It's so cute

Because this weekend was so beautiful, I got the kids over the park. Owen had his first wagon ride with Zoe - he giggled with glee as though this were the best idea ever - and actually got to explore the park a little under his own power. I cannot wait for spring. It is going to be fun. I shot a little video of the little gentleman walking about:

http://www.vimeo.com/7528281

Sorry about the quality - I only had my phone with me. (and right now I'm waiting for the video to convert - I'll embed when it's done)

Childhood needs a speed limit

We're standing just this side of the border between Owen's first year and his second, and (cliché! cliché!) I cannot believe how quickly we've arrived. Time with the second child absolutely moves faster than with just the one, but it is not as if the time with that first child continues to pass relatively more slowly. Every day that passes, Zoë grows more and more into this independent girl. It is at the same time charming and horrifying.

This school year, we started setting an alarm clock for Zoë in the morning. Getting two kids up, dressed, and out the door by 6:30 was proving a challenge, and the time it was taking to gently rouse her (she sleeps like a 14-year-old boy) and get her moving … well, it just wasn't working. Plus, she was a total crab. And thus, we were leaving the house later and later. So, we taught her how to use the alarm clock, set it for 6:00 AM, and gave her instructions to get up, use the bathroom, and wait for me to finish getting her dressed. Shortly after we started this routine, which had a few hiccups but was mostly successful, Zoë's alarm clock – which had been my alarm clock in college, like, 49 years ago – broke. She actually had fun picking out a new one (it changes colors!) and learning how to use it. Just a little more reinforcement for her big girl routine.

There is a point here. The past few mornings, Zoë has been getting up on her own before her alarm goes off. This morning, I heard her get up, use the bathroom, and wash up. Moments later, I catch a glimpse of her in my bathroom mirror walking to my bedside table to pick up a book. "Good morning, Zoë!" She pads into the bathroom, slippers on (having donned them herself) and cheerfully greeted me. It just struck me, the way she is taking on these personal responsibilities now, and not even asking for a reward the way she used to. Like last night, when she took a bath and got ready for bed "on her own." Certainly, I ran the bath, but she played, washed, got out, dried off, brushed her teeth, and almost got into her pajamas (they are snug) without help. Just some supervision from me. She keeps giving us these glimpses, which are becoming more like short films, of the girl she is.

So, why am I horrified? She's cute. She knows it. And she is becoming an expert negotiator. Independent, strong-willed Zoë at 3? Charming, precocious, manageable. Zoë at 13? Should I find my own therapist now?

Momma's Boy

Owen loves his momma. Yup - he loves me a lot. It is sweet, adorable, and I just want to snuggle his soft head all day. But, I have to go to work every morning. And I have class one night a week. Work, school, homework, kids, husband ... and I thought I had no time for myself before? Seriously - I acknowledge that I got myself into this predicament, but it is still a bit of a bummer when my craft pile is building, the house is a mess, and (horror of all horrors!) the DVR is full. Think of all that TV I am missing! Travesty, I know.

When I woke up Owen this morning, he was so happy to see me that he was physically agitated. There is no other word. He was shaking, bouncing, panting with glee. It warmed my heart. He spent the time at home this morning chattering and playing and giggling. Then I had to leave him at daycare. He has not cried at daycare drop-off since the first week. He cried today, and I knew it was because he missed me. He felt cheated because he hadn't seen me since the same time yesterday and thought he was finally going to get some mom-time. I don't blame him!

Truly, this is the best time to get this certificate. Zoe understands what I am doing and one night a week is no big to her (hey - it's usually fun time with dad!). And neither of the kids will have any clear recollection of this in a few years. But it is definitely hard to know that Owen is missing me now ... and I miss his little head, too.

5 Months

Dear Owen,

Hey there, little man – I think we’re actually having some fun! You are, amazingly, five months old this week and I think I like you now. That sounds harsh, I know. To anyone who has not gone through raising a newborn, it may as well be blasphemy. Even to some people who have because, well, they are baby-raising robots or something. But, your mother is not a fan of the early months, and neither you nor your sister has made great strides in changing my opinion of those first 20 weeks or so. In fact, it is almost as if you two saw it as your mission to insure that I never became a fan of the newborn stage. Job well done!

But, we’ve seemingly passed that hurdle and our time together is so much more enjoyable. In the last month, it is like you yawned, stretched and woke up to the world. Where once you really only enjoyed looking at and “talking” to people, you now realize there are things around you. Things that make noise, or light up, or taste good in your mouth. Make that and taste good in your mouth. You like to grab whatever you can reach, stare at it intently, and concentrate very hard on working it between your gums. While everything is deserving of at least a taste, you do have your favorites. The blue chime-y elephant is one you especially like. In fact, blue elephants seem to be a theme when it comes to favorite toys: there’s the blue elephant that shakes and rattles when you pull it (attached to your car seat), the soft blue stuffed elephant that snuggles with you in your crib (whose trunk is easily directed into your mouth by holding the ears), and the blue chime-y elephant on your “play gym.” Interesting . . . Owen, I feel like I need to tell you now that I may disown you if you become a big game hunter.



I think the delightful change in your attitude, your mood, is in large part due to how much more in control you feel. You can grab and move and chew your toys. You can sit up a little and look around. You can even roll over and squirm across the floor. Small distances. Very small distances. But, hey – you did it on your own! It cracks me up how proud you get of yourself. Sometimes, you will be laying on the floor playing with (inevitably) the blue elephant. It gets tossed (“Hey – how’d that happen?”), you track it with your head, then roll over towards it. Then you prop up your little head and look at me as if to say, “Did you just see what I did? I totally just did that!” You are so pleased.



You continue to grow. And eat. I suppose a boy as active as you are needs a lot of fuel. You are now eating three meals a day, just like the big kids. A bit sooner than the pediatrician “advised”, but we cheated anyway by starting the solids at – what? – 13 weeks. You are all about the fruits, mostly because I haven’t gotten around to making many veggies. And yogurt – you love yogurt. I know there are some people who will judge and condemn me because I gave you yogurt before you were six months old. I am a horrible mother. I feed my child a food. That he likes. Oh, and it is organic and healthy for him. You don’t fuss much during the day anymore, but, when you do, it is apparently because the trip the spoon makes from your mouth, to the bowl, and back to your mouth again is not fast enough.

But, truly, Owen, the best part about this month has been the sleeping. Up until about 2 weeks ago, napping was not exactly your strong suit. We’d gotten the bedtime routine down (the 3 Bs: bath, boob, bed), and you were sleeping through the night. Mostly. But you were still treating daytime sleep like the enemy. I wanted to get you napping, but knew Gram didn’t have the cajones to really stick it to you. I mean, you needed to nap! If you slept well during the day, you slept even better at night. So, over spring break, since you were home with me, I set about “nap-training” you. Hurrah! Success! Now you take 2 fairly predictable naps every day. And there is much rejoicing. It is so good for all of us.



The best part of my day is coming to fetch you and Zoë after work. The open-mouthed, gummy, whole-face smile you give me is an incredible reward for even the most trying days. It is funny how you will look and babble at Zoë in the backseat as we drive home. She remains your favorite person . . . sometimes, I think you jabber at her thinking she’s your translator. Like, “You look like someone who can speak my language. Can you tell these people what I’m saying?” You really get a kick out of “chasing” her – I will hold you in a standing position (something you love to begin with), and bob you along the floor after her. You grin and razz and bubble the whole way, until we get her. Then you grab at her face or her hair and lean in close.

So, yeah – I guess it’s been a pretty fun month! Right now you’ve got a cold, again. And despite your snuffliness, you are just as delightful and playful as ever. We won’t talk about last night. Ugh. We haven’t had a night like that in a looong while and I know it was just because you didn’t feel well. But my head is not happy about it today. Come morning, though, you were cheerful and smiling. My “little gentleman.”



What a difference a month makes.

Love,
Momma

3 Years

3/26/09

Dear Zoë,

Three years old. Three years ago today you reluctantly entered the world. I say reluctantly because, well, you didn’t seem to want to be born. At least not at that day and time. But enter the world you did and when you did the world tilted on its axis just the tiniest bit.



At first, you did not seem too happy with me or your father. Oh, the crying. And the clawing. And the not-sleeping. Almost as if to say, “You’ll pay for pulling me out of my cozy home.” It was so hard, there were times I was not sure if I would make it to the next hour. But, I did. And then I made it to the next day, the next week, the next month . . . Somewhere along the way, you became our daughter and fell in love with us as much as we were in love with you.

Looking back on those early months is a bit surreal. Someone wise – another mother, I’m sure – once told me that it was good I was writing down what it was like adjusting to you because someday I would forget how hard and heart-wracking it was. At the time, I thought that was utter nonsense. But, it makes sense now. I certainly will never forget the experience, but the context is so different now. You are so different now.



You are a good kid. You are a great kid. Wait – that’s just it – you’re a kid! Holy cow . . . there is no way anyone would ever refer to you as a baby. In addition to being a bit tall for your age, you are quite simply your own person now. You have ideas, and dreams, and preferences, and you tell us about them. More than that, you are so aware of the other people around you – how they’re feeling, what they might like, and (though it pains me to see it so soon) what they think about you.

In the past year, your greatest love has been for all things horse. If it has a horse, if it is a horse, hoof-prints, horseshoes, cowboy hats, cowboy boots . . . “Momma, I like horses.” No kidding, kiddo. Anyone who lives in the greater Kendall County area knows that you like horses. Strangely, you have a particular penchant for black horses. Your dad and I discovered that the carousel at the mall is an awesome incentive for you because it has horses. To ride! More specifically, a black horse. “My black horse,” you call it. You do have a very clear understanding that those horses are not real horses, that you are “not big enough” to ride a real horse. You so wisely tell us that, “When I get bigger, I will ride a black horse.”



That doesn’t stop you from asking for a real horse, though. I like to think that one of my best calls as a parent this year was to inform you that Santa Claus does not deliver live animals. Not only did that put a stop to the real-horse-for-Christmas requests, it pretty much negated any future requests for any other furry/scaly, eating and pooping creatures. Go Momma! Unfortunately, you’re too clever for your own good. You’ve given up asking Santa (or the Easter Bunny) for a horse and have gone straight to the source – Momma and Daddy. The excuses we give don’t seem to hold much water for you: that we don’t make enough money, that the home owners’ association wouldn’t allow it, that we don’t have enough room, etc. To curb your appetite, I’ve found myself taking more and more circuitous drives home to make sure we pass at least one ranch or pasture full of horses.

Thank goodness for the housing slow-down.

Have I mentioned that you tell us about things? If there is anything that defines your third year it is the talking. From the moment you get up to the moment we put you to bed – okay, even after we put you to bed – you are talking about something. And true conversation. Complex sentences. Fifty-cent vocabulary. All of it. There is not a week that goes by that your dad and I don’t look at each other and say, “Did she really just say that?”



I am not sure where you get some of it, but school has had a definite impact. When you sat down at dinner several months ago and said, “Mangia! Mangia!” I couldn’t believe my daughter was speaking Italian, all thanks to the adorable mealtime routine you learned (to say nothing of the Spanish and Mandarin you’ve picked up from Noggin). If I have to hold down a job – and, honestly daughter, I do, for reasons way beyond financial – it is an absolute comfort to me to know that you love school. The relationships that you have developed there are so wonderful for you, both with your teachers and your little friends. And you are learning so darn much, I can’t stand it sometimes. Just a week ago, you moved into the Preschool classroom. We knew this was coming, and in some respects it was hard simply because I knew how much you would hate to leave your “2’s” teacher. But as your mom, to walk into that Preschool classroom and see a classroom . . . and then to be told at the end of your first day that you are working on writing your letters . . . it was a bit much.

That transition was definitely a minor source of contention over the past six months or so. Would you be potty trained by your third birthday? Every time someone would ask me about potty training, I would heave a great sigh and proclaim, “Potty training is the bane of my existence.” I realize that all things come in time, kids have their own schedule, “No one’s gone to kindergarten in diapers,” and all, but you had me stumped. Your dad, too. We just didn’t get it. None of the tricks worked, nothing motivated you, and yet you are such a smart, independent little girl. Frustrating to say the least. And, honestly, I know some of my own issues were interfering. I worried that you would be like I was – chronic urinary tract infections, problems with wetting, endless antibiotics, endless doctor visits. (Now that I think about it, that may be one of the bigger challenges of parenting: getting over your own childhood issues.) But, guess what? You’re not in diapers anymore. You have made so much potty-progress in the last 2 months, it was like someone flipped a switch. Or maybe you decided you’d strung us along long enough.



Kiddo, I can’t recap the last year without a mention of the biggest development – you became a big sister. I’ll admit your dad and I are a touch proud of the way we prepared you for Owen’s arrival. You were involved practically from the moment we found out he was on the way. I wanted you to know that he was as much your baby as Mom and Dad’s, that you would have a very special role as big sister. You take that role very seriously and I’m so proud of you. You are gentle with Owen, you are attentive, and you are interested. I hope when you’re older you remember some of this time – how Owen will only “talk” to you, how you like to feed him in his high chair, how you show him how to roll or crawl, and even wipe up his spit. I know at some point he is going to annoy you. But, I hope the special relationship you two are forming now will run constant, even under the antagonism to come. Because it will come. And soon – he adores you so, as soon as he can walk I know he is going to be chasing after you. Be patient with him, honey.



I look forward to everything this next year will bring – even the inevitable frustrations, on both our parts. The world is just starting to open up before you, and I am so glad your dad and I get to come along for the ride. And, I promise, there will be a ride. On a horse. A black horse.

Love You,
Momma

"It Sucked and Then I Cried"

Seriously - it's too bad dooce got there first, because that could be the title to my memoir on breastfeeding, where the "it" refers to my baby.



My husband's hilarious, isn't he?

Will be heading out tomorrow to try to score some face time with the one and only Ms. Armstrong. I must say I am one lucky girl because the gal my brother picked to marry not only reads many of the same blogs I do, she has the gumption to go with me to a blogger book signing.

(Oh - hi Stacy! Guess what - you're gonna be in the family? You're gonna be in the blog. I'll be nice, though.)

Milestone Central

Well, I made it through a full week back to work. At one point, I had some massive fear that I may never function normally again. A totally irrational fear, of course, but I had some sleep deprivation to contend with, okay? The one night when I was up for the day at approximately 2:30 am . . . that was fun. Caffeine is totally my friend these days.

See, it's all been about getting Owen some sort of routine. I'm not going to say schedule, because it's certainly not like we're imposing this structure on his sleeping or eating. But, clearly, there are certain things that need to happen at certain times (like getting him to and from mom's house). And napping is something he needs, but doesn't seem to want, to do. Therein lies the challenge. My poor mother, listening to him scream and carry on when he's obviously tired. He just needs to learn 1) to sleep on his own and 2) to self-soothe.

Wednesday, when he finally took an hour and a half nap in his crib, we were jubilant. Then he slept through the night Thursday night. And not nursing-baby-sleep-through-the-night, where you're just overjoyed the kid went more than 3 hours between feedings. We're talking 8 pm until 5:45 am. I actually got to nurse him before I left for work and, apparently, he was back asleep by 7 am . . . and slept until 11. He was already in the habit of taking a long morning snooze this week, but he hadn't ever slept that long at night so this was a bit surprising. Then he slept through the night again last night. This time, after eating a about 45 minutes of play, I tried to put him down to nap in his crib. I mean, we're home after all. Scream central. BJ suggests, "Why don't you try putting him in his carseat? That's what he's used to, after all." I figured it would be a no-go, that he probably falls asleep in the carseat because he's riding in the car. Guess what - he quickly calmed down and fell asleep, and he's still asleep now.

So, Owen is finally starting to get some decent sleep (and not cry as much). Hallelujah! But that's not all that's developed in the last week. Oh no . . .

Zoe is actually using the potty. Regularly. Without adult prompting. It started last Friday - nearly her whole class actually used the bathroom after nap, a group notorious for stalling on the potty-training front. Her teacher was triumphant. Zoe was super-excited. Since then, she's used the toilet more than not and the motivators we've been shoving down her throat for the better part of a year? Yeah - she actually cares about them! Like her sticker chart, and wearing big-girl underwear, special treats and getting to watch movies . . . Looks like "Passive Potty-Training" works like a charm!

And now she's watching Goldfinger. Really. She wouldn't let me turn it off.

(yes, I'm the boss - but it's pretty harmless as far as "grown-up" movies go)

Owen-Cling, Day 3

It is now Wednesday. Since Monday, Owen has wanted nothing but for me to hold him, to be in physical proximity to me, during daylight hours. This means he will not nap unless I am holding him. He will not be pleasant unless I am holding him or touching him. If I deign to set him down to go to the bathroom, or put him in his crib because he is fast asleep, I will soon be greeted by screams and shrieks befitting someone whose arms are being dismembered by a large Wookkie. I'd love to let him cry it out, but he seems to have a stamina beyond the tolerance of my nerves. I have even attempted just going about my normal business with him attached to me. Only, he's so large now that he doesn't fit in his sling in a safe position. He's screaming right now but, quite frankly, we have to leave the house today which means I have to wear normal clothes (and am waiting for the iron to heat up).

Oh, this is fun. Did I mention I love my children?

Calgon . . . take me away!

Where's Calgon (and a nanny) when you need it? Ugh. Owen has not taken a legitimate nap all day, he screams bloody murder whenever I try to set him down, and, now, at 7:53 I'm home with both kids alone. Somehow, I managed to get dinner on the table, and Zoe in bed, but Owen has been screaming since about 6:30. If my neighbors could hear anything over the artic winds, they'd think I was pulling his fingernails out one by one. I needed to take a breath.

Farbeit for me to wish away my child's babyhood, but . . . seriously? Can this be done now?

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Thanks to all my loyal fans! :-) It's nice to hear from everyone and renews my spirit to keep plugging away at this little life journal. If you ever have the opportunity to do so yourselves (which, I know, some of you do), it's kind of fun to log the day-to-day then look back a couple of years later and marvel at who you were.

Boob Brief

I’ve made no secret about my love-hate relationship with breastfeeding. For me, from the beginning it was not some warm, glowing moment of love and bonding between me and my baby. After my struggles with Zoë, I decided that, if it started out that painful and difficult with our second, I wasn’t going to stick with it. So not worth it, and heaven knows formula-fed babies turn out just fine. I would have just been sad to not have the glorious cleavage and worry-free weight loss. So selfish, I know.

I’m not alone in this, but I firmly believe that the “breastfeeding isn’t *all* that great” camp needs to be a little more vocal. What I mean is: those of us who don’t have a beautiful, pain-free time of nursing need to talk about it more. So, what’s it been like the second time around?

As I was gloating about Owen’s weight gain, my friend, Annette, says, “So I guess the breastfeeding is going better this time!” Yeah. Totally.

In the hospital, when I first tried nursing Owen, I actually – unbelievably to me – felt like I kind of missed breastfeeding. Who wouldda thunk? Because he was super-sleepy the first 24 hours, as newly-borns tend to be, I did not have that many opportunities to nurse him at first. But, I was starting to feel sore. I’d minded my own advice and had my Lansinoh lanolin on hand. I’d even started using it before he was born. But, it was hurting a bit and I wasn’t surprised. Once we found out that he was tongue-tied, and we had a reason for my discomfort beyond just breastfeeding sucking, I actually felt hopeful about how it was going to go.

After I healed up, following Owen’s tongue-tied chomping, the adjustment to nursing was so much quicker than with Zoë. Owen is a different eater than she was, for one. That helps. When he’s hungry, he eats. He doesn’t lounge around, sleep-eating for hours on end. He gets to work, and then leaves me alone when he’s full. But, I think there’s also something to be said for this being the second time. My body knows what to do, I know what to expect, and I know what not to tolerate (like I know my skin can’t handle comfort sucking).

Now, don’t get me wrong. I still have all those, “lucky me – I feel everything!” issues. Like latch-on discomfort, let-down pain, aches when the milk comes back in . . . but, because I know that’s normal for me, I’m not anxious. Which means I’m not tense. Which means it’s not as uncomfortable as it was with Zoë. I’m also not anxious because I know Owen is getting enough. More than enough – I’ve said it before, 5 pounds in 6 weeks??? – to the point that we have a surplus of breastmilk in the freezer.

I do also still have moments when I’m just worn out, when I don’t think I can nurse him one more time. But rather than being due to dreading the pain, it is simply because I am worn out, like when he’s having a growth spurt. Fortunately, he takes a bottle just as well as the breast. That was another issue we didn’t think twice about – introducing Owen to the bottle right away, and he took to it marvelously.

At this point, breastfeeding is going very well. Better than I could have hoped. Unfortunately, I go back to work in 3 weeks. When I went back to work after having Zoë, I nursed and pumped as long as I could. But, Zoë lost interest in nursing within 2 months, and my supply dwindled as well. The stresses of working, pumping, finding time for it all took its toll. I would like to breastfeed Owen at least as long as I did Zoë, but I worry that my early return to work is going to interfere with that plan. I’m telling myself that if I can get through the four months I’ll be back to work before summer break, we’re golden. But, the reality is that I’ll probably have to supplement him.

Fiddle-dee-dee. I’ll just think about that tomorrow.

* * * *

It’s Delurking Day!! I know that weekly I have about 2 readers, but you two – leave a comment! I’d love to hear from you, my loyal readers.

Shocking news

I miss work.

Last night, I was at a dance troupe business meeting working with the ladies on, well, dance troupe business. After a particularly brilliant contribution (riiight), one of my girls asks, “You miss work, Kate?” You know what? I do.

I guess this speaks to the fact that I really do like my job. I like working with the kids, I like the relationships I’ve developed there. But, I’ve only been home for six and a half weeks. Before delivering Owen, I was so worried about my “short” maternity leave. I was home with Zoë almost 5 months, and it was hard to go back. I thought being home only 9 weeks would be that much harder. It turns out, I’m not so worried about it anymore.

I think, with Zoë, I spent nearly 3 months just trying to survive – getting through the days of endless crying, the constant pain of nursing, and just learning to parent. By the time I went back to work, we’d finally hit a groove and I was starting to enjoy being a mom. I felt like, “Wait a sec! This is just getting good!”

With Owen, despite nearly 3 weeks of being sick, I’m doing more than just surviving. He’s so much more pleasant, so much more manageable that I am enjoying (mostly) my time, now. Which also means, the days are starting to become a little monotonous. I mean, he is only 6.5 weeks old – it’s not like we’re playing patty-cake and taking field trips. I’m ready for a little more variety in my day, a little more social interaction, and a few more reasons to dress nice and put on my makeup and jewelry.

I love my kids. I love being their mom. While I’m not a big fan of mothering newborns – that’s just not my forte – could they be born six months old? – I do enjoy my time off. But, it turns out, I do miss work. Huh.

This 'n' That

I'm a weirdo. Even when he's screaming his head off at me, all up in my face, I love the smell of Owen's hot, milky breath.
* * * *
When she went out to call a patient, someone actually shouted at the tech in my pediatrician's office, "But I was here first!" Really? Are we at the deli counter? And what would make someone think that was an okay response?
* * * *
Having a newborn in the winter sucks. I'm not a big fan of winter anyway, but man am I cooped up.
* * * *
Zoe's is the best big sister ever. Now, if we could just get her to stop calling Owen her baby sister. (Seriously - and she used to have it right!)
* * * *
Owen weighs 13 pounds. That's 5 pounds in 6 weeks. Old Man Porkchop. Emphasis on the Porkchop.

Who?

Old Man Porkchop, that's who. "Sleeping Pill" is no longer befitting Owen, so we've taken to calling him Old Man Porkchop. The Porkchop part is obvious - he's huge. Because Owen's been sick, I've had the benefit of visitng the doctor every week and getting him weighed. When we brought him home from the hospital, he was 7 lb., 9 oz. As of Monday, Owen weighed 11 lb., 6 oz. Nearly 4 pounds in 5 weeks! And, dude - it is all in his mondo head.

But the Old Man? This kiddo is no cooing baby. He's a grumbly, crotchety old man. He grimaces, he groans, he grunts. He's so serious, with his furrowed brow. He's just a little old man. But, oh - do we love our Old Man Porkchop.

"I don't know!"

Zoe has developed this delightful habit of playing the helpless and/or clueless damsel. It absoultely infuriates BJ. Any question or request, her immediate response is "I don't know," or "I can't do it." Why is this so infuriating? Because these are things we know she either knows or can do. And, typically, "I don't know," is followed by the correct answer. For example, "Zoe, what color are your shoes?" "I don't know. Brown." Now, it is my suspicion that she does this because she actually gets away with it when she's outside the home. She is so darn cute and sweet, and she knows it. She knows everyone else will cater to her, help her. At home? Not so much. So she catches herself in the "watch what I can get other people to do" mode. It makes BJ bonkers. Me? I kind of chuckle - she's a smart kiddo. But, I do wish she'd use those brains to empower herself, not manipulate other unsuspecting folk.

It's those damn dimples, I tell ya'. Gets 'em every time.

12 Days of Christmas

Now that Christmas is over, let's recap our 12 Days of Christmas, shall we?

12 trips to Target.
11 sleepless nights.
10 hours to Branson.
9 people eating.
8 “new brand” horses.
7 attempts at wrapping.
6 doctors’ appointments.
5 hours of crying.
4 Christmas trees.
3 ears infected.
2 sick kids.
. . . and a Mommy with a crick in her neck!

How was your Christmas?

Four Weeks

Dear Owen,

Happy 1 Month Birthday!! Once again, I have to say it: where does the time go? Your dad and I were talking about the last time we had Chinese Kitchen yesterday and he felt like it was a month ago. I said, "No. We've had Owen for a month. It's been at least 2." Whoah.



The last couple of weeks have been absolutely insane for our family, but you have hung in there like a real trooper. First 1,000-mile road trip? Check. First memorial service? Check. First family reunion? Check. First illness? Check. Your dad and I have learned some valuable parenting lessons in the past 2 weeks, but we are so grateful for your generally laid-back attitude. A fussier baby, and I may be writing this post from a comfortable room at Linden Oaks rather than my computer desk.

Mostly, we learned that a major road trip with a 2.5-week-old is not a great idea. It was very important to me that we get to Branson for your GrandDaddy Bob's memorial service. I figured we would have a harder time with Zoe than you - at what other point is a baby so portable? But, we didn't count on you refusing to sleep in the Pack & Play. Or the futility of trying to socialize when you want to eat every few hours. (Granted - I have no problem with nursing in public. But, I know my father and brothers aren't too comfortable with it, so we did try to keep it private. I'm so accommodating!) It was a rough 3 days. But, despite all the trials, you held up remarkably well. Let's just wait until you're a bit older to try that again.

Getting sick is something you have apparently mastered, as well. It seems that when you get sick, you go all the way. What Daddy and I are left wondering is how our kids got so tough! Barely a fuss from you, no apparent indications about what might be wrong . . . just a lot of sleeping. You seem to already be on the mend - you're back to eating every 3 hours, you're even sleeping in your crib now. Such a strong little man!

Of course, you're hardly little. At the doctor's office yesterday, you weighed in at 10 pounds, 15 ounces. Nearly 11 pounds! At one month old! I won't dispute that you like to eat, and there is still nothing more important to you. We haven't yet gotten a lot of awake time from you, but it is now obvious why: you're too focused on growing. But the times you are awake, you are such a doll. Just content to sit and look around. I was even able to wrap some presents today while you laid peacefully on a blanket on the floor next to me. You only started to fuss after nearly 20 minutes, and then, once I changed your vantage point, you were content again. Guess you just got bored with that side of the room.

Daddy and I both hope you're feeling well enough to get into the Christmas spirit tomorrow. You won't remember a thing about this Christmas, but it is your first and your family is so anxious to share it with you. Merry Christmas, Little Man!



Love,
Momma

Sick.

It has been a rather busy week or so . . . between the holidays, a newborn, a toddler, and a funeral, the Lippoldts have been running around a tad bit crazy. And I've gotten behind - big surprise. Ah well, moving forward.

Owen is sick. My 4-week-old baby is super-duper sick. I feel terrible. He started getting a little cranky late last week. But, that's not unusual for infants his age, so we didn't put much thought into it. Then he shows up with the sniffles on Saturday. Kid appears to have a cold! Again, no big shocker. It is December, flu & cold season, a big sister in daycare . . . he's still doing okay. Sunday, I have the impression that something is not right. He's coughing now and his chest occasionally rattles when he breathes. But, no fever, his breathing isn't labored, he's still eating, sleeping, pooping . . . I don't like how sick he seems, but by the time I decide I want him to see the doctor the convenient care/urgent care places are closed. And there is no way I'm sitting in the ER for hours on end. I decided to stay up with him that night and get into his pediatrician in the morning.

A double ear infection with a touch or either pneumonia or bronchitis. Seriously. Doc couldn't believe he a) didn't have a fever and b) was still breathing fine. I felt terrible. It was nice of the doctor to reassure me saying it was a good thing I went with my gut, because had I waited for him to have a fever it wouldn't have been good. So, Owen's got his first antibiotic. Hooray!

Of course, presuming that Zoe is the reason Owen is sick, BJ got her in to the doctor this afternoon, as well. I guess our doc said to him, "What are you two doing here?" Well, score 2 for parents, because she's got another ear infection. So, both our kids are on Omnicef (and we get to experience why Target color codes the bottles). Zoe also now has an appointment with the allergist to find out why she has the chronic runny nose and cough. Part of me hopes its dust. Maybe then I can convince BJ to hire a cleaning service . . .

"What time is it?"

While down in Branson for the weekend, I was feeding Owen on the sofa while chatting with my aunt and cousins about babies, sleeping, etc. Aunt Letti and I were telling the girls that, no - you don't feel relief the first time your baby sleeps through the night. You feel panic. As in, "Oh crap - what time is it? Why didn't he get up? Is my baby dead???!!!" So, of course, last night I got to experience that panic moment for the first time with Owen. Owen didn't quite sleep through the night, but almost. I put him in his crib at 10:00 (after dozing off myself while lulling him to sleep). Next thing I know, it's three in the morning - and, of course, the last time I "emptied" was 7:15. I let BJ know I was getting out of bed to tend to myself and he says, "Could you just check on him and make sure he's OK?" Owen didn't finally wake up until nearly 4.

Granted - this was a welcome change. The 2 nights down at the lake, Owen did not want to sleep at all. I think we were all relieved to be in our own beds.

2 Weeks

Dear Owen,



Two weeks have absolutely flown by. If I thought the time went quickly with your big sister, I would have been wrong. That wasn't fast. This is fast. I've found myself counting backwards to really remember how long it's been since you joined our family.

The past two weeks have been, honestly, fairly enjoyable. You have surprised us with how mellow, regular and sleepy you are. I've read the parenting websites, I've read the books, and I've come to learn that this is how newborns are supposed to behave in the first couple of weeks. Your dad and I just didn't realize that Lippoldt babies behaved like average babies.

While we are still waiting to get to know you - because you're much more interested in growing at the moment - your big sister Zoe just adores you. When she gets home from school, the first thing she asks is "Where is Owen?" When you cry, which is rare, she asks what is wrong with a note of concern in her voice. She loves to give you kisses and strokes on the head. I will have to apologize now, though, for the torture you may receive if you keep your lovely hair. Zoe is just in this hair styling phase, and she's already brushing your hair each time we do a diaper change. Poor little man.

You are so calm and laid back right now, but it's hard to be otherwise when all you do is eat and sleep. Grow, baby, grow! You've packed on nearly 2 pounds in the past two weeks (after losing about half a pound the first two days). No wonder, with the crazy amounts you are eating. It is a miracle my body can keep up!

Daddy and I have truly enjoyed snuggling with you over the past 14 days and, while we hope you continue to be a major snuggle-bunny, we really look forward to getting to know you a bit better. At the least, we'd like to see if your eyes are still blue!

Love,
Momma

A little consideration, please.

Kids need routine. Kids need consistency. They need to know what to expect, when, as a general rule. Daycare is a big adjustment for kids, regardless of what age they start. So, why oh why would any parent think they can just drop their kid off willy-nilly, when it suits them, on random days at random times?

This is my major complaint today. Zoe did not get a nap at school. Normally, this kid naps 1.5-2 hours at daycare. Why didn't she get a nap? Was she not feeling well? No. Quite simply, there is a little boy who very infrequently attends class. He has no routine or structure there, and refused to nap today. Not just not nap. Apparently, he cried and screamed the whole time. Not a single other child slept today. And so, we were faced with an anxious, overtired, hyper-wired 2-year-old this evening. You either know what that means, or you can guess.

Gah.

I wanted a "natural" childbirth?

From the beginning of this pregnancy, my OB had suggested we may need to consider an early induction. Zoe's delivery was short, sure, but her shoulder popped. No injury, but in the delivery notes, they did mention an issue of fit, blah, blah, blah. So, because she wasn't exactly big (7 lb. 3 oz.), my doctor wisely felt we should monitor this kiddo's size and induce early as s/he approached Zoe's size. I wasn't really thrilled with the idea of an induction - I mean, I had such fun in the last one! - but figured we'd wait and see.



At my 35 week appointment, the doctor estimated baby was about 7 pounds, 19 inches long. Already. At this point, as anyone who knows me can tell you, I was so anxious to be done with this pregnancy that I brought up the induction option. Doctor says, "Oh sure, we can do that." Two weeks later, I'm set up with a date and time at labor & delivery, with the plan to get me home for Thanksgiving.



We arrived at the hospital with some definite requirements for this induction - slow Pitocin drip, no internal monitor, let me move around with contractions. As in, I'll wait and let you know about an epidural. I really wanted to give it a go again.



About 3 hours into my labor, I am starting to feel uncomfortable. My contractions are about 3-4 minutes apart, I was still pretty relaxed, but I liked the idea of staying relaxed. So, I asked for an epidural. The wonderful anesthesiologist came (eventually - good thing I asked when I did, because they were BUSY) and shot me up. I quickly feel my left leg going tingly, the pain subsiding . . . but don't think much about my right leg still feeling normal. Until the contractions pick up. And I could feel this fist-sized spot right above my right leg. Then the spot gets bigger. And I can feel my whole lower front. BJ pushes the call button; I let loose with a groan of pain at the exact moment the nurse says, "Do you need help?" She immediately answers her own question, "Yes, you do!"

The anesthesiologist did return - he shot me up with some narcotics, which helped me relax a little, but I could still feel. It all went pretty quickly after that. Unlike with Zoe, I could feel. So, I knew I needed to push. The nurse retrieved my doctor right away, knowing how quickly Zoe came. Approximately 6 contractions later, we had our little boy!

Here's the thing - I'd always had this desire to go "natural". I got so locked up with Zoe, that I needed the epidural to deliver her. But, it took so well that I didn't really experience that delivery. At all. This time, I decided "numb is nice!" and it didn't quite work out that way. Nevertheless, because I could feel the pressure, pain, burning . . . I experienced Owen's birth. I was aware, I was in the moment, I was there. I felt so much more connected to what was going on, it was kind of amazing. I actually felt some loss because I realized how doped up I was with Zoe.

One thing's for sure - I'm glad the epidural mostly worked!

Cat got your tongue?

Owen is tongue-tied. Really! We had our first pediatrician visit Wednesday (since we got discharged early), and as he's examining Owen he asks me, "Does he ever stick out his tongue?" Hmm . . . "Kind of," I said. He had me take a peek, and sure enough, Owen's tongue was connected to the floor of his mouth all the way to the tip. We weren't exactly surprised, though - BJ was tongue-tied. Thing his, he didn't get his fixed until he was 5, at which point he needed speech therapy!

A quick visit to the ENT today (we love this guy - I swear, we're going to end up putting his kids through college), a 10 second snip and all is well. No more tongue-tie and, hopefully, a little less chomping on poor mommy's tender vittles.

Introducing Owen

It's a boy! Owen was born on Monday, November 24 at 3:46 pm after a fairly uneventful induction (more on that later). He's a wonderful little man and BJ's glee at having a son and heir is totally apparent. "Now, if you want to stop after 2, I'm okay with that!" Big sister Zoe is very tender and caring - she's doing just great, no lie.

Isn't our little Butterball just precious?

"Rollin', rollin', rollin'. . ."

If you have not already checked out the newest Zoe video (look to your left), you absolutely must. The brief backstory is this: ever since we took Zoe horseback riding on vacation this summer, she's had a mild obsession with horses. When our fall park district program came out, I happened upon an event I thought might interest her (and feed her obsession) - a Stick Horse Rodeo. The week before the rodeo, my mom took Zoe to the fall horse show at Danada. My, my - did that fan the flames. She was so pumped for the Rodeo, that wild horses couldn't have kept her away. At any rate, we took her to the Stick Horse Rodeo last weekend (the most beautiful fall day this year). They had a series of "events" in which all the kiddos trotted their stick horses around the equestrian arena while a real announcer called out and music played. One of the events was "Musical Stalls". The first song they played was "Ring of Fire" by the one and only Johnny Cash. She immediately started prancing to the music and tipping her hat. It has become known as the Cowboy Song in our house.

Flash forward to tonight. We were all hanging in BJ's room, listening to music (and getting a kick out of the fact that Zoe now sings along to "Roxanne" having only heard it once) when Zoe requests the Cowboy Song. While BJ searches his library, she gets distracted by her balloon. Midway through a leap to grab the balloon's string, the horns start up and Zoe immediately springs into gallop-mode. Like Pavlov's dog hearing the bell, all else is forgotten. Of course, at this point I'm "asked" to go downstairs and retrieve her cowboy hat and stick horse.

But, that was just the beginning of the frivolity. We played a few more "cowboy" songs, including a slower Garth Brooks to try to calm Zoe. She wanted a fast song, so I suggested "Rawhide". I figure that's a pretty good "cowboy" song. The music starts up, she begins to trot around the room, but then the refrain: "Rollin', rollin', rollin'. . ." Quick as lightning, Zoe stops in front of me, shoves the stick horse out - "Hold this," she says - lays flat on the floor and starts rolling. Over and over, big ole log rolls while keeping her cowboy hat on. BJ and I were dying.

Now that's something I wish I had on video.

Lippoldt Family Vacation Re-Cap

Well, the last few weeks of work were completely insane. Nothing to say about that, other than I'm glad they're done and past. As soon as we could "get the hell out of Dodge", we did just that and, the morning following my last day of work we loaded up the family truckster and began our journey to Branson.

I mentioned the morning, didn't I? Yeah. Three'o'clock in the morning.

Truly, that was pretty genius on our part. We (well, Zoe and I) haven't been to Branson since last April. Travelling with a 1-year-old was interesting, but travelling all that way with a 2-year-old was going to be something else all-together. We figured that, by leaving at 3, we'd reach St. Louis before Zoe wanted to eat and got too active. When I scooped her out of bed, she was fast asleep. She stayed that way until we got outside to get in the car and the cool air hit her face. But, miracle of miracles, she remained calm and happy and was back asleep in an hour. Better yet, she didn't wake up until 45 minutes before our first scheduled stop at Telegraph Road. Score 1 for the parents.



We completely surprised my father when we walked in the house about noon that day. He quickly made me snap a photo of the cactus blooming near the front drive.

The week included visits with my grandparents, negotiating drama between my parents (who are trying to clean out/re-arrange the family compound), Zoe's first trip to an amusement park, first time horseback riding, and lots & lots of child-friendly DVDs. Unfortunately, the weather was very un-southwestern Missouri. Lovely, sunny days with mild temps in the upper 70s and practically no humidity. I say unfortunately because that ruled out all the water rides and a trip to White Water. We didn't have a boat this year, so that was out of the question anyway. Can I tell you how strange it is to be down there looking out over Table Rock Lake and not spend any time on the water?



Zoe thought Steal-Your-Dollar City was phenomenal. We spent nearly the whole time in "Tom Sawyer's Landing" where she romped on the rope-riddled tree fort thing, rode the carousel, rode the balloons and rode the balloons some more. Despite the already high admission prices, we've decided to do a multi-day pass next time. And, she's free until her fifth birthday - can't beat that with a stick. To top it off, there were only a couple of minor tantrums and she fell asleep in her stroller as we walked back to our car. Score 2 for the parents.

If you're ever planning on a trip to Branson, you have to do horseback riding at Uncle Ike's. It's right on Highway 76 between Silver Dollar City and Highway 13. It's a great trail, well-cared-for horses, and a good value. That's my advertisement - they've been there forever. Zoe went gaga over the horses. We rode together (any more pregnant and we'd have been too heavy!) and I'll never forget the joy in her voice. She'll be talking about that horse forever. Score 3 for the parents.

All-in-all, a highly successful vacation. Our drive back with Zoe was just as successful - she was so good in the car. Next year will be a different story, of course, with a 3-year-old and a six-month-old both in the backseat. But it gives us hope for another generation of annual trips. Besides, now that we have the house down there, I fully intend on weeks-long visits every summer.

First trimester screening

Turns out that in the short 2 years since I've had Zoe, they've had more advances in prenatal screening. The quad screen has apparently become a quint screen, and now there's a first trimester screening that is 85% accurate at detecting Downs and Trisomies 21 and 18. Since I've got great insurance, and we may as well have all the information we need early on, we went ahead. It's just a blood draw and ultrasound, so no biggie. I went in this morning - the consulting physician said everything looks really good, and he even called me skinny. (It so wasn't a come-on, but it was nice to hear - he was just referencing that I'd be fine to do the routine ultrasound at 20 weeks because of my build.)





S/he looks like a real baby, now - amazing the change in 2 weeks' time. And even a thumb-sucker already! We are beginning to mull over possible girl's names, since we already have our boy's name picked out (Owen Otto). BJ's vetoed all my ideas so far, except Rachel, and we've settled on Sharon for the middle name. He insists he's waiting for his dreams to tell us - just like the dream he had about Zoe. I'm thinking he hasn't had a dream because it's a boy and we already have that name. Anyone have any good girl suggestions?

In case we forgot

Heading out the door to the park today . . .

B: Zoe, what do we need if we're going to go to the park?
Z: Me! [points emphatically at self]

At Church

Those of you who know me well, know that we Lippoldts go to "church" every Sunday morning, which "church" is Panera. It's a little family ritual, we have breakfast, we do our errands . . . Zoe eats more than BJ and I, and we now have a 2-year-old who can and will order an egg souffle. At any rate, this morning at "church," we had the following exchange:

B: Someday, somebody else will be mowing the lawn [knowing glance to Zoe].
K: Mmm-hmm.
Z: Yeah - Papa Don!

Later, BJ and I were discussing the possibility of going to Sears to get a tune-up kit for the lawn mower.

B: Okay, Zoe - time to go! We've got to go to Sears this morning.
Z: No, Daddy. Home Depot.

As a wise person once said, "Kids say the darndest things."

MacGyver time

Whenever Shrek the Third came out, Zoe got a talking Shrek with her Happy Meal. At the time, she was afraid of it (even though she likes the movies). She's recently come to love Shrek, burping and all, so much so that his battery has died. Being a Happy Meal toy, it was not intended for it to be opened up. Did that stop BJ? Nah. He just unscrewed, and cracked the thing open (Shrek's arms and legs went flying) and got to the battery - three little watch batteries. Which, of course, we don't have. So he disconnected the whole thing, found some electrical tape, and rigged it up to a standard AA battery (he was going on about some science rule about volts and amps). And now, Shrek - armless, legless, backless Shrek - talks again!

Where's the magic?

Captain Obvious here: being pregnant the second time is way different. When I catch a moment to stop and think about it, I almost feel guilty for the difference. But it can't be helped. For one thing, every change or event is a little "been there, done that." We know what to expect, I know how it feels (generally) . . . very little mystery (although I'm anxious to see this little one for the first time).

But, more than anything, I just don't have time to immerse myself in the pregnancy experience. When I was pregnant with Zoe, I could spend a whole day just focused on my body, thinking about the baby, reading websites, daydreaming . . . Yeah. Not exactly overwhelmed with free time at the moment. Work is crazy hectic, I have a rambunctious 2-year-old, meals to fix, a house to care for . . . did I mention a rambunctious 2-year-old?

And, I'm exhausted. That's not a change, but with Zoe I wasn't working for most of my first trimester. I could take a nap in the middle of the day. I could lounge around watching television. Even when I was working, I had no one to worry about but myself (and sometimes BJ). Now I go-go-go from the moment I get up until Zoe goes to bed, at which point I promptly pass out on the sofa. Lately, I even given up the pretense that I'm going to get something done in the evening and just go to bed myself once Zoe's down.

All this to say, it's different. "Duh", I guess. I'm so excited to be pregnant again and can't wait to meet our new little one, but let's just hurry it up, okay?

"Need Brains"

You know how sometimes you don't know if your toddler is just saying "yes" or really understands you? This morning I asked Zoe if she wanted to eat peanut butter toast for breakfast. She said, "Yes!" BJ thought he'd test her:
B: Zoe, do you want to eat Mommy's brain?
Z: Yes!
K: You want to eat my brain?
Z: Yes. Because I love you.

Six Weeks

Today the smell of coffee made me queasy.

I am still not really used to how you count pregnancies. I feel like I just found out yesterday that I was pregnant (really, almost) and here I am six weeks along. Sometime last week I started having some sort of acid reflux no matter what I ate. And just low-grade indigestion. Burping on an empty stomach, difficulty swallowing my food, and the wonderful it’s-been-too-long-since-I-ate nausea. That last one I remember from Zoë. I’ve tried to plan ahead for it, but sometimes working (or caring for a 2-year-old) distracts one from snacking.

But today? Today Anne was standing in my office doorway talking to me, drinking a cup of coffee. And I couldn’t focus on her words because I couldn’t ignore the smell of that coffee. And I don’t like the smell of coffee on a good day. It was gross. Yeah. I’m pregnant.

"Daddy? Daddy?"

Having your nearly-two-year old transition to her big girl room and big girl bed when she has the beginnings of an ear infection is probably not the best idea. Zoe is such a good sleeper and (bless it) fabulous at soothing herself back to sleep. But, it doesn't seem like she sleeps all that well or self-soothes all that well when she's feeling yucky and doesn't know where she is. It was a long night.

After we put her down, she was okay until BJ came to bed. From that point on, she was up every 20 minutes or so pleading ever so pitifully for us. I don't think I mentioned my window blinds gaffe, but it plays a role here. See, I trimmed the cords for the blinds in Zoe's room to minimize the choking hazard and keep them out of her pulling reach. Only, I didn't notice that one set of blinds wasn't fully lowered before I trimmed the cords. So, they won't close all the way (easily rectifiable once I get some cord). Anyway, back to that night. BJ thought Zoe would be fine with the window part-way open. I wasn't so sure and placed my back-up plan nearby. Just in case.

About 12:30 and I'd had enough. The light from the streetlamp in front of our house was shining on the wall right above Zoe's bed. That would bug me, and I'm not a sicky 23-month-old. So there I am, duct-taping a towel to the bottom of her blinds, in the near-dark, trying not to wake her. But, after that, she slept for 2 hours. Hooray!

After that, though, it was crank ever half hour or so. By 3:00 I was already toast, I knew BJ had to get up to work in a few hours, so I just curled up on the floor next to her. Oh, the ache in my hip! I am starting to feel a little age creep on to me.

Once we "woke up for the day", Zoe was chipper for all of an hour. And then it was total meltdown. She wouldn't eat. She didn't want to drink. Or play. Or even watch TV. She actually asked me to "Go take a nap in big girl room." It was 8:00 am. She normally naps at noon. Oh boy.

We go back upstairs, she curls up on her luxury crib mattress, I curl up on the floor, and we both fall asleep. For an hour. When I experience a massive dream twitch and stir us both (my hand was on her back). Thank goodness, she rolled over and went back to sleep. I crept out and slunk into my own bed for another hour.

This is what we got when she next woke up:


It's been a week and all is well. At first, she wouldn't even leave the mattress when she woke up. She'd stand on it, like she did when she was in her crib, and call to us. Now, she opens the door, leans over the gate, and coos, "Daddy? Momma? Daddy?" Really sweet. She absolutely loves her new room and gives nary a backward glance at the nursery.

Baby's growin' up!

Pregnant-Pregnant!

It was a tense day today, not only because it was time to go back to work. I got to spend the whole day waiting – just waiting, hopefully – for the results of blood test #2. The nurse had told me to expect to hear before 10:00 AM, but give a call after noon if I hadn’t heard anything. It wasn’t until this morning that I realized I’d be at work. Why hadn’t I thought of that? I could have told them to call my cell! Of course, though, I got home and they hadn’t called. I got Zoë settled and picked up the phone. As I’m leaving the message with the receptionist, she asks, “Are you pregnant?” To which I reply, “I hope so!” I don’t think she realized that I was really waiting to know.

The time between my phone call and their return call was killer. Remember in The Wizard of Oz as Dorothy is watching the grains of sand drop in the hour glass? That was what it was like seeing every minute tick closer to five o’clock. Dreadful agony. I finally decided to go about my business and get dinner started. Which is like cosmic red alert for the phone to ring. I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved to be multitasking. Everything looks good! The hCG more than quintupled in the 48 hours between tests (apparently, doubling in 48 hours is good) and my progesterone was still good. Better yet, they don’t want to test me again and we scheduled my first appointment. For May 12th. Our seventh anniversary. Happy Anniversary, BJ.

Whisper Pregnant

Blood test #2 today. It’s a darn good thing that I don’t have work this week, because there is no way I would be able to concentrate on anything but my reproductive organs. No more spotting the past 2 days. A few aches. The home test I took yesterday was darker – BJ chuckled at the way I had the two tests lined up on the counter, side-by-side. After she takes my blood, and I’m about to go, she asks me if they called me with the results of my first test. “No,” I reply, thinking You told me they wouldn’t because I’d be back here today. She asks me to wait, and walks off to consult a nurse, a doctor, someone. I can hear their hushed voices and I feel a little nervous, but am trying to prevent Zoë from destroying Exam Room 3. The tech and nurse return and show me the test results. Progesterone looks great, hCG is 16.2. We won’t really know anything until today’s results come back, but after a brief discussion, the nurse says, “You’re whisper pregnant.” I like that. Besides, I say Pregnant Is Pregnant.

I'm a Big Kid Now

Tonight is Zoe's first night in her "big girl room" - a momentus occasion. For the past several months I've been picking out (with Zoe's help) bed and bath decor, and transforming our guest room and bath into Zoe's new room. Don't worry - I'll post photos.

See, I'd figured that around her second birthday I'd be well on my way to gestating our second child and we definitely wanted to move Zoe out of the nursery before she had a concept of a new baby entering the house. Make the switch about her, an exciting event for her. While the urgency is not exactly there for this move, we just figured what better way to mark her 2nd birthday than by giving her a big girl room!

Nevermind the fact that her birthday falls during spring break, so I am home and can suffer through a few sleepless nights while she adjusts.

We put her down at 7:05. I've already gone in once, BJ's gone in once. Lucky for us, we discovered her ear draining - again - during bath time. We shouldn't be suprised - it's a holiday, after all. Anyway, I wanted to check her temp. BJ wanted to calm her down. This could be a disaster if she's feeling sick. I'll let you know in the morning.

Oh my gosh!

To quote Oswald, one of my least favorite Noggin cartoons. Yes, I know he's voiced by Fred Savage. The show just irritates me.

I digress - "Oh my gosh!" It's March 13th. When was the last time I posted? Yikes. How embarrasing. But, today is a sick day! Here's just a little indication of how we've spent the last few days in this house:



Zoe has an ear infection. Again. Only now doc is suspecting she may have allergies, the congestion from which is winding up in her ears, leading to an infection. At least it's draining because of the tubes. I had a wonderful moment of mommy guilt - she'd had a fever all weekend, and we kept her home Monday to recuperate. But, we thought she was better and her fever was gone Tuesday. So, of course, we sent her to school. Where her fever returned, she had a miserable day, and I had to go pick her up early. Only to discover, of course, that now her ear was pussing all over the place. Great going, Momma!

At this point, Zoe's been out of school most of the week and she's getting bored. She's feeling better today. Really. And I get a chance to use the computer without a 32-lb. toddler hanging from my neck. Hooray! It's supposed to be 54 degrees today (can it be? truly? we can go outside in the sun???), so I think we'll get out the tricycle.

In other news:

• The Sentra has left us for good. May it rest in peace as a donation to Kars 4 Kids.
• We got a new car!!! Well, used, but new to us. A silver 2005 Honda Pilot. I love this car. Very much. And yes - now we have "matching" silver SUVs. We're so suburban.
• I'm not blonde anymore. I got it in my mind to do away with the highlights and shorten up. It ended up darker than I first envisioned, but I actually love it. Very much like the last time I got it colored.
• We're still not pregnant. That's a whole other post. Suffice it to say that I'm becoming resigned to having my children 3 years apart, not 2.

What's new with all of you?

The Week of Milestones

Well, BJ marked his third decade with grace and peace, albeit a bit of grumbling about being "old" and "losing all his hair" and such. We ended up celebrating for 3 days straight. And this guy didn't want a party. It all started with fajita's at Don's, with bonus snow storm (reminiscent of the snow storm just a day after his birth??). I gave BJ a day to "play golf" (computer games), sans Zoe, before we had a babysitter come over so we could get dinner and a movie.

How long it had been since we had dinner and a movie, I couldn't tell you. But the babysitter was a milestone in and of itself - truly the first time we had a non-relative, someone we were paying, watch Zoe. I tell you what - working in a high school has its advantages. Namely that you can have your pick of adolescent babysitters and do a little "background check" to boot.

(We saw Cloverfield - I admit I got pretty motion sick. Ugh. Otherwise, it was great. Except the row of preadolescent nincompoops in front of us. I finally acted the teacher and told them to watch the movie or go out in the hall. Later BJ said, "I'm glad you said something. I was getting ready to kick their seats." A mature response for a 30-year-old.)

We rounded out the celebrations with a family dinner at Domo 77 - yummy Japanese steakhouse. Zoe loved the cooking at the table bit, as if you couldn't tell.


But the biggest deal this week was Zoe's first surgery. We had, essentially, the first slot of the morning on Tuesday, so we got Zoe up just before we had to leave. I really believe the worst part of the whole experience was explaining to the Eating Machine why she couldn't have breakfast that morning.

We had been talking about going to the hospital and the surgery for several days before, so by the time we left she knew we were going to the hospital where the doctors would make her ears feel better. I'll have to get the photo off my phone, because she looked just adorable - and quite grown up - in her hospital PJs. She's always been very curious about doctors, nurses, and the medical process, so she was pretty relaxed and calm each time a nurse or someone entered the room. When it was time for her to go, she walked out of the room and down the hall all by herself, next to the nurse. Cool as a cucumber and sweet as pie.

Fifteen minutes later, they wheeled her back in. When she woke up from the anesthesia we had to let the staff know. Usually kids cry and cary on when they wake up, they said, and didn't expect her to wake up groggy but calm. I swear, this kid is one tough cookie. Within 10 minutes, she was asking for a snack (also unusual, I guess). The whole thing was done in 2 hours, and she was back to herself (and at school) the next day. We're so proud of our little girl.

Now, getting her to comply with the ear drops for the next 2 weeks is another story . . .

Let's Go Tubing!

It is the Saturday after Thanksgiving. I'm still recovering from whatever stomach/intestinal virus completely knocked me out of commission on both Thanksgiving Day and Black Friday. Zoe wakes up with a fever. That gets worse as the day goes on. By Sunday morning, we have decided to take her to the ER to get checked out. You've all read about that. Diagnosis: ear infection. He hands us a script for amoxicilin (#1) and we're on our way.

She finishes out her medicine and is feeling better. Time goes by and she appears to be on the mend. Five days before Christmas I walk into Zoe's room to get her ready for school. The whole right side of her face is covered in crusty, pus-y goop, apparently from her right ear. I call her pediatrician and get her in that afternoon. Diagnosis: ear infection (still) and punctured ear drum. He hands us a script for Cefdinir (or something - #2) and antibiotic ear drops (#3). He sends us on our way, but with the order to return in 10 days if everything is normal, immediately if the drainage doesn't clear up in three days. On my way home, I do the math . . . that means we have to decide what to do the Sunday before Christmas . . . hmmm.

Zoe's fever & goo continues and that Sunday, Christmas Eve-Eve, we try to call the doctor. Yeah, it's a Sunday, but that's what the answering service is for, especially since he wanted us to get her checked out in 3 days if she hadn't gotten better. Simple question: should we take her to urgent care or wait until the morning? Apparently as following doctor's orders isn't an emergency, the woman who answers is unwilling to contact the pediatrician on call. We go to urgent care. Diagnosis: really icky ear infection that's invading the left ear, now. He hands us a script for Augmenten (#4) and tells us to follow up with our pediatrician. And we're on our way again.

Within 24 hours of starting Augmenten, Zoe's fever is gone and she's acting more like our perky little girl. We cancel our Christmas Eve plans - let's not be ridiculous - and are grateful that it looks like we'll have a decent Christmas Day. A week or so goes by. We visit the pediatrician to check on how her ear drum has healed and make sure the infection is gone. Diagnosis: ear drum on the mend, infection still raging in the right and hanging out in the left. Now doctor takes a big sigh. In just over a month, she's gone through 4 different antibiotics from 3 different classes. He tells us we're down to 2 options, neither of which he likes. Put her on another, very harsh, antibiotic, or refer her for tubes. It's her first ear infection. He's not ready to send her to the ENT. He hands us a script for Cleocin Ped (#5) and wants to see us again in 10 days. We're on our way once more.

Cleocin is apparently some nasty shit. The pharmacist strongly recommends we get a probiotic supplement to prevent major digestive problems (by the way - I'm totally sold on probiotics, now). She does really well, her congestion even goes away, and we think she's on the mend. We return to the doctor in 10 days, this past Monday. I skeptically hold my breath. Zoe draws on the chalkboard.

Diagnosis: her ears are still infected. Get ye to the ENT ASAP.

We visited the ENT today and Zoe is next in a long line of tubers! Seriously, we are not that surprised. BJ went through 3 or 4 sets, up until 8th grade. We knew going into having children that someone would end up with tubes. Did we expect it to occur before her second birthday? Or as a result of her very first ear infection? No. But she's got some bad ass resistant bug in her head. Both her ears are packed with thick goop. Her timpanography was flat, flat, flat. I don't see a lot of those charts in my job, but I've seen enough to know they're not supposed to look like that. She's, obviously, got temporary hearing loss right now, especially for low frequencies.

Mostly, though, I'm glad to have this resolved. It's been a lot of work missed, a ridiculous number of doctor visits, the Target pharmacist now knows us personally . . . an interesting two months. Come the end of the month, Zoe's going to be going crazy with all the new sounds she's hearing! Now let's just hope she grows out of this business before it's time to join the swim team.

Holiday Wrap-Up

It's the New Year, I'm back to work, and I'm sorely behind. Instead of a
long post about how delightful our holiday was, here's a by-the-numbers run
down:

104 - BJ's temperature the 2 days before returning to work
103 - Zoe's temperature the 3 days before Christmas
87 - packages Zoe opened
46 - rounds of Guitar Hero (1, 2, 3, 80's)
16 - salt dough ornaments cut, baked, painted, glittered, varnished,
ribboned
12 - family members around the dinner table
10 - Christmas presents ordered on etsy.com
9.5 - pounds of spiral cut, honey-glazed ham
8 - dozen cookie balls dipped in chocolate
5, er 6 - dozen cookies baked
3 - days before Christmas I didn't have to work
3 - antibiotics Zoe consumed over the holiday
2 - exhausted, dizzy parents
1 - flaming napkin threatening the house
1 - satiated, overtired, gleeful toddler

Salt Dough Ornaments

Since we were already on a crafting kick, I got it in my head to make salt dough ornaments with Zoë. I remember having a few on the tree as a kid, but we never made them, despite my mother being Martha Stewart. Well, a kinder, gentler Martha Stewart. Anyway, I tracked down a recipe online and figured if Zoë likes to play with Play-Dough, she’ll love this. I was so right!



We gave the finished ornaments to everyone at our Christmas celebration. It's just too bad I couldn't seem to get pictures of the finished product . . .

See & Spell

Okay, I know it's just rote memory, like learning to say, "Thank you, Momma."

But, Zoe can spell her name, now. Let me gloat on this a little bit. The scenario goes like this:

"Zoe - do you want to write your name?"

"Z!" (Momma writes a Z)

"What comes next?"

"O!" (Momma writes an O)

"What comes after the O?"

"E!" (Momma writes E)

Is this kid a hot shot or what? I think I'll have her auditioning for Wheel of Fortune by the time she's 3.

My Favorite Things

For a few months now I’ve wanted to add some other “feature” to this site. A regular update on some theme that would kind of serve as a snapshot of our lives even when I had nothing really to “say.” I just couldn’t come up with a good idea. Then dooce went and overhauled her site and added this nifty “Daily Style” section. And being a really good copycat, I thought, “That’s just what I’m looking for!” But, I don’t think I’m so surrounded by style, or even a strong aesthetic, that people are clamoring to see. That’s where holiday inspiration (and Oprah) came in – what about some of my favorite things? I could regularly post a photo of a “favorite thing” – something I bought, or made, or experienced, or use, or whatever. And while sometimes friends and family are interested in the coolness that is me, it is really a cool way to track who I am. After all, that’s what this website is about – logging who we are and what’s happening for posterity.
I can’t promise it will be daily. And, ideally, I won’t be posting here in my main content space. But, until I can get the new site to work, here are a few of my favorite things this week.

Arts and crafts time. Zoë is finally getting old enough to really enjoy craftiness. And while introducing a 20-month-old to bottles of glitter may be a mistake, she’s helped remind me how much I love these things that I long ago, foolishly, cast aside as “childish.”

My Santa advent calendar. We got this as a housewarming gift before our first Christmas as a married couple. I’ve always liked hanging the little ornaments each day, but, like most things these days, experiencing it through the eyes of my toddler makes it all the more magical.

Anyone who knows us knows that our Christmas tree is dominated by Hallmark’s collectible Star Wars ornaments. And the more lights and sounds they have, the better. This is one of this year’s additions. You have no idea how cool it is. It plays the Star Wars theme. Zoë thinks the whole tree is “neat” (her word), but she has to have me play this one daily.
I’m so excited about these necklaces. I was thrilled when I found the beads for them, even more stoked when I found these adorable toggle closures. But the finished product is even better than I expected. I look forward to giving them, but kind of wish I didn’t have to.

Is the week over, yet?

Once again, a string of random things today. See - I've been good about the posting every day bit. But each day that goes by - each step closer to the holidays, every inch nearer annual review season (work) - my brain grows ever more mush-like. I'm scatter-brained and I really don't like it. But it also means that I have not one coherent, original thought to blog. Blech. It's like the potatoes have been boiled and the chef is looming over them with a masher.

I just spent some time catching up with what's going on over at finslippy. Boy did that sound familiar. It reminded me of the pea-sized chunk of disappointment nestled down in the lower-left corner of my heart. It waved hello when I read Alice's post. But, moving along . . .

I just read that one of my sorority sisters recently gave birth to her second son! Owen Michael - I'll let her off that she totally used my boy's name since she didn't know (or did she?) and because, well, Owen is a kickin' boy's name. Congratulations Andrea, Chris and big brother Zach!

Last week I received one of the best compliments of my working career from my principal. I don't really want to go into what, just to say that it totally made my week (maybe my month) and renewed some of my spirit and energy. In education in general, but definitely in my profession, it is so often thankless what we do. It really brought home how much everyone needs to hear "Thanks - you're doing a great job," from time to time. Obviously, we don't do what we do for the money or the fame. But it's nice when someone notices your efforts.

Finally - holy crap, is being a working mom kicking my butt. I'm pooped, and I'd love to have a legitimate 2 weeks off like BJ is having right now. No work, no kid - just time to gather my thoughts, spend some time on things I find personally enjoyable, practice Guitar Hero . . . (Seriously - dude can kick my ass, now. It's disappointing.)

Reality

While sitting at dinner tonight, BJ said:

"To think - if it wasn't for her, we'd have an extra $1000 a month sitting in our pockets. It'd be like, 'Wanna go on a vacation?' 'Okay!'"

And yet, somehow, I don't really think that's how it would go even without a kid. It'd probably be like, "Wanna go on a vacation?" "Oh, I don't know. I'd really rather sit around the house and play computer games."

At last . . . "Powerhouse"

Sometimes its the easy tasks that take the longest time to accomplish.

Powerhouse from Kate L on Vimeo

In other news, got an awesome jump on my Christmas shopping today. Thank goodness for half-days at work. Robyn and I kit Kohl's after lunch today - there are always deals to be had there, but I don't usually have the patience. Having a friend with me really helped me stick with it. To top it off, we got a set of new silverware. Woo hoo! It doesn't get much more exciting in suburbia, does it?

Lullaby Land

Zoë is a fan of rock and roll. More than anything, hard core guitars and slammin’ drum beats get her going. I think a great Middle Eastern drum solo, heavy on the doumbek, comes in a close second. When she wants to listen to music or dance, in the wise words of Tom Petty, “Anything that’s rock’n’roll’s fine.” So, we oblige! We’re more than happy to, especially since it means a minimal amount of kids’ music. When it comes time to settle down to bed, should we really be so surprised she’d want something different?
The past few nights I have been dancing Zoë to sleep to “Hotel California”. I am not kidding – I sing along and it knocks her out. But, it seems a little strange to me as far as lullabies go. The lyrics aren’t exactly an inspirational message for kids . . . but the guitars are nice and it’s easy to sway to. And it calms her down, which is a major feat. I just can’t shake that it’s a little unusual. What about all you parents out there? What music are your kids into? What about the rest of you? Was there something your parents played/sang for you that’s stuck? Or that you’re now sick of?

So hungry

I've been racing around this morning trying to get the house in order for our brief departure (overnight sitters here = someone else using my bathroom = CLEAN!). I took a brief break to get a massage (aaahh), then ran through the mall on the way home to get BJ some new jeans. We're leaving in about 20 minutes and I just realized: I haven't eaten anything all day! This happens far too often on the weekends. I get so busy trying to catch up around the house that I forget to eat. So what am I doing writing this post . . . ?

NaBloPoMo.

My Little Guitar Hero

I've just spent the past 40 minutes waiting for a little video to load on Vimeo. Now it's "waiting" to be converted. I'm done sitting on the computer. If you're reading this a little later, just click on the video to the left. I'll actually post it here tomorrow.

Good night.

Smiles for a cold, blustery Monday

The cuteness – you can’t stand it, can you?


Zoë showed off her Illini pride yesterday. We even taught her to say “Illinois”. Of course, it comes out “Ill-lill-in-noy” . . . which, I’m sure, adds to the cuteness by a factor of 12.
Her talking is staggering these days. She can, and does, repeat whatever we say in her sweet, little voice. While this does have its obvious problems (fuckers better be for damn sure about that), it has had some unexpected repercussions as well. For example, a few weeks back Zoë and I were shopping at Target. Not at all an unusual occurrence, especially if you know anything about me and Target. But, on this particular occasion, I needed a new bra. As we headed to the lingerie section, I told Zoë what we were doing. Again, not unusual. “New. Bra,” she says.
“Yes, Zoë, Momma’s getting a new bra.”
“New! Bra!”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“New! Bra! New! Bra!” she announces over and over through the store.
Ah, but it gets better! Because now, any time we go to Target and we go by the lingerie section (which, of course, is every time because that is the best way to get to the diapers, damn Target lay-out designers) she starts in on her chant: “New bra! New bra!”
And now for something completely different:
We’re doing awesome with our revised grocery shopping strategy, and I think BJ is reaping the rewards most of all. I’m so spoiling him – hot, home-cooked meal almost every night ready when he gets home? It’s a good thing he’s so hot, or some other gent might steal me away. Tonight was cheesy baked ziti (from familyfun.com). Delicious! Here’s a photo:

By the way, Zoë took this shot. Seriously. I held the camera, she looked through the viewfinder and pushed the button. The picture I took didn’t turn out as good. You gotta see this kid peering through a camera. She looks like a pro at 19-months-old.

"Fall Back" bites my backside

Forget this time change crap. We tried to put Zoe to bed late last night. It was a little later, anyway. We even went to bed later last night. But what do you think happened at 6:15 this morning? When a certain someone under 3 feet tall thought it was 7:15? Ah, it was the start of the downward spiral.

It's now 6:19 in the evening. I just got Zoe into bed, who was so tired that she could no longer stand up. I'm not kidding - the kid was leaning on the ottoman in her room because she was worn out, and not even that could hold her up. She just toppled onto the floor, where she flopped on her back and continued what she was doing (playing with BJ's old cell phone) like nothing happened. I've been trying to get the kitchen floor vacuumed and mopped all weekend, but now I am exhausted because I didn't sleep enough last night and I've spent a good chunk of today trying to entertain a toddler and get her on a 1-hour-delayed schedule. I wonder what's on TV tonight . . .

A Halloween Happening

Tomorrow is the big day! It’s pretty exciting around here because this is Zoë’s real first Halloween. She understands dressing up, she loves seeing other kids in costume, she likes the funny decorations, she calls out every cat, bat, pumpkin, and witch that we see . . . it is a lot more fun. And Halloween is probably my favorite holiday (it would be Christmas, but there aren’t all the fun costumes).

On Sunday, we got our kids together (Ella, Lizzie, Foster and Zoë) and hit Naperville’s Halloween Happening. I had no idea what a big deal this was until we got there, but the kids had a blast. They had games, bounce-houses, everyone had their costumes on, and lots of candy. To top it off, it was a beautiful fall day. Oh yeah – and I got interviewed by Comcast (who helped host the event)!

Yes, of course I dressed up – same as last year. You’ll notice our whole crew (and yes, I was the only adult who played along, although Aideen swears she would have had she not left her costume in her classroom) went with the Wizard of Oz theme. It was hard to tell that Ella and Zoë were witches instead of munchkins, but either worked. I’ve never seen such a cute cast of characters.

Plus, I got a taste of what it would be like to work as a character at Disney. If – and I mean if – I ever do that again, I’ll have to do a little more research on my character. I had countless little girls coming up to me, “Glinda! You’re so beautiful!” and such. I’m not used to having to respond to that!

And the angels began to sing . . .

Friday night I made a gamble.  I had a work-related party to attend.  Children were invited (good call on everyone’s part, since we’re nearly all young families).  But the shindig didn’t start until 5:30 pm.  Normally, Zoë crashes early on Friday night.  She’s just done after a week of hard-core toddler stimulation at school and typically zones out in front of the TV when we get home around 4:00, then zonks out in bed no later than 6:30.  So, going to a party that started at 5:30 was taking a risk.

I swear to you, she could not have been better behaved or more charming.  She ate the food that was available, she gave cute smiles to all the adults, she played happily in their (god-bless-it-very-well-stocked) playroom with another toddler girl.  Granted, she wanted either BJ or I up there with her which, practically, was fine.  They had a baby gate, but 5 rambunctious boys ensured that thing never stayed shut.  But, there were no tears, no tantrums, nary a yawn.  At 8:00 we finally, as responsible parents, said “Let’s get this baby to bed!”  Being ever so smart, I packed her pajamas so she was changed before we got in the car.  Dropped her in bed by 8:30 and she was out like a light.

It was blissful and pleasantly unexpected!

Of course, when you compare it with her behavior about a month ago at a baby shower I attended . . . you would have thought she was a critically ADHD, Oppositional Defiant Disorder kid.  I guess I was due a pleasant social outing.  But why do they have to be so darn unpredictable?  How could I ever expect that a Friday night party would go better than a Saturday afternoon kid fest?

Before heading up to bed at 9:16 pm

Him: “We’re sad.”

Me: “No we’re not – we’re hard working parents.”

Him: “You’re a hard working parent.”

Ah . . . the sweet taste of validation.

 

Let Down

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve waffled back and forth about writing about this. I didn’t really see why not, but at the same time wasn’t sure anyone really wanted to hear. Bad news – or, at least not great news – is not exactly fun. Then I read dooce’s post and the coincidence of it all just got me thinking “What the hell?” This is part of the story of our family, after all.

BJ and I have been in pursuit of a sibling for Zoë for the past few months, now. Going for a second was never a question, it was just an issue of when. We’d talked about wanting our children to be at least 24 months apart, but not more than 36. We’re dorky and precise like that, and it had nothing to do with anything but preference. Besides which, we are fairly blessed and when we decide we want things to happen, they do. Of course, as Zoë rounded her first birthday, I started to get antsy. I saw all these pregnant women and just ached to be like them. It was actually a bit surprising to acknowledge how much I missed being pregnant. But, BJ pointed out, the timing wasn’t right. I had to consider when I’d have a maternity leave, how many sick days I’d have, and how old Zoë would be. Wait, he said.

The first of July rolled around and I was chomping at the bit. Then good friend Deanna announced she and her husband were expecting and I think BJ’s mouth started to water just a little. As soon as we could, it was go time.

Truly, we had no expectations that we would hit any speed bumps. We got pregnant with Zoë so quickly – sooner than we planned we would – why would we? That first month I was late. Way late. I spent about two weeks taking pregnancy tests every other day. I did not feel pregnant, but what the heck was going on? Stress? I’d been stressed before, a lot more than this, and never been late. I was like clockwork. Just seemed odd coincidence that the first month we tried, I was late. I never did get a positive test. My period came. Only it was 42 days after my last one. A six week cycle? Weird.

But, we jumped back in the race. Despite the strange issue with our first cycle, it was a lot of fun. Come on – how could it not be? And, for a while, I felt it was more fun than when we were trying for Zoë. There seemed to be less pressure, since we already had one and “knew we could do it.” This month, though, our health wasn’t great. BJ got sick, Zoë got sick, I got sick. You’ve heard all about it. Still, we tried. And shortly before I thought my period might be due (because I was assuming the last month was a fluke), I felt weird. Starving, but nauseous after I ate. Falling fast asleep right after work while Zoë watched TV. Floaty, fuzzy head in the morning. Awfully suspicious.

My “due date” came and I waited. I didn’t rush to take a test – despite my initial “weird” feelings, I was back to feeling fairly normal. And, given last month, I thought I’d wait until I was actually late. When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I took a test. And it was positive. Only, just barely. I had almost discarded the test when I noticed there was a second line there. OK. I was super-late last month, maybe I ovulated later this month . . . and since we weren’t counting . . . let’s give it another couple of days.

The next day I started spotting. Nothing major, but I still did a quick internet search (ah, don’t you love it?) and found this was pretty normal. The following day, still with some minor spotting, I took another test. Definitely positive this time. A good sign, but still thought I better get checked out. I called my doctor and got a blood test the next afternoon. The day after that, I knew it was over.

When I saw the doctor, she confirmed. My blood tests showed my hormone levels as “not great” but “not bad”. Had I not spontaneously miscarried when I did, they would have watched me like a hawk. But, I had been pregnant. Ugh. This totally sucked.

I know things happen for a reason – there was something not right with this little one (hmm . . . could that raging virus I had right about when we conceived have anything to do with it?), and it was better to let it go. I was actually fine with the act of losing a pregnancy. I had only known I was pregnant for four days, and they were a tentative four days at that. It was all the other things about it that I was/am so emotionally wrapped up in. Wanting to be pregnant right now, having to wait for another baby until July (at the earliest), timing a maternity leave at work in the fall, wanting to be pregnant right now. This is a major disappointment, to say the least.

In the realm of babies and fertility, we’re super-blessed. Apparently, we blink our eyes and we can conceive. The fact that we did conceive again is a good sign, and my body did correct itself. There were no invasive procedures involved. I know there are so many couples out there who really struggle with fertility, and I’ve gotten just the tiniest, most superficial, glimpse of what that struggle might be like. That’s not to say this has been an easy month for us. As I watch Zoë play, chatter with her friends at school, and marvel at a caterpillar on the sidewalk I am buoyed by her spirit. But, I ache to see her share her world with a little brother or sister. To learn to share and argue, and to teach them how to work over the parental figures . . . so, we’re back to it. And I hope to bring you good news in the coming months.

Yum, yum!

It's Wednesday, and I've been keeping up with the new plan for 3 official days. Monday's chicken soy saute and couscous with peas was a hit. It was gobbled down, and ridiculously easy to boot. Because it's rare that you actually find a meal that only takes 30 minutes to make (last time I did a Rachel Ray . . . well, let's say it would have taken significantly longer than 30 minutes had I completed it). Last night was spaghetti carbonara with sauteed zucchini. Zoe had a blast with the spaghetti, but more importantly she ate all her zucchini. Oddly enough, BJ left all the bacon behind when he ate his spaghetti (he usually loves bacon - he said he felt guilty eating so much as part of a pasta . . . ?). Tonight was roasted chicken - yes, I cheated about bought one at the store - with crispy pan-fried potatoes and left-over zucchini. I think this was Zoe's favorite. She couldn't get enough of it. All of it.

It's weird, but I've felt like I've had more energy and motivation after dinner these past few days than I have over the past few weeks. BJ's holding up his end of the bargain and starts (and finishes!) the dishes before we put Zoe to bed. Best of all, my theory about not wasting food is holding fast. We have some left-overs, a little spaghetti and a little couscous, from the past three nights, but tomorrow is Thursday. I never cook on Thursday because I have belly dance. So, there's dinner done! Plus, the rest of the chicken from tonight will be used for Friday's dinner - mini chicken pot pies. Those are my favorite. We're off to a good start.

And Tricia - tell Scott that dinner each night has been $10 or less for 3 people (yeah, Zoe's a full third). If I cook 5 nights out of 7 ($50) and add in the roughly $50 weekly for staples, it's still less than I was spending most weeks before. Besides, even if I occasionally spend more, I'm still coming out on top when we eat it all instead of order/eat out and throw the groceries in the trash. :-D

Centers for Disease Control

That’s what we’re calling our house at the moment. I reported on how Zoë came down with her first fever since starting daycare. It was only the beginning.

She has been snuffly since day one. To the center’s credit, she was teething at the time she started, so that particular runny nose had nothing to do with them. Nevertheless, the snot was relentless and she started to have a slight cough. Nothing serious, and always productive. Friends with more experience with daycare shared that it was all to be expected – all those germs in one place, her immune system was receiving a major hit on a daily basis. In fact, it was a wonder she wasn’t sicker! And she certainly didn’t act at all under the weather. I’m starting to realize that it takes a Mack truck to slow her down.

If only Zoë was the only one suffering. Shortly after Zoë came down with her fever, BJ got sick. Really sick – fever, chills – and he was home from work for 2 days. He tried to blame the vessel of disease (our child), but then admitted something was going around his workplace. Then I got a cold.

And then the vomiting started. Zoë woke up one Friday morning two weeks ago, seemingly fine. Sure, I’d heard her up coughing during the night, but thought nothing of it. I took her to school. She was not there two hours when her teachers are calling me to report she’s puking. “Did she have orange juice for breakfast? Because it’s all orange.” No, she hadn’t. It was that lovely post-nasal-drip-mucousy stuff. Hooray! She was sick. And this time I mean sick. I mean, just look at her symptoms: she was cuddly; she did not want to eat; she did not want to run; she was quiet.

By Saturday morning, she was acting much more like her normal self . . . although, she still wasn’t all that interested in food. But by Sunday morning – 5:00 in the morning, to be precise – her mother felt like a parasitic alien had taken up residence in her digestive tract. Did I mention I was in Milwaukee at the time? Without my own car? Looked like Zoë’s little bug had traveled to and with me. By the time I got back home Sunday afternoon, I was spiking a major fever. Note: I could not recall the last time I’d had a fever.

Despite BJ’s prodding, I took Monday off. His reasoning was that once I got up and moving, I’d be fine. Oooh, just you wait, mister! I did feel a bit better by the end of the day (still not interested in food – a pattern?). And, hey – thank goodness we pay for daycare so I could sleep!

It wasn’t over, though. BJ rushed in the door from work and ducked immediately into the bathroom. Z and I got well enough just in time to take care of Daddy, again! Now it was his turn to play host to the parasitic alien and all the baggage that came with it. (Come to find out that it was some sort of bug raging through Zoë’s school like wildfire.)

A few days later, we were all in good health. Zoë’s runny nose was even subsiding. I figured the full day of purging she did emptied everything out. Until I noticed Monday morning that she had a little goop in the corner of her right eye. Hmm, that’s a little odd, I think. By the time I picked her up from school, both of her eyes are completely slimed and sticky, not to mention red and puffy. Pink eye. My daughter now has pink eye. Conjuncti-freaking-vitis. This time I went to the doctor.

Not to make a ridiculously long post even longer, but . . . why do you often end up feeling like a slight doofus when you take your kid to the doctor? Had I brought her in two weeks ago with a clear, albeit persistent, runny nose and no fever, I would have been wasting his time. But bring her in with an apparent infection, after a month of a clear, runny nose, and I may have been neglecting a sinus problem? Whatever. At least I was vindicated on the conjunctivitis.

So, Momma and Dada are well, Z is downing the antibiotics (another first! Do I put this in the baby book?), and her eyes are much better. All this and it’s not even flu season.

Anyone know a good cleaning service?

School Days

So, I’m back to work going on 12 days, and I’ve yet to mention what Zoë has been up to all this time.

Partway through last school year, I started to notice how tired my mom was looking each day when I arrived to pick up Zoë. She was always chipper, but definitely appeared as if she was about to drop into a long nap. Chasing after a toddler all day long, roughly 25 years after she last had to do it, was taking its toll. We made a group decision that Zoë needed to spend her days elsewhere once the summer ended. I’d been toying with the idea long before that simply because of the driving. The driving was making me insane. I was a crazy person to think that I’d be able to maintain that ridiculousness. Have I not told you? Yeah – I would leave work; drive 30 minutes to get Z, then another 45-60 back home. In rush-hour traffic, in the same direction as the rush. It was joy served up on a silver platter with bacon on the side. Let me tell you.

Right around her first birthday, I registered Zoë for a daycare placement very close to work and, more importantly, between my house and work. It came highly recommended by my good pal, Anne, and my brief visits gave me a good vibe. Spot secured.

As my first day back grew closer, I decided pretty quickly that we were going to present this to Zoë in terms of “school”. Momma works at a school, big kids go to school, no Zoë will be going to school. Plus, she can say the word. I don’t expect to hear “daycare” come out of her mouth anytime soon. We went for a visit the week before she started and all went well! She loved pulling out all the toys, she was interested in the other kids, and got right into the groove of circle time. I was so proud of her!

Yes, the actual transition – Momma has to leave now to go to work – was tough. Thank goodness I started back on a Wednesday. By Friday afternoon, she was toast. And not a nice, crispy, golden toast; blackened, hard toast that might be salvageable if you scrape it gently with a knife. She was stressed. Out. Completely. Her teachers actually reported that she was doing well, by most standards. She would cry for a while when I left, then get occupied and have fun for a couple of hours, then some more tears around her nap . . . But she was actually getting something out of her day. Again, so proud of my girl.

Come Monday morning, I wasn’t sure if it would be harder or easier. She’d been home for the weekend – maybe she thought last week was just a fluke? When I packed her in the car, her expression seemed to be one of resignation: “OK, we’re going to school.” She was a little tired, a little cranky, but she had also spent the weekend cutting molars. I said as much to her teachers and was off.

And on Zoë’s fourth day of school, she ran a temp of 102.3.

OK – when I got the phone call I felt like the world’s most brilliant mother. “I just sent my kid to school sick!” Beyond that, I was completely freaked out. Believe it or not, Zoë had never run a fever before. I mean N.E.V.E.R.. This was high, wasn’t it? Should I call the doctor? What do I do?

By the time I got to the school to get her (15 minutes from the time I got the call), her temp had dropped to 100. Her teachers, with their infinite wisdom (I kid you not – these women know their stuff), calmed my fears. Since it had come down so quickly, it was probably just a slight fever from the teething and only spiked because she had just woken up from her nap (Zoë is her father and becomes a blast furnace when she sleeps). They told me to watch it over the evening; keep her home if it’s still above normal, bring her back if it stays down. Phew.

Zoë was fine. She was still pretty conked out all evening, and a little warm, but no real fever. Come the morning, she was right as rain and actually excited about going to school.

A little over a week later, and Zoë is downright antsy to leave for school in the mornings. She gives me a kiss, says “Bye Momma”, and then trots off to play with her friends and teachers. When I pick her up, it’s all I can do to pull her away from whatever it is they’re doing. Then she says “Bye” to each person in turn – no joke – looks up at me, says, “Home,” and walks out with me. I am so glad that she enjoys her time there so much and is so comfortable. And I am so proud!

A Synopsis of Our Summer

Now I'm back at work, and I'll probably once again spend a few lunch hours posting a little more regularly, I thought I'd run-down our summer. It went by in a blur and I think, even had I been keeping a detailed record, I'd have a hard time describing what all went on. So, in (longish) short:
o Thinking I'd get back in shape and get some regular exercise, I joined a local Masters Swim Club. I got up at 5 in the morning my first week off and hit the pool. My first work-out was awesome. I ached, but in a good, get-in-shape way. My second work-out was going along, well, swimmingly. Until partway through my IM set my shoulder kinked up doing freestyle. I stopped. Within a few hours, it had spread along my shoulder and up my neck. I was in pain for the next month. I didn’t go back to the pool (the coached practices were cancelled anyway before my next work-out due to low enrollment).
o Brookfield Zoo is great. It’s even better when you have a zoo pass. The best $100 I’ve spent all year. We have gone 5 or 6 times, I think, since May. Zoë has learned and practiced all sorts of animal names and sounds. The ape house is her all-time favorite (“More! More!”), with the bear grotto a close second. Some of the highlights were: the splash park outside the penguin exhibit; Zoë barking at the wolf (the coolest – you have to see the wolf exhibit at Brookfield because there is a window into their den); the polar bear cub; Zoë chasing the river otter back and forth as he swam; and Zoë standing 2 inches from a leopard without getting scared (yes, there was glass).
o Gymboree every Wednesday morning (thank you, thank you Deb!), usually followed by lunch with Dada at Noodles. First off, you would never have suspected that Zoë was the youngest in her class (16-22 month olds). In fact, when some of her “friends” moved up a level, their parents asked me when Zoë would be moving up – “We’ll see you at level 5 next week?” It was more than just her size. She is a daring little girl . . . and, apparently, pretty-well coordinated. Of course, she doesn’t exactly hold a conversation like a near-two-year-old. Ha ha! But the regular social interaction, the songs and games, running and climbing . . . she needed it and you could almost see her braining learning and growing. Literally, she would watch the other (older) children do something one week, and the next week she’s doing it herself. It made me a little more excited for daycare in the fall.
o The Civic Center. Even if we had bad luck. I bought a pool pass at the start of this summer (a total deal, especially since Zoë didn’t need one) and we visited several times. Their zero-depth play area is fantastic and it was a fight every time we had to get out for the 5-minute break. But, one time we met Foster and his mom, a thunderstorm/downpour started shortly after we arrived. Another time they lost power to their pumps. In the same visit, their ice cream machines were down. Then, it got so hot Zoë refused to go outside for more than 3 minutes (“Hot. Hot.”). Maybe after work tomorrow . . .
o Playdates with Ella and Lizzie, Foster, Laia, Ari and Quin, Katelyn . . . sometimes it was really that the mommas needed to talk about something, but it was great knowing my kid had someone to distract her.
o Inappropriate use of backyard play equipment. Specifically, using the Little Tikes plastic slide as a water slide into the inflatable pool. When I didn’t have the energy to pack up for the pool, or I knew Zoë wouldn’t have the tolerance to make the drive worth it, the backyard pool was the best. And she could go down that slide three hundred times without tiring of it.
o No Travel. As much as I like to get out of town, a road trip with a hyperactive toddler did not sound like fun. We did enough driving just for daytrips and playdates.
o Yes, BJ and did spend some alone time and got out for adults only nights. It was nice, summery, but not all that newsworthy.
o Harry Potter. Yeah, it bears mentioning. I saw Order of the Phoenix a couple of times and enjoyed it (was sorry the book was so long that a lot had to end up cut out). I went to The Party That Shall Not Be Named in the Nap – fun girls' day with Anne, but there was some grief that this is it. Then I arranged with BJ to have him watch Zoë long enough for me to finish Deathly Hallows. It took me roughly 15 hours. I cried, I cringed, and I’m satisfied. If you want to discuss it in more depth, give me a call.

Best Laid Plans . . . or some such nonsense

You’d have thought – with roughly two months off, no extra-curriculars to coach, and a slightly more self-sufficient child – that I would have time to do at least a little blogging this summer. What the hell happened?

I had this gorgeous idea, going into the summer, that I would have all sorts of time to do stuff. My quilting projects, some video editing, photography, bellydance . . . a little of all of it. For sure, I thought, I would be able to do some frequent posting about all our summer adventures, Zoë and I. I must have been smoking crack. Or delusional. I knew I was being ambitious. That was a major underestimation.

At the very start of this summer, Zoë decided to drop down to one nap. Okay, fine. I had been expecting her to keep two through the summer, but whatever. I could deal with that. What I hadn’t counted on, somehow (remember, I was delusional), was how much attention and energy her little 15-month-old self would require. I mean, demand. From the moment she woke up it was go-time. We would be off and running until nap time, at which point she would just conk out.

Now, theoretically, nap time would be the time I could use to get some of that stuff done. Unfortunately, I spent most of it doing trivial things like eating, making phone calls, dishes, laundry, weeding or watering the garden. It’s ridiculous how fast an hour can go by doing what feels like nothing. Just as I would sit down to accomplish some of the stuff I would hear a little voice ringing out from upstairs. And then we’re off and running again until bedtime!

At one point this summer, I arranged to have my mom watch Zoë a couple of times so I could get to work on the stuff. On one day in particular, it was my goal to sand and paint two barstools my dad got at a garage sale. I was going to spray paint them, so not a huge project for a day. By the time I dropped Zoë off, got home, ran back out to Home Depot for a random tool I didn’t know I needed (stupid Canadian-made barstools), got home, ran back out for a quick lunch, got home again . . . I got one coat of paint on one stool before I had to pick her up. That was a month ago. Seriously.

I sound like I’m complaining about my summer. That it was all just frustration at not being able to do what I wanted to do. Truthfully, I had a total blast this summer. Yeah, I got nothing done. Nothing except some of the most amazing moments with Zoë to date. She grew up so much this summer, learned so many new things, and I got to see it all. It’s silly to say, but I really felt like I had something to do with all she learned for once. Because I was there. And not at work.

But, I wasn’t blogging about it. Oh well.

As a sort of post-script, part of the issue was my sad little personal laptop. I got it all hooked up in the kitchen so I could attempt to check my email and do an occasional post while she ate or watched Dora. Turns out the wireless card is so old it wouldn’t connect to our new router. And, go figure, we have plenty of other things to spend some money on besides a new card. Plus, BJ didn’t feel like putting service pack 2 on the laptop. C’est la vie.

Wow!

I took a risk last night. I made plans to meet Anne (and one of her girls – she wasn’t sure which one when we arranged it) in our little downtown for walking and dinner. It was a risk because we planned to meet at 5:45. Zoë usually goes to bed no later than 7:00. Add to that the fact that she’s teething, again (3 teeth at once, it looks like), and the sore bottom that always comes with it, and this was a considerable risk. Toddler meltdown was pretty much imminent. Big momma risk.

Zoë was surprisingly pleasant and well-mannered. All-in-all, a really nice evening – perfect warm, summery weather, a few cute shops, good greasy onion rings, and a night out with your girlfriend on a Wednesday. Amazing.

We didn’t get home until 7:45. I knew full-well that a bath was out of the question and that I better get her in bed ASAP. When we walked in the house, BJ met me at the laundry room door, ready to take the howling monkey off my hands. Only, there wasn’t a howling monkey. Just my tired but relaxed daughter. She got jazzed to see her daddy and I set her down. As I retell the evening to BJ our conversation is interrupted by a sweet, “Wow!” And then another. For a full 5 minutes, Zoë is walking around the house seemingly in awe . . . of something. All she can say is, “wow!”

All I can figure is one of two things was happening. She figured out how to make a new sound, so she wanted to repeat it. Really, though, I think she was simply marveling at the world that exists after she goes to bed. Wow, indeed.

Eyes Wide Shut

Last night at dinner – a rare meal where all three of us were able to sit down together – BJ and I looked over at Zoë to find her squinting. Squinting with her whole face scrunched up like she was smiling into the sun. Thinking she simply found something funny, he asked, “What are you laughing at?” She relaxed, then did it again. It took us a little while, but we started to realize that she was closing her eyes. On purpose and of her own volition. And she thought it was hysterical.

She learned how to shut her eyes “on command”. Not just when she sneezed, or was tired, or had to blink. The joy she seemed to get from this accomplishment was entertainment for the rest of the meal. “Zoë, close your eyes!” Close. Squint (“are they watching?”). Giggle.

One more example of something you never realize you learned to do. And one more simple joy from experiencing life through a child.

What were you doing?

In the past week or so, Zoë’s expressive vocabulary has been rapidly expanding. To her already “impressive” mama, dada, bup (up), and the usual animal sounds (woof, meow, pig snorts, quack, cluck, and even a lion roar) she’s now added “bird”, “down”, “off”, “hot”, and “uh-oh”. I’m pretty sure she thinks she’s saying other words, we just don’t understand them, yet. Occasionally something bizarre and unexpected will pop out, like “cracker” (kahkeh). But yesterday I had to do a double take. And keep myself from laughing.

I did what all good parents do, I left my child unattended downstairs while I ran upstairs to retrieve her dress. She’d been babbling and eating her snack, but in the 30 seconds I was gone she grew very quiet. When I returned, she came running towards me from the sunroom – not where I had left her. Granted, there wasn’t anything dangerous or destructive she could have gotten into, but nevertheless looked caught in the act. I said, “What were you doing?” in my best parent tone.

“Nuh-teen.” And then she grinned.

Happy Mother's Day . . . to me!

A tad early (bonus points), I came home late Thursday night to find this on the kitchen table.

I just about cried. I did, in fact, tear up. More bonus points to the daddy of the house for coming up with this idea based only on a side comment I made while we were browsing The Growing Place.
Thank you, Zoë!

Bye Bye Bottle

The end is drawing near – we’re going to bid those bottles adieu!

Sorry kiddo, but doctor says to have you weaned by 15 months.

We’ve already dropped the midday bottle. Zoë had no trouble adjusting to milk in her sippy with lunch and snacks. And I don’t think the morning bottle will be a problem. She’s not that interested. Plus, if we let her sleep a little longer, she’ll get dressed, get to Gram’s and have breakfast right away. She won’t even miss it. It’s that nighttime bottle that’s got me a little anxious. Ah well. I’m giving us a month to give up the morning one, then we can start on the evening one. Baby steps, as they say.

13 Months

Dear Zoë,

Spring has finally arrived – to stay – and we have spent every possible minute basking in the outdoors. Your winter coat has been carefully tucked away, never to be worn again (by you, anyway) and bare feet are the order of the day.

Slap! Slap! Slap!

Hearing that noise, padding around the house, simply makes me smile. Especially when you’re giggling. Which you do a lot lately. Now that you’re steadier on your feet, you’re really picking up speed and you rather enjoy being chased. “I’m gonna getchoo!” I’ll cry, and you tear away from me squealing. Slap! Slap! Slap!



You also continue to demonstrate how much you are your mother’s daughter. Are you tired of hearing that, yet? I couldn’t be more delighted, though, that you want to be outside as much as I do. You can almost reach the door knobs (or pulls, in the case of the back door) and the sight of you standing tiptoe reaching with all your might is enough to tell us it’s time to go outside. The other day I was getting you ready for another playdate with Eleanor (OK, it was actually a Momma playdate) – you had on your hat, your shoes, and your sunscreen. You were standing by the back door when I told you it was time to go. You didn’t understand that I was trying to lead you outside, just through the garage, and you started to cry. You were fighting me to get to the back door: “Outside, Momma! PLEASE!” It was both funny and, frankly, frustrating (we were late!).



This past week Gram and Granddad had to go visit GGMO and Granddaddy Bob, so you got a couple of real treats: you got to stay home all day and you got to spend it with your Dada and Uncle Dave. You gave your Uncle Dave a couple of excellent life lessons. In fact, your timing was impeccable. No sooner had Dada left for work, but you woke from your nap with a full load. And I’m not talking laundry. Uncle Dave hadn’t even gotten a diaper lesson, yet. That’s my girl!

I know your Dada loved having all that time to spend with you – time he very rarely gets because he works so hard. I’ll admit I was jealous hearing that you learned to enjoy being read to. As we were both putting you to bed one night, you grabbed a book and literally climbed into Dada’s lap. You wanted him to read to you and, when he started, you sat and listened. You didn’t squirm away, you didn’t try turning the pages. I was surprised to see you looking so attentive – and so grown up! Imagine my surprise to hear you’d been doing it all week.



I guess you can slow down after all.



Love,

Momma

Cuppy-cakes!

Too bad baking them is the easy part - now I have to turn them into lady bugs.

Better than sex?

I strolled in the house after work this afternoon, Zoe on my hip, and immediately noticed something was odd. The washing machine was running. There was a crisp, fresh scent in the air. Someone was in my house. As I exited the mud room, this is what met my eyes:




My house was immaculate! The floors vacuumed and mopped, the surfaces dust- and clutter-free, the appliances gleamed, and the open windows ushered in the crisp, spring air. Who could have done all this? It was BJ! After we both spent the better part of the week dying on the couch with a miserable cold, discussing at length what needed to be done before Zoe's party but lacking the energy to move, he decided to take the day off and clean. And clean he did. The first floor was only the beginning.

Seriously. Is there anything sexier than coming home from a long day at work to find your man - beads of perspiration dotting his forehead - vacuuming the bedroom?

It's a Christmas Ham!

Dear friend Anne, her husband Jake, and their girl Ella welcomed baby Elizabeth Anne on Friday, March 2nd at 4:25 pm. The pink and plump little girl was a healthy 10-pounds, 8-ounces!

Congratulations and way to go, Anne!!

Eleven Months

Dear Zoë,

This past weekend I watched you play at your last Gymboree class for a while. It was a bittersweet moment – you had just gotten used to the whole routine, really started to explore the play equipment, and began bopping along to the songs. But was most bittersweet was my realization of how much you’ve grown up. And how quickly. There were three other babies there, your same age, who were all still babies. None of them were walking, yet. One wasn’t yet crawling. They were small, and cuddly, and quiet . . . interested in what was going on, but tentative and (honestly) immobile. Meanwhile, you were tearing around the room chasing after the sixteen-month-olds and babbling with Miss Deb. Dada and I try our best to keep up with you, but it was in that moment that I realized we missed out on your babyhood. We blinked and it was gone!



There was one thing, though, that those other 11-month-olds had you on: teeth.

It has been over this past month that the little girl who is Zoë started to emerge. You are curious, loud (Really loud. And high-pitched.), silly, tough . . . boy, are you tough. You’ve still got that determined spirit we started to see as soon as you began pulling up, and you have got it in spades. You will take one heck of a header and you’ll start to wail. But, when I come to soothe you, you want none of it. You get this hard little look on your face and whatever you tripped or slipped on gets the evil eye. You will triumph over this obstacle, dammit, or you will die trying! It’s as if your wails are only to say, “How dare you get in my way! Do you know who I am?”



Despite the fact that winter is nearly over (we hope!), we have had more snow this month than we’ve gotten nearly all season. You got Momma home for another snow day (2 in a year – mark this, baby, ‘cuz it will never happen again) and we sat by the back door just watching the snow. You were so delighted. Then Dada came home and brought a snowball inside for you to play with – what a treat! You squeezed a little handful of snow in your fist and came toddling over to me with such pride in your face. Your little hand was like ice, but you couldn’t believe this cold, wet, white stuff. But, all you can say is “Bup!”



The world, Zoë, is Bup.

We’re not too sure what “bup” means and, in fact, we’re starting to accept that it means everything. You understand us – more than we want to believe – and have no trouble finding whatever object we ask you to locate. Our nightly routine involves finding and hugging each stuffed animal. “Where is Mr. Panda? Give Mr. Panda a hug!” Even more complex directions, like “Give that sharp, small object you found on the floor and are trying to put into your mouth to Momma!” are no problem. So, we thought, naively, let’s ask her to find “bup.” Maybe then we could identify what it is. But, sometimes “bup” is your wipe, sometimes my coat, sometimes there’s no response other than a “What the hell are you people talking about?” look. I know, I know – in the wise words of the Fresh Prince, “Parents just don’t understand.”



Bup,
Momma

10 Months

Dear Zoë,

Not only is today your Papa Don’s birthday (Happy Birthday, Papa Don!) but it is your 10-month birthday. We’ve reached the double digits – just two more months to go until the big one. I don’t know what it is about saying “ten months”, but it just suddenly sounds so much older. Like you have automatically outgrown being an infant just because you’re now “ten months old”.



Of course, the fact that you’re now walking has a lot to do with it. You’re not an infant because you’re a “toddler” – you’re toddling all over the dang place. A few months back, Dada and I were struggling to turn around your car seats and readjust the straps. Neither of us could figure out why they wouldn’t get any longer. I was about the label them crap when Dada says, “Do you think she’s an infant or a toddler?” That was a strange realization. Now, it just fits.

Anne, when she shared with me her excitement at Eleanor walking, was amazed at how quickly it happened. She was right on. One month ago, you would take a few tentative steps Frankenstein’s monster-style: your legs rigid, feet flat and thumping with each step. A week went by and it was a few more steps, this time more quickly because you had to get there before you lost your balance. Your grins at your accomplishment were so self-satisfied. Now, you refuse to locomote any other way.



I think the best – and maybe the worst – thing to come out of all this walking is your independence. You know you can get where you want, when you want. This is so unbelievably great because I can leave your immediate presence without you crying! If you want to get me, you come and get me. If you want to see what I’m doing (usually going to the bathroom – hey, as long as it encourages your future potty training), you come over and watch.

And, not only can I move about the house more freely, but you regularly leave my side to go exploring. The kitchen cupboards hold a wealth of treasures for your little fingers. Your favorite items are my silicone cutting boards and, of course, the Rubbermaid food storage. They’re so easy to carry around, after all.



I have learned one valuable lesson as a parent, that has really paid off in the past month. You have to tell your child “No.” And mean it. Just wait – when you’re getting ready for your first child, you will read all sorts of conflicting opinions on disciplining babies. You’ll naturally feel guilty the first time you “make” your baby cry. Heck, when we first started dolling it out you would pucker up every time! But “No!” is a wonderful tool.

Dada and I know for certain that “No!” was the first word you understood, and boy are we glad now. Why spend all sorts of money on baby-proofing gadgets (there’s no such thing as “baby-proof”, by the way) when “No!” is free and works so well? Sure, we bought and installed baby gates. We covered all the outlets (though, a few No’s later you don’t bother). But we have a whole box of cabinet latches yet to be installed. We haven’t padded the fireplace, the coffee table, anything. A week of being told “No!” and physically moved when you touched the TV, and you stay away.

It’s awesome.

Love,
Momma

Bottom's up!

Should moms drink in front of their kids during playdates? That’s the new “hot topic”, apparently. When I heard about this “issue” on Blogging Baby a couple months back, I was a tad irritated. To say the least. One more thing that moms are pressured about, scrutinized for. One more way we’re supposed to be these robotic, self-sacrificing, Madonnas. Now, the author of one of my daily reads – the creator of the Momtini – has been put on the media chopping block for her stance. You can check out the video here.

I could rant all day about how I think that, yes, it is okay for moms to have a drink or two around their kids. It wouldn’t get me anywhere. The bigger question is: why is it even a question?

One of Melissa’s commenters rightfully asked why everyone is so concerned about what women are doing around their kids. Because I can guarantee you that no one bats an eye at the dads sharing a couple of brewskies while they watch the game with their kids. Or grill in the backyard. Aren’t they responsible for caring for their children? As was asked in the article, who would drive to the hospital if one of the kids was hurt? But that’s not compelling. And, lest we forget, it is women who are independently and individually responsible for raising perfectly well-adjusted human beings.

Okay, that last bit is a whole other post.

The other guest, the psychologist, kept arguing over the issue of using alcohol as a coping mechanism. Are there some people – men and women – who do that? Yes. Is it healthy? Maybe, maybe not. But, I don’t think that’s the point here. The few times I’ve had a drink in front of Zoë, it’s not been to unwind or de-stress. It is because I am an adult who enjoys a glass of wine with a good meal or a frosty beer on a hot day. Just like I enjoy an icy cold Coca-Cola with a bucket of popcorn at the movie theater. We are talking about a beverage choice that most women, and men, are capable of making. To paint all mothers who drink as alcoholics who cannot control their drinking is ridiculous and insulting. It is also awfully infantilizing (see Dr. Janet? I’m a shrink, too!).

There’s another point in there: I am an adult. I did not give up my status as an individual because I had a child. Do I still have carte blanche to do whatever I please whenever I please? No, of course not. But a beverage here or there? Give me a break.

I’ll admit – I’ve never had a “Three-Martini Playdate”, though I did buy the book. That’s really only because I’ve yet to have a playdate that wasn’t a trip to the mall. And, I’m not much of a drinker anyway. But, the idea doesn’t bother me. And, more importantly, it’s not my business to say what another reasonable mom can or cannot do.

Could we get back to talking about something we know harms children, just by doing it in their presence? You know, smoking? Or, hey, what about the scarcity of quality, affordable daycare? How about the cost of routine immunizations? You get the idea.

No child was harmed in the photograph above. Teething babies like cold objects - say a frosty beer can that rolls out of the fridge during a male-adult beverage run. "Irresponsible" mommies just think it's cute.

Back to work

I can’t believe I’m saying it, but thank goodness. Sort of. Here’s the thing: I love being home with my daughter. I don’t really need to go into the why of that because I think I already have. Ad nauseum. But . . .

Darn it, she wears me out! And, granted that it’s not much different than when BJ’s working and I’m home alone. Don't get me wrong - he’s absolutely great with her, but I’m the mommy. It’s just more irritating, I guess, to be the primary caregiver when there’s a constant reminder that someone else is there. And, it’s nice to have something else to occupy my thoughts and time other than Zoë.

Besides, have I mentioned that she’s cutting down her naps? What am I going to do this summer? Any good recommendations from the other momma’s out there (she’ll be 14 months in May)?