It's been one of those days. The kind where you want to go sit in a dark room and contemplate your very existence. And if that dark room happens to have a bubble bath and a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon - even better! Because some days leave me wondering if everything I think is true is really just a misinterpretation of facts that I have gotten so comfortable with that I stopped paying attention.
I have a child who is...ahem...difficult. When he was very tiny he started showing signs of having a temper. He is now nineteen months old and the temper is going strong. I'm not talking about the "Terrible Twos". I'm not talking about an occasional fit. I'm talking about having major temper tantrums involving kicking, biting, flailing, and screaming every time some tiny thing doesn't go exactly his way. It's all day, every day. And I'm exhausted. We've tried every discipline tactic you can imagine - short of chaining him to a wall in a dungeon - with very few positive results. He takes his punishment and then he goes right back to doing whatever got him in trouble in the first place.
So for the past several months I have wondered if there could be something "wrong". Could he have some sort of learning disability? Could he be on the autism spectrum? I've talked to friends and family about ways to work with him and I keep being told to contact ECI and get him evaluated, but I don't see any developmental delays (unless you count him being so stubborn he refused to walk until he was 18 months old) so I haven't done that yet. I wanted a doctor's opinion.
Today we went to a new doctor for his 18 month well-child checkup. (Yes, we're a month behind. New insurance is a PAIN.) I had my list of questions for the doctor and I talked while he listened. Then he said what I assumed he would say. "Toddlers are feisty. It's too early to tell if there's anything really going on in the behavioral or social areas; we'll have to wait and see. Just keep up the loving discipline. Etc. Etc. Etc.". I agreed with him to an extent, but I also felt a little dismissed. In my head this voice was screaming "You don't understand! It's NOT just Terrible Twos! Don't write me off as a weak parent!".
And then the doctor did his physical exam.
And my kid has a raging double ear infection and a throat is that bright red and inflamed.
I'm the parent who missed that their kid is sick.
To his credit, the doctor was very nice and assured me that some kids don't show symptoms of ear infections and he could've just developed it yesterday for all we know and that I shouldn't feel bad. But it was what he said next that bothers me. He said "When I look at him I just see a little guy that doesn't feel good".
It bothers me because that's not what I see when I look at him. I mean, it is now. Now it's painfully obvious. But I was so busy trying to correct his behavior that I missed the simple fact that he was trying to cope with being sick. I think back through the last nineteen months and I realize that we have basically gone from diagnosing acid reflux to weaning off reflux medicine when he outgrew it to diagnosing reactive airway disease and working through learning about breathing treatments to flu season to allergy season. And maybe, just maybe, he has spent the majority of his short little life struggling to keep up despite feeling crappy 90% of the time. And I missed that. And now the doubt starts swirling in my head. Satan starts whispering in my ear and I start beating myself up for all the things I'm not.
I wish I could tell you that I have a profound revelation from God about all this, but right now I don't. Right now I'm tired and frustrated and disappointed in myself. I think that's where you come in. Surely I'm not alone in this, right? Surely there is someone out there whose kids are grown; someone who has been-there-done-that-has-the-T-shirt and can tell me how they used to feel the same way? Or maybe a few of my fellow Moms Of Toddlers Club members that can just throw me a comment like "yep, sometimes I suck too but my kid isn't institutionalized yet"?
What do you think?
Showing posts with label Motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Motherhood. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Son Of My Vows
This week's "2x4-to-the-forehead" moment is brought you by Proverbs 31:1-2 and Good Morning Girls.
I hate the Proverbs 31 woman. Hate her. She is a vision of perfection sent to torture me and nag at me as I look around my messy house with a screaming baby and an over-budget checkbook. I've always been pretty ticked off at Solomon, too. What business did the man with 4.2 million wives have in writing about the perfect wife? He had an army of wives playing for Team Solomon. No wonder they had it all together. Right?
Except Solomon isn't the voice in Proverbs 31.
Maybe I'm a total nitwit who just doesn't pay attention, but I honestly never saw verse 1. In 32 years I never noticed that the voice here is a mother. In fact, it's a mother teaching her son what to look for in a wife. For crying out loud, that makes much more sense!
But then I got a little annoyed again.
First of all, she's THAT mother. You know who I mean - the mother who has a set of qualifications for her child's mate. The mother who always has an eyebrow raised because something about the current situation doesn't live up to her standards. I dislike her just as much as the superwoman she's describing.
Second, if a mother is going to teach her son to look for those things shouldn't she live up to her own expectations? It would be an awfully big double standard for her to preach these things to her son without doing them herself. Great. More pressure.
And then I read verse 2.
The mother is reaching out to her son. She says, "What are you doing, my son? What are you doing, son of my womb? What are you doing, son of my vows?"
Son of my vows.
I immediately went in search of a footnote or cross reference to tell me what exact vows she was talking about, and whaddya know, I ended up at 1 Samuel 1:27-28.
"For this child I have prayed, and the Lord has granted me my petition that I made to Him. Therefore, I have lent him to the Lord. As long as he lives, he is lent to the Lord."
This is what hangs on the wall in my ten-month-old's nursery.
My husband and I made a similar vow to God not too long ago. After multiple miscarriages, years of infertility, and struggling to come to grips with the realization that it might not be God's will He gave us our Samuel.
This mother - the one who describes this seemingly perfect woman - is not acting based on her own standards. She isn't setting a lofty goal or checklist for her son's future mate. She is teaching him about the qualities to look for in a wife. She is teaching him about the character of a woman's heart, and is showing him the results of that character. She is fulfilling her vow to God by raising her son to be the leader of a Godly family.
It's still a tall order. That's a long list of impressive character traits, and I'm here to tell you that I like to sleep late, waste time on Facebook, neglect the yard work, and run my mouth when I shouldn't. But I have a new perspective on this illusive Proverbs 31 woman today. I have new motivation to work on bending my heart toward becoming this woman. I have a vow to keep.
I hate the Proverbs 31 woman. Hate her. She is a vision of perfection sent to torture me and nag at me as I look around my messy house with a screaming baby and an over-budget checkbook. I've always been pretty ticked off at Solomon, too. What business did the man with 4.2 million wives have in writing about the perfect wife? He had an army of wives playing for Team Solomon. No wonder they had it all together. Right?
Except Solomon isn't the voice in Proverbs 31.
Maybe I'm a total nitwit who just doesn't pay attention, but I honestly never saw verse 1. In 32 years I never noticed that the voice here is a mother. In fact, it's a mother teaching her son what to look for in a wife. For crying out loud, that makes much more sense!
But then I got a little annoyed again.
First of all, she's THAT mother. You know who I mean - the mother who has a set of qualifications for her child's mate. The mother who always has an eyebrow raised because something about the current situation doesn't live up to her standards. I dislike her just as much as the superwoman she's describing.
Second, if a mother is going to teach her son to look for those things shouldn't she live up to her own expectations? It would be an awfully big double standard for her to preach these things to her son without doing them herself. Great. More pressure.
And then I read verse 2.
The mother is reaching out to her son. She says, "What are you doing, my son? What are you doing, son of my womb? What are you doing, son of my vows?"
Son of my vows.
I immediately went in search of a footnote or cross reference to tell me what exact vows she was talking about, and whaddya know, I ended up at 1 Samuel 1:27-28.
"For this child I have prayed, and the Lord has granted me my petition that I made to Him. Therefore, I have lent him to the Lord. As long as he lives, he is lent to the Lord."
This is what hangs on the wall in my ten-month-old's nursery.
My husband and I made a similar vow to God not too long ago. After multiple miscarriages, years of infertility, and struggling to come to grips with the realization that it might not be God's will He gave us our Samuel.
This mother - the one who describes this seemingly perfect woman - is not acting based on her own standards. She isn't setting a lofty goal or checklist for her son's future mate. She is teaching him about the qualities to look for in a wife. She is teaching him about the character of a woman's heart, and is showing him the results of that character. She is fulfilling her vow to God by raising her son to be the leader of a Godly family.
It's still a tall order. That's a long list of impressive character traits, and I'm here to tell you that I like to sleep late, waste time on Facebook, neglect the yard work, and run my mouth when I shouldn't. But I have a new perspective on this illusive Proverbs 31 woman today. I have new motivation to work on bending my heart toward becoming this woman. I have a vow to keep.
Monday, May 7, 2012
Bookworm
It looks like we might have a tiny little bookworm on our hands! Every night before bed we read to Sam - and usually throughout the day, too - so he has figured out where the books are. Now when he wants to read he leans toward the bookshelf or the corner where he knows there is a pile of books. This one seems to be his current favorite.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Nine
My little boy is nine months old today. Nine months. He has been out of my belly as long as he was in it. Here are nine things I have learned in the last nine months:
1) Naptime is a precious commodity. And naptime does not necessarily mean that the baby sleeps as much as it means that the baby is not assaulting my eyes and ears for approximately 90 minutes. Coincidentally, Finding Nemo is 90 minutes long. And there is a strange magical silence that happens when Nemo is on the TV. Nine months ago I would've thought to myself, "What kind of lazy mother lets her child watch a movie to give herself a break?". Today I will tell you that this mom does it almost daily and it is the only thing that keeps me out of a mental institution. I want to kiss the feet of the Pixar employee who created that magical little fish. Judge me if you must.
2) Babies learn at their own pace. Some babies will crawl at six months. Others will drive their mothers crazy by choosing to spend tummy time laying on their faces and whining. Some babies will hold their own bottles. Others will let the bottle sit in their lap and scream until someone puts the bottle in their mouth. Unless that someone is Aunt Velvet. Then some babies will grab the bottle with both hands and use a foot to prop up the bottom of the bottle. Some babies are self-motivated and ambitious and attack life with vigor and purpose. Others are content to just soak in life and let it happen around them while happily sitting still. And when people say, "Oh he's nine months old. I'll bet he's crawling everywhere and pulling up on everything.", the mommies of those "other babies" shouldn't cringe inwardly and try to explain their baby's "lack of development". They should smile and say "Well, he does things at his own pace. I'm sure he'll get there soon." And then they should talk about the other awesome things their baby does.
3) Awesome things babies can do include taking daily Prevacid like a champ, enthusiastically feeding themselves finger foods, clapping wildly when happy about things like dogs or Elmo, and playing a mean game of hide-the-yogurt-melts-under-the-hollow-blocks.
4) Baby boys grab certain "equipment" when the diaper comes off. If the diaper happens to contain more than urine Mommy better be on her toes to prevent the grabbing. Either that or be prepared to disinfect the wall, changing table, and any other nearby surface. <heavy sigh>
5) Music soothes the savage baby. "If I Were A Butterfly" gets a smile every time. And "You Have Been Good" makes a fantastic lullaby.
6) 19 pounds, 9 ounces doesn't sound heavy. Until you try to carry it around while doing other simple tasks. Then it gets heavy awfully quick.
7) If your child's head makes a big jump on the growth curve from month six to month nine it's possible that the pediatrician could call him a "melon head". And if that same head sports a bunch of blond hair that stands straight up like a baby bird's people will stop you at every trip to the grocery store and comment about how cute his hair is.
8) It doesn't matter what happens during the day, Daddy is ALWAYS more exciting than Mommy. So is Nana. And Aunt Velvet. And the hyper-spastic dogs. And the persnickety, self-absorbed whiner you call a cat. And the checker at the grocery store. And basically anyone who is not Mommy. Mommy is ever-present. Mommy is a constant. Mommy doesn't get a big excited reaction when she enters a room.
9) Despite the above statement, Mommy knows things that no one else knows. Like that look in his eyes when he's just starting to get sleepy and really wants to be held and sung to. Or the difference between his "I'm hungry" cry, his "I'm scared/hurt/uncomfortable" cry, and his "I'm mad and pitching a fit" cry. Mommy also gets big smiles with two glowing bottom teeth each morning. And she gets to carry him down the hallway and tell him who everyone in every picture is, and then take him to go pet the puppies, and then snuggle in the recliner for precisely 4 minutes before the morning bottle. Mommy gets the little moments that no else gets. And Mommy thinks that is the best part of her job.
1) Naptime is a precious commodity. And naptime does not necessarily mean that the baby sleeps as much as it means that the baby is not assaulting my eyes and ears for approximately 90 minutes. Coincidentally, Finding Nemo is 90 minutes long. And there is a strange magical silence that happens when Nemo is on the TV. Nine months ago I would've thought to myself, "What kind of lazy mother lets her child watch a movie to give herself a break?". Today I will tell you that this mom does it almost daily and it is the only thing that keeps me out of a mental institution. I want to kiss the feet of the Pixar employee who created that magical little fish. Judge me if you must.
2) Babies learn at their own pace. Some babies will crawl at six months. Others will drive their mothers crazy by choosing to spend tummy time laying on their faces and whining. Some babies will hold their own bottles. Others will let the bottle sit in their lap and scream until someone puts the bottle in their mouth. Unless that someone is Aunt Velvet. Then some babies will grab the bottle with both hands and use a foot to prop up the bottom of the bottle. Some babies are self-motivated and ambitious and attack life with vigor and purpose. Others are content to just soak in life and let it happen around them while happily sitting still. And when people say, "Oh he's nine months old. I'll bet he's crawling everywhere and pulling up on everything.", the mommies of those "other babies" shouldn't cringe inwardly and try to explain their baby's "lack of development". They should smile and say "Well, he does things at his own pace. I'm sure he'll get there soon." And then they should talk about the other awesome things their baby does.
3) Awesome things babies can do include taking daily Prevacid like a champ, enthusiastically feeding themselves finger foods, clapping wildly when happy about things like dogs or Elmo, and playing a mean game of hide-the-yogurt-melts-under-the-hollow-blocks.
4) Baby boys grab certain "equipment" when the diaper comes off. If the diaper happens to contain more than urine Mommy better be on her toes to prevent the grabbing. Either that or be prepared to disinfect the wall, changing table, and any other nearby surface. <heavy sigh>
5) Music soothes the savage baby. "If I Were A Butterfly" gets a smile every time. And "You Have Been Good" makes a fantastic lullaby.
6) 19 pounds, 9 ounces doesn't sound heavy. Until you try to carry it around while doing other simple tasks. Then it gets heavy awfully quick.
7) If your child's head makes a big jump on the growth curve from month six to month nine it's possible that the pediatrician could call him a "melon head". And if that same head sports a bunch of blond hair that stands straight up like a baby bird's people will stop you at every trip to the grocery store and comment about how cute his hair is.
8) It doesn't matter what happens during the day, Daddy is ALWAYS more exciting than Mommy. So is Nana. And Aunt Velvet. And the hyper-spastic dogs. And the persnickety, self-absorbed whiner you call a cat. And the checker at the grocery store. And basically anyone who is not Mommy. Mommy is ever-present. Mommy is a constant. Mommy doesn't get a big excited reaction when she enters a room.
9) Despite the above statement, Mommy knows things that no one else knows. Like that look in his eyes when he's just starting to get sleepy and really wants to be held and sung to. Or the difference between his "I'm hungry" cry, his "I'm scared/hurt/uncomfortable" cry, and his "I'm mad and pitching a fit" cry. Mommy also gets big smiles with two glowing bottom teeth each morning. And she gets to carry him down the hallway and tell him who everyone in every picture is, and then take him to go pet the puppies, and then snuggle in the recliner for precisely 4 minutes before the morning bottle. Mommy gets the little moments that no else gets. And Mommy thinks that is the best part of her job.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Friday, March 9, 2012
Concrete Slabs, Baby Teeth, and Other Matters
Here is a glimpse into the last month of my life.
There is an upper respiratory infection going around. It also referred to as The Plague. This thing is nasty. And I have it. I've had it for almost three weeks. My sincere apologies to the Praise Team at church for making you deal with my frog voice. I know it's not a pretty thing.
I've learned quite a bit about Alzheimer's disease over the last few weeks. My grandfather has it, and has gone downhill before our eyes. I thought we were prepared for this. I mean, we've know for several years that this was coming. But I've found out that you can't really be prepared for what this disease does. You can, however, handle it with humor and lots of prayer. My parents, aunts, and uncles are amazing people, and my grandmother is one tough, wise, ornery woman.
Cats are sneaky and will pee in corners that you never go near, so you don't know the pee is there. Cat urine will soak through carpet, carpet pads, and into the concrete slab. Cat urine is nearly impossible to remove from a concrete slab. A mixture of baking soda, vinegar, and eucalyptus essential oil will remove it, but it requires significant time, elbow grease, and a stiff bristled brush. Dogs will sniff the soda/vinegar/eucalyptus mixture and act like their nose is on fire. THEN they just might decide it's a good idea to take a lick of said mixture. That doesn't end well.
Despite all the warnings I've received - and despite every ounce of common sense in my brain - it is nearly impossible to NOT reach into my son's mouth and feel for teeth. Surprise! They're there. They're like razor blades. And seven-month-olds apparently have the bite strength of a 20 foot alligator.
Sam decided a few weeks ago that he needs to "help" us feed him by grabbing the spoon. Nevermind the fact that it's really not so helpful at all. We learned to get the spoon in and out pretty quickly. Until he got the teeth. Apparently the teeth have awakened his inner beast because now he bites down on the plastic spoon to hold it in place so he can grab with his hands. Strategic thinking. Nice.
Sweet potato Puffs are like oxygen to sleepy toddlers. Just ask my niece. But you might wait until after she finishes having a meltdown because I turned around to get a bowl for her post-nap snack.
Sam seems interested in the Puffs, but his "pinchers" don't work too well yet. Currently his favorite thing to do with the Puffs is to make them stick to his damp hands and then flail, thus flinging the Puffs across the kitchen. The dogs have figured out where to stand, and sometimes can even catch a Puff mid-flight. How is it that they have figured this out, but still keep trying to lick the nose-burning soda/vinegar/eucalyptus mixture?
Tummy time has gotten much easier for Sam and everyone within a four block radius. I'm sure my neighbors think I torture this child. He can sit up completely unassisted, and he loves to sit on a blanket with his toys. As long as I stay out of his line of sight he'll usually sit for 20-30 minutes and play. If I walk in front of him he wails like a tornado siren. I have learned to manage my tasks for the day so I can stay "downwind" as long as possible.
He still will not roll from back to tummy. He can. He just won't. I've used every trick in the book, and he's just not interested. Why should he work to roll for a toy when he can just play with his feet? I thought maybe if he was around crawling babies it might spark his interest. He couldn't have cared less. It'll happen. On his terms. He's stubborn like Mama. And until then I'm going to enjoy him not being mobile.
This week he finally - FINALLY - seemed to get the hang of taking naps. Three days this week I strapped him into his swing and he slept for nearly three hours. I use the swing because I have learned to not even think about putting him in his bed and walking away. Tornado siren. Immediately. Unless it's nighttime and then he goes right to bed with no problems and sleeps for 12-14 hours. Strange child.
Finding Nemo, Elmo, and Bob the Tomato are superheros in this house.
Sam's hair is still completely out of control. It's bananas.
We're laying laminate flooring this weekend in the living room and hallway. We found it on clearance and got an extra 10% off and 0% interest financing. I feel guilty about the money, but when we pulled up the carpet and I saw what Sam would have (eventually) been crawling on I didn't feel guilty anymore. I'm really really excited about the floors.
March Madness is almost here. I'm the reigning champ in our church bracket group, and I'm thinking it's time to start talking some trash. There's nothing like fantasy sports to bring out that Christ-like attitude, you know.
I'm going to finish prepping the house for the floor install and consider loading the dishwasher. Here's a few recent pictures of the munchkin.
There is an upper respiratory infection going around. It also referred to as The Plague. This thing is nasty. And I have it. I've had it for almost three weeks. My sincere apologies to the Praise Team at church for making you deal with my frog voice. I know it's not a pretty thing.
I've learned quite a bit about Alzheimer's disease over the last few weeks. My grandfather has it, and has gone downhill before our eyes. I thought we were prepared for this. I mean, we've know for several years that this was coming. But I've found out that you can't really be prepared for what this disease does. You can, however, handle it with humor and lots of prayer. My parents, aunts, and uncles are amazing people, and my grandmother is one tough, wise, ornery woman.
Cats are sneaky and will pee in corners that you never go near, so you don't know the pee is there. Cat urine will soak through carpet, carpet pads, and into the concrete slab. Cat urine is nearly impossible to remove from a concrete slab. A mixture of baking soda, vinegar, and eucalyptus essential oil will remove it, but it requires significant time, elbow grease, and a stiff bristled brush. Dogs will sniff the soda/vinegar/eucalyptus mixture and act like their nose is on fire. THEN they just might decide it's a good idea to take a lick of said mixture. That doesn't end well.
Despite all the warnings I've received - and despite every ounce of common sense in my brain - it is nearly impossible to NOT reach into my son's mouth and feel for teeth. Surprise! They're there. They're like razor blades. And seven-month-olds apparently have the bite strength of a 20 foot alligator.
Sam decided a few weeks ago that he needs to "help" us feed him by grabbing the spoon. Nevermind the fact that it's really not so helpful at all. We learned to get the spoon in and out pretty quickly. Until he got the teeth. Apparently the teeth have awakened his inner beast because now he bites down on the plastic spoon to hold it in place so he can grab with his hands. Strategic thinking. Nice.
Sweet potato Puffs are like oxygen to sleepy toddlers. Just ask my niece. But you might wait until after she finishes having a meltdown because I turned around to get a bowl for her post-nap snack.
Sam seems interested in the Puffs, but his "pinchers" don't work too well yet. Currently his favorite thing to do with the Puffs is to make them stick to his damp hands and then flail, thus flinging the Puffs across the kitchen. The dogs have figured out where to stand, and sometimes can even catch a Puff mid-flight. How is it that they have figured this out, but still keep trying to lick the nose-burning soda/vinegar/eucalyptus mixture?
Tummy time has gotten much easier for Sam and everyone within a four block radius. I'm sure my neighbors think I torture this child. He can sit up completely unassisted, and he loves to sit on a blanket with his toys. As long as I stay out of his line of sight he'll usually sit for 20-30 minutes and play. If I walk in front of him he wails like a tornado siren. I have learned to manage my tasks for the day so I can stay "downwind" as long as possible.
He still will not roll from back to tummy. He can. He just won't. I've used every trick in the book, and he's just not interested. Why should he work to roll for a toy when he can just play with his feet? I thought maybe if he was around crawling babies it might spark his interest. He couldn't have cared less. It'll happen. On his terms. He's stubborn like Mama. And until then I'm going to enjoy him not being mobile.
This week he finally - FINALLY - seemed to get the hang of taking naps. Three days this week I strapped him into his swing and he slept for nearly three hours. I use the swing because I have learned to not even think about putting him in his bed and walking away. Tornado siren. Immediately. Unless it's nighttime and then he goes right to bed with no problems and sleeps for 12-14 hours. Strange child.
Finding Nemo, Elmo, and Bob the Tomato are superheros in this house.
Sam's hair is still completely out of control. It's bananas.
We're laying laminate flooring this weekend in the living room and hallway. We found it on clearance and got an extra 10% off and 0% interest financing. I feel guilty about the money, but when we pulled up the carpet and I saw what Sam would have (eventually) been crawling on I didn't feel guilty anymore. I'm really really excited about the floors.
March Madness is almost here. I'm the reigning champ in our church bracket group, and I'm thinking it's time to start talking some trash. There's nothing like fantasy sports to bring out that Christ-like attitude, you know.
I'm going to finish prepping the house for the floor install and consider loading the dishwasher. Here's a few recent pictures of the munchkin.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Protein
This is the text conversation between my best friend and I this morning:
Me: Guess what this is...
We took Sam to the doctor last Wednesday. He weighs 17 lbs, 12 oz and is 27.5 inches long. He's getting six teeth. He got three shots, and he gave the nurse one major stink-eye. Everything seems to be going just fine with our little man.
The interesting thing was the doctor's face when she read that he eats 50 ounces of formula each day. She thought it was a typo. It wasn't a typo. He doesn't like solids very much. We really have to work to get him to eat from a spoon. Every now and then he'll scarf things down, but most of the time he eats 7-10 bites and then clamps his jaw shut and grunts every time the spoon comes near his face. He can avoid a spoon like it's an Olympic sport. It makes sense, I guess. I mean, why work to eat solids when you can just suck your food down in liquid form while chilling in mom or dad's lap, right? I'm seeing a pattern develop. Unless he is directly motivated to do something he doesn't see a need to do it. Why roll over when you can lay on your back comfortably? Why make the effort to reach for toys when you have hands and feet that are perfectly easy to access. My child is a hard worker. Cough, cough.
Have you ever seen anything quite so pathetic? After I turned the camera off he cried. He actually cried because we gave him meat. So we gave him some squash. Which he ate 10 bites of and proceeded with Operation Avoid The Spoon.
The end result, after nearly 20 minutes of begging, coaxing, and laughing our butts off, was that we gave in and heated up a bottle. And when he saw the bottle he was one happy chicken-squash-covered little dude.
But before he got his bottle we had to wash the chicken and squash off his face. And out of his hair.
Samuel Bennett Turner, you're lucky you're cute.
Me: Guess what this is...
Her: Frosting? Pureed cauliflower? Cauliflower frosting? Caulk?
Me: That, my friend, is a chicken thigh.
Her: Hurk. I need therapy.
Me: So does Sam. :)
We took Sam to the doctor last Wednesday. He weighs 17 lbs, 12 oz and is 27.5 inches long. He's getting six teeth. He got three shots, and he gave the nurse one major stink-eye. Everything seems to be going just fine with our little man.
The interesting thing was the doctor's face when she read that he eats 50 ounces of formula each day. She thought it was a typo. It wasn't a typo. He doesn't like solids very much. We really have to work to get him to eat from a spoon. Every now and then he'll scarf things down, but most of the time he eats 7-10 bites and then clamps his jaw shut and grunts every time the spoon comes near his face. He can avoid a spoon like it's an Olympic sport. It makes sense, I guess. I mean, why work to eat solids when you can just suck your food down in liquid form while chilling in mom or dad's lap, right? I'm seeing a pattern develop. Unless he is directly motivated to do something he doesn't see a need to do it. Why roll over when you can lay on your back comfortably? Why make the effort to reach for toys when you have hands and feet that are perfectly easy to access. My child is a hard worker. Cough, cough.
Back to the issue at hand...The pediatrician says it's time to introduce protein. She says he needs meat. She says he needs solids more often. Okie dokie. I cooked a boneless, skinless chicken thigh and pureed the heck out of it with water and broth. I had high hopes. After all, his father is quite the carnivore. We waited until we knew he was really hungry and put him in the high chair. He was excited. He knows what happens in the high chair.
Here is what happened.
Have you ever seen anything quite so pathetic? After I turned the camera off he cried. He actually cried because we gave him meat. So we gave him some squash. Which he ate 10 bites of and proceeded with Operation Avoid The Spoon.
The end result, after nearly 20 minutes of begging, coaxing, and laughing our butts off, was that we gave in and heated up a bottle. And when he saw the bottle he was one happy chicken-squash-covered little dude.
But before he got his bottle we had to wash the chicken and squash off his face. And out of his hair.
Samuel Bennett Turner, you're lucky you're cute.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Six Months Old
Six months. That's half a year. Some days have flown, and others have dragged on minute by minute like I'm in a freaky Twilight Zone episode where time stands still. Here's a few things about our six month old:
Weighs 17.6 pounds and is 25ish inches long according to the highly scientific Bathroom Scale and Tape Measure. (We'll get exact stats in a couple of weeks at his doctor's appointment.)
Eats 8 ounces of formula every three to four hours during the day. I make a quart of formula every morning, and I usually have to make a little extra for his last bottle. We got through two cans of formula each week.
Loves carrots, sweet potatoes, and prunes. Tolerates green beans and pears. The verdict is still out regarding peas. He either loves them or he just thinks the word peas is really funny (Click here and see what you think.). We've started solids pretty slowly, but now that he's six months old we'll be introducing a lot more foods.
Takes Prevacid daily for acid reflux.
Thinks tummy time and naps are forms of torture.
Is working on rolling over, but is having a hard time. He makes it over to his side, and then his broad shoulders get in the way. I blame his Daddy's genetics for that one.
Loves Dinosaur Train, Elmo, and Bob the Tomato.
Wants to be held and/or entertained all the time. Let me rephrase...DEMANDS to be held and/or entertained all the time. We are working on teaching him that he is not, in fact, the center of the universe. He's not buying it.
Can be very tempermental. Unless he is at Nana's house where he magically turns into a sweet angel with no flaws whatsoever.
Babbles incessantly. Has started mimicking mouth movements.
Sleeps 12-14 hours straight each night.
Has hair like Beaker from the Muppets.
His Mommy and Daddy pretty much think he hung the moon.
Weighs 17.6 pounds and is 25ish inches long according to the highly scientific Bathroom Scale and Tape Measure. (We'll get exact stats in a couple of weeks at his doctor's appointment.)
Eats 8 ounces of formula every three to four hours during the day. I make a quart of formula every morning, and I usually have to make a little extra for his last bottle. We got through two cans of formula each week.
Loves carrots, sweet potatoes, and prunes. Tolerates green beans and pears. The verdict is still out regarding peas. He either loves them or he just thinks the word peas is really funny (Click here and see what you think.). We've started solids pretty slowly, but now that he's six months old we'll be introducing a lot more foods.
Takes Prevacid daily for acid reflux.
Thinks tummy time and naps are forms of torture.
Is working on rolling over, but is having a hard time. He makes it over to his side, and then his broad shoulders get in the way. I blame his Daddy's genetics for that one.
Loves Dinosaur Train, Elmo, and Bob the Tomato.
Wants to be held and/or entertained all the time. Let me rephrase...DEMANDS to be held and/or entertained all the time. We are working on teaching him that he is not, in fact, the center of the universe. He's not buying it.
Can be very tempermental. Unless he is at Nana's house where he magically turns into a sweet angel with no flaws whatsoever.
Babbles incessantly. Has started mimicking mouth movements.
Sleeps 12-14 hours straight each night.
Has hair like Beaker from the Muppets.
His Mommy and Daddy pretty much think he hung the moon.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Carrots
Can we talk?
I went to marriage seminar a few years ago, and every time the seminar turned toward things that were more difficult the speaker would pause and say, "Can we talk?". His way of letting you know that this might not be comfortable.
So. Can we talk?
This post is not actually about carrots. It's about parenting. And frustration. And mental exhaustion. And resentment.
I had had one of those weeks. Long. Stressful. Aggravating. And it was only Wednesday.
The house was a disaster, and no matter how hard I tried to prioritize and strategize the disaster just seemed to grow. One step forward - two steps back. How in the WORLD do three people create such a mess in one weekend?! And one of them is immobile, for crying out loud!
It was raining which means the dogs and cat won't go outside, but they seem to forget that little nugget of wisdom every 10 minutes and start yowling to go out. I ignore the yowling for about 10 minutes which is no easy thing since my neurotic little babies can raise hell with the best of them (I'm looking at you, cat!). I finally take a deep sigh and go open the door. They raise an eyebrow, tuck their tail, and run for the safe haven underneath my bed. And then, 10 minutes later, they reappear, and we repeat the whole thing.
This time of year everyone is busy and/or sick, so there's really no good place to go to get out of the house. I could go wander around a store - not a good idea for my budget. Or I could go push Sam around the block in the stroller - except for the part about the rain.
And, in true baby form, Sam knew it. And he got fussy. And demanding. And irritating. And I got resentful.
There, I said it. I got resentful.
I stood in my living room while my son laid on his back griping at the animals in his Fischer Price Rainforest Play Gym and I was a little pissed. Remember when I could watch Law & Order or CSI instead of Dinosaur Train and Super WHY? Remember when I could run to Sonic for Happy Hour without having to pack a diaper bag and lug the heaviest baby carrier in the history of man out to the car? Remember when I could read a a new book each week instead of spending two months trying to get through one novel in the precious spare moments I allow myself to indulge? And even when I allow myself to indulge in a few spare minutes I don't know what to do - Pinterest, Google Reader (726 unread items - I am SO not kidding!), DVR (approaching full)? And really what business do I have indulging in frivolous stuff when the dishwasher needs to be emptied and the entertainment center hasn't been dusted in a month? Remember my life before a person the size of a watermelon dictated every minute of my day and night?
And then I felt horribly guilty.
I knew about postpartum depression. I knew about baby blues. I knew about exhaustion. I did NOT know, however, that there would be times that I would look at my son and get a little angry when I remembered the freedom I had before he was here. I didn't know because people don't really talk about that part. Or maybe they lump it in with the postpartum stuff and think they covered it. Or maybe people told me and it's just not something you can explain to someone who hasn't experienced it. Kind of like when someone asks "what does a contraction feel like?". Anyway, that feeling of resentment caught me off guard.
Let me be clear that I am not complaining about staying home and caring for my son. I love my "job", and I wouldn't trade it for anything. I spent many years hearing women say things like "I am so jealous that you GET to go to work" and wanting to punch them in their faces because the thing I wanted most was to do what they were doing. I'm not complaining. But I was feeling like the walls were closing in. So I texted a friend. She has three children under the age of five, and she has not yet lost her mind. Well...not completely any way. So she tends to be my go-to when I need a pat on the back mommy-style. Here's how the conversation went:
And then I decided to write this post. Because I can't possibly be the only person who feels this way. And I want my other SAH mom friends to know they are not alone. This is for my army wife friend who is raising her newborn in Germany a half-world from home. This for my friend who quit her teaching job to stay home with her daughter who has developmental delays. This is for my friend who lives in a tiny little town with three kids and a husband who sometimes has to work crazy hours on the ranch. This is for my friend who just moved half-way across the country to be a mom to several kids who aren't her own. This is for my sis-in-law who is raising two strong-willed kids who are both too smart for their own good. Ladies, we're all in this together!
I don't know what your daily struggles are. I don't know the little mundane things that make you want to pull your hair out. But I know that you have them, and they probably send you on a roller coaster of emotions. These sweet little blessings God has given us can also try our patience and wear our nerves to a frazzle. So I hope that you'll take the time every now and then to take a break and eat a carrot. Or some green beans. Or whatever your "veggie" of choice may be. I know my little family will thank me for doing it, and I'll bet yours will, too.
I went to marriage seminar a few years ago, and every time the seminar turned toward things that were more difficult the speaker would pause and say, "Can we talk?". His way of letting you know that this might not be comfortable.
So. Can we talk?
This post is not actually about carrots. It's about parenting. And frustration. And mental exhaustion. And resentment.
I had had one of those weeks. Long. Stressful. Aggravating. And it was only Wednesday.
The house was a disaster, and no matter how hard I tried to prioritize and strategize the disaster just seemed to grow. One step forward - two steps back. How in the WORLD do three people create such a mess in one weekend?! And one of them is immobile, for crying out loud!
It was raining which means the dogs and cat won't go outside, but they seem to forget that little nugget of wisdom every 10 minutes and start yowling to go out. I ignore the yowling for about 10 minutes which is no easy thing since my neurotic little babies can raise hell with the best of them (I'm looking at you, cat!). I finally take a deep sigh and go open the door. They raise an eyebrow, tuck their tail, and run for the safe haven underneath my bed. And then, 10 minutes later, they reappear, and we repeat the whole thing.
This time of year everyone is busy and/or sick, so there's really no good place to go to get out of the house. I could go wander around a store - not a good idea for my budget. Or I could go push Sam around the block in the stroller - except for the part about the rain.
And, in true baby form, Sam knew it. And he got fussy. And demanding. And irritating. And I got resentful.
There, I said it. I got resentful.
I stood in my living room while my son laid on his back griping at the animals in his Fischer Price Rainforest Play Gym and I was a little pissed. Remember when I could watch Law & Order or CSI instead of Dinosaur Train and Super WHY? Remember when I could run to Sonic for Happy Hour without having to pack a diaper bag and lug the heaviest baby carrier in the history of man out to the car? Remember when I could read a a new book each week instead of spending two months trying to get through one novel in the precious spare moments I allow myself to indulge? And even when I allow myself to indulge in a few spare minutes I don't know what to do - Pinterest, Google Reader (726 unread items - I am SO not kidding!), DVR (approaching full)? And really what business do I have indulging in frivolous stuff when the dishwasher needs to be emptied and the entertainment center hasn't been dusted in a month? Remember my life before a person the size of a watermelon dictated every minute of my day and night?
And then I felt horribly guilty.
I knew about postpartum depression. I knew about baby blues. I knew about exhaustion. I did NOT know, however, that there would be times that I would look at my son and get a little angry when I remembered the freedom I had before he was here. I didn't know because people don't really talk about that part. Or maybe they lump it in with the postpartum stuff and think they covered it. Or maybe people told me and it's just not something you can explain to someone who hasn't experienced it. Kind of like when someone asks "what does a contraction feel like?". Anyway, that feeling of resentment caught me off guard.
Let me be clear that I am not complaining about staying home and caring for my son. I love my "job", and I wouldn't trade it for anything. I spent many years hearing women say things like "I am so jealous that you GET to go to work" and wanting to punch them in their faces because the thing I wanted most was to do what they were doing. I'm not complaining. But I was feeling like the walls were closing in. So I texted a friend. She has three children under the age of five, and she has not yet lost her mind. Well...not completely any way. So she tends to be my go-to when I need a pat on the back mommy-style. Here's how the conversation went:
"Today I resent having to care for this little guy. Just a little resentment, but it's there. I have so much to do, and I can't get it done, and my brain is spinning...Is that horrible thing to say? I feel guilty now."
"Not in the slightest. In fact, it's a Mama Milestone that no one talks about. SAH moms never leave work. We never close the computer for the day, go home, and do something else for 12-18 hours. It's a 24/7 job that's relentless."
"Why is it so taboo? It makes perfect sense!"
"Because we wanted these babies so badly. We prayed for them, planned for them, eagerly awaited their arrival into this world. How dare we resent God's most precious gift?! What people don't understand is that an unending supply of even something perfect eventually get nauseating. Like eating chocolate cheesecake for 24 hours without stopping."And then she said the thing that made me laugh out loud, but also made me think deeper than I had let myself think in awhile.
"You need a break. And a carrot."She was so right. And my mom is keeping Sam on Friday night, so I knew I had a break coming. But what about that carrot? If I spend my break running around like a maniac and trying to catch up the areas I perceive as behind I'll go pick up my son on Saturday and be right back where I started. So what should I do? I know that I need to make sure I'm keeping my focus where it belongs - on the blessings God has given me and the strength he continues to provide - but that's not my point here. I have quiet time most days, and I don't think that a lack of spiritual focus is really what the problem was this time. After some thought, I realized that I rarely take time to do something for myself that doesn't involve some form of multi-tasking (ie. folding laundry while watching SportsCenter). Or if I do try to stop and breathe by taking a hot bath or reading a book my mind is so scattered that I don't really enjoy the break. So I pondered it for awhile and came up with a game plan for my no-kid Friday night and Saturday afternoon - a little work, a little play, a little time to completely shut my brain off and veg with a book and/or the DVR. That's my carrot. A brain break. With no guilt.
And then I decided to write this post. Because I can't possibly be the only person who feels this way. And I want my other SAH mom friends to know they are not alone. This is for my army wife friend who is raising her newborn in Germany a half-world from home. This for my friend who quit her teaching job to stay home with her daughter who has developmental delays. This is for my friend who lives in a tiny little town with three kids and a husband who sometimes has to work crazy hours on the ranch. This is for my friend who just moved half-way across the country to be a mom to several kids who aren't her own. This is for my sis-in-law who is raising two strong-willed kids who are both too smart for their own good. Ladies, we're all in this together!
I don't know what your daily struggles are. I don't know the little mundane things that make you want to pull your hair out. But I know that you have them, and they probably send you on a roller coaster of emotions. These sweet little blessings God has given us can also try our patience and wear our nerves to a frazzle. So I hope that you'll take the time every now and then to take a break and eat a carrot. Or some green beans. Or whatever your "veggie" of choice may be. I know my little family will thank me for doing it, and I'll bet yours will, too.
Monday, October 17, 2011
Split Personality (aka Three Month Update)
Three months ago I gave birth to a sweet, happy baby boy. Either that or I gave birth to a howler monkey. Most days I'm not sure which.
Sam celebrated his three-month birthday by sleeping 12.5 hours from 9:00pm-9:30am. He woke up with the soggiest diaper in the history of babydom, but he was one happy boy. Until we got halfway through our trip to the grocery store. That's when he decided to celebrate being three months old by throwing an epic fit at Target. And continuing the fit all the way home. He calmed down briefly after chugging down a 4 ounce bottle, but then he whined/griped for another two hours until he finally succombed to the power of the swing. In the meantime we both went through three outfits thanks to Sir Yaks A Lot. I think my shirts have a bullseye on my left shoulder. *Aim Baby Barf Here*.
Once he finally went to sleep for a few minutes I had a little birthday celebration of my own. It involved making a sinfully ridiculous chocolate cake.
The moment the cake was done and I pulled it out of the oven Sam woke up, and we were off to the races again. I finally texted a friend for sympathy who reminded me that my little hellbeast is "cute, beloved, and wanted". Then she reminded me that I can totally get him back in junior high. I'm planning on doing the chicken dance in the car drop-off lane while wearing a tacky floral print bathrobe (which I will buy specifically for that purpose). Either that or rolling the windows down and singing the Star Wars theme at the top of my lungs while wearing my hair in a Princess Leia cinnamon-roll bun and wielding a plastic lightsaber.
In all seriousness, most days Sam really does seem to have a split personality. He can be adorably sweet and happy - laughing and cooing and talking. And then, in the blink of an eye, he turns into a screaming banshee demanding to be held perfectly still in a specific position (which changes daily depending on his mood). His reflux is still a problem sometimes, but it seems to be as under control as we can get it for now. He sleeps really well at night (10-12 hours), but barely sleeps at all during the day. And he most definitely has a temper like me. I mean, if he's unhappy about something - like me not being in his direct line of sight for longer than 2 milliseconds - he immediately starts to scream and then immediately turns it off and smiles when I go over to him. It's like flipping a switch. I need to get it on film so you don't think I'm exaggerating.
And yet, despite, the teddy bear/wolverine personality situation we love him more and more everyday. My favorite part of each morning is going in to get him and seeing that huge gummy smile. He loves to cuddle while he eats, but then he wants to lay down so he can kick and stretch. He won't sleep in his crib yet, but we finally got him to sleep in his swing in his own room (rather than in the living room or our bedroom). We'll keep trying the crib, and eventually it'll click in his little brain. I think he likes the comfort of being surrounded by the swing's cradle. We've tried swaddling him in his crib, but he doesn't like it. He wants room to stretch and kick and squirm while still having the comfort of being surrounded. He's started sitting up in his Boppy without us supporting him, and he grins like he's so proud of himself he could bust. Our favorite game is "Head Shoulders Knees & Toes" which makes him laugh a deep belly laugh. But I think his favorite part of his day is bathtime with Daddy. He lays in the warm water while Aaron sits by the tub. He just stares up at Aaron and they "talk". He is always very content and happy after his bath.
Here's a few three-month pictures.
Sam celebrated his three-month birthday by sleeping 12.5 hours from 9:00pm-9:30am. He woke up with the soggiest diaper in the history of babydom, but he was one happy boy. Until we got halfway through our trip to the grocery store. That's when he decided to celebrate being three months old by throwing an epic fit at Target. And continuing the fit all the way home. He calmed down briefly after chugging down a 4 ounce bottle, but then he whined/griped for another two hours until he finally succombed to the power of the swing. In the meantime we both went through three outfits thanks to Sir Yaks A Lot. I think my shirts have a bullseye on my left shoulder. *Aim Baby Barf Here*.
Once he finally went to sleep for a few minutes I had a little birthday celebration of my own. It involved making a sinfully ridiculous chocolate cake.
The moment the cake was done and I pulled it out of the oven Sam woke up, and we were off to the races again. I finally texted a friend for sympathy who reminded me that my little hellbeast is "cute, beloved, and wanted". Then she reminded me that I can totally get him back in junior high. I'm planning on doing the chicken dance in the car drop-off lane while wearing a tacky floral print bathrobe (which I will buy specifically for that purpose). Either that or rolling the windows down and singing the Star Wars theme at the top of my lungs while wearing my hair in a Princess Leia cinnamon-roll bun and wielding a plastic lightsaber.
In all seriousness, most days Sam really does seem to have a split personality. He can be adorably sweet and happy - laughing and cooing and talking. And then, in the blink of an eye, he turns into a screaming banshee demanding to be held perfectly still in a specific position (which changes daily depending on his mood). His reflux is still a problem sometimes, but it seems to be as under control as we can get it for now. He sleeps really well at night (10-12 hours), but barely sleeps at all during the day. And he most definitely has a temper like me. I mean, if he's unhappy about something - like me not being in his direct line of sight for longer than 2 milliseconds - he immediately starts to scream and then immediately turns it off and smiles when I go over to him. It's like flipping a switch. I need to get it on film so you don't think I'm exaggerating.
And yet, despite, the teddy bear/wolverine personality situation we love him more and more everyday. My favorite part of each morning is going in to get him and seeing that huge gummy smile. He loves to cuddle while he eats, but then he wants to lay down so he can kick and stretch. He won't sleep in his crib yet, but we finally got him to sleep in his swing in his own room (rather than in the living room or our bedroom). We'll keep trying the crib, and eventually it'll click in his little brain. I think he likes the comfort of being surrounded by the swing's cradle. We've tried swaddling him in his crib, but he doesn't like it. He wants room to stretch and kick and squirm while still having the comfort of being surrounded. He's started sitting up in his Boppy without us supporting him, and he grins like he's so proud of himself he could bust. Our favorite game is "Head Shoulders Knees & Toes" which makes him laugh a deep belly laugh. But I think his favorite part of his day is bathtime with Daddy. He lays in the warm water while Aaron sits by the tub. He just stares up at Aaron and they "talk". He is always very content and happy after his bath.
Here's a few three-month pictures.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Fall In The Air
It's a Friday morning in early Fall in Dallas, TX. Which means it starts out overcast and semi-cool (ie. low 70's), and by midday it's sunny and 80-90 degrees. My son is sleeping, and I decided rather than doing the laundry I needed to write a blog update. It's been two months since I posted anything here. It's like I'm busy or something. But on this early Fall morning I have things to say. So here you go...
1) My husband turned 30 on Sunday. You should make fun of him. I always make him a steak dinner for his birthday, but last weekend was so crazy I didn't prep. That meant the meat didn't have time to marinate and the mushrooms didn't have time to cook, so he gets his birthday dinner tonight. Right now my house smells like this:
Pioneer Woman's Burgundy Mushrooms. Two gorgeous petite sirloin steaks are in the fridge soaking in Savory Garlic Marinade. And a large bag of potatoes is waiting to be peeled, cooked, and mashed. My stomach is not appreciating the fact that dinner is still nine hours away.
2) My hubby got a day off mid-week yesterday, so we met my sister-in-law and her kiddos at a nearby park. By the time we left all six of us were wiped out, but we had a great time.
3) I pulled out all my Fall decorations yesterday. You'll be glad to know that my neurotic dog has made progress since last year when this happened. I always shop the post-Thanksgiving clearance sales for decorations, but last year I didn't do much shopping. Something about the fact that the smells of pumpkin and cinnamon made me hurl seriously limited my holiday outings last year. So now I'm scouring Pinterest for budget-friendly Fall craft ideas. I will most definitely be making these:
Mini pumpkins + Glitter + glue. Love this! Anybody have any brilliant decor ideas?
4) Sam is almost three months old. Did you see the picture of him up there? He's a chunk. Seriously. check this out.
At his two month check-up he weighed 12 pounds, 7 ounces. I'm pretty confident that he's closing in on 15 pounds by now. I love it when people say "How old is he? Four months?" and I say "11 weeks" and they gasp and then giggle at his fat baby legs and cheeks. He's taking Prevacid daily for acid reflux and is a much happier baby than he was for the first 9-10 weeks. (FYI...your baby can have acid reflux without spitting AT ALL.) He is still pretty fussy/gripey/whiny most of the time, but that's a million times better than the constant screaming we went through for awhile. He's very active - constantly kicking, grabbing, squirming - and it's been mentioned to me that he may be getting bored, thus the fussiness. I've noticed his best days are when we are very busy, so maybe there's some merit to that theory. He definitely keeps his Mama on her toes!
He is sleeping through the night in his swing which is the only place he'll sleep for more than 30 minutes at a time. Soon we'll be making the transition to his crib, and I'm not really looking forward to that battle. He already has a temper and is showing signs of being seriously strong-willed. Can I just say that I think it's slightly unfair that I dealt with nine months of nausea, back pain, and leg cramps plus 48 hours of labor and the only resemblance this child bears to me is my nose and my temper? This kid looks JUST like his Daddy! He's found his voice, and likes to "talk" to us. He's very smiley after he eats or when he first wakes up. I don't think we've seen his true temperment yet, and I'm starting to catch glimpses of a very happy little guy underneath all this fussiness. Here's a picture of our sweet Sammy Smile.
1) My husband turned 30 on Sunday. You should make fun of him. I always make him a steak dinner for his birthday, but last weekend was so crazy I didn't prep. That meant the meat didn't have time to marinate and the mushrooms didn't have time to cook, so he gets his birthday dinner tonight. Right now my house smells like this:
Pioneer Woman's Burgundy Mushrooms. Two gorgeous petite sirloin steaks are in the fridge soaking in Savory Garlic Marinade. And a large bag of potatoes is waiting to be peeled, cooked, and mashed. My stomach is not appreciating the fact that dinner is still nine hours away.
2) My hubby got a day off mid-week yesterday, so we met my sister-in-law and her kiddos at a nearby park. By the time we left all six of us were wiped out, but we had a great time.
3) I pulled out all my Fall decorations yesterday. You'll be glad to know that my neurotic dog has made progress since last year when this happened. I always shop the post-Thanksgiving clearance sales for decorations, but last year I didn't do much shopping. Something about the fact that the smells of pumpkin and cinnamon made me hurl seriously limited my holiday outings last year. So now I'm scouring Pinterest for budget-friendly Fall craft ideas. I will most definitely be making these:
Mini pumpkins + Glitter + glue. Love this! Anybody have any brilliant decor ideas?
4) Sam is almost three months old. Did you see the picture of him up there? He's a chunk. Seriously. check this out.
At his two month check-up he weighed 12 pounds, 7 ounces. I'm pretty confident that he's closing in on 15 pounds by now. I love it when people say "How old is he? Four months?" and I say "11 weeks" and they gasp and then giggle at his fat baby legs and cheeks. He's taking Prevacid daily for acid reflux and is a much happier baby than he was for the first 9-10 weeks. (FYI...your baby can have acid reflux without spitting AT ALL.) He is still pretty fussy/gripey/whiny most of the time, but that's a million times better than the constant screaming we went through for awhile. He's very active - constantly kicking, grabbing, squirming - and it's been mentioned to me that he may be getting bored, thus the fussiness. I've noticed his best days are when we are very busy, so maybe there's some merit to that theory. He definitely keeps his Mama on her toes!
He is sleeping through the night in his swing which is the only place he'll sleep for more than 30 minutes at a time. Soon we'll be making the transition to his crib, and I'm not really looking forward to that battle. He already has a temper and is showing signs of being seriously strong-willed. Can I just say that I think it's slightly unfair that I dealt with nine months of nausea, back pain, and leg cramps plus 48 hours of labor and the only resemblance this child bears to me is my nose and my temper? This kid looks JUST like his Daddy! He's found his voice, and likes to "talk" to us. He's very smiley after he eats or when he first wakes up. I don't think we've seen his true temperment yet, and I'm starting to catch glimpses of a very happy little guy underneath all this fussiness. Here's a picture of our sweet Sammy Smile.
And here's a video I took for my parents while they are on their annual fishing trip. Ignore the baby talk. I just can't seem to help myself.
I say this often, but I'll say it again...If you had told me one year ago that this would be my life I would have laughed in your face. I have a blog entry floating around in my head regarding being a mother and a recovering control freak, but it'll take awhile to get it from brain to keyboard. Maybe this weekend I'll find time to type it out. Or maybe this weekend, like the last several weekends, will be insanely full and over before I know it. Either way we're enjoying this crazy ride called Parenthood. Happy Fall from me, the Little Monster, and his mohawk!
Friday, August 19, 2011
One Month Already
Sam is already one month old! Here's an update and a picture or two.
He's growing like a weed. At the doctor on Wednesday, August 17th, he weighed 9 pounds, 12 ounces and was 22-1/2 inches long. He still has a full head of dark hair, and his eyes are dark blue. I think they'll eventually change to brown; Aaron and my mom think they'll stay blue. We should make a bet about this. All the newborn size clothes have been boxed away because they don't fit anymore, but he's still a little small for most of the 3-month sized clothes. This means he has about five outfits he can wear on a daily basis which also means I do laundry way too often. It was a little sad to pack away the tiny newborn onesies, but I'm excited for him to be able to fit into the adorable clothes we got as gifts.
Sleeping has become a bit of a challenge. Once he's asleep he'll usually stay down for 2-4 hours, but getting him to really fall asleep is not an easy task. He seems to have learned when he's not being held, and he's not very happy about those times. He definitely knows what he likes and doesn't like. Sort of like his mama?
We'll had some problems with gas that have resulted in marathon crying sessions. It's not colic because he'll calm down periodically, but usually not for more than 5 minutes or so. We've tried mylicon, gripe water, infant massage, warm baths, and everything else you could possibly think of. The only thing that works for sure is to stick him in the car and drive, and we've resorted to that several times.
We're starting to see his personality a little more everyday. He makes the funniest faces, and has started smiling and "talking" (ie. making those little gutteral throat noises). Bath time is one of his favorite things. We have a terry cloth turtle that covers him up, and he'll just sit in the warm water and relax. That's another thing he has in common with me.
He shares traits with Aaron, too. This kid can EAT! And eating is very serious business. Taking the bottle out of his mouth before he's ready (ie. while he's awake) results in a high pitched squeal and a very red face. Of course, all that eating results in us going through an utterly ridiculous amount of diapers. (But thanks to awesome friends and family we haven't spent one penny on them!) He is a pee machine, and if they gave out medals for diaper filling he'd win the gold. Strangely enough, he feels the need to fill his diaper everytime we go to the grocery store. Thank you, son. (To clarify, the trait he shares with his daddy is the eating - not the diaper filling. I'm just not EVEN gonna go there.)
Here's a few pictures and a video from our first month.
Sam's "going home" onesie paired with gangsta-fabulous baggy shorts.
(PS...The shorts were just for fun. They stayed on just long enough to laugh at him and take a picture.)
With Pop and Gran
One week old
First family dinner at On The Border with Nana and Papa, Granna and Grandad, Uncle Thomas and Aunt Velvet and cousins Jake and Ava.
Snuggling with Aunt Velvet
Hanging out with Great Papa Wade, Nana, Jake, and Ava
Meeting Great Grandma Norma and Great Papa Jake
Froggie pajamas
Bath time is fun!
Copying Mama's sarcastic eyebrow raise (already!?)
Sweet smile
And here's two minutes in the life of Sam on his one-month birthday. Admittedly, there's not much excitement except for a surprise sneeze. And yes, I'm baby talking. It's okay; I've come to terms with the fact that the baby talk is inevitable.
Aaron and I are so grateful for the help and support we've received from friends and family. Thankfully I haven't experienced much of the baby blues or post partum depression (which I was worried about). We are sleep deprived and mentally exhausted, but we're head over heels in love with this little punk. Even at 2:30am when he's screaming and peeing all over everything. Yep, we'll keep him around. For now. ;)
He's growing like a weed. At the doctor on Wednesday, August 17th, he weighed 9 pounds, 12 ounces and was 22-1/2 inches long. He still has a full head of dark hair, and his eyes are dark blue. I think they'll eventually change to brown; Aaron and my mom think they'll stay blue. We should make a bet about this. All the newborn size clothes have been boxed away because they don't fit anymore, but he's still a little small for most of the 3-month sized clothes. This means he has about five outfits he can wear on a daily basis which also means I do laundry way too often. It was a little sad to pack away the tiny newborn onesies, but I'm excited for him to be able to fit into the adorable clothes we got as gifts.
Sleeping has become a bit of a challenge. Once he's asleep he'll usually stay down for 2-4 hours, but getting him to really fall asleep is not an easy task. He seems to have learned when he's not being held, and he's not very happy about those times. He definitely knows what he likes and doesn't like. Sort of like his mama?
We'll had some problems with gas that have resulted in marathon crying sessions. It's not colic because he'll calm down periodically, but usually not for more than 5 minutes or so. We've tried mylicon, gripe water, infant massage, warm baths, and everything else you could possibly think of. The only thing that works for sure is to stick him in the car and drive, and we've resorted to that several times.
We're starting to see his personality a little more everyday. He makes the funniest faces, and has started smiling and "talking" (ie. making those little gutteral throat noises). Bath time is one of his favorite things. We have a terry cloth turtle that covers him up, and he'll just sit in the warm water and relax. That's another thing he has in common with me.
He shares traits with Aaron, too. This kid can EAT! And eating is very serious business. Taking the bottle out of his mouth before he's ready (ie. while he's awake) results in a high pitched squeal and a very red face. Of course, all that eating results in us going through an utterly ridiculous amount of diapers. (But thanks to awesome friends and family we haven't spent one penny on them!) He is a pee machine, and if they gave out medals for diaper filling he'd win the gold. Strangely enough, he feels the need to fill his diaper everytime we go to the grocery store. Thank you, son. (To clarify, the trait he shares with his daddy is the eating - not the diaper filling. I'm just not EVEN gonna go there.)
Here's a few pictures and a video from our first month.
Sam's "going home" onesie paired with gangsta-fabulous baggy shorts.
(PS...The shorts were just for fun. They stayed on just long enough to laugh at him and take a picture.)
In the car seat leaving the hospital. Look out world!
With Pop and Gran
One week old
First family dinner at On The Border with Nana and Papa, Granna and Grandad, Uncle Thomas and Aunt Velvet and cousins Jake and Ava.
Snuggling with Aunt Velvet
Hanging out with Great Papa Wade, Nana, Jake, and Ava
Meeting Great Grandma Norma and Great Papa Jake
Froggie pajamas
Bath time is fun!
Copying Mama's sarcastic eyebrow raise (already!?)
Sweet smile
And here's two minutes in the life of Sam on his one-month birthday. Admittedly, there's not much excitement except for a surprise sneeze. And yes, I'm baby talking. It's okay; I've come to terms with the fact that the baby talk is inevitable.
Aaron and I are so grateful for the help and support we've received from friends and family. Thankfully I haven't experienced much of the baby blues or post partum depression (which I was worried about). We are sleep deprived and mentally exhausted, but we're head over heels in love with this little punk. Even at 2:30am when he's screaming and peeing all over everything. Yep, we'll keep him around. For now. ;)
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Our Very Own MasterCard Commercial
Diapers, Wipes, and Baby Wash: $25
Can of Carpet Cleaner: $5
Replacement Sonic Drink: $2
Laughing hysterically with my sister-in-law after Sam explosively pooped all over us, my mother's bed, the floor, and Velvet's Sonic drink: PRICELESS
PS...Velvet is the sick and twisted individual who took a picture of the poo.
PPS...I totally would have taken a picture if she hadn't beaten me to it!
Can of Carpet Cleaner: $5
Replacement Sonic Drink: $2
Laughing hysterically with my sister-in-law after Sam explosively pooped all over us, my mother's bed, the floor, and Velvet's Sonic drink: PRICELESS
PS...Velvet is the sick and twisted individual who took a picture of the poo.
PPS...I totally would have taken a picture if she hadn't beaten me to it!
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