JACKPOT!

Look! Look! Look! I won a contest! On Swistle's site! She asked her readers to guess why she had purchased a mini-deodorant and I automatically assumed she was going to visit her new niece, because she is so cute! Who wouldn't want to visit her?

Yesterday, my prize arrived and OH MY GOODNESS, I couldn't believe my eyes! Look at this loot!
















Do you see those bags of cookies? Those are SERIOUSLY the best chocolate chip cookies I think I have ever eaten! Yum yum yum yum yum. I am definitely not going to lose my last few pounds with cookies like those in this house. I cannot stop eating them, and last night I shared the other batch of cookies, I think they are butterscotch, but I wouldn't share the chocolate chip ones. Everyone has their limits, I say. I love my family, but not enough to share chocolate. Yum!








But seriously, Swistle is the QUEEN of care packages! I don't think you can adequately see the details in these pictures!
















There are adorable post-it notes, bookmarks, notebooks (especially that adorable cupcake notebook that I'd been coveting on her site and even went to multiple Targets to find, and now it's mine!), little pots with seeds, stationary, pencils, invitations, cloth napkins, cloth napkin rings, decorative paper napkins, earrings, an adorable strawberry mug with matching plate, a super funny wallet, a big bag to carry all of my loot, an initial paperweight for my desk, plus these cutie patootie chicks that have been a HUGE hit in my house.











Everyone in my family is fighting over these chicks. Gabe wants to sleep with them, Josh wants them to hang out in the kitchen and oversee the cooking of dinner, even Murray stole one and gave him, umm, let's call it a bath for Gabe's sake. The poor little chick is looking a little worse for the wear today. I may have to take them on a little outing to cheer them up later.











Besides the cookies, and the cupcake notebook, and the strawberry mug, I have to show you my favorite treat in the box. This wallet made me laugh out loud, and I need to find a couple more to send to my law school girlfriends because it is just too much.





I've always said that I just want one opportunity to prove that money won't make me happy.








Thank you Swistle! I am still enjoying all the little pieces of my package, and I hid the cookies deep in the freezer and I've been sneaking them out when no one is looking. Queen of care packages, I tell you! Wooohoooo!

chatty and delicious

In the last week Gabe's speech and personality have exploded. He's always funny, but I've laughed so much this week I've cried. He's said the following things to Josh or me over the last few days:

(After leaving the Sheep Shearing Festival this weekend)
Gabe: Mommy! I had a good day.
Me: What?
Gabe: I had a good day today, Mommy. I had a good day with sheeps.

(After getting him dressed in the morning)
Me: Here is your dino t-shirt!
Gabe: Yeah! Mommy! Look at me! I'm so cute!

(Looking out the window at the setting sun)
Gabe: I see the moon, Mommy.
Me: I see it too.
Gabe: Mommy, the squirrel went noni, noni (our word for going to sleep).
Me: Oh really?
Gabe: The squirrel went noni, noni because... it's dark outside. He went to sleep in tree because it's dark out there.

(Grabbing Josie's hands)
Gabe: Josie! Don't put your fingers in your mouth, they're dirty dirty.
Josie: Blargh.

(Leaving the pediatrician's office, we encountered a woman pushing a double stroller. Gabe ran up to her side to talk to her)
Gabe: Hi! You need some help?

(Watching television with Josh)
Gabe: Daddy, first you hit the baseball, then you run around and around the bases.
Josh: You run around the bases?
Gabe: I hit baseball and then run around and around the bases. I run so, so fast, Daddy!

(Pulling the tubing off of my breast pump and holding it over his shoulders)
Gabe: I jump jump jump with this.
Me: What?
Gabe: I jump rope, I use this.
Me: That's my breast pump, I use that to take out my milk.
Gabe: I take out milk too. I jump jump with this and I take out milk.

(Trying to feed Josie carrots)
Me: Please don't feed Josie carrots. She doesn't eat carrots.
Gabe: Josie doesn't eat food, she only drinks milk. She only drinks breast milk.
Me: (I didn't even know he knew what breast milk was!!!) Do you drink breast milk?
Gabe: (wrinkling nose) Nooooooo. Only regular milk. Josie drinks breast milk.

(Tango barking)
Gabe: Tango! No barking! Be quiet!

(Playing with trains this weekend)
Gabe: Where's Emily the train?
Me: I don't know. Where's Emily?
Gabe: Emily is downstairs. She's crying.
Me: Why is she crying?
Gabe: She's crying, but I open door and hold her.

(At the beach this weekend)
Gabe: Mommy, please make water hotter? It's too cold.
_______________________________

This whole parenthood thing just keeps getting better and better, huh?

four months and lots of milk

My sweet little squawky girl is 4 months old. Four months! Can you believe it? We had her well-baby visit yesterday and she weighs a whopping 15 pounds, 2 and a half ounces. This adequately explains the rolls on the legs and the triple chins she is sporting under those delicious cheeks. And delicious she is, these days. I finally decided to stop posting about the screaming she was doing, because in the end I worry it will become a self-fulfilling prophecy. I mean, if all I talk about is how fussy she is and how much more she cries than her brother did, then inevitably I feel she will continue to cry and be fussy. Now when people ask if she is a good baby, I say yes definitely, because she is a good and sweet and wonderful baby. She is also exceedingly high-maintenance for such a pint-sized little squirt, but that's okay, we still love her to death.

Like everyone, she has her good and bad days, but on the whole things are much much better. She doesn't have screaming fits anymore, although she has developed a high-pitched shriek that she will use if she is disatisfied with us in any way. For example, I tried a pair of sunglasses on her and she did not appreciate it, so she shrieked like a cat whose legs were being torn off slowly. I quickly took the sunglasses off her because everyone in the store was looking in our direction to see where the random dying cat was located. As I went to place the sunglasses back on the rack, they passed through her line of vision and she immediately began the shrieking again. She was shrieking just from the THREAT of those sunglasses coming near her face. I didn't even know a baby could do that at 3 months.

The same thing happens if you approach her with a pacifier or a bottle. She is all about the totally-natural nipples- no substitutions. That is another post for another day, of course, because I will have to get it down in writing that I have been unable to leave her side for longer than about an hour and a half in the last 4 months. I'd just like to remember so I can remind her when she is a teenager. I am also going to record the yowling dying cat sound so I can play it for her future boyfriends as a warning to NOT HAVE SEX, LEST YOU HAVE A BABY JUST LIKE HER. Should go over well, no?

The smiles, though, oh my goodness, the smiles are just too much. She smiles with her whole body these days. You say hi to her, and she bunches up her arms and legs and vibrates with excitement and her mouth opens and her tongue sticks out and her eyes bunch up with happiness. Those smiles make me want to get out of bed every morning. She is cooing also, and talks to herself and everyone else all the time. This has to be a girl thing, because Gabe never talked this much. I'm a little afraid of toddlerhood, I have to admit.

The sleeping was good, then wasn't good on vacation, and since returning to our small abode has been steadily improving. I am reserving judgment until we are back in the swing of life. She is generally a good sleeper although it takes me a long time to get her to actually fall asleep. She will nap about 3 times a day, once for an hour, once for 2 hours, once for 30 minutes or so. The 2 hour nap has been consistently falling within the same time frame as Gabe's nap, and those are some of the most wonderful 2 hours of my life. I sit on the couch and watch dvred shows and eat cookies. All of this explains why I haven't lost the last few pounds, but who cares! 2 hour naps! Yay!

I almost forgot to tell you about one of the most traumatic experiences of my life, and definitely the worst moment of the whole vacation. Even though Josie won't take any bottles, I continue to pump in the morning and at nighttime because I am confident that someday she will. Maybe it'll be in a sippy cup, maybe it'll be mixed into cereal, but darn it, she'll drink that milk. In Florida, I'd pumped about 45-50 ounces and packaged them up into bags and frozen them for the trip home. I was planning on putting them in a small cooler with tons of ice and bringing them back to our freezer here, where I'd add them to our stash. Anyway, in my sleep deprived and foggy state (see previous post), I took the bag of frozen breast milk out of the freezer to add the last pumped bit of milk and get it ready for the flight the next morning, and then, I can't even type this, I (SOB) left it out on the counter. All that milk. Left on the counter to spoil. By the time I got up in the morning, even just a few hours later, it was all defrosted and some was warm. I had to throw it all down the drain. Or at least I made my mother in law throw it all down the drain because I couldn't bring myself to do it. I know it's just milk, but so much WORK goes into that milk, and hours of sitting up late at night hooked up to that instrument of torture. Oh, it pains me to think about it. Thank goodness the boobs keep making more, or I'd really be crying.

All in all, though, she really is an amazingly charming and sweet girl. I have to restrain myself these days, because I can't help biting her cheeks because she is so yummy. I will actually slobber all over her because I find her so scrumptious. Isn't that strange? But she really is too good to be true.

diagnose me, please

I need your opinion.

For a while now, maybe a month or so, I've been feeling a bit off. I don't know quite how to describe it, but I feel unfocused. I can't seem to concentrate on seemingly simple tasks like packing or picking up the house. It was particularly evident while I was trying to pack, first to leave Boston, then to leave California, then to leave Florida. I know what I need to do, but as I'm packing I feel like I can't wrap my head around the whole process. I feel convinced that I'm forgetting something or that I'll pack too much unnecessary stuff.

The whole lack of concentration makes me feel almost detached on some things. Maybe detached isn't the right word, but it's almost like I see what I need to do from a distance, but I can't seem to pay enough attention or bring myself into the process enough to get it done. Is this making any sense? I've been trying to figure out why I feel this way, and particularly asking myself whether this could be postpartum depression.

The thing is, I don't feel sad. Really, not at all. I do sometimes feel overwhelmed with life, but it is mostly when the house is ridiculously messy, or when both kids are screaming, or when my little engineering buddy asked me to paraphrase 4 pages of his introduction for him, and I was on vacation and needing to get everyone packed and I was alone with my mother in law and feeling anxious about keeping her house super picked up.

I am also really, amazingly, remarkably sleep deprived. I'm exhausted. Josie's sleep schedule has been something of a nightmare while we were on vacation, and on those nights when she did sleep, Gabe would wake up because his diapers had soaked through his pajamas and his whole bed was wet. When I'm at home, Josh always takes both babies on weekend mornings and lets me have a couple of hours of uninterrupted sleep, but with my inlaws I didn't have that luxury and I didn't feel comfortable asking for it. In the afternoons while we were away, I would often collapse for a nap out of sheer exhaustion, but then I'd end up not being able to fall asleep at bedtime. A vicious cycle, that one.

Anyway, my question is this: what does this sound like to you? I'm not a person predisposed to depression, in fact, I've never even questioned whether I was depressed before. I asked Josh if I seem depressed to him, and he said absolutely not. I really do feel happy the vast vast vast majority of the time. Is this just exhaustion and life with 2 kids 23 months apart? I'm inclined to give myself a couple of weeks wherein I try to go to bed early, try to eat decent meals and snacks, maybe get a little bit of exercise, and stay on some semblance of a schedule now that we're home, and then see how I feel. I don't want to discount the fact that I've been in California for a week and a half, then Orlando for 4 days, then Sarasota for 5 days, and then home for 2 days. That would be unsettling for anyone, I think. Even poor Gabe woke up this morning and said, "Mommy, I'm home!" in an ecstatic tone of voice.

What do you think? Am I deluding myself or just being paranoid? Maybe a little of both?

home again, home again, jiggity jig

Sigh.

We're home. I think I've never loved my house more. I keep breathing a sigh of relief when I walk into my kitchen and turn on my own faucet, when I get to take a shower in my own shower, when I don't have to dig through a suitcase to find something to wear. I did have to dig through the laundry room, but at least it wasn't a jumbled suitcase with clothing belonging to 3 different people. It's an improvement.

Our flight out of Florida pulled away from the gate on time, and then sat there for 2 hours when they discovered a problem with our brakes. Eventually, the maintenance crew determined that we needed a new plane, so everyone moved to another plane at a different gate. Normally I wouldn't mind, but I had Josie, Gabe, a gigantic car seat, with the wheel board that allows me to drag it through the airport, blankets, a jacket, a purse, and a large roll aboard suitcase that was full of dvd players and snacks and blankets and changes of clothes and toys. Getting on a plane is exhausting, and getting off and then back on another is even more so. But the alternative of flying on a plane with malfunctioning brakes is no alternative at all, therefore move we did.

When we landed in Boston, way past everyone's bedtime, one bag on the entire plane was lost. Guess whose bag it was? Even better, out of all the possible bags to lose, it ended up being Josie's car seat, which meant we couldn't leave the airport without it. Eventually, the airline located a loaner car seat for me, and we headed home with a screaming baby who screamed the whole way home. The whole fairly long way home, in these great hiccuping screams of indignant rage.

They did find our car seat the next day, though, thankfully with everything inside. As the last bags were rolling around the belt in the baggage area, and it became abundantly clear that our car seat was not coming out, I realized my mistake. I'd viewed the car seat box as another opportunity to shove things in- toys, the monitor, noise machine, heavy clothing- allowing me to avoid paying another bag fee. When it disappeared, however, I realized that while I had saved myself a baggage fee, if the car seat really didn't turn up, the airline would definitely (and with good reason) refuse to pay for all those other things I'd thrown into the box. I started adding up the cost of all those lost items, and the number wasn't pretty. Lesson learned. Next time, I'll pay the $15 and throw in a duffel bag.

Now I'm facing the daunting task of unpacking and getting everyone back on a reasonable schedule, but at least we're home and with no trips on the horizon. I have some serious catching up to do with everyone and can't wait to hear what I missed.

lots of catching up to do

A little unplanned bloggy vacation took place there, courtesy of my parent's DIAL-UP connection that never seemed to work. I kept thinking about all the things I wanted to blog about and then no way to connect to the Internet. Very frustrating, but I have to admit that a little bit of withdrawal isn't always such a terrible thing.

Quick update- we were in California for 2 weeks, then flew to Florida on Friday morning (at 6am, which I do NOT recommend when traveling with a 3 month old and a 2 year old) and are here in Florida until Saturday. On Saturday when I arrive home, I'm pretty sure I'm going to kiss the ground in my tiny house and savor my own bed and my own couch and separate bedrooms from my children. The separate bedrooms part may be my favorite thing of all.

I really can't complain, though, all in all it has been a good trip with a few bumps along the way. I caught a cold on the way to California, then Gabe caught it, then Josie caught it. We made the best of it, though, and tried to spend quality time with my parents and were even able to see some old high school friends while we were there. Gabe's cold converted into a hacking cough, though, that caused him to vomit at a friend's house (on her brand new white carpet), on my parent's pale gray carpet, and subsequently all over himself on the flight to Florida. Josie's cold has been keeping her up at night, but other than that, she's been fine.

My parents were able to see the kids, we enjoyed some warmish weather, and I slept and relaxed more than usual. All of that makes for a successful trip, in my book, at least.

At the airport on the way to Florida, though, I noticed that Gabe was limping. I thought it odd, but that kid trips on air, so I didn't think much of it. Saturday that limp was a little worse, and Sunday it was worse still. He's been running around with his cousins and swimming up a storm, and I wasn't worried, but a call to his pediatrician sent us to the ER because she said it wasn't impossible for a toddler to run around with a broken foot. The doctors in the ER apparently suspected some terrible things (like cancer, although they didn't tell us that until later) and ordered all kinds of tests, like x-rays, bloodwork, ivs. All traumatizing to a two year old, and his mom as well.

In the end, we didn't find anything, and the final diagnosis is a virus (that same coughing virus) that is settling in his joints and causing pain. I'll admit that my diagnosis is that he hurt his foot or ankle and hasn't been resting it, but I'm just the mom. What do I know?

For the rest of this week, we'll be enjoying the warm Florida weather and praying for no subsequent trips to the ER. We have high standards around here, as you can see. I might also throw in some sleeping through the night for myself, but I won't hold my breath.

I hope all of you great holiday celebrations, whatever those might be!

why? why? why?

Josh's aunt is FOREVER calling me and offering me opportunities for part-time or short-term jobs, and I am FOREVER turning her down because I had a baby, and then a toddler, and then when I finally got my life together and started taking work, whoops! I got pregnant again, and then the morning sickness, and then the placenta previa, and then the breech baby, and then I gave birth, and now I have a newborn, and blah blah blah. Suffice to say, I've said no about 9 times to different job offers.

The other day, she called to ask whether I'd be willing to proofread someone's dissertation for him. English is apparently his second language, he needs help, and he's willing to pay for it. I looked around at the chaos of my life, and eyed the dust bunnies and the dirty windows and started calculating how many hours of house cleanings I could hire with one proofreading, and I said yes.

Unfortunately, I forgot about that whole poor student part of the equation, so he's only paying me $2 a page to proof them, but still, $2 is $2. I work out of my house during naps and while Gabe is at school, and if I am working then I can totally justify buying a soy latte at Starbucks because it helps my muse, you know?

What I did not consider, though, is that I have no time these days. Like seriously, no time. I barely have time to eat and shower and do laundry, and fitting in 200 pages of dissertation is no piece of cake. Plus, did I mention it is a dissertation in ENGINEERING? To be specific, supply chain management and engineering and equations and stochastic models of blahbity blah blah blah. I sometimes have to reread the same sentence 4 times just to get through it, because hello? I am a lawyer, not so much with the engineering. But again, $2 is $2, and he is a lovely young man, and very nice and he does need help, so I push my way through and make my word changes and slight revisions and gloss over the way-too-complex-equations and graphs.

All of this is to say that between the proofreading and the fact that we are leaving for California and Florida on Monday for 3 weeks, I barely have time to breathe, and I certainly do not have time to be writing out this blog post. Hi, my name is procrastination.

gift

It was two years ago, almost to the day. Spring just emerging in New England. One of the first warm days of the year, one of the first warm days of Gabriel's short life. Josh and I decided to load up the stroller and drive to Newport, Rhode Island. Newport always feels like summer and fun and freedom to me, and we were almost giddy as we packed our diaper bag and got the car seat into the car. It was our first road trip as a family of three and we hardly knew what to bring- we were so clumsy and awkward and NEW at this parenting life.

He woke up when we still had a while to go, so we stopped at a Starbucks in Providence for me to nurse, still feeling a little embarrassed whenever I'd pull out the nursing cover and hide his little body underneath. I felt people's eyes on me, so I focused instead on Gabe's ear and the way his hair curled around the edges. Even today, I can picture that tiny ear as if it were in front of me, I can feel the way his little body curved around my waist.

Back in the car, we approached the long arching bridge into town and could see the scenery changing from industrial to beach life. We pushed our stroller proudly down the narrow streets, stopping to look in store windows, stopping even more often to exclaim about some tiny change of expression in his sleeping face that no one noticed but us. We could scarcely believe this precious cargo we had with us, this new life as a family of three.

We stopped again at a dim coffee shop for me to feed him again- it seemed like Gabe nursed more often than he didn't in those days. We sat in overstuffed chairs next to the window, sipping hot chocolates as the glass fogged up in front of us, watching and listening to the college students and teenagers around us sharing stories of competing gossip. I remember feeling so tightly wound in those days, full of fear, anxiety, adoration, exhaustion, and happiness, all mixed up and impossible to separate. Having your first child is almost like a flavor on your tongue. You can remember what it was like, but that taste never quite returns.

When we emerged from the coffee shop, the temperature had dropped sharply and the wind whipped in from the ocean. We hurried down the streets, new parents concerned that the baby would get cold, even though he was wrapped in blankets and a sleeping bag and huddled under a blue hat. Our dinner was quick, both of us anxious to get on the road before it became too late.

I drove while Josh sat in back and entertained Gabriel, which seems laughable now, but that was life with one child. Innumerable moments spent admiring him, enjoying him, absorbing every little detail about him. Learning how to love someone more than your own life. Figuring out how to be a parent. Eating up every minute.

Spring is arriving in New England again these days, and the weight of Josie in my arms reminds me of Newport, but life today is very different. Moments spent inhaling her newness are stolen moments. Life is filled with toddler squeals and enthusiasm over everything. Rather than learning how to love, I am learning how to survive this swelling of my heart that threatens to explode from the beauty of my two children.

At lunch today, I knew my friend must be newly pregnant. Her hand curved over her mostly flat stomach, just starting to bulge. The way she picked at her food. Her husband's eyes on her as we ate. Sooner than she realizes, she'll have her own memory of walking the streets of an off-season vacation town. And even sooner, that memory will be written over by the chubby hands of her two year old tugging at her jeans, saying "Mommy! Watch me!" as he runs around the table. That ache is the price of time passing. The privilege of being around to see it.

now I'm an expert at knowing that I know nothing

Before I had kids, I was the BEST parent. I had all kind of brilliant ideas about parenting children, and I could clearly tell you what other people were doing wrong. I had such insight into everyone else's mistakes- I had real skillz.

Then I had a baby.

Luckily, my first child ended up being incredibly accommodating, calm, sweet, and easy-going. He rarely cried, he ate like a champ, and best of all, he reinforced all of my previously held opinions about how easy parenting could be. Sure, there were some bumps in the road (like not sleeping through the night until he was a YEAR OLD), but the truth is that Gabe is a pretty flexible and reasonable kid.

Then I had ANOTHER baby.

Well. I'll wait here for you to stop laughing.

I'm pretty sure this child has been sent here to take me down a notch. Or 27 notches, maybe. She's probably going to eat nothing except white bread and cheetos, throw tantrums in the aisles of Target, and let herself out of the house and run around the neighborhood naked. I am soooo looking forward to the teenage years.

Luckily, she is pretty cute, and I have been humbled. Today we ran out of Josh's office after lunch with her SCREAMING like we were peeling her fingernails off. She screamed in the office, in the hallway, in the elevator, in the lobby, and all the way to the car until I started the engine and pulled away from the curb. She'd been fed, changed, tucked into her car seat, and she just didn't feel like sitting idly, so she screamed. Last year? I would have wondered what was wrong with that mother that didn't do anything. Today? I knew it wouldn't make a difference to attempt to comfort her, so I just walked faster until I reached the car.

Parenting is just a kick in the pants, huh?

party 'til the babes go to bed!

Welcome! If you're visiting from the Ultimate Blog Party, I'm happy to meet you! If you're a regular, I'm happy to see you again! Pull up a blog post! Hang out for a while! Cupcake while you're here?












I am a (former) lawyer who fled the law firm life to stay at home with my two kids (23 months apart) and live the glamorous life. Okay, not so glamorous, really, but we do have fun.

My son, Gabriel, is a little over 2. He's a bit of a lunatic, but he makes us laugh so we keep him around.












My daughter, Josie, just turned 3 months old. I write quite a bit about the stresses joys of life with a newborn these days. We're just now exiting the haze of sleepless nights and colicky screams and entering the world of smiles and naps. We're probably going to keep her too.












My husband, Josh, and I met waaayyy back during our college years and we've been driving each other crazy ever since. There are a lot of days (especially these days) when he is the only thing keeping me sane.












We also have two dogs, Tango and Murray, who used to feature prominently on this blog. Unfortunately for them, these days they are more often the subject of complaining on my part. Despite that, they really are very sweet and I'm sure one day my patience will come back. I hope.













So... That's the whole family! Nice to meet you! Feel free to poke around! Ignore the goldfish crackers on the floor and the pile of laundry on the couch. I hope to see you around sometime!

happiness is...

Sunflower shoes!




Seriously people, this is why I needed to have a little girl. My life is now complete. Now I need to find these in adult sizes.

where's the beef?

The other day I received coupons in one of those "value pack" envelopes. You know, the ones that give you all kinds of coupons for vendors in your area/state? One of the coupons was for Omaha Steaks, which I'd never even heard of, but it seemed like a good deal. I think it was for 4 filet mignons, 4 flank steaks, 4 hot dogs, 4 chicken breasts, 4 baked stuffed potatoes, 4 of some other cut of beef I'm forgetting, and 4 hamburgers, all for $49.99. Plus, if you took the deal, they'd also give you 6 more free hamburgers. I don't normally pay attention to any of those coupons, but this really did seem like a good deal so I loaded Josie into the car after dropping Gabe off at school and we headed over to Omaha Steaks.

As soon as we walked through the door, I realized they must not be doing well in this economy. The store was completely deserted, and the salesperson actually looked shocked to have a customer. He jumped up from where he was sitting on the floor behind the counter and then set about making a sale. By the time we walked out of there, he'd pretty much given me half of a cow. Literally.

He offered to double the deal and then knock $20 off the price of the order. Then he threw in 6 more free hamburgers. Then for $10 he gave us 2 boxes of salisbury steak over noodles plus 2 boxes of garlic roasted mashed potatoes. He gave us free cookbooks, free spice packets, extra coupons for us to come back, and then carried everything to the car for me.

It was only when I got home that I realized I'd never be able to fit everything into our freezer. I came home with 3 gigantic bags of food, all requiring immediate refrigeration. We pretty much don't need to go grocery shopping for the next month and a half, but I felt so badly for how excited the salesman looked when he saw us walk through the door that I couldn't say no to his offers. I've since learned that Omaha Steaks is more of a splurge/gift giving store, and these days, people aren't doing much splurging.

We don't even eat much beef these days, but we're going to have to start, if I ever want to be able to buy any other frozen foods. I will say, we made 4 of the chicken breasts and one of the salisbury steaks, and hot damn, they were pretty good! Only 79 pieces of beef to go! Anyone want to come over for dinner?

zzzzz

I told Josh today that I feel like I am just plugging up holes with bubble gum or something. Once I get one kid under control, another one sprouts another leak! Last night Josh noticed Murray (the dog) shaking his head and when he checked his ears, one of them was red and inflamed and generally looking icky. I wish he hadn't shown it to me, because it looked so awful that it took me ages to fall asleep last night because I felt so guilty I hadn't noticed it before.

This morning, I took him to the vet and it turns out he has allergies. He is currently on ear drops, ear ointment, a strict ear washing regimen, eye ointment, and Benadryl. Both of his ears have yeast infections, and his eyes and skin are inflamed from some kind of allergy. Obviously, what I really needed these days was more work for me, but such is life with 2 kids and 2 dogs. The "check engine" light to my car also came on over the weekend, but thankfully it was nothing major.

I did make what I hope is a major discovery for Josie today, though. Over the last few weeks I've noticed that Josie rarely sleeps. We might wake up in the morning, run multiple errands, get in and out of the car, drive for up to 20 minutes at a time, and she won't nap. Everyone comments on how alert and awake she is, and how long that alertness lasts, but it is truly excessive. Getting her to nap is such an ordeal- it can take up to an hour and a half just to get her to nap for 15-25 minutes. Bedtime is beyond absurd. Yesterday I started the routine at 7:30 and she was down at 10pm. By the time 10pm rolled around, I was cross-eyed from exhaustion, but I hate to put her down and go to bed immediately afterward. I need a least a little bit of downtime before turning in for the night.

Today it occurred to me to check the side effects for the ranitidine she has been taking for the acid reflux. Guess what one of the side effects is? Insomnia.

So today I took a risk, and didn't give her the medicine. She has been faithfully taking the probiotics for about a week now, and I figured that if she got incredibly fussy, I'd just catch her up on the ranitidine dose.

Miracle of miracles, she did great. She napped. Really napped, like a regular baby. First in the car, then in her stroller, then in her bassinet for TWO HOURS this afternoon! It's been weeks since she's taken a halfway decent nap. She was totally well-rested, which meant she hardly cried today and smiled repeatedly and easily. She sat in her swing and bouncy chair and didn't even scream! It was an excellent day.

Now, I know it could be a fluke, and trust me, I've been let down before when I think we've turned a corner when we haven't, but I can't help hoping. I know this child is dangerously overtired, and I HAVE to figure out a way to get her to sleep. It still took me FOREVER to get her down for each of those naps, and especially down for bed tonight, but at least I didn't have to do it 4 times in a row for a 20 minute break. Once I find some way to get her to nap regularly, then I can work on getting some semblance of a schedule and maybe she'll even start sleeping at night again! If I'm going to hope, I might as well shoot for the moon!

file this under: DUH

If you're sick of listening to me moan, then you might want to move along. Nothing but whining to see here this evening.
********************************************************

So.

I've been reading some books lately, trying to figure out what is wrong with my pain in the ass sweet precious flower of a daughter. Last week, I started to think that things were getting so much better. She was sleeping through (most) of the night. She was crying less during the day. Gabe was still scrumptious, and (thank you thank you thank you) still sleeps beautifully.

This week, however, has been a disaster. Nighttime sleeping has gone down the tubes. It takes me HOURS to get her to go to sleep at night. It something takes me over an hour to get her to take a 20 minute nap during the day. She fluctuates between wild smiles and raging unhappiness constantly. I'm exhausted.

There. I said it. I'm really fucking tired.

And then, while I was reading one of the books, I skipped ahead to the chapter on "fussy babies" and right there, in black and white:

Persistent low-intensity fussing, rather than intense crying, characterizes infants diagnosed as having colic... it is usually described as an unsettled, agitated, wakeful state that would lead to crying if ignored by parents... Even if they [parents] spend more than three additional hours a day, more than three days a week, for more than three weeks "feeding" them at night to prevent crying, these parents do not think their baby is colicky because there is so little crying... they had long and frequent bouts of fussing, which did not lead to crying because of intense parental intervention.

Folks? Josie definitely has colic.

I almost laughed out loud when the book characterized colic as having to spend more than three hours a day, three days a week, for more than three weeks, soothing my child. Three hours a day? I might spend 8 hours, 10 hours, sometimes it feels like 24 hours, soothing her. I rock her, feed her, talk to her, sing to her, bounce her around the house, let her nurse to pacify herself for hours in the wee hours of the morning. We try baby Zantac and probiotics. I cut out dairy, vegetables, chocolate, spices, soy, and I even try to limit my wheat intake, just in case.

All this time, I kept thinking that because she didn't scream and scream for hours on end, she couldn't possibly have colic. I know, though, that if I didn't do handstands to make her happy, she would spend hours out of every day screaming. As it is, I've had to come home from the movies because she won't stop crying. I never go anywhere without her. I'm dreading a dinner date tomorrow night (our first) with Josh because I know she is going to cry endlessly with my mother in law for those 2 hours while we are gone.

The relief that I felt when I read those sentences is indescribable. It makes no sense to me, why would I be happy to learn that there is no solution? Why would it make me feel better? But it does. I feel almost a sort of validation. I'm crying all over again writing this, but reading that chapter makes me feel like maybe it isn't my fault. Maybe it isn't what I'm eating. Maybe it isn't the antibiotics I took for the mastitis (my pediatrician's suggestion). Maybe it isn't my breastmilk (my mother's CONSTANT suggestion). Maybe it is, but maybe it is just colic.

Maybe she is going to get better soon, just because of age. She is turning 3 months old on Saturday, and although I dread the passage of time with a ridiculous intensity because I don't want my babies to get bigger, maybe, just maybe, things will get better. Maybe I won't have to sit here for 3 hours rocking her to sleep next week. Maybe she won't be up fussing from 1am until 8am. Maybe she'll show me her beautiful smile more often. Maybe I'll be able to play with Gabe for a while every day without holding her in my arms. Crazy, for that to sound like a luxury, but it does.

I love Josie so much, I don't even have the words to describe to you how having her in our lives makes me feel. I look down at her and wonder how I could have made this beautiful, perfect, sweet little creature. I press my face against her cheeks or into her neck and I cannot imagine not feeling her glorious weight in my arms all the time. It is like falling in love all over again. I thought my heart would burst with adoration when we had Gabe, but somehow I love her just as much. Somehow it feels like I love them both MORE. With this unsettling intensity that throws me for a loop daily. I want to swallow her whole.

It'd be nice, though, to be able to get a coffee with a friend without feeling tense. It'd be nice to not check my phone obsessively in the darkness of the movie theater. It'd be nice if she was just happy. If she felt well all the time. So for now, I'll be hoping for her to feel better. Soon.

still gagging

I caught Gabe dipping cheddar goldfish into his potty and then eating them.

The potty.

Filled with pee pee.

I screamed so much I think he'll be talking about it in therapy for years.

he can sort his own damn socks

I took Josie to the pediatrician this morning because she has been so fussy over the last couple of days, I was convinced she must have an ear infection (she doesn't). Gabe and I played nonstop today. We made cookies from scratch (hamentaschen, for those of you who celebrate Purim). I dusted the whole house. I did 3 loads of laundry. I folded the laundry. I put dinner together (grilled salmon, rice, salad, and butternut squash soup). I cleaned the kitchen after dinner. I loaded and unloaded the dishwasher. I did all of this while wearing Josie in the sling, and intermittently comforting and nursing her.

After dinner and loading the dishwasher and bringing all the loads of laundry up for folding, I was sitting on the floor sorting all the folded clothes into the different baskets. Josh was lying across the couch with the dogs lying across him. I would pause in my sorting to fast forward through the commercials as we watched our recorded show, when Josh reached his arms out and (in this "I'm doing you the biggest favor ever" voice) said he'd be happy to fast forward for me so I didn't have to stop my folding.

I stared at the piles of clothes around me... looked at him lying comfortably on the couch... smelled the spit-up all over me... the exhaustion oozing out of my pores... and then I threw the remote at his head.

Okay, not really. But I wanted to.

he makes yummy pancakes too

I don't know what it was about this weekend, but Josh and I were just at odds with each other. All snappy and snippity and argumenty, and OH LORDY, it was a long weekend. It was never enough to start a full-on fight, but always just enough to leave me annoyed at him for the particular way he said something. But how many times can you yell at someone for their TONE before it starts to sound ridiculous.

I think it was a combination of general tiredness from a busy week, plus Gabe caught another plague from someone else at his toddler program, so we were woken up multiple times in the wee hours before Josie's wakeup times. So although Josie slept from 9pm to 4am, Gabe was up at midnight, and 1:30am and 2:30am, wheezing and crying and needing his nose wiped. When she finally woke up at 4am, which was a perfectly respectable time to wake up, I stumbled into her room with an ARE YOU KIDDING ME? attitude. Totally unfair to her, but whatever.

Also, whenever I'm tired, I start getting all up in arms about how much I do around the house in comparison to how much Josh does around the house, and perhaps I should just mention it as we go along instead of flipping out all at once, particularly at 1am when we're trying to go back to sleep. Perhaps. I'll consider it for the future. Shockingly, there isn't much he can do about the fact that he didn't put his dishes into the dishwasher when we're lying in bed. I will note, however, that this morning when I got up he'd cleaned up the kitchen, loaded and run the dishwasher. Apparently hysteria has it's benefits.

Moving on.

I hesitate to say, but we seem to have turned a corner with our youngest family member. I was about to say tiniest, but I realize that at upwards of 12 pounds, she has left Tango and Murray in the dust (Tango is 6 pounds, Murray is 10). Josie has reduced her screaming considerably, and sometimes even waits patiently for a few minutes while I do a quick little something around the house. She takes a couple of naps a day, most importantly, AT THE SAME TIME as Gabe for the last 6 days in a row. I tuck Gabe into his bed, then sit in her rocker and nurse her until she falls asleep, put her in her crib, and she sleeps. Alone. Not on top of me. It's amazing. At nighttime, we have developed a little routine, and she regularly sleeps from 9pm until at least 3am, sometimes 4 or even 5am.

Also, she suddenly seems, for lack of a better term, to have "arrived". She's just "with it" these days. Josh commented last night, that she is smiley and alert and laughs when we wave her arms around or bounce her up and down. Nothing is perfect, by any means, but things are much better. I have less moments of impatience or edginess and I'm able to get a few things done around the house without having to listen to screaming.

Hopefully this is the start of more good things and the cuteness continues, because they are both really, ridiculously cute. I'm sure everyone thinks their children are absurdly gorgeous, but mine really are. Really. I mean, look at those cheeks!

gotta hide the bald patches

The Great Hair Loss of 2009 has begun.

Ugh.

I remembered this from Gabe's postpartum period, but it is still shocking for it to happen again. I pulled clumps and clumps of hair from my head in the shower, cleared the drain multiple times, and STILL I've pulled stray hairs off of Josie and my shirt repeatedly during the day. I cannot believe this is going to go on for the next few months. I know, logically, that I won't actually go bald. But still. It feels like it. Helloooo ponytail.

more of that guilt I mentioned

We had some highs and some lows today.

Some of the highs included getting Josie to take an actual nap in her own personal crib as opposed to napping in my arms. That was a huge high. She even stayed there for 45 minutes. It was exhilarating. After waking up to eat, I was able to get her to nap again in the moses basket in our living room. Another amazing occurrence.

I took the time she gave me to attack the house with a vengeance. I did some crazy cleaning- scrubbed the stove, the inside and outside and vents of the microwave, the front of the dishwasher and refrigerator, some of the cabinets and the sink. I dusted every surface in the house, even moving books and picture frames and climbing on top of chairs and beds to reach all the surfaces. I can't recall the last time I did that, maybe never. I cleaned all the mirrors and windows. I picked up all the errant toys and clothes and put them away. I vacuumed the whole downstairs. I did some laundry. I loaded the dishwasher. I took absolutely no time to myself, but it felt good. The house is starting to look halfway decent, and I'm working out a plan to keep up the organization and cleaning, but on a step by step basis. Doing a little bit every day to keep the chaos under control.

Another high- I got a call while I was cleaning for a short term contract job, and all I kept thinking while we were talking money was how many visits from a cleaning lady that would buy. Can you tell I enjoyed the cleaning?

There was a lot of screaming today, however, courtesy of Josie. Except for those brief shining periods of time where she slept on her own, she REFUSED to be put down. Like, at all. Not in her swing, not in her exercauser, not in her bouncy chair, not under the mobile, not for 30 seconds for me to assemble the sling. It was rough. The screaming puts me on edge, and so my temper was short with Gabe. Just as I was clearing the floor and turning on the vacuum, Gabe dumped out his huge basket of balls and his bag of toy trains and I lost it. I screamed at him to STOP DUMPING OUT THE TOYS and apparently got the message through to him, because he turned around and started putting the toys away immediately.

I hate feeling like that kind of mom, the mom that doesn't let her kids play with toys because it makes a mess, and I'm really really really not that kind of mom, but everyone has their limits and I seem to be hitting mine. Gabe's sole purpose in life these days is to make messes. He walks over to his bookcase and dumps every single book out onto the floor in mere minutes. He throws all his balls all over the house. He empties every drawer in his play kitchen onto the floor. He goes into my diaper bag, takes out my wallet and throws my credit cards around the house. He throws trains behind the radiator, down the stairs, tries to flush them down the toilet. He has to be watched like a hawk, every second of the day.

At the same time, he was unbelievably cute today. He sang to me, danced along with music, brought books to Josie and "read" them to her. He ate everything I put in front of him with gusto and told me that my cooking was "yummy yummy". He is adorable, but sometimes I wonder how people do it.

Live life with a baby that screams SO FREAKING MUCH, and a toddler that is sweet and funny but busy busy busy. I found myself asking Josie under my breath to please just shut up for a few minutes, and I feel HORRIBLE about that, but really, I do have my limits. It is so exhausting to spend all day comforting her, bouncing her, holding her, and still have her screaming in my ear.

She laughed today, though. A real little laugh while I was pumping her legs and counting in a high pitched voice. We've heard her give a few "heh heh hehs" when we do something funny, but today sounded like a real miniature laugh. It was delicious. And I do love her to death, I just wish the fussiness would end. Soon.

It didn't help that we were homebound because Josh can't get his car out of the driveway because of all the snow, so he borrowed my car and accidentally took the car seats AND MY STROLLER with him. I had to cancel two plans with friends because we couldn't leave the house, and two snow days, two days in a row are never good for anyone.

Like I said. Highs and lows today. I'm hoping that a few hours of sleep will bring with it some of that patience I'm lacking around here.

minding their beeswax

I'm glad to hear that all of you are equally as outraged by this, because I was starting to wonder if maybe I was insane to think that all of this policing was getting out of hand. Under these laws, it would be illegal to leave kids strapped into the car while you run back into your house, pay for gas at the pump, put your cart back in the cart corral, walk your child to the front door of the school. This can't possibly be right. Shouldn't we should reserve our efforts for those people who leave their children in the car while they go shopping at the mall or go grab a drink at a bar? Sheesh.

According to the Massachusetts State Police, there is no official "can't leave your kid in your car" law in Massachusetts, but an officer has the power to charge you under existing Child Endangerment statutes if he or she feels that you are endangering your child, and that includes leaving a child unattended in the car. He scoffed at a couple of my examples, and said that we should use "common sense" when leaving children.

It's funny, though, because he stressed that younger children shouldn't be left alone, but I feel much safer leaving Gabe and Josie because neither one of them can move from their car seats. I don't have to worry about Gabe releasing the emergency brake or putting the car into drive. I'll worry more when he can get loose in the car and climb around.

The truth is that I'll be reconsidering what I do before I do it out of fear that a nosy neighbor might call the police on me. Let's hope they have enough to worry about without paying attention to my children.

my parents used to have dinner IN A RESTAURANT with me sleeping in the car, and I turned out okay...

I just heard that a woman in my town parked her car in front of Starbucks, with her kids strapped into car seats, locked the doors and went in to grab a coffee. She was supposedly in and out in 2 minutes and could see the kids through the windows at all times, but someone called the police, and she was arrested for child endangerment. I have to say that I was a little bit surprised. I was surprised that someone would call the police over those 2 minutes she was gone, and I was also surprised she was arrested. I haven't, and don't think I ever would, run into Starbucks and leave the kids in the car, but I also wouldn't call the police on someone else who did do it, unless they were gone for 20 minutes or went into a bar or something crazy like that.

It has definitely made me reconsider some of the decisions I've made to leave or not leave Gabe and Josie in the car, and I even went so far as to call our State Police headquarters to ask them specifically what the laws are for unattended children in cars. In the interest of full disclosure, I have left Gabe strapped into the car in front of the dry cleaner during snow storms, with the doors locked, and the front of the dry cleaner is glass, and I am exactly 10 feet away from my door. It makes me a little nervous, but there is no way I can manage the dry cleaning and him and the snow at the same time (he's a sprinter) and he is certainly safer in the car than running through the parking lot without me. I have also left Josie in the car when I run up the stairs to pick up Gabe at his toddler program, but I'm thinking that I may not be doing it anymore. Not because I think anything would happen to her on our safe suburb street in broad daylight with all the other parents running in and out of their cars, but because now I'm nervous someone might call the cops on me!

What do you think? Would you get money out of the ATM? Mail a letter? What about putting your shopping cart away in the cart corral (apparently that is illegal in some states)? What about weather and time of day? Sleeping child? More than one child? Are we taking things too far?

dirt

I had coffee on Monday with a girlfriend who has two daughters, the youngest of which is 10 months old, and she commented to me that she was surprised I was out running errands with Josie at only 2 months postpartum. It was then that I realized that maybe I'm being too hard on myself.

These are the things I accomplish on a daily basis:
1. I am keeping both of my children alive and dressed.
2. I pump at least one extra bottle of breastmilk and freeze it for a future date.
3. I make dinner almost every night for all of us.
4. I make Josh's lunch for the next day almost every night.
5. I load and unload the dishwasher.
6. I throw in at least one load of laundry a night.
7. I shower and sometimes even blow dry my hair (and occasionally even pluck my eyebrows).
8. I feed the dogs and let them outside to "do their business".
9. Watch television.
10. Check email.
(I also sometimes get out of the house to do things like grocery shop or mail packages or meet a friend)

The things I do not do:
1. Fold and put away all the laundry.
2. Vacuum.
3. Clean the kitchen.
4. Clean the bathrooms.
5. Clean ANYTHING.
6. Pick up toys.
7. Pick up clutter.
8. Pick up ANYTHING.
9. Put down the baby. Ever.

But all in all, I think I'm not doing THAT badly for 2 months postpartum. Yes, the house is beyond disastrous, and I'm not exaggerating when I say that. I vacuumed last weekend for the first time in, ohhh, a month maybe? And I only did it because Gabe was picking up so much dirt and dog hair on his fleece pajamas that I couldn't, in good conscience, let him get into bed with those same dirt and dog hair covered pajamas, so I was having to wash his pajamas every day and I was tired of doing the extra laundry. The living has wall to wall junk in it, including books and clothing strewn all over the place. The office still has the pillows and bedding from when my parents left on January 10th. The dining room table is covered in boxes of gifts sent by my inlaws' friends. Our bedroom is covered in more clothes and books, and Gabe and Josie's room have toys and laundry all over.

But still. My children seem pretty happy (well, at least the bigger one does, the little one screams a lot so it's hard to tell), I am pretty happy, I think Josh is pretty happy. We are wearing clean clothes and eating actual meals and haven't even ordered take-out or delivery. I'm going to have to be satisfied with that, at least for now. I'd love a cleaner house, and I do feel badly that Josh comes home to such a disaster, but hopefully it'll get better with time. Maybe Gabe can learn to fold and put away laundry. I can pay him in m&ms. Besides, by not cleaning, I'm building their immune system by exposing them to all this dirt, right?

yummy

Last night, living room couch... Gabe leans over to sniff Josie's head.

Me: What are you doing?

Gabe: I smell Josie.

Me: What does she smell like?

Gabe: She smell yike pancakes. Mmm.

time and maybe cupcakes

I have determined that the parenting of multiple children is characterized by guilt. Lots and lots of guilt.

Maybe it is because Josie is such a demanding baby- sweet, but demanding- and so I spend countless hours holding her and nursing her and wearing her around the house, and poor Gabe gets the short end of the stick. I really, really, really wish I could sit on the ground and play trains with him or push cars around or draw pictures at the kitchen table, but Josie wants to be walked around the house or tended to in some way. I've tried bouncy seats, I've tried putting her down on the blanket next to us, and even if we are directly interacting with her, she tends to get frustrated and cry after only a short period of time.

To his credit, Gabe still loves her. He kisses her and hugs her and pats her head and asks about her all the time. A couple of times, though, he has told me to put her down or leave her where she is rather than pick her up, and I feel terrible about that. Last week when he was sick, all he wanted was to be held by me, and I had to put him down constantly to nurse her or bounce her because she will scream incessantly even if Josh holds her.

At the same time, I feel guilty for Josie too. I feel guilty that because she wants to be carried all the time, I get frustrated with her, and wish she would just entertain herself briefly. Since she is in my arms rather than sitting on a chair in front of me, I can't spend the same amount of time admiring her chubby cheeks or sweet double chin. I feel like I should know what to do to get her to nap during the day in her bassinet. I wish I could take away the reflux so that she wouldn't fuss just before spitting up. The pediatrician asked about tummy time the other day, and I almost laughed out loud. I don't even know if she would do tummy time, because it hasn't even occurred to me to try. My mother in law asked if she would hold a rattle, and again, I wouldn't even know because I haven't even tried.

Basically, I wish there were two of me.

Thankfully, every day Josie is a little bit better, a teeny tiny bit more independent, and hopefully as we approach Spring, our illnesses will lessen too. I'm also trying desperately to develop an organizational plan that will help me to take care of the kids and manage the house and be productive during the day. If I could find a way to spend even 20 short minutes of 100% devoted time with Gabe, then I think I would feel much less guilty. If we could spend more time with the television turned off, I think I would also feel much less guilty.

Time will help, and in the meantime, I'm telling you, I'll be over here, feeling guilty guilty guilty.

I'm boarding a jet plane

I just booked my ticket for a trip to visit my parents in California, then on to visit my in-laws in Florida, then back to Boston from Florida. On this trip I will have actual ASSISTANCE with both of my children for the full three weeks I am gone. Perhaps I will go to a movie, or take a shower without someone screaming from the other side of the shower curtain, or maybe even go out to dinner! With adults! Oh, the possibilities.

Josh will not be accompanying me on this trip, which means that although I will have help once we land, I will travel alone with both kids. This also means that I am NOT bringing the dogs with me because I am brave but not CRAZY. You cannot even imagine the hilarity that ensues when I travel with Gabe and the dogs and have to take all three through the security line, especially pregnant.

I'd unbuckle Gabe from his car seat/stroller combo, take off his shoes, ask him to stand RIGHT HERE while I open the dog's bag, ask Gabe to NO COME BACK AND STAND RIGHT HERE, take out one dog, tell Gabe to COME BACK HERE, take out the other dog while the first dog is squirming and trying to jump out of my arms, run over and pull Gabe back to where we are standing, tell 4 people to go ahead of us in the line, ask Gabe to PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STAND HERE, load the dog bag and the rest of our bags and the car seat/stroller combo on the belt, direct Gabe through the line, discover that the car seat/stroller combo doesn't fit through the belt, take it off the belt and ask for the hand check, turn around to find that Gabe has run away and is climbing on the stacks of plastic baskets, drag him back over and push him through the security check in front of me, and remember that all of this is with two squirming dogs in my arms who are both trying to get down and scratching each other and me in the process, walk through the security line, wait for the bags, drop one of the dogs, pick the dog back up while the second dog is holding on for dear life, promise Gabe cookies if only he'll stand right here for another minute, get one dog into the bag, get the other dog into the bag, put both of our shoes back on, get the car seat back and strap Gabe back in and then start the two mile walk to the last gate in the airport, because we always, always get assigned to the last gate. By the time we board the plane, I'm always a disheveled, nauseous, hot and sweaty mess, and we haven't even begun the trip.

I feel a little sick just thinking about it. And imagining that disaster with TWO kids and two dogs and one me is beyond even my capabilities. I thought about adding them to our reservation because they really do love to visit California and Florida since they love the heat, but Josh wouldn't even discuss it. Because he loves me and would like for me to come back sane.

I'm not worried about the trip, at least not yet, and I figure I will just throw Josie into the sling and take Gabe in his car seat/stroller combo thing, and check the double stroller at the check-in desk. I'm going to ignore the fact that she does not, at this point in time, like the sling, and we'll just hope for the best. On the plane, it'll be the first time we've purchased a seat for Gabe and I plan to strap him into his car seat for the 5 hour flight and not even TOUCH the straps until we land. He can eat whatever he wants, play whatever he wants, watch 5 straight hours of television on the dvd player, but NO ONE is getting down. It may actually work because I've never let him down on an airplane, so he doesn't even seem to realize that walking on the plane is a possibility. I plan to keep it that way until he is a teenager, at least.

Best of all, there will be no snow in both California and Florida, and perhaps there will even be sunshine and vitamin D. Also, lots of assistance from grandparents whose sole purpose in life is to make and keep my children happy. It should be great. I'm counting down the days.

on the mend

Slowly, slowly, slowly, we are getting better.

On Monday morning, I walked into Gabe's room and was met with another horrific disaster of a mess, so I picked up the phone and called the pediatrician. By 11am, when we had to leave for our appointment, I had already gotten sick 15-20 times. As we were pulling into the doctor's office, I had resigned myself to going to the emergency room for iv fluids. I couldn't see any alternative that would work, because I couldn't keep any fluids down, and even if I could, there was no way I could keep up with the quantity of fluids I needed to drink.

From a person who thought the absolute worst part of labor was the iv, you can imagine how bad I felt.

Thankfully, the pediatrician was willing to listen to the complaints of all 3 of us and he had lots of suggestions, especially for me since I was still obviously showing the vestiges of the last 2 hours I spent sobbing as I ran to and from the bathroom. Fabulous morning, as you can imagine. Chief among his pieces of advice was for me to start drinking and eating some salt so that I could retain water. Sports drinks, chicken stock, soda, anything with salt and/or calories would help. Plus, he gave a couple more suggestions for over the counter medications that were safe while breastfeeding, although to be honest, it never even occurred to me to check on whether Pepto Bismol was safe for breastfeeding because I was so desperate to try something that would help.

I took all of your comments seriously when some of you suggested something more serious than the stomach flu, like salmonella poisoning, but the pediatrician said he doubted it because we would actually be far sicker from salmonella poisoning, and it apparently isn't as contagious. Contagious, yes, but not rampantly contagious like what we were experiencing.

I began guzzling sports drinks and chicken stock like it was my job, and miraculously, I started to feel better. I also napped for 3 hours while Gabe slept, with Josie tucked into my side on the couch. When I woke up, it was the longest I'd gone without getting sick in a very long time and the trend continued.

Yesterday, Josh went back to work and Gabe ate actual food on two separate occasions and I didn't feel like dying. I even did a load of laundry and folded some of it and played trains on the floor with Gabe and SHOWERED even- it was amazing. Maybe we'll even leave the house at some point in the next couple of days and breathe actual clean outdoor air. Or at least outdoor mall air, because Mommy needs some retail therapy with our nonexistent money after a week like this. Josie wants this overpriced shirt. Of course, it has been sunny and 40 degrees in Boston since last Wednesday, when Gabe first started throwing up, and today we are expecting a snowstorm. Because, of course we would have a snowstorm today. Of course.

As long as I don't have to clean up any more vomit, though, I'll take it and applaud. Hurray for feeling better!

and... another one bites the dust

Last night, while we were enjoying our little bit of child-free time, Josh told me that he was freezing, and I knew that was it. My progression of illness was freezing cold with chills, vomiting, diarrhea, passing out, and then continuing vomiting and diarrhea, on and off since Friday. At around midnight, he bolted upright, ran to the bathroom, and that was it. We were both up for most of the night, because there was no way I could sleep through his constant trips to the bathroom.

This morning, I took over kid duty even though I am very far from okay. I had to lay down twice on the kitchen floor to keep from passing out when Gabe wanted some crackers. In the scale of sickness, though, I'm better than Josh so I had to take over. There have been some scary moments, though. Not long after I realized that I wasn't going to be able to do any walking while taking care of Gabe and Josie, and would have to rely mostly on crawling and lying on the couch, I heard a loud clatter upstairs and then some banging. I ran upstairs to find Josh passed out on the bedroom floor, and I'm not going to lie, seeing your husband passed out, looking gray and thin and almost child-like in his vulnerability, made my heart stop a little. He came around immediately after falling, and I guess he thought he could make it back to the bed before he would actually pass out, but he fell against the dresser and pulled the bassinet on top of him as he fell.

I helped him into the bed, and then had some panicky moments where I thought about the possibility of needing to call an ambulance for both of us if we got any worse. I suspect that both of us need to get some more fluids and might benefit from an iv, but I'm hoping we can make do with drinking a ton.

Thankfully, though, Gabe seems better and even ate a piece of a banana, some plain baked potato and some crackers. Josie, even more amazingly, is still holding out. I'm praying that I have super breast milk that will give her enough antibodies to combat this, because I have no doubt that she'll end up in the hospital if she does get sick. Whatever this is, it is disastrous.

spoke too soon

I was given false hope when I wasn't that sick on Thursday, but yesterday I was hit with the full force of the stomach flu. I must have gotten sick 40-50 times yesterday, and around 7pm I actually passed out on the bathroom floor. I tried to drink fluids, but sometime in the afternoon my milk dried up and poor Josie would sit on my boob endlessly looking for more food. It was awful.

Gabe seemed a little better yesterday, but as evening approached his diarrhea and vomiting started up again and today he has been a disaster. He doesn't even have the strength to walk around or play. It is terribly pitiful.

Josh is running back and forth between the two of us, trying to make everyone feel better, take care of Josie, and keep both himself and Josie from catching this latest stomach bug.

We're a bundle of fun over here, huh?

un-fucking-believable

We have the stomach flu. AGAIN. Gabe came home from the toddler program with a report of diarrhea, but I thought maybe it had to do with the raw cupcake batter I let him eat the night before. But then last night he had another bout of diarrhea, and then at 2am I was woken up by him crying. A horror of horrors met me when I ran into his room. Vomit. Everywhere. Diarrhea. Truly everywhere. EVERYWHERE.

It was so bad I threw out the pajamas he was wearing because I couldn't possibly imagine putting those in my washer. I had to wake Josh up because Gabe was so hysterical, I couldn't do everything I needed to do by myself because I couldn't put him down. We had to bathe him at 2am, strip the bed, start the laundry, remake the bed, line the bedroom with towels, dress him again, and somehow make the upstairs stop smelling like death. Josh decided to start spraying the beds and air with vanilla scented air freshener, which just made the upstairs smell like vanilla shit. It was awesome.

This morning, I woke up with the stomach flu too, but thankfully it hasn't been that bad. Gabe has been okay, for the most part, since last night. He is whiny and mopey and won't eat anything, but I can deal with that. We are just watching a lot of television from the comfort of the couch, and I'm just trying to keep everyone happy and keep Gabe from touching Josie too much.

Then, because we wouldn't want things to get boring around here, my friend called to tell me that at a birthday party on Saturday, Gabe was exposed to the chicken pox. Gabe hasn't gotten the chicken pox vaccine because my pediatrician doesn't believe in it, which is a whole other post for another day. I'm fine with Gabe getting the chicken pox, or at least theoretically I've always been fine with him getting chicken pox, but I didn't expect that to be when I have a newborn at home. I guess that is the problem with the chicken pox, you don't get it when it is good for you, you just get it. Whether it's convenient or not.

After a freak-out on my part, I'm trying to stay calm. There is nothing I can do at this point, except do my best to keep Josie from possibly being exposed. The incubation period is 10-21 days, so we have a long wait ahead of us. Chatty Cricket, because she took pity on me, even called her own pediatrician to get some advice but the advice was the same. Wait it out, hope Josie doesn't get sick, and hopefully if either one of them does, it won't be serious.

I'm definitely stressed. I'm definitely not happy. And I am definitely sick and tired of all the sickness. I hate that I'm spending so much time during Josie's first weeks worrying about whether she is going to get sick or not. It is enough to make me consider pulling Gabe out of his toddler program, but I can't do that. I need the time, he adores the school, it wouldn't be fair. It just stinks.

not fighting the power

When I was pregnant with Gabe, I viewed my expanding belly with a certain measure of awe. I couldn't believe my body was capable of doing this amazing thing, and I was ecstatic when it became obvious to those around me that my buddha belly was from pregnancy, not just weight gain. I was pretty liberal with what I ate, taking advantage of the pregnancy and enjoying the newfound flavors that were appearing in food. I don't know if this happens to everyone, but when I'm pregnant, food tastes amazing. An ordinary turkey sandwich turns into the most delicious turkey sandwich I've ever had, a chocolate chip cookie can practically cause orgasms, and even a salad tastes delectable.

This liberal attitude meant that as the end of my pregnancy approached, I'd gained considerably more weight than I'd hoped to gain. It wasn't atrocious, but I ended up gaining around 40 pounds. I say "around", because they didn't weigh me at my last appointment when I ended up being induced, but based on where things were headed at my 40 week appointment, I'm sure I hit at least 40 pounds and I choose not to even think about how much I may have gained in those last few days. I still (stupidly) wasn't super worried about the weight gain because up until that point I hadn't struggled with my weight. I fluctuated a bit over the years from college to law school and through marriage and job changes and moves, but we're talking about a change of about 5-10 pounds, nothing that would have made me think that losing the pregnancy weight would be a challenge. My mom always talks about how she lost all her pregnancy weight within 2 months of giving birth, and I was optimistic that I'd have a similar experience.

I was, umm, very wrong. From the start, losing the weight from Gabe's pregnancy was difficult. I dropped the typical water weight, placenta, amniotic fluid, and actual baby weight within a couple of weeks, but I was left with 15-20 pounds that were firmly settled into my hips, thighs, and stomach. Breastfeeding did NOT help, and in fact, in the end it turned out that my body held onto a good 5-7 pounds until I finished breastfeeding, no matter what I did. Losing the weight did happen, but not until Gabe was 15 months old. I stopped breastfeeding when he was a year old, watched what I ate (to a certain extent), started taking longish exercise walks with Gabe, and willed the weight away. I had gotten to the point where I started to think that perhaps the weight would never go away, when I stopped breastfeeding and slowly the last pounds started coming off.

Still, even when I hit my pre-pregnancy weight, I didn't fit into my pre-pregnancy clothes. I suspect my body has reorganized itself into a different shape, but as long as the number on the scale was the same, I could deal with the new changes. I bought almost a whole new wardrobe of pants and shirts, and I was relatively satisfied with where I was.

And then I got pregnant.

Literally, the same month that I hit my pre-pregnancy weight, that second line showed up on the test. I couldn't believe it. Having just lost the last few pounds of weight, being pregnant again was a totally different experience. I was anxious and careful about the weight gain this time around. I was almost relieved, in a way, that my nausea kept me from over-eating. I felt sick far, far longer than I had with Gabe, and although it was torturous to be debilitatingly nauseous at 20 weeks, I was grateful when I stepped on the scale each week at the doctor's office and found that the numbers had stayed the same.

At the same time, though, I felt so guilty to be obsessing over such an inane thing. Who cared about the weight gain when I was so blessed? How could I be thinking about a stupid number when I was growing a beautiful baby? But I couldn't help myself. I was terrified of facing the same long struggle with pregnancy weight, and I pledged to try to gain less this time around. I'd be more careful, do a little more exercise, eat a few less cookies. As I'm writing this I feel like this makes it sound like I was seriously restricting my food intake or agonizing over this, which couldn't be farther from the truth. It wasn't like I was going to the gym or taking extreme measures with my diet, but it was often on my mind.

In the end, I was able to gain less than my last pregnancy, and Josie was kind enough to come a few days early, which helped. I topped off at 30 pounds, and I was really happy with that number. I would have loved to keep it at 25, but I also didn't want to put down the cookies, so I guess I didn't want it that bad.

Thankfully, the post-partum experience has been totally different also. With a toddler and a newborn, I don't have the time to sit on the couch and eat all day. I'm also up and down playing with Gabe and picking up the house and bouncing Josie around. The weather has been abysmal here, so we've done NO walking whatsoever, but still the number keeps dropping on the scale. On Saturday, I almost cried when I was able to fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans after less than 8 weeks. That is ridiculous! Gabe was a year old before any of my pre-pregnancy clothes could even be attempted. I still have a ways to go, though, and I suspect I might still hold onto these last 6 pounds, just as I did with Gabe, but I'm relieved that I haven't struggled the same way.

At the same time, even as I'm typing this post, and while I was watching my weight over the last 11 months, I feel almost sick that this is worthy of a blog post. Why are we (or at least me) so obsessed with weight? Who cares? We attended a birthday party on Saturday, and I was struck by how thin all of the mothers were. Not just regular thin, but almost anorexic thin, TOO thin. Even the ones that were pregnant were all skinny legs and arms with a belly protruding from fitted clothes. I got an email the other day with pregnancy tips and their advice was that I do a MINIMUM of five days of cardio per week while I'm pregnant. I'm sorry, I am all about staying fit and keeping things healthy and under control when you're pregnant (and I saw the results of eating liberally last time), but I also think that maybe we are going overboard.

Not only do I have an Ivy league education, try to be a good partner for Josh, raise two kids, keep the house in decent shape, be interesting, fun, kind, but I also have to look hot doing it. It's crazy!

Still, I know it is nuts and unfair and unnecessary, but I will still be relieved when those last pounds are gone. Vain, huh?

file this under "DUH"

Seriously, I could start loaning my kids out as a diet plan. I lost two more pounds in the last few days. Probably a combination of not being able to eat much and running all over the place helping everyone else. Plus the lunges I do to get her to sleep. But really, it's a plan. It could be a win-win for everyone. You lose the weight, I don't have to hire a babysitter!

Over the weekend, Josie caught the cold from her brother (of course), and on Monday morning, we discovered that she has broken the record for youngest baby with an ear infection. She clocked in at 7 weeks and one day with a massive infection in one ear. The fun never ends around here! So these days I am dispensing baby Zantac, amoxicillin, and baby Tylenol two times a day. Considering that her brother had nothing but breast milk for the first six months of his life, this is definitely a change for us and I try not to feel guilty for what it might be doing to her poor little stomach.

I have to admit, when the pediatrician proclaimed her ear terribly inflamed, I was pretty surprised. Josh and I agreed that Josie seemed happier over the weekend, and she has graduated to cooing and smiling, and doing what really sounds like actual laughs. If you bend down and tickle her chin or cheeks, she'll make these little "heh, heh, heh" sounds. It is totally stinking adorable. It may not be actual laughs, but they sure do sound like it. So when the pediatrician kept asking if she was being extra fussy, I really didn't think so. But whoooo boy, on Monday night she proved us wrong. She screamed nonstop from 9pm until 1:40pm, and although she would collapse from exhaustion every so often, as soon as I put her down the screaming would start up again.

Neither one of my kids has ever consented to be swaddled, and since we came home Josie hasn't been swaddled for longer than 30 seconds. We've tried a few times and have been met with such screams, we've pretty much given up. As we were approaching the wee hours of the morning, though, I got desperate. I pulled out the swaddling blanket, wrapped her up, and boom. She was out like a light. AND SLEPT FOR 6 HOURS STRAIGHT. That was the longest stretch we'd ever had. On Tuesday night, she screamed for a bit, and I took a chance. Again, swaddled and boom. Out. And then, I'm afraid to even type this, she slept for 8 hours and 20 minutes. Eight. Hours. Of course, I slept for less than that because my boobs almost exploded during that time, but still. I would make love to the swaddle blanket if I could. I'm obsessed with it.

Last night, we had one wakeup after 2 hours of sleep, and then she slept 6 and a half hours again. This is seriously approaching a record, and I'm considering leaving her in the swaddle blanket 24 hours a day. I am also kicking myself because I guess I could have been getting this much sleep all along, if I'd only stuck with the blanket instead of giving up right away, but I'll take this and count my lucky stars.

At this moment, she is swaddled and asleep and I am treasuring the peace and quiet. Ahhh. Can you hear that? That, my friends, is the sound of two sleeping children. Isn't it beautiful?