And devastated does not even begin to desribe the past 48 hours.
I'll start back at the beginning. After talking with Eric about it, I realized Catherined had only pooped twice in her life. She's 5 weeks old. That's not a lot! I know breastfed babies sometimes don't poop very often, but three weeks since her last real bowl movement is a long time. So on Monday, I called the pediatrician, just to ask what I could do to get her to poop. The pediatrician, obviously concerned, asked that Catherine come in. So in we went.
Any parent knows the first thing they do at any check up for your child is weigh them. I was shocked at Catherine's weight, which was only 8 pounds, 11 ounces. Only up 5 ounces since birth? And down almost 10 ounces since her 2-week Well Child visit? I was shocked and immediately concerned.
Although Catherine checked out ok, she was sent back for x-rays to make sure her bowels were connected. I was assured that yes, everything down there is put together as it should be, but she was very backed up. The doctor prescribed a karo syrup and water concoction and to come back in Thursday as she was concerned about the weight loss.
When I got home, we gave her the karo syrup and water and almost immediately, she started straining and pushing and turning red. TMI, but a few minutes later, she had the biggest poop I have seen come out of a human being that small. Afterward, all she wanted to do was nurse, so I let her. That's where the clusterfeeding frustration began.
A couple days ago, I was ready to throw in the towel on breastfeeding, thanks to clusterfeeding. I looked up breastfeeding support groups at the hospital, and it so turns out that there was one the following day, Wednesday.
I wrangled my pride and packed Catherine up. I fed her for an hour before I went, and when I got there, she was still hungry. The lactation consultant was concerned and asked that we weigh her before she feeds and then after.
So we undressed her and weighed her. Again, Catherine had lost weight. 7 ounces, since she was weighed on Monday. Immediately, I started to cry. I was devastated. Not only that, but when she weighed less than an ounce more after she fed for an hour, I was devastated again. It was everything I could do to not crumble on the floor and cry. The lactation consultant tried to make me feel better by reminding me that she did feed before we went to the hospital. However, I'm not stupid. The poor thing was hungry when we got to the hospital and after feeding her for an hour at the hospital, she was rooting around, looking for more. Not to mention that she was obviously losing weight, especially so much in two days, even if the scales were different.
The lactation consultant gave me some tips on positioning, our latch, and encouraged me to pump between feedings and supplement. She also suggested I come back next Wednesday to see where we were at. I left the hospital, loaded Catherine into the car, and from behind the steering wheel, I cried for a good five minutes.
I cried almost all the way home. I cried when telling Eric about it. I cried while feeding her upstairs.
Because when the lactation consultant looked at me after weighing Catherine and said, "She got less than an ounce. We'd like to see more than that" all I heard was:
"You're not good enough."
Even moreso, beyond the fact that I am not able to provide for my child, I heard, "She's starving."
That is a heavy burden to bear.
I'm supposed to be the sole provider. The one person who can give Catherine everything she needs. That's what I like about being a mom. It's an incredibly important job to be the only person to be able to give your kids everything they need. To me, the fact that Catherine is not getting enough of my breastmilk, it's a huge devastation.
Fastforward to her appointment yesterday, Catherine had lost more weight. The pediatrician is obviously concerned, as am I.
Combine the fact that she's also not pooping, and hasn't pooped since Monday, we are all concerned. Either the constipation and diet are two separate issues, or they are related with some gastrointestinal issue.
Monday, we are headed back to the pediatrician and if, with formula supplementation after nursing isn't adding some significant weight, we are headed to a gastroenterologist for tests.
It's been an incredibly difficult 48 hours. I cried walking through Target today, knowing that for 3 or more weeks, Catherine has been starving. No wonder she's sleeping through the night - she's lethargic! I'm beyond devastated.
I'm sad. I'm mad. I'm annoyed that I let my pride and ignorance get in the way that I didn't think clusterfeeding meant some other hidden danger. I am incredibly worried that this is only the beginning of something much more dangerous. I am stressed with the fact that I have to nurse, then supplement with formula if she's still hungry, and then pump after that. I thought I was done with pumping.
This morning, I woke up with a renewed sense of obligation. This is my child, and I'm going to do what's best for her. Not what I want to have happen, but what we need to have happen in order for her to thrive.
So I nursed her and while burping her between breasts, she spit up. After nursing her on the second breast, the burped twice, the second louder than the first, and then promptly spit up all over my shoulder, shirt and herself.
And then she kept spitting up. And then she started choking. It was an incredibly scary moment as a parent. To see your mostly docile daughter thrashing around with wide eyes, knowing that she cannot breathe. From where she was lying on my thighs, I promptly sat her upright and started pounding on her back.
She was able to swallow the mucus that ended up in her throat, causing her to choke. And then I cried.
This is so hard, so frustrating, and more than tiring. After choking, she was disinterested in the formula, and once she calmed down, I gave her a bath to clean her up.
My renewed sense of obligation was stronger after that, but my devastation that everything is not the way I thought it was, was even greater than yesterday.
But as Eric reminded me, it could be worse. It could be more dangerous. We could be in more trouble. She could be hospitalized, she could be underdeveloped, we could have had a preemie. It could be worse.
I am anxious for Monday, and a little scared. But hopefully, this weekend will bring up my spirits and things will be better.
Hopefully...
Friday, June 27, 2014
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
Breastfeeeding, Round Two: Cluster Feeding, Cluster F@#k
There are so many ways that I could start this post. But I will keep it PG...-13.
No one told me when I decided to breastfeed about a little thing called cluster feeding. So when Catherine started feeding every half hour over the course of several hours, I had to look it up to discover what it was.
I didn't have to look it up to discover it is hell. So glad that I am able to experience that here on earth.
While in the hospital, I wanted an app that would help me determine when Catherine has eaten, slept and been changed to better determine why she was fussy. I am able to look back on that app to see that the first time she ever slept through the night, a whopping eight hours straight, she was a week and a half old. I am also able to use that same app to see that the night before that whopping eight hours of sleep, she fed for four hours with a couple of 15 minute breaks. And the night after those glorious eight hours, she slept ten hours, after eating only an hour.
The cycle just got worse from there. One day I cluster fed from 3:30 p.m. until 10:30 p.m. wth an hour break. And 2 ounces of formula thrown in there.
But she can't possibly be that hungry. Yet she is.
Since the first couple of nights, she has slept anywhere from 8-12 hours every night. Trying to wake her to feed is impossible. I simply have to wait for her cues.
So here is our schedule:
Anywhere between 6-8 a.m. she wakes to feed. She will feed anywhere from 15 minutes to almost 45. Sometimes only on one breast, sometimes on both.
She will go back to sleep until almost 2:00 p.m. I have successfully gotten her to feed at 11:00ish twice in her life. Waking her is like trying to wake the dead.
So I let her sleep and to be quite frank, I get a lot of shit done. Today, I went to Target, Wal-Mart, Menards, Radio Shack, Signarama and was able to clean, organize James' clothes and do some laundry.
Usually between 1:00-2:00 p.m. she gets up to feed. She will, again, eat anywhere from 15 minutes to almost an hour.
About 4:00 p.m. is when Hell begins. Sometimes I can get her to eat for only a half hour and she's good for another hour - enough for me to get James from daycare, come home and spend time with him, give him a "special treat" (freezie pop - because I usually want one too!) and figure out what we're having for dinner.
Eric usually grills (we have a 3/4 cow and a half pig... we have a lot of meat in our deep freeze!) and I will try to join before she starts eating again or between feeds, which is only usually about 10 minutes, if even that.
Mealtime is stressful. I'm either not there, trying to console a rocking baby, or trying to breastfeed. I have stopped trying to breasfeed while eating as it just doesn't work and my food ends up getting cold. Honestly, my food ends up cold most of the time. It would be easier if I just ate cold dishes from here on out.
Then I'm stuck upstairs in our bedroom. So far, I have seen all the episodes of Pretty Little Liars, Mad Men and am halfway through Toddlers and Tiaras. Oh, and let's not forget Orange is the New Black (so good!). Obviously, we don't have a cable box in our bedroom, only a SmarTV, and I am thinking about getting a damn cable box.
Why am I upstairs, stuck in my bedroom, watching the wind blow through our treetops while dreaming, wishing, hoping that I will be able to go and enjoy the outdoors at least once that evening? Because you try breastfeeding an infant with a toddler running around, screaming, throwing balls, jumping on you, or really, just wanting to be with you. I need to be out of sight of James, so that I'm out of his mind. Otherwise, the event is incredibly stressful. So I hide out in our bedroom, reading things on the internet on my phone/tablet, or watching some pointless episode. Needless to say, I've read everything I can about clusterfeeding.
Not one person has mentioned that it can last for-e-ver. No one told me when I decided to venture this breastfeeding direction that I was going to be sitting on my ass for a good 4-6 every day, staring at my phone or at the TV and wishing I was somewhere else. NO ONE told me it was going to be this hard.
Today, I spent the majority of the afternoon in tears. Because I got the bright idea last night to try and keep her awake while she breastfeeds. I ended up with an overtired baby who all of a sudden wanted to start clusterfeeding at 1:00 p.m. Yep, that's when we started today. I was able to take a half hour break to tell Eric to order some damn pizza for dinner and get James from daycare.
Today, I cried while I stared at her in her crib. I cried while I hooked up James' noise machine because maybe she really isn't hungry. I cried while I switched laundry from the washing machine to the dryer while she cried upstairs in her crib because I seriously could not take it anymore. I thought I was going to lose my damn mind.
At one point, I tried to tell her she wasn't hungry. She was just fussy. Yes, I tried to talk my one-month-old out of clusterfeeding. Seriously...
And then, there are those stupid formula bottles the hospital sends you home with. Here, try our complimentary Enfamil. They just stare at your from your cupboard saying, "Uuuuuuuseeee meeeee...." It's like crack. I am surprised that I'm not sitting on my bed, arms wrapped around knees that are drawn to my chest, rocking back and forth, trying to talk myself out of using.
God forbid I turn into a formula user.
So now, here I am, sitting in my living room with sweet Catherine sleeping upstairs. She usually sleeps about 9 hours from when she feeds last. So if I let her sleep, she will most likely be up at 4:30 a.m. to feed. But if I wake her up to feed at say, 10:00, will I be starting a mini-cluster feed? I'm terrified. But if I let her sleep, what if she still sleeps until 8:00 a.m.? That's 12 hours without food and even I know that a one-month-old shouldn't go that long without eating. It can't be healthy.
I'm getting frustrated and tired. I'm sick of not being able to play with my little boy when he gets home from daycare. I'm sick of being up in our bedroom feeding Catherine.
I told a friend of mine today - it's a double-edged sword. Would I rather she not clusterfeed and therefore, most likely not sleep through the night? Or do I enjoy my eight hours of uninterrupted sleep?? Ugh...
I am thrilled I am breastfeeding, but no one told me it was going to be this hard. But if it is this hard now, that means it's bound to get easier, right?
I sure hope so.
No one told me when I decided to breastfeed about a little thing called cluster feeding. So when Catherine started feeding every half hour over the course of several hours, I had to look it up to discover what it was.
I didn't have to look it up to discover it is hell. So glad that I am able to experience that here on earth.
While in the hospital, I wanted an app that would help me determine when Catherine has eaten, slept and been changed to better determine why she was fussy. I am able to look back on that app to see that the first time she ever slept through the night, a whopping eight hours straight, she was a week and a half old. I am also able to use that same app to see that the night before that whopping eight hours of sleep, she fed for four hours with a couple of 15 minute breaks. And the night after those glorious eight hours, she slept ten hours, after eating only an hour.
The cycle just got worse from there. One day I cluster fed from 3:30 p.m. until 10:30 p.m. wth an hour break. And 2 ounces of formula thrown in there.
But she can't possibly be that hungry. Yet she is.
Since the first couple of nights, she has slept anywhere from 8-12 hours every night. Trying to wake her to feed is impossible. I simply have to wait for her cues.
So here is our schedule:
Anywhere between 6-8 a.m. she wakes to feed. She will feed anywhere from 15 minutes to almost 45. Sometimes only on one breast, sometimes on both.
She will go back to sleep until almost 2:00 p.m. I have successfully gotten her to feed at 11:00ish twice in her life. Waking her is like trying to wake the dead.
So I let her sleep and to be quite frank, I get a lot of shit done. Today, I went to Target, Wal-Mart, Menards, Radio Shack, Signarama and was able to clean, organize James' clothes and do some laundry.
Usually between 1:00-2:00 p.m. she gets up to feed. She will, again, eat anywhere from 15 minutes to almost an hour.
About 4:00 p.m. is when Hell begins. Sometimes I can get her to eat for only a half hour and she's good for another hour - enough for me to get James from daycare, come home and spend time with him, give him a "special treat" (freezie pop - because I usually want one too!) and figure out what we're having for dinner.
Eric usually grills (we have a 3/4 cow and a half pig... we have a lot of meat in our deep freeze!) and I will try to join before she starts eating again or between feeds, which is only usually about 10 minutes, if even that.
Mealtime is stressful. I'm either not there, trying to console a rocking baby, or trying to breastfeed. I have stopped trying to breasfeed while eating as it just doesn't work and my food ends up getting cold. Honestly, my food ends up cold most of the time. It would be easier if I just ate cold dishes from here on out.
Then I'm stuck upstairs in our bedroom. So far, I have seen all the episodes of Pretty Little Liars, Mad Men and am halfway through Toddlers and Tiaras. Oh, and let's not forget Orange is the New Black (so good!). Obviously, we don't have a cable box in our bedroom, only a SmarTV, and I am thinking about getting a damn cable box.
Why am I upstairs, stuck in my bedroom, watching the wind blow through our treetops while dreaming, wishing, hoping that I will be able to go and enjoy the outdoors at least once that evening? Because you try breastfeeding an infant with a toddler running around, screaming, throwing balls, jumping on you, or really, just wanting to be with you. I need to be out of sight of James, so that I'm out of his mind. Otherwise, the event is incredibly stressful. So I hide out in our bedroom, reading things on the internet on my phone/tablet, or watching some pointless episode. Needless to say, I've read everything I can about clusterfeeding.
Not one person has mentioned that it can last for-e-ver. No one told me when I decided to venture this breastfeeding direction that I was going to be sitting on my ass for a good 4-6 every day, staring at my phone or at the TV and wishing I was somewhere else. NO ONE told me it was going to be this hard.
Today, I spent the majority of the afternoon in tears. Because I got the bright idea last night to try and keep her awake while she breastfeeds. I ended up with an overtired baby who all of a sudden wanted to start clusterfeeding at 1:00 p.m. Yep, that's when we started today. I was able to take a half hour break to tell Eric to order some damn pizza for dinner and get James from daycare.
Today, I cried while I stared at her in her crib. I cried while I hooked up James' noise machine because maybe she really isn't hungry. I cried while I switched laundry from the washing machine to the dryer while she cried upstairs in her crib because I seriously could not take it anymore. I thought I was going to lose my damn mind.
At one point, I tried to tell her she wasn't hungry. She was just fussy. Yes, I tried to talk my one-month-old out of clusterfeeding. Seriously...
And then, there are those stupid formula bottles the hospital sends you home with. Here, try our complimentary Enfamil. They just stare at your from your cupboard saying, "Uuuuuuuseeee meeeee...." It's like crack. I am surprised that I'm not sitting on my bed, arms wrapped around knees that are drawn to my chest, rocking back and forth, trying to talk myself out of using.
God forbid I turn into a formula user.
So now, here I am, sitting in my living room with sweet Catherine sleeping upstairs. She usually sleeps about 9 hours from when she feeds last. So if I let her sleep, she will most likely be up at 4:30 a.m. to feed. But if I wake her up to feed at say, 10:00, will I be starting a mini-cluster feed? I'm terrified. But if I let her sleep, what if she still sleeps until 8:00 a.m.? That's 12 hours without food and even I know that a one-month-old shouldn't go that long without eating. It can't be healthy.
I'm getting frustrated and tired. I'm sick of not being able to play with my little boy when he gets home from daycare. I'm sick of being up in our bedroom feeding Catherine.
I told a friend of mine today - it's a double-edged sword. Would I rather she not clusterfeed and therefore, most likely not sleep through the night? Or do I enjoy my eight hours of uninterrupted sleep?? Ugh...
I am thrilled I am breastfeeding, but no one told me it was going to be this hard. But if it is this hard now, that means it's bound to get easier, right?
I sure hope so.
The Battle of the Bulge: Week 5
OMG I CANNOT WAIT UNTIL MY BATHROOM IS DONE!!!!
But it will be awhile. Eric is working non-stop and it's not looking too good for any remodeling in the near future. Ugh. So if the picture is a little weird its because I cropped the nastiness out of it.
I don't know what my weigh-in this week is, but I am guessing its the same. Thanks to mastitis, I am taking medicine where I cannot eat two hours before or one hour after. Hopefully because all snacking is not allowed thanks to the time frame in which I get to take these stupid pills, I will have lost weight. But I doubt it as I stuff my mouth when I can eat because I am so hungry!!! Its a frustrating process.
Beyond that, my trusty scale broke. I bought a new one today. A digital one, so I will know exactly. Maybe... I have yet to take it out of the package.
Next Tuesday is my 6 week post-partum check up. After that, I hope to start (gulp) exercising. Great, now I have to actually stick to that since I said it out loud. I do know running will not be a part of that. Although maybe if Catherine gets off this stupid cluster-feeding schedule, I will be able to run at night. Ugh. Running. The last time I did that was college and I am pretty sure it wasn't for exercise. ;)
That's all. I don't notice. Any difference this week, so I doubt there is anu . although I learned yesterday from a girlfriend that you burn 25 calories for every ounce of milk produces. So... Every feeding is about 75-100 calories. Wish it were either a little more or that I produce a TON of milk. Wishful thinking on the latter...
Onward!
But it will be awhile. Eric is working non-stop and it's not looking too good for any remodeling in the near future. Ugh. So if the picture is a little weird its because I cropped the nastiness out of it.
I don't know what my weigh-in this week is, but I am guessing its the same. Thanks to mastitis, I am taking medicine where I cannot eat two hours before or one hour after. Hopefully because all snacking is not allowed thanks to the time frame in which I get to take these stupid pills, I will have lost weight. But I doubt it as I stuff my mouth when I can eat because I am so hungry!!! Its a frustrating process.
Beyond that, my trusty scale broke. I bought a new one today. A digital one, so I will know exactly. Maybe... I have yet to take it out of the package.
Next Tuesday is my 6 week post-partum check up. After that, I hope to start (gulp) exercising. Great, now I have to actually stick to that since I said it out loud. I do know running will not be a part of that. Although maybe if Catherine gets off this stupid cluster-feeding schedule, I will be able to run at night. Ugh. Running. The last time I did that was college and I am pretty sure it wasn't for exercise. ;)
That's all. I don't notice. Any difference this week, so I doubt there is anu . although I learned yesterday from a girlfriend that you burn 25 calories for every ounce of milk produces. So... Every feeding is about 75-100 calories. Wish it were either a little more or that I produce a TON of milk. Wishful thinking on the latter...
Onward!
Thursday, June 19, 2014
Breastfeeding, Round Two: Part Boo
Eric came home last night wanting to do something nice for his family. Considering he is usually very tired when he gets home from work, I was surprised. Although I had woke from a nap a half hour earlier not really feeling the greatest, I was not about to deter this man who actually had some motivation to take his family out to eat after a long day in 100 degree heat indices.
So we went out to eat. It was the perfect storm.
Thanks to 100 degree heat indices, coupled with the fact that it had also rained the night before, so the ground was nice and soggy, James had not been outside to play. At all. So our little bundle of energy wasn't able to burn off any steam. He was not about to sit still for 20 minutes while we waited for our food.
Beyond that, while we were waiting for our food, Catherine got fussy. Because I wasn't feeling well, I had completely forgotten a pacifier. Yes, for those of you that know me, I said pacifier. I am completely against them and after about 2 months, James didn't take his any more. I'm hoping that's the way it is with Catherine. But going on, I had to leave to go back to our house to grab a pacifier as Catherine was not about to calm down without a boob, or a pacifier, and I wasn't about to whip it out in public.
When we came back 5 minutes later, James was drinking out of a kiddie cup and everything was off the table. I mean, everything - even our centerpiece. Apparently, our little bundle of energy wanted to not only remove everything from the table, but wanted to do so by throwing it. Eric looked like he was going to lose it.
Luckily, our food came in the knick of time and James was distracted for about 2 minutes. Then he went back to throwing things on the floor, or begging for things. All in all, (and I don't say this often) our son was a terror. Finally, I, starting to feel even worse, took James out to the car and sat while Eric finished eating and paid the bill.
When we got home, Catherine was not having it with the pacifier anymore, so I took her upstairs to nurse. Considering I had worn my Columbia fleece inside the restaurant and was still having chills in this 100 degree heat, I decided, on a whim, to take my temperature.
101.5! What???
Then I put it together. I had woken from my nap with what I thought was a plugged duct. When I exclusively pumped with James, I would get those every so often. Luckily, we have a three-pronged back massager that I would massage the plug with while pumping and every time, the plug would dissapate. So I tried that, but there was no lump to massage. My boob was just incredibly tender.
I went to Urgent Care, where they told me I had mastitis. *Cue the horror music*
Luckily, I caught it really early, so it wasn't too terrible, but I now know what people mean by how terrible it could be. Just those few hours, with fever in this heat, a horrible headache, and an achy boob was enough to put me over the edge. I was run-down, tired, irritably and just did not feel like myself. Not to mention, I have two children. Ugh.
So here I am on anti-biotics. The kind that you have to take religiously - can't eat two hours before I take them or one hour after. So I have to carefully plan my day in order to take four daily. Ugh.
However, I'm feeling better. I'm lucky to be able to say that with James, I never dealt with mastitis and even more lucky to say that with Catherine being a month old tomorrow, this is the first time I've got it and in all, it really wasn't that bad. Hopefully, I don't get it again!
Thank God for Urgent Care, antibiotics and babies that nap so you can nap. Away with you, breast infection! :)
So we went out to eat. It was the perfect storm.
Thanks to 100 degree heat indices, coupled with the fact that it had also rained the night before, so the ground was nice and soggy, James had not been outside to play. At all. So our little bundle of energy wasn't able to burn off any steam. He was not about to sit still for 20 minutes while we waited for our food.
Beyond that, while we were waiting for our food, Catherine got fussy. Because I wasn't feeling well, I had completely forgotten a pacifier. Yes, for those of you that know me, I said pacifier. I am completely against them and after about 2 months, James didn't take his any more. I'm hoping that's the way it is with Catherine. But going on, I had to leave to go back to our house to grab a pacifier as Catherine was not about to calm down without a boob, or a pacifier, and I wasn't about to whip it out in public.
When we came back 5 minutes later, James was drinking out of a kiddie cup and everything was off the table. I mean, everything - even our centerpiece. Apparently, our little bundle of energy wanted to not only remove everything from the table, but wanted to do so by throwing it. Eric looked like he was going to lose it.
Luckily, our food came in the knick of time and James was distracted for about 2 minutes. Then he went back to throwing things on the floor, or begging for things. All in all, (and I don't say this often) our son was a terror. Finally, I, starting to feel even worse, took James out to the car and sat while Eric finished eating and paid the bill.
When we got home, Catherine was not having it with the pacifier anymore, so I took her upstairs to nurse. Considering I had worn my Columbia fleece inside the restaurant and was still having chills in this 100 degree heat, I decided, on a whim, to take my temperature.
101.5! What???
Then I put it together. I had woken from my nap with what I thought was a plugged duct. When I exclusively pumped with James, I would get those every so often. Luckily, we have a three-pronged back massager that I would massage the plug with while pumping and every time, the plug would dissapate. So I tried that, but there was no lump to massage. My boob was just incredibly tender.
I went to Urgent Care, where they told me I had mastitis. *Cue the horror music*
Luckily, I caught it really early, so it wasn't too terrible, but I now know what people mean by how terrible it could be. Just those few hours, with fever in this heat, a horrible headache, and an achy boob was enough to put me over the edge. I was run-down, tired, irritably and just did not feel like myself. Not to mention, I have two children. Ugh.
So here I am on anti-biotics. The kind that you have to take religiously - can't eat two hours before I take them or one hour after. So I have to carefully plan my day in order to take four daily. Ugh.
However, I'm feeling better. I'm lucky to be able to say that with James, I never dealt with mastitis and even more lucky to say that with Catherine being a month old tomorrow, this is the first time I've got it and in all, it really wasn't that bad. Hopefully, I don't get it again!
Thank God for Urgent Care, antibiotics and babies that nap so you can nap. Away with you, breast infection! :)
Tuesday, June 17, 2014
The Battle of the Bulge: Week 4
First off, how is it that my baby girl is almost a month old??
Secondly, everyone keeps telling me it doesn't look like I have had a child, but to me, it doesn't feel that way.
I stepped on the scale this morning, the start of week 5 postpartum, and I was 166.4. Whaaaa?
How is it that I have gained 2 pounds??
I have been very diligent in what I have been eating (minus the delicious horrible of or quo pizza I devoured at Adventureland yesterday). Its been hotter than hell, which leads to water retention when you don't drink enough water, which I haven't. And according to some postpartum websites, I have approximately 3 ounces of milk per boob per feeding. That's impressive. Then, thinking that I didn't feed at all last night, my boobs are heavy in the morning. Not to mention, to the excitement of my hubby, I'm rocking solid C's. So I can't dwell on 2 pounds. I can only be thankful for the fact that I really don't look like I had a baby a month ago. When I was this far with James postpartum, I was mighty hefty. All in all, I have a lot to be thankful for. Just wish it felt that way!
So, here is to week 5!
Secondly, everyone keeps telling me it doesn't look like I have had a child, but to me, it doesn't feel that way.
I stepped on the scale this morning, the start of week 5 postpartum, and I was 166.4. Whaaaa?
How is it that I have gained 2 pounds??
I have been very diligent in what I have been eating (minus the delicious horrible of or quo pizza I devoured at Adventureland yesterday). Its been hotter than hell, which leads to water retention when you don't drink enough water, which I haven't. And according to some postpartum websites, I have approximately 3 ounces of milk per boob per feeding. That's impressive. Then, thinking that I didn't feed at all last night, my boobs are heavy in the morning. Not to mention, to the excitement of my hubby, I'm rocking solid C's. So I can't dwell on 2 pounds. I can only be thankful for the fact that I really don't look like I had a baby a month ago. When I was this far with James postpartum, I was mighty hefty. All in all, I have a lot to be thankful for. Just wish it felt that way!
So, here is to week 5!
Tuesday, June 10, 2014
The Battle of the Bulge: Week 3 (Postpartum Progress)
Wow, you can really see a difference this week. I have finally been eating healthier, but I can't help but snack on my lactation cookies that are so delicious or grab an extra granola bar. I feel like I am ravenous at any given moment. If I really gave up my "healthy portions" and ate, I wonder what I would be able to put away...
I took James and Catherine to the doctor and to see what James weighed I got on the scale without him and then on the scale with him. Without him I was at 165. Today, i am 164.6. Wahoo! So we are getting there. I want to be 10 pounds lighter by the time school starts in August - that's my goal. We shall see!!
Onward with week 4!
Saturday, June 7, 2014
Breastfeeding, Round Two: Part Moo
I have a pretty bad habit of getting into my head and not really being able to get out. The phrase, "Idle hands are the devil's workshop" might have been coined for me. Only it really has to do with my mind. If I have too much time on my hands, my mind starts to wander and then I start to wonder and it never really ends up well.
Knock on wood, but Eric and I can now say we have pretty easy babies. James was mostly happy, ate well, slept well and now here we are with Catherine. Catherine is an even better baby than James was, which is incredible. Only cries when she's hungry and fusses when she is falling asleep. She is already sleeping through the night (after a fussy couple of hours trying to fall asleep, but if she's sleeping through the night... I'll take it!) and the first night she did so, I woke up in a panic with my boobs about to explode.
Thus began my wandering thoughts. On any given day, she sleeps, looks around for awhile and eats. While she eats, I watch netflix or cruise the internet. When she sleeps, I run errands. I have a lot of time on my hands, but then again, I don't. So when she slept through the night for the first night, going seven hours without food, I panicked.
Thank you, Internet, and breastfeeding, for allowing me the time and energy to read allllll about babies and breastfeeding and the color of their poop and what it means when they spit up.
Is she getting enough food? Does she have enough wet diapers?
Or, in the anxiety-laden other way of putting it, am I providing enough for her?
Catherine had her two week check up when she was two weeks, and two days old. The first night she slept through the night, she was one week, four days old. The second time she slept through the night, she was one week, five days old. The third time, one week, six days old... and so on and so forth. And every night, she was sleeping longer, and looonger, and looooooonger until the night before her doctor's appointment, she slept 9 1/2 hours straight. Which means I did too.
As well as my boobs.
Holy God, I cannot wait to nurse her when I wake up in the mornings!
But I digress.
So by the time we were able to go in for our check up, I was in a state of pure anxiety. Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod, she's not gaining weight.
I about shit when they put her on the scale. When she was born, she was 8 pounds, 6.2 ounces and 20 inches long. Leaving the hospital, she was 7 pounds, 14 ounces. The following day, at our two-day appointment, which was actually only a day after we were discharged, she was 7 pounds 7 ounces.
The pediatrician said she shouldn't lose any more weight.
Combine that statement with the fact that my mind had had a chance to wander for approximately a week and a half, and I was about to go out and buy a baby scale so I could weigh her.
So back to the scale, which, when placed on it, read 7 pounds 7 ounces. Again. For a split second. And then she rolled over and the scale tipped to 9 pounds, 4 ounces. Holy shit.
My butterball had gained almost 2 pounds in a week and a half. I about hugged the nurse.
I exclaimed that I had been panicking about Catherine gaining weight, and the nurse simply laughed, smiled and said she obviously was doing great. I told her about how Catherine was sleeping through the night, later and later, and the doctor laughed, and told me to continue to let her sleep through the night.
Music to my ears!
Little did I know, the hour that I nurse Catherine at a time, has actually been incredibly beneificial for her. She never seems satisfied and will eat for a good half hour/45 minutes. Sometimes even an hour. Add that to the time it takes me to "suit up" (or "suit down," whichever you prefer) and the time it takes me to burp her, it's usually a good hour of my time. Apparently, some babies only nurse for five minutes at a time (that would be amazing!).
It is more than a relief to know that I am obviously providing enough for Catherine. I am more than elated to know that I am able to 100% breastfeed without having to supplement (sidenote: we have supplemented about 3 ounces of formula, because she also likes to clusterfeed at night, which doesn't do any wonders for my nipples. Sometimes, mama just needs a break!!!). I am more than thrilled to know that I don't have to take any medicine, or panic because I only pumped 2 ounces in one sitting or really have any anxiety. Obviously, I am producing enough milk and then some.
So onward, Breastfeeding. Moo.
Knock on wood, but Eric and I can now say we have pretty easy babies. James was mostly happy, ate well, slept well and now here we are with Catherine. Catherine is an even better baby than James was, which is incredible. Only cries when she's hungry and fusses when she is falling asleep. She is already sleeping through the night (after a fussy couple of hours trying to fall asleep, but if she's sleeping through the night... I'll take it!) and the first night she did so, I woke up in a panic with my boobs about to explode.
Thus began my wandering thoughts. On any given day, she sleeps, looks around for awhile and eats. While she eats, I watch netflix or cruise the internet. When she sleeps, I run errands. I have a lot of time on my hands, but then again, I don't. So when she slept through the night for the first night, going seven hours without food, I panicked.
Thank you, Internet, and breastfeeding, for allowing me the time and energy to read allllll about babies and breastfeeding and the color of their poop and what it means when they spit up.
Is she getting enough food? Does she have enough wet diapers?
Or, in the anxiety-laden other way of putting it, am I providing enough for her?
Catherine had her two week check up when she was two weeks, and two days old. The first night she slept through the night, she was one week, four days old. The second time she slept through the night, she was one week, five days old. The third time, one week, six days old... and so on and so forth. And every night, she was sleeping longer, and looonger, and looooooonger until the night before her doctor's appointment, she slept 9 1/2 hours straight. Which means I did too.
As well as my boobs.
Holy God, I cannot wait to nurse her when I wake up in the mornings!
But I digress.
So by the time we were able to go in for our check up, I was in a state of pure anxiety. Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod, she's not gaining weight.
I about shit when they put her on the scale. When she was born, she was 8 pounds, 6.2 ounces and 20 inches long. Leaving the hospital, she was 7 pounds, 14 ounces. The following day, at our two-day appointment, which was actually only a day after we were discharged, she was 7 pounds 7 ounces.
The pediatrician said she shouldn't lose any more weight.
Combine that statement with the fact that my mind had had a chance to wander for approximately a week and a half, and I was about to go out and buy a baby scale so I could weigh her.
So back to the scale, which, when placed on it, read 7 pounds 7 ounces. Again. For a split second. And then she rolled over and the scale tipped to 9 pounds, 4 ounces. Holy shit.
My butterball had gained almost 2 pounds in a week and a half. I about hugged the nurse.
I exclaimed that I had been panicking about Catherine gaining weight, and the nurse simply laughed, smiled and said she obviously was doing great. I told her about how Catherine was sleeping through the night, later and later, and the doctor laughed, and told me to continue to let her sleep through the night.
Music to my ears!
Little did I know, the hour that I nurse Catherine at a time, has actually been incredibly beneificial for her. She never seems satisfied and will eat for a good half hour/45 minutes. Sometimes even an hour. Add that to the time it takes me to "suit up" (or "suit down," whichever you prefer) and the time it takes me to burp her, it's usually a good hour of my time. Apparently, some babies only nurse for five minutes at a time (that would be amazing!).
It is more than a relief to know that I am obviously providing enough for Catherine. I am more than elated to know that I am able to 100% breastfeed without having to supplement (sidenote: we have supplemented about 3 ounces of formula, because she also likes to clusterfeed at night, which doesn't do any wonders for my nipples. Sometimes, mama just needs a break!!!). I am more than thrilled to know that I don't have to take any medicine, or panic because I only pumped 2 ounces in one sitting or really have any anxiety. Obviously, I am producing enough milk and then some.
So onward, Breastfeeding. Moo.
Friday, June 6, 2014
November 19, 2010
November is a shitty month.
Usually, it's just starting to turn cold. Not October-cold, but wintery-cold. No more will two sweatshirts do it. You actually have to dig out your winter coat and prepare for a long winter.
November 2010 was indeed, a shitty month.
I was four months into my disastrous year at my new teaching job. A job that I made the decision to take not even a year and a half after my dad passed away, and not even a full year since I had been exonerated by my school for allegations of discrimination and "being an indecent human being."
I was taking a cocktail of little blue crazy pills, white uppers, green downers and was walking around like a zombie. The closer that I got to November 19, 2010 the more like a zombie I began to feel.
It was surprising that I could feel anything at all.
Even though the sun was shining that day, it was still bitterly cold. The type of cold that you really need gloves for, but you forgot them at home because you're not quite ready for this weather yet. So you're in some sort of denial, like if you don't wear the gloves, the sun will keep you warm.
Of course, maybe I forgot my gloves that day because I really couldn't feel anything.
Regardless, I parked and walked inside the state building that houses the Board of Educational Examiners. The same board that would be reviewing my case and making a decision on it that day.
Inside, I met my best friend. Out of the goodness of her heart, she met me downtown so I would have someone there with me.
I remember thinking how smart she was to have worn gloves.
We took the elevator up to the third floor. The whole time, I was reciting my case number so I knew immediately when it was up for discussion and be aware when they ruled on it.
It was an extremely quiet ride.
The union was sending someone to the same meeting to take notes, most likely for all the other teachers who were brought to this same place by disgruntled students, parents, or actions of their own accord, most likely illegal and unethical. I knew that as soon as a ruling came down and the meeting ended, I would be getting a phone call or email telling me what the verdict was.
But I had waited four long months for this meeting t take place. I had been waging this battle for three long years. I didn't want to rely on someone who was "there to take notes." I wanted to hear it for myself.
NOT GUILTY.
So in to the meeting room we went. It was cramped and I didn't say much to my best friend. I thanked her for being there, but for the most part, just having another human there to comfort me should shit hit the fan was enough. I didn't want to jinx the outcome by talking about it.
The case that was up for discussion before mine was apparently a doozy, because they asked to go to a closed session. So we all filed out of the meeting room and took up seats in the lobby. And sat there for almost two hours.
Numb to any feeling at all by that point, I kept my jacket on the whole time.
Finally, we were shepherded back into the meeting room and before I knew what was happening, my case number was announced.
The verdict was going to go one of three ways. In lay-man's terms, 1) I didn't do anything wrong, as proven by the facts. 2) It was undetermined that I did anything wrong, but the school has already taken action, therefore warranting no action by the Board of Educational Examiners or 3) Action as proven by testimony and/or proof warranted by the Board of Educational Examiners. The first two are good. The third is bad. The third is what happens when you hear about it on the news. The Board of Educaitonal Examiners revokes your license, or puts you on probation. The second is worse than the first in that the Board of Educational Examiners is stating that yeah, you might have done something wrong, but the school has already handled it and there is no need for them to step on the school district's toes. The first is what everyone wants.
The first is what I got.
NOT GUILTY is essentially what the first verdict states.
You didn't do anything wrong.
YOU ARE FREE.
"The testimony and proof shows this case warrants no action taken by the Board of Educational Examiners and is therefore, dismissed."
You would think I would have leapt for joy upon hearing that. It was finally over.
I just sat there.
Finally, as they were reading the verdict for the case following mine, I told my best friend we could get up and leave.
We left. I remember she was so happy for me, hugging me from the side as we exited the elevator and walked toward the sunshine.
I remember thinking how warm it looked outside. And how I was excited to get outside and feel that warmth.
But when I opened the door, I didn't know what to do. It was the most bizarre feeling knowing that I had just been exonerated and that these parents could no longer do anything to me, my family and my career, and I couldn't even muster up the energy to put a skip in my step.
I walked with my hands in my pockets, my head down, and pushed through the door.
I couldn't even tell how cold it really was outside. Or how warm it was.
I had no idea.
I hugged my friend, thanked her profusely for coming and supporting me, and we went our separate ways. In the car, I text my family and friends letting them know I had been exonerated. And as the text messages came back, as my mom was crying and exclaiming on the phone how thrilled she was, I felt absolutely nothing.
I tried to sound more jovial about it. I tried to sound more upbeat and thrilled that I no longer had to have sleepless nights, dissociative states, and horrible anxieties.
But I was dead-pan. There was absolutely no emotion. I just remember thinking how I was glad I forgot my gloves so I wouldn't have to worry about texting with them on. Or how I was sad I forgot my gloves because my hands were freezing.
Looking back, that was how far they had broken me down. I could hardly feel joy for anything, including being given my life back.
I'm happy to say that a few months later, I didn't want my uppers any more. I didn't want the downers to help me sleep. I didn't want the little blue crazy pills.
By May, I was able to feel again. I was able to smile and laugh and make plans with my husband. We were going to start a family and I was thrilled to become a mom.
It took a long time to get back from where I was. It was a long road with a lot of people helping me along the way.
And although November is a shitty month, I am grateful for every November since then, because I can finally feel again.
And for that, I am thankful.
Usually, it's just starting to turn cold. Not October-cold, but wintery-cold. No more will two sweatshirts do it. You actually have to dig out your winter coat and prepare for a long winter.
November 2010 was indeed, a shitty month.
I was four months into my disastrous year at my new teaching job. A job that I made the decision to take not even a year and a half after my dad passed away, and not even a full year since I had been exonerated by my school for allegations of discrimination and "being an indecent human being."
I was taking a cocktail of little blue crazy pills, white uppers, green downers and was walking around like a zombie. The closer that I got to November 19, 2010 the more like a zombie I began to feel.
It was surprising that I could feel anything at all.
Even though the sun was shining that day, it was still bitterly cold. The type of cold that you really need gloves for, but you forgot them at home because you're not quite ready for this weather yet. So you're in some sort of denial, like if you don't wear the gloves, the sun will keep you warm.
Of course, maybe I forgot my gloves that day because I really couldn't feel anything.
Regardless, I parked and walked inside the state building that houses the Board of Educational Examiners. The same board that would be reviewing my case and making a decision on it that day.
Inside, I met my best friend. Out of the goodness of her heart, she met me downtown so I would have someone there with me.
I remember thinking how smart she was to have worn gloves.
We took the elevator up to the third floor. The whole time, I was reciting my case number so I knew immediately when it was up for discussion and be aware when they ruled on it.
It was an extremely quiet ride.
The union was sending someone to the same meeting to take notes, most likely for all the other teachers who were brought to this same place by disgruntled students, parents, or actions of their own accord, most likely illegal and unethical. I knew that as soon as a ruling came down and the meeting ended, I would be getting a phone call or email telling me what the verdict was.
But I had waited four long months for this meeting t take place. I had been waging this battle for three long years. I didn't want to rely on someone who was "there to take notes." I wanted to hear it for myself.
NOT GUILTY.
So in to the meeting room we went. It was cramped and I didn't say much to my best friend. I thanked her for being there, but for the most part, just having another human there to comfort me should shit hit the fan was enough. I didn't want to jinx the outcome by talking about it.
The case that was up for discussion before mine was apparently a doozy, because they asked to go to a closed session. So we all filed out of the meeting room and took up seats in the lobby. And sat there for almost two hours.
Numb to any feeling at all by that point, I kept my jacket on the whole time.
Finally, we were shepherded back into the meeting room and before I knew what was happening, my case number was announced.
The verdict was going to go one of three ways. In lay-man's terms, 1) I didn't do anything wrong, as proven by the facts. 2) It was undetermined that I did anything wrong, but the school has already taken action, therefore warranting no action by the Board of Educational Examiners or 3) Action as proven by testimony and/or proof warranted by the Board of Educational Examiners. The first two are good. The third is bad. The third is what happens when you hear about it on the news. The Board of Educaitonal Examiners revokes your license, or puts you on probation. The second is worse than the first in that the Board of Educational Examiners is stating that yeah, you might have done something wrong, but the school has already handled it and there is no need for them to step on the school district's toes. The first is what everyone wants.
The first is what I got.
NOT GUILTY is essentially what the first verdict states.
You didn't do anything wrong.
YOU ARE FREE.
"The testimony and proof shows this case warrants no action taken by the Board of Educational Examiners and is therefore, dismissed."
You would think I would have leapt for joy upon hearing that. It was finally over.
I just sat there.
Finally, as they were reading the verdict for the case following mine, I told my best friend we could get up and leave.
We left. I remember she was so happy for me, hugging me from the side as we exited the elevator and walked toward the sunshine.
I remember thinking how warm it looked outside. And how I was excited to get outside and feel that warmth.
But when I opened the door, I didn't know what to do. It was the most bizarre feeling knowing that I had just been exonerated and that these parents could no longer do anything to me, my family and my career, and I couldn't even muster up the energy to put a skip in my step.
I walked with my hands in my pockets, my head down, and pushed through the door.
I couldn't even tell how cold it really was outside. Or how warm it was.
I had no idea.
I hugged my friend, thanked her profusely for coming and supporting me, and we went our separate ways. In the car, I text my family and friends letting them know I had been exonerated. And as the text messages came back, as my mom was crying and exclaiming on the phone how thrilled she was, I felt absolutely nothing.
I tried to sound more jovial about it. I tried to sound more upbeat and thrilled that I no longer had to have sleepless nights, dissociative states, and horrible anxieties.
But I was dead-pan. There was absolutely no emotion. I just remember thinking how I was glad I forgot my gloves so I wouldn't have to worry about texting with them on. Or how I was sad I forgot my gloves because my hands were freezing.
Looking back, that was how far they had broken me down. I could hardly feel joy for anything, including being given my life back.
I'm happy to say that a few months later, I didn't want my uppers any more. I didn't want the downers to help me sleep. I didn't want the little blue crazy pills.
By May, I was able to feel again. I was able to smile and laugh and make plans with my husband. We were going to start a family and I was thrilled to become a mom.
It took a long time to get back from where I was. It was a long road with a lot of people helping me along the way.
And although November is a shitty month, I am grateful for every November since then, because I can finally feel again.
And for that, I am thankful.
2 Years Old!
So, I realize this post is a wee bit late... like, almost a month. To be honest, I've dreaded writing it. How is it that my baby boy is already 2??
Your birthday came and went without anything really exciting happening. We didn't want to have a birthday party for you in the traditional sense, because we didn't know when Catherine would be making her appearance. Not to mention,, I didn't want to be that pregnant and trying to make birthday treats and goodie bags. So, Christy, your day care provider is awesome and said we could have a little birthday party during daycare. I took the morning of our 40 week appointment off, and we had a little shindig for you with cupcakes and a few treats. I figured, it was more fun for you to be surrounded by your daycare friends than just something little at home with boring mom and dad.
So your birthday came and went, like any other day. We waited for Catherine's arrival and I tried to make every last day with you count. We did a lot of things in those last few days, and I'm glad I did. Catherine is a force to be reckoned with when it comes to eating, and usually has me all to herself from about 7 p.m. to 10 and beyond, since that's when she likes to cluster feed.
We finally had your two year appointment. The pediatrician said you're developing wonderfully, you look good and you are a BIG boy! 91st percentile with 33 1/2-34 pounds and approximately 37 inches. I say approximately because you wouldn't step on the scale to be weighed and you wouldn't stand still long enough to be meausred. So I stepped on the scale without you, then with you and we quickly deduced the difference. Then I had you walk by the height scale while down at your level and saw it was about 37ish inches. Funny how we have to adapt things like that.
So your doctor's appointment went as well as it could have. You weren't the best behaved child in the world, but you also are very shy around people you don't know. Combine that with the fact that our pediatrician was poking and prodding you, and you weren't a happy camper. Needless to say, you got two Dum-Dums during that appointment! And yes, I am not above offering my child candy to get them to cooperate in a high-stress environment!
There are so many things you are doing now that you are 2! The most amazing thing to me is that you have friends! Real, genuine friends, who like to come over and play. And want you to come over to their house and play. And you do. It's adorable. Your bestest friend is Ella, who lives across the cul-de-sac, which is very handy. She comes over pretty frequently, but I have a sneaking suspicion it's because we let her watch Barbie Dream House and have freezie-pops. :) But all is good, she's a good friend to you. She's about to turn four and she helps you with several things. You both love to run and laugh and she holds your hand while you go on walks around the cul-de-sac. She teaches you different words and gets you to say and do new things. It's so much fun to watch!
You can jump, which is funny to watch as you're so big! You love your "beebee" and like to give Catherine your blanket. Usually, it's to cover her face, which we quickly fix, but it's very sweet of you. You have been sweet to her since we got home from the hospital.
You say so many things, I can't begin to describe. Some of it we still can't understand. You are constantly asking, "What is that?" which sounds like, "Wha ziz at?"But we get it nonetheless. We don't always get what you're pointing at when you ask, but we try.
You're also very funny when you don't want us doing something. You hold out your hand and say, "STOP!" in a very demanding tone. It's hilarious, unless it's past your bedtime and we are trying to get home from the park, which has happened a few too many times.
You love to help and it's super annoying. We love that you love to help, but it takes so long to do anything. You have to help buckle "Beebee" into her car seat, you have to help push the cart, you have to help load the dishwasher. It's incredible, but at the same time, it's a lot of consumed time that requires a lot of patience on our part. Luckily, I'm a teacher, which requires me to have a lot of patience, so I've had lots of practice simply holding my tongue and letting people figure it out. Which is what I have to do with you. A lot.
You love going on "rides." We are rarely in the car with you, since daycare is three houses away, so you love going on rides. You roll the windows all the way down and let the wind blow through your hair. During those rides, you love to tell us where to go. You will point and say, "That way" or somethings, just "that." Going over the interstate and seeing all the semi's and cars on the road is one of your greatest thrills. The other thrill is directing me exactly where to go, and somehow, you usually end up leading me right to Bass Pro Shops, which is only a few miles from our house. You love looking at the fish, stopping by the toy section, and watching people at the shooting range. You have also discovered how good Uncle Buck's fries can be (the restaurant attached to Bass Pro), so we've stopped there a dozen or so times.
All in all, you are a rambunctious little boy. You love playing with the "big kids" and are constantly running around. My favorite part of any day is either waking you up (when I'm home to get you up in the morning, whcih has been every morning lately!), or picking you up fro daycare. I love watching you discover things (bubbles!) and I love watching you learn.
People have a "favorite" age and I can honestly say it's this age. It's hard, it's emotinoally and physically taxing, but all in all, it's a lot of fun.
You are my heart and joy. I love love LOVE you little man!
Your birthday came and went without anything really exciting happening. We didn't want to have a birthday party for you in the traditional sense, because we didn't know when Catherine would be making her appearance. Not to mention,, I didn't want to be that pregnant and trying to make birthday treats and goodie bags. So, Christy, your day care provider is awesome and said we could have a little birthday party during daycare. I took the morning of our 40 week appointment off, and we had a little shindig for you with cupcakes and a few treats. I figured, it was more fun for you to be surrounded by your daycare friends than just something little at home with boring mom and dad.
So your birthday came and went, like any other day. We waited for Catherine's arrival and I tried to make every last day with you count. We did a lot of things in those last few days, and I'm glad I did. Catherine is a force to be reckoned with when it comes to eating, and usually has me all to herself from about 7 p.m. to 10 and beyond, since that's when she likes to cluster feed.
We finally had your two year appointment. The pediatrician said you're developing wonderfully, you look good and you are a BIG boy! 91st percentile with 33 1/2-34 pounds and approximately 37 inches. I say approximately because you wouldn't step on the scale to be weighed and you wouldn't stand still long enough to be meausred. So I stepped on the scale without you, then with you and we quickly deduced the difference. Then I had you walk by the height scale while down at your level and saw it was about 37ish inches. Funny how we have to adapt things like that.
So your doctor's appointment went as well as it could have. You weren't the best behaved child in the world, but you also are very shy around people you don't know. Combine that with the fact that our pediatrician was poking and prodding you, and you weren't a happy camper. Needless to say, you got two Dum-Dums during that appointment! And yes, I am not above offering my child candy to get them to cooperate in a high-stress environment!
There are so many things you are doing now that you are 2! The most amazing thing to me is that you have friends! Real, genuine friends, who like to come over and play. And want you to come over to their house and play. And you do. It's adorable. Your bestest friend is Ella, who lives across the cul-de-sac, which is very handy. She comes over pretty frequently, but I have a sneaking suspicion it's because we let her watch Barbie Dream House and have freezie-pops. :) But all is good, she's a good friend to you. She's about to turn four and she helps you with several things. You both love to run and laugh and she holds your hand while you go on walks around the cul-de-sac. She teaches you different words and gets you to say and do new things. It's so much fun to watch!
You can jump, which is funny to watch as you're so big! You love your "beebee" and like to give Catherine your blanket. Usually, it's to cover her face, which we quickly fix, but it's very sweet of you. You have been sweet to her since we got home from the hospital.
You say so many things, I can't begin to describe. Some of it we still can't understand. You are constantly asking, "What is that?" which sounds like, "Wha ziz at?"But we get it nonetheless. We don't always get what you're pointing at when you ask, but we try.
You're also very funny when you don't want us doing something. You hold out your hand and say, "STOP!" in a very demanding tone. It's hilarious, unless it's past your bedtime and we are trying to get home from the park, which has happened a few too many times.
You love to help and it's super annoying. We love that you love to help, but it takes so long to do anything. You have to help buckle "Beebee" into her car seat, you have to help push the cart, you have to help load the dishwasher. It's incredible, but at the same time, it's a lot of consumed time that requires a lot of patience on our part. Luckily, I'm a teacher, which requires me to have a lot of patience, so I've had lots of practice simply holding my tongue and letting people figure it out. Which is what I have to do with you. A lot.
You love going on "rides." We are rarely in the car with you, since daycare is three houses away, so you love going on rides. You roll the windows all the way down and let the wind blow through your hair. During those rides, you love to tell us where to go. You will point and say, "That way" or somethings, just "that." Going over the interstate and seeing all the semi's and cars on the road is one of your greatest thrills. The other thrill is directing me exactly where to go, and somehow, you usually end up leading me right to Bass Pro Shops, which is only a few miles from our house. You love looking at the fish, stopping by the toy section, and watching people at the shooting range. You have also discovered how good Uncle Buck's fries can be (the restaurant attached to Bass Pro), so we've stopped there a dozen or so times.
All in all, you are a rambunctious little boy. You love playing with the "big kids" and are constantly running around. My favorite part of any day is either waking you up (when I'm home to get you up in the morning, whcih has been every morning lately!), or picking you up fro daycare. I love watching you discover things (bubbles!) and I love watching you learn.
People have a "favorite" age and I can honestly say it's this age. It's hard, it's emotinoally and physically taxing, but all in all, it's a lot of fun.
You are my heart and joy. I love love LOVE you little man!
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
Battle of the Bulge - Week 2
Hello week 2. I see absolutely no difference between this and week 1. But, neither has my diet, so really that's my fault.
I am currently, as of 9:00 this morning, after two bowls of Peanut Butter Captain Crunch and 20 fluid ounces of water, weighing in at 165/166. Like I have said before, my scale is not the most reliable. When I step off, it will still read 2 pounds. However, it's a scale, and I am not buying another one.
Yesterday I put away the Puffcorn, Pizza Pringles and Fudge Striped Cookies. I bought yogurt, granola bars and "Spring Mix" for salads. Although I am sure Catherine doesn't mind these delicious snacks, my body and metabolism probably aren't too stoked.
I will not be giving up my one 12 ounce Mountain Dew a day though. Delicious.
Also, excuse our bathroom in these pictures. We are in the middle of a bathroom/master bedroom/closet/guest bathroom remodel. Eric pumped out the drawers for the closet this weekend, now we are waiting for our tub and shower stuff to come in so we can start plumbing the guest bathroom. Ugh... So needless to say as soon as the guest bathroom is usable, we will be ripping out everything in our master bathroom. So I haven't cleaned it in a month or so! Oh well!
That's all. I will be anxious to see what next week will bring after some healthy eating. Hopefully at least another half pound?? We shall see!
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