Well, you're 9.5 months now. And only 14.5 pounds.
We took you to your 9 month appointment, and immediately upon putting you on the scale, I remember saying to the nurse, "Oh Catherine, that's not good..."
The nurse took us into the exam room, and checked her head circumference, chest circumference, and length. You may have lost about 2 ounces from your 6 month appointment, but you gained an inch in length. Later, the doctor said that's about the only thing that is keeping you off the Failure to Thrive Watch List.
Instead, we are going back in a month for a weight check. The doctor assured me that yes, you are moving much more, which leads to a higher metabolism, but usually, weight gain simply slows down. It doesn't completely stop, like it seems to have in your case.
To say that I was devastated would be an understatement. Being your mom has been one of the most thrilling things in my life and I love having a littler girl. But at the same time, being your mom can be one of my biggest disappointments. Not in you, but in myself. As a mom, it's hard not to worry about your child: are they learning like they should? Are the growing like they should? Are they developing at the same rate as other children?
When it's a resounding "NO" with the beep, beep, beep of the scale that tells me you have not gained any weight, it's hard. I feel as though I am doing everything wrong.
Compounding on this is the fact that I have stopped responding to the breast pump. I didn't even know that is possible. So I have resorted to hand-expressing milk. I didn't even know what hand-expression really was, until I figured out real quick that it's just like milking a cow. Because, that's kind of what I am right now.
So after almost two months of no longer responding to the pump, I have decided to ditch the pump. I am at the point in breastfeeding that I am able to keep up my milk supply, even though I will no longer be pumping at work, which is interesting. But I am ready to be done with the pump. It's exhausting hauling it everywhere. It's exhausting knowing that even with hand-expression directly into the pump, I only get a few ounces at a time. Even when I drink enough water, bake and eat dozens of lactation cookies, it doesn't seem to help. Then, when my period comes, my hormones make my milk production even worse.
I am tired of pumping, but not of breastfeeding. So I'm going to continue breastfeeding to a year, which is my goal. Hopefully, I will make it that far.
Other than that, you are developing normally, although you don't seem to be growing any. You have finally started rolling over, sitting up on your own, and you are trying desperately to crawl. You will stand for an extremely long period of time against anything, or in your activity chair. You are starting to chew foods, feed yourself, and love supper time with the family, even though you can barely see over the tray on your high chair.
You babble, you giggle, and you are typically a happy girl. Since I started feeding you strictly breast milk and "p" foods (pears, peaches, peas, potatoes), you have an easier time going to the bathroom, but you're still constipated. It can be hard on this mom most of the time, but those smiles and laughter that I get in the morning or late at night are worth it.
I love you baby girl!
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
Friday, January 30, 2015
Thankful
At 4:00 a.m. on Thursday morning, I had just gotten fussy Catherine back to sleep. Usually, when our kids get up in the middle of the night, I take them. It takes me a while to settle down, because rarely, when I get up in the middle of the night, do I not think of the million things I have to do around the house, or at school, or with life in general.
As I was laying in bed, Eric snoring away beside me, Eric's phone started going off. Because he works around power tools all day, Eric has his ringer on full bore, and it was incredibly loud. Not wanting to wake Catherine, I woke Eric up as quickly and violently as I possibly could, hitting him on the back, saying, "You're phone is going off!" I was also incredibly confused as to why his alarm would be going off at 4:30 in the morning. Until he actually answered his phone, did I realize it was not his alarm, but someone was calling him.
It was his brother, Greg, who said, "I'm sitting outside of dad's house. It's on fire."
Immediately, we were both awake. Eric's family is such that if a fire had broke out, and had caused minimal damage, they would have waited until later that morning.
Eric, trying to understand what exactly Greg was saying, replied, "On fire?"
Greg said, "Yep. I'm watching the flames coming through the roof right now."
I can't even describe the absolute panic that enveloped me. This was Eric's childhood home. This was where we spent so many nights together while both attending Community College. This was where I watched Greg turn from a gangly, quiet, shy teenager into a grown man. This was where we had Christmases and birthdays.
I immediately began to cry.
When Jim got on the phone to talk to Eric, he said he had woken up disoriented. He smelled smoke and immediately threw on his jeans to investigate. He said the smoke was heavy, and he was having trouble breathing. He found his glasses on the couch, found the cat, threw him out the door and made his way downstairs, where the smoke was even worse. Jim threw on his shoes, walked out to his garage, drove out in his pickup and called 911. With not even a shirt on his back.
The house is a total loss. Eric said the front door, where you walk in, is melted. When you walk in and look up, the entire second floor is gone and the roof has caved in. The windows are busted out. The bathroom adjacent to the master bedroom, where Jim was sleeping, is decimated. The fire began in a fuse box just on the other side of that bathroom. The kitchen is gone. The living room where Eric and I spent so much time as a new couple, is gone. Everything is covered in ash, soot and water.
The only thing that Jim was able to salvage were a few things from his bedroom. The only room mostly untouched by fire was his bedroom and a back room. Both of those rooms furthest away from where the fire started.
I was in shock. All those personal belongings, completely gone. Family photos, heirlooms, memories. Everything was gone.
But Jim was ok. And that's what I'm most thankful for. Especially in these days preceding the anniversary of my dad's death. He was able to wake up and make it out. A guardian angel was looking after him that night.
The pictures and video that Greg sent of the house up in flames later Thursday morning were difficult to look at. All of those memories, and absolutely nothing left.
Not to mention, my father-in-law, a wonderful, wonderful person, completely displaced.
Eric went to help salvage what he could on Thursday afternoon, but there wasn't much. Jim's guns and ammo, which were untouched (thankfully). A couple of gifts he had received from his Godfather. Meatball, the cat that they have had for 12 years.
Devastated is a good word for it, but thankful is also a good word for it. Very, very thankful.
As I was laying in bed, Eric snoring away beside me, Eric's phone started going off. Because he works around power tools all day, Eric has his ringer on full bore, and it was incredibly loud. Not wanting to wake Catherine, I woke Eric up as quickly and violently as I possibly could, hitting him on the back, saying, "You're phone is going off!" I was also incredibly confused as to why his alarm would be going off at 4:30 in the morning. Until he actually answered his phone, did I realize it was not his alarm, but someone was calling him.
It was his brother, Greg, who said, "I'm sitting outside of dad's house. It's on fire."
Immediately, we were both awake. Eric's family is such that if a fire had broke out, and had caused minimal damage, they would have waited until later that morning.
Eric, trying to understand what exactly Greg was saying, replied, "On fire?"
Greg said, "Yep. I'm watching the flames coming through the roof right now."
I can't even describe the absolute panic that enveloped me. This was Eric's childhood home. This was where we spent so many nights together while both attending Community College. This was where I watched Greg turn from a gangly, quiet, shy teenager into a grown man. This was where we had Christmases and birthdays.
I immediately began to cry.
When Jim got on the phone to talk to Eric, he said he had woken up disoriented. He smelled smoke and immediately threw on his jeans to investigate. He said the smoke was heavy, and he was having trouble breathing. He found his glasses on the couch, found the cat, threw him out the door and made his way downstairs, where the smoke was even worse. Jim threw on his shoes, walked out to his garage, drove out in his pickup and called 911. With not even a shirt on his back.
The house is a total loss. Eric said the front door, where you walk in, is melted. When you walk in and look up, the entire second floor is gone and the roof has caved in. The windows are busted out. The bathroom adjacent to the master bedroom, where Jim was sleeping, is decimated. The fire began in a fuse box just on the other side of that bathroom. The kitchen is gone. The living room where Eric and I spent so much time as a new couple, is gone. Everything is covered in ash, soot and water.
The only thing that Jim was able to salvage were a few things from his bedroom. The only room mostly untouched by fire was his bedroom and a back room. Both of those rooms furthest away from where the fire started.
I was in shock. All those personal belongings, completely gone. Family photos, heirlooms, memories. Everything was gone.
But Jim was ok. And that's what I'm most thankful for. Especially in these days preceding the anniversary of my dad's death. He was able to wake up and make it out. A guardian angel was looking after him that night.
The pictures and video that Greg sent of the house up in flames later Thursday morning were difficult to look at. All of those memories, and absolutely nothing left.
Not to mention, my father-in-law, a wonderful, wonderful person, completely displaced.
Eric went to help salvage what he could on Thursday afternoon, but there wasn't much. Jim's guns and ammo, which were untouched (thankfully). A couple of gifts he had received from his Godfather. Meatball, the cat that they have had for 12 years.
Devastated is a good word for it, but thankful is also a good word for it. Very, very thankful.
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
8 Months!
My, oh my. Where is time going?
First thing's first: we are not going to go ahead with the helmet. After looking at the effects, how long you would have to wear it (not long), the probability that it would actually work, and the fact that it would not actually correct anything on the sides of your head, just the back, we decided to not go with it.
We hemmed and hawed over the decision for quite awhile until your dad decided that we look at some pictures of James. There you had it, our answer, glaring back at us from our external hard drive. James had the same head shape. Complete with the sides sticking out. And since we've noticed, and have worked diligently to do something about it, we can tell your head is changing. Not very quickly, but it is. Which makes us that much happier that we decided not to fork out the $2700 for a helmet. In the end, it won't matter much because of your hair, but at the same time, we want what is best for you. However, we also need to look at what is best for our family. And spending $2700 on a helmet that you will wear for a short amount of time was not best for our family. Not with $300/week in daycare.
So there you have it. In other news, you are finally rolling over. Not even a week after I wrote about how you weren't rolling over, you did. And you've been doing it non-stop. It seems as though if it is our idea, you don't want to have anything to do with it. But if it's yours, you are all about it. So you made up your mind and started rolling. And it wasn't a roll-over that you struggled with, it was the fact that you just did it. It was like you've been doing it for a long time, but we never saw it, which was not the case. Needless to say, we are very excited.
Along with rolling over, you try army crawling, a lot. But you never quite go anywhere. You shove your head in the floor and try with all your might to get that butt in the air, but to no avail. You try to pull yourself with your tiny arms, but you don't end up going anywhere. You have figured out that if you roll places, you get there faster. It's quite funny to watch.
All of a sudden, after the rolling-over took off, you started standing up for long periods of time. We have an activity saucer we put you in from time to time, and sometimes you will just stand up, balanced by the seat but no longer really sitting. I wonder if you will be one of those babies who skips the crawling and goes right to walking. Looks like it could actually happen.
You still love James. It warms my heart more than you know to see you play together. He loves to cuddle and hug you. He loves to plant kisses on your head, and you love to smile and coo at him. It's adorable to watch.
Mornings are my favorite time with you. While everyone is still sleeping, I sneak into your room and drag you into bed with me. We nurse laying stomach to stomach, and when you're finished, you always look up and smile at me, patting your hand against my cheek. It is the most beautiful moment and I will miss them when they are gone.
Speaking of nursing, we are still breastfeeding, which is awesome. I always have enough milk for you. The only hard part has been pumping while at work. However, I have been able to keep up (barely). I also had a fleeting thought that I only have three more months of breastfeeding. And then I thought, I only have three more months of breastfeeding!!!!!!! Yes, I was elated and sad all the same. Sad because it truly is a lovely thing to experience with your child, and elated because sometimes, breastfeeding really cuts into a schedule. I am part of a breastfeeding support group on Facebook and several times, a mom will post about a negative situation she experienced while breastfeeding in public. I am not one to breastfeed in public. Even the blanket-over-the-baby thing doesn't work for me. Because how are you supposed to get the poor child to latch if you have the blanket on? I always have to wait for the blanket to go on after latching, which means my boob hangs out there for a good 10 seconds. Not to mention, you aren't a fan of the cross-hold anymore. Nope, we lay down to nurse everywhere we are. So I always have to take into account your breastfeeding schedule while we're out in public. I'd rather do it in the comfort of my own bed. :)
You clap clap clap, all the time. You clap while you're standing in your activity chair, you clap while you're rolling around on the floor. You clap for James, you clap for me, you clap for dad. It's adorable. :)
So far, you have tried pears, peas, bananas, broccoli, sweet potatoes and apples. We will not be giving you bananas again anytime soon. Stupid me, with your gastrointestinal problems, I didn't think that bananas make you constipated. So it worsened the problem for you, which made our lives a living hell! Any "p" food really seems to help your digestive tract, so I try to give you at least one "p" cube of food per feeding.
And with that, I'm thankful that your digestive issues seem to not plague us *as much* any more. It's been a tough road, and you still strain when pooping, but at least it's not as bad as it used to be. You still get constipated every once in awhile, which makes you incredibly irritable, but it's easier to deal with now that the issues are getting further and further apart. Thank God.
Otherwise, you have become quite animated, talkative, and sassy. I am loving every minute of it. I remember after having you, talking with a friend about how hectic life is and she mentioned that at about 6 months, it gets so much easier. I wouldn't say it was necessarily 6 months for us, but it has definitely gotten easier. We're into a routine that works for us, and I am able to do it by myself when Eric has to work.
We're on our way - I can't believe it's already been 8 months. I love you baby girl!
First thing's first: we are not going to go ahead with the helmet. After looking at the effects, how long you would have to wear it (not long), the probability that it would actually work, and the fact that it would not actually correct anything on the sides of your head, just the back, we decided to not go with it.
We hemmed and hawed over the decision for quite awhile until your dad decided that we look at some pictures of James. There you had it, our answer, glaring back at us from our external hard drive. James had the same head shape. Complete with the sides sticking out. And since we've noticed, and have worked diligently to do something about it, we can tell your head is changing. Not very quickly, but it is. Which makes us that much happier that we decided not to fork out the $2700 for a helmet. In the end, it won't matter much because of your hair, but at the same time, we want what is best for you. However, we also need to look at what is best for our family. And spending $2700 on a helmet that you will wear for a short amount of time was not best for our family. Not with $300/week in daycare.
So there you have it. In other news, you are finally rolling over. Not even a week after I wrote about how you weren't rolling over, you did. And you've been doing it non-stop. It seems as though if it is our idea, you don't want to have anything to do with it. But if it's yours, you are all about it. So you made up your mind and started rolling. And it wasn't a roll-over that you struggled with, it was the fact that you just did it. It was like you've been doing it for a long time, but we never saw it, which was not the case. Needless to say, we are very excited.
Along with rolling over, you try army crawling, a lot. But you never quite go anywhere. You shove your head in the floor and try with all your might to get that butt in the air, but to no avail. You try to pull yourself with your tiny arms, but you don't end up going anywhere. You have figured out that if you roll places, you get there faster. It's quite funny to watch.
All of a sudden, after the rolling-over took off, you started standing up for long periods of time. We have an activity saucer we put you in from time to time, and sometimes you will just stand up, balanced by the seat but no longer really sitting. I wonder if you will be one of those babies who skips the crawling and goes right to walking. Looks like it could actually happen.
You still love James. It warms my heart more than you know to see you play together. He loves to cuddle and hug you. He loves to plant kisses on your head, and you love to smile and coo at him. It's adorable to watch.
Mornings are my favorite time with you. While everyone is still sleeping, I sneak into your room and drag you into bed with me. We nurse laying stomach to stomach, and when you're finished, you always look up and smile at me, patting your hand against my cheek. It is the most beautiful moment and I will miss them when they are gone.
Speaking of nursing, we are still breastfeeding, which is awesome. I always have enough milk for you. The only hard part has been pumping while at work. However, I have been able to keep up (barely). I also had a fleeting thought that I only have three more months of breastfeeding. And then I thought, I only have three more months of breastfeeding!!!!!!! Yes, I was elated and sad all the same. Sad because it truly is a lovely thing to experience with your child, and elated because sometimes, breastfeeding really cuts into a schedule. I am part of a breastfeeding support group on Facebook and several times, a mom will post about a negative situation she experienced while breastfeeding in public. I am not one to breastfeed in public. Even the blanket-over-the-baby thing doesn't work for me. Because how are you supposed to get the poor child to latch if you have the blanket on? I always have to wait for the blanket to go on after latching, which means my boob hangs out there for a good 10 seconds. Not to mention, you aren't a fan of the cross-hold anymore. Nope, we lay down to nurse everywhere we are. So I always have to take into account your breastfeeding schedule while we're out in public. I'd rather do it in the comfort of my own bed. :)
You clap clap clap, all the time. You clap while you're standing in your activity chair, you clap while you're rolling around on the floor. You clap for James, you clap for me, you clap for dad. It's adorable. :)
So far, you have tried pears, peas, bananas, broccoli, sweet potatoes and apples. We will not be giving you bananas again anytime soon. Stupid me, with your gastrointestinal problems, I didn't think that bananas make you constipated. So it worsened the problem for you, which made our lives a living hell! Any "p" food really seems to help your digestive tract, so I try to give you at least one "p" cube of food per feeding.
And with that, I'm thankful that your digestive issues seem to not plague us *as much* any more. It's been a tough road, and you still strain when pooping, but at least it's not as bad as it used to be. You still get constipated every once in awhile, which makes you incredibly irritable, but it's easier to deal with now that the issues are getting further and further apart. Thank God.
Otherwise, you have become quite animated, talkative, and sassy. I am loving every minute of it. I remember after having you, talking with a friend about how hectic life is and she mentioned that at about 6 months, it gets so much easier. I wouldn't say it was necessarily 6 months for us, but it has definitely gotten easier. We're into a routine that works for us, and I am able to do it by myself when Eric has to work.
We're on our way - I can't believe it's already been 8 months. I love you baby girl!
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
"Life's Tough. Get a Helmet"
Catherine's life up until this point has been everything that James' life up until this point wasn't.
We had severe constipation issues from the beginning, which lead to her not eating. This lack of nutrition caused her not to grow, which lead us to supplement with formula for a week, which we found out caused her some pretty horrific acid reflux. During this week of horrific reflux, we saw a gastroenterologist who told us that our daughter was probably allergic to dairy, soy and eggs, so I should stop breastfeeding and supplement with $50 cans of formula that wouldn't even last us a week. So instead, I cut that out of my diet.
And yet, our constipation issues plagued us. We have been back and forth to doctors, and it seems like I always have something to add to my list of things to "try," and once that stops working, it's on to the next. It's a constant guessing game, and while we're at it, Catherine is throwing a fit every two seconds. When she's not smiling and cooing and being adorable.
So her lack of growth caused a lack of growth in her muscles, which lead to them not developing very well. This lead to Catherine still not rolling over by the age of 6 months. Sitting up seems like a very distant possibility, although we're getting there, and overall, she is tiny for her age. Sometimes, it feels like she's more like 4 months rather than almost 8.
Which leads us to this point. Being on her back constantly has lead to a flat head. And not just a flat head, but her skull is starting to come out on the sides, which is pushing her ears down. This is causing her to, in all honesty, look kind of funny.
So we had a consult for a helmet, and by God, she was right in the middle of the pack. Not at the severe point, but to the point that if she continues to grow, her skull, and possibly her face will become more misshapen.
Well, then, we'll just get the helmet, right?
Nope. Because our insurance says that it's cosmetic. The only insurance that covers it is Title XIX and to be honest, not only do we not qualify, but we wouldn't want to go that route anyway. We're not that type of people.
And how much does this helmet, with just a few months of physical therapy cost?
$3000.
I was smart enough to take out $1000 in flex since I knew we were going to have a newborn. Tomorrow, I will call and make sure that our flex covers it. But that still leaves $2000.
We have $2000. But how sure are we that a helmet is even going to work? I have read horror stories of children and parents who have done just this, and it has happened to them. The helmet didn't work, and of course, the child looks even worse than when they began. A new study just came out saying that in all reality, a helmet only works 33% of the time.
So I have been researching craniosacral therapy, which simply involves visiting a chiropractor who works with them to reshape their head using "gentle pressure and sculpting techniques." But do I want another human pressing on my babies skull every day? And what type of time am I going to have to take off of work for that? Will I always be able to slip out a few minutes early to make sure that her head becomes perfectly round? But yet, insurance will pay for chiropractic visits. All of them.
And who says that will work? What will be better in the long run? The helmet or the therapy? Or neither?
I am at a loss. You want to do everything that you can for your child, no matter what the cost. But at the same time, you also don't want to choose to do something that is actually going to make things worse. I want to best for my children, and by God, I want Catherine to grow up without ears that are crooked, or an eye that is lower than the other, or, what this is all about, a flat head.
So lots of decision-making going on in this house. I always ask myself in the classroom - "What is the best decision for my students?" So here, I need to simply ask myself, what's the best decision for Catherine? A helmet that she wears for 23 hours a day? Or therapy that she goes to several times a week? Or neither?
I'm a black and white girl, and usually can make decisions about anything fairly rapidly without any regrets. But this is a whole new ball game. I am always confident in any other decisions, but when it comes to something that I don't know is actually going to work, I can't really decide.
So I guess I'll wait for some sign that tells me what the right thing to do is. I just hope it's not the wrong thing once I choose.
We had severe constipation issues from the beginning, which lead to her not eating. This lack of nutrition caused her not to grow, which lead us to supplement with formula for a week, which we found out caused her some pretty horrific acid reflux. During this week of horrific reflux, we saw a gastroenterologist who told us that our daughter was probably allergic to dairy, soy and eggs, so I should stop breastfeeding and supplement with $50 cans of formula that wouldn't even last us a week. So instead, I cut that out of my diet.
And yet, our constipation issues plagued us. We have been back and forth to doctors, and it seems like I always have something to add to my list of things to "try," and once that stops working, it's on to the next. It's a constant guessing game, and while we're at it, Catherine is throwing a fit every two seconds. When she's not smiling and cooing and being adorable.
So her lack of growth caused a lack of growth in her muscles, which lead to them not developing very well. This lead to Catherine still not rolling over by the age of 6 months. Sitting up seems like a very distant possibility, although we're getting there, and overall, she is tiny for her age. Sometimes, it feels like she's more like 4 months rather than almost 8.
Which leads us to this point. Being on her back constantly has lead to a flat head. And not just a flat head, but her skull is starting to come out on the sides, which is pushing her ears down. This is causing her to, in all honesty, look kind of funny.
So we had a consult for a helmet, and by God, she was right in the middle of the pack. Not at the severe point, but to the point that if she continues to grow, her skull, and possibly her face will become more misshapen.
Well, then, we'll just get the helmet, right?
Nope. Because our insurance says that it's cosmetic. The only insurance that covers it is Title XIX and to be honest, not only do we not qualify, but we wouldn't want to go that route anyway. We're not that type of people.
And how much does this helmet, with just a few months of physical therapy cost?
$3000.
I was smart enough to take out $1000 in flex since I knew we were going to have a newborn. Tomorrow, I will call and make sure that our flex covers it. But that still leaves $2000.
We have $2000. But how sure are we that a helmet is even going to work? I have read horror stories of children and parents who have done just this, and it has happened to them. The helmet didn't work, and of course, the child looks even worse than when they began. A new study just came out saying that in all reality, a helmet only works 33% of the time.
So I have been researching craniosacral therapy, which simply involves visiting a chiropractor who works with them to reshape their head using "gentle pressure and sculpting techniques." But do I want another human pressing on my babies skull every day? And what type of time am I going to have to take off of work for that? Will I always be able to slip out a few minutes early to make sure that her head becomes perfectly round? But yet, insurance will pay for chiropractic visits. All of them.
And who says that will work? What will be better in the long run? The helmet or the therapy? Or neither?
I am at a loss. You want to do everything that you can for your child, no matter what the cost. But at the same time, you also don't want to choose to do something that is actually going to make things worse. I want to best for my children, and by God, I want Catherine to grow up without ears that are crooked, or an eye that is lower than the other, or, what this is all about, a flat head.
So lots of decision-making going on in this house. I always ask myself in the classroom - "What is the best decision for my students?" So here, I need to simply ask myself, what's the best decision for Catherine? A helmet that she wears for 23 hours a day? Or therapy that she goes to several times a week? Or neither?
I'm a black and white girl, and usually can make decisions about anything fairly rapidly without any regrets. But this is a whole new ball game. I am always confident in any other decisions, but when it comes to something that I don't know is actually going to work, I can't really decide.
So I guess I'll wait for some sign that tells me what the right thing to do is. I just hope it's not the wrong thing once I choose.
Saturday, January 3, 2015
7.5 Months!
Dear Lord, I am getting worse and worse at these updates.
So here we are, at 7.5 months and my God, you are adorable. Your little laugh is more like a squeal, you absolutely adore James. He loves playing with you and giving you hugs. You are eating solids like a champ, but wow, are you like a little princess.
Your dad says that you are just like your mother. To which I usually harrumph and stomp off. But secretly, I think you are.
You have a schedule and by God, we need to stick to it. When you are off that schedule, watch out. You have an agenda, just like me. At this point in time, you would like to sit in the bumbo. At this point in time, which is seconds after the last point in time, you would like to roll around on the floor. At this point in time, you would like to roll around on the floor, but this time, with a toy. At this point in time, you are done with the toy and would like to be held, front-facing of course, so you can pump your legs up and down. You're going to be hell on wheels as a teenager. And I say that with all the love in my heart. :)
I am a black and white girl, so when people ask if you are rolling over, I say no. Because technically, you aren't. But at the same time, if you would just figure out how to move your arm out of the way, you would be rolling over. You roll to the point where you are laying on your arm. And then you quickly roll back because, obviously, it's uncomfortable. Every so often, James will help you roll over (forgetting that you are a mere 14 pounds) and you will have enough momentum where you will be able to move your arm out. But on your own, from back to front, it's not happening. Front to back will, but you hate being on your front so after a few seconds, you start to cry (at this point in time, you want to be picked up and put back in your bumbo).
When you are laying on your front, and NOT crying, you are digging your face into the carpet and pumping those little legs. Sometimes you will pump your legs with your head up, grasping at the carpet in front of you. I can see crawling is on it's way, but not for a little while yet. You're just so little, I think you need some more mass in order to really get moving.
You are still constipated, all the time. I feel so horrible for you, as you strain and grunt and scream and it's so taxing and grating and at the same time I feel so bad. So we just try to coax you through it. I've been trying some massage techniques to help, and they actually do seem to be working, so hopefully that's not just something that's in my head.
You are SO VOCAL about everything. James is absolutely like his father and you are absolutely my child, all the way.
Again, being slack and white, you haven't really "sat up," but you can sit by yourself for about 5-10 seconds at a time. I have a feeling you are also there. And that's good, since you hate any sort of confining seat, like the bouncer that hangs from our doorway and your activity chair. So completely different from James.
Otherwise, we have a consult this Thursday to see if you need a helmet for your big, flat head. As I was telling my principal one day, "I need to leave early to take Catherine to be sized for a helmet." He asked, "A helmet? What for?" I said, "Because we failed as parents."
That's not necessarily true, but at the same time, we probably could have done more. You slept in your carseat and rock-n-play sleeper up until last month. That's because you choke, thanks to what I believe to be a nasty case of acid reflux. And no, we haven't had it treated because I don't want to start you on pills this young. So we elevate you. Which means you sleep in the car seat at daycare, and you slept in your rock-n-play in your room. You still fit in it, so I didn't see the harm.
Until we went to our 6 month appointment. The pediatrician did mention that you really can't tell that much, but if you catch your profile just so, it's noticeably flat. And you're at the point where your skull is starting to close the soft spots, and it will STAY like that. So off for a helmet consult. The pediatrician has seen worse, but she has also seen children NOT have a helmet, and as their skulls grew, their ears became asymmetrical, which leads to hearing problems etc. And let's face it, if you are able to do anything for your child to make their life perfect, wouldn't you? The pediatrician didn't know if we would be recommended for a helmet or not, but she said just go for the consult and see what they say.
So off we go on Thursday. I will be anxious to see what they say.
Otherwise, you are my growing, silly little girl, who LOVES to "dance" to music, loves playing any game where I go out of sight completely and reappear somewhere (usually played while you are sitting on the counter in your bumbo and I am cooking dinner), and kisses from your brother. Really, anything from your brother.
I love you, baby girl. Flat head and all. ;)
So here we are, at 7.5 months and my God, you are adorable. Your little laugh is more like a squeal, you absolutely adore James. He loves playing with you and giving you hugs. You are eating solids like a champ, but wow, are you like a little princess.
Your dad says that you are just like your mother. To which I usually harrumph and stomp off. But secretly, I think you are.
You have a schedule and by God, we need to stick to it. When you are off that schedule, watch out. You have an agenda, just like me. At this point in time, you would like to sit in the bumbo. At this point in time, which is seconds after the last point in time, you would like to roll around on the floor. At this point in time, you would like to roll around on the floor, but this time, with a toy. At this point in time, you are done with the toy and would like to be held, front-facing of course, so you can pump your legs up and down. You're going to be hell on wheels as a teenager. And I say that with all the love in my heart. :)
I am a black and white girl, so when people ask if you are rolling over, I say no. Because technically, you aren't. But at the same time, if you would just figure out how to move your arm out of the way, you would be rolling over. You roll to the point where you are laying on your arm. And then you quickly roll back because, obviously, it's uncomfortable. Every so often, James will help you roll over (forgetting that you are a mere 14 pounds) and you will have enough momentum where you will be able to move your arm out. But on your own, from back to front, it's not happening. Front to back will, but you hate being on your front so after a few seconds, you start to cry (at this point in time, you want to be picked up and put back in your bumbo).
When you are laying on your front, and NOT crying, you are digging your face into the carpet and pumping those little legs. Sometimes you will pump your legs with your head up, grasping at the carpet in front of you. I can see crawling is on it's way, but not for a little while yet. You're just so little, I think you need some more mass in order to really get moving.
You are still constipated, all the time. I feel so horrible for you, as you strain and grunt and scream and it's so taxing and grating and at the same time I feel so bad. So we just try to coax you through it. I've been trying some massage techniques to help, and they actually do seem to be working, so hopefully that's not just something that's in my head.
You are SO VOCAL about everything. James is absolutely like his father and you are absolutely my child, all the way.
Again, being slack and white, you haven't really "sat up," but you can sit by yourself for about 5-10 seconds at a time. I have a feeling you are also there. And that's good, since you hate any sort of confining seat, like the bouncer that hangs from our doorway and your activity chair. So completely different from James.
Otherwise, we have a consult this Thursday to see if you need a helmet for your big, flat head. As I was telling my principal one day, "I need to leave early to take Catherine to be sized for a helmet." He asked, "A helmet? What for?" I said, "Because we failed as parents."
That's not necessarily true, but at the same time, we probably could have done more. You slept in your carseat and rock-n-play sleeper up until last month. That's because you choke, thanks to what I believe to be a nasty case of acid reflux. And no, we haven't had it treated because I don't want to start you on pills this young. So we elevate you. Which means you sleep in the car seat at daycare, and you slept in your rock-n-play in your room. You still fit in it, so I didn't see the harm.
Until we went to our 6 month appointment. The pediatrician did mention that you really can't tell that much, but if you catch your profile just so, it's noticeably flat. And you're at the point where your skull is starting to close the soft spots, and it will STAY like that. So off for a helmet consult. The pediatrician has seen worse, but she has also seen children NOT have a helmet, and as their skulls grew, their ears became asymmetrical, which leads to hearing problems etc. And let's face it, if you are able to do anything for your child to make their life perfect, wouldn't you? The pediatrician didn't know if we would be recommended for a helmet or not, but she said just go for the consult and see what they say.
So off we go on Thursday. I will be anxious to see what they say.
Otherwise, you are my growing, silly little girl, who LOVES to "dance" to music, loves playing any game where I go out of sight completely and reappear somewhere (usually played while you are sitting on the counter in your bumbo and I am cooking dinner), and kisses from your brother. Really, anything from your brother.
I love you, baby girl. Flat head and all. ;)
Potty Training, Breastfeeding, and The Return of Mother Nature
Potty-Training.
Still no pooping in the toilet. James has pooped just about everywhere but the toilet. My daycare provider has been working with him, I have been working with him, but the kid will dance around and hold it until the urge must, obviously, go away. He has pooped in his pants while crouching down for something, and in the bath, both situations catching him by surprise. So that's how, I think, we'll have to trick him into it. Both times, I wasn't "around" (just in the other room) to catch it in time. UGH! But like I said, we're working on it.
In all, peeing has been great. James still celebrates like it's his first time, but the kid is easily excitable. He pees standing up in front of his small toilet, sitting down on his small toilet, standing on a step stool in front of the big toilet, or sitting backward on the big toilet. He takes great pleasure in aiming his pee everywhere he can in the bowl, oftentimes making swirls or zig zags. It's pretty funny to watch.
But no poop. Since he holds it, we put him in a diaper for naps, although we didn't start off doing that. After getting sick and having a series of accidents during nap, I put the diaper back on. He often wakes up dry, and sometimes even wakes up having pooped (how does someone poop in their sleep??), but I feel better that it's there, just in case.
Breastfeeding
I cannot believe that I have made it this long breastfeeding. But it's been a fight. More often than not, I feel like I'm not producing enough milk. And then, all of a sudden, Catherine seems like she's satisfied. The anxiety that I have gone through in regard to breastfeeding is enough to last a life time, but I am so glad that I am still going. It's been so worth it.
When Catherine was about 5 months old, we introduced solids, and that put us on an awesome schedule... at home. At daycare, it was a different story. After sitting down with my daycare provider, we finally figured out she was giving Catherine waaaay too much breast milk, which didn't coincide with the schedule we were smoothly sailing through here at home. For about two months, her schedule has been:
6:30 a.m. Nurse
8:30 a.m. Solids
9:00 a.m. Nap
11:00 a.m. Nurse
12:30 p.m. Solids
1:00 p.m. Nap
3:00 p.m. Nurse
5:00 p.m. Solids
6:00 p.m. Nurse/Bedtime
9:30 p.m. Dream feed
And then she sleeps for 12 hours (unless she's screaming, then NO ONE sleeps. Except James... that kid can sleep through anything).
So Christy and I figured out that instead of giving Catherine solids at 8:30 a.m., because Christy transports and has her in a car, where she easily falls asleep, Christy gives Catherine breast milk at 10:00, when Catherine wakes from her first morning nap. Then Christy gives her solids for lunch, about noon, and then more breast milk at 1:00. So Catherine's schedule was flip-flopped, which meant I was unable to pump what Christy was giving her. Thankfully, we were able to sit down and figure it out, which took all the stress and anxiety about not being able to produce enough, away. And since then, it's been glorious. I am so thankful for a daycare provider who strives to understand rather than boss me around and tell me what to do as a parent!
So, there you have it. I nurse 4 times a day, giving Catherine about 28 ounces, plus 3 ounces of food each feeding, which is about 12 ounces per day. And from here, we just up the ounces of food. Since I've made it this long, a lot of people are asking how long I think I'll go. I keep saying a year, because after that, it gets weird. But now that I know her birthday is less than 5 months away, I wonder if I will really make it a year. And when I say a year, I mean, quit at 11 months and then use my freezer stash until that runs out, then start her on whole milk. But I wonder if I will actually go up to a year, and then quit? I'm not sure. I try not to think about it, because truly, my most favorite part of any day is when I creep into her room at 9:30 p.m., gently rouse my little princess, and have her dream feed.I know a lot of people nurse for as long as possible because they want to avoid the dreaded return of their period... which brings me to The Return of Mother Nature.
The Return of Mother Nature
As I write this, we are waiting for the first snow of the New Year. But that's not what I'm talking about.
Oh, no. As I was recuperating from my night celebrating the eve of 2015, a night full of Lilo and Stitch (I hate those movies!) and a constipated 7.5 month old, I felt like I had partied circa 1999 New Year's Eve where I didn't even make it until midnight. Why yes, that New Year's Eve I was in bed before my parents.
Nope. I was in shock. Because my period returned. WHAT?
Christmas was not necessarily a nightmare, but I felt like I was in a high-stress situation at all times. Catherine was not having the pack-n-play, or really, anything about Christmas, and whenever she cries for long periods of time, my anxiety flies through the roof. It sucks. So I always felt like I was on edge.
During the day on New Years Eve, I tried nursing Catherine, but my milk would not let down. It was so frustrating and took a good 5 minutes for my milk to finally release. I remember getting so frustrated, right along with Catherine. And then, I was terrified, because I thought I was losing my supply. Again. For the billionth time this month. But no, apparently, that is what can happen with the onset of your period. Which came the next day.
Happy 2015 to me!
I forgot what it was like to have my period, and I especially was not anticipating it's "triumphant" return so soon. Neither was my husband, judging by the disappointed look on his face. But in the back of my mind, I knew it was bound to happen. I just didn't know it was going to be 7.5 months post-partum.
But the biggest thing I underestimated about it's return, was the horrible way I felt. Not to mention, I have always been able to stave off the cramps and bloating with Midol, or some other miracle drug. Nope, not this time. The pain was horrible. It's subsiding, here on Day 3, but it's still there. And beyond that, my boobs hurt the most. Not my uterus, which felt like a basketball with spikes on it, sitting in my gut, and every time I would move it would dig in a little more. Nope. My boobs, which felt like they were pulsing with pain. I swear, I could look down at myself and literally see them move with every heart beat. They hurt. so. bad. What the hell was that all about? Then, when my milk came in when it was time to feed Catherine? Holy hell. Call an ambulance. I remember having to breath through the cramps that happened when I first started breast feeding in the hospital, at one point having to hand off Catherine to concentrate on breathing through them while the nurse said, "Yeah, the cramps are way worse with the second kid." Nope, these were way worse. Not to mention, on top of all that, I just felt like shit. Tired, lethargic, and desperately wanting to find a way to occupy my children with some electronic so I could catch a few hours of sleep (haha, yeah right, like that would EVER happen).
Advil does't recommend taking more than 6 pills in a 24 hour period. But Advil isn't a breastfeeding woman, 7.5 months post-partum. I absolutely took 12 pills in a 24 hour period, and that still didn't help. What's even more awesome is that, being the good wife I am, I told Eric I would take the kids yesterday so he could watch his bowl games. What a mistake. Sometimes, I wish I could call in sick to parenting. Oh well, we're on the mend. Hopefully. Only now, I know this bitch will be back in less than a month, and I'm not looking forward to it. At all. I wonder if they make anything stronger than Advil? Maybe Vodka?
So there you have it. My life, in a nutshell. It did not contain any stories of debauchery. No shenanigans of any type. And that's exactly the way I want it.
God bless this life. Poop, boobs, and periods included.
Still no pooping in the toilet. James has pooped just about everywhere but the toilet. My daycare provider has been working with him, I have been working with him, but the kid will dance around and hold it until the urge must, obviously, go away. He has pooped in his pants while crouching down for something, and in the bath, both situations catching him by surprise. So that's how, I think, we'll have to trick him into it. Both times, I wasn't "around" (just in the other room) to catch it in time. UGH! But like I said, we're working on it.
In all, peeing has been great. James still celebrates like it's his first time, but the kid is easily excitable. He pees standing up in front of his small toilet, sitting down on his small toilet, standing on a step stool in front of the big toilet, or sitting backward on the big toilet. He takes great pleasure in aiming his pee everywhere he can in the bowl, oftentimes making swirls or zig zags. It's pretty funny to watch.
But no poop. Since he holds it, we put him in a diaper for naps, although we didn't start off doing that. After getting sick and having a series of accidents during nap, I put the diaper back on. He often wakes up dry, and sometimes even wakes up having pooped (how does someone poop in their sleep??), but I feel better that it's there, just in case.
Breastfeeding
I cannot believe that I have made it this long breastfeeding. But it's been a fight. More often than not, I feel like I'm not producing enough milk. And then, all of a sudden, Catherine seems like she's satisfied. The anxiety that I have gone through in regard to breastfeeding is enough to last a life time, but I am so glad that I am still going. It's been so worth it.
When Catherine was about 5 months old, we introduced solids, and that put us on an awesome schedule... at home. At daycare, it was a different story. After sitting down with my daycare provider, we finally figured out she was giving Catherine waaaay too much breast milk, which didn't coincide with the schedule we were smoothly sailing through here at home. For about two months, her schedule has been:
6:30 a.m. Nurse
8:30 a.m. Solids
9:00 a.m. Nap
11:00 a.m. Nurse
12:30 p.m. Solids
1:00 p.m. Nap
3:00 p.m. Nurse
5:00 p.m. Solids
6:00 p.m. Nurse/Bedtime
9:30 p.m. Dream feed
And then she sleeps for 12 hours (unless she's screaming, then NO ONE sleeps. Except James... that kid can sleep through anything).
So Christy and I figured out that instead of giving Catherine solids at 8:30 a.m., because Christy transports and has her in a car, where she easily falls asleep, Christy gives Catherine breast milk at 10:00, when Catherine wakes from her first morning nap. Then Christy gives her solids for lunch, about noon, and then more breast milk at 1:00. So Catherine's schedule was flip-flopped, which meant I was unable to pump what Christy was giving her. Thankfully, we were able to sit down and figure it out, which took all the stress and anxiety about not being able to produce enough, away. And since then, it's been glorious. I am so thankful for a daycare provider who strives to understand rather than boss me around and tell me what to do as a parent!
So, there you have it. I nurse 4 times a day, giving Catherine about 28 ounces, plus 3 ounces of food each feeding, which is about 12 ounces per day. And from here, we just up the ounces of food. Since I've made it this long, a lot of people are asking how long I think I'll go. I keep saying a year, because after that, it gets weird. But now that I know her birthday is less than 5 months away, I wonder if I will really make it a year. And when I say a year, I mean, quit at 11 months and then use my freezer stash until that runs out, then start her on whole milk. But I wonder if I will actually go up to a year, and then quit? I'm not sure. I try not to think about it, because truly, my most favorite part of any day is when I creep into her room at 9:30 p.m., gently rouse my little princess, and have her dream feed.I know a lot of people nurse for as long as possible because they want to avoid the dreaded return of their period... which brings me to The Return of Mother Nature.
The Return of Mother Nature
As I write this, we are waiting for the first snow of the New Year. But that's not what I'm talking about.
Oh, no. As I was recuperating from my night celebrating the eve of 2015, a night full of Lilo and Stitch (I hate those movies!) and a constipated 7.5 month old, I felt like I had partied circa 1999 New Year's Eve where I didn't even make it until midnight. Why yes, that New Year's Eve I was in bed before my parents.
Nope. I was in shock. Because my period returned. WHAT?
Christmas was not necessarily a nightmare, but I felt like I was in a high-stress situation at all times. Catherine was not having the pack-n-play, or really, anything about Christmas, and whenever she cries for long periods of time, my anxiety flies through the roof. It sucks. So I always felt like I was on edge.
During the day on New Years Eve, I tried nursing Catherine, but my milk would not let down. It was so frustrating and took a good 5 minutes for my milk to finally release. I remember getting so frustrated, right along with Catherine. And then, I was terrified, because I thought I was losing my supply. Again. For the billionth time this month. But no, apparently, that is what can happen with the onset of your period. Which came the next day.
Happy 2015 to me!
I forgot what it was like to have my period, and I especially was not anticipating it's "triumphant" return so soon. Neither was my husband, judging by the disappointed look on his face. But in the back of my mind, I knew it was bound to happen. I just didn't know it was going to be 7.5 months post-partum.
But the biggest thing I underestimated about it's return, was the horrible way I felt. Not to mention, I have always been able to stave off the cramps and bloating with Midol, or some other miracle drug. Nope, not this time. The pain was horrible. It's subsiding, here on Day 3, but it's still there. And beyond that, my boobs hurt the most. Not my uterus, which felt like a basketball with spikes on it, sitting in my gut, and every time I would move it would dig in a little more. Nope. My boobs, which felt like they were pulsing with pain. I swear, I could look down at myself and literally see them move with every heart beat. They hurt. so. bad. What the hell was that all about? Then, when my milk came in when it was time to feed Catherine? Holy hell. Call an ambulance. I remember having to breath through the cramps that happened when I first started breast feeding in the hospital, at one point having to hand off Catherine to concentrate on breathing through them while the nurse said, "Yeah, the cramps are way worse with the second kid." Nope, these were way worse. Not to mention, on top of all that, I just felt like shit. Tired, lethargic, and desperately wanting to find a way to occupy my children with some electronic so I could catch a few hours of sleep (haha, yeah right, like that would EVER happen).
Advil does't recommend taking more than 6 pills in a 24 hour period. But Advil isn't a breastfeeding woman, 7.5 months post-partum. I absolutely took 12 pills in a 24 hour period, and that still didn't help. What's even more awesome is that, being the good wife I am, I told Eric I would take the kids yesterday so he could watch his bowl games. What a mistake. Sometimes, I wish I could call in sick to parenting. Oh well, we're on the mend. Hopefully. Only now, I know this bitch will be back in less than a month, and I'm not looking forward to it. At all. I wonder if they make anything stronger than Advil? Maybe Vodka?
So there you have it. My life, in a nutshell. It did not contain any stories of debauchery. No shenanigans of any type. And that's exactly the way I want it.
God bless this life. Poop, boobs, and periods included.
Monday, December 8, 2014
Potty Training: POOP!
The past 72 hours (72? Yeah, I think so...) have been hell on this beautiful earth.
But James has finally pooped in the toilet. He has also peed in the sink at Bass Pro Shops, in the regular toilet at a friends house, and in her daughter's potty-training toilet, which is clearly made for little girls. Never in my life did I think I would be holding my son's penis so that it pointed down while he peed into a pink princess toilet.
Yet, here we are, another major milestone beyond the peeing in public restrooms, peeing in other places, and peeing in general.
Although, of course, with our family, it could not be a normal, fun, exciting story. It had to be this story.
My bestie had a baby, and of course, I just had to go and wrap my arms around her and see that beautiful bundle. It's amazing how little they are, and it's so true how fast kids really do grow up. So off we went, a 45 minute car ride to my friends house in the country. Upon arrival, we peed in the regular toilet, facing backwards because that was James' first adventure in peeing in a big toilet - minus the times the he tried prior to potty-training, of course.
Throughout our stay, we visited the toilet several times. Between his peeing, Catherine's fussing and Courtney having to not only breastfeed, but also pump, I am not sure we had a real conversation. I remember we started several, but I don't think we ever really finished them in that obligatory way that makes you bring up another subject to begin discussing.
We finally got in the car and started for home, and James was silent. In fact, when I looked back at him several times, he also looked very tired. Yep, you guessed it, he was not feeling well.
We got home and he wanted to go straight to bed, which is unusual. I still didn't think anything of it and put him to bed without lunch because he did not want to eat the pancakes he was requesting earlier. Since Catherine had slept on the 45 minute ride there and about 20 minutes of the 45 minute ride home, she was at and at 'em when we arrived back home. I hate it when my kids' schedules get off and then they sleep at different times, but so be it. I got to hold a precious, tiny baby, and for that, it was a worth it.
Catherine finally went to sleep just as James was waking up with a pale face, red eyes, and blotchy skin. I knew as soon as I touched him that he had a fever. I just didn't know how high. I struggled to find the thermometer, only to forget that he was wearing underwear, and he had an accident. So I finally changed him, all the while feeling the heat radiating off his skin. I took his temperature and reeled: 104! Astonishing for such a little guy, and concerning for this mama.
As I administered his tylenol, I was calculating just how I would get him to the hospital with Catherine in tow. A very constipated Catherine who requires to be breastfed. With a very, at that moment, needy James. Oh, and did I mention, Eric was working? I didn't? Well, he was. Awesome.
Luckily, the tylenol kicked in, just as Catherine was waking up. Awesome. So I tried to figure out how to keep two kids entertained while keeping them away from each other so that Catherine didn't catch what James very obviously had. He kept asking for water, refused to eat anything, and mostly laid around and watched Disney movies (which is great because I'm actually looking to do a Disney movie fundraiser... so I was able to do some research on songs!).
And so it went, Saturday night into Sunday. James woke up Sunday without a fever, but still no appetite and didn't want to drink. Still hadn't pooped in his night-time diaper, or in the toilet, so that was concerning as well.
Sunday was worse. Catherine slept a total of 1 hour in the morning, and from then on, scream/cried the entire day. From 1:30 until 10:30 p.m. (at 9:00 p.m. I handed her over to Eric), she simply screamed. And all James wanted to do was play. But not eat. Or drink. But at least he wanted to play, so things were looking up, right?
Wrong. James woke up this morning at 4:00 a.m. demanding to be let out of his crib to poop. I must have taken too long, because once I got into his room, he was letting out his last grunt. Yep, there it was. Poop.
So I changed him, put him back in bed, and I tried to go back to sleep as well. Only to hear him not even a half hour later demanding to be let out again because he had to pee. In the wee hours of this morning, I understood why people use pull-ups. Because a diaper is harder than hell to try and get back on in the middle of the night.
A half hour later, he had to poop. I went in, set him on the toilet, where he tried to no avail. Put him back in bed. About 5:30 is when he started coughing. And then he started crying. The only time I've heard him cough, followed by a wailing, is when his tummy hurts and he is about to throw up. Awesome.
Somehow, he didn't throw up, and I was able to soothe him back to bed. After peeing, of course, in the toilet. When I tried to drag myself back to bed, he began crying again. So I actually brought him into our bed with me, which I have only done a few times in his little life, And at that moment, Catherine began to fuss. So I brought her into bed, nursed her while laying on her side (thank you, God, for designing my body so that I can nurse laying down. Hallelujah). From there, James began to move about, coughing and not really sitting still. Another sign he's about to throw up. So we gathered towels and waited for the inevitable. But he never ended up throwing up.
I called into work, while continuing to nurse Catherine (how's that for multi-tasking?) and Eric got Catherine ready for daycare. James coughed and gagged, and even dry heaved a few times, but never threw up. However, he was lethargic, and obviously sick, so I got to stay home with him.
Fast-forward to bringing Catherine home from daycare. After lounging all day with James, our daycare provider text me about 4:00 saying Catherine had a fever and she was going to administer some baby tylenol. FUCKING AWESOME. So Catherine got her baby tylenol, Eric went to get her, and brought her home just as James is telling me he has to pee.
He does this weird thing when he has to poop that is exactly like when he has to pee, only he also grabs at his back and his front. When he has to pee, beyond verbalizing it, he also grabs himself. Do you suppose all the grown men that grab themselves started that way? Anyway, I digress.
As I'm trying to nurse a feverish Catherine on the chair-and-a-half, James is sitting on the toilet. POOPING. Only I didn't really realize it until he stood up and a HUGE POOP was just hanging from his butt, down to his knees (remember, he hadn't pooped in a long time and even earlier that morning when he did, it was just a little bit). He always turns around to look at his pee, then takes the bowl out and carries it to the bathroom (our half bath is too small to fit anything else in there, so the toilet stays in the living room). As he turned around, I saw his poop, dangling there, threatening to fall off and onto my floor. I was petrified, horrified, terrified, and did the only thing I thought of at that moment.
With Catherine still latched on, I made a beeline for James and caught his poop in my free hand and flung it into the toilet. While I was trying to make sure all of it was going into the toilet, I knocked into James, which wouldn't have been a big deal, but his pants were still around his ankles and the toilet was behind him. So there went my son, into and over the back of the toilet. Thankfully, Catherine came unattached somewhere in all this, and I set her down, still feverish and not feeling good. I grabbed the wipes from the basket and wiped my hand. The whole time this is happening, James is crying because he hurt himself, still has poop wedged between his butt cheeks, and is cold because his pants are still down. At this moment, my son hates me and will most likely never poop in the toilet again.
I wiped and wiped and wiped and somehow, we got all the poop that had mashed itself to my sons butt off. I cleaned up the mess, and while doing so, forgot to hardcore celebrate the fact that he had just pooped in the toilet.
So I say the magic word: "Would you like a treat for pooping in the toilet like a big boy?"
"YES!" he says through teary eyes. We head to the kitchen, and with each step, I come to the realization that we have no treats.
I ate them all. All those Reese's Peanut Butter Cups: gone. All those Rolos: gone. All those suckers: gone.
We had started foregoing treats because he seemed to take to the toilet so easily. Oops. So in my fit of despair this past weekend, while going it alone with two cranky, sick and constipated children, I ate every single piece of candy.
Shit.
James had to make-do with carrot-sticks, which I called special suckers. I am sure he was like, "What the hell, mom? These are carrots." But whatever. I tried.
From there, Catherine went to bed shortly thereafter and James followed not long after that.
And somehow, I've lived to tell the tale. I hope the next 72 hours are a little less eventful.
But James has finally pooped in the toilet. He has also peed in the sink at Bass Pro Shops, in the regular toilet at a friends house, and in her daughter's potty-training toilet, which is clearly made for little girls. Never in my life did I think I would be holding my son's penis so that it pointed down while he peed into a pink princess toilet.
Yet, here we are, another major milestone beyond the peeing in public restrooms, peeing in other places, and peeing in general.
Although, of course, with our family, it could not be a normal, fun, exciting story. It had to be this story.
My bestie had a baby, and of course, I just had to go and wrap my arms around her and see that beautiful bundle. It's amazing how little they are, and it's so true how fast kids really do grow up. So off we went, a 45 minute car ride to my friends house in the country. Upon arrival, we peed in the regular toilet, facing backwards because that was James' first adventure in peeing in a big toilet - minus the times the he tried prior to potty-training, of course.
Throughout our stay, we visited the toilet several times. Between his peeing, Catherine's fussing and Courtney having to not only breastfeed, but also pump, I am not sure we had a real conversation. I remember we started several, but I don't think we ever really finished them in that obligatory way that makes you bring up another subject to begin discussing.
We finally got in the car and started for home, and James was silent. In fact, when I looked back at him several times, he also looked very tired. Yep, you guessed it, he was not feeling well.
We got home and he wanted to go straight to bed, which is unusual. I still didn't think anything of it and put him to bed without lunch because he did not want to eat the pancakes he was requesting earlier. Since Catherine had slept on the 45 minute ride there and about 20 minutes of the 45 minute ride home, she was at and at 'em when we arrived back home. I hate it when my kids' schedules get off and then they sleep at different times, but so be it. I got to hold a precious, tiny baby, and for that, it was a worth it.
Catherine finally went to sleep just as James was waking up with a pale face, red eyes, and blotchy skin. I knew as soon as I touched him that he had a fever. I just didn't know how high. I struggled to find the thermometer, only to forget that he was wearing underwear, and he had an accident. So I finally changed him, all the while feeling the heat radiating off his skin. I took his temperature and reeled: 104! Astonishing for such a little guy, and concerning for this mama.
As I administered his tylenol, I was calculating just how I would get him to the hospital with Catherine in tow. A very constipated Catherine who requires to be breastfed. With a very, at that moment, needy James. Oh, and did I mention, Eric was working? I didn't? Well, he was. Awesome.
Luckily, the tylenol kicked in, just as Catherine was waking up. Awesome. So I tried to figure out how to keep two kids entertained while keeping them away from each other so that Catherine didn't catch what James very obviously had. He kept asking for water, refused to eat anything, and mostly laid around and watched Disney movies (which is great because I'm actually looking to do a Disney movie fundraiser... so I was able to do some research on songs!).
And so it went, Saturday night into Sunday. James woke up Sunday without a fever, but still no appetite and didn't want to drink. Still hadn't pooped in his night-time diaper, or in the toilet, so that was concerning as well.
Sunday was worse. Catherine slept a total of 1 hour in the morning, and from then on, scream/cried the entire day. From 1:30 until 10:30 p.m. (at 9:00 p.m. I handed her over to Eric), she simply screamed. And all James wanted to do was play. But not eat. Or drink. But at least he wanted to play, so things were looking up, right?
Wrong. James woke up this morning at 4:00 a.m. demanding to be let out of his crib to poop. I must have taken too long, because once I got into his room, he was letting out his last grunt. Yep, there it was. Poop.
So I changed him, put him back in bed, and I tried to go back to sleep as well. Only to hear him not even a half hour later demanding to be let out again because he had to pee. In the wee hours of this morning, I understood why people use pull-ups. Because a diaper is harder than hell to try and get back on in the middle of the night.
A half hour later, he had to poop. I went in, set him on the toilet, where he tried to no avail. Put him back in bed. About 5:30 is when he started coughing. And then he started crying. The only time I've heard him cough, followed by a wailing, is when his tummy hurts and he is about to throw up. Awesome.
Somehow, he didn't throw up, and I was able to soothe him back to bed. After peeing, of course, in the toilet. When I tried to drag myself back to bed, he began crying again. So I actually brought him into our bed with me, which I have only done a few times in his little life, And at that moment, Catherine began to fuss. So I brought her into bed, nursed her while laying on her side (thank you, God, for designing my body so that I can nurse laying down. Hallelujah). From there, James began to move about, coughing and not really sitting still. Another sign he's about to throw up. So we gathered towels and waited for the inevitable. But he never ended up throwing up.
I called into work, while continuing to nurse Catherine (how's that for multi-tasking?) and Eric got Catherine ready for daycare. James coughed and gagged, and even dry heaved a few times, but never threw up. However, he was lethargic, and obviously sick, so I got to stay home with him.
Fast-forward to bringing Catherine home from daycare. After lounging all day with James, our daycare provider text me about 4:00 saying Catherine had a fever and she was going to administer some baby tylenol. FUCKING AWESOME. So Catherine got her baby tylenol, Eric went to get her, and brought her home just as James is telling me he has to pee.
He does this weird thing when he has to poop that is exactly like when he has to pee, only he also grabs at his back and his front. When he has to pee, beyond verbalizing it, he also grabs himself. Do you suppose all the grown men that grab themselves started that way? Anyway, I digress.
As I'm trying to nurse a feverish Catherine on the chair-and-a-half, James is sitting on the toilet. POOPING. Only I didn't really realize it until he stood up and a HUGE POOP was just hanging from his butt, down to his knees (remember, he hadn't pooped in a long time and even earlier that morning when he did, it was just a little bit). He always turns around to look at his pee, then takes the bowl out and carries it to the bathroom (our half bath is too small to fit anything else in there, so the toilet stays in the living room). As he turned around, I saw his poop, dangling there, threatening to fall off and onto my floor. I was petrified, horrified, terrified, and did the only thing I thought of at that moment.
With Catherine still latched on, I made a beeline for James and caught his poop in my free hand and flung it into the toilet. While I was trying to make sure all of it was going into the toilet, I knocked into James, which wouldn't have been a big deal, but his pants were still around his ankles and the toilet was behind him. So there went my son, into and over the back of the toilet. Thankfully, Catherine came unattached somewhere in all this, and I set her down, still feverish and not feeling good. I grabbed the wipes from the basket and wiped my hand. The whole time this is happening, James is crying because he hurt himself, still has poop wedged between his butt cheeks, and is cold because his pants are still down. At this moment, my son hates me and will most likely never poop in the toilet again.
I wiped and wiped and wiped and somehow, we got all the poop that had mashed itself to my sons butt off. I cleaned up the mess, and while doing so, forgot to hardcore celebrate the fact that he had just pooped in the toilet.
So I say the magic word: "Would you like a treat for pooping in the toilet like a big boy?"
"YES!" he says through teary eyes. We head to the kitchen, and with each step, I come to the realization that we have no treats.
I ate them all. All those Reese's Peanut Butter Cups: gone. All those Rolos: gone. All those suckers: gone.
We had started foregoing treats because he seemed to take to the toilet so easily. Oops. So in my fit of despair this past weekend, while going it alone with two cranky, sick and constipated children, I ate every single piece of candy.
Shit.
James had to make-do with carrot-sticks, which I called special suckers. I am sure he was like, "What the hell, mom? These are carrots." But whatever. I tried.
From there, Catherine went to bed shortly thereafter and James followed not long after that.
And somehow, I've lived to tell the tale. I hope the next 72 hours are a little less eventful.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)