Several people have commented on my absence from the blog recently. I hadn't realized it had been so long. It's funny, even when it comes to my personal journal, I tend to write when things are rough, not when they're going well. You'll find books of journals in our house about the worst times of my life, but rarely a good moment. It's just the way I am - I write to release what's inside; mainly so I can function the rest of the day. That's kind of a shame - I should start documenting the good stuff, too.
So I will begin here documenting the good stuff. It's not nearly as much fun to read about as the bad, though, I'll warn you! My little girl will be 5 months old on Dec. 21. We've graduated to Stage 2 nipples (good Lord will the thrills never end!) and she's downing 6-ounce bottles like there's no tomorrow. Needless to say she's closing in on 17 pounds and quite the chunky monkey.
But the best part is she's happy as all get out. She smiles all the time, and laughs occasionally when mom and dad do something funny. Generally, she laughs at things SHE thinks is funny, not what we think is funny. We could dance for 20 minutes for her and get nothin' - just a stoney stare. But if one of us hurts ourselves, or loses something - that's comedic gold right there.
Oh, and flying. She loves to fly around the room in mom or dads arms. That's sure to produce a smile or giggle. She's also learning how to sit up. I say learning because once she's up, if you let her go she'll face plant right into the carpet in front of her. She's very bendy like that. But with a little help, she's getting used to sitting up.
I can't say the sleep thing is getting better. She used to be a champion sleeper - nothing to complain about. Then apparently she hit four months and it's been all downhill from there. Even though we're getting up several times a night, she goes back to sleep pretty easily. So I guess I can't complain too much. Maybe we should look at it as more quality time spent with the little bugaboo, right?
Oops, someone woke up from their afternoon nap. Gotta go. Happy holidays everyone!!
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
TV Writers - Get Back To Work!
I'm thinking about this because a friend of mine is a newspaper columnist, and recently wrote her column on this very subject. And I'm angry. I'm angry because my favorite show may be delayed even longer with this stupid strike. Sure, I'm a writer, too, but my need for television outweighs any potential solidarity I might show.
I'm talking about LOST. Yes, I'll admit it - I'm addicted to LOST. I know the numbers by heart. I've cried when main characters died (RIP Mr. Eko!) and cheered when good things happened (way to go finding the van, Hurley!). And I even guessed what was going on in the season finale before it all came down at the end.
All of which is why I'm pleading with you now, Damon Lindelof. Get OFF the picket line and back to work!! I, as a work-from-home mom, spend most of my day either a) entertaining a baby; b) frantically interviewing and writing stories to bring in a little cash and c) run around frantically picking up from the baby tornado that constantly terrorizes my living room.
When my baby finally crashes at 8:30 or so every night, I collapse on the couch, hoping for just an hour of good-ole television viewing to calm my nerves (that an a glass of mommy juice - aka cabernet). THAT, my friend, is why you need to go back to work. I NEED you. I NEED my LOST fix, and it's bad enough you're not giving me that until February. But to delay it even longer may make me go all Ben on you.
And I don't have to tell you what that means. So I don't care how you settle it, just do it and give me 24 more fixes - I mean episodes - before the summer.
Ugh. Thank God for Chuck. That's all I gotta say.
I'm talking about LOST. Yes, I'll admit it - I'm addicted to LOST. I know the numbers by heart. I've cried when main characters died (RIP Mr. Eko!) and cheered when good things happened (way to go finding the van, Hurley!). And I even guessed what was going on in the season finale before it all came down at the end.
All of which is why I'm pleading with you now, Damon Lindelof. Get OFF the picket line and back to work!! I, as a work-from-home mom, spend most of my day either a) entertaining a baby; b) frantically interviewing and writing stories to bring in a little cash and c) run around frantically picking up from the baby tornado that constantly terrorizes my living room.
When my baby finally crashes at 8:30 or so every night, I collapse on the couch, hoping for just an hour of good-ole television viewing to calm my nerves (that an a glass of mommy juice - aka cabernet). THAT, my friend, is why you need to go back to work. I NEED you. I NEED my LOST fix, and it's bad enough you're not giving me that until February. But to delay it even longer may make me go all Ben on you.
And I don't have to tell you what that means. So I don't care how you settle it, just do it and give me 24 more fixes - I mean episodes - before the summer.
Ugh. Thank God for Chuck. That's all I gotta say.
Breast Is Best
This topic came up recently on the message board I scour daily for juicy tidbits about the babies born the same month as mine. The topic being that studies show breastfed babies grow up to have greater IQ's and be healthier than formula-fed babies.
There have been several studies that show this, so it's really not new information. But each new study stirs the pot of the breast-versus-formula debate that seems more pronounced in the US than anywhere else.
Just a few of the generalized arguments include: breastfed babies are healthy and smart. Formula-fed babies experience more illness. Women who formula feed are selfish and didn't try hard enough. Women who breastfeed are strange and flaunt their ability to do it in public.
Some of the arguments are proven by fact - studies show breastfed babies are, on average, healthier than formula-fed. They have higher IQ's. The rest is more public opinion and swayed by the general zeitgeist at the time (don't you love that word? Zeitgeist?) In the '70s, when I was born, breastfeeding was looked down upon and most pediatricians recommended formula.
I wonder if it had to do with the feminist movement - you know, taking back your body and reclaiming it for womankind and all that. The mood in this country shifted, and now it's highly encouraged to breastfeed. In fact, it's pounded into your brain pretty much from the moment you conceive. You MUST breastfeed.
And I completely understand the reasons behind it. I don't dispute the benefits, for sure. But what gets to me, as one of those overly sensitive formula-feeding moms, is the implication that I may not be doing what's best for my child, in a health and developmental sense.
I think that's why the debate - if there really is a debate - continues on. No one likes to think they are harming their child's development. We all want to have super-intelligent, healthy babies (probably to make up for our own shortcomings).
But at what cost? Do we continue to breastfeed if a child isn't thriving on it? The example used is that in nature or third-world countries, there is no other option. Sure, these babies then die. That's the problem. No one would agree to that.
What if the mom is depressed and can't handle the stress and anxiety that comes with breastfeeding (it sure isn't a piece of cake). Should she continue to force it and be miserable to the point of resenting her own child? Especially during the time when everyone tells you to enjoy it because it goes by so quickly?
I don't think there are any easy answers to these questions, and as long as there's formula around, we will continue to debate the merits of "the easy way out" versus "the best option." I guess the ultimate question is, does anyone really care once your kid starts eating real food and cow's milk?
There have been several studies that show this, so it's really not new information. But each new study stirs the pot of the breast-versus-formula debate that seems more pronounced in the US than anywhere else.
Just a few of the generalized arguments include: breastfed babies are healthy and smart. Formula-fed babies experience more illness. Women who formula feed are selfish and didn't try hard enough. Women who breastfeed are strange and flaunt their ability to do it in public.
Some of the arguments are proven by fact - studies show breastfed babies are, on average, healthier than formula-fed. They have higher IQ's. The rest is more public opinion and swayed by the general zeitgeist at the time (don't you love that word? Zeitgeist?) In the '70s, when I was born, breastfeeding was looked down upon and most pediatricians recommended formula.
I wonder if it had to do with the feminist movement - you know, taking back your body and reclaiming it for womankind and all that. The mood in this country shifted, and now it's highly encouraged to breastfeed. In fact, it's pounded into your brain pretty much from the moment you conceive. You MUST breastfeed.
And I completely understand the reasons behind it. I don't dispute the benefits, for sure. But what gets to me, as one of those overly sensitive formula-feeding moms, is the implication that I may not be doing what's best for my child, in a health and developmental sense.
I think that's why the debate - if there really is a debate - continues on. No one likes to think they are harming their child's development. We all want to have super-intelligent, healthy babies (probably to make up for our own shortcomings).
But at what cost? Do we continue to breastfeed if a child isn't thriving on it? The example used is that in nature or third-world countries, there is no other option. Sure, these babies then die. That's the problem. No one would agree to that.
What if the mom is depressed and can't handle the stress and anxiety that comes with breastfeeding (it sure isn't a piece of cake). Should she continue to force it and be miserable to the point of resenting her own child? Especially during the time when everyone tells you to enjoy it because it goes by so quickly?
I don't think there are any easy answers to these questions, and as long as there's formula around, we will continue to debate the merits of "the easy way out" versus "the best option." I guess the ultimate question is, does anyone really care once your kid starts eating real food and cow's milk?
Monday, October 29, 2007
And it's not even Christmas
This weekend we trekked to the local mall for what apparently is a parent rite of passage: the studio photos. We picked J.C. Penny's portrait studio, mainly because I'm lazy and that's the coupon I had.
Holy crap. This is one of the worst forms of torture a parent can go through. I would choose waking up to a crying baby every 10 minutes in the middle of the night to this. We had an appointment at 12:20 p.m., and of course, everything that occurred up until that point was designed to get us there on time.
Not sure why we bothered, considering we had to wait a half an hour. It's like they expect you to be there on time, but then they can make you wait as long as they deem appropriate torture. Which is fine, if you're by yourself and not with a baby whose mood changes with the breeze.
My little pea pod did fine waiting, but since she had been changed and fed at home, she started to get tired. And the room got warm with all the people crammed into the waiting room, which made her lull off to sleep even more.
So when it was our turn, we had a bag full of really cute clothes to put her in, a well-dressed mom and dad and ... a sleeping baby. I wanted smiles and happy pictures - instead I got sleepy and borderline crabby baby.
But I have to say, the photographer was amazing. A young woman, she trilled her tongue, clapped, patted my baby and did everything she possibly could to get her attention without making her cry. I was exhausted just watching her. And our shoot lasted about 20 minutes. She had to repeat that same exercise every 20 minutes for eight hours. She should be paid half a million dollars for that job.
Once they're done, you have to wait 30 minutes so they can snazz up all your photos in the hope of getting you to spend more money, versus sticking with the $3.99 a sheet traditional portrait sheets. Ha. You can't get me that easily, J.C. Penny's!! So finally we go back, only to find the amount of children and parents in the waiting room has doubled. We fight our way through, and finally pick our photos, hand over the plastic, and leave. All told, what I thought would be an hour-long venture turned into 3 1/2 hours.
And to think I'll do it all over again in a couple of weeks. Hey, a baby's gotta have Christmas photos, right?
Holy crap. This is one of the worst forms of torture a parent can go through. I would choose waking up to a crying baby every 10 minutes in the middle of the night to this. We had an appointment at 12:20 p.m., and of course, everything that occurred up until that point was designed to get us there on time.
Not sure why we bothered, considering we had to wait a half an hour. It's like they expect you to be there on time, but then they can make you wait as long as they deem appropriate torture. Which is fine, if you're by yourself and not with a baby whose mood changes with the breeze.
My little pea pod did fine waiting, but since she had been changed and fed at home, she started to get tired. And the room got warm with all the people crammed into the waiting room, which made her lull off to sleep even more.
So when it was our turn, we had a bag full of really cute clothes to put her in, a well-dressed mom and dad and ... a sleeping baby. I wanted smiles and happy pictures - instead I got sleepy and borderline crabby baby.
But I have to say, the photographer was amazing. A young woman, she trilled her tongue, clapped, patted my baby and did everything she possibly could to get her attention without making her cry. I was exhausted just watching her. And our shoot lasted about 20 minutes. She had to repeat that same exercise every 20 minutes for eight hours. She should be paid half a million dollars for that job.
Once they're done, you have to wait 30 minutes so they can snazz up all your photos in the hope of getting you to spend more money, versus sticking with the $3.99 a sheet traditional portrait sheets. Ha. You can't get me that easily, J.C. Penny's!! So finally we go back, only to find the amount of children and parents in the waiting room has doubled. We fight our way through, and finally pick our photos, hand over the plastic, and leave. All told, what I thought would be an hour-long venture turned into 3 1/2 hours.
And to think I'll do it all over again in a couple of weeks. Hey, a baby's gotta have Christmas photos, right?
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Every diplomatic meeting should include a baby
If you have children, you know the thrill of that first laugh. My baby laughed for the first time recently, and I just about burst into tears, it sounded so good (my child has officially turned my rather cynical being into complete mush).
So now I'm convinced - there would be no wars, no political impasse and no harsh words between countries if babies were involved in negotiations. Every time you have a bilateral or multilateral negotiation, bring a baby and make them laugh. Who can be angry or want to bomb another country with laughing babies around?
See. I solve the world's problems from my couch. It's not that tough.
So now I'm convinced - there would be no wars, no political impasse and no harsh words between countries if babies were involved in negotiations. Every time you have a bilateral or multilateral negotiation, bring a baby and make them laugh. Who can be angry or want to bomb another country with laughing babies around?
See. I solve the world's problems from my couch. It's not that tough.
Must...Not...Spend...Money....
Freelance writing is really a fancy way of saying I stay at home and occasionally write a story or two here and there. It's nice work if you can get it. The only problem is, right now the well is a little dry.
I have some gigs lined up, and I've already written a few stories - but it's a bit of a shock when you turn in a story and they say 'thanks, it's for the December issue, so we'll send you a check then.' Gulp. OK, that's two months away.
Once I get in a groove the money will come in the same time I'm sending stories out, so it'll all be good. But right now I've got to tighten the belt, since I'm not bringing home the payday.
Here's the problem - there's not a whole heck of a lot to do during the day, especially with a 3 month old. So you look for places to go and things to do to keep you occupied and the little one busy.
Well, "things" take money. Like lunch, for example. It's a nice break in the day to go out for lunch. But it costs moolah. This is the quandry of the stay-at-home mom. Stay in the house and go crazy (there's only so much laundry, cleaning, Internet surfing, etc. you can do), or get out and spend money.
But I really can't complain about this set up, because it's working out pretty well for us. Thank goodness, too, for my mother-in-law, who watches the little squirt while I get some work done. Now if only my little one would stop spitting up on her whenever she comes over! That's no way to thank your grandmother!
I have some gigs lined up, and I've already written a few stories - but it's a bit of a shock when you turn in a story and they say 'thanks, it's for the December issue, so we'll send you a check then.' Gulp. OK, that's two months away.
Once I get in a groove the money will come in the same time I'm sending stories out, so it'll all be good. But right now I've got to tighten the belt, since I'm not bringing home the payday.
Here's the problem - there's not a whole heck of a lot to do during the day, especially with a 3 month old. So you look for places to go and things to do to keep you occupied and the little one busy.
Well, "things" take money. Like lunch, for example. It's a nice break in the day to go out for lunch. But it costs moolah. This is the quandry of the stay-at-home mom. Stay in the house and go crazy (there's only so much laundry, cleaning, Internet surfing, etc. you can do), or get out and spend money.
But I really can't complain about this set up, because it's working out pretty well for us. Thank goodness, too, for my mother-in-law, who watches the little squirt while I get some work done. Now if only my little one would stop spitting up on her whenever she comes over! That's no way to thank your grandmother!
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Ha. I laugh at you, Halle Berry
It's a lovely thought, in theory. Gorgeous movie star Halle Berry (who is from Cleveland originally, by the way) is pregnant, as everyone knows (congrats to her, by the way!). And a friend of mine just sent me a link from People magazine about Berry's intentions to be eco-friendly when her new bundle of joy arrives (read the story here: http://www.people.com/people/article/0,,20152636,00.html).
I love the fact that she treasures her earth. There need to be more people like her. But eco-friendly disposable diapers do NOT exist, no matter what the publicists in Hollywood say (sure Halle, that exists. If it doesn't, well make some up for you). They may be organic, which means they don't contain bleach, but they're not eco-friendly.
In other words, they won't chafe your little bundle's sensitive booty, but they WILL sit in a landfill for years while they attempt to break down. It's a fact of life, and I wish it weren't true. Every time I empty our stinky diaper pail I wish it weren't true. Between the water we use washing bottles and clothes, the disposable diapers and the bottled water we use to mix with formula, my household is single-handedly killing the earth.
But I figure this only has to go on for a year with the bottles and the bottled water, and hopefully 2 to 2 1/2 years with the diapers (preferably 2!). They say a child will go through about 5,000 diapers before they become potty-trained. Maybe there is something to elimination communication after all!!
I love the fact that she treasures her earth. There need to be more people like her. But eco-friendly disposable diapers do NOT exist, no matter what the publicists in Hollywood say (sure Halle, that exists. If it doesn't, well make some up for you). They may be organic, which means they don't contain bleach, but they're not eco-friendly.
In other words, they won't chafe your little bundle's sensitive booty, but they WILL sit in a landfill for years while they attempt to break down. It's a fact of life, and I wish it weren't true. Every time I empty our stinky diaper pail I wish it weren't true. Between the water we use washing bottles and clothes, the disposable diapers and the bottled water we use to mix with formula, my household is single-handedly killing the earth.
But I figure this only has to go on for a year with the bottles and the bottled water, and hopefully 2 to 2 1/2 years with the diapers (preferably 2!). They say a child will go through about 5,000 diapers before they become potty-trained. Maybe there is something to elimination communication after all!!
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Balls in the air
OK, I stole that from one of my all-time favorite movies, "One Fine Day." But it's true, this whole mom thing is a juggling act, between the baby, trying to work from home and taking care of the house.
You wouldn't think it would be so difficult. My baby isn't even three months old yet, it's not like I'm chasing her around the house. She can't even roll over. And yet there are days that the clock strikes noon before I'm even out of my pajamas. Sometimes I don't brush my teeth until 4 o'clock. And I've eaten lunch one time - count it, one time - so far this week.
This week has been rougher than most - deadlines abound in my freelance gig, and we have contractors stopping by periodically to give estimates on a bathroom project. To top it all off, my worst enemy has returned - gas. My little one is in between nipple stages, which is apparently a fate worse than anything I can think of at the moment.
We seem to be getting the gas under control, and the stories are flying out the door left and right to satisfy those deadlines. I think we've seen the end of the contractor estimates for now. So the only thing left to do is - well, wash and dry the thousand bottles that have stacked up, and the laundry, and vacuuming up all the dirt tracked in by the contractors. Oh, and God only knows where the cats have left hairball presents recently.
It never ends! Where's that Calgon when you need it?
You wouldn't think it would be so difficult. My baby isn't even three months old yet, it's not like I'm chasing her around the house. She can't even roll over. And yet there are days that the clock strikes noon before I'm even out of my pajamas. Sometimes I don't brush my teeth until 4 o'clock. And I've eaten lunch one time - count it, one time - so far this week.
This week has been rougher than most - deadlines abound in my freelance gig, and we have contractors stopping by periodically to give estimates on a bathroom project. To top it all off, my worst enemy has returned - gas. My little one is in between nipple stages, which is apparently a fate worse than anything I can think of at the moment.
We seem to be getting the gas under control, and the stories are flying out the door left and right to satisfy those deadlines. I think we've seen the end of the contractor estimates for now. So the only thing left to do is - well, wash and dry the thousand bottles that have stacked up, and the laundry, and vacuuming up all the dirt tracked in by the contractors. Oh, and God only knows where the cats have left hairball presents recently.
It never ends! Where's that Calgon when you need it?
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Trying times
"These are the times that try men's souls."
Thomas Paine wasn't actually talking about the American Revolution, he was talking about his marriage after having a baby.
Well, he could have been, anyway. When my husband and I got married, I thought it was great because nothing changed between us. We had been dating for years, and knew each other very well. So when we found out we were having a baby, I thought only a few things would change - we wouldn't go out to eat as much, we would save more money, etc.
Wow, how naive can you be? With a child, everything changes. Not all for the bad, I might add. There are wonderful moments where all three of us are together, our close-knit family unit bound together by a powerful love.
But there are also difficult times, mostly times when something is wrong with our little one and we can't figure out what it is. The frustration is driven by a desire to help her, so it always has good intentions.
I have found, though, that once we get through those times, our marriage comes out much stronger on the other side. It's a tough road, this parenthood. There are underlying factors, too, that contribute - the baby blues in the beginning, sleep deprivation, constant crying (the baby, and sometimes mom).
As a stay-at-home mom with a freelance business, I find that the less busy I am, the more time I have to fret about the little noise my girl just made, or whether or not she's eating enough, sleeping too much, etc. The busier I am, the less I worry.
I'm not the only one who's experienced this - there are posts all over baby-related message boards. It can by trying for even the strongest relationship. It seems patience and communication are the key. The couple has to stay focused and communicate, so they don't become overwhelmed by the situation. Just my thoughts for the day!
Thomas Paine wasn't actually talking about the American Revolution, he was talking about his marriage after having a baby.
Well, he could have been, anyway. When my husband and I got married, I thought it was great because nothing changed between us. We had been dating for years, and knew each other very well. So when we found out we were having a baby, I thought only a few things would change - we wouldn't go out to eat as much, we would save more money, etc.
Wow, how naive can you be? With a child, everything changes. Not all for the bad, I might add. There are wonderful moments where all three of us are together, our close-knit family unit bound together by a powerful love.
But there are also difficult times, mostly times when something is wrong with our little one and we can't figure out what it is. The frustration is driven by a desire to help her, so it always has good intentions.
I have found, though, that once we get through those times, our marriage comes out much stronger on the other side. It's a tough road, this parenthood. There are underlying factors, too, that contribute - the baby blues in the beginning, sleep deprivation, constant crying (the baby, and sometimes mom).
As a stay-at-home mom with a freelance business, I find that the less busy I am, the more time I have to fret about the little noise my girl just made, or whether or not she's eating enough, sleeping too much, etc. The busier I am, the less I worry.
I'm not the only one who's experienced this - there are posts all over baby-related message boards. It can by trying for even the strongest relationship. It seems patience and communication are the key. The couple has to stay focused and communicate, so they don't become overwhelmed by the situation. Just my thoughts for the day!
Toilet training from birth
The practice is called elimination communication, and there was a story about it on the Today show this morning.
I'm sorry, but these people are full of ... well, let's avoid that bad pun. There is no way this can work. How much time do you have to spend watching your infant to determine the "pee pee" face and the "poopy" face?
I can only tell when my daughter is pooing because her face gets all red and she starts grunting. I certainly can't tell BEFORE the act, only during. And to tell if they are urinating is virtually impossible. I could stare at her for ages and not determine that. One minute the diaper is clean, the next it feels like there's a brick in it.
Yeah, it would be great to not buy diapers, and to save the environment. But let's be realistic. You would spend hours of your day watching for the slightest change in expression so you could rush your baby to the toilet and dangle them over it.
Sorry, I hate to say it, but I'm going to have to destroy the environment. I can't handle elmination communication. Hell, it's hard enough to communicate with her now!
I'm sorry, but these people are full of ... well, let's avoid that bad pun. There is no way this can work. How much time do you have to spend watching your infant to determine the "pee pee" face and the "poopy" face?
I can only tell when my daughter is pooing because her face gets all red and she starts grunting. I certainly can't tell BEFORE the act, only during. And to tell if they are urinating is virtually impossible. I could stare at her for ages and not determine that. One minute the diaper is clean, the next it feels like there's a brick in it.
Yeah, it would be great to not buy diapers, and to save the environment. But let's be realistic. You would spend hours of your day watching for the slightest change in expression so you could rush your baby to the toilet and dangle them over it.
Sorry, I hate to say it, but I'm going to have to destroy the environment. I can't handle elmination communication. Hell, it's hard enough to communicate with her now!
Friday, October 5, 2007
My poor, unstylish baby
I thought when I had a baby I would no longer have to worry about being stylish. I figured people would think I had my act together if my hair were even brushed and I actually had on makeup.
But I realized recently, there's a whole new game once you have a baby. Your baby must become the stylish one. Or unstylish, in our case. I learned this recently as I visited an upscale mall during the day to walk around somewhere indoors.
So we drive to this mall, mainly because it's rather ritzy and I know I can't afford anything there. I started looking around, and realized the kids were rather smartly dressed. I saw lots of cute corduroy overalls, perky jeans and even some dresses. Some of the kids were older, but a few were babies.
I looked down at my little one as she ate her bottle in the food court. She was sporting a cotton long sleeved shirt, knit pants and a no-nonsense onesie - all from Babies R Us probably - and all looking a bit disheveled as she dribbled formula down her chin. The other kids clothes were likely either from Gymboree or the even-more expensive alternative, Nordstrom's. Even Saks Fifth Avenue has baby clothes. Saks!
Now, my daughter has a few onesies from Nordstrom's, courtesy of her generous great-aunt. And, I have to say, the clothes are pretty darned cute. But when they grow out of them within a month, I'm not about to spend double on an outfit.
Although, I did spend $25 at Target for an Ohio State track suit and onesie - so I suppose it all depends on your priorities. But the bottom line is, I'd rather my baby be happy than to be super trendy. And if she's happy in her knit pants and cotton onesies, then once again, I'm happy.
But I realized recently, there's a whole new game once you have a baby. Your baby must become the stylish one. Or unstylish, in our case. I learned this recently as I visited an upscale mall during the day to walk around somewhere indoors.
So we drive to this mall, mainly because it's rather ritzy and I know I can't afford anything there. I started looking around, and realized the kids were rather smartly dressed. I saw lots of cute corduroy overalls, perky jeans and even some dresses. Some of the kids were older, but a few were babies.
I looked down at my little one as she ate her bottle in the food court. She was sporting a cotton long sleeved shirt, knit pants and a no-nonsense onesie - all from Babies R Us probably - and all looking a bit disheveled as she dribbled formula down her chin. The other kids clothes were likely either from Gymboree or the even-more expensive alternative, Nordstrom's. Even Saks Fifth Avenue has baby clothes. Saks!
Now, my daughter has a few onesies from Nordstrom's, courtesy of her generous great-aunt. And, I have to say, the clothes are pretty darned cute. But when they grow out of them within a month, I'm not about to spend double on an outfit.
Although, I did spend $25 at Target for an Ohio State track suit and onesie - so I suppose it all depends on your priorities. But the bottom line is, I'd rather my baby be happy than to be super trendy. And if she's happy in her knit pants and cotton onesies, then once again, I'm happy.
Can you read your baby?
I read something once (can't remember where, and therefore there will be no source - some journalism, eh?) about how mothers really can't tell why their baby is crying. They told researchers they could tell between hungry cries and wet cries, etc., but when put to the test, they really couldn't.
They tested women who worked in hospital nurseries, too, and they also failed to guess correctly more than half the time.
I'm not sure if I know all my baby's cries all the time, but I'm getting pretty darned good at figuring it out quickly, I must brag. But the key is more knowing the last time they ate, last time you changed a diaper, etc. If I came into it cold, without knowing the baby or any of those things, I wouldn't have a clue.
My little bug does have a different cry for when she's hungry, though. It starts off as more of a warning. It's a short 'wah,' followed by a pouty lip. Most of the time I just say 'aw, isn't that a cute cry,' forgetting it's about to lead to WWIII if I don't get on the ball.
The next cry is waaahhh, followed by more pouty lips. This sends me flying into the kitchen to start a bottle. On occasion I think I have more time before the meltdown, and try to stretch it out so I can finish something. This is usually a huge mistake.
By the time I have finished what I'm doing, the cries have escalated first to WAAAAAHHHHH to gutteral screams accompanied by red face and choking. Too late. Then you have to calm her down, because there's no way she'll eat like that.
So most of my time is spent trying to watch her closely and read her so I catch her at either wah, waaahhh, or WAAAAAHHHHH. A happy baby equals a happy momma!
They tested women who worked in hospital nurseries, too, and they also failed to guess correctly more than half the time.
I'm not sure if I know all my baby's cries all the time, but I'm getting pretty darned good at figuring it out quickly, I must brag. But the key is more knowing the last time they ate, last time you changed a diaper, etc. If I came into it cold, without knowing the baby or any of those things, I wouldn't have a clue.
My little bug does have a different cry for when she's hungry, though. It starts off as more of a warning. It's a short 'wah,' followed by a pouty lip. Most of the time I just say 'aw, isn't that a cute cry,' forgetting it's about to lead to WWIII if I don't get on the ball.
The next cry is waaahhh, followed by more pouty lips. This sends me flying into the kitchen to start a bottle. On occasion I think I have more time before the meltdown, and try to stretch it out so I can finish something. This is usually a huge mistake.
By the time I have finished what I'm doing, the cries have escalated first to WAAAAAHHHHH to gutteral screams accompanied by red face and choking. Too late. Then you have to calm her down, because there's no way she'll eat like that.
So most of my time is spent trying to watch her closely and read her so I catch her at either wah, waaahhh, or WAAAAAHHHHH. A happy baby equals a happy momma!
I have a floppy-headed baby
OK, so everyone has a floppy-headed baby. That's nothing new, at least in the beginning. But my child has a rather small head (10th percentile!), so it doesn't fit in the head support that came with our car seat.
This is a particularly cruel punishment for her and for me. I sit and watch her start out a car ride perfectly fine, with her head held high. Well, as most babies do, she starts to fall asleep. Then the head slowly bobs down. She valiantly pulls it up again, fighting sleep. Soon, she can't fight any more and there goes the head, flopped down and to the side.
There is no perfect baby gadget to solve this problem. I now am the proud owner of a Snuzzler, which is supposed to support their punkin' heads. And it does pretty well. But no amount of "snuzzling" is going to keep her head up if she falls asleep and it flops down. It's the great baby mystery - how to keep their heads up.
A cashier at Babies R Us had a great idea. Someone should make a headband with velcro on the back that attaches to the carseat, keeping their head pulled back. That way, it's a bit more flexible. I think it's brilliant, and someone should design it and make millions of dollars.
And please make it before I have my next child, so I don't have to go through this torture again!
This is a particularly cruel punishment for her and for me. I sit and watch her start out a car ride perfectly fine, with her head held high. Well, as most babies do, she starts to fall asleep. Then the head slowly bobs down. She valiantly pulls it up again, fighting sleep. Soon, she can't fight any more and there goes the head, flopped down and to the side.
There is no perfect baby gadget to solve this problem. I now am the proud owner of a Snuzzler, which is supposed to support their punkin' heads. And it does pretty well. But no amount of "snuzzling" is going to keep her head up if she falls asleep and it flops down. It's the great baby mystery - how to keep their heads up.
A cashier at Babies R Us had a great idea. Someone should make a headband with velcro on the back that attaches to the carseat, keeping their head pulled back. That way, it's a bit more flexible. I think it's brilliant, and someone should design it and make millions of dollars.
And please make it before I have my next child, so I don't have to go through this torture again!
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
The things for which no one can prepare you
There are certain things in life for which no one can prepare you. This morning, my little bug woke up at 6:30 a.m. after sleeping through the night. In celebration of this occasion, I look back on how unprepared I was.
No one can prepare you for the amount you will not sleep in the very beginning. I used to complain when I was pregnant about how terribly I slept the night before, waking up in the middle of the night to make a trek to the bathroom.
And yet, there would always be wry smiles from women who already had kids. And I thought, 'why are they laughing at me like that?' It's because they knew I had a shock in store.
It started in the hospital, when they would wake me every hour to check my vitals, even in the middle of the night. We sent out precious baby to the nursery at night so we could "sleep," but they kept bringing her back in!
I don't know what I was thinking before I had the baby. It was an utter shock for me to find out we had to feed her every three hours. I just thought parents didn't get sleep at night because their babies cried. Well, yeah, they cry because they're hungry every three hours or less.
Also, no one can prepare you for how much you will worry and the level of anxiety you'll feel in the beginning, thinking everything you do is wrong and that you'll ruin your baby for life. It's a painful and humbling feeling, especially for someone who is normally very confident in just about everything she does.
And to end on a good note, no one can prepare you for how much you will love you're child. You may not be IN love with him or her right away (due to the crying and the pooping and the nerves and such), but you will surely love that little pea pod and do whatever is necessary to protect him or her. You'll sit for hours, staring at your baby, wondering how you could have created life out of nothing, and why you were so blessed.
No one can prepare you for the amount you will not sleep in the very beginning. I used to complain when I was pregnant about how terribly I slept the night before, waking up in the middle of the night to make a trek to the bathroom.
And yet, there would always be wry smiles from women who already had kids. And I thought, 'why are they laughing at me like that?' It's because they knew I had a shock in store.
It started in the hospital, when they would wake me every hour to check my vitals, even in the middle of the night. We sent out precious baby to the nursery at night so we could "sleep," but they kept bringing her back in!
I don't know what I was thinking before I had the baby. It was an utter shock for me to find out we had to feed her every three hours. I just thought parents didn't get sleep at night because their babies cried. Well, yeah, they cry because they're hungry every three hours or less.
Also, no one can prepare you for how much you will worry and the level of anxiety you'll feel in the beginning, thinking everything you do is wrong and that you'll ruin your baby for life. It's a painful and humbling feeling, especially for someone who is normally very confident in just about everything she does.
And to end on a good note, no one can prepare you for how much you will love you're child. You may not be IN love with him or her right away (due to the crying and the pooping and the nerves and such), but you will surely love that little pea pod and do whatever is necessary to protect him or her. You'll sit for hours, staring at your baby, wondering how you could have created life out of nothing, and why you were so blessed.
Monday, October 1, 2007
My little unstoppable pea pod
I just read a story saying how dangerous it was to put your baby on their back to sleep. Well, it sorta said that. Of course, every new parent knows you HAVE to put your child on their back to sleep to prevent Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS).
Being a first-time mom, I would hang my baby from a sling attached to the ceiling if they told me it would prevent SIDS. I'm scared witless of walking in her room at night to find ... I can't even write it. You know what I'm saying.
Anyway, this story talked about all the bad things that are happening now that parents are putting babies on their back to sleep. Essentially, their heads can flatten out if they spend too much time that way, and it can cause problems with their spines and hips. As if we parents didn't have enough to worry about.
But the end of the story is what really got me. They said to put the baby on their back and turn their head one way one night, and to the other side the next night. I have to laugh. I laugh at you, so-called experts. My baby doesn't even stay in the same ZIP code in her crib at night, not less with her head turned the same way. I come in, and she's at the other side of the crib, facing the other direction. And yet I never see her move like that when I'm in the room.
She must wait and the get the all-clear from her mobile teddy bear buddies (maybe the monkey is a spy, maybe that's his purpose!), and then start squirming. I hear lots of noise on the baby monitor, but as soon as I open the door, she's fast asleep, still as a log - and still swaddled. That's the amazing part, she can do all this while swaddled.
She's a stealthy one, my little Houdini of a pea pod.
Being a first-time mom, I would hang my baby from a sling attached to the ceiling if they told me it would prevent SIDS. I'm scared witless of walking in her room at night to find ... I can't even write it. You know what I'm saying.
Anyway, this story talked about all the bad things that are happening now that parents are putting babies on their back to sleep. Essentially, their heads can flatten out if they spend too much time that way, and it can cause problems with their spines and hips. As if we parents didn't have enough to worry about.
But the end of the story is what really got me. They said to put the baby on their back and turn their head one way one night, and to the other side the next night. I have to laugh. I laugh at you, so-called experts. My baby doesn't even stay in the same ZIP code in her crib at night, not less with her head turned the same way. I come in, and she's at the other side of the crib, facing the other direction. And yet I never see her move like that when I'm in the room.
She must wait and the get the all-clear from her mobile teddy bear buddies (maybe the monkey is a spy, maybe that's his purpose!), and then start squirming. I hear lots of noise on the baby monitor, but as soon as I open the door, she's fast asleep, still as a log - and still swaddled. That's the amazing part, she can do all this while swaddled.
She's a stealthy one, my little Houdini of a pea pod.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
One for the expecting moms
There were a couple of things I didn't know about the actual birthing process, or didn't fully appreciate until I was in the middle of it all.
First of all, I hate to be graphic (actually, no I don't - I love the shock value of it all) if you have a natural birth, you will more than likely poo on the table. I'm not saying it to be gross, I'm saying it because I was grateful when another mom told me like it was.
Yeah it's all pretty when it's on ER or Grey's Anatomy. But birthing ain't pretty. Fortunately, I had a C-section, so I couldn't see any of it. But if you do it the other way, it's pretty messy. First, if you happen to be one of the lucky 13 percent whose water breaks, the gross starts early.
It goes downhill from there. You rush to the hospital, and you immediately don a designer blue gown that gaps in the back, so you're showing your money maker to anyone who walks behind you.
There's a lot of grunting and moaning, and possibly even some screaming of obscenities. We skipped that part.
Then, if you're one of the many who make it to a natural delivery, you begin to push. Well, if you think about it, you're pushing really hard. And lots of things tend to come out of your body when you're pushing really hard. It's just a fact of life, but it's one I'm glad someone had told me ahead of time so I would have been prepared.
And finally, when the baby arrives, it's not all nice and normal-looking like on ER or Grey's Anatomy. Once again, pretty messy. It's covered in goo, and it's head is all misshaped, like a little alien baby. Sometimes they're blue or purple.
Even my baby was a bit of a mess when she arrived via C-section. I heard the doctor say, 'oh look, she's coming out peeing and pooping.' Lovely imagery - as I'm opened up on the table. Let's hope they cleaned all that up before sewing me up.
But you know what? None of it matters. Because all you're waiting to hear is that precious cry that signals my baby's doing just fine. And after that, all the gross in the world doesn't register.
First of all, I hate to be graphic (actually, no I don't - I love the shock value of it all) if you have a natural birth, you will more than likely poo on the table. I'm not saying it to be gross, I'm saying it because I was grateful when another mom told me like it was.
Yeah it's all pretty when it's on ER or Grey's Anatomy. But birthing ain't pretty. Fortunately, I had a C-section, so I couldn't see any of it. But if you do it the other way, it's pretty messy. First, if you happen to be one of the lucky 13 percent whose water breaks, the gross starts early.
It goes downhill from there. You rush to the hospital, and you immediately don a designer blue gown that gaps in the back, so you're showing your money maker to anyone who walks behind you.
There's a lot of grunting and moaning, and possibly even some screaming of obscenities. We skipped that part.
Then, if you're one of the many who make it to a natural delivery, you begin to push. Well, if you think about it, you're pushing really hard. And lots of things tend to come out of your body when you're pushing really hard. It's just a fact of life, but it's one I'm glad someone had told me ahead of time so I would have been prepared.
And finally, when the baby arrives, it's not all nice and normal-looking like on ER or Grey's Anatomy. Once again, pretty messy. It's covered in goo, and it's head is all misshaped, like a little alien baby. Sometimes they're blue or purple.
Even my baby was a bit of a mess when she arrived via C-section. I heard the doctor say, 'oh look, she's coming out peeing and pooping.' Lovely imagery - as I'm opened up on the table. Let's hope they cleaned all that up before sewing me up.
But you know what? None of it matters. Because all you're waiting to hear is that precious cry that signals my baby's doing just fine. And after that, all the gross in the world doesn't register.
Friday, September 28, 2007
I found them! And none too soon...
Let's not call my daughter picky. Let's just say she has discriminating tastes, and she knows what she likes.
I'm talking about, of course, her binky. Otherwise known as a Soothie, it is by far the one priceless, irreplaceable item in our house. She has used it since we received it at the hospital (I know, we started making mistakes even BEFORE leaving the hospital).
She's a very vigorous sucker, and she loves her binky. I mean, she LOVES it. Almost as much as she loves her berry wreaths. But Soothies are damn near impossible to find at any store. You can find Nuks, Mams, ad infinitum, but I only found Soothies one place - Target. I bought the two pack, thinking I had finally solved our problem of "Where's the binky. Oh my God, where's that binky?!"
I brought them home only to find they are a thicker consistency than the one she received at the hospital, and therefore worthless in her eyes (and mouth). She spit them out, dissatisfied.
Recently, we had to go back to the hospital where she was born, and I decided to try Avent pacifiers (the third brand I had gone to in an attempt to wean her from the impossible-to-find Soothie). The lady asked if it was the brand I always used. I explained my fruitless search for the Soothies. Her eyes lit up and said, 'we carry them!' I almost jumped over the counter to hug her.
Sadly to say, once I brought them home, I found they were vanilla-scented. Why on earth would you scent a binky? Needless to say, they got spit out like sour milk.
Just when I was done searching, I found what I was looking for at Babies R Us, of all places. At the checkout line, displayed as an impulse item. The package shone like gold (because it's worth it's weight in it, for sure). I snatched the two-pack and plopped it on the counter.
Ha. Take that hospital. You thought you could torture me by giving my child one, count 'em, one binky on which you hooked her from birth. But I circumvented the system. Ha! Raspberries to you!
Now where are those damn binkys?
I'm talking about, of course, her binky. Otherwise known as a Soothie, it is by far the one priceless, irreplaceable item in our house. She has used it since we received it at the hospital (I know, we started making mistakes even BEFORE leaving the hospital).
She's a very vigorous sucker, and she loves her binky. I mean, she LOVES it. Almost as much as she loves her berry wreaths. But Soothies are damn near impossible to find at any store. You can find Nuks, Mams, ad infinitum, but I only found Soothies one place - Target. I bought the two pack, thinking I had finally solved our problem of "Where's the binky. Oh my God, where's that binky?!"
I brought them home only to find they are a thicker consistency than the one she received at the hospital, and therefore worthless in her eyes (and mouth). She spit them out, dissatisfied.
Recently, we had to go back to the hospital where she was born, and I decided to try Avent pacifiers (the third brand I had gone to in an attempt to wean her from the impossible-to-find Soothie). The lady asked if it was the brand I always used. I explained my fruitless search for the Soothies. Her eyes lit up and said, 'we carry them!' I almost jumped over the counter to hug her.
Sadly to say, once I brought them home, I found they were vanilla-scented. Why on earth would you scent a binky? Needless to say, they got spit out like sour milk.
Just when I was done searching, I found what I was looking for at Babies R Us, of all places. At the checkout line, displayed as an impulse item. The package shone like gold (because it's worth it's weight in it, for sure). I snatched the two-pack and plopped it on the counter.
Ha. Take that hospital. You thought you could torture me by giving my child one, count 'em, one binky on which you hooked her from birth. But I circumvented the system. Ha! Raspberries to you!
Now where are those damn binkys?
Thursday, September 27, 2007
A swaddle that works!!
I think the reason my little one is now getting so much sleep at night is because of the swaddle.
Swaddling is a fine art - one we were never able to properly master. That's why we cheat and have a pre-made swaddle. For those uninitiated in swaddling, it's basically the act of wrapping your child up like a burrito. In fact, it's exactly like making a burrito. You pull one side of the blanket over them, pull up the bottom and wrap the otherside. Voila - baby burrito.
Our problem in the beginning is that we were too gentle with our little burrito. We didn't want to make the swaddle too tight. Even though every time the nurses in the hospital brought her back to us after a night in the nursery she was wrapped so tight her eyes were popping out (not really, but it was pretty tight).
Soon we learned, a loose swaddle is no swaddle at all. We started trying to get it as tight as we could, but we were no match for our daughter. We dubbed her Houdini (she has lots of nicknames, as you can tell) for her amazing ability to break any swaddle in less than a minute.
We would be so proud after getting her wrapped up in her burrito, only to see that defiant fist pop out 45 seconds later. Once the first fist was out, it was all over. Within 30 more seconds she was laying with the blanket spread around her, legs kicking in the air triumphantly.
Hence the cheater swaddle. At Babies R Us (you can get ANYTHING at Babies R Us) they sell predone swaddles that use velcro to bind them up, for lack of a better description. She can't break it. Well, either that or she doesn't want to. It's probably more of the latter. But she actually seems to like it now. And the swaddle is green, so she looks like a little pea pod with a baby head on top. No more Houdini!
Swaddling is a fine art - one we were never able to properly master. That's why we cheat and have a pre-made swaddle. For those uninitiated in swaddling, it's basically the act of wrapping your child up like a burrito. In fact, it's exactly like making a burrito. You pull one side of the blanket over them, pull up the bottom and wrap the otherside. Voila - baby burrito.
Our problem in the beginning is that we were too gentle with our little burrito. We didn't want to make the swaddle too tight. Even though every time the nurses in the hospital brought her back to us after a night in the nursery she was wrapped so tight her eyes were popping out (not really, but it was pretty tight).
Soon we learned, a loose swaddle is no swaddle at all. We started trying to get it as tight as we could, but we were no match for our daughter. We dubbed her Houdini (she has lots of nicknames, as you can tell) for her amazing ability to break any swaddle in less than a minute.
We would be so proud after getting her wrapped up in her burrito, only to see that defiant fist pop out 45 seconds later. Once the first fist was out, it was all over. Within 30 more seconds she was laying with the blanket spread around her, legs kicking in the air triumphantly.
Hence the cheater swaddle. At Babies R Us (you can get ANYTHING at Babies R Us) they sell predone swaddles that use velcro to bind them up, for lack of a better description. She can't break it. Well, either that or she doesn't want to. It's probably more of the latter. But she actually seems to like it now. And the swaddle is green, so she looks like a little pea pod with a baby head on top. No more Houdini!
Good times, good times
My little one isn't always a challenge. There are some moments that take me by surprise and make me belly laugh. And there are times that are so touching they make me cry.
For example, she is in love with a pair of red fake berry wreaths. I'm not kidding, she worships them. They hang on a pair of black cast iron sconces that adorn the white wall in our living room. I don't know if it's the combination of black, white and red or what, but whenever her eye catches them, she smiles. She not only smiles, her entire face lights up because they bring her so much joy.
She has the same reaction to her mobile, the aforementioned four bears and apparent monkey in their bathrobes. She adores it. Each morning when she wakes up, we say good morning to her hanging buddies and turn on the lullaby it plays. She spends the next few minutes grinning and kicking her pajama'd feet at it.
It's enough to warm your heart - although I have to say I'm a bit jealous that inanimate objects receive infinitely more adoration than her mommy. But I get my reward when someone else feeds her and her eyes are trained on me the entire time. When I leave the room, she watches me go. When I reenter, she keeps me in her sights.
Another great moment is when I blow raspberries at her. Every time, regardless of how many times I've done it, she widens her eyes and throws her hands up as if to say 'what the heck was that?' Now she's trying to blow raspberries herself. She sticks out her tongue, but she doesn't quite have the whole blowing out thing down yet.
Oh, and the funniest thing? Call me immature, it's when she burps and toots. Sometimes she has the best comedic timing, and we just devolve into laughter. She doesn't know what she's doing, but sometimes her adult-sized burps are just the thing we needed to keep us in good spirits.
For example, she is in love with a pair of red fake berry wreaths. I'm not kidding, she worships them. They hang on a pair of black cast iron sconces that adorn the white wall in our living room. I don't know if it's the combination of black, white and red or what, but whenever her eye catches them, she smiles. She not only smiles, her entire face lights up because they bring her so much joy.
She has the same reaction to her mobile, the aforementioned four bears and apparent monkey in their bathrobes. She adores it. Each morning when she wakes up, we say good morning to her hanging buddies and turn on the lullaby it plays. She spends the next few minutes grinning and kicking her pajama'd feet at it.
It's enough to warm your heart - although I have to say I'm a bit jealous that inanimate objects receive infinitely more adoration than her mommy. But I get my reward when someone else feeds her and her eyes are trained on me the entire time. When I leave the room, she watches me go. When I reenter, she keeps me in her sights.
Another great moment is when I blow raspberries at her. Every time, regardless of how many times I've done it, she widens her eyes and throws her hands up as if to say 'what the heck was that?' Now she's trying to blow raspberries herself. She sticks out her tongue, but she doesn't quite have the whole blowing out thing down yet.
Oh, and the funniest thing? Call me immature, it's when she burps and toots. Sometimes she has the best comedic timing, and we just devolve into laughter. She doesn't know what she's doing, but sometimes her adult-sized burps are just the thing we needed to keep us in good spirits.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Who are you and what have you done with my child?
Every time I start to get used to what's happening, my little one changes the game. It's as if she starts to get bored with the same old, same old. Which I don't know how that's possible because everything is new to her. Trees are new. She's never seen a squirrel before. You get the picture.
But she likes to keep us on our toes. In this instance, though, I'll take it. She has slept through the night twice in a row now. And I'm not talking typical infant sleeping through the night, defined as 5 to 6 hours. I'm talking 9 hours. And she's not sick - or she may be, because she's actually happy. She's been smiling and cooing all morning.
So I decided to take advantage of the opportunity and give her a full-blown tub bath. Chalk this up to bad parenting - it's only her second in her life. Yeah, she's 9 weeks old. We've been giving her sponge baths, but as first-time parents we're pretty much scared to death to give her a tub bath.
We tried it a week or two ago to disasterous results. So I wasn't expecting miracles this morning. Of course, that's exactly what I got (see how she keeps me on my toes?) She smiled in the tub and kicked her long legs in the water, enjoying every minute of it. Whaa?
In this case, I'll take it. And now, joy of all joys, she's taking a nap. Which means it's time for mamma to take a shower!
But she likes to keep us on our toes. In this instance, though, I'll take it. She has slept through the night twice in a row now. And I'm not talking typical infant sleeping through the night, defined as 5 to 6 hours. I'm talking 9 hours. And she's not sick - or she may be, because she's actually happy. She's been smiling and cooing all morning.
So I decided to take advantage of the opportunity and give her a full-blown tub bath. Chalk this up to bad parenting - it's only her second in her life. Yeah, she's 9 weeks old. We've been giving her sponge baths, but as first-time parents we're pretty much scared to death to give her a tub bath.
We tried it a week or two ago to disasterous results. So I wasn't expecting miracles this morning. Of course, that's exactly what I got (see how she keeps me on my toes?) She smiled in the tub and kicked her long legs in the water, enjoying every minute of it. Whaa?
In this case, I'll take it. And now, joy of all joys, she's taking a nap. Which means it's time for mamma to take a shower!
Monday, September 24, 2007
Now where is that damn halo?
My little angel must have misplaced her halo this weekend. Good Lord she had a rough weekend! She always starts off on a good note, though, I have to say. I always approach the day thinking positive after she smiles and coos at her mobile of four dancing teddy bears in bathrobes and one animal we can only figure is a monkey (why? I don't understand, 4 teddy bears and a monkey?).
But this weekend she tricked me into thinking we were going to have good days. Shortly after the cooing and smiling came the screaming and the kicking. And then more screaming. She had many good moments, don't get me wrong. As if she popped the halo out of her back pocket and said 'let me get this adjusted and I'll be all set.' But then suddenly the halo would disappear and the horns would pop out again.
The poor thing, I say this as if it's her fault. As if she WANTS to cry so much. I'm sure if she had her choice, she would calmly tell us what the problem was and instill her faith in us to fix it. Why aren't children born with the power to speak? It would make things so much easier.
Ah well. We'll keep waking up each the morning, hoping for the best as she smiles at her mobile.
But this weekend she tricked me into thinking we were going to have good days. Shortly after the cooing and smiling came the screaming and the kicking. And then more screaming. She had many good moments, don't get me wrong. As if she popped the halo out of her back pocket and said 'let me get this adjusted and I'll be all set.' But then suddenly the halo would disappear and the horns would pop out again.
The poor thing, I say this as if it's her fault. As if she WANTS to cry so much. I'm sure if she had her choice, she would calmly tell us what the problem was and instill her faith in us to fix it. Why aren't children born with the power to speak? It would make things so much easier.
Ah well. We'll keep waking up each the morning, hoping for the best as she smiles at her mobile.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Ow, ow ow
We had one of those lovely moments this morning that all moms dream of. She wanted to explore my face! Many times when I get near her, she turns her head away, or glances at me for a second and smiles.
But this time she began to study my face. Here it comes, I thought. That touching moment where she caresses my face in wonder and awe, finally recognizing her loving, doting mother.
Of course that didn't happen. Not with my child. She punched me right in the face. See, she can't really open those fists of fury yet to gently stroke my face. Instead, she thrust her clenched fist at me, and then opened it to grab a handful of my hair and cheek. She grasped at me with her razer-sharp Wolverine-like nails, but I didn't care. It was still our precious little moment, and she still wanted to explore my face, however clumsily she did it.
What makes her happy makes mamma happy.
But this time she began to study my face. Here it comes, I thought. That touching moment where she caresses my face in wonder and awe, finally recognizing her loving, doting mother.
Of course that didn't happen. Not with my child. She punched me right in the face. See, she can't really open those fists of fury yet to gently stroke my face. Instead, she thrust her clenched fist at me, and then opened it to grab a handful of my hair and cheek. She grasped at me with her razer-sharp Wolverine-like nails, but I didn't care. It was still our precious little moment, and she still wanted to explore my face, however clumsily she did it.
What makes her happy makes mamma happy.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
My child has superhuman powers
I'm serious. You think I jest. She resembles at least three superheroes. Unfortunately for us, two of them are the Hulk and an X-Men named Banshee.
When she starts to get angry, we call her Hulk Baby. She starts to grunt, and then she cries and turns a different color. In her case, it's not green but a nasty shade of purple. Sometimes Hulk Baby turns into Banshee. Check out this description of Banshee from Wikipedia: "An Irish mutant, Banshee possesses a 'sonic scream,' capable of harming enemies’ auditory systems and causing physical vibrations."
Yep, that's my girl!
The good superhero is Wolverine, yet another X-Men. She has this amazing ability to heal herself. Which is good, because she routinely catches herself on the face with her nails - also Wolverine-like because her wimpy mamma can only stand to cut them when she's fast asleep.
When she starts to get angry, we call her Hulk Baby. She starts to grunt, and then she cries and turns a different color. In her case, it's not green but a nasty shade of purple. Sometimes Hulk Baby turns into Banshee. Check out this description of Banshee from Wikipedia: "An Irish mutant, Banshee possesses a 'sonic scream,' capable of harming enemies’ auditory systems and causing physical vibrations."
Yep, that's my girl!
The good superhero is Wolverine, yet another X-Men. She has this amazing ability to heal herself. Which is good, because she routinely catches herself on the face with her nails - also Wolverine-like because her wimpy mamma can only stand to cut them when she's fast asleep.
No more, I can't take anymore!
OK, enough Britney. ENOUGH. This really has nothing to do with being a first-time mom, except for the fact that she is setting a poor example for young girls and young women everywhere. This girl needs help, and someone needs to get it for her. But the last thing she needs is mass publicity by celebrity-hungry tabloid shows and rags.
I expect it from shows like E! News and Entertainment Tonight. But CNN? Isn't there a war going on?
I expect it from shows like E! News and Entertainment Tonight. But CNN? Isn't there a war going on?
I'm not outraged
I thought I would be. I just went to Bill Maher's Web site for his HBO show Real Time. I enjoy Maher, although I think he spends WAY too much time at the Playboy mansion. Seriously, get a real job Maher.
He recently spent much of his New Rules rant on breastfeeding in public. I was all prepared to be outraged because even though I don't breastfeed, I fully support the right of women to do it wherever they choose. Women should not be required to stay home with the shades drawn until their child turns 1 (the recommended age to which women should breastfeed - per the government!).
It turns out Maher's rant wasn't as anti-breastfeeding as I thought it would be. In fact, it really wasn't anti at all. He just says women should cover up while doing it in a restaurant. Essentially to be discreet about it. I don't know a sane woman who would willingly expose her breasts in a restaurant and call it breastfeeding. Most women I know either cover up or pull down their shirt so very little skin is exposed.
He just delivers his message in typical fashion - barbed and probably a little too sharp for anyone a bit sensitive about the issue. I have to say, I'm not really outraged by it. I do find it ironic, though, coming from a man who apparently takes every opportunity he can to see breasts!
He recently spent much of his New Rules rant on breastfeeding in public. I was all prepared to be outraged because even though I don't breastfeed, I fully support the right of women to do it wherever they choose. Women should not be required to stay home with the shades drawn until their child turns 1 (the recommended age to which women should breastfeed - per the government!).
It turns out Maher's rant wasn't as anti-breastfeeding as I thought it would be. In fact, it really wasn't anti at all. He just says women should cover up while doing it in a restaurant. Essentially to be discreet about it. I don't know a sane woman who would willingly expose her breasts in a restaurant and call it breastfeeding. Most women I know either cover up or pull down their shirt so very little skin is exposed.
He just delivers his message in typical fashion - barbed and probably a little too sharp for anyone a bit sensitive about the issue. I have to say, I'm not really outraged by it. I do find it ironic, though, coming from a man who apparently takes every opportunity he can to see breasts!
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Are ANY toys not made in China?
I'm generally pretty easygoing, but I draw the line at toys knowingly laced with lead. WTH? Who is watching these manufacturers in China?
So my question is, are any toys NOT made in China? I've done a cursory check of some of the toys I want to buy in the future, and they're all made in China. Including - get this - teething rings. Nice.
Now, to be fair, not everything made in China will be tainted with lead paint. But at this point, how do you know? It's up to the individual company to watch their respective manufacturer in China to see if they are using lead paint. And to require them not to use it. So there's no real way for consumers to know for sure.
So if anyone has any toy companies they know are not using these types of paints, let me know! My daughter has just started to grasp her rattle, and the first thing she does - of course, is bring it to her mouth to suck on it.
Which, by the way, how proud am I that my baby is holding a rattle? It's super cute, and I know it's probably time for her to do it but I think she's way advanced and quite frankly, the smartest baby in the world. Just my opinion :)
So my question is, are any toys NOT made in China? I've done a cursory check of some of the toys I want to buy in the future, and they're all made in China. Including - get this - teething rings. Nice.
Now, to be fair, not everything made in China will be tainted with lead paint. But at this point, how do you know? It's up to the individual company to watch their respective manufacturer in China to see if they are using lead paint. And to require them not to use it. So there's no real way for consumers to know for sure.
So if anyone has any toy companies they know are not using these types of paints, let me know! My daughter has just started to grasp her rattle, and the first thing she does - of course, is bring it to her mouth to suck on it.
Which, by the way, how proud am I that my baby is holding a rattle? It's super cute, and I know it's probably time for her to do it but I think she's way advanced and quite frankly, the smartest baby in the world. Just my opinion :)
I HATE bottles
OK, I know. I can't write a super long post about how breastfeeding wasn't for me, then turn around and complain about bottles.
Oh wait, it's my blog - I sure can. And I will. I freakin' hate bottles. If there was any reason to try that much harder next time around (yep, you read right, I'm crazy enough to do it again), it's the bottles. I bet we could buy 100 bottles and still have to wash them every day somehow.
It's like they multiple in the middle of the night. The clean ones somehow dive into the formula mix and lo and behold, by morning they're all dirty, clamoring to be washed again.
And of course, we picked the most time-consuming bottles to use - Dr. Brown's. However, on the plus side of that, I really think they reduce the amount of air my little chicklet takes in, so they're worth it in that aspect.
Oh, and an update from the previous post about the vaccinations yesterday: she did great during the night. She woke up a couple of times, but we gave her baby Tylenol on a 4-hour schedule and she woke up all smiles this morning. Whew.
I have to say, though, I thought I knew the meaning of worry before, but I really felt it this morning at 3:30 a.m. as I was leaning over the railing of her crib watching her breathe. Even though I should have gotten a couple of hours of sleep between her wakings, I couldn't. All I could do is lay in bed and listen to the monitor, waiting for any sign of a disturbance. I'm not normally like that, but with the vaccinations I just couldn't sleep soundly. Such is the life of a mother, I suppose!
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
My baby's a trooper!
OK, I know she's my baby, so I'm biased. But I gotta say, this little girl's tough. She took those shots like it was nobody's business. She was sucking on her binky, minding her own business, and then wham! The nurse did it before she or I knew what was going on.
And my little one, who I thought would go ballistic, handled it appropriately. Her face turned red, and I knew the wail was coming. I thought it would continue on, but she only hit her second level of crying (there's a level beyond normal baby crying - the one that makes dogs bark in other neighborhoods). Then, she stopped. I popped her binky in, hoping it would take - sure enough, she started sucking away.
By the time I got her carseat locked into the base, she looked at me with a content face. She even gave me a smile, as if to say 'that wasn't so bad, mom.'
Dang, she's tenacious. It's what I love about her.
And my little one, who I thought would go ballistic, handled it appropriately. Her face turned red, and I knew the wail was coming. I thought it would continue on, but she only hit her second level of crying (there's a level beyond normal baby crying - the one that makes dogs bark in other neighborhoods). Then, she stopped. I popped her binky in, hoping it would take - sure enough, she started sucking away.
By the time I got her carseat locked into the base, she looked at me with a content face. She even gave me a smile, as if to say 'that wasn't so bad, mom.'
Dang, she's tenacious. It's what I love about her.
Quite possible the worst day ever
That may be what I'm saying later tonight. My baby is getting her first set of vaccinations today. I don't mind saying I'm dreading it with every ounce of my being. It will be the first time someone hurts my baby on purpose. Honestly, sticking a needle into them? Can't we find a better way of doing this by now?
My poor child, she's quite the screamer, too. I'm sure the entire office will find out just how powerful her lungs are around 2:50 today. In fact, it could be the screech heard 'round the world.
I just keep repeating the FTM mantra: She won't remember any of this. She won't remember any of this.
Stay tuned to see how it all turns out...
My poor child, she's quite the screamer, too. I'm sure the entire office will find out just how powerful her lungs are around 2:50 today. In fact, it could be the screech heard 'round the world.
I just keep repeating the FTM mantra: She won't remember any of this. She won't remember any of this.
Stay tuned to see how it all turns out...
Monday, September 17, 2007
The great breastfeeding debacle
(Warning, this is a LONG post!)
I post this not to start a debate about which is better, but to share my story. I know breastfeeding is best. Believe me, it's been hammered into my brain since the moment I got pregnant.
Every time someone asked, they didn't say 'Will you breastfeed?' They said 'You WILL breastfeed, right?' Like anything else would be the equivalent of giving your baby vodka in a Dr. Brown's bottle.
Of course I was going to breastfeed. It's free, it's supposed to be far more convenient, and it's best for the baby. There was no question. My husband and I invested in a $300 breast pump with a trendy backpack design. We took the breastfeeding class at our hospital. We were primed and ready to go.
Until our baby came. My first breastfeeding experience was trying to put a screaming 1-hour-old baby on my breast while three-fourths of my body was numb (I had a c-section). It pretty much went downhill from there.
There would be shining moments where we thought we had it knocked. But between the anxiety of a FTM wanting to be sure my child was getting enough food, and the fact that my daughter is what "they" call an 'excited ineffective' eater, it wasn't in the cards. She would get too excited and anxious to eat properly, pulling off my breast and screaming. Thank God my husband was home the first two weeks, or she wouldn't have gotten any food at all. He would literally have to hold her arms down so I could handle her enough to eat. No lie - she had superhuman strength (more on my child's superhuman qualities later).
We struggled for the first week-and-a-half: either she was too sleepy and wouldn't wake up to eat, or she would attack me voraciously. There was no in between, and neither were optimal circumstances. Pile onto that a FTM's anxiety AND the baby blues (which were hitting me like a ton of bricks) and you have a recipe for disaster. Plus, it hurt. Yeah, they don't tell you that when they're talking about the benefits. "They" say if it hurts you're doing it wrong. But every single mom I've talked to said it hurt for them in the beginning. Now some say it gets better, but others go through pain for months before that happens. Not to scare anyone, I'm just giving the honest warning I didn't get.
But I was willing to try to get through the pain. However, the last straw came after a visit to the lactation consultant during week 2. I fed my daughter on one breast after some struggling, and the nurse weighed her. She had received a whopping 8 cc's from that breast. We switched her to the other one. She ate and we weighed her again. 4 cc's. I burst into tears. I was starving my child, I KNEW it! It was my biggest fear coming true, and all my anxiety rushed to the surface.
Even the lactation consultant was surprised. She had been so positive up until that point that we could just work on the latch. But she conceeded that we needed to supplement until my milk supply returned to full strength. So she recommended what I now consider was a modern-day torture device: the supplemental nurser.
Picture this: a syringe filled with formula attached to a small, plastic tube. The tube is taped to my breast with the end protruding right by my nipple (hey, I'm trying to paint a picture here, so it's OK to imagine my nipple). The idea is she nurses, and gets the formula, too - helping the milk supply AND getting her nourishment. Great theory, right?
Now, mind you we had to do this every two hours. It was a disaster. The tube wouldn't stay taped properly, and it would slip out of her mouth, squirting formula everywhere. Then, of course, my excited ineffective eater would pull off and scream, squirming violently the whole time. Loads of fun. It would take between 45-minutes to an hour to feed her like this, giving us an hour before we had to go through the whole ordeal again.
It was enough to make any new mom break down. But the silver lining was seeing what happened when she got her belly full of formula. She slept - mercifully she slept! Prior to that we were convinced she had colic she screamed so much.
It was after about three of those feeding and seeing her sleep from filling her belly with formula that we decided to make the switch. I agonized for days over the decision, feeling I had failed my daughter and womankind by giving up. I vowed to pump endlessly to continue to give my daughter breastmilk (that lasted for a while, but I ended up choosing sleep over pumping).
In the end, I realized that breast is best, but only if it doesn't result in a depressed, anxiety-ridden mother who resents feeding time and an angry, hungry baby. And I learned that I don't really give a rat's ass about what anyone thinks of my decision (a newfound power I have over other people's opinions) because I know it was the best thing for me. I'll never look back and regret it, because I now have a healthy, chubby baby who loves feeding time (as does her mommy).
That's not to say formula feeding is perfect, but that's a whole other post.
I post this not to start a debate about which is better, but to share my story. I know breastfeeding is best. Believe me, it's been hammered into my brain since the moment I got pregnant.
Every time someone asked, they didn't say 'Will you breastfeed?' They said 'You WILL breastfeed, right?' Like anything else would be the equivalent of giving your baby vodka in a Dr. Brown's bottle.
Of course I was going to breastfeed. It's free, it's supposed to be far more convenient, and it's best for the baby. There was no question. My husband and I invested in a $300 breast pump with a trendy backpack design. We took the breastfeeding class at our hospital. We were primed and ready to go.
Until our baby came. My first breastfeeding experience was trying to put a screaming 1-hour-old baby on my breast while three-fourths of my body was numb (I had a c-section). It pretty much went downhill from there.
There would be shining moments where we thought we had it knocked. But between the anxiety of a FTM wanting to be sure my child was getting enough food, and the fact that my daughter is what "they" call an 'excited ineffective' eater, it wasn't in the cards. She would get too excited and anxious to eat properly, pulling off my breast and screaming. Thank God my husband was home the first two weeks, or she wouldn't have gotten any food at all. He would literally have to hold her arms down so I could handle her enough to eat. No lie - she had superhuman strength (more on my child's superhuman qualities later).
We struggled for the first week-and-a-half: either she was too sleepy and wouldn't wake up to eat, or she would attack me voraciously. There was no in between, and neither were optimal circumstances. Pile onto that a FTM's anxiety AND the baby blues (which were hitting me like a ton of bricks) and you have a recipe for disaster. Plus, it hurt. Yeah, they don't tell you that when they're talking about the benefits. "They" say if it hurts you're doing it wrong. But every single mom I've talked to said it hurt for them in the beginning. Now some say it gets better, but others go through pain for months before that happens. Not to scare anyone, I'm just giving the honest warning I didn't get.
But I was willing to try to get through the pain. However, the last straw came after a visit to the lactation consultant during week 2. I fed my daughter on one breast after some struggling, and the nurse weighed her. She had received a whopping 8 cc's from that breast. We switched her to the other one. She ate and we weighed her again. 4 cc's. I burst into tears. I was starving my child, I KNEW it! It was my biggest fear coming true, and all my anxiety rushed to the surface.
Even the lactation consultant was surprised. She had been so positive up until that point that we could just work on the latch. But she conceeded that we needed to supplement until my milk supply returned to full strength. So she recommended what I now consider was a modern-day torture device: the supplemental nurser.
Picture this: a syringe filled with formula attached to a small, plastic tube. The tube is taped to my breast with the end protruding right by my nipple (hey, I'm trying to paint a picture here, so it's OK to imagine my nipple). The idea is she nurses, and gets the formula, too - helping the milk supply AND getting her nourishment. Great theory, right?
Now, mind you we had to do this every two hours. It was a disaster. The tube wouldn't stay taped properly, and it would slip out of her mouth, squirting formula everywhere. Then, of course, my excited ineffective eater would pull off and scream, squirming violently the whole time. Loads of fun. It would take between 45-minutes to an hour to feed her like this, giving us an hour before we had to go through the whole ordeal again.
It was enough to make any new mom break down. But the silver lining was seeing what happened when she got her belly full of formula. She slept - mercifully she slept! Prior to that we were convinced she had colic she screamed so much.
It was after about three of those feeding and seeing her sleep from filling her belly with formula that we decided to make the switch. I agonized for days over the decision, feeling I had failed my daughter and womankind by giving up. I vowed to pump endlessly to continue to give my daughter breastmilk (that lasted for a while, but I ended up choosing sleep over pumping).
In the end, I realized that breast is best, but only if it doesn't result in a depressed, anxiety-ridden mother who resents feeding time and an angry, hungry baby. And I learned that I don't really give a rat's ass about what anyone thinks of my decision (a newfound power I have over other people's opinions) because I know it was the best thing for me. I'll never look back and regret it, because I now have a healthy, chubby baby who loves feeding time (as does her mommy).
That's not to say formula feeding is perfect, but that's a whole other post.
Nap time - sweet, sweet nap time
My biggest decisions for the day tend to be what to do during nap time. It's a sweet reprieve of anywhere between 20 minutes and 2 hours that becomes mommy time. The trouble is, you often have no idea how long it will last.
So you end up rushing through just about any project you have. Or, you end up squandering it by surfing the Internet, checking the 6,000 new posts on Babycenter since you checked it two hours ago (I swear that is the most prolific message board I've ever seen!).
I usually do the latter. And then I think next time I'll be better. I'll wash out all those bottles that are piling up next to the sink, or start that load of laundry sitting in the hamper. Or better yet, take that much-needed shower and brush my teeth.
You'd think that would be a priority, but hell, who am I trying to impress? My baby doesn't care if I stink. In fact, she reeks herself with stinky formula neck. It's the telltale sign of a formula-fed baby - stinky neck. All you have to do is lean in and take a small whiff. Blech!
So here we are, two stinky peas in a pod.
So you end up rushing through just about any project you have. Or, you end up squandering it by surfing the Internet, checking the 6,000 new posts on Babycenter since you checked it two hours ago (I swear that is the most prolific message board I've ever seen!).
I usually do the latter. And then I think next time I'll be better. I'll wash out all those bottles that are piling up next to the sink, or start that load of laundry sitting in the hamper. Or better yet, take that much-needed shower and brush my teeth.
You'd think that would be a priority, but hell, who am I trying to impress? My baby doesn't care if I stink. In fact, she reeks herself with stinky formula neck. It's the telltale sign of a formula-fed baby - stinky neck. All you have to do is lean in and take a small whiff. Blech!
So here we are, two stinky peas in a pod.
My biggest enemy - gas
In my former life, pre-child, I was a journalist. I wasn't anything special, just a newspaper reporter at a small town daily. But I had my fair share of challenges and big stories. I went up against politicians and others to protect the First Amendment and preserve my strong belief in the people's right to know about their community.
Now, my biggest challenge is gas. On a daily basis, I protect my daughter's right to be gas-free, or at least to have the least amount of gas possible. It is a battle I am losing on a daily basis.
I read in a book - one of those many baby books about to be torched - that gas does not hurt a baby. That it doesn't cause them pain. Yeah - come on over to my house at 4 a.m. when my baby's curled up, kicking her legs like mad and choking out cries. I dare you to go to any mother's house when that happens and tell them scientifically gas doesn't hurt them. You will likely get that book hurled at your back as you're running out the door.
Just more proof those books are written by men who have no children.
Now, my biggest challenge is gas. On a daily basis, I protect my daughter's right to be gas-free, or at least to have the least amount of gas possible. It is a battle I am losing on a daily basis.
I read in a book - one of those many baby books about to be torched - that gas does not hurt a baby. That it doesn't cause them pain. Yeah - come on over to my house at 4 a.m. when my baby's curled up, kicking her legs like mad and choking out cries. I dare you to go to any mother's house when that happens and tell them scientifically gas doesn't hurt them. You will likely get that book hurled at your back as you're running out the door.
Just more proof those books are written by men who have no children.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Bar the doors and windows - it's a first-time mom!!
That's got to be the reaction each time a pediatrician's office gets that dreaded call to set up a first appointment. I imagine an unsuspecting receptionist, chatting with nurses and sipping on a bottle of water when the phone rings. They pick it up, only to find out minutes into the conversation the frenzied voice on the other end is a FTM.
They drop the phone and slam their hand onto a red alarm button on the desk. Lights begin flashing and bars drop down over the doors and windows, protecting those inside from dreaded FTM.
For those of you who are more laid back than I, what I will describe has another name in a romantic relationship - stalking. You know what I mean - calling late at night, desperate for reassurance. Calling 4 out of 5 week days (yes, I did that, but in my defense, my daughter was constipated. You would have their office on speed dial if it meant getting THAT situation cleared up). Showing up at the doctor's office unannounced to sneak your daughter onto the scale to see if she gained weight since the last time.
Yes, it's officially stalking, but since it's my daughter's doctor, it's OK. Thank goodness. I feel a little silly calling so much, but - as I'm sure I'll point out in more posts - there is no solace in baby books. Look up a stuffy nose as a symptom, and all of the sudden your child has the ebola virus.
And God forbid baby books should agree with each other. I've never been a proponent of burning books, but one more contradiction among the four I own and I may be having a bonfire. I guess I'll have to put that pediatrician on speed dial after all.
They drop the phone and slam their hand onto a red alarm button on the desk. Lights begin flashing and bars drop down over the doors and windows, protecting those inside from dreaded FTM.
For those of you who are more laid back than I, what I will describe has another name in a romantic relationship - stalking. You know what I mean - calling late at night, desperate for reassurance. Calling 4 out of 5 week days (yes, I did that, but in my defense, my daughter was constipated. You would have their office on speed dial if it meant getting THAT situation cleared up). Showing up at the doctor's office unannounced to sneak your daughter onto the scale to see if she gained weight since the last time.
Yes, it's officially stalking, but since it's my daughter's doctor, it's OK. Thank goodness. I feel a little silly calling so much, but - as I'm sure I'll point out in more posts - there is no solace in baby books. Look up a stuffy nose as a symptom, and all of the sudden your child has the ebola virus.
And God forbid baby books should agree with each other. I've never been a proponent of burning books, but one more contradiction among the four I own and I may be having a bonfire. I guess I'll have to put that pediatrician on speed dial after all.
Crack-smoking baby clothes manufacturers
The people who design the majority of baby clothes are either high or sick individuals.
I mean really - who makes a pajama sleeper with only three buttons at the top? My child is bendy, but come on. I can just see people sitting around a boardroom table laughing diabolically as they approve these designs. They know some unsuspecting and well-meaning person will buy these for an expecting mom at a shower. The mom will take the clothes gratefully, figuring it's one less thing to buy. At the time, she won't give a second thought to the logistics of jamming a newborn's squirmy, contorted body into aforesaid pajamas.
However, the mom will rue the day they took such a gift, and curse the manufacturer who had the nerve to mass produce such a torture device.
I'm convinced the people who design baby clothes are without child. I think it's pretty obvious. If they had kids, they would make them out of material impervious to stinky formula (more on stinky formula later), poo (much more on poo later) and any thing else an otherwise beautiful baby decides to eject from their body.
I mean really - who makes a pajama sleeper with only three buttons at the top? My child is bendy, but come on. I can just see people sitting around a boardroom table laughing diabolically as they approve these designs. They know some unsuspecting and well-meaning person will buy these for an expecting mom at a shower. The mom will take the clothes gratefully, figuring it's one less thing to buy. At the time, she won't give a second thought to the logistics of jamming a newborn's squirmy, contorted body into aforesaid pajamas.
However, the mom will rue the day they took such a gift, and curse the manufacturer who had the nerve to mass produce such a torture device.
I'm convinced the people who design baby clothes are without child. I think it's pretty obvious. If they had kids, they would make them out of material impervious to stinky formula (more on stinky formula later), poo (much more on poo later) and any thing else an otherwise beautiful baby decides to eject from their body.
What is a FTM?
For those uninitiated in the world of Babycenter and other message boards for parents, an FTM is a first-time mom. It's the brand we wear as amateurs into parenthood.
Our first borns will be obvious - they are the ones wearing onesies that are perpetually off by one snap. The child's parents will look like the walking dead, slugging through stores with hair askew, no makeup on and searching desperately for all the baby items they didn't know they would need, like 100 burp cloths and shirts with mittens on the end.
This blog is all about the joys, frustrations and tribulations of parenting for the first time. I can only recount what has happened to us, and what I know from personal experience. My only solace is that my dear daughter won't remember any of it.
Feel free to let me know what you think, and enjoy this roller coaster ride along with me.
Our first borns will be obvious - they are the ones wearing onesies that are perpetually off by one snap. The child's parents will look like the walking dead, slugging through stores with hair askew, no makeup on and searching desperately for all the baby items they didn't know they would need, like 100 burp cloths and shirts with mittens on the end.
This blog is all about the joys, frustrations and tribulations of parenting for the first time. I can only recount what has happened to us, and what I know from personal experience. My only solace is that my dear daughter won't remember any of it.
Feel free to let me know what you think, and enjoy this roller coaster ride along with me.
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