I've heard it said that being a parent is a juggling act. You've probably heard that, too. Some of you know that from experience. People without kids think they know it until they have kids. Then they understand.
For me its not so much balancing work and the kids because I don't work. Yeah, yeah, I know. I work. I have the hardest job in the world. Blah, blah, blah. I don't work outside the home. Sometimes I wish I did.
Those times that I wished I worked outside the home are often followed by feelings of guilt.
My balancing act usually revolves around guilt. I don't suppose I should feel like I have to have any guilt in my role as a mother but it seems to come with the territory. Stay-at-home moms feel guilty for not contributing financially to the household and working mothers feel guilty for not "being there" for their kids.
Since I had such a very rough time after Gavin was born I decided it would be in every one's best interest to make sure there was lots of relief in the first few months after the baby was born. Even though I'm an open book I don't think many people knew how bad off I was after Gavin was born. Bad. I usually make light of my crazy moments but there wasn't much to make light of the post partum period with Gavin. I cried every night as the sun set. I lived in fear of something awful happening to him. I lived in fear of me going over the edge. I didn't realize how bad off I was until my 6 week check up after Theo was born.
Sitting in the midwifery office this time taking the depression screening (not labeled as such but pretty obvious what it was) I was able to give a positive answer to each question (do you feel sad, do you cry, do you feel hopeless....). No, no, no. As I was answering the questions I thought back two years ago when I was giving 'yes' as an answer to all of the questions. It made me sad for the new mom that I was then and really happy for where I was this time around.
Seeing how happy I was made me realize hiring someone to come help in the mornings was a very smart move. An expensive move but a smart one. Of course it also helped that I had almost three weeks of help from Ryan's mom, my mom and his step-mom. What lifesavers!
All of that above brings me back to my point about balance. I feel spoiled. How many moms of newborns get time to themselves? How many moms can take a nap because someone else is in the house to watch the babies? How many moms can go to the gym or go grocery shopping or take a shower or *gasp* dry their hair after the shower and put on make-up? Really?
When I'm put together I feel more confident in myself as a person but less confident in myself as a mom. Does that even make sense? There is a war going on inside between the rational person and the person who thinks moms are supposed to be harried and stressed out.
A week or so ago we made an event out of a trip to the grocery store. Grocery shopping is usually something I like to do by myself. Ryan and I are especially bad at shopping together. It's not that we fight; we are just entirely to permissive when the other holds up something that we probably shouldn't buy and give the "eh? please? doesn't this look yummy" eyes. We end up buying lots of snacky foods and little else.
At the time of this trip I was feeling particularly dejected about my skills as a cook which are minimal. I try to lay blame every where but on my shoulders for my cooking woes. My kitchen is too small. There is no prep space. But my friend Heidi has a kitchen that is the size of my kitchen sink and she makes wonderful food. It's the recipes that I find on-line. Oh, but the recipe had 1,238 glowing reviews. It's the Betty Crocker recipe I used. Oh, wait, she's Betty Freakin' Crocker! So there I was moseying down the frozen food aisle looking for their yummy Indian food. I turned to Ryan and said, "They don't have it! Why would they take it away?!" He just looked at me and said, while pointing to a case I passed at least 3 times, "it's right there."
I looked at my two favorite Indian dishes and just like every other time I turned the box of my favorite one with basmati rice over to make sure it still had 21 grams of fat per serving. Drat. Still loaded with fat so I put it back and grabbed by second favorite Indian meal and tossed it in the cart. I kept grabbing and tossing until the cart was quite full of them. Ryan just kind of looked at the pile of frozen entrees then me and back to the food. Pointing to the frozen meals with one hand my chest with the other I said, "Best housewife ever."
Really. What kind of Hausfrau am I? I'm not so good at keeping the house tidy. Although in my defense I do have a little help in that department. My little helper is a little over 2 feet tall, weighs 30 pounds and is just about the cutest thing ever. He loves to help keep the couch clean - any freshly laundered and folded clothes sitting on the couch get swiped and knocked to the floor.
As mentioned above I'm not a great cook. I make killer jambalaya and white chicken chili. That's about it. Oh, and home made mac 'n cheese but I don't count anything where one serving has enough fat to completely occlude a blood vessel. Anyone can make anything tasty with enough butter and cheese. That's cheating. Oh, and I can make some fun salads but really - salad? Snooze. Sometimes I accidentally make good stuff. Once I tried making a tomato based stew using quinoa. It turned into a big fluffy tomato based bowl of ? It was good but I didn't know what to call it. I brought it with me to a function where everyone liked it - I ended up calling it a salad.
Now as I write the latter half of this post a few things have changed from when I started this about a month ago. The biggest change is sleep. Theo is not the sleep champ he was early on. We stripped him of any and all medals we gave him. The categories he medaled in (and has subsequently been stripped of) were, but not limited to:
duration - sometimes 6 hours
ease of transferring while asleep - pick him up from bed, swing, bouncy chair and lay him in his crib without him waking up
frequency of naps - long morning nap, long afternoon nap, long evening nap
Here it is 2:56 in the morning and I'm in the living room writing this. Theo is sleeping in his swing. I really thought we wouldn't be doing this again. Me sleeping on the couch and the baby in the swing. The little turkey has been waking up around 1-ish and thinks he needs to be all cute and smiley. It's so annoying. Annoyingly cute!
Even in the dark I can see his eyes wide open staring at me trying really hard to engage me. As your eyes adjust to the dim light coming in from the street lights you see that his mouth is wide open in the cutest toothless baby smile. Oy. It is unreal how cute it is. Which, of course, makes it even more annoying.
Now that he is asleep I'm going to attempt to turn off the annoying swing music, mobile and the actual swinging.
Wish me luck!
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Friday, December 18, 2009
Theo
Theo turned 2 months on Wednesday. It already feels like he's been a part of family forever. He is an ounce shy of 13 pounds and is 60th percentile all across the board. Everything is checking out normal. Now that you are up-to-date with how he is doing currently let me step back in time, all of two months ago and give you the birth story.
After having contractions for three weeks, yes, you read that right, THREE WEEKS, I was getting less and less easy to fool into believing labor was actually going to start. Sometimes the contractions were painful enough to make me stop doing what I was doing. I had Braxton Hicks contractions with Gavin and these definitely did not feel the same.
When you combine the stress of not knowing when your baby is coming - aside from a rough idea of the month - with the stress of needing to find intermediate care for your toddler when labor does start and the stress of knowing it was a very real possibility that my labor could be lightening fast (I came 45 minutes after my mom's water broke and my mom was born so fast that her parents didn't make it to the hospital - she arrived IN the car) I was going a little nuts. I think Ryan put out an SOS call to his mom after he woke up to find me crying, "Why won't he come out already?"
Later that week my wonderful mother-in-law arrived. I believe we were at 10 or so days before the baby was due when she came. Every day I had contractions. Every day they were painful and every day they stopped as soon as I laid down.
We went on family walks at night where I looked like the resident loon as I marched ahead of everyone else, stamping my feet, jumping off the curbs, hopping up and down... No exaggeration, folks.
I ate super spicy foods. Super. Spicy. Super duper. Hot.
I ingested special oils.
I drank special teas.
I had acupuncture.
I had my membranes stripped THREE times. (Not an entirely pleasant experience. What do you mean, membranes stripped? Google it).
None of it worked.
The only thing that worked was time.
Well, that and giving up. One day I was talking to my friend, also my midwife, who asked how my potions and diets and walks were going - I told her they weren't.
It was a Thursday night when I saw a group of my girlfriends at our weekly meeting. I sat there with a pad of paper as we chatted, marking down the intervals of the contractions. They ranged from 5 minutes to 10 minutes apart. Some were convinced it was the night. I would not be fooled. Part of me wanted to drive to SODO (South Downtown) and drive over railroad tracks before going home to run up and down the stairs but I knew it would give me more painful contractions that would just go away when I went to sleep.
Sure enough, I went to sleep and the contractions died down but that was ok. The next morning I went about my morning business but noted I was having contractions... in the a.m. All of my other contractions were at night. I started to look at the clock to time them and thought I should take a shower since that is a relaxing activity. Before I hopped in the shower I poked my head into the living room and said to Mary Jo (MIL), "I may regret saying this but I think today's the day."
Yep. It was the day. As they got stronger and closer together I called my midwife and told her what was going on. She called the hospital to tell them I was on my way. I kept asking her what was going to happened if I showed up and the contractions stopped; I was so afraid of getting there, getting checked in and being sent home when the contractions stopped because I knew they were going stop - they did every other time.
I called Ryan and told him it was time to come home. He arrived home and Mary Jo sent us off with a lunch she had packed. It was so sweet of her. I devoured my food in the car on the way to the hospital; I don't remember if I was hungry or not but I knew I wouldn't get anything to eat once I was admitted.
The labor was pretty easy. I waited a while to get the epidural because I was so afraid of the labor stopping even though Heather assured me if labor slowed down they would give me something to make it pick back up. Still, I couldn't risk being sent home (even though I knew they wouldn't).
We didn't take any labor classes this go around because we took them all with Gavin and I didn't use the techniques learned because I had a fantastic epidural. FANTASTIC.
Well, this time it wasn't so fantastic. I had what is called a "window". I think it should be called a "window to Hell". The anesthesiologist..
wait - if you don't like needles this next part may not be something you want to read...
You've been warned.
So, the good doctor was asking me about my first epidural and I made the mistake of being honest. "Well, it was great but my blood pressure kind of bottomed out. It was like 40 something over 30 something, but I was fine." Oh, and yeah, I have a small heart condition, PVCs (preventricular contractions) but it's not uncommon in women and its totally benign.
Well, there here is, holder of the goods. The goods that will keep me from being in agony. In that moment he was my knight in shining armor - or at least my knight with a shiny needle and a white lab coat. But he was looking at me as someone who had a bad heart and was going to die from a lack of blood flowing through my blood vessels. He started me out with a small dose of drugs. It was like he didn't want me to die or something. Sheesh.
But before we get to the lack of medicine, lets talk about the insertion of the epidural. Yowza. You know how you are supposed to be still like a stone while he jams a needle in the epidural space around your spine cord? I knew how still I was supposed to be. I didn't so much as bat an eye when I had it done 2 years ago. But two years ago it didn't feel like lightening hit a nerve shooting down my left leg.
It felt like someone plugged my left leg into a light socket when he put the needle in.
There was a bit of movement.
There was even a little scream.
There were many people who probably peed themselves (I don't think I was one of them but I wouldn't know - giving birth is that gross).
Good news: my jumping and screaming didn't ruin my spinal cord! Woo-hoo!
Before I get too far I want to tell one story about a nurse before I forget. One of the nurses came in the room to check on me and I was having a contraction. Ryan came to my bedside and played with my hair - my coping mechanism - make him pet my head. The nurse asked me what my coping strategies were for labor pains so I took that as an opportunity to ask her if she used guided imagery. Well, yes, she did. So I said, "Please don't. I don't like it."
Nurse: "Well, what do you like?"
Me: "Silence."
Nurse (with confused look on her face): what about (I don't remember what she offered up here).
Me: "No. Just silence."
Nurse: "What about this..."
Me. "No. Nothing. Just silence. No talking. No laughing. Just silence."
A few minutes later a contraction started and the nurse was talking to someone and I think Ryan was talking. I looked up with eyes full of pain trying to get someones attention. I started shushing everyone and Ryan looked over so I said, "Shh" again. The nurse tried to finish what she was telling the other nurse which kind of peeved me so I put my hand up and waived it while saying, "PSHHHH!!!!" while giving dirty looks when I could bear to bring my head up out of my chest.
It worked. Everyone shut it.
We also learned one technique that does NOT work. Joke telling - because it leads to laughing.
Right before this shushing incident Ryan came up to me as I was obviously having a contraction and said to me in a nice calm tone, "Picture sandy beaches." I started laughing. Then crying while laughing and trying to tell Ryan to not make me laugh but I couldn't because I was laughing and crying.
Once the contraction was over is when the nurse asked me if I liked guided imagery. I told her no and asked if she did it. It was right about then that I realized she was Sandy Beaches! She was one of my nurses when Gavin was born. She kept trying to use the imagery of water washing over a sandy beach with me. It was driving me nuts. I wanted silence but didn't know how to politely tell someone to shut up so I asked Heather how to tell her I didn't like it. Heather told me her shift was over in 15 minutes so I figured I could last 15 minutes with the sandy beaches because the nurse wasn't picking up on the talk-to-the-hand hands I was shoving in her face when she started talking about the water and sandy beaches.
From then on I referred to that nurse as Sandy Beaches.
So it dawned on me Sandy Beaches was once again my nurse so I motioned for Ryan to come over and managed to hiss in his ear, "She's Sandy Beaches!" before he could regale her with the story of the nurse who annoyed me with the sandy beaches imagery. Ryan's eyes bugged out of his head and he laughed. Whew. Close call.
So this story is getting longer and longer.
Let me shorten it....
The epidural was not providing, um, even coverage. They repositioned me which helped a little. They gave me more medicine which helped a lot more but then a window opened where it felt like there was no medicine. It was a small spot but oh, boy. What a spot! One of the nurses, when I started complaining about it, convinced me to tough it out since I was at a 9. There I was toughing it out (and by toughing it out and I mean whimpering and sobbing and crying with each contraction) with Ryan telling me, "Why don't you ask for more medicine?" I think for his kindness I sniped at him. Then my midwife came in and saw I was in a lot of pain and asked why I didn't get more medicine. Heather knew I wasn't down with the pain.
In hind sight if someone told me that I was going to be stabbed with a knife, but only for about 45 minutes or so, and that I should be able to handle it I would tell them they were crazy.
So I got more medicine and life was good again.
Shortly after that Theo Frederick Jahns was born. 8 pounds 13 ounces.
It was amazing. I looked at him and found that I loved him like I loved Gavin when he was born. Instantly, completely.
Stay tuned for part two...
After having contractions for three weeks, yes, you read that right, THREE WEEKS, I was getting less and less easy to fool into believing labor was actually going to start. Sometimes the contractions were painful enough to make me stop doing what I was doing. I had Braxton Hicks contractions with Gavin and these definitely did not feel the same.
When you combine the stress of not knowing when your baby is coming - aside from a rough idea of the month - with the stress of needing to find intermediate care for your toddler when labor does start and the stress of knowing it was a very real possibility that my labor could be lightening fast (I came 45 minutes after my mom's water broke and my mom was born so fast that her parents didn't make it to the hospital - she arrived IN the car) I was going a little nuts. I think Ryan put out an SOS call to his mom after he woke up to find me crying, "Why won't he come out already?"
Later that week my wonderful mother-in-law arrived. I believe we were at 10 or so days before the baby was due when she came. Every day I had contractions. Every day they were painful and every day they stopped as soon as I laid down.
We went on family walks at night where I looked like the resident loon as I marched ahead of everyone else, stamping my feet, jumping off the curbs, hopping up and down... No exaggeration, folks.
I ate super spicy foods. Super. Spicy. Super duper. Hot.
I ingested special oils.
I drank special teas.
I had acupuncture.
I had my membranes stripped THREE times. (Not an entirely pleasant experience. What do you mean, membranes stripped? Google it).
None of it worked.
The only thing that worked was time.
Well, that and giving up. One day I was talking to my friend, also my midwife, who asked how my potions and diets and walks were going - I told her they weren't.
It was a Thursday night when I saw a group of my girlfriends at our weekly meeting. I sat there with a pad of paper as we chatted, marking down the intervals of the contractions. They ranged from 5 minutes to 10 minutes apart. Some were convinced it was the night. I would not be fooled. Part of me wanted to drive to SODO (South Downtown) and drive over railroad tracks before going home to run up and down the stairs but I knew it would give me more painful contractions that would just go away when I went to sleep.
Sure enough, I went to sleep and the contractions died down but that was ok. The next morning I went about my morning business but noted I was having contractions... in the a.m. All of my other contractions were at night. I started to look at the clock to time them and thought I should take a shower since that is a relaxing activity. Before I hopped in the shower I poked my head into the living room and said to Mary Jo (MIL), "I may regret saying this but I think today's the day."
Yep. It was the day. As they got stronger and closer together I called my midwife and told her what was going on. She called the hospital to tell them I was on my way. I kept asking her what was going to happened if I showed up and the contractions stopped; I was so afraid of getting there, getting checked in and being sent home when the contractions stopped because I knew they were going stop - they did every other time.
I called Ryan and told him it was time to come home. He arrived home and Mary Jo sent us off with a lunch she had packed. It was so sweet of her. I devoured my food in the car on the way to the hospital; I don't remember if I was hungry or not but I knew I wouldn't get anything to eat once I was admitted.
The labor was pretty easy. I waited a while to get the epidural because I was so afraid of the labor stopping even though Heather assured me if labor slowed down they would give me something to make it pick back up. Still, I couldn't risk being sent home (even though I knew they wouldn't).
We didn't take any labor classes this go around because we took them all with Gavin and I didn't use the techniques learned because I had a fantastic epidural. FANTASTIC.
Well, this time it wasn't so fantastic. I had what is called a "window". I think it should be called a "window to Hell". The anesthesiologist..
wait - if you don't like needles this next part may not be something you want to read...
You've been warned.
So, the good doctor was asking me about my first epidural and I made the mistake of being honest. "Well, it was great but my blood pressure kind of bottomed out. It was like 40 something over 30 something, but I was fine." Oh, and yeah, I have a small heart condition, PVCs (preventricular contractions) but it's not uncommon in women and its totally benign.
Well, there here is, holder of the goods. The goods that will keep me from being in agony. In that moment he was my knight in shining armor - or at least my knight with a shiny needle and a white lab coat. But he was looking at me as someone who had a bad heart and was going to die from a lack of blood flowing through my blood vessels. He started me out with a small dose of drugs. It was like he didn't want me to die or something. Sheesh.
But before we get to the lack of medicine, lets talk about the insertion of the epidural. Yowza. You know how you are supposed to be still like a stone while he jams a needle in the epidural space around your spine cord? I knew how still I was supposed to be. I didn't so much as bat an eye when I had it done 2 years ago. But two years ago it didn't feel like lightening hit a nerve shooting down my left leg.
It felt like someone plugged my left leg into a light socket when he put the needle in.
There was a bit of movement.
There was even a little scream.
There were many people who probably peed themselves (I don't think I was one of them but I wouldn't know - giving birth is that gross).
Good news: my jumping and screaming didn't ruin my spinal cord! Woo-hoo!
Before I get too far I want to tell one story about a nurse before I forget. One of the nurses came in the room to check on me and I was having a contraction. Ryan came to my bedside and played with my hair - my coping mechanism - make him pet my head. The nurse asked me what my coping strategies were for labor pains so I took that as an opportunity to ask her if she used guided imagery. Well, yes, she did. So I said, "Please don't. I don't like it."
Nurse: "Well, what do you like?"
Me: "Silence."
Nurse (with confused look on her face): what about (I don't remember what she offered up here).
Me: "No. Just silence."
Nurse: "What about this..."
Me. "No. Nothing. Just silence. No talking. No laughing. Just silence."
A few minutes later a contraction started and the nurse was talking to someone and I think Ryan was talking. I looked up with eyes full of pain trying to get someones attention. I started shushing everyone and Ryan looked over so I said, "Shh" again. The nurse tried to finish what she was telling the other nurse which kind of peeved me so I put my hand up and waived it while saying, "PSHHHH!!!!" while giving dirty looks when I could bear to bring my head up out of my chest.
It worked. Everyone shut it.
We also learned one technique that does NOT work. Joke telling - because it leads to laughing.
Right before this shushing incident Ryan came up to me as I was obviously having a contraction and said to me in a nice calm tone, "Picture sandy beaches." I started laughing. Then crying while laughing and trying to tell Ryan to not make me laugh but I couldn't because I was laughing and crying.
Once the contraction was over is when the nurse asked me if I liked guided imagery. I told her no and asked if she did it. It was right about then that I realized she was Sandy Beaches! She was one of my nurses when Gavin was born. She kept trying to use the imagery of water washing over a sandy beach with me. It was driving me nuts. I wanted silence but didn't know how to politely tell someone to shut up so I asked Heather how to tell her I didn't like it. Heather told me her shift was over in 15 minutes so I figured I could last 15 minutes with the sandy beaches because the nurse wasn't picking up on the talk-to-the-hand hands I was shoving in her face when she started talking about the water and sandy beaches.
From then on I referred to that nurse as Sandy Beaches.
So it dawned on me Sandy Beaches was once again my nurse so I motioned for Ryan to come over and managed to hiss in his ear, "She's Sandy Beaches!" before he could regale her with the story of the nurse who annoyed me with the sandy beaches imagery. Ryan's eyes bugged out of his head and he laughed. Whew. Close call.
So this story is getting longer and longer.
Let me shorten it....
The epidural was not providing, um, even coverage. They repositioned me which helped a little. They gave me more medicine which helped a lot more but then a window opened where it felt like there was no medicine. It was a small spot but oh, boy. What a spot! One of the nurses, when I started complaining about it, convinced me to tough it out since I was at a 9. There I was toughing it out (and by toughing it out and I mean whimpering and sobbing and crying with each contraction) with Ryan telling me, "Why don't you ask for more medicine?" I think for his kindness I sniped at him. Then my midwife came in and saw I was in a lot of pain and asked why I didn't get more medicine. Heather knew I wasn't down with the pain.
In hind sight if someone told me that I was going to be stabbed with a knife, but only for about 45 minutes or so, and that I should be able to handle it I would tell them they were crazy.
So I got more medicine and life was good again.
Shortly after that Theo Frederick Jahns was born. 8 pounds 13 ounces.
It was amazing. I looked at him and found that I loved him like I loved Gavin when he was born. Instantly, completely.
Stay tuned for part two...
Friday, October 30, 2009
Pictures of Theo
Here are some pictures of Theo, Gavin and (a few) of those who love them. (In a totally random order - I really don't feel like sorting through them).
Papa Gordy
Nana Mary Jo & Papa Gordy
Ryan was burping Theo and as soon as he handed the baby over to me Gavin dove in Ryan's lap.
Grandpa Don
Uncle Ike is crazy for babies
Dog's thought: "^%^&*&! Not another one!"
Cat's thought: "%$^&*! Not another one!"
In his carseat from his ride home from the hospital.
In the NICU after he was upgraded from an open warming table w/ heat lamp (so they could monitor his breathing) to a crib complete with clothes and a blanket.
Alert little guy.
Gavin likes to look in the mirror on the tummy time mat and say, "baby".
What do you expect? Both parents are kind of goofballs - he's just getting an early start.
Tummy time about 2 seconds before he loses it (which was about 2 seconds after I put him on his tummy).
Handsome big brother Gavin playing in his birthday present from mom and dad - a house and tent connected by tubes. FUN!
Nana Jo in the tent as seen from the house via the tube.
Me and Theo in the house - kind of cramped.
Gavin and Nana Jo in the tent.
Juice lush.
He wanted out of the stroller so Nana kept tabs on him with the help of the monkey backpack/leash.
Theo's first outting. We had to have the carseat checked so we went to Ikea (last Wednesday of every month they have free carseat check's at the one in Renton) and since we were there we went inside for Swedish meatballs (but we were too early and had to settle from breakfast so I bought some frozen ones and we had them for dinner). YUM!
Daddy & Theo
Ryan and Theo in the NICU after Theo got his feeding tube and was finally able to eat.
At 8 lb 13 oz he was a moose in the NICU.
Daddy giving baby a bottle of breast milk since he was still not well enough to breastfeed.
So cute and sad at the same time.
Papa Gordy
Nana Mary Jo & Papa Gordy
Ryan was burping Theo and as soon as he handed the baby over to me Gavin dove in Ryan's lap.
Grandpa Don
Uncle Ike is crazy for babies
Dog's thought: "^%^&*&! Not another one!"
Cat's thought: "%$^&*! Not another one!"
In his carseat from his ride home from the hospital.
In the NICU after he was upgraded from an open warming table w/ heat lamp (so they could monitor his breathing) to a crib complete with clothes and a blanket.
Alert little guy.
Gavin likes to look in the mirror on the tummy time mat and say, "baby".
What do you expect? Both parents are kind of goofballs - he's just getting an early start.
Tummy time about 2 seconds before he loses it (which was about 2 seconds after I put him on his tummy).
Handsome big brother Gavin playing in his birthday present from mom and dad - a house and tent connected by tubes. FUN!
Nana Jo in the tent as seen from the house via the tube.
Me and Theo in the house - kind of cramped.
Gavin and Nana Jo in the tent.
Juice lush.
He wanted out of the stroller so Nana kept tabs on him with the help of the monkey backpack/leash.
Theo's first outting. We had to have the carseat checked so we went to Ikea (last Wednesday of every month they have free carseat check's at the one in Renton) and since we were there we went inside for Swedish meatballs (but we were too early and had to settle from breakfast so I bought some frozen ones and we had them for dinner). YUM!
Daddy & Theo
Ryan and Theo in the NICU after Theo got his feeding tube and was finally able to eat.
At 8 lb 13 oz he was a moose in the NICU.
Daddy giving baby a bottle of breast milk since he was still not well enough to breastfeed. 
So cute and sad at the same time.
Theo & I shortly after he was born. (He didn't shows signs of distress until he was about 6 hours old.)
Friday, October 09, 2009
Little Tease
Here I sit in the living room typing away while Gavin naps. I should lie down too but there is not enough time for me to sleep and feel well rested before we have to leave for our PEPS (mommy group). I would be too tempted to sleep right through our meeting and we missed last week because of a late nap. As much as I hate to do it I'm probably going to have to wake Gavin up from his nap so we can make the meeting. I was really hoping to not make it today's meeting. I was really hoping the baby would have been here by now. Really. Really. Really.
Yesterday I had an appointment with my midwife - I was 38 weeks and 5 days. I asked her to check me to see how far I was dilated. 2.5 cm. TWO AND A HALF measly centimeters! I have been having contractions since last Tuesday! Nine days of contractions gets me 2.5 cm? I almost cried when she told me I was so mad. But who is there to be mad at? The baby? No. Me? No? My uterus? maybe. My cervix? For sure.
What do you get when you eat licorice (the real stuff - no watered down Red Vines for me), eat spicy food that makes you sniffle, walk, walk, walk and walk some more, walk the treadmill at full tilt, do some stairs, swim, chase a toddler, get acupuncture, stomp up and down the stairs, do a little jumping, massage pressure points to help induce labor?
N-O-T-H-I-N-G!!!
Oh, and I forgot the more important one of all.... my midwife stripped my membranes. I don't know exactly what is involved - it is not entirely pleasant as it only takes about 30 seconds to do but in those 30 seconds I went from 2.5 cm dilated to 3 cm.
Yesterday was the day. I just knew it was going to happen yesterday because I was so uncomfortable after the procedure. I sat around the house and did very little while my mother-in-law watched Gavin, did laundry, made dinner... spoiled me really. Then I was having lots of contractions. Yesterday was also Ryan's birthday. I held off on being so active because I didn't want the baby to come on Ryan's birthday. But I think I was too lazy because after my little nap in the afternoon all contractions ceased.
Once they stopped I decided it was time to put my butt in gear and get active again. I helped out after dinner with the dishes, I rounded up everyone to go for a walk where I stomped my feet like a little kid in imaginary mud puddles. My poor family had to be seen with the crazy pregnant lady stomping her feet.
We got home, put Gavin to bed, had cake and ice cream and the contractions started again! Woo-hoo! They weren't all that painful but they were less than 10 minutes apart. I called my midwife to get her input as I knew I was no where near ready to go to the hospital but I wanted her to be in the know since she is going to deliver the babe. She told me to lay down and get some rest. If it is true labor you can't stop it.
I laid down and the contractions stopped.
Boo.
When I got up to use the bathroom I would have a contraction but as soon as I laid back down - nada.
About 5 am Ryan woke up when I returned from the 3rd or 4th potty trip and asked how I was. "Pissed off," was my gracious, lady like reply. I thought about it and changed my answer to, "disappointed".
So here I sit experiencing mild contractions and yet expecting nothing to come of them. I don't think I've ever wanted to experience pain more than I do right now.
Tonight Ryan's dad and step mom are going to be here. Tonight would be another great opportunity for the baby to come. We will have babysitters sleeping downstairs. There would be no need to pull out the phone tree. We would just take the monitor downstairs and say, "See ya!"
Bring it on!!!
Yesterday I had an appointment with my midwife - I was 38 weeks and 5 days. I asked her to check me to see how far I was dilated. 2.5 cm. TWO AND A HALF measly centimeters! I have been having contractions since last Tuesday! Nine days of contractions gets me 2.5 cm? I almost cried when she told me I was so mad. But who is there to be mad at? The baby? No. Me? No? My uterus? maybe. My cervix? For sure.
What do you get when you eat licorice (the real stuff - no watered down Red Vines for me), eat spicy food that makes you sniffle, walk, walk, walk and walk some more, walk the treadmill at full tilt, do some stairs, swim, chase a toddler, get acupuncture, stomp up and down the stairs, do a little jumping, massage pressure points to help induce labor?
N-O-T-H-I-N-G!!!
Oh, and I forgot the more important one of all.... my midwife stripped my membranes. I don't know exactly what is involved - it is not entirely pleasant as it only takes about 30 seconds to do but in those 30 seconds I went from 2.5 cm dilated to 3 cm.
Yesterday was the day. I just knew it was going to happen yesterday because I was so uncomfortable after the procedure. I sat around the house and did very little while my mother-in-law watched Gavin, did laundry, made dinner... spoiled me really. Then I was having lots of contractions. Yesterday was also Ryan's birthday. I held off on being so active because I didn't want the baby to come on Ryan's birthday. But I think I was too lazy because after my little nap in the afternoon all contractions ceased.
Once they stopped I decided it was time to put my butt in gear and get active again. I helped out after dinner with the dishes, I rounded up everyone to go for a walk where I stomped my feet like a little kid in imaginary mud puddles. My poor family had to be seen with the crazy pregnant lady stomping her feet.
We got home, put Gavin to bed, had cake and ice cream and the contractions started again! Woo-hoo! They weren't all that painful but they were less than 10 minutes apart. I called my midwife to get her input as I knew I was no where near ready to go to the hospital but I wanted her to be in the know since she is going to deliver the babe. She told me to lay down and get some rest. If it is true labor you can't stop it.
I laid down and the contractions stopped.
Boo.
When I got up to use the bathroom I would have a contraction but as soon as I laid back down - nada.
About 5 am Ryan woke up when I returned from the 3rd or 4th potty trip and asked how I was. "Pissed off," was my gracious, lady like reply. I thought about it and changed my answer to, "disappointed".
So here I sit experiencing mild contractions and yet expecting nothing to come of them. I don't think I've ever wanted to experience pain more than I do right now.
Tonight Ryan's dad and step mom are going to be here. Tonight would be another great opportunity for the baby to come. We will have babysitters sleeping downstairs. There would be no need to pull out the phone tree. We would just take the monitor downstairs and say, "See ya!"
Bring it on!!!
Sunday, October 04, 2009
Waiting in Filtered Sunlight
Gavin is just about asleep for his nap. I am unwinding in bed, waiting to be ready to sleep but it may be difficult since I had coffee at church and some Coke at lunch. It's hard to not drink caffeine somedays. Today is a someday. Last night I was up every hour because my bladder was lying to my brain saying it was full. My brain is so gullible. It just takes a baby nestling into your bladder to make a night super long and short at the same time. Then Gavin woke up screaming at 3 - darn those molars! I rushed to get him some teething gel for his gums and infant Tylenol. Poor tyke. The gel works almost instantly so after rubbing his back for a minute or two he was asleep again and I headed back to bed but the night was shot.
I went back to bed at 6 am and didn't wake up again until almost 8! I tried to keep my eyes closed so as to not let the sun completely wake me up as I shuffled to the bathroom. After another 90 minutes of sleep I sprung out of bed and ran downstairs to get the clothes out of the dried so I would have something to wear to church and to let Ryan know we were on for service today.
During service I kept thinking how nice it would be to go into labor right then and there since my midwife was there and we were surrounded by friends who could take Gavin while Heather (my midwife) drove me and Ryan to the hospital. No such luck.
I was having several painful contractions in groups throughout the day starting on Tuesday but I think I may have had one yesterday. I'm starting to lose hope of this baby coming anytime soon. I'm 38 weeks and 1 day as of today. That gives me 13 days until I'm 40 weeks. I really, really, really don't want to go two more weeks. Gavin was nearly 3 weeks early and he turned out just fine.
So that leaves me sitting here in my bedroom just waiting. Trying to enjoy some of the solitude that naps provide. My room is still clean since we just had carpet installed on Wednesday of last week. My bag for the hospital is sitting next to window. Then there is the small bassinet a friend is lending just to my right. For now it is housing my body pillow when not in use. Soon it will have a baby in it. Hopefully a baby who likes sleep. Or at least one who doesn't fight it.
As I'm sitting here in the filtered sunlight that is coming through our white curtains casting the room in a warm hue I am really hoping the baby comes in the next day or two because the weather is supposed to remain nice this week. It would be so great to bring the baby home and to take him to his first well baby check 3 days post delivery in sunny weather.
My moods do tend to change a bit with the weather - I may even go so far as to say that I suffer a bit from S.A.D. (seasonal affective disorder) which is so prevalent in the Northwest with our wet, gray, gloomy fall, winter and spring seasons and all. Maybe taking mega doses of Vitamin D will help combat the gloominess this year. I'll take all the help I can get because not seeing the sun for weeks on end can be a tad depressing. And then when you tack wet, gray and gloomy on top of sleep deprived it just seems like a recipe for disaster.
Or maybe having a toddler to chase around will be my saving grace this time around. I can't stop because I want to. No. The best I can do is enjoy his nap time with the new one and hope that the new one will want to take a nap at the same time. I'm not going to hold my breath.
Once the new one is at least 6 weeks old I can get 2 whole hours to myself at the gym. The kiddos will go to kiddie club and I will get to exercise and take a shower and dry my hair and put on make up if I so desire. What a luxury. Ooh, and if I have to pee - I can use a stall in the locker room and close the door!
That's right all of you people who do not have children: going to the bathroom with the door shut is a TREAT.
Today is looking a little more promising. I've had some weak contractions but they are lasting longer than the strong ones from a few days ago. One lasted a full minute but I could talk through it so it's probably nothing. It gives me a little hope though.
I went back to bed at 6 am and didn't wake up again until almost 8! I tried to keep my eyes closed so as to not let the sun completely wake me up as I shuffled to the bathroom. After another 90 minutes of sleep I sprung out of bed and ran downstairs to get the clothes out of the dried so I would have something to wear to church and to let Ryan know we were on for service today.
During service I kept thinking how nice it would be to go into labor right then and there since my midwife was there and we were surrounded by friends who could take Gavin while Heather (my midwife) drove me and Ryan to the hospital. No such luck.
I was having several painful contractions in groups throughout the day starting on Tuesday but I think I may have had one yesterday. I'm starting to lose hope of this baby coming anytime soon. I'm 38 weeks and 1 day as of today. That gives me 13 days until I'm 40 weeks. I really, really, really don't want to go two more weeks. Gavin was nearly 3 weeks early and he turned out just fine.
So that leaves me sitting here in my bedroom just waiting. Trying to enjoy some of the solitude that naps provide. My room is still clean since we just had carpet installed on Wednesday of last week. My bag for the hospital is sitting next to window. Then there is the small bassinet a friend is lending just to my right. For now it is housing my body pillow when not in use. Soon it will have a baby in it. Hopefully a baby who likes sleep. Or at least one who doesn't fight it.
As I'm sitting here in the filtered sunlight that is coming through our white curtains casting the room in a warm hue I am really hoping the baby comes in the next day or two because the weather is supposed to remain nice this week. It would be so great to bring the baby home and to take him to his first well baby check 3 days post delivery in sunny weather.
My moods do tend to change a bit with the weather - I may even go so far as to say that I suffer a bit from S.A.D. (seasonal affective disorder) which is so prevalent in the Northwest with our wet, gray, gloomy fall, winter and spring seasons and all. Maybe taking mega doses of Vitamin D will help combat the gloominess this year. I'll take all the help I can get because not seeing the sun for weeks on end can be a tad depressing. And then when you tack wet, gray and gloomy on top of sleep deprived it just seems like a recipe for disaster.
Or maybe having a toddler to chase around will be my saving grace this time around. I can't stop because I want to. No. The best I can do is enjoy his nap time with the new one and hope that the new one will want to take a nap at the same time. I'm not going to hold my breath.
Once the new one is at least 6 weeks old I can get 2 whole hours to myself at the gym. The kiddos will go to kiddie club and I will get to exercise and take a shower and dry my hair and put on make up if I so desire. What a luxury. Ooh, and if I have to pee - I can use a stall in the locker room and close the door!
That's right all of you people who do not have children: going to the bathroom with the door shut is a TREAT.
Today is looking a little more promising. I've had some weak contractions but they are lasting longer than the strong ones from a few days ago. One lasted a full minute but I could talk through it so it's probably nothing. It gives me a little hope though.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Heart Warming
OK, so the following story may or may not warm your heart but it certainly warmed mine. And if I recall correctly my eyes welled up a bit.
It has been well over a week since the incident took place but I keep thinking back on it fondly. Part of me is glad I didn't have the video camera because it is a memory I think will be best served playing on a loop in my head. Hopefully, by writing it down I will help cement it in my long term memory, or at least have a place where I can go back and read about it.
The story is, of course, about Gavin. In the evenings Gavin comes toddling into the kitchen when he hears one us unlocking the safety latch to the doors under the kitchen sink. Recently he rushes over so he can try and get his hands on the dish washing tablets in a big round container with a clear plastic lid that he likes to take off. That night was no different so instead of fighting with him to get the soap tabs out of his hands I asked if he could help me feed the dog.
Turns out helping mommy to feed the dogs was his pleasure. I handed him the blue plastic cup filled with dog kibble. It wasn't Kea's usual dog food - her regular food is for large breeds so the kibbles are huge - not this stuff. The kibble looked like cat food. Of course, Kea's giant kibble has never stopped Gwen (our fat cat) from trying to eat it.
Before I could get to Kea's dish to hold it up for Gavin to lessen the spill factor he was at her dish and dumping the kibble "into" her bowl. I think maybe a quarter of the kibble landed in the dog's bowl.
For several reasons I profusely praised Gavin for his wonderful help. Some of the reasons for profusely thanking my toddler for spilling dog food all over the floor:
It has been well over a week since the incident took place but I keep thinking back on it fondly. Part of me is glad I didn't have the video camera because it is a memory I think will be best served playing on a loop in my head. Hopefully, by writing it down I will help cement it in my long term memory, or at least have a place where I can go back and read about it.
The story is, of course, about Gavin. In the evenings Gavin comes toddling into the kitchen when he hears one us unlocking the safety latch to the doors under the kitchen sink. Recently he rushes over so he can try and get his hands on the dish washing tablets in a big round container with a clear plastic lid that he likes to take off. That night was no different so instead of fighting with him to get the soap tabs out of his hands I asked if he could help me feed the dog.
Turns out helping mommy to feed the dogs was his pleasure. I handed him the blue plastic cup filled with dog kibble. It wasn't Kea's usual dog food - her regular food is for large breeds so the kibbles are huge - not this stuff. The kibble looked like cat food. Of course, Kea's giant kibble has never stopped Gwen (our fat cat) from trying to eat it.
Before I could get to Kea's dish to hold it up for Gavin to lessen the spill factor he was at her dish and dumping the kibble "into" her bowl. I think maybe a quarter of the kibble landed in the dog's bowl.
For several reasons I profusely praised Gavin for his wonderful help. Some of the reasons for profusely thanking my toddler for spilling dog food all over the floor:
- He's 23 months old - not even 2 years.
- He gets very upset with himself for not getting all of the kibble into the bowl - he will pick up every last piece and place it in the dog's bowl - he used to stand there holding the empty cup and just cry when he spilled.
- I asked for it.
Normally, I would just let the dog eat the kibble off the floor, she is a dog after all, but the kibble was so tiny and it was everywhere. I didn't relish the idea of mopping thick, viscous dog drool with kibble crumbs off the floor so I grabbed a broom and swept the kibble into a pile.
Gavin saw me get the broom out and disappeared into his bedroom for a brief moment. When I looked up again he was marching with a purposeful gait back into the kitchen with very stern look on his face all the while holding his little toy broom high in the air. He went right to work sweeping the neat pile of dog kibble I just mounded up all over the kitchen and dining room. The kibble was now even more spread out.
It was the sweetest thing to see him trying to clean up his mess - hoisting his broom over head and smacking it down on the floor over and over in an attempt to help clean up. Sensing he was getting a bit frustrated with his cleaning skills I thanked him for his help and stood behind him and guided the broom with his chubby little hands firmly clasped on the handle and helped him sweep the kibbles into another pile. Then I quickly took the broom back to his room.
My little guy really doesn't like disorder - when he is done with his crayons he will line them up. Just today at dinner he picked up the peas that he had spit out onto his high chair tray and put them on his plate with the rest of the peas. I even saw him eyeing the other three peas I picked up off the floor and set on the butcher block as a temporary holding place until dinner was over. If he could I think he would have put those peas back on his plate, too.
I think his dislike for disorder is a Haas trait. It could come from Ryan's side but I know I have some crazies on my side of the family when it comes to order. First and foremost, Grandma Martha - my dad's mom. Her house was always clean. Not just clean but c-l-e-a-n. She passed the clean gene onto my dad. Of course, I don't remember much of his neatnik ways but I've been told a story or two. Well, my mom was the same way, too. So she and my dad passed that gene onto my older brother Ike who would wake me and my younger brother up early in the morning when we were little so we could surprise mom with a super clean house - although I don't know what there was to clean since it was always clean.
Something happened and the gene completely skipped me and went straight to Joel. He and Ike always had the cleanest rooms. Mom and Dad never had to hassle them about cleaning their rooms. I had always chalked it up to them being boys and having boring stuff. Mom would sometimes tell me that she just didn't get how we were related sometimes because I was always so messy. My room was constantly a disaster. Poor mom - she tried. She really, really did. I remember her lessons: "April, when you are done with one thing you put it away before getting out the next."
It has taken 32 years but I think I'm slowly starting to tame my inner slob. Hmm, I don't think taming of the slob is really the best way to describe being more orderly - more like whipping the slob. The slob is morphing into an adult who likes a bit of order, or at the very least, less chaos.
To add to Gavin's woes the poor child has a pack rat father (who would vehemently deny this claim, preferring to think of himself as frugal and not wasteful about stuff we could likely use one day but if the shoe fits...) who is slowly being tormented by his wife's exorcising of her own pack rat demons and as a result is slowly freeing himself of stuff. It is my fantasy to get rid of everything we don't use. The rule that personal organizers (and sane people) have is: if you haven't used it in a year then you don't need it.
My biggest space hog are all of my clothes of yesteryear. 3 sizes ago. I have 3 wardrobes because I have 3 different sizes I'm clinging to. My goal has been and always will be to fit back into those clothes. But I think its time for me to bite the bullet and to get rid of them. Even if - I mean when - I fit back in them they are so outdated I wouldn't want to wear them anyway. Maybe I can purge them tomorrow.
Hmm, I went from a heart warming story about my son to purging my room of ill fitting clothes. I wonder if his thoughts will be as scattered as mine or if he will have the engineer brain of his father. I've given Ryan a hard time lately about his engineer brain. When we are hiring someone to do a job around the house or buy a new something for us or the house he can think of 10 times as many questions as I do about the person/job/product. Now I try to anticipate what his questions will be but, lo, my brain is not wired the same way as his. Sometimes when I call a person back for what feels like the tenth time to ask another question I say, "sorry, my husband is an engineer and he thought of another question." The person on the other end usually quakes in fear knowing full well they are going to be under the microscope. If I can't handle asking any more questions I pass the job back to Ryan to pick the person's brain because I also forget half of what they tell me by time we are off the phone anyway.
I told Ryan this the other day about people groaning when I tell them I'm asking a million questions because he is an engineer and instantly felt bad. There is nothing wrong with making sure the service or product you are purchasing checks out. His questions have saved us money and lots of headaches. Why, just the other day, his engineer brain figured out a way - over the phone - to get the Bob duallie stroller to fit in the back of our car because I and woman selling me the stroller couldn't figure out how to get it in the hatch and close the door.
If he was a little bit smarter he wouldn't have figured it out and left me to buy a much cheaper stroller. : ) One of the rare times his engineer brain cost us more money.
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
Pumpkin Preview
Here are some more pictures of my little guy.
Watching the Tigger movie at Nana and Papa Monten's
He likes his cousin Erika's Dora the Explorer couch
Playing in a fort under the new dining room table.
Surrounded by blankets made by people who love him. Brown quilt from Jenn from Malawi, patchwork quilt on right by Heidi, crocheted blanket on left by Anna and the blanket over his head by his cousin Laura (8 at the time).
Sneak peak of the cutest little pumpkin!
Watching the Tigger movie at Nana and Papa Monten's
He likes his cousin Erika's Dora the Explorer couch
Playing in a fort under the new dining room table. 
Surrounded by blankets made by people who love him. Brown quilt from Jenn from Malawi, patchwork quilt on right by Heidi, crocheted blanket on left by Anna and the blanket over his head by his cousin Laura (8 at the time).
Friday, September 04, 2009
Domestic Goddess
After a while reading about the gourmet meals other people prepare for their families, the wonderful things they sew, the amazing vegetables they grow (and that their families actually eat) I start to feel pretty inadequate.
What do I manage to do with the same time that the domestic goddess has been given? Whereas in the domestic goddess's day there is time for super duper fun trips to the park, time for crafts and time for shopping and picking out fancy cheese - and time for cleaning up messes, sewing clothing for your family and tending to the garden that probably has a magic bean stalk somewhere I seem to barely manage to do simple mundane things like take a shower and eat a meal.
Yesterday I felt super put together because I got to take a shower and comb my hair and put on make up. The only thing that would have put a cherry on top of that hygiene sundae would have been being able to do it while sipping a cup of fresh brewed coffee (well, not while in the shower obviously). But to add brewing coffee to this list would have been greedy and the universe would have laughed at my ambition and taken away my time to comb my hair and put on the scant make up I did slather on my face.
This morning, still high from my shower and combed hair from the day before, I set out to make an awesome meal for my awesome family. As I was washing basil for the pesto I was making, from scratch, I got to thinking that I was feeling all sorts of smug and superior because I was making pesto.
Pesto.
Is pesto not the easiest of all sauces to make? Basil + cheese + pine nuts + olive oil + garlic = pesto. Throw in blender, whir and done. Then throw in the fridge and wait for hubby to get home so you can shock him with a delicious homemade meal.
Except you didn't slice the bell peppers or take the chicken out of the freezer or buy fancy refrigerated pasta (extra Martha Stewart points for making the pasta). Hubby then notices the leftover grilled sausages and bell peppers in the fridge (that you of course, had nothing to do with as they came on skewers with big hunks of steak from the grocery store because you were too tired to cook - and to be fair, a lot sick).
Sauteed sliced chicken sausage with thin slices of the formerly large wedges of bell pepper and onion are a nice addition to the skillet. Boil water for the quickest cooking pasta you have - half a package of angel hair spaghetti - because time is already slipping away from you and three minutes later your gourmet, home cooked meal is ready to be assembled.
Oh, and there are no side dishes. No exotic grains, no salads with an assortment of colorful lettuces and spinach with craisins and nuts. The meal comes complete with a protein and two - count 'em two - vegetables.
Hubby eats half of his before he has to run off to the Seahawks game. I scarf mine while trying to coax Gavin to try ONE FREAKING BITE. He cries and turns his head to the side. I sneak a minuscule bite into his mouth. He reacts as if I stuck a pile of putrid slop from the compost bin in his mouth. OK, not a fan. I help him scoop the offensive food out of his mouth and tell him he doesn't have to eat any.
For dinner my son ate a plum the neighbor gave us from his tree.
A plum.
Oh, and drank some milk.
What am I going to do?
So, my grandiose plans for an awesome meal were dashed. Tomorrow I'm going to try a recipe I saw in a magazine. It involves a ton of eggs, some cheese and vegetables. I figure the chances of getting some vegetables into Ryan and Gavin will have more success if they are covered in egg and cheese. Oh, and it's supposed to be super easy to make. I'm sure it will turn out to be edible.
That's all I can really guarantee. The house is trying to slip into its natural state of disaster and it feels like all of my energy goes into keeping the from falling into the hovel hole again. Load the dishwasher, unload the dishwasher, wash pots and pans, take care of pots and pans. Clean counter tops, sweep floors, take care of papers that find their way to the dining room table where they really want to take up residence and start sending open house invitations to their other friends in the clutter world.
Then there is the issue of laundry. Quickly take the hamper downstairs while Gavin is engrossed in some activity for all of a couple of minutes.
Next trip dump clothes out on laundry room floor - if Gavin is downstairs with you - sort clothes. Go upstairs because Gavin is getting a little too close to the cats litter boxes.
Sort the clothes when hubby gets home. Throw a load in the washer.
Forget about said load in washer until its too late and requires another washing - this time with a hefty dose of vinegar in the rinse water.
Remember load in washer just in time. Throw in load in dryer.
Pick clothes out of dryer as you need them. Bring them up when hubby can't find any clean clothes. Fold all of his clothes and find none of yours because you've been getting your exercise going downstairs to fish clothes out as you and baby need them.
So what do I do with my time? Well, you see, I'm here at almost 4 in the morning because a charlie horse woke me up. It was all in my right leg. One cramp on the top of my foot and one in the calf. If I tried to ease one it would exacerbate the other. The reason I'm blogging or on facebook in the wee hours of the morning vary - last night it was because I couldn't lay down without deep, bed shaking coughing. All of this owlish activity turns me into a less than productive person during the day.
Of course, if I was a true domestic goddess I would be able to make a poultice for the charlie horse and would brew a tea of herbs from my own garden to ease the coughing.
There's no winning when there is a domestic goddess around for comparison.
******
The preceding story of the domestic goddess is not about any one woman. It is merely a compilation of many women - who, I know, all have their own struggles but who manage to turn their struggles into amazing works of art. They are women I am mostly envious of because of their talents in areas that I aspire to be better in.
I may not have the best kept house but you know what, I bet I can make you laugh.
Now if only that laughter could churn out a knitted scarf and a three course meal.
What do I manage to do with the same time that the domestic goddess has been given? Whereas in the domestic goddess's day there is time for super duper fun trips to the park, time for crafts and time for shopping and picking out fancy cheese - and time for cleaning up messes, sewing clothing for your family and tending to the garden that probably has a magic bean stalk somewhere I seem to barely manage to do simple mundane things like take a shower and eat a meal.
Yesterday I felt super put together because I got to take a shower and comb my hair and put on make up. The only thing that would have put a cherry on top of that hygiene sundae would have been being able to do it while sipping a cup of fresh brewed coffee (well, not while in the shower obviously). But to add brewing coffee to this list would have been greedy and the universe would have laughed at my ambition and taken away my time to comb my hair and put on the scant make up I did slather on my face.
This morning, still high from my shower and combed hair from the day before, I set out to make an awesome meal for my awesome family. As I was washing basil for the pesto I was making, from scratch, I got to thinking that I was feeling all sorts of smug and superior because I was making pesto.
Pesto.
Is pesto not the easiest of all sauces to make? Basil + cheese + pine nuts + olive oil + garlic = pesto. Throw in blender, whir and done. Then throw in the fridge and wait for hubby to get home so you can shock him with a delicious homemade meal.
Except you didn't slice the bell peppers or take the chicken out of the freezer or buy fancy refrigerated pasta (extra Martha Stewart points for making the pasta). Hubby then notices the leftover grilled sausages and bell peppers in the fridge (that you of course, had nothing to do with as they came on skewers with big hunks of steak from the grocery store because you were too tired to cook - and to be fair, a lot sick).
Sauteed sliced chicken sausage with thin slices of the formerly large wedges of bell pepper and onion are a nice addition to the skillet. Boil water for the quickest cooking pasta you have - half a package of angel hair spaghetti - because time is already slipping away from you and three minutes later your gourmet, home cooked meal is ready to be assembled.
Oh, and there are no side dishes. No exotic grains, no salads with an assortment of colorful lettuces and spinach with craisins and nuts. The meal comes complete with a protein and two - count 'em two - vegetables.
Hubby eats half of his before he has to run off to the Seahawks game. I scarf mine while trying to coax Gavin to try ONE FREAKING BITE. He cries and turns his head to the side. I sneak a minuscule bite into his mouth. He reacts as if I stuck a pile of putrid slop from the compost bin in his mouth. OK, not a fan. I help him scoop the offensive food out of his mouth and tell him he doesn't have to eat any.
For dinner my son ate a plum the neighbor gave us from his tree.
A plum.
Oh, and drank some milk.
What am I going to do?
So, my grandiose plans for an awesome meal were dashed. Tomorrow I'm going to try a recipe I saw in a magazine. It involves a ton of eggs, some cheese and vegetables. I figure the chances of getting some vegetables into Ryan and Gavin will have more success if they are covered in egg and cheese. Oh, and it's supposed to be super easy to make. I'm sure it will turn out to be edible.
That's all I can really guarantee. The house is trying to slip into its natural state of disaster and it feels like all of my energy goes into keeping the from falling into the hovel hole again. Load the dishwasher, unload the dishwasher, wash pots and pans, take care of pots and pans. Clean counter tops, sweep floors, take care of papers that find their way to the dining room table where they really want to take up residence and start sending open house invitations to their other friends in the clutter world.
Then there is the issue of laundry. Quickly take the hamper downstairs while Gavin is engrossed in some activity for all of a couple of minutes.
Next trip dump clothes out on laundry room floor - if Gavin is downstairs with you - sort clothes. Go upstairs because Gavin is getting a little too close to the cats litter boxes.
Sort the clothes when hubby gets home. Throw a load in the washer.
Forget about said load in washer until its too late and requires another washing - this time with a hefty dose of vinegar in the rinse water.
Remember load in washer just in time. Throw in load in dryer.
Pick clothes out of dryer as you need them. Bring them up when hubby can't find any clean clothes. Fold all of his clothes and find none of yours because you've been getting your exercise going downstairs to fish clothes out as you and baby need them.
So what do I do with my time? Well, you see, I'm here at almost 4 in the morning because a charlie horse woke me up. It was all in my right leg. One cramp on the top of my foot and one in the calf. If I tried to ease one it would exacerbate the other. The reason I'm blogging or on facebook in the wee hours of the morning vary - last night it was because I couldn't lay down without deep, bed shaking coughing. All of this owlish activity turns me into a less than productive person during the day.
Of course, if I was a true domestic goddess I would be able to make a poultice for the charlie horse and would brew a tea of herbs from my own garden to ease the coughing.
There's no winning when there is a domestic goddess around for comparison.
******
The preceding story of the domestic goddess is not about any one woman. It is merely a compilation of many women - who, I know, all have their own struggles but who manage to turn their struggles into amazing works of art. They are women I am mostly envious of because of their talents in areas that I aspire to be better in.
I may not have the best kept house but you know what, I bet I can make you laugh.
Now if only that laughter could churn out a knitted scarf and a three course meal.
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Pics of Cute Kids and Pets
Here are some photos of Gavin, his friend Aislin, Bob the cat that no one believes we have because she is deathly afraid of everyone but the residents of her home, her sister Gwen and the dog, Kea.
Gavin and his 'beeket'
The G made a train out of his various trucks
This isn't the most flattering picture of Bob but it gives you an idea of what she looks like with her recent shave. I LOVE me a shaved cat! They leave so much less fur around and as a bonus they look hilarious.
This is Gwen. As dumb as she is beautiful.
Another picture of Bob. So you dont think I'm mean, Bob actually likes being petted more when she's shaved. I think its because she won't let us comb her and the matte's hurt when she's pet. So, this is as much for her comfort as it is for my ease in housekeeping (and amusement).
Aislin waiting for her turn in the dog's kennel. Stinkiest playhouse ever.
This picture cracks me up!!!! She's keeping an eye on Gavin.
Another hilarious photo. Aislin wanted her hands on the toys and Gavin wanted his hands on the beverages.
Bobbi wanting to ram the camera with her cute little head.
He sat on the dog's bed for several minutes listening to Elmo talk as he pushed his hand.
Waiting for the 'claw' to attack his belly.
The Greatest Baby Sitter
We almost made it to 2 years before Gavin watched TV. That's not to say he hasn't seen his fair share of soccer or news but that really doesn't grab his attention. He'll look up at the screen for a minute and get bored and do something else. We've given him opportunities to watch cartoons in the past. Those rare times were when he got a big boo boo and nothing would console him. Turns out in those times undiluted juice was a big treat and he had zero interest in cartoons.
On our flight to Hawaii we tried really hard to get him interested in cartoons. He would have none of it. Not the cartoons we had playing on Ryan's laptop nor the ones the airline had in their DigE players. I was beginning to think our son was abnormal.
Then, on Friday evening, between a painful infection and a head cold he became inconsolable. Until... daddy had the great idea to break out a cartoon. He started looking for the cartoon network when I remembered Gavin received a cartoon DVD from his Uncle Ike & Aunt Jenny as a gift not to long ago. Ryan popped it into the DVD player and *wah-lah* all crying ceased. (I want to avoid the cartoon network at all costs - I don't want him to see all of those ads for toys he will one day die without).
All it took to take Gavin's mind off of his pain was a giant green bear named Boz singing about the alphabet with the help of Gracie and Drew. The only other time he sits so still is when he is on a book tear. He'll sit still for long periods of time if someone reads to him (of course, they have to be the right books otherwise he'll grab them and toss them aside or simply state his disapproval with a matter of fact, "no," before handing you a suitable book).
So far there haven't been any protests when we turn the TV off. I tell him to say bye bye to Boz, which he does. Then Boz is gone. If only his songs were gone; they have an annoying sticking power.
Saturday morning I saw him, Gavin, not Boz, sitting on the couch with the remote control pointed at the tv. He would push a button then look up to see if it worked. Eventually he turned the tv on but the poor guy would have to change the setting then get a different remote out. I'm so not teaching him how to do that. Heck, Ryan just taught me how to do it this weekend. Rather, he gave me a refresher course on how to do it.
Here is a picture of Gavin watching the cartoon for the first time. I like to say he is glassy eyed and slack jawed out of awe for the cartoon but I think having a head cold, not being able to breath from his mouth and having to look up to see the tv on the wall naturally lent itself to this look.
On our flight to Hawaii we tried really hard to get him interested in cartoons. He would have none of it. Not the cartoons we had playing on Ryan's laptop nor the ones the airline had in their DigE players. I was beginning to think our son was abnormal.
Then, on Friday evening, between a painful infection and a head cold he became inconsolable. Until... daddy had the great idea to break out a cartoon. He started looking for the cartoon network when I remembered Gavin received a cartoon DVD from his Uncle Ike & Aunt Jenny as a gift not to long ago. Ryan popped it into the DVD player and *wah-lah* all crying ceased. (I want to avoid the cartoon network at all costs - I don't want him to see all of those ads for toys he will one day die without).
All it took to take Gavin's mind off of his pain was a giant green bear named Boz singing about the alphabet with the help of Gracie and Drew. The only other time he sits so still is when he is on a book tear. He'll sit still for long periods of time if someone reads to him (of course, they have to be the right books otherwise he'll grab them and toss them aside or simply state his disapproval with a matter of fact, "no," before handing you a suitable book).
So far there haven't been any protests when we turn the TV off. I tell him to say bye bye to Boz, which he does. Then Boz is gone. If only his songs were gone; they have an annoying sticking power.
Saturday morning I saw him, Gavin, not Boz, sitting on the couch with the remote control pointed at the tv. He would push a button then look up to see if it worked. Eventually he turned the tv on but the poor guy would have to change the setting then get a different remote out. I'm so not teaching him how to do that. Heck, Ryan just taught me how to do it this weekend. Rather, he gave me a refresher course on how to do it.
Here is a picture of Gavin watching the cartoon for the first time. I like to say he is glassy eyed and slack jawed out of awe for the cartoon but I think having a head cold, not being able to breath from his mouth and having to look up to see the tv on the wall naturally lent itself to this look.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Desperate Times
Who has not heard that desperate times call for desperate measures? When one hears this saying they may think of dire circumstances. Or Desperate Housewives, the TV show I suppose. I'm learning that this saying is taking on a meaning in my own life.
What times are so desperate that I'm calling for desperate measures? The economic downturn has not affected us personally - thank you, God! I am feeling desperate when it comes to my son's sleeping and nutrition. OK, so the desperation regarding his sleeping isn't born so much out of my concern that his taking up to an hour and a half to fall asleep for naps or at nighttime is detrimental to his overall well being but out of a deep seated need for some alone time. Either time to do a puzzle or two while lounging in my bed or time to take a nap. Either way, it is restful and much needed, especially since I am great with child.
The real problem that is causing this feeling of desperation in me is related to his nutrition. Gavin isn't a small boy, he weighs 30 pounds which would put him in the 75th percentile for a 2 year old - he still has 2 months to go until he's 2. My boy is not wasting away, his cheeks are nice and chubby and super kissable. His eyes glisten, he runs around, he plays, he yells, he talks, he is even learning some letters from the fridge magnet set. But I still can't help but be concerned about what he is, or rather, is not eating.
Tops on his list to eat are yogurt (doke), milk (mick), juice (deuce), applesauce (bopple), peaches & nectarines (also, bopple), berries (of the blue, black and straw varieties - all called boo or bayee), cottage cheese (cheece). See any glaring omissions there? Say, vegetables? Non-dairy protein? He was eating a lot of peanut butter on whole wheat toast and apples with peanut butter but now peanut butter is off the list. He used to love black beans and rice with salsa. Now he will eat a few bites of rice but only if it has teriyaki sauce on it. Meat is off the list. He'll eat a piece of meat if it has enough of a sweet or tangy marinade but as soon as he chews all of the sauce off the meat gets spit out. Ryan and I don't really care if he's a big meat eater or not - heck it saves us money - we don't have to buy the hormone free, free range, raised by sweet fairies on the prairie meats. I've taken to adding ground flax seed to his yogurt and applesauce. With protein taken care of I need to turn my attention to vegetables.
In my desperation to get vegetables down his gullet I checked out Jessica Seinfeld's cookbook, Deceptively Delicious, from the library. He loved the pancakes with pureed beats especially with peanut butter and blackberries on top (yes, Ryan, you ate beats last week when I made pancakes for dinner), blueberry muffins with squash, banana bread with cauliflower but didn't like the turkey with pureed carrots and bell peppers. I tried the mozzarella sticks with cauliflower but they didn't exactly turn out - they melted into a pile of cheesy goo in the pan - AND the cauliflower was overpowering. Even I didn't like it and I like cauliflower.
Today I made him a grilled cheese sandwich with carrots - not a recipe from her cookbook but one from my own little noggin. I was in a hurry so I quickly chopped some baby carrots and nuked them for about a minute then threw them in the Magic Bullet (mini food processor that I'm really growing fond of now that I don't expect it to work like it does in the infomercials) then spread the carrots on top of the cheese. Gavin ate half of his sandwich - chock full of carrots! I felt victorious!
It was hard to not cackle an evil, evil laugh as he ate his dreaded enemy the vegetable. Even if the rest of the day is a total waste and I fail in many other areas as a mother I at least got some veggies into my son!
What times are so desperate that I'm calling for desperate measures? The economic downturn has not affected us personally - thank you, God! I am feeling desperate when it comes to my son's sleeping and nutrition. OK, so the desperation regarding his sleeping isn't born so much out of my concern that his taking up to an hour and a half to fall asleep for naps or at nighttime is detrimental to his overall well being but out of a deep seated need for some alone time. Either time to do a puzzle or two while lounging in my bed or time to take a nap. Either way, it is restful and much needed, especially since I am great with child.
The real problem that is causing this feeling of desperation in me is related to his nutrition. Gavin isn't a small boy, he weighs 30 pounds which would put him in the 75th percentile for a 2 year old - he still has 2 months to go until he's 2. My boy is not wasting away, his cheeks are nice and chubby and super kissable. His eyes glisten, he runs around, he plays, he yells, he talks, he is even learning some letters from the fridge magnet set. But I still can't help but be concerned about what he is, or rather, is not eating.
Tops on his list to eat are yogurt (doke), milk (mick), juice (deuce), applesauce (bopple), peaches & nectarines (also, bopple), berries (of the blue, black and straw varieties - all called boo or bayee), cottage cheese (cheece). See any glaring omissions there? Say, vegetables? Non-dairy protein? He was eating a lot of peanut butter on whole wheat toast and apples with peanut butter but now peanut butter is off the list. He used to love black beans and rice with salsa. Now he will eat a few bites of rice but only if it has teriyaki sauce on it. Meat is off the list. He'll eat a piece of meat if it has enough of a sweet or tangy marinade but as soon as he chews all of the sauce off the meat gets spit out. Ryan and I don't really care if he's a big meat eater or not - heck it saves us money - we don't have to buy the hormone free, free range, raised by sweet fairies on the prairie meats. I've taken to adding ground flax seed to his yogurt and applesauce. With protein taken care of I need to turn my attention to vegetables.
In my desperation to get vegetables down his gullet I checked out Jessica Seinfeld's cookbook, Deceptively Delicious, from the library. He loved the pancakes with pureed beats especially with peanut butter and blackberries on top (yes, Ryan, you ate beats last week when I made pancakes for dinner), blueberry muffins with squash, banana bread with cauliflower but didn't like the turkey with pureed carrots and bell peppers. I tried the mozzarella sticks with cauliflower but they didn't exactly turn out - they melted into a pile of cheesy goo in the pan - AND the cauliflower was overpowering. Even I didn't like it and I like cauliflower.
Today I made him a grilled cheese sandwich with carrots - not a recipe from her cookbook but one from my own little noggin. I was in a hurry so I quickly chopped some baby carrots and nuked them for about a minute then threw them in the Magic Bullet (mini food processor that I'm really growing fond of now that I don't expect it to work like it does in the infomercials) then spread the carrots on top of the cheese. Gavin ate half of his sandwich - chock full of carrots! I felt victorious!
It was hard to not cackle an evil, evil laugh as he ate his dreaded enemy the vegetable. Even if the rest of the day is a total waste and I fail in many other areas as a mother I at least got some veggies into my son!
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Great Day
Today was the second day I hired a babysitter to watch Gavin so I could clean the house. Two weeks ago I hired a sitter so I could clean mine and Ryan's room, although when Ryan got home he noticed my side of the room was spotless and his side was still disheveled. Eh, his stuff was mostly clothes. I added stuff to his dresser - stuff that was clearly his that somehow made its way to my dresser.
On today's to do list was the upstairs so I vacuumed the copious amounts of cat fur downstairs and hauled a boat load of toys down so the sitter and Gavin would have something to do. The upstairs is SO clean! The only thing I didn't dust were the light fixtures in the living room and that was because I realized I neglected them after I dusted the ceiling, crown molding, walls, door frames, mantle, window seats, outlets and baseboards and couldn't risk taking the fixtures apart and spreading dust on the newly clean surfaces. Yeah, I did it all. I even took the area rug outside to air out. I swept, vacuumed and mopped. Why sweep and vacuum? Because sweeping never picks up all of the little specks of dirt and dust. That and because I'm probably a little neurotic.
It feels so great to know that every surface has been cleaned. The kitchen is clean. The living room is clean and the dining room is now a disaster. Everything that needs some attention (lots of paperwork and stuff that needs to be boxed, given away, thrown away, etc.) is now on the dining room table.
That was part one of the great day.
Part two was nap time. Gavin fussed for maybe five minutes before crashing... for THREE hours! Holy cow! I put my pajamas on and hopped into bed and chatted with Ryan while he took a rest after working outside on staining the new cedar siding. Then I solved some puzzles, took a mini snooze and did some more puzzles.
Gavin woke up and Ryan arrived home bearing food from Chipotle. I ate dinner, fed Gavin, played with the dog, picked blackberries and got a call from a friend whom I haven't seen in over 2 months who invited me over.
Here is something newsworthy: I left the house after 8 pm to go visit this friend. I arrived at her house bearing ice cream and blackberries and she provided some yummy fresh baked brownies. She cuts her brownies pretty generously, too. Mmm mmm good.
We chatted for 3 hours and played Phase 10, which I had fun playing but still lost.
I came home, straightened up the living room and kitchen because it is scary how quickly the house moves back to disarray (its natural state) and now here I am telling you all about my super duper day. I never said it was exciting.
On my way home this evening I was thinking about how today was so great and it occurred to me that my definition of what makes a day great has changed since I became a mom but the longer I thought about the more I realized it hasn't.
Even as a kid I remember the times when my older brother would wake me and my younger brother up before my mom and we would clean the house for her as a surprise. Sometimes I wonder how clean the house really was after we were done with it. When I was older and was made to clean my room - which I hated to do but always appreciated it afterwards - I would call my mom and dad up to my room to take in the wonder of its new found clean state. I didn't want to leave; I would lay on my nicely made bed and listen to the radio or read a book or just look around at my sparkly clean room.
The fact that there is such a great difference in how I feel about the dirty room versus the clean room should shed some light on just how messy it gets before I tackle cleaning it. Of course I have the nesting monster to thank right now for my pressing desire for a clean house. It has to be clean before the baby gets here because I know it won't happen afterwards. If anything its going to spiral down, down, down to messy oblivion when #2 arrives.
Its also times like this when I get the cleaning but that I wish I had it all the time. My mom used to say to me that she didn't "get me" because she was so clean yet she had to constantly remind me to pick up after myself. My room was always a disaster and I never took care of my toys. My dad was a tidy person, too. My brothers both are super clean. That leaves me. If I didn't look just like my mom I would wonder if I was adopte because I'm the black sheep of the family when it comes to tidiness. Although, I will say that for being unkempt I am still clean - before cooking I make sure I was the countertops with a clean soapy sponge, I will dust around stuff and vacuum several times a week - everyday if I can manage.
I have high hopes we can maintain this clean. High, high hopes.
On today's to do list was the upstairs so I vacuumed the copious amounts of cat fur downstairs and hauled a boat load of toys down so the sitter and Gavin would have something to do. The upstairs is SO clean! The only thing I didn't dust were the light fixtures in the living room and that was because I realized I neglected them after I dusted the ceiling, crown molding, walls, door frames, mantle, window seats, outlets and baseboards and couldn't risk taking the fixtures apart and spreading dust on the newly clean surfaces. Yeah, I did it all. I even took the area rug outside to air out. I swept, vacuumed and mopped. Why sweep and vacuum? Because sweeping never picks up all of the little specks of dirt and dust. That and because I'm probably a little neurotic.
It feels so great to know that every surface has been cleaned. The kitchen is clean. The living room is clean and the dining room is now a disaster. Everything that needs some attention (lots of paperwork and stuff that needs to be boxed, given away, thrown away, etc.) is now on the dining room table.
That was part one of the great day.
Part two was nap time. Gavin fussed for maybe five minutes before crashing... for THREE hours! Holy cow! I put my pajamas on and hopped into bed and chatted with Ryan while he took a rest after working outside on staining the new cedar siding. Then I solved some puzzles, took a mini snooze and did some more puzzles.
Gavin woke up and Ryan arrived home bearing food from Chipotle. I ate dinner, fed Gavin, played with the dog, picked blackberries and got a call from a friend whom I haven't seen in over 2 months who invited me over.
Here is something newsworthy: I left the house after 8 pm to go visit this friend. I arrived at her house bearing ice cream and blackberries and she provided some yummy fresh baked brownies. She cuts her brownies pretty generously, too. Mmm mmm good.
We chatted for 3 hours and played Phase 10, which I had fun playing but still lost.
I came home, straightened up the living room and kitchen because it is scary how quickly the house moves back to disarray (its natural state) and now here I am telling you all about my super duper day. I never said it was exciting.
On my way home this evening I was thinking about how today was so great and it occurred to me that my definition of what makes a day great has changed since I became a mom but the longer I thought about the more I realized it hasn't.
Even as a kid I remember the times when my older brother would wake me and my younger brother up before my mom and we would clean the house for her as a surprise. Sometimes I wonder how clean the house really was after we were done with it. When I was older and was made to clean my room - which I hated to do but always appreciated it afterwards - I would call my mom and dad up to my room to take in the wonder of its new found clean state. I didn't want to leave; I would lay on my nicely made bed and listen to the radio or read a book or just look around at my sparkly clean room.
The fact that there is such a great difference in how I feel about the dirty room versus the clean room should shed some light on just how messy it gets before I tackle cleaning it. Of course I have the nesting monster to thank right now for my pressing desire for a clean house. It has to be clean before the baby gets here because I know it won't happen afterwards. If anything its going to spiral down, down, down to messy oblivion when #2 arrives.
Its also times like this when I get the cleaning but that I wish I had it all the time. My mom used to say to me that she didn't "get me" because she was so clean yet she had to constantly remind me to pick up after myself. My room was always a disaster and I never took care of my toys. My dad was a tidy person, too. My brothers both are super clean. That leaves me. If I didn't look just like my mom I would wonder if I was adopte because I'm the black sheep of the family when it comes to tidiness. Although, I will say that for being unkempt I am still clean - before cooking I make sure I was the countertops with a clean soapy sponge, I will dust around stuff and vacuum several times a week - everyday if I can manage.
I have high hopes we can maintain this clean. High, high hopes.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Sleep
It has been so long since sleep has been an issue in my house. Well, sleep as related Gavin that is. I haven't been sleeping well with this pregnancy but that's been ok because I would take a nap when Gavin takes a nap. His napping schedule was so consistent. Somewhere between noon and 1:00 he would go down for a nap and sleep about 2 hours; some days he would even sleep 3 hours.
Something has been happening over the last several weeks. I don't know what it is but I do know that I don't like it because it is interfering with Gavin's sleep which in turn interferes with my sleep. I'm not a nice person when I'm sleep deprived. Well, that's not entirely true. I can still put on a good show to outsiders but lemme tell ya - I'm not pleasant to be around. Ask Ryan.
Something has been happening over the last several weeks. I don't know what it is but I do know that I don't like it because it is interfering with Gavin's sleep which in turn interferes with my sleep. I'm not a nice person when I'm sleep deprived. Well, that's not entirely true. I can still put on a good show to outsiders but lemme tell ya - I'm not pleasant to be around. Ask Ryan.
I've tried to account for all of the different variables that have the potential to affect ones sleep.
- Heat. Not a factor. We have central a/c so the temperature is pretty constant.
- Light. Being summer it stays light well into the night. Also not a factor as he was sleeping just fine even when his bedroom was well lit from the natural light streaming in through the windows. His sleep has started to deteriorate even as it gets darker earlier and earlier.
- Fatigue. Is the little dude actually tired? Well, yes. He still has his time of delirium when everything is not just hilarious, its freakin' hilarious. This is our favorite time.
- Routine. Has the bedtime routine been followed? Yes.
- Teething. I don't think any teeth are coming in. He's not chewing on stuff (unless you count his attempts to bite me when I muffle his screaming in public places like the library, train or doctors office) and more telling - he's not drooling; nor is he more grumpy than usual.
After this week of him fighting his nap (the shortest period of time he fought was 45 minutes) and taking over an hour to fall asleep at night I'm beginning to think this is just how he's going to fall asleep for a while. I just need to make peace with it. In the beginning of the week he cried more but after realizing we weren't going to take him out of the crib (we would go in and comfort him) or put him right back after giving him a hug he's just taken to jabbering, calling the dog or meowing really, really loud.
At least once he falls asleep for his nap he will sleep for 3 hours. THREE HOURS!!! He's not falling asleep until 10 at night but is waking up at the same time so he makes up for it at nap time. That gives me plenty of time to take a nice nap myself and take a shower.
I hope he's still taking 3 hour naps when his brother arrives.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Trust
I have been writing in my head for several weeks now. When I can't sleep, which is often, my thoughts become even more introspective and I work through them by thinking about them even more and writing essays in my head. I think its time to commit some of my internal ramblings to ink... or typeface.
Part of me doesn't know where to begin with this subject because, while it is easy to pinpoint where it began, it permeates most aspects of my life. It is a subject that lends itself to many tangents.
My problem has grown worse over the years. At first it attacked only at night. It was frequent at first but eventually subsided. Then after certain life events it started knocking on my door again, as unwelcome as ever. At first the visits were few and far between but as time progressed the visits became more frequent and they felt more viscous.
These gruesome visitors of which I write are nightmares. They aren't your run of the mill menaces where you wake up running away from a bad guy or realize, no, you weren't just in public buck naked. I wish. No, these nightmares come and steal my family. My loved ones.
It all started in 1981. The year my dad died. He died a few months before my 5th birthday. He was 27 and had 3 children, 7, 4 1/2 and 18 months. He had a known heart condition for which he had seen a cardiologist. He was told he was going to need a pacemaker by age 40. They were off by 13 years. His heart went into some sort of fibrillation, he went into a coma and died in the early hours of the morning as he was watching the news in the living room.
I could tell you all about that morning. I didn't really know what was going on. The walls in my parents room was pulsating red and I think blue, from the paramedics parked out front. My mom must have taken me and my brothers and put us in her room while the paramedics were in the house. I stood at the head of the bed and peered over the headboard, looking at the still dark outside where the ambulance lit up our street with its lights.
Wanting to know what was going on I opened the bedroom door but mom was standing right there and she very quickly shut it. I lied and told her I had to go to the bathroom - my older brother joined the lie and mom ushered us the few feet from the bedroom to the bathroom, trying to shield us from seeing our dad but I managed to peer around her legs and just saw a figure with a cloth draped over it and really tall people milling about with clipboards.
I had no idea. I didn't cry until I was at my grandma's house. I sat on the couch while all of the adults sat at the dining room table, their tones were low and hushed; the coffee they sipped was hot as I heard some them trying to get just a few drops at a time without burning their lips. The most noise was made when they set their mugs on the table. My grandpa called my dad's mom and told her the news. It was a small house and the distance wasn't that great from where the phone was mounted on the wall to where I was sitting on the couch but I still heard my grandma scream on the other end of the line. When my mom came home from wherever she was, the coroner's office, maybe, I ran to her and asked, "Did he make it?" She said no - maybe everyone thought I knew or didn't know how to talk to me or they were all in shock themselves. I ran to the couch and cried. I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. I don't know how long I cried for, it felt like days.
Soon after that the nightmares started.
Of course I had fantasy dreams where my dad was with us on Christmas morning. I would wake up happy for a split second before I realized it was a dream. I would prefer those heart wrenching dreams any day over the nightmares. For a long time it was the same nightmare. My family was in a house that was a huge spool - the kind you would wrap industrial cable around - and it would catch fire and start rolling down a hill. I have no idea how long that nightmare went on for.
Fortunately, we talked about my dad a lot. There was no nonsense about ignoring what had happened and not talking about him to avoid sad feelings. If we wanted to talk about my dad we were given free reign. I think that helped my waking self but it did nothing for the nighttime.
Eventually the nightmares subsided. My nights were filled with peaceful sleep for many years. Then sometime in high school they slowly started again. Sometimes I had pleasant, if not bizarre dreams. I used to keep a journal of my dreams because they were so darn entertaining. One dream I remember vividly involved stealing milk from a fabric store (which was inside my grandparents motor home) and being chased by an animated superman turned into a red streak when he chased a mob of people after an earthquake - and the mob turned around and chased superman. Hilarious stuff.
I wish every night brought such great entertainment. When the nightmares came back they were few and far between but they involved one of my brothers, mom or step dad meeting an untimely end. After the first "showing" of the nightmare my mind would replay it over and over with alternate endings. I think I was trying to take away the bad ending but it would just change, always resulting in death.
The nightmares really ramped up when my older brother had his first daughter and my younger brother moved to Oklahoma. Ike and Joel were always dying - usually together. Then I think my niece was always in danger. I would wake up with my pillow drenched in tears. Even when I was awake I couldn't shake that awful feeling even though I knew everyone was ok. If I went back to sleep too soon the nightmare would continue. So I learned to pray and read my bible a bit before going back to sleep. That usually worked and brought me back from the edge.
As I got older the nightmares became more frequent. I think I woke Ryan up once or twice and asked him to pray for me.
All hell broke loose, or so I thought, when I was pregnant with Gavin. It seemed like most nights there was someone trying to kill me or steal my baby. Then Gavin was born. That's when hell came to visit me during the day. It's one thing to have Satan and his minions knocking at your door when you are unconscious, but to have him grab your heart in the middle of the day is another thing altogether. The daytime terror subsided as Gavin got older and I wasn't so concerned with always making sure he was breathing - which is, as I understand, not all that uncommon for a new parent.
It doesn't take anything now for me to have a nightmare. Hearing a story about a kid being kidnapped on the news. The toddler who woke up from his nap while his mom was also napping and got outside and drowned in the pool. Flipping through the tv channels and seeing a mangled stroller in the road on the news, staying in a high rise hotel with a balcony, visiting my in-laws whose back yard terminates into a canyon (it's fenced now but it doesn't keep my brain from conjuring up ways Gavin can get around the barriers).
The nightmares come in waves. I'll have a horrible couple of nights or weeks. Even worse is when a horrible though pops into my head when Gavin is not with me. I know Ryan is a good dad. He's very concerned about Gavin's safety but that doesn't stop me from freaking out. Ryan knows how devastating these nightmares are so he is very good about not taking offense when I grill him on safety issues. Every so often I check in to make sure he wouldn't leave Gavin in the tub unattended even if it was to go answer his phone, that he cuts grapes in half because they are a choking hazard, that he wouldn't leave him unattended on the balcony (like in the hotel where we stayed in Hawaii). Once I'm certain Gavin is safe and Ryan is acutely aware of the dangers that surround our son I can breath easier.
I know how to stop the nightmares once they start. Wake up, get out of bed, pray (which usually involves me just begging God to make it stop), watching TV, reading... anything to get my mind on something else. Then I can usually fall back asleep with no more attacks. Until the next night, at least.
What I would really like to do is to stop the nightmares from happening in the first place. There's the rub. I have been told to trust God. Well, sure. Trust the God who guarantees nothing other than his faithful, undying love. It's just I know what that pain feels like when a loved one dies. It is all consuming and it crushes you, eviscerates you. I don't ever want to feel that again. If that is how I felt when my dad died.... I can't even write it out.
If something were to happen to my family I know God would love me and see me through but that does nothing to stop the fear and nightmares. I trust God that if our home was taken away, if Ryan lost his job, that we would still have a good life. Food would be there, we would have some sort of shelter.
I'm not concerned about the day to day issues of life. I'm concerned about life. Period.
How can I trust that God will spare my family from death when he didn't spare my dad? It seems unfair and unrealistic to have God shelter me and my family while the rest of the world can fend for itself. I look at the life of the disciples - all of whom, except one, met an early horrible death.
That doesn't sit well with me. I know that God doesn't love anyone person more than another and that all of our good deeds aren't stored up in a cosmic safety bank where He he checks the account and says, "Well, April. You've read your bible and said your prayers and gave money to the poor so I will keep you and your family safe."
Over Lent my pastor was talking about giving up fear instead of chocolate or TV.
How?
I know that fear isn't keeping my family safe unless I think I would be less vigilant if I thought my children be given full, long lives.
I should probably see a shrink about this but how are they going to help me trust God who I know loves me but makes no guarantees. If only God told me to carve into tablets, not the 10 commandments, but the promise that my children will all live long, healthy productive lives all the while serving Him then Iwould have it in writing.
Christians often point to Job as an example of God's faithfulness. Sure, he gave Job lots of stuff and a bigger family but only after he allowed his first family to be wiped out. I don't want a new family - I want to keep the ones I have.
Many, many people balk when I answer "3-4" when they ask me how many kids I want. I hear all of the reasons why one or two is better than 3 or 4. Like I'm a bad person for wanting a big family. Or at least just crazy.
Now that I think about crazy may be one of the factors. I know 3 people who have had children die at a young age. One woman, Anne (was in her 90's when I met her at the adult care facility where I worked) lost her only daughter when she was returning home to visit while in college. Anne kept a framed photo of her beautiful daughter on her nightstand. It always made me so sad knowing Anne lived so long without her child. My high school band teacher lost his only daughter in a car accident on her way home from college - now he has one child, his son. My grandmother had 4 children. Dennis died when he was 2 from pneumonia and my dad died when was 27. Now she has two kids. What if she only had my dad and Dennis to begin with? She would be left with no children.
As I get further and further in this post I feel better and better. There is of course some time put into writing all of this which puts some distance between and the nightmare but I think writing it out also helps. I hope sharing it helps, too. Me and whoever reads it. I'm not putting this out there for people to feel sorry for me but I think we all grow when we can share in another person's anguish. I think Ryan would disagree with that, though. He hates it when I tell him sad stories (not my own - he's a good husband, he listens) because he doesn't like to feel such pain. He's a good guy, he wants everyone to be happy.
Too bad for him he married a melancholy woman who bleeds for everyone else around her.
Part of me doesn't know where to begin with this subject because, while it is easy to pinpoint where it began, it permeates most aspects of my life. It is a subject that lends itself to many tangents.
My problem has grown worse over the years. At first it attacked only at night. It was frequent at first but eventually subsided. Then after certain life events it started knocking on my door again, as unwelcome as ever. At first the visits were few and far between but as time progressed the visits became more frequent and they felt more viscous.
These gruesome visitors of which I write are nightmares. They aren't your run of the mill menaces where you wake up running away from a bad guy or realize, no, you weren't just in public buck naked. I wish. No, these nightmares come and steal my family. My loved ones.
It all started in 1981. The year my dad died. He died a few months before my 5th birthday. He was 27 and had 3 children, 7, 4 1/2 and 18 months. He had a known heart condition for which he had seen a cardiologist. He was told he was going to need a pacemaker by age 40. They were off by 13 years. His heart went into some sort of fibrillation, he went into a coma and died in the early hours of the morning as he was watching the news in the living room.
I could tell you all about that morning. I didn't really know what was going on. The walls in my parents room was pulsating red and I think blue, from the paramedics parked out front. My mom must have taken me and my brothers and put us in her room while the paramedics were in the house. I stood at the head of the bed and peered over the headboard, looking at the still dark outside where the ambulance lit up our street with its lights.
Wanting to know what was going on I opened the bedroom door but mom was standing right there and she very quickly shut it. I lied and told her I had to go to the bathroom - my older brother joined the lie and mom ushered us the few feet from the bedroom to the bathroom, trying to shield us from seeing our dad but I managed to peer around her legs and just saw a figure with a cloth draped over it and really tall people milling about with clipboards.
I had no idea. I didn't cry until I was at my grandma's house. I sat on the couch while all of the adults sat at the dining room table, their tones were low and hushed; the coffee they sipped was hot as I heard some them trying to get just a few drops at a time without burning their lips. The most noise was made when they set their mugs on the table. My grandpa called my dad's mom and told her the news. It was a small house and the distance wasn't that great from where the phone was mounted on the wall to where I was sitting on the couch but I still heard my grandma scream on the other end of the line. When my mom came home from wherever she was, the coroner's office, maybe, I ran to her and asked, "Did he make it?" She said no - maybe everyone thought I knew or didn't know how to talk to me or they were all in shock themselves. I ran to the couch and cried. I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. I don't know how long I cried for, it felt like days.
Soon after that the nightmares started.
Of course I had fantasy dreams where my dad was with us on Christmas morning. I would wake up happy for a split second before I realized it was a dream. I would prefer those heart wrenching dreams any day over the nightmares. For a long time it was the same nightmare. My family was in a house that was a huge spool - the kind you would wrap industrial cable around - and it would catch fire and start rolling down a hill. I have no idea how long that nightmare went on for.
Fortunately, we talked about my dad a lot. There was no nonsense about ignoring what had happened and not talking about him to avoid sad feelings. If we wanted to talk about my dad we were given free reign. I think that helped my waking self but it did nothing for the nighttime.
Eventually the nightmares subsided. My nights were filled with peaceful sleep for many years. Then sometime in high school they slowly started again. Sometimes I had pleasant, if not bizarre dreams. I used to keep a journal of my dreams because they were so darn entertaining. One dream I remember vividly involved stealing milk from a fabric store (which was inside my grandparents motor home) and being chased by an animated superman turned into a red streak when he chased a mob of people after an earthquake - and the mob turned around and chased superman. Hilarious stuff.
I wish every night brought such great entertainment. When the nightmares came back they were few and far between but they involved one of my brothers, mom or step dad meeting an untimely end. After the first "showing" of the nightmare my mind would replay it over and over with alternate endings. I think I was trying to take away the bad ending but it would just change, always resulting in death.
The nightmares really ramped up when my older brother had his first daughter and my younger brother moved to Oklahoma. Ike and Joel were always dying - usually together. Then I think my niece was always in danger. I would wake up with my pillow drenched in tears. Even when I was awake I couldn't shake that awful feeling even though I knew everyone was ok. If I went back to sleep too soon the nightmare would continue. So I learned to pray and read my bible a bit before going back to sleep. That usually worked and brought me back from the edge.
As I got older the nightmares became more frequent. I think I woke Ryan up once or twice and asked him to pray for me.
All hell broke loose, or so I thought, when I was pregnant with Gavin. It seemed like most nights there was someone trying to kill me or steal my baby. Then Gavin was born. That's when hell came to visit me during the day. It's one thing to have Satan and his minions knocking at your door when you are unconscious, but to have him grab your heart in the middle of the day is another thing altogether. The daytime terror subsided as Gavin got older and I wasn't so concerned with always making sure he was breathing - which is, as I understand, not all that uncommon for a new parent.
It doesn't take anything now for me to have a nightmare. Hearing a story about a kid being kidnapped on the news. The toddler who woke up from his nap while his mom was also napping and got outside and drowned in the pool. Flipping through the tv channels and seeing a mangled stroller in the road on the news, staying in a high rise hotel with a balcony, visiting my in-laws whose back yard terminates into a canyon (it's fenced now but it doesn't keep my brain from conjuring up ways Gavin can get around the barriers).
The nightmares come in waves. I'll have a horrible couple of nights or weeks. Even worse is when a horrible though pops into my head when Gavin is not with me. I know Ryan is a good dad. He's very concerned about Gavin's safety but that doesn't stop me from freaking out. Ryan knows how devastating these nightmares are so he is very good about not taking offense when I grill him on safety issues. Every so often I check in to make sure he wouldn't leave Gavin in the tub unattended even if it was to go answer his phone, that he cuts grapes in half because they are a choking hazard, that he wouldn't leave him unattended on the balcony (like in the hotel where we stayed in Hawaii). Once I'm certain Gavin is safe and Ryan is acutely aware of the dangers that surround our son I can breath easier.
I know how to stop the nightmares once they start. Wake up, get out of bed, pray (which usually involves me just begging God to make it stop), watching TV, reading... anything to get my mind on something else. Then I can usually fall back asleep with no more attacks. Until the next night, at least.
What I would really like to do is to stop the nightmares from happening in the first place. There's the rub. I have been told to trust God. Well, sure. Trust the God who guarantees nothing other than his faithful, undying love. It's just I know what that pain feels like when a loved one dies. It is all consuming and it crushes you, eviscerates you. I don't ever want to feel that again. If that is how I felt when my dad died.... I can't even write it out.
If something were to happen to my family I know God would love me and see me through but that does nothing to stop the fear and nightmares. I trust God that if our home was taken away, if Ryan lost his job, that we would still have a good life. Food would be there, we would have some sort of shelter.
I'm not concerned about the day to day issues of life. I'm concerned about life. Period.
How can I trust that God will spare my family from death when he didn't spare my dad? It seems unfair and unrealistic to have God shelter me and my family while the rest of the world can fend for itself. I look at the life of the disciples - all of whom, except one, met an early horrible death.
That doesn't sit well with me. I know that God doesn't love anyone person more than another and that all of our good deeds aren't stored up in a cosmic safety bank where He he checks the account and says, "Well, April. You've read your bible and said your prayers and gave money to the poor so I will keep you and your family safe."
Over Lent my pastor was talking about giving up fear instead of chocolate or TV.
How?
I know that fear isn't keeping my family safe unless I think I would be less vigilant if I thought my children be given full, long lives.
I should probably see a shrink about this but how are they going to help me trust God who I know loves me but makes no guarantees. If only God told me to carve into tablets, not the 10 commandments, but the promise that my children will all live long, healthy productive lives all the while serving Him then Iwould have it in writing.
Christians often point to Job as an example of God's faithfulness. Sure, he gave Job lots of stuff and a bigger family but only after he allowed his first family to be wiped out. I don't want a new family - I want to keep the ones I have.
Many, many people balk when I answer "3-4" when they ask me how many kids I want. I hear all of the reasons why one or two is better than 3 or 4. Like I'm a bad person for wanting a big family. Or at least just crazy.
Now that I think about crazy may be one of the factors. I know 3 people who have had children die at a young age. One woman, Anne (was in her 90's when I met her at the adult care facility where I worked) lost her only daughter when she was returning home to visit while in college. Anne kept a framed photo of her beautiful daughter on her nightstand. It always made me so sad knowing Anne lived so long without her child. My high school band teacher lost his only daughter in a car accident on her way home from college - now he has one child, his son. My grandmother had 4 children. Dennis died when he was 2 from pneumonia and my dad died when was 27. Now she has two kids. What if she only had my dad and Dennis to begin with? She would be left with no children.
As I get further and further in this post I feel better and better. There is of course some time put into writing all of this which puts some distance between and the nightmare but I think writing it out also helps. I hope sharing it helps, too. Me and whoever reads it. I'm not putting this out there for people to feel sorry for me but I think we all grow when we can share in another person's anguish. I think Ryan would disagree with that, though. He hates it when I tell him sad stories (not my own - he's a good husband, he listens) because he doesn't like to feel such pain. He's a good guy, he wants everyone to be happy.
Too bad for him he married a melancholy woman who bleeds for everyone else around her.
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