrolled emotions.

It's been a week and a half and I've been in constant pain and discomfort from the delivery of our son. Although we delivered only a short while ago, it seems like months have passed. My moods have been swinging, my crying non-stop. I can't seem to get a grip on the reality of the situation for more than a few seconds at a time. I feel like I'm suffering from dementia, totally in a daze and making no sense. In an occasional lucid moment, I will talk to my husband about my depression, about my history with it, and how worried I am about my inability to cope.

My history with depression goes back over two decades. I am not unfamiliar to meds, psychologists, and panic. Toward the end of my pregnancy, all I could think about was the dreaded post-partum depression that was talked about on every pregnancy chat board. I knew I was susceptible to it, and probably more than most women. It scared me more than the impending labor and delivery.

And now that the baby has arrived, I am suffering inside, fearing the worst things possible and unable to get out from underneath the avalanche of paranoia.

I am a horrible mother. My baby hates me. I will do something terribly wrong and something bad will happen to the baby. I hate myself. The baby and my husband would be better off without me. I am not cut out for this. I want out. I can't handle a baby. When my husband returns to work full time I will freak out.

The thoughts keep coming. It's nonstop and relentless. I'm sleep deprived as well, which doesn't help.

The baby has become very fussy at night. He is the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde baby. During the day he is a prince. He wakes up, eats, looks around, doesn't make a sound except when he's changed.

But as soon as night arrives, he shifts gears and starts screaming. There is a look of terror on his face at times that makes my heart stop. I can't help but wonder if he knows I am a terrible mother.

He's awake and screaming from anywhere between 9 p.m. and 1 a.m. and it has quickly become unbearable. The awake part is fine. The screaming part is killing my last nerve. I pick him up and he screams. I put him down, he screams. I swaddle him, he fights me like he's fighting death. I can't soothe him. I can't make him calm. Nothing works.

I haven't yet come to terms with the idea that we may have a colicky baby, or a fussy baby, or even a high-needs baby on our hands. It makes me cringe thinking this may be our fate for the next three months, as all the baby books have warned.

Husband has had better luck and has become nearly impervious to his crying. But he can't keep this up forever, and he will be going back to work full time soon. This is what I am dreading...I will have to take over the night shift as well as the day shift. It will be pure Hell with no sleep at all.

In the meantime, I have become desperate for help and have contacted my doctors asking for them to intervene in some way with either medication or advice. I've emailed some night doulas in the hopes we might be able to afford extra help with the baby. I don't know what else to do, frankly. In my current state of disrepair, I have no consistency in my logic or moods. Everything is on an hour to hour basis.

I know this spiral all too well, and I'm sad for my baby, for my husband as well as for myself. It's not a good path to be going down.

Breast Feeding

2009-09-04T22:41:00.000-07:00

We stayed in the hospital for five days and then I was released on August 31st to fend for myself. The hospital was a comfortable place for me, and I actually dreaded leaving. The nurses, lactation specialist, doctors, pediatricians, OBGYNs...they were all available to me at the push of a button. At home, however, there was no button. It was just me, my husband and the baby.

The first day back, we were doing well. Baby slept through the night, probably exhausted by the long journey he had made into the world. I was in quite a bit of pain, and popping the prescription motrin and stool softeners like candy.

The second day back was like a pitcher of ice water thrown into my face. The baby did well during the day, but as soon as it became late...around midnight...he started screaming. And he simply would not stop. Husband tried to let me sleep and heal, since I was still suffering from the after-effects of pushing a human out of my uterus. But around 2 a.m., he came down to wake me.

He apologized, but said I would have to breast feed the baby.

Breast feeding had become this sort of albatross on my back. My milk had not come in as of day six. The nurses and doctors and lactation specialist at the hospital had all said not to worry...that the colostrum would be plenty for him to eat until my milk came in. But apparently, after five days, the baby was tired of the colostrum and was ready for a real meal.

I kept saying to the nurses and doctors, "He seems to be really hungry."

They kept reiterating the importance of NOT using formula. Breast is best.

"Not even to supplement? I want to breast feed, but I have no milk. Can't I just supplement with formula until it does come in?"

The answer was always, "Don't worry about it. He isn't starving."

Well, on the second day home, we were down to our last nerve trying to calm this baby down. I cried when my husband asked me to breast feed him without my milk in yet. It was extremely painful to breast feed in the hospital. My nipples were sore and bleeding. In fact, the baby had such a good sucking technique, he had literally sucked skin out of the inside of my nipple, leaving a raw, bloody piece of skin hanging.

I said to the husband, "This is ridiculous. We HAVE to discuss formula! I can't breast feed him like this!!" I was in tears, husband was in tears. He finally decided to call the advice nurse while I tried to suckle the baby on my raw nipples.

The advice nurse said, "Sure, supplement two ounces of formula. There's no harm in that."

When my husband told me how uncontroversial the conversation had been, I wanted to go back to the hospital and slap everyone. How dare they not give me the option to formula supplement my baby? They refused to even discuss it.

My baby was hungry. That's the bottom line. I needed to feed him. Formula is not the devil.

Birth Story...Part Three

2009-09-03T22:18:00.000-07:00

The residents kept saying PUSSSSHHH...

I kept PUSHHIINGGG...nothing.

The residents insisted that I PUSSSHHHHH...

So I would PUSHHHH, and nothing.

Waiting for the contractions to come was the worst part, by far. The pain of the contractions was so intense and immediate, I could barely consider the thought of pushing once they started that uphill climb to the peak.

Yet the nurses and residents kept insisting I push push push whenever I was at the height of the pain. It was quickly becoming obvious that I simply could NOT PUSH ANY MORE.

I felt as if I had been pushing for an hour, and even said so. "It's been an hour!!"

The consensus in the room was, no, it hasn't. You have been pushing for 15 minutes, maybe 20. You've been arguing for 30.

"I need help!!" I cried, oblivious to everyone around me, talking to no one in particular. "The epidural is NOT WORKING!!"

"The epidural isn't going to help during this part of labor." The nurse said, matter-of-factly. "You're going to have to push through the pain."

Ok, push through the pain. It'll be over soon. Everyone keeps saying so. "It'll be over in another push or two! You're an amazing pusher!"

So I kept pushing. Nothing. I finally got the nerve up and looked in the mirror they placed between my legs. I saw a little patch of unfamiliar hair coming out of a small opening. Every time I pushed, it would come out a little more, making the opening a little bigger...and then the contraction would end and it would slip back inside. Pushing was not working as well as everyone was leading me to believe.

I was getting pissed. The epidural was completely done. I was completely done. My pushing was ineffective, at best. The residents were getting frustrated. I was becoming desperate for some relief from the sharp, stabbing pain.

"PLEASE. I CAN NOT PUSH. MY BODY IS SHUTTING DOWN!!" I yelled. I looked at my husband, who was beaming and excited beyond belief. His eyes were shining with impending tears of joy. I felt as if I had let him down in some way by not popping this baby out sooner.

The resident looked up from between my legs and said in an annoyed voice, "Well, then you'll have to have a C-Section. Do you want that? A C-Section?" Her tone denoted a smart-assery that made things that much worse.

"YES. GIVE ME A C-SECTION." I hollered, dead serious. I wanted this DONE. I was over pushing. I was convinced everyone was lying to me. It was NOT just one more push, ever. In fact, if I heard "JUST ONE MORE PUSH!!" cheered to me one more time, I was going to rip out the IV, hop off the table and walk to the operating table on my own.

The resident looked shocked that her ploy had backfired. Little did she know that I was impervious to reverse psychology. I really did want a C-Section, if, in fact, that was what she was offering me.

"Well, it will be a different kind of pain!" She back-peddled as best she could, "You'll be recovering for months after a C-Section! You really don't want that, do you?"

"YES I DO." I repeated myself emphatically. And at that moment, I really did. Not my proudest moment, but YES I REALLY DID.

The nurses and residents conferred. The new anesthesiologist came in and gave me another shot into my catheter, hopefully to ease up on the pain so I could try pushing again, which I did...to no avail. Although the pain had lessened slightly, it came back with a vengeance twenty or so minutes later.

A second, blond resident came in and calmly spoke about another option. "We can do one thing before we try a C-Section. We can suction the baby out. Do you want to try that?"

I looked at my husband and weakly asked him what he thought. He said, "Whatever you want to do is fine with me." Although I knew this wasn't true...he would never have wanted me to go through with a C-Section.

The suction was attached, and the resident said, "You will have to push 200 times harder than you did before. Can you do it?"

I did. Two pushes later, he was out. He was quiet. They whisked him away and suctioned him from head to toe, sticking tubes down his throat, getting all the merconium out. Husband was thrilled and crying, checking on him, and then coming over to report to me what he was seeing.

Sadly, I don't remember most of what happened next. What I do remember is the incredible pain of having my uterus hand-scraped by the residents who delivered the baby. Apparently, they had pulled on the umbilical cord and it had promptly fallen off, causing them to act quickly to remove the placenta. If any part of the placenta was left inside, I was in danger of hemorrhaging.

If labor was painful, this was excruciating Hell on Earth. And it seemed to go on forever. Husband heard my screaming and came to my side, held my hand, and cried. He said later that he was frightened. He had never seen me in that much pain before.

The baby was almost done. Husband clipped the cord. They wrapped baby up in a blanket, put a hospital hat on him, and handed him to his dad.

All I remember then is being in the room with a swaddled baby. The rest, sadly, is a blur. I don't even remember holding him for the first time.

Birth Story...Part Two

2009-09-02T07:44:00.000-07:00

Once we arrived at Labor and Delivery at the hospital, my first words to the first person who would listen were, "I want an epidural."

The response was surprising, but I suppose looking back on it now it shouldn't have been. The nurse said, "Oh we like you! People usually refuse the epidural until later, when they're freaking out."

I, on the other hand, was already freaking out. We passed by freaking out an hour ago, when they tried to re-route us to Walnut Creek during rush hour traffic. To be perfectly clear, I said it again, "I want an epidural."

The saline bags were hooked up to my IV and I was prepped to meet the person of my dreams...the epidural man. Our nurse, who happened to be a male, explained the procedure before the epidural man arrived. He said I would first get a local anesthesia to numb the area. It would feel like a wasp sting. Then, he would clean the area carefully and insert the needle into my back, and then the catheter. The medication would take approximately 20 minutes to work. Everything happened exactly that way. I bent my shoulders forward and down, like I was shrugging. I felt a wasp sting me in the lower back, and then I started tingling.

I love the epidural man.

It was an excellent epidural. I felt my legs, and could actually move them a bit, but the contraction pain that had me yelling out expletives earlier were literally gone. I couldn't feel anything beyond a little pressure. The only way I could tell I was contracting was by looking at the electric monitor. The line would start to go up, up, up...then it would peak and fall like clockwork every two minutes. Every now and then I would cheekily say, "Oh that was a BIG one!"

And they were big. All night long. Hub and I tried to sleep through the night, but it wasn't easy knowing you were about to pass a bowling ball through your pelvic cavity. I was anxious, nervous...it was peaking every uncertainty in my head.

Nothing calmed me down. I wanted food and water, but was only allowed sips from a cup and ice. A while back the nurse had inserted a catheter to collect urine, which had turned up dark and nearly amber in color. Knowing I was dehydrated, I desperately snuck sips of my hub's drink. Stolen juice never tasted so good.

The nurse arrived for the ump-teenth time to check on my cervix and my progress. He called the doc and asked her to take a look at the sheets between my legs. "Well, that's new." He said. The doc took a look, nodded, and left the room after some quiet conferencing and cryptic mumblings. After a while, the nurse spoke to me calmly about what was going to happen. It was the kind of calm voice that made me NOT calm. What was the matter?

He said, "Your water broke, but it's not clear. The baby has basically pooped, so here's what's going to happen. When you give birth, he will not be handed directly to you. He'll be whisked away to the pediatrician on duty, who will then suction out his lungs and everything else until the merconium is gone. The reason he does this is because if he doesn't and the baby takes a breath, he would be in danger of contracting pneumonia."

Ok. So, panic now? "There's no need to worry. It happens a lot." Ok, no panic. Just more anxiety. Pile it on the mound.

Having arrived at 6 p.m. at 3 cm dilated, I was now 5 cm dilated at 7 p.m. I closed my eyes for 30 minute winks of sleep at a time.

At 11 p.m., I woke up to two nurses and a doctor poking around my bed. They seemed rushed, quick to move, checking every monitor, every IV, everything. I was half awake and confused. What was happening now?!

The nurse said, "His heart rate has dropped." What?! What?!

The doctor said, "We're just checking on his heart rate. It dropped below normal levels and we would like to find out why. It's back to normal now, but we need to investigate."

The little man's heart rate had dropped from a steady 120-130 to 75. That was really low, according to me. But I stayed calm for the sake of hub, who had already endured my freak outs for the past 12 hours. And so it happened that baby boy was fine. It was just some schmutz with the electrical equipment.

August 27th, 2009 arrived. The big day.

At 7 a.m., I was 7 cm dilated and suddenly I was feeling cramping. What was that? Pain? Not possible. The epidural man and I had an arrangement. No pain at all below the waist. We had discussed it. It was a done deal.

However, I was in sudden, serious pain. It was getting worse by the minute, and I was starting to yell for the nurse. A beeping began to emit from the epidural box and the nurse came in to investigate.

"Oh, your epidural bag is empty. I'll call the doctor."

What? What? Empty what? I was now gripping the sides of my bed, hoping to alleviate some of the incredible pressure and cramping. The epidural man was no where to be seen. I felt as if I was being ripped in half by the contractions that I had once scoffed.

Epidural man did not show for nearly 45 minutes, and when he did, it wasn't immediate relief. The new bag was attached, and he even administered medication directly into my catheter tube. Nothing changed. I was still writhing.

30 minutes after the bag had been changed, still nothing. The nurse called in the new epidural man, since the old one had run away, probably in shame. (Many shift changes occur during a delivery, apparently.)

The new epidural man administered even more medication and a little fentanyl, which did not do much except make me woosy. Slowly, the medication started to take effect, but it was never really the same as the first time. I was disappointed, but took what I could get.

At 11 a.m. the doctor and the new nurse came in to ask, "You're at 10 cm dilated. Do you want to try pushing?"

Do I want to try pushing? No. Do I want this baby out? HELL YES. Let's try pushing.

Pushing was pure pain. I actually couldn't feel a contraction until I began pushing, and then suddenly, it was there...pounding, stabbing, gripping pain. I screamed a little, and then a lot, and then constantly.

Birth Story...Part One

2009-09-01T17:06:00.000-07:00

August 26, 2009

Doctor's appointment. 11 a.m.

The doc checked me out and nothing had moved significantly. My cervix was at 1.5 dilated and I was 50% effaced. My mucus plug had started coming out in the form of a lovely brownish sticky goo over the last few days and we were feeling hopeful. But 1.5 is not the number we were hoping for. With all the Braxton Hicks I was feeling, I thought it would be closer to the starting gate. Just goes to show that nothing is what it seems in pregnancy. You could be 9 cm dilated and not even know it, from what those TLC shows say.

The doc decided to "get things moving" by sticking her finger into my cervix and running it around in there, separating the membranes, apparently. It was unpleasant, but I was desperate. If I'd known you could stick fingers in there in the first place, I probably would have done it myself long before the appointment ever took place.

We left, me feeling slightly violated and annoyed, Hub feeling excited and hopeful, as usual. He was in this state of euphoria constantly, but especially in the last month when everything seemed to be drawing to a close. He couldn't be seen without a slap-happy grin spread across his face at all times. I, on the other hand, was suffering from a variety of nasty symptoms ranging from carpal tunnel to mood swings akin to the worst PMS on the planet. I was waddling from corner to corner of the house, trying to keep busy, trying not to kill people in my way. The pregnancy had finally caught up with me. I had gone from 8 1/2 months of pre-natal bliss to absolute and concentrated hatred for the world. Being one day past my due date was like taunting an alligator with fresh kill. I was seriously in need of pain medication and muscle relaxants, and a lot of them, preferably together with a shot of vodka.

That afternoon, around 2:30, our friend came by. She is an acupuncturist and just happened to be in our neighborhood. Sensing impending doom upon talking to me on the phone, she offered a home visit at half price. "Let's do an induction and see if we can jump-start this labor for you." she said, as if it was a no-brainer. I jumped at the chance. Actually, at this point, I probably would have done anything short of murdering someone to get the labor started.

My friend came over with the needles and stuck me with just nine. Nine needles and a little walking and she was done. She told me to relax, not worry, things would happen very soon. I just grumbled something about being 10 months 6 days pregnant, gave her a big hug and started praying to whomever is up there to please deliver me a baby tonight.

30 minutes later, strong contractions began. I couldn't believe it. Acupuncture induction worked?! Well, that and my obgyn sticking her fingers to loosen my membranes...together, it worked!? I was in amazement...and in serious pain.

I started huffing and puffing just like I saw in every movie of the week, until I realized it wasn't helping at all with the pain. The contractions came and went, one every four to five minutes, each one lasting about 60 seconds. THIS WAS IT. I WAS IN LABOR. Whoo whoo whoo whoo...I took shallow breaths just to keep from passing out, since my first instinct was to hold my breath until the contraction passed.

The pain wasn't like a wave. It was like a stabbing. I felt like someone had grabbed a hold of my uterus and said, "Hey, lookie at this squeeze toy." and then squished my internal organs until they almost popped. It was intense, sharp, stabbing pain. A wave would have been a welcome sensation, but it definitely was not a gentle lapping motion of water kissing the shores. It was an episode of Law and Order where someone gets murdered in a bloody mess. That someone being ME.

Hub was excited and called the hospital. Their response to our excitement was this, "Sorry. We are full. You'll have to go to Walnut Creek."

My husband's jaw dropped. Then, it clenched. Then he spoke clearly into the phone, calmly, with a hint of anger. "HO NO. We are NOT going to Walnut Creek." He spoke very clearly into the phone.

The nurse on the other end of the line responded by repeating herself, "Sorry, but we are full. We have to reroute you to Walnut Creek."

Hub's face was deathly serious. He said in a less calm voice, "Listen, I know for a FACT you have room. You won't turn us away if we show up there. I am NOT going to drive my wife, who is in LABOR, over the bridge to Walnut Creek in RUSH HOUR TRAFFIC. It's 5 o'clock. There is no way I am doing that. So make room, because WE ARE COMING RIGHT NOW."

Click.

At this point, I was in tears and rambling on between contractions, which were literally taking my breath away. "IDON'TWANNAGOTOWALNUTCREEK!" I cried, "It will take us 2 hours to get there in rush hour traffic! PLEASE CALL THEM BACK!"

The second phone call was far more civil. An hour had passed since he had first called the hospital, and the contractions were stronger, more vicious. I was sweating, bent over in complete panic. Hub got on the phone with a different woman, and this time he said, "We will NOT be going to Walnut Creek. If you don't have room for us there, we'll find room at Cal Pacific Med Center and we will be sending YOU the humongous bill."

Apparently, that worked wonders. We were welcome with open arms. Money talks.

Once inside the car, I was looking for anything to get me through the next cramp from Hell. I grabbed the handle of the door and nearly ripped it off the hinges with my adrenaline powered She-Hulk strength. By the time we made it to the passenger zone of the hospital, I couldn't move from my seat. Every three or four minutes another one would hit me and then I would become incapacitated. Time would stop, I would freeze, hoping against hope that in suspended animation, the contractions would go away.

Luckily, a female orderly was dropping off a patient and wheeling an empty chair inside. In a semi-panicked state I shoved Hub toward her and hissed, "GET HER."

As she helped us into the chair, she offered some support and sympathy, which made me even more nervous, anxious, and annoyed. Why is everyone so freaking happy!? I AM IN PAIN HERE.

Bloody Gross

2009-08-25T10:42:00.000-07:00

Well, something showed up. The "bloody show," or otherwise known as the "mucus plug." It really did live up to its name. Pretty darn gross.

It showed up yesterday as a glutenous glob of thick brownish cervical mucus with some bits and pieces of dark brownish stuff. I immediately said to myself, "FINALLY. Something different is happening." And then I sat and waited for labor.

And waited. And waited. Nothing.

So I googled "mucus plug" and "labor" and the stupid results all said that it could take up to two weeks for anything to begin. GREAT NEWS! And by great news, I mean NOOOOOO!!!

More of what we affectionately refer to as "the goop" showed up this morning, so I'm still hoping something will happen. We shall see.

Testing

2009-08-24T11:26:00.001-07:00

I am seriously grumpy. This four days late crap is getting me down, not to mention making me immobile. I can't move without pain, can't even lift a finger without discomfort because of the carpal tunnel. I can't drive because I can't reach the steering wheel any more. No kidding. Yes, my belly has grown out so much I CAN NOT REACH THE STEERING WHEEL. This is getting ridiculous.

So here I sit, stewing in my own hatred, nearly wetting my pants every twenty minutes, waiting, waiting, waiting. The cramps are few and far in between, and the Braxton Hicks are nearly indistinguishable from terrible gas, WHICH I HAVE IN SPADES. Hub used to think it was cute...he now leaves the room in a hurry.

I have watched more crappy television that should be allowable by law. If I see one more stupid cat food commercial I may do something horrible. The next person who calls me to ask "Have you had the baby?" or to say "Get your sleep now because you're never going to sleep again! HAR HAR HAR..." is going to be punched in the neck.

Also, what is up with TV!? Every show I see seems to be about pregnant women being kidnapped for their unborn child. Bones? Pregnant woman kidnapped. Law and Order? Pregnant woman kidnapped. MTV? Pregnant woman kidnapped. Animal planet? Pregnant bonobo kidnapped. The moral to this story? Don't answer Craigslist ads offering free baby crap. You will be kidnapped for your unborn child.

I am now getting texts, emails and voicemails every hour on the hour. They range from people I know well to family to people I have not seen for years. All of them leave the same pressurized message..."Is he here yet?" NO HE IS NOT HERE YET.

You will know when he is coming, though. I anticipate screaming bloody murder throughout labor, and you will most likely hear me from my hospital bed.

3 Days Past Due Date

2009-08-23T20:22:00.000-07:00

Hey Baby,

I'm waiting. What's going on? You're obviously enjoying yourself inside my uterus, but now you're so big you're kicking my ribs. It's making me drop my food as I try to pass it to my mouth, which is unacceptable.

Here's the deal. You should come out tomorrow. Either that or consider yourself grounded before they even cut the cord.

Love,

Mommy

No Rest

2009-08-22T04:16:00.000-07:00

So awake. I can't close my eyes without thinking of how anxious I am, how much is coming soon, how much I can't control it. It's suffocating me in a way I find all too familiar. I can't remember the last time I felt this cornered, but I remember the feeling well. It was usually taken care of with lots of tranquilizers. Unfortunately that won't be the solution this time.

I'm sitting on the couch at 4 in the morning, awake since 3, watching television and wanting to eat. Nothing is satisfying, and labor is looming over my head like a rain cloud. It is a lot like waiting for the storm to arrive.

I stopped by work and talked to the person replacing me while I'm gone. I felt unsettled after doing so, feeling like if I left, everything I found comfortable in my career would suddenly disappear. I felt an overwhelming feeling of dread, watching this young girl remove all of my familiar things and replace them with her own.

The pain in my pelvis has come and gone over and over again, and now it's back, hanging out and communicating to me that something much worse is on the horizon. It's speaking to me and saying, "THINK THIS IS BAD?! HA HA HAAA..."

And the concerns, worries, anxieties, doubts...they're all here. Is the baby going to have Down Syndrome? Is the baby going to be sick? Is the baby going to take days to come out? Will I be suffering through the longest labor on record? Will my nurse be kind and gentle? Will my husband be awesome or awkward?

It's all spinning in my head at 4 in the morning. But by the time the sun rises again, I'll be back to normal, thinking about what we need for the baby's room, wondering what he's going to look like, excited about everything again. These sleepless nights are draining the sanity right out of me.

DUE

2009-08-20T17:29:00.000-07:00

Ok. Now what? Hello in there? Waiting patiently. Nothing. Nada, zip. The doc checked up there and said there was nothing going on, so what's the deal?

I've obviously made it far too comfortable for you in there, little boy. Now it's time to bring out the big guns. No more Mr. Nice Guy. Indian food for dinner.

Week 40

2009-08-20T10:57:00.000-07:00

Nothing?

2009-08-18T21:15:00.000-07:00

It's been a week or so since my last appointment. Went for my first pelvic today, which was AWESOME, and by awesome I mean REALLY NOT GOOD.

I've never had a person stuff a hand that far into my nether region before. It was quite the experience, and not in a good way. But the reason she had to push so high up was that the cervix was not anywhere near the area it should be for labor. That means, I'm not effaced, not dilated, and NOT HAVING THIS BABY TODAY. ARRRGH.

Now, technically, I'm not due for a few days still. I should be patient and wait for the lil' dude. But seeing that it's getting more and more difficult to move up off the couch to reach sustenance, I was kind of hoping for a little progress at this point.

Another appointment is planned for next week, along with a sonogram to make sure there's enough amniotic fluid in there for the baby. At that point, I will officially be late by about a week, although the doc says I could be as late as 2 weeks without inducing. Blarg. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little just typing that.

In other news, I lost a pound. Whaaa...? I eat ice cream sundaes every day for a week and I lose a pound?!

Obviously, the universe has turned inside out.

Tuesday Would Be Good For Me...and You?

2009-08-14T13:21:00.000-07:00

Hey Baby,

Tuesday would be good. If you could get yourself ready for Tuesday, I would be very happy with that. Again, that's TUESDAY. This Tuesday. As in 4 days away.

The reason? You know that nice doc that keeps pushing on you and checking your size and where all your parts are? She'll be on call Tuesday. We like the doctor and we want her to deliver you. Don't we? YES WE DO.

See, if you don't come on Tuesday, the doc won't deliver you. Some stranger resident doctor will be there to deliver you. Hopefully he won't be like a messed up House or Grey's Anatomy or ER type doctor, because really, do we need all that drama at your birth? I think not.

So again, I can't say it enough. TUESDAY. At a reasonable hour. I'd like to get some sleep first, and maybe have a good brunch. THEN you can come out. And don't take too long, either. 24 hour labors are not ok with me.

Thanks, baby! I know we'll get along famously once we get this labor/birth schedule under way.

Love,

Mommy

Home Stretch

2009-08-13T03:29:00.001-07:00

Oh baby. It's so close, yet so far. Every day has become a serious challenge. There's discomfort in every move I make.

The anxious feeling that started brewing in my gut a while back has become more of a gnawing fear. I'm starting to get questions about the level of my excitement about the baby and the only answer I have is, "Hub is way more excited. I'm more petrified and exhausted."

The pain of the Braxton Hicks contractions have been a nice little preview of what horrible pain is to come, and I haven't been enjoying them at all, although my acupuncturist has said they are a good sign that everything is getting ready. The more I have, she said, the faster the labor will be.

Today was another doctor's appointment. They're every two weeks, and no pelvic exam is given until you are officially overdue, which is fine by me. The idea of someone poking around down there right now is not appealing in the least.

I weighed in at 181...three pounds gained in two weeks. Not terrible, but a lot more than I was expecting, even though I know I've been eating my weight in food on a daily basis. My appetite is huge.

Baby is moving around and pushing on my uterus to the point of ridiculousness. If I lie on my back and look down at my stomach, it's completely lopsided to the left side. He definitely doesn't listen to me at all at this point, because when I say, "HEY. BACK IT UP, PAL!" he just ignores me, nuzzles into my side, and makes an even bigger cliff.

The doctor asked to today if I was going to have an epidural during labor and I said, "Yes, oh yes, please, yes." Hub said that we chose that option before we even chose the color of the nursery, to which she asked, "Oh, what color did you pick?" I answered quite seriously, "Epidural colored." We are not afraid of the critics. We just want it to be a little less than excruciating.

As for the baby dropping, we had two opinions...the acupuncturist says "Definitely dropped. Do you feel like you're carrying a bowling ball in your pelvis?" Hmmm...no.

The doctor pushed around today and tried to feel the baby's head. She couldn't. She said, "I think you may have dropped, but honestly I can't say for sure. But last visit, I could clearly feel his little head. Now, it's not so clear. I think that means he's nestled in there." Hmmm...not exactly the certainty I was looking for.

Come ON baby. We would like a Tuesday night delivery, please.

Week 39

2009-08-13T02:55:00.000-07:00

Feeling Excited...and GROSS.

2009-08-10T22:40:00.000-07:00

Ugh. Have you ever felt like you just can't get clean enough? That's how I feel every day when I wake up. Stinky. (Yes, pregnancy occasionally makes you smell funny.) Unable to resolve the tremendous gastrointestinal issue. Having to change my underwear every few hours because of "pregnancy leaks." Too much information? DON'T I KNOW IT.

At one point I just realized that it was just grossing me out. On top of gaining weight all over my face and suddenly realizing this third chin may not want to go away any time soon, I feel exhausted by the extra poundage. It's a lot to carry around and it's getting to me.

I realize I'm pregnant and waiting for a beautiful baby to come. It's not that I'm delusional and thinking I will magically Heidi Klum my way into a bikini a month after giving birth. I just feel kind of disgusted with myself at various times of the day. I hate seeing myself in the mirror some days. Pictures are a no-no. Everything that reflects is banned from my view for now.

Now, these days of disgust are not the norm, but they hit like a mac truck and they're not fun for the ego. Not to mention showering is now a real chore. I can't take one without almost killing myself by slipping on the water.

How low have I sunk? I need supervision to take a shower.

NO DOI.

2009-08-09T08:59:00.000-07:00

I can't come close to expressing how SICK I am of people who tell me the following...and please keep in mind that I'm running on empty here. I literally get 3 hours of sleep a night, if I'm lucky.

1) Get yer sleep now, while you can! HAR HAR HAR!

YES I KNOW. How many times do you think I've heard this one? A dozen? A hundred? It's getting to the point where I'm literally walking away mid-sentence whenever I hear it. It's EVERY DAY. And it seems like the teller of such a nugget of wisdom thinks it's hilarious to tell me this, like it's my payback for some unknown bad karma I acquired in a past life.

2) You will NEVER see a movie in a theater again! See all the movies you can now!

YES I KNOW. You can't bring a baby into a theater, I KNOW THIS. In fact, I am one of those people who roll their eyes when they see a parent with a kid walk into Wolverine or Transformers. It's really not something I expect to do with my own kid, which is why I have Netflix.

3) You should eat out now while you can. You will never have a dinner alone with your husband again.

YES I KNOW. A baby makes it hard to eat at a romantic restaurant. It's not hard to understand that. I'm not delusional and I'm not crazy.

4) Your life will never be the same. Have fun now while you can.

NICE. Thanks for the notice. Like having a baby will suck the fun out of my life forever. GREAT TIDBIT. I feel sorry for your children, being the succubus spawn they are in your life. Sheesh.

5) You'll be changing diapers and they'll be stinky and gross.

Not even going to respond to this inane comment except to say DUH.

Now don't get me wrong...I don't mind advice, when it's good advice, full of love, generosity, and good intentions. However, the above do not count as any of that. It's really getting to the point where I'm sick of talking to people who have nothing good to say about having a baby.

I spoke with a friend the other day. She has two kids. I mentioned my gripes about people giving their "advice" and she said, "Oh I totally remember that. I always thought those people were kind of mean."

Mean and obviously looking for members to join their MISERABLE PARENT'S CLUB. I, for one, do not plan on being one of those members, thank you. It took some trials and tribulations to get to this point...I'm not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Yes, I know what that saying means. And yes, I'm older than rocks.

Week 38

2009-08-06T10:54:00.000-07:00

Sleep? What's That?

2009-08-05T11:48:00.001-07:00

The contractions are off and on, and range from mild to "HOLY HELL WHAT IS DYING INSIDE ME!?"

But the real problem is the lack of sleep. I've been dozing off at 3:00 a.m. and waking up at 6:00 a.m. only to eat a quick breakfast with my husband before he goes off to work. Then, I fall back asleep watching television at 8:00 a.m. or so and then wake up at 11:00 a.m. It's about 6 hours of sleep altogether...but not a solid, deep sleep. It's hard to get some rest when Angel is on (6-8 a.m., channel 37...fyi.)

I have no idea what is keeping me up at night. It may be the anxiety of the labor and birth, as I have never been one to give up control in my life, if at all possible. However, I don't dwell on it constantly, nor do I obsess about the pain that's coming. I just know it's there, and it weighs on my mind occasionally.

Or maybe it's the worry about the baby being ill or having down syndrome. I'm definitely terrified of either of those prospects, not because it would make this baby less loved, but because I wouldn't have the slightest clue what to do if that were the case. That is one surprise I don't want to experience.

Either way, I'm up. I'm really awake. And after noon on any given day, I'm exhausted. It's become a frustrating cycle.

On the other hand, baby seems to be enjoying the insomnia. He does a little jig every time I get out of bed and says, "HAY, I LOVE IT IN HERE!"

Eviction notice is looming, baby. Get packed.