As I may or may not have mentioned before, I have to travel for work the first week of , this month. While exciting to some degree, it also comes fraught with a bag of mixed emotions and challenges. Since I’m only going to have bits and pieces of time, this will end up being an entry that covers several days. If anything, I’ll have this as what I hope is an example of my worries being nothing but that-worries
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The first stop on the fun train was getting both Son and BabyA packed up for a full week at Grandpa and Grandma’s. My mother, in an uncharacteristic show of charity (or motivated by fear for her grandchildren) volunteered to take them both while I’m gone. Husband’s work can be erratic-the joys of being in a 24/7/365 industry-so there were concerns about how he was going to juggle getting kids to work and handling any emergencies that would come up. I wish that we could say that it doesn’t happen often, and at this property it hasn’t been as frequent as at others, but it still does happen. An employee that doesn’t show up for an overnight shift, the water isn’t working, the boiler is broken. You name it, it has happened.
Anyway, it just wasn’t going to be the most practical solution. Husband loves his kids, no question, but he is a little, er, challenged in the juggling multiple screaming children with widely different needs. He can handle Son for the most part, although the whole being two thing can be a true test. He hasn’t done much in the way of care for BabyA. Partially because she intimidates him a little, and partially because when we have to divide and conquer, the one who is the food source defaults to the consumer.
Since BabyA isn’t even five months yet, I’m in no position to start solids with her, and I have no desire to wean her yet. So, that entailed me freezing almost, get this, two and half gallons of breastmilk for this week. All in uniform, glorified ziplock bags. Despite the rather impressive (at least to me) number, BabyA will probably still need at least a little formula along the way. I started giving her one feeding a day last week, and while she didn’t eat all of it, she didn’t have any adverse reaction, so I think that we’re safe.
My parent live a good 175 miles away from us, so this weekend was a blur of driving, unpacking, last minute instructions, and me almost flipping out in the car as we were leaving. Mom wouldn’t come down to Suburbia, since she’s terrified of driving in the metro, and I don’t think that either she or Husband would survive together for that long. They barely tolerate each other as it is. Once we got back on Sunday night, it was a mad dash to the mall to pick up some last minute things, watch the best part of the Super Bowl (with a beer!), pack, do a last load of laundry or two.
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We managed to get out the door and to the airport at a semi-decent hour this morning, and I was at the gate well in advance. I have only missed one flight before, and that was due to mechanical failure-the car that we were driving overheated somewhere before the Eisenhower Tunnel on our way to Denver. Just a s note, if you are ever late to the Denver airport, just re-book the flight. It’s a nightmare.
I also managed to get my pump through security without a whole lot of hassle, which I was very grateful for. I’ve only flown twice since Son was born, and both times there was no need for a pump. I was actively weaning the first time, and the manual pump that I have was fine. The second time, I was very newly pregnant with BabyA, and it wasn’t even an issue. I did get a separate x-ray and swab, but it was handled very well by the TSA. I had been envisioning getting some creep who, not knowing what it was (or knowing darn well), would demand that I show how it worked. Again, my rather creative fear manufacturing at work. Hurdle #1 over-I almost skipped to the gate.
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I also got to add to the list of interesting places where I have pumped. Let’s see, there was the bathroom at my CLE course (to their credit, when they had built the bathroom, they put an outlet and shelf in the handicapped stall, but still), the empty conference room where I had a retired judge walk in on me (which took some effort, I had propped a large chair against the door that couldn’t be locked), and a vacant jury deliberation room at the courthouse during jury duty. I can now add the bathroom of the MSP to San Jose flight. So, somewhere over South Dakota, I asked the flight attendants if it would be OK to tie up the bathroom for 10-15 minutes, and they were OK with that. I had been watching to see if there was a high volume of use, and I was pretty sure that I timed it right.
I went and did my thing, even though the plug-in didn’t work (grrr). Thank God the two year old batteries in the battery pack still worked. Due to the noise of the plane, no one could really hear it. If I hadn’t been, um, attached, I don’t think that I would have known that it was on. We did hit some turbulance while I was in there, so my overactive imagination started to worry about getting bounced around unceremoniously in the bathroom, milk everywhere! Didn't happen, but I'm sure if anyone had seen me trying to brace myself while perched on the toilet and pumping would have either laughed or been horrified.
After working so hard to freeze as much as I could, it was painful to pour almost nine ounces down the drain, but there really wasn’t any other option. Of course, when I emerged, there was a line waiting for the bathroom. I’m sure that the guys were wondering what the hell was taking me so long, and what’s with that enormous purse?
In the end , it wasn’t that big of a deal. The other nursing mom in our group elected not to attend the meeting, since she was sure that she couldn’t make it through the entire flight from the mideastern U.S. to the west coast. I have to admit that it irked me more than a little. It is one thing to ask for some accommodations (a break in the schedule, which I got in the mornings but not in the afternoons), etc. But to miss the entire trip? Not so sure. It’s that tightrope that we have to walk; do you want to do anything that makes you appear to be less because you are a woman, or force the powers that be to recognize that their entire group is not made up of middle aged men? I haven’t been able to find a good answer. It’s sort of like trying to deal with the later parts of pregnancy. In order to take care of yourself and your baby, you have to slow down. Your body screams it at you. However, how do you handle that in a workplace that is primarily men, without having to deal with the repercussions of the thoughts that you aren’t “pulling your weight.”? I guess that it bothers me that Colleague said to me that there was no way that she would pump in an airplane bathroom. I guess that I just looked at it as doing what had to be done. It’s not like the milk would be consumed anyway. Pump, dump, and be done.. Its crappy that we have to make those kinds of choices, and I don’t want to be here, but it is what I have to do. My family depends on me for the bulk of our income. There is a good chance that I will be in a position to move up a position or two in the next couple of months. I have to do this, not just for me, but for them too. Oh, and the glass of wine with dinner may help, just a little.
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It’s been a interesting few days. Solid, networking, even something close to pleasant. Really. In the end, the event organizer managed to get me a room that is literally 30 yards from the meeting room, so running back to pump during breaks has been easy. Yes, I was worried about how I was going to do this, but so far it hasn’t been more of an issue than it has been at home. I just hope that BabyA decides that I’m still OK instead of a bottle. I've missed our nightly bedtime rendezvous-I miss her, period. I talked to Son this morning, and if I wasn't so sure that I was going to be too tired to do it, I would almost consider landing at home on Thursday night and getting in the car and driving up to the two of them that night. Sanity will prevail of course, but I can't wait to hold them both again.
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Well, I’ve just ordered room service, since dinner was far from satisfying. The food was good, but since it’s Ash Wednesday, and I’m Catholic, well, it didn’t go too far. I’m still avoiding meat, but I thought that since I’m near the water, the crab should be OK. Certainly will be fresher than what I can get in the middle of the freaking continent.
OK, not so sure that it was worth $15.95, but very yummy none-the-less. Other things are afoot, and I really need to hash them out, but that should go in a different entry.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
sniffle, snork, honk
Home today sick. I feel a little silly, since I feel a ton better today than yesterday, but I needed the day to just take it easy, and get a little work done, believe it or not. Since no one can call, walk into my office, or otherwise interrupt, I actually can manage to get some work done.
Yesterday was awful. I woke up feeling fairly crappy, not helped by an extremely whacked out night with Son. Just as an aside, he went down for what I thought would be a brief nap at around 3:00 on Saturday afternoon. He slept until 11pm, got up for a new diaper and to get changed into his Pjs, and slept until 1am. He woke up then, and Husband was convinced that if Son came into bed with us, he would sleep. To quote Paul Sr., "delusional." After coughing and sniffling and blowing my nose since I had become vertical when I got up to bring Son into our room, and getting kicked in the back one too many times by Son, I lost it and started to get up with him. I was ticked at Husband for trying to ignore the squirming 35 pounds in our bed, especially when he knew that I felt lousy. Especially since I let him sleep in on Saturday morning until almost 10am.
To give him about 1/32 of a brownie point, that was enough to get him up. Son hadn't had dinner, so I'm assuming that Husband fed him, and that's about where I lose consciousness. I woke up again around 5am, to find Husband and Son not there. Husband went in to work to pull some reports, and took our DVD player with to keep Son amused. They got home around 6:00, and both went back to bed. Of course, BabyA was up at 6:55. Ugh.
I only got progressively worse. In order to allow Son and Husband to sleep without cranky BabyA, the two of us headed out to Target to pick up a bunch of things for their stay with Grandpa and Grandma next week. I started out with a pocket full of tissues. In the end, I had to rip into the travel pack of tissues that I had picked up while I shopped. It was either that, or look like a toddler. I voted to keep at least a little dignity, even though I was on day three without a shower. (I did manage wash my face, and the clothes were clean, but ewwww.) BabyA was great-she talked and played with her bug, and was in general just charming.
By the time that we got back from going to a car show where Son could get his picture taken with a life-size Lightening McQueen (oh the joy! Son was beside himself, and that made the trip worth it in and of itself) my eyes were watering, I wouldn't go anywhere without having a box of tissues with me, and all I wanted to do was curl up in bed and whine. Funny thing is, that option appears to have disappeared the moment that "mom" was added to my biography. We did manage to get both of the rugrats down early, and to bed earlyish ourselves. Amazing what seven hours of sleep can do. My secretary threatened to douse me in Lysol if I came in today, so here I sit. Back to work!
Yesterday was awful. I woke up feeling fairly crappy, not helped by an extremely whacked out night with Son. Just as an aside, he went down for what I thought would be a brief nap at around 3:00 on Saturday afternoon. He slept until 11pm, got up for a new diaper and to get changed into his Pjs, and slept until 1am. He woke up then, and Husband was convinced that if Son came into bed with us, he would sleep. To quote Paul Sr., "delusional." After coughing and sniffling and blowing my nose since I had become vertical when I got up to bring Son into our room, and getting kicked in the back one too many times by Son, I lost it and started to get up with him. I was ticked at Husband for trying to ignore the squirming 35 pounds in our bed, especially when he knew that I felt lousy. Especially since I let him sleep in on Saturday morning until almost 10am.
To give him about 1/32 of a brownie point, that was enough to get him up. Son hadn't had dinner, so I'm assuming that Husband fed him, and that's about where I lose consciousness. I woke up again around 5am, to find Husband and Son not there. Husband went in to work to pull some reports, and took our DVD player with to keep Son amused. They got home around 6:00, and both went back to bed. Of course, BabyA was up at 6:55. Ugh.
I only got progressively worse. In order to allow Son and Husband to sleep without cranky BabyA, the two of us headed out to Target to pick up a bunch of things for their stay with Grandpa and Grandma next week. I started out with a pocket full of tissues. In the end, I had to rip into the travel pack of tissues that I had picked up while I shopped. It was either that, or look like a toddler. I voted to keep at least a little dignity, even though I was on day three without a shower. (I did manage wash my face, and the clothes were clean, but ewwww.) BabyA was great-she talked and played with her bug, and was in general just charming.
By the time that we got back from going to a car show where Son could get his picture taken with a life-size Lightening McQueen (oh the joy! Son was beside himself, and that made the trip worth it in and of itself) my eyes were watering, I wouldn't go anywhere without having a box of tissues with me, and all I wanted to do was curl up in bed and whine. Funny thing is, that option appears to have disappeared the moment that "mom" was added to my biography. We did manage to get both of the rugrats down early, and to bed earlyish ourselves. Amazing what seven hours of sleep can do. My secretary threatened to douse me in Lysol if I came in today, so here I sit. Back to work!
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Need to remember
Tonight was one of those nights with BabyA that makes me not want her to grow up and stop being the sweet, precious baby that she is.
She started rubbing her eyes (a new one for her, but when accompanied by a yawn, pretty darn conclusive of a sleepy baby) around 7:30. I finished up Son's bath since Husband was in the doghouse with him, turned over the dressing duties to Husband (by then the transgression had been forgiven by Son), and headed downstairs after retrieving the backup binky from her swing.
Getting her ready for bed can be a lot of fun. Just time for hte two of us. I undress her, change her diaper, put on her lotion (she struggles with some dry skin issues), and get her dressed. While we are doing this, she is talking to me, plays with her toes, and will grab on to my hand and insist that she gnaw on it for while. I'll take that for now, since her teeth on very much on their way. Anyway, she was in a great mode. Very smiley and just charming.
I fed the hungry little vampire, but she wasn't horribly settled. She would wiggle around, unlatch, look up at me with that little half grin, latch back on, and repeat. By the time that she is done with both sides and burped, it is clear that someone isn't even remotely sleepy.
Husband came in for a wardrobe consult (poor guy is color blind, and things can get a bit, well, interesting), and while it wasn't the most clear thing, it looked like she reached for him. This made Husband glow, since he has been convinced that she doesn't like him. He held her, and all sorts of smiles. She has mirrored closet doors, and while she isn't sure who that baby is in the mirror, she sure thought that the one that she saw was awful entertaining. She was still very awake.
Husband went upstairs to bed, and BabyA and I settled into the loveseat in her room to watch Iron Chef and just snuggle. I had the lights dimmed down, and BabyA on my lap sideways. She can sit by herself pretty well when supported, but she nearly immediately leaned over to the side and snuggled her head under my chin. it was a little cold in her room, so I wrapped a blanket around her. She started to make her content noises. I found myself stroking the fuzz on her head that is sprouting up now that she's losing her newborn hair. I realized that for that moment at least, I was happy, and so lucky to have the two beautiful kids that I do. I thought about the mom who hasn't been able to touch her son yet due to a freak accident in the nursery a couple of days ago.* I said a prayer for little Maverick, and said a very heartfelt thank you for BabyA and Son. I wrapped my arms around her, and she just snuggled in closer, her breathing evening out, and only occasionally punctuated by a repositioning of her binky. Later on I layed her down, fairly awake, and I haven't heard a peep since then.
I suppose that this doesn't seem too earth-shattering, but it was such a wonderful feeling to have my healthy, beautiful baby girl on my lap, snuggled in, happy to be with me. For just those few moments, everything felt settled, good. Those moments are very hard to come by some days. I'm so thankful that she decided to share that one with me.
*If you haven't seen this story, go to www.startribune.com. Basically, a newborn, 12 hours old, was in a warmer in the hospital nursury with an oxygen hood. For a reason not yet known, the hood ignited and the baby was burned, with second and third degree burns over roughly 20% of his body. Fortunatley, a nurse was nearby, and was able to extinguish the fire very quickly. He's in critical, yet stable condition at the state's best burn unit. He is the youngest patient they have treated-he was 14 hours old when he was airlifted from the hospital where he was born by c-section to the burn unit. For some reason, I can't get this get little boy out of my head.
She started rubbing her eyes (a new one for her, but when accompanied by a yawn, pretty darn conclusive of a sleepy baby) around 7:30. I finished up Son's bath since Husband was in the doghouse with him, turned over the dressing duties to Husband (by then the transgression had been forgiven by Son), and headed downstairs after retrieving the backup binky from her swing.
Getting her ready for bed can be a lot of fun. Just time for hte two of us. I undress her, change her diaper, put on her lotion (she struggles with some dry skin issues), and get her dressed. While we are doing this, she is talking to me, plays with her toes, and will grab on to my hand and insist that she gnaw on it for while. I'll take that for now, since her teeth on very much on their way. Anyway, she was in a great mode. Very smiley and just charming.
I fed the hungry little vampire, but she wasn't horribly settled. She would wiggle around, unlatch, look up at me with that little half grin, latch back on, and repeat. By the time that she is done with both sides and burped, it is clear that someone isn't even remotely sleepy.
Husband came in for a wardrobe consult (poor guy is color blind, and things can get a bit, well, interesting), and while it wasn't the most clear thing, it looked like she reached for him. This made Husband glow, since he has been convinced that she doesn't like him. He held her, and all sorts of smiles. She has mirrored closet doors, and while she isn't sure who that baby is in the mirror, she sure thought that the one that she saw was awful entertaining. She was still very awake.
Husband went upstairs to bed, and BabyA and I settled into the loveseat in her room to watch Iron Chef and just snuggle. I had the lights dimmed down, and BabyA on my lap sideways. She can sit by herself pretty well when supported, but she nearly immediately leaned over to the side and snuggled her head under my chin. it was a little cold in her room, so I wrapped a blanket around her. She started to make her content noises. I found myself stroking the fuzz on her head that is sprouting up now that she's losing her newborn hair. I realized that for that moment at least, I was happy, and so lucky to have the two beautiful kids that I do. I thought about the mom who hasn't been able to touch her son yet due to a freak accident in the nursery a couple of days ago.* I said a prayer for little Maverick, and said a very heartfelt thank you for BabyA and Son. I wrapped my arms around her, and she just snuggled in closer, her breathing evening out, and only occasionally punctuated by a repositioning of her binky. Later on I layed her down, fairly awake, and I haven't heard a peep since then.
I suppose that this doesn't seem too earth-shattering, but it was such a wonderful feeling to have my healthy, beautiful baby girl on my lap, snuggled in, happy to be with me. For just those few moments, everything felt settled, good. Those moments are very hard to come by some days. I'm so thankful that she decided to share that one with me.
*If you haven't seen this story, go to www.startribune.com. Basically, a newborn, 12 hours old, was in a warmer in the hospital nursury with an oxygen hood. For a reason not yet known, the hood ignited and the baby was burned, with second and third degree burns over roughly 20% of his body. Fortunatley, a nurse was nearby, and was able to extinguish the fire very quickly. He's in critical, yet stable condition at the state's best burn unit. He is the youngest patient they have treated-he was 14 hours old when he was airlifted from the hospital where he was born by c-section to the burn unit. For some reason, I can't get this get little boy out of my head.
Scattered tidbits....
Lots of little things....
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I was wrong about BabyA's length-she was actually 261/2 inches long. I can't believe that she's grown almost five inches in four months. No wonder I felt like I could see her growing before my eyes. She's almost too long for her 3-6 month sleepers at this point. Pants don't fit in the waist since they are too big, but they are almost too short! The thing is, she is so proportional that you don't really notice how big she is. It struck me while I was feeding her a couple of nights ago that she now stretches completely across my lap (let's not get into the diameter of my lap, but still) and the Boppy.
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Son has yet another sinus-caused ear infection. Poor kid. Yesterday I got a call from daycare saying that he was at the point of tears during snack time since he said that his ear and throat hurt. Of course, I got worried about strep, since he's due for his annual bout, and went and picked him up early. We ended up at urgent care, which turned into an emergency room visit (the local hospital's urgent care didn't open until 6pm, and they run it through their emergency room anyway). Diagnosis: a definite ear infection, but that his throat looked worse than the ear. Since the ear was bad, there was no need to do a strep swab since any antibiotic for the ear would knock out the throat problem. Good thing, since trying to get Son's mouth open for a strep swab is nearly impossible. Treatment: an antibiotic that I've never heard of before, but at least it's only once a day. He was pretty chipper this morning, so he seems to be feeling better. He had mentioned something about his ear bugging him a couple of days ago, but I chalked it up to toddler hypochondria. Hand the dumb mommy award this way please.
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Did I mention that I've felt pretty crappy for the past couple of weeks too? I have a hunch that Son and I have been trading this for a while. I just can't seem to shake this. It would help if I could have a day or so to catch up on some sleep, but we all know that WON'T be happening anytime soon.
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It was -14 this morning on my way to work. At 9AM. It's been like this for most of January. Yes, I know that I live in Minnesota, but geez. You know its bad when the news keeps repeating things about the extremely short time period that flesh can be exposed before IT FREEZES in a literal sense. Husband doesn't have the really cold weather (up to -35) washer fluid in the caddie, so it is all frozen up in the line and you can't wash the windshield. Sort of a problem when there is enough salt on the roads that they are no longer even remotely asphalt-looking, and its nothing but a slushy mess. I had to pull into an auto parts store parking lot to wash off the windshield so I could see, which lasted a whole quarter of a mile, tops. Funny thing was that it never occurred to me to go in and buy the right washer fluid. We are way beyond the capacities of the blue stuff-bring on the purple. I was very happy to have my Jeep back this morning.
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I have to travel for work for the whole first week of February, which leaves BabyA a week short of being five months old. Which sucks. I missed our all hands meeting in October due to being on on leave, so I'm pretty much obligated to go to this one. We're going to be at a resort on Monterrey Bay, so I can't complain too much. Regardless, I've been going along freezing milk as much as I can to try to have enough to not have to supplement while I'm gone. I've been a bit afraid to do an inventory, since I was pretty sure that I wasn't going to have enough. As of Sunday, I had 120 oz frozen. Problem is, at BabyA's current rate, that's only about 3 days worth, and I'll be gone for right around 5 days total. I am not happy about this. We know that she has a problem with dairy proteins (her eczema only flares when I've eaten relatively unprocessed dairy like milk on my cereal-cheese on pizza, for example, doesn't seem to be a problem). I've now got to try to find a soy based formula that she will tolerate and hopefully not react to. I've got to get on that soon, since I don't want to leave my Mom with a cranky baby away from her pediatrician. I'm just disappointed that I wasn't able to have enough. I'm also worried that not physically nursing for almost a week is going to pose a problem. During the work week, we only nurse once, maybe twice a day, but that is our snuggle time, and I really don't want to lose that. I just hope that we don't hit any significant issues because of this.
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I managed to not get my happy pills refilled for about four days last week. Since I'm on such a low dose, I had wondered whether I really needed them or not. After four days without, the answer is a giant yes, I do. Feeling much better after my trip to the pharmacy. Even with my return to my chemically-induced "normalcy," I'm thinking that I still may need to up the dose. I'm on the lowest one as it is, but I wonder if it is subtherapuetic.
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OK, I've managed to waste most of my morning on this. Time to get some work done.
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I was wrong about BabyA's length-she was actually 261/2 inches long. I can't believe that she's grown almost five inches in four months. No wonder I felt like I could see her growing before my eyes. She's almost too long for her 3-6 month sleepers at this point. Pants don't fit in the waist since they are too big, but they are almost too short! The thing is, she is so proportional that you don't really notice how big she is. It struck me while I was feeding her a couple of nights ago that she now stretches completely across my lap (let's not get into the diameter of my lap, but still) and the Boppy.
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Son has yet another sinus-caused ear infection. Poor kid. Yesterday I got a call from daycare saying that he was at the point of tears during snack time since he said that his ear and throat hurt. Of course, I got worried about strep, since he's due for his annual bout, and went and picked him up early. We ended up at urgent care, which turned into an emergency room visit (the local hospital's urgent care didn't open until 6pm, and they run it through their emergency room anyway). Diagnosis: a definite ear infection, but that his throat looked worse than the ear. Since the ear was bad, there was no need to do a strep swab since any antibiotic for the ear would knock out the throat problem. Good thing, since trying to get Son's mouth open for a strep swab is nearly impossible. Treatment: an antibiotic that I've never heard of before, but at least it's only once a day. He was pretty chipper this morning, so he seems to be feeling better. He had mentioned something about his ear bugging him a couple of days ago, but I chalked it up to toddler hypochondria. Hand the dumb mommy award this way please.
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Did I mention that I've felt pretty crappy for the past couple of weeks too? I have a hunch that Son and I have been trading this for a while. I just can't seem to shake this. It would help if I could have a day or so to catch up on some sleep, but we all know that WON'T be happening anytime soon.
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It was -14 this morning on my way to work. At 9AM. It's been like this for most of January. Yes, I know that I live in Minnesota, but geez. You know its bad when the news keeps repeating things about the extremely short time period that flesh can be exposed before IT FREEZES in a literal sense. Husband doesn't have the really cold weather (up to -35) washer fluid in the caddie, so it is all frozen up in the line and you can't wash the windshield. Sort of a problem when there is enough salt on the roads that they are no longer even remotely asphalt-looking, and its nothing but a slushy mess. I had to pull into an auto parts store parking lot to wash off the windshield so I could see, which lasted a whole quarter of a mile, tops. Funny thing was that it never occurred to me to go in and buy the right washer fluid. We are way beyond the capacities of the blue stuff-bring on the purple. I was very happy to have my Jeep back this morning.
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I have to travel for work for the whole first week of February, which leaves BabyA a week short of being five months old. Which sucks. I missed our all hands meeting in October due to being on on leave, so I'm pretty much obligated to go to this one. We're going to be at a resort on Monterrey Bay, so I can't complain too much. Regardless, I've been going along freezing milk as much as I can to try to have enough to not have to supplement while I'm gone. I've been a bit afraid to do an inventory, since I was pretty sure that I wasn't going to have enough. As of Sunday, I had 120 oz frozen. Problem is, at BabyA's current rate, that's only about 3 days worth, and I'll be gone for right around 5 days total. I am not happy about this. We know that she has a problem with dairy proteins (her eczema only flares when I've eaten relatively unprocessed dairy like milk on my cereal-cheese on pizza, for example, doesn't seem to be a problem). I've now got to try to find a soy based formula that she will tolerate and hopefully not react to. I've got to get on that soon, since I don't want to leave my Mom with a cranky baby away from her pediatrician. I'm just disappointed that I wasn't able to have enough. I'm also worried that not physically nursing for almost a week is going to pose a problem. During the work week, we only nurse once, maybe twice a day, but that is our snuggle time, and I really don't want to lose that. I just hope that we don't hit any significant issues because of this.
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I managed to not get my happy pills refilled for about four days last week. Since I'm on such a low dose, I had wondered whether I really needed them or not. After four days without, the answer is a giant yes, I do. Feeling much better after my trip to the pharmacy. Even with my return to my chemically-induced "normalcy," I'm thinking that I still may need to up the dose. I'm on the lowest one as it is, but I wonder if it is subtherapuetic.
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OK, I've managed to waste most of my morning on this. Time to get some work done.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
4 Month Appointment
BabyA had her four-month appointment (a week late, but oh well) and all is well.
She was 24 1/2 inches long (99th percentile) and 13lbs, 10oz (66th). I was only partially kidding when I said that I married Husband for his genetics. So far, I have two kids that are above the 95th for height-but then again, I was in the gigantor category up until I was 13, and then, well, things ground to a startlingly quick halt. All 5'2" of me is hoping and praying that BabyA leans towards Husband in that regard.
She had four big, scary, shots and the second of her rotavirus doses. The shots were not at all enjoyable. She started to cry prior to even getting stuck, and after the first one went in, all we got was the silent, purple-faced, howl. I felt so bad for her, knowing how much they must have hurt. I can guarantee that the tylenol will be flowing pretty freely tonight for her poor little legs.
Son was with for this excursion, and contrary to everything that I thought would happen, had a grand old time, and didn't even react to her crying over the shots. He still freaks out when another kid or adult gets too close to her, but a nurse carrying a tray of needles didn't even cause an eyelash to bat. Silly kid.
There's a bunch of other things that I want/need to get down and out of my head, but after being out all last week on jury duty and being selected for a trial, I'm in the weeds trying to get out.
She was 24 1/2 inches long (99th percentile) and 13lbs, 10oz (66th). I was only partially kidding when I said that I married Husband for his genetics. So far, I have two kids that are above the 95th for height-but then again, I was in the gigantor category up until I was 13, and then, well, things ground to a startlingly quick halt. All 5'2" of me is hoping and praying that BabyA leans towards Husband in that regard.
She had four big, scary, shots and the second of her rotavirus doses. The shots were not at all enjoyable. She started to cry prior to even getting stuck, and after the first one went in, all we got was the silent, purple-faced, howl. I felt so bad for her, knowing how much they must have hurt. I can guarantee that the tylenol will be flowing pretty freely tonight for her poor little legs.
Son was with for this excursion, and contrary to everything that I thought would happen, had a grand old time, and didn't even react to her crying over the shots. He still freaks out when another kid or adult gets too close to her, but a nurse carrying a tray of needles didn't even cause an eyelash to bat. Silly kid.
There's a bunch of other things that I want/need to get down and out of my head, but after being out all last week on jury duty and being selected for a trial, I'm in the weeds trying to get out.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Could this be a trend?
This Monday morning was much, much better. NO howling, whining, yelling, or carrying on.
I've discovered which of the three PBS stations that we get on cable has Thomas & Friends on in the morning, and Son was absolutely beside himself when I told him it was on after Curious George (even though it turned out that on the HD station the programming is different). Once it finally came on, all I heard was screaming and bouncing in his chair in the living room. It kept him occupied while I dressed and fed BabyA, and just made things go a bit smoother. Get this, I was even able to satisfy his toddler mind by telling him that I was recording it AND Bob the Builder, so he could watch it if he had a good day when we got home tonight. All sorts of smiles, and a cooperative exit out to the truck.
I even managed to program the DVR to record the whole series for both of them, so at least I'll have some available as a treat or reward for good potty behavior. Way cheaper than a DVD, and since we are more than a little thin in the money department, this is a very good thing.
He even used the potty successfully this morning. And slept through the night without even a wiggle, which wasn't the case the night before. He was also in bed by 7:00-that NEVER happens-so he was actually well rested. I even got a lunch made last night, and it made it to work with me!
Oh, and the last hooray moment? I was three pounds lighter that I was last week! Who cares if it was on two different scales and my scientific self is beating on my wall of denial to scream something about baselines. Regardless, if I keep my act together for the next three weeks, I may be able to go and use my gift cards for some new duds before my trip out to California in February. Hooray!
I've discovered which of the three PBS stations that we get on cable has Thomas & Friends on in the morning, and Son was absolutely beside himself when I told him it was on after Curious George (even though it turned out that on the HD station the programming is different). Once it finally came on, all I heard was screaming and bouncing in his chair in the living room. It kept him occupied while I dressed and fed BabyA, and just made things go a bit smoother. Get this, I was even able to satisfy his toddler mind by telling him that I was recording it AND Bob the Builder, so he could watch it if he had a good day when we got home tonight. All sorts of smiles, and a cooperative exit out to the truck.
I even managed to program the DVR to record the whole series for both of them, so at least I'll have some available as a treat or reward for good potty behavior. Way cheaper than a DVD, and since we are more than a little thin in the money department, this is a very good thing.
He even used the potty successfully this morning. And slept through the night without even a wiggle, which wasn't the case the night before. He was also in bed by 7:00-that NEVER happens-so he was actually well rested. I even got a lunch made last night, and it made it to work with me!
Oh, and the last hooray moment? I was three pounds lighter that I was last week! Who cares if it was on two different scales and my scientific self is beating on my wall of denial to scream something about baselines. Regardless, if I keep my act together for the next three weeks, I may be able to go and use my gift cards for some new duds before my trip out to California in February. Hooray!
Friday, January 11, 2008
Oh, it just gets better
To complete my tale of woe from Monday, to say that Son has had a rough couple of weeks is an understatement.
When I dropped him off on Monday, I was told that there was an incident report for me to sign. Sick as it was, I was praying that it was that Son had been the victim. Easier to deal with a child who is the victim, right? Nope, Son and his archenemy got into it again, and Son bit him. Fabulous. Considering that archenemy left a great dental imprint on him a couple of weeks ago, it didn't surprise me much. Not that I like it, but those two have been butting heads for a while now (Archenemy is near Son's age and is just about his size, so the two are at least compatible, right?).
Yesterday (Thursday) I walked in to find a sunny Son playing in the large muscle room, and I let out the exhale and thought that he had had a good day. Far from it.
I had let him bring two of his matchbox cars that day. He kept them in his pocket, and things were OK. Well, not so much. Apparently, one of the younger kids wanted to look at the car, and out of the blue, Son just whacked him over the head with said car. To the tune of bleeding, and a trip to the ER for liquid stitches. I almost cried right then and there. Where is my sweet little boy? The same boy who had, just the night before, consoled a cranky pre-toddler who had been wailing away in BabyA's room while BabyA had been changed. The same kid who went and found a toy and offered it to her, and stood next to the exersaucer she was parked in to make sure that she was OK?
Son has been a holy terror lately, and I'm afraid that he has inherited the innate tendencies towards having a temper like Husband and I both do. I don't want him to feel that he can't show anger-that's just begging for other issues to pop up, but we really need to find a way to help him control it. I talked to the lead teacher of Son's group this morning, to see if this is an escalating trend, or if it was an off day, or what. She said that he hadn't eaten that day (strange), took a really long nap (very strange), and just was off. He had a timeout for running when he was told not to (pretty much the same routine that he pulled at BabyA's baptism, a tale that will scare anyone from having more than one child). She's pretty convinced that he's just going through a tough phase right now. I shared with her that he had woke up screaming last night after a nightmare, and that it had taken over an hour to get him calmed back down. He woke up pretty chipper this morning, but said that he didn't want to go to school, that he wanted to go see Daddy at work. We had yet another dropoff where he had to be peeled off of me. It hurts my heart to see him in pain, and really torpedoes my day. By the time I left, he had calmed down (I can see into his room from BabyA's infant room) and seemed to be doing OK. It's a good thing that its Friday.
I don't know how to handle this. On the one hand, it could be a phase, and he is struggling, like most toddlers do, with the concepts of sharing, and he is pushing every limit that he can find. Normal, yet infuriating, two year-old behavior. On the other hand, is he on his way to being one of those aggressive kids that other people blog about hurting their kids? If I were his victim's mom, I would want Son's head on a platter, regardless of any base understanding of toddler behavior-he hurt my kid.
I don't want to make the punishment go overboard, and last night there were no cars to play with, just dinner (ate like a bird again-1/4 of an apple and some milk), bath, and bed. The bath was horrible, screaming and uncontrollable sobbing. I ended up taking over for Husband, who clearly was nearing his limits, got Son calmed down and dressed. Husband then took over (BabyA needed to go to bed too) and read him a few books and put him down.
I think that the whole thing was bothering him, as well as our reaction. I don't want to go overboard on it, because he's smart enough to sense when we are mad. He's actually said in the past that "Daddy is mad at me" and that because he was mad, "Daddy doesn't love me." We have to start operating on the understanding that he is assimilating a whole lot more now, but doesn't have all of the skills to process it. That means that Husband has to think, actually think, about what is on TV, what he says. It finally sunk in last night that Son does pick up on it, that it does make a difference. We will be making some changes, and hopefully that, with some time, will help us over this hump.
However, the nightmares are beginning to freak me out a bit. He keeps talking about a "man" in his room. He can't articulate what scares him so much. This morning he was talking about how the man scared him, and how he told him "no." No to what I don't know, and he wouldn't/couldn't say. I have a feeling that he is having a recurring nightmare, but can't tell us enough about it to clear it from his mind. I understand how vivid they can be at this age-I still remember the one that I had around his age and a little older. It actually resurfaced while I was in law school. Obviously, it made an impression on me, and I can't help but wonder if it isn't a similar thing. Last night was the first night that he hadn't slept through since before he was a year old. I'm not liking the idea of a major sleep regression here. Hopefully, if we start to stick to the routine a bit more strictly, and work more on the winding down once we get home at night, it will help.
I'm just worried about my little boy. I love that creature so much, and miss that happy face. This whole parenting thing forces you to wear your heart on your sleeve, and boy, mine is sure getting beat up.
When I dropped him off on Monday, I was told that there was an incident report for me to sign. Sick as it was, I was praying that it was that Son had been the victim. Easier to deal with a child who is the victim, right? Nope, Son and his archenemy got into it again, and Son bit him. Fabulous. Considering that archenemy left a great dental imprint on him a couple of weeks ago, it didn't surprise me much. Not that I like it, but those two have been butting heads for a while now (Archenemy is near Son's age and is just about his size, so the two are at least compatible, right?).
Yesterday (Thursday) I walked in to find a sunny Son playing in the large muscle room, and I let out the exhale and thought that he had had a good day. Far from it.
I had let him bring two of his matchbox cars that day. He kept them in his pocket, and things were OK. Well, not so much. Apparently, one of the younger kids wanted to look at the car, and out of the blue, Son just whacked him over the head with said car. To the tune of bleeding, and a trip to the ER for liquid stitches. I almost cried right then and there. Where is my sweet little boy? The same boy who had, just the night before, consoled a cranky pre-toddler who had been wailing away in BabyA's room while BabyA had been changed. The same kid who went and found a toy and offered it to her, and stood next to the exersaucer she was parked in to make sure that she was OK?
Son has been a holy terror lately, and I'm afraid that he has inherited the innate tendencies towards having a temper like Husband and I both do. I don't want him to feel that he can't show anger-that's just begging for other issues to pop up, but we really need to find a way to help him control it. I talked to the lead teacher of Son's group this morning, to see if this is an escalating trend, or if it was an off day, or what. She said that he hadn't eaten that day (strange), took a really long nap (very strange), and just was off. He had a timeout for running when he was told not to (pretty much the same routine that he pulled at BabyA's baptism, a tale that will scare anyone from having more than one child). She's pretty convinced that he's just going through a tough phase right now. I shared with her that he had woke up screaming last night after a nightmare, and that it had taken over an hour to get him calmed back down. He woke up pretty chipper this morning, but said that he didn't want to go to school, that he wanted to go see Daddy at work. We had yet another dropoff where he had to be peeled off of me. It hurts my heart to see him in pain, and really torpedoes my day. By the time I left, he had calmed down (I can see into his room from BabyA's infant room) and seemed to be doing OK. It's a good thing that its Friday.
I don't know how to handle this. On the one hand, it could be a phase, and he is struggling, like most toddlers do, with the concepts of sharing, and he is pushing every limit that he can find. Normal, yet infuriating, two year-old behavior. On the other hand, is he on his way to being one of those aggressive kids that other people blog about hurting their kids? If I were his victim's mom, I would want Son's head on a platter, regardless of any base understanding of toddler behavior-he hurt my kid.
I don't want to make the punishment go overboard, and last night there were no cars to play with, just dinner (ate like a bird again-1/4 of an apple and some milk), bath, and bed. The bath was horrible, screaming and uncontrollable sobbing. I ended up taking over for Husband, who clearly was nearing his limits, got Son calmed down and dressed. Husband then took over (BabyA needed to go to bed too) and read him a few books and put him down.
I think that the whole thing was bothering him, as well as our reaction. I don't want to go overboard on it, because he's smart enough to sense when we are mad. He's actually said in the past that "Daddy is mad at me" and that because he was mad, "Daddy doesn't love me." We have to start operating on the understanding that he is assimilating a whole lot more now, but doesn't have all of the skills to process it. That means that Husband has to think, actually think, about what is on TV, what he says. It finally sunk in last night that Son does pick up on it, that it does make a difference. We will be making some changes, and hopefully that, with some time, will help us over this hump.
However, the nightmares are beginning to freak me out a bit. He keeps talking about a "man" in his room. He can't articulate what scares him so much. This morning he was talking about how the man scared him, and how he told him "no." No to what I don't know, and he wouldn't/couldn't say. I have a feeling that he is having a recurring nightmare, but can't tell us enough about it to clear it from his mind. I understand how vivid they can be at this age-I still remember the one that I had around his age and a little older. It actually resurfaced while I was in law school. Obviously, it made an impression on me, and I can't help but wonder if it isn't a similar thing. Last night was the first night that he hadn't slept through since before he was a year old. I'm not liking the idea of a major sleep regression here. Hopefully, if we start to stick to the routine a bit more strictly, and work more on the winding down once we get home at night, it will help.
I'm just worried about my little boy. I love that creature so much, and miss that happy face. This whole parenting thing forces you to wear your heart on your sleeve, and boy, mine is sure getting beat up.
Monday, January 07, 2008
It doesn't have to be a Monday, but it sure doesn't hurt
Argh. Grump. Obscenities muttered under breath, obscenities loudly spoken when no child ears are present. Yep, another fantastic morning/weekend for me. Good grief this is getting old.
I'm hitting that wall again, the one that makes me think that I may need to up the dose on the happy pills. I'm frustrated, tired, stressed out, and just not good for much of anyone. Hell, I don't even like my own company-I can't imagine what I must be like for everyone else. BabyA is the only one that likes me right now. Just goes to show that when you are someone's sole food source (and pacifier), you have one captive audience. It also helps that she doesn't talk yet.
I'm hitting that wall again, the one that makes me think that I may need to up the dose on the happy pills. I'm frustrated, tired, stressed out, and just not good for much of anyone. Hell, I don't even like my own company-I can't imagine what I must be like for everyone else. BabyA is the only one that likes me right now. Just goes to show that when you are someone's sole food source (and pacifier), you have one captive audience. It also helps that she doesn't talk yet.
Son is embracing the terrible twos with gusto. Enough so that I have entertained thoughts of just strapping him to the luggage rack on top of the Jeep and calling it good. The morning went something like this: up waaaaay too early (note the oh-so-fashionable bags under his eyes), whine about juice, whine about breakfast bar, whine about toy that won't open as it should. All before 6:15 AM. Finally finish breakfast, drag (literally) into room to get dressed. "No, no, no, no, don't yike that shirt. Noooooooooooo!" Wrestle with child, showing more patience than I ever thought that I could have, to finally get PJs off, and real clothes on. Fight for 15 more minutes over putting on shoes. "Nooooooo! Too tight!" "No, not too tight. Brand new. These actually fit you." [Screaming] "Nooooooooo!!" [Hysterical sobbing-Son, not me]. Oh, and velcro is not your friend when a two year-old wants to remove his "too tight" shoes. Oh no.
Go down and get BabyA, who actually slept through all of this. Once this kid is asleep, nothing short of nuclear war will wake her up. She actually likes me, even as Son is upstairs banging on the gate and still pitching his fit. Get her dressed, and take her upstairs to feed her the bottle that has been pumped for her. Sit down in the chair, insert bottle, happy baby (thank God, I don't think that I could have handled another unhappy kid). Son still whining, "I want Cars. No, no, no, not in Daddy's car, here." The Cars DVD is in Daddy's car, thank you, and no, you can't watch it my little hellion. Call it parole.
At this point we're pushing 8:30. Shit. I burp BabyA, who is still happy as can be even with the chaos around her, and get her strapped into her carseat. While putting her in, I ask Son to go and get his coat, since we have to leave now. You can guess the reply. By this point, I'm desperate to just get out of the damn house, into a vehicle, and to work, and cursing Husband for not taking any part in this. My sole ambition at this point is just to get to work. I finish getting BabyA strapped in, pack up the daycare bag, and move towards the gate to go downstairs and out the front door. Son is now doing the toddler swandive onto the kitchen floor, his coat is still in the living room, and it's now 8:45. Double shit.
While I may be fostering abandonment issues, I cheerfully wave to Son as I start down the stairs. Ah, finally some movement. The coat is on, but that is it. Son doesn't believe that I'll go out the door without him, and I try to call his bluff. I go outside, put BabyA into the car, feed the dog, and go back for Son. I find him sitting on the stairs with no intent to go anywhere, especially with me. I pull everything out of my bag of parental tricks to get him moving. Nothing.
By this point, the dog is done eating, has had his morning constitutional, and is ready to go inside. BabyA is getting restless, and a look at my watch says 9:00. Good God, where did the time go, AGAIN?!? I finally had to resort to picking Son up like a sack of potatoes, and slinging him over my shoulder, screaming and kicking, closing the door behind me. Oh, and to top it off? Two neighbors are out for their morning walk to witness me giving Son the riot act.
The trip in was more of the same.
Drop-off at daycare sucked as well. BabyA was her normal cheery self. There are perks to having at least one non-speaking child.
Anyone want to trade a day with me?
Friday, December 07, 2007
We made it to Friday....
Whew, what a long week. I'm officially pooped. I'm not quite sure what I would have done if BabyA hadn't been such a good little sleeper this week. I am so looking forward to be alarmless tomorrow morning it isn't even funny. Now, if I can ignore my over-inflated mammary glands at 5:30 AM, I'll be in great shape.
I'm not sure if this is a good or bad thing, but it really didn't take much to get back in the groove again. Part of it may be that I kept in touch a bit more than I did last time. There still have been some changes, but nothing that totally threw me for a loop-well, at least not yet. The jury is still out when it comes to the management change. I sat through a staff meeting on Wednesday, and it was, in a word, painful. Not so much the content, since it was pretty normal, run of the mill stuff. It was rather that NewManager was trying really, really hard. He's not what I would call a great communicator, and it was obvious. OldManager was the exact opposite, with a pretty sharp sense of humor. Just two totally different creatures. My manager, one of his other direct reports, and another attorney didn't even bother to show up. Not cool. My theory is that even though you may not like it, it is what it is, and you still have to function within the current situation. I fear that this may get much worse before it gets better, or at least stabilizes. At this point, I've already got enough work on my plate to keep me busy and not leave much time for the drama. If I'm asked for my opinion I'll provide it as the situation calls for it. Otherwise, I've got too much to do to rock the boat too much.
On other fronts, Son seems to be liking the shift in routine. He's been getting up earlier, and now he has been napping pretty darn well at daycare, which is a relief for all of us. While I was on leave, he would be so tired that he would have bags under his eyes and be a holy terror. He also seems to understand that I'm going to work now, and not just taking BabyA and going home. It may sound silly, but he seems to have noticed that I'm wearing my work badge too, and so he knows what I'm doing. He's been really good at dropoff lately too-no melt downs or clinginess. Overall, this has been a good thing for him.
BabyA seems to be adjusting as well. She has been officially pronounced as an "easy" baby by the ladies in the infant room, although I guess that they were on the fence after Tuesday, when she let them see her horns all day long. She's sleeping OK there, although a solid nap pattern is still not quite there. She seems pretty solid for a good 1-2 hour nap after noon, so I guess that we'll take that. She's sleeping well at home, although she's been tougher to get down than normal. I'm hoping that will settle down as things become more routine for her too. All of this could be shot to hell if she's teething like I think she may be. She's been gnawing on her knuckles to the point of them being raw, and has turned into a drool factory. Son cut his first tooth at four months and some change, which I guess is pretty much the same time frame as my brother and I did, so I'm expecting BabyA will follow that pattern too. Time to stock up on the baby Ty*enol!
As for me, it hasn't been that easy. I'm just plain and simple tired, and I hope that I can get used to this soon. Getting up between 5:00 and 5:45 and not getting to bed until 10:30ish has been tough this week. However, if I don't wash the bottles and make the lunches before I go to bed, I know that my morning is shot, so I don't have much of a choice. I have to admit that last night I actually took five minutes and flipped through a magazine after every one was in bed (including Husband). Ah, the freedom! After almost falling asleep in the chair, I had to make my way to bed, trying to avoid every single freaking creaky floor board. Have I mentioned that I strongly dislike this house sometimes?
It's almost five, and I think that I've done enough for my first week. I would love some time with BabyA, since I feel like I never get to see her when she isn't hungry or ready to crash for the day.
I'm not sure if this is a good or bad thing, but it really didn't take much to get back in the groove again. Part of it may be that I kept in touch a bit more than I did last time. There still have been some changes, but nothing that totally threw me for a loop-well, at least not yet. The jury is still out when it comes to the management change. I sat through a staff meeting on Wednesday, and it was, in a word, painful. Not so much the content, since it was pretty normal, run of the mill stuff. It was rather that NewManager was trying really, really hard. He's not what I would call a great communicator, and it was obvious. OldManager was the exact opposite, with a pretty sharp sense of humor. Just two totally different creatures. My manager, one of his other direct reports, and another attorney didn't even bother to show up. Not cool. My theory is that even though you may not like it, it is what it is, and you still have to function within the current situation. I fear that this may get much worse before it gets better, or at least stabilizes. At this point, I've already got enough work on my plate to keep me busy and not leave much time for the drama. If I'm asked for my opinion I'll provide it as the situation calls for it. Otherwise, I've got too much to do to rock the boat too much.
On other fronts, Son seems to be liking the shift in routine. He's been getting up earlier, and now he has been napping pretty darn well at daycare, which is a relief for all of us. While I was on leave, he would be so tired that he would have bags under his eyes and be a holy terror. He also seems to understand that I'm going to work now, and not just taking BabyA and going home. It may sound silly, but he seems to have noticed that I'm wearing my work badge too, and so he knows what I'm doing. He's been really good at dropoff lately too-no melt downs or clinginess. Overall, this has been a good thing for him.
BabyA seems to be adjusting as well. She has been officially pronounced as an "easy" baby by the ladies in the infant room, although I guess that they were on the fence after Tuesday, when she let them see her horns all day long. She's sleeping OK there, although a solid nap pattern is still not quite there. She seems pretty solid for a good 1-2 hour nap after noon, so I guess that we'll take that. She's sleeping well at home, although she's been tougher to get down than normal. I'm hoping that will settle down as things become more routine for her too. All of this could be shot to hell if she's teething like I think she may be. She's been gnawing on her knuckles to the point of them being raw, and has turned into a drool factory. Son cut his first tooth at four months and some change, which I guess is pretty much the same time frame as my brother and I did, so I'm expecting BabyA will follow that pattern too. Time to stock up on the baby Ty*enol!
As for me, it hasn't been that easy. I'm just plain and simple tired, and I hope that I can get used to this soon. Getting up between 5:00 and 5:45 and not getting to bed until 10:30ish has been tough this week. However, if I don't wash the bottles and make the lunches before I go to bed, I know that my morning is shot, so I don't have much of a choice. I have to admit that last night I actually took five minutes and flipped through a magazine after every one was in bed (including Husband). Ah, the freedom! After almost falling asleep in the chair, I had to make my way to bed, trying to avoid every single freaking creaky floor board. Have I mentioned that I strongly dislike this house sometimes?
It's almost five, and I think that I've done enough for my first week. I would love some time with BabyA, since I feel like I never get to see her when she isn't hungry or ready to crash for the day.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Back at work
Yesterday wasn't too bad-crammed full, but not too bad. Let's see, up at 3:30 AM with BabyA, put back to bed, sleep for 45 more minutes, get read, get kids ready, two kids out the door, fed, clothed (it even all matched!), dog in the back of the truck.
Stop at vet, drop off Yellow Dog of the Double Ear Infection and A Massive Allergic Reaction to Target Rawhide for a recheck. Drop off kids (good God, I really do have two of these creatures-who knew?), get to work, boot up laptop, blue screen of death.
Call IT, bad hard drive, new hard drive, delete 800 emails-no, I'm not kidding-pick up Son's pictures, pick up kids from daycare, pick up Yellow Dog from vet, go home, feed BabyA, feed myself (sort of), watch 15 minutes of Nemo, put Son into pj's and bed, feed BabyA and put to bed, wash bottles, make two lunches (which of course Husband promptly forgot this morning), make up bottles for tomorrow, wash face, collapse into bed.
Today back up at 5 AM when Husband got up, BabyA started to fuss around 5:15, and we were back off to the races. I should probably be tired by now, but I'm not. However, the mandatory Diet Pepsi this morning may have helped. I still need to go get gas and clean off the truck once before I leave. It's been snowing again since around 7:30 this morning, and when I leave, I just want to get home. I have a feeling the roads aren't going to be a whole lot of fun.
So, that has been about my last 36 hours. How are you?
Stop at vet, drop off Yellow Dog of the Double Ear Infection and A Massive Allergic Reaction to Target Rawhide for a recheck. Drop off kids (good God, I really do have two of these creatures-who knew?), get to work, boot up laptop, blue screen of death.
Call IT, bad hard drive, new hard drive, delete 800 emails-no, I'm not kidding-pick up Son's pictures, pick up kids from daycare, pick up Yellow Dog from vet, go home, feed BabyA, feed myself (sort of), watch 15 minutes of Nemo, put Son into pj's and bed, feed BabyA and put to bed, wash bottles, make two lunches (which of course Husband promptly forgot this morning), make up bottles for tomorrow, wash face, collapse into bed.
Today back up at 5 AM when Husband got up, BabyA started to fuss around 5:15, and we were back off to the races. I should probably be tired by now, but I'm not. However, the mandatory Diet Pepsi this morning may have helped. I still need to go get gas and clean off the truck once before I leave. It's been snowing again since around 7:30 this morning, and when I leave, I just want to get home. I have a feeling the roads aren't going to be a whole lot of fun.
So, that has been about my last 36 hours. How are you?
Monday, November 26, 2007
Final Countdown
Here we are, in my last week of maternity leave. I don't know what to say, other than it seemed to go way too fast, and it only seems that recently that BabyA woke up and became more interactive. Once she started the whole social smiling bit, she just seemed to take off. I don't want to let someone else have those moments. She's been an absolute bear lately at night, and darn it, I want some of the good stuff too!
She still is refusing to go to bed before 10PM, which isn't that big of a deal now, but once I go back, I need that hour or so after bedtime to get things done like make up bottles for daycare for the next day, wash my pumping bottles, pump once before I go to bed, etc. She has been getting up once a night for the past week or so (the through the nights are history I think, at least for a while) at 4:30. Which wouldn't be bad, but since she doesn't go back down until 5:00-5:30, it poses a problem. By my calculations, I need to be up at 5:45 to allow me to shower and get ready before Son gets up, and still have time to get one more feed into BabyA before we leave and begin the 30 minute commute/daycare dropoff and still have me get to work at a somewhat decent time. I also need to feed and let out one of our dogs since Husband is refusing to do so due to some issues that we are having with Black Dog. Oh, and I get to do it all alone.
My mother has been insisting that I put my foot down and make a point to communicate to Husband that I need help. I don't see the point. Husband really ends up being more of a pain in the ass than anything. First, he doesn't know what to put on Son for clothes, then he gets into a power struggle with a two year old over putting on a diaper (for God's sake, just dig through and find the friggin' Elmo one already!), and in the end, just makes me inherently crabby. Oh, and then he has to mess with me when all I want to do is dry my hair and, gasp!, make it look better than if I had just rolled out of bed.
The whole dog issue has added even more onto my plate. So, now I'm not only worried about the work situation (see my previous post and after talking to my admin last week, I'm going to be walking into an absolute shitstorm), worried about getting two kids and myself out the door in a somewhat presentable state, and now, I have to part with my dog. Husband gave me the wonderful "him or me" ultimatum over the weekend. It broke me heart, and has managed to break through the Prozac-induced absence of crying. Black Dog is high needs-he needs to be walked, needs to be with his people, just needs. If he doesn't get his exercise, he starts barking, peeing in the kennel, you get the picture. I'm lucky if I can just get through the day sometimes, and while I would love to have the time to do the walks, I just don't. Husband hasn't made it any easier since he won't do anything to help. Yellow Dog is a different creature. When she barks, its for a reason-potty, something outside, not for attention. She's just as high energy, but it's manageable.
I know that this is the right thing for everyone. Black Dog needs a home that can give him all of the things that he needs, along with a fenced in yard (he tends to wander off or chase squirrels, or anything else that moves, but will bark incessantly if put out on a tie out). Our house has become too small for two large dogs and two small kids. If he finds another home, we can dismantle the kennel, and get a room back. Yellow Dog can be trusted to have the run of the house, and isn't the accomplished garbage diver that Black Dog is. She's not as good with kids in that she just forgets how big she is or where her tail is, but she has a great personality, and with some work, it can be fine. I've missed having her around, but I wish that her pass from the kennel didn't have to mean that Black Dog would have to leave.
The whole thing is really bothering me, since Husband made me get rid of one of our cats a couple of years ago as well. Same sort of thing-very sweet personality, but just some problem behaviors. While I can intellectualize all of this and tuck it all away behind a curtain of reason, it still hurts. Hurts because I feel as though I failed; both him and myself. Hurts because I really do love this creature, and will miss him. He's one of the few things in my life that doesn't make direct demands, and wants to please ME, not the other way around. I couldn't sleep last night thinking about it, and managed to finally cry myself to sleep. No one that I know will take him, so in the end, if I can't place him soon, he'll have to go to the humane society, or if they have room, one of the no-kill rescue groups. I don't want to do this. Then Husband asked me why I was so quiet yesterday. Duh. I just really don't want to deal with him right now. It just seems that I always have to lose what I love and what loves me. I'll forgive him eventually, but I can't do that right now, and I know that he'll never understand that.
She still is refusing to go to bed before 10PM, which isn't that big of a deal now, but once I go back, I need that hour or so after bedtime to get things done like make up bottles for daycare for the next day, wash my pumping bottles, pump once before I go to bed, etc. She has been getting up once a night for the past week or so (the through the nights are history I think, at least for a while) at 4:30. Which wouldn't be bad, but since she doesn't go back down until 5:00-5:30, it poses a problem. By my calculations, I need to be up at 5:45 to allow me to shower and get ready before Son gets up, and still have time to get one more feed into BabyA before we leave and begin the 30 minute commute/daycare dropoff and still have me get to work at a somewhat decent time. I also need to feed and let out one of our dogs since Husband is refusing to do so due to some issues that we are having with Black Dog. Oh, and I get to do it all alone.
My mother has been insisting that I put my foot down and make a point to communicate to Husband that I need help. I don't see the point. Husband really ends up being more of a pain in the ass than anything. First, he doesn't know what to put on Son for clothes, then he gets into a power struggle with a two year old over putting on a diaper (for God's sake, just dig through and find the friggin' Elmo one already!), and in the end, just makes me inherently crabby. Oh, and then he has to mess with me when all I want to do is dry my hair and, gasp!, make it look better than if I had just rolled out of bed.
The whole dog issue has added even more onto my plate. So, now I'm not only worried about the work situation (see my previous post and after talking to my admin last week, I'm going to be walking into an absolute shitstorm), worried about getting two kids and myself out the door in a somewhat presentable state, and now, I have to part with my dog. Husband gave me the wonderful "him or me" ultimatum over the weekend. It broke me heart, and has managed to break through the Prozac-induced absence of crying. Black Dog is high needs-he needs to be walked, needs to be with his people, just needs. If he doesn't get his exercise, he starts barking, peeing in the kennel, you get the picture. I'm lucky if I can just get through the day sometimes, and while I would love to have the time to do the walks, I just don't. Husband hasn't made it any easier since he won't do anything to help. Yellow Dog is a different creature. When she barks, its for a reason-potty, something outside, not for attention. She's just as high energy, but it's manageable.
I know that this is the right thing for everyone. Black Dog needs a home that can give him all of the things that he needs, along with a fenced in yard (he tends to wander off or chase squirrels, or anything else that moves, but will bark incessantly if put out on a tie out). Our house has become too small for two large dogs and two small kids. If he finds another home, we can dismantle the kennel, and get a room back. Yellow Dog can be trusted to have the run of the house, and isn't the accomplished garbage diver that Black Dog is. She's not as good with kids in that she just forgets how big she is or where her tail is, but she has a great personality, and with some work, it can be fine. I've missed having her around, but I wish that her pass from the kennel didn't have to mean that Black Dog would have to leave.
The whole thing is really bothering me, since Husband made me get rid of one of our cats a couple of years ago as well. Same sort of thing-very sweet personality, but just some problem behaviors. While I can intellectualize all of this and tuck it all away behind a curtain of reason, it still hurts. Hurts because I feel as though I failed; both him and myself. Hurts because I really do love this creature, and will miss him. He's one of the few things in my life that doesn't make direct demands, and wants to please ME, not the other way around. I couldn't sleep last night thinking about it, and managed to finally cry myself to sleep. No one that I know will take him, so in the end, if I can't place him soon, he'll have to go to the humane society, or if they have room, one of the no-kill rescue groups. I don't want to do this. Then Husband asked me why I was so quiet yesterday. Duh. I just really don't want to deal with him right now. It just seems that I always have to lose what I love and what loves me. I'll forgive him eventually, but I can't do that right now, and I know that he'll never understand that.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
ugh
I know that this blog, if any of you are still out there and haven't been bored to absolute tears, has become horribly stuck on one topic-kids, kids, and more kids. Hell, I'm tired of it too.
What follows is a rant, plain and simple. If you're an infertile, you may want to look away, since the subject matter is how my kids are sucking me dry right now, how desperately I'm in need of a respite, and how today was one of those days where I ached to have my old life back (since this is MY fantasy, I won't poo all over it with reminders of how much I wanted kids).
It just hit me as I was walking a cranky two month old for the third time in an hour after she should have been asleep, that I haven't had what would count as a true break in quite a while. For some reason, 45 minutes alone at Target-chosen purposefully since my cell phone gets crappy reception in the concrete temple of all things bulls eye-just ain't cutting it. I know that part of it is that BabyA still isn't real taken with the whole nap thing, and really isn't content to spend more than 15 minutes at a time engaged in an activity where I'm not holding her, I'm not getting that half an hour or so to just flip through a magazine, or do something productive like fold laundry. We are going out of town this weekend, and after sorting everything today, I had a small mountain of laundry that really needs to be done before we shove off tomorrow afternoon. I'm stressed out about how when we get to our destination, Husband will no doubt wander off and have fun, while I run interference with a cranky baby, and a toddler who will be wound up beyond all recognition. I'll also have the fun of being the referee between super pushy older cousin and Son. Wahoo, all kinds of fun.
I'm wound up about going back to work. My manager was in town for the past couple of weeks, and said that he had wanted to have lunch. Part of me thinks that I was so "busy" and didn't end up seeing him because I just don't want to face the crap that I will be walking back into. We had yet another major management change rather abruptly a couple of weeks ago, and instead of going in the right direction, I think that this is a negative change. The former head of our department is a superstar-people all over the country in our little niche of the law know him, and he brought a maturity to our group that we have been lacking. He knew how to play the political game, but yet still get the right result in the end. He was bringing us up to the big leagues, on par with the IBMs and Kodaks, etc. We all knew that he had general counsel written all over him, and expected him to be at the head of the line when our relatively young GC stepped down in a couple of years.
I get a phone call a couple of weeks ago telling me that the time table has been moved up over a year. Our former head is now the acting GC, effective immediately, and that the new head of our group is probably the worst thing that could have ever happened to us. He's a micromanaging control freak that sent that last new attorney that he hired running in less than a month. He's ultra conservative, extremely risk adverse, and doesn't take kindly to anyone differing in opinion from him. This is not a good thing for me. While I still report to my original manager, I expect some serious changes. I've been left alone for most of my career. I don't hesitate to make a decision if I need to. I'll use my best efforts to get input or guidance from those above me if necessary, but if they can't/won't get back to me in the timeframe that I need, I feel comfortable in making the executive decision. Up until now, I've done that with the blessing of whomever was managing me at the time. However, with this guy, I don't see that happening. The thing that make this all the more difficult is that he is painfully slow to make any decision, and tends to be an obstructionist as opposed to trying to find creative ways to solve problems, or make a deal work that is a win for everyone. I've had clients ask me to step in on issues that obviously weren't mine due to technology, but they were desperate for action, and needed help now. Our business moves too fast to sit on things, so I know that I have probably stepped on his toes more than once. I'm just worried that he is going to make life very difficult, when it is already going to be tough. I don't feel ready to go back. I don't know if I WANT to go back-not necessarily because I don't want to leave my baby (which I don't), but rather because the work environment is going to be crappy.
All of my typing appears to be bothering the princess, so I have to cut it off here. God, I miss those days of sleeping children by 8 PM.
What follows is a rant, plain and simple. If you're an infertile, you may want to look away, since the subject matter is how my kids are sucking me dry right now, how desperately I'm in need of a respite, and how today was one of those days where I ached to have my old life back (since this is MY fantasy, I won't poo all over it with reminders of how much I wanted kids).
It just hit me as I was walking a cranky two month old for the third time in an hour after she should have been asleep, that I haven't had what would count as a true break in quite a while. For some reason, 45 minutes alone at Target-chosen purposefully since my cell phone gets crappy reception in the concrete temple of all things bulls eye-just ain't cutting it. I know that part of it is that BabyA still isn't real taken with the whole nap thing, and really isn't content to spend more than 15 minutes at a time engaged in an activity where I'm not holding her, I'm not getting that half an hour or so to just flip through a magazine, or do something productive like fold laundry. We are going out of town this weekend, and after sorting everything today, I had a small mountain of laundry that really needs to be done before we shove off tomorrow afternoon. I'm stressed out about how when we get to our destination, Husband will no doubt wander off and have fun, while I run interference with a cranky baby, and a toddler who will be wound up beyond all recognition. I'll also have the fun of being the referee between super pushy older cousin and Son. Wahoo, all kinds of fun.
I'm wound up about going back to work. My manager was in town for the past couple of weeks, and said that he had wanted to have lunch. Part of me thinks that I was so "busy" and didn't end up seeing him because I just don't want to face the crap that I will be walking back into. We had yet another major management change rather abruptly a couple of weeks ago, and instead of going in the right direction, I think that this is a negative change. The former head of our department is a superstar-people all over the country in our little niche of the law know him, and he brought a maturity to our group that we have been lacking. He knew how to play the political game, but yet still get the right result in the end. He was bringing us up to the big leagues, on par with the IBMs and Kodaks, etc. We all knew that he had general counsel written all over him, and expected him to be at the head of the line when our relatively young GC stepped down in a couple of years.
I get a phone call a couple of weeks ago telling me that the time table has been moved up over a year. Our former head is now the acting GC, effective immediately, and that the new head of our group is probably the worst thing that could have ever happened to us. He's a micromanaging control freak that sent that last new attorney that he hired running in less than a month. He's ultra conservative, extremely risk adverse, and doesn't take kindly to anyone differing in opinion from him. This is not a good thing for me. While I still report to my original manager, I expect some serious changes. I've been left alone for most of my career. I don't hesitate to make a decision if I need to. I'll use my best efforts to get input or guidance from those above me if necessary, but if they can't/won't get back to me in the timeframe that I need, I feel comfortable in making the executive decision. Up until now, I've done that with the blessing of whomever was managing me at the time. However, with this guy, I don't see that happening. The thing that make this all the more difficult is that he is painfully slow to make any decision, and tends to be an obstructionist as opposed to trying to find creative ways to solve problems, or make a deal work that is a win for everyone. I've had clients ask me to step in on issues that obviously weren't mine due to technology, but they were desperate for action, and needed help now. Our business moves too fast to sit on things, so I know that I have probably stepped on his toes more than once. I'm just worried that he is going to make life very difficult, when it is already going to be tough. I don't feel ready to go back. I don't know if I WANT to go back-not necessarily because I don't want to leave my baby (which I don't), but rather because the work environment is going to be crappy.
All of my typing appears to be bothering the princess, so I have to cut it off here. God, I miss those days of sleeping children by 8 PM.
Monday, November 12, 2007
I'm not happy either
Two month appointment today. We dropped Son off at daycare before we went. The thought of an overprotective big brother being around for BabyA's first shots was not a good one. He flips out when a gaggle of toddlers gets too close to her-a nurse bearing four admittedly HUGE needles? Uh, no.
Everything looks good. I was right on about her weight being around 11ish. She was 10lbs, 15 oz, and a hair over 24 inches. That is over three inches in two months! Usually I am a little skeptical with the length measurement, since Son was always wiggling so much. BabyA stayed put-so the likelihood that it is right is pretty high. So, I have another tall, skinny one. She's in the 97th percentile for height, and the 55th for weight. I asked if that was a problem, and the doctor didn't seem to think so. She's not overly skinny, so I guess that we'll just keep going as we are.
Shots were yukky, horrible, made me want to cry just as loud as she did. One of them was pretty deep and was bleeding. Husband held her, since I just couldn't do it. We also got her the rotovirus oral vaccine. If it will help for her not to have to suffer through it, we'll deal with it. At least it wasn't one more shot. It must not have tasted very good either-she screwed up her face and gave all three of us a dirty look.
Overall, it was a good visit, which is a far cry from her two week follow-up. We'll have to see how she handles the shots, so we may end up going out and picking up some Tylenol later. I know that it is the right decision, especially since she is going to be in daycare sooner rather than later (sob!), but it is so hard to hear those screams.
Everything looks good. I was right on about her weight being around 11ish. She was 10lbs, 15 oz, and a hair over 24 inches. That is over three inches in two months! Usually I am a little skeptical with the length measurement, since Son was always wiggling so much. BabyA stayed put-so the likelihood that it is right is pretty high. So, I have another tall, skinny one. She's in the 97th percentile for height, and the 55th for weight. I asked if that was a problem, and the doctor didn't seem to think so. She's not overly skinny, so I guess that we'll just keep going as we are.
Shots were yukky, horrible, made me want to cry just as loud as she did. One of them was pretty deep and was bleeding. Husband held her, since I just couldn't do it. We also got her the rotovirus oral vaccine. If it will help for her not to have to suffer through it, we'll deal with it. At least it wasn't one more shot. It must not have tasted very good either-she screwed up her face and gave all three of us a dirty look.
Overall, it was a good visit, which is a far cry from her two week follow-up. We'll have to see how she handles the shots, so we may end up going out and picking up some Tylenol later. I know that it is the right decision, especially since she is going to be in daycare sooner rather than later (sob!), but it is so hard to hear those screams.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
The state of the household
Well, here we are at two months. The pros: she's sleeping fantastic at night, nursing is going well, and she's become more interactive and the smiles are getting more frequent.
The cons: she still struggles with naps that aren't begun in the carseat, although today she conked out for almost three hours after a marathon nursing session (she must have been very pooped, since the blankets stayed on for almost the entire nap). She's still really difficult to soothe at times, although I just may be missing her tired cues and not getting it. However, I can deal with the nap issues-we'll just keep trying, and she'll eventually get it. Now if I could get her to go to bed before 10 PM, life would be just about perfect.
I know, I know, there is no making me happy. I complained about Son's lousy night sleep at this age, but now that I have what I think is a pretty good sleeper, I've got something else to complain about-the reticence to nap. Son is still a fantastic napper, at least here at home. They practically have to sit on him to get him to stay put at daycare, since they don't have the cage, er, crib to rely on. He's just too busy there. Either that or we're just incredibly boring. Hmmm....
She has her two month appointment tomorrow, so it should be interesting to see how big she is. I'm thinking 11ish pounds and 22 inches at this point. She's almost too long for the 0-3 month sleepers that she was swimming in when we brought her home. Either way, things seem to be going pretty well.
There are other things that I need to hash out-some big changes at work that may have me looking for another position, how I think that that Husband is in for a shock when I go back to work, etc. However, princess is calling.
The cons: she still struggles with naps that aren't begun in the carseat, although today she conked out for almost three hours after a marathon nursing session (she must have been very pooped, since the blankets stayed on for almost the entire nap). She's still really difficult to soothe at times, although I just may be missing her tired cues and not getting it. However, I can deal with the nap issues-we'll just keep trying, and she'll eventually get it. Now if I could get her to go to bed before 10 PM, life would be just about perfect.
I know, I know, there is no making me happy. I complained about Son's lousy night sleep at this age, but now that I have what I think is a pretty good sleeper, I've got something else to complain about-the reticence to nap. Son is still a fantastic napper, at least here at home. They practically have to sit on him to get him to stay put at daycare, since they don't have the cage, er, crib to rely on. He's just too busy there. Either that or we're just incredibly boring. Hmmm....
She has her two month appointment tomorrow, so it should be interesting to see how big she is. I'm thinking 11ish pounds and 22 inches at this point. She's almost too long for the 0-3 month sleepers that she was swimming in when we brought her home. Either way, things seem to be going pretty well.
There are other things that I need to hash out-some big changes at work that may have me looking for another position, how I think that that Husband is in for a shock when I go back to work, etc. However, princess is calling.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Maybe Earl is right about that Karma thing
Another good night last night-10:45 (my fault, I let her snooze in her rocker seat for about 45 minutes after wrestling Son to bed after Husband had to go into work...grrrr) to 6:00, and then back down by 7:00 until we had to leave for daycare at 8:30. She's still asleep in her carrier now that we're back from daycare and a relatively quick trip to the store. I should be doing laundry, but I just don't want to. As for the Karma, maybe I'm getting cut a break considering the tough time that we had with Son. Whatever the hook, I'm grateful for what I've got. Oh, and the other upside? I actually slept through myself adn didn't wake up all night either. Hooray!
I'm finding that this time around during my maternity leave I'm finding my self a bit bored-just the same routine day after day. I hate laundry, but there never seems to be an end. I worry a bit about how I'm going to be able to keep up with all of this when I go back (can you tell that I'm beginning to think about the return to real life a bit much?).
In order to try to combat this a bit, I've set a goal for my weight before I go back. If I hit it, I've set a budget for some serious clothes and shoe shopping. Maybe I've been watching a too much of "what not to wear", but I've also been digging through what I have, and I really haven't done much in the past couple of years. Not too surprising, since I've been pregnant, or recovering from being pregnant, with a different shape for the past almost three years. No more plastic shoes, and maybe find some stuff that fits. If I can hit my goal, I should be almost a size smaller (I'm right between sizes right now) and I'll be close to being able to actually wear some of the petite things, which I need on the top. My sleeves are always too long, and I look dorky as a result. It's not a huge goal, but it's something to keep my head occupied.
Enough stalling-time to go a sort some laundry and treat some lovely baby stains. Oh the joy...
I'm finding that this time around during my maternity leave I'm finding my self a bit bored-just the same routine day after day. I hate laundry, but there never seems to be an end. I worry a bit about how I'm going to be able to keep up with all of this when I go back (can you tell that I'm beginning to think about the return to real life a bit much?).
In order to try to combat this a bit, I've set a goal for my weight before I go back. If I hit it, I've set a budget for some serious clothes and shoe shopping. Maybe I've been watching a too much of "what not to wear", but I've also been digging through what I have, and I really haven't done much in the past couple of years. Not too surprising, since I've been pregnant, or recovering from being pregnant, with a different shape for the past almost three years. No more plastic shoes, and maybe find some stuff that fits. If I can hit my goal, I should be almost a size smaller (I'm right between sizes right now) and I'll be close to being able to actually wear some of the petite things, which I need on the top. My sleeves are always too long, and I look dorky as a result. It's not a huge goal, but it's something to keep my head occupied.
Enough stalling-time to go a sort some laundry and treat some lovely baby stains. Oh the joy...
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Could it be? (Part II)
Well, that night that I wrote my last post, she made it until almost 4:30..that's over six hours people!! Now, I've been so trained to be up anytime between 2:00 and 3:30 that I ended up waking up more than she did-but that too will pass (I hope, please dear God.)
While I know that she will still have ups and downs, last night was a complete shock for me. Down at 10:00 without nearly as much fussing, and she made it until...drumroll...6:00 am. And went back down at 7:00 for another couple of hours.
The down side to all of this nighttime bliss? Incredible screaming fits and general grumpiness starting at around 6:00, with a lot of feeding. She had me so drained last night after nursing four times in four hours that I had to resort to a couple of ounces of pumped breast milk that I had stashed in the refrigerator for just this purpose. Seemed to do the trick though.
I know that this may not be an ongoing trend, but she is doing so much better than Son was at this age. At this point with him, we were struggling to get him to sleep in his crib for more than an hour at a time (yes, at night), and not the big swing in his room. That one was a lot of fun. BabyA will tolerate the swing for only so long-usually around 15 minutes, max- and then pitches a fit until you retrieve her. She's fallen asleep in the big swing once, the portable one twice, and neither time for very long. Needless to say, not the surefire bet that it was for Son. But then again, nothing is really surefire with her, which has been really frustrating. She's proven to be really hard to figure out that way. Anyway, Husband has an employee who is due in April, and if she is still there by the time she has the baby, we may just donate both of the swings to her since I doubt if we will have any use for them by then. BabyA seems to like her crib in her room (thank God for black out curtain lining) or her bassinet in the pack-n-play in our bedroom (more blackout shades-it's like a cave during the day). I'm already worrying about how her going into daycare may screw up this good thing that we've got going, but if I can get her into good habits now, hopefully it won't be too much of an adjustment.
Well, for the time being, both of my children are taking naps (cue the happy dance...quietly!) and I'm going to try to enjoy a little down time before Husband gets home from working what we hope is his last weekend for a while. Next weekend we are trekking up to my parents so Husband can go deer hunting with my dad, so we'll see how the first time of traveling with two under the age of three will go. The past couple of months of weekends has been tough on all of us. Husband's sleep schedule is all screwed up, equally a cranky creature, Son has more meltdowns because he misses daddy, and I get the two of them on my own all day. I don't get that hour or so to sneak off to Target by myself, or to go outside and finish up the last of my garden work before it snows, since they have been rather adept at alternating who is up. Nice in that I usually can manage to only have to deal with one at a time, and I get some good time in with Son, but not so great in that I can't get anything really done or just get some down time to do something fun for me. I feel guilty about doing that, since there always seems to be something else that should be done-laundry, dishes, cleaning up after Son, trying to get things organized, etc. It just can be wearing, and on top of being short on the sleep side since I was about 28 weeks pregnant, it's been a while since I've been able to just recharge. It may just be a part of my reality now, but I'd like to be able to at least try.
Sorry so scattered-just a lot of things moving through my head. Husband just called and is on his way home, so looks like I won't get my magazine time after all. Oh well. Oh, and the dual naps? Yep, that's history too. See, I knew it would come back to bite me!
While I know that she will still have ups and downs, last night was a complete shock for me. Down at 10:00 without nearly as much fussing, and she made it until...drumroll...6:00 am. And went back down at 7:00 for another couple of hours.
The down side to all of this nighttime bliss? Incredible screaming fits and general grumpiness starting at around 6:00, with a lot of feeding. She had me so drained last night after nursing four times in four hours that I had to resort to a couple of ounces of pumped breast milk that I had stashed in the refrigerator for just this purpose. Seemed to do the trick though.
I know that this may not be an ongoing trend, but she is doing so much better than Son was at this age. At this point with him, we were struggling to get him to sleep in his crib for more than an hour at a time (yes, at night), and not the big swing in his room. That one was a lot of fun. BabyA will tolerate the swing for only so long-usually around 15 minutes, max- and then pitches a fit until you retrieve her. She's fallen asleep in the big swing once, the portable one twice, and neither time for very long. Needless to say, not the surefire bet that it was for Son. But then again, nothing is really surefire with her, which has been really frustrating. She's proven to be really hard to figure out that way. Anyway, Husband has an employee who is due in April, and if she is still there by the time she has the baby, we may just donate both of the swings to her since I doubt if we will have any use for them by then. BabyA seems to like her crib in her room (thank God for black out curtain lining) or her bassinet in the pack-n-play in our bedroom (more blackout shades-it's like a cave during the day). I'm already worrying about how her going into daycare may screw up this good thing that we've got going, but if I can get her into good habits now, hopefully it won't be too much of an adjustment.
Well, for the time being, both of my children are taking naps (cue the happy dance...quietly!) and I'm going to try to enjoy a little down time before Husband gets home from working what we hope is his last weekend for a while. Next weekend we are trekking up to my parents so Husband can go deer hunting with my dad, so we'll see how the first time of traveling with two under the age of three will go. The past couple of months of weekends has been tough on all of us. Husband's sleep schedule is all screwed up, equally a cranky creature, Son has more meltdowns because he misses daddy, and I get the two of them on my own all day. I don't get that hour or so to sneak off to Target by myself, or to go outside and finish up the last of my garden work before it snows, since they have been rather adept at alternating who is up. Nice in that I usually can manage to only have to deal with one at a time, and I get some good time in with Son, but not so great in that I can't get anything really done or just get some down time to do something fun for me. I feel guilty about doing that, since there always seems to be something else that should be done-laundry, dishes, cleaning up after Son, trying to get things organized, etc. It just can be wearing, and on top of being short on the sleep side since I was about 28 weeks pregnant, it's been a while since I've been able to just recharge. It may just be a part of my reality now, but I'd like to be able to at least try.
Sorry so scattered-just a lot of things moving through my head. Husband just called and is on his way home, so looks like I won't get my magazine time after all. Oh well. Oh, and the dual naps? Yep, that's history too. See, I knew it would come back to bite me!
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Could it be?
Just to document-ignore unless you were unfortunate enough to have to read about my tormented nights with Son when he was this age.
BabyA turned six weeks today. She was beat around 10:00, after a bath and much squawking, and a good feed. I stood and rocked her for a good 15 minutes, and while she was falling asleep, it wasn't very settled. I put her down, and let her fuss and talk to herself. She never escalated to full-blown crying, which would have prompted me to start the whole soothing thing over again (Yes, I am a Dr. Weisbluth disciple-but not a CIO fan). She talked and fussed for about 10 minutes, and has uttered nary a peep for the past 20, so I think that I can safely go up to bed.
Makes me want to kick myself for not doing this with Son this early. I probably could have saved myself a lot of lost sleep. I know that I'm not out of the woods yet, but boy, what a difference one child and two years makes.
BabyA turned six weeks today. She was beat around 10:00, after a bath and much squawking, and a good feed. I stood and rocked her for a good 15 minutes, and while she was falling asleep, it wasn't very settled. I put her down, and let her fuss and talk to herself. She never escalated to full-blown crying, which would have prompted me to start the whole soothing thing over again (Yes, I am a Dr. Weisbluth disciple-but not a CIO fan). She talked and fussed for about 10 minutes, and has uttered nary a peep for the past 20, so I think that I can safely go up to bed.
Makes me want to kick myself for not doing this with Son this early. I probably could have saved myself a lot of lost sleep. I know that I'm not out of the woods yet, but boy, what a difference one child and two years makes.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Coming up for air
So sorry to leave things hanging-the last post was from the hospital, and things got a bit interesting from there.
BabyA did end up flirting with full-blown jaundice. Her bilirubin levels were up in the 90th percentile, so we ended up having to run to the hospital for three days after we were discharged for blood work. She was so sleepy that she wasn't feeding well, so the formula routine was pushed on us pretty hard. Part of it was justified-she would get so tired from trying to nurse that she couldn't do it for very long, which in turn slowed down my milk coming in and getting my supply established, and so on. She really didn't seem to like the formula too much-she ended up spitting more of it up than actually keeping it down. I decided that I would just have to set an alarm and make sure that she was eating every three hours, at a minimum.
The first week was tough-she was hungry at night, but wouldn't/couldn't nurse, would sleep for an hour, max, and then be up again. Not a whole lot of fun. Her bilirubin levels finally leveled out, so no more trips to the hospital lab, which was a relief. At her two week check, she was down from her birthweight of 8lb 12 oz to 8lb 4oz, which was pretty crushing to me-I had been doing everything that I could to get food into her, and it just didn't seem to be working. Again, the pediatrician pushed formula (grrrr) but also asked a good question about how I was doing nutritionally and with fluids.
That caused me to have one of those moments where "doh!" is the only sufficient way to describe it. I hadn't been eating much-I simply wasn't that hungry, and was having a GD hangover of sorts-luxuriating in not having to worry about when and what I was eating. Fluids were another issue as well. I'm not a big drinker as it is, and at the time everything down there still hurt, so I think that I was subconsciously trying to limit what I had to do. Anyway, I addressed both of those issues post haste. Seriously, within 36 hours after I started pushing water, I could feel my supply increasing, and it didn't hurt that BabyA was finally waking up and taking an interest in food. She started sleeping a little better (still not stellar, but better than the 30-90 minute increments that we had been getting). A week later we went back for a weight check (no actual appointment unless things weren't going well), and she was back up to over her birth weight by two ounces. Hooray! She's still not the Hoover of a nurser that Son was, but she is still filling out and looks much more like an infant now than the pinched, old lady looking newborn that she was for the first couple of weeks. I got a bit of reinforcement of my perception when my parents, who hadn't seen her for a couple of weeks, noticed right away how much better she looked.
Overall, recovery has been a lot easier this time around than with Son. Part of it was that this delivery was a lot easier. No baby that didn't turn the way that he was supposed to, no vacuum, no monster episiotomy. I still had a cut, but it was much smaller-well, at least that is what Husband told me, and my bladder wasn't half as beat up as last time. I'll detail more later when I actually write a proper birth story, but put it this way-after having the wonderful, competent nurse that we had this time, I realize how poor my care was with Son. I had a catheter as soon as I got my epidural, and gee, no huge, full bladder to get in the way of actually delivering the child. With Son, the freaked out nurse didn't do that (although BabyA's nurse acted like that was the standard of care) and part of Son's problem was that his enormous noggin was getting stuck with my over-full bladder. But I digress.
I was back into my pre-pregnancy clothes at around two and a half weeks. I still am dealing with the saggy middle, but I honestly think that it will resolve itself with a sane regimen of crunches. Since I didn't gain any weight, I'm still below where I was before I got pregnant. At three weeks, I was a little over 20 lbs lighter than before I got pregnant. I just need to get back into the swing of eating like I did while I was pregnant-it really made a difference. I don't want to go back to where I was. I'm almost at the point of getting rid of all of my clothes that would allow me some comfort if I backslide. I don't know if I'm that brave yet, but I need to keep it in mind. My closet can't handle to sets of sizes anyway, so I can give myself a kick in the butt for the sake of space in my dinky closet.
I could just keep on adding things as I have been for the past couple of days, but I should cut it off here. One up side is that we had a stretch last night from 10:15 to 4:30...for the second night in a row. No happy dance yet...don't want to jinx it...please.....
BabyA did end up flirting with full-blown jaundice. Her bilirubin levels were up in the 90th percentile, so we ended up having to run to the hospital for three days after we were discharged for blood work. She was so sleepy that she wasn't feeding well, so the formula routine was pushed on us pretty hard. Part of it was justified-she would get so tired from trying to nurse that she couldn't do it for very long, which in turn slowed down my milk coming in and getting my supply established, and so on. She really didn't seem to like the formula too much-she ended up spitting more of it up than actually keeping it down. I decided that I would just have to set an alarm and make sure that she was eating every three hours, at a minimum.
The first week was tough-she was hungry at night, but wouldn't/couldn't nurse, would sleep for an hour, max, and then be up again. Not a whole lot of fun. Her bilirubin levels finally leveled out, so no more trips to the hospital lab, which was a relief. At her two week check, she was down from her birthweight of 8lb 12 oz to 8lb 4oz, which was pretty crushing to me-I had been doing everything that I could to get food into her, and it just didn't seem to be working. Again, the pediatrician pushed formula (grrrr) but also asked a good question about how I was doing nutritionally and with fluids.
That caused me to have one of those moments where "doh!" is the only sufficient way to describe it. I hadn't been eating much-I simply wasn't that hungry, and was having a GD hangover of sorts-luxuriating in not having to worry about when and what I was eating. Fluids were another issue as well. I'm not a big drinker as it is, and at the time everything down there still hurt, so I think that I was subconsciously trying to limit what I had to do. Anyway, I addressed both of those issues post haste. Seriously, within 36 hours after I started pushing water, I could feel my supply increasing, and it didn't hurt that BabyA was finally waking up and taking an interest in food. She started sleeping a little better (still not stellar, but better than the 30-90 minute increments that we had been getting). A week later we went back for a weight check (no actual appointment unless things weren't going well), and she was back up to over her birth weight by two ounces. Hooray! She's still not the Hoover of a nurser that Son was, but she is still filling out and looks much more like an infant now than the pinched, old lady looking newborn that she was for the first couple of weeks. I got a bit of reinforcement of my perception when my parents, who hadn't seen her for a couple of weeks, noticed right away how much better she looked.
Overall, recovery has been a lot easier this time around than with Son. Part of it was that this delivery was a lot easier. No baby that didn't turn the way that he was supposed to, no vacuum, no monster episiotomy. I still had a cut, but it was much smaller-well, at least that is what Husband told me, and my bladder wasn't half as beat up as last time. I'll detail more later when I actually write a proper birth story, but put it this way-after having the wonderful, competent nurse that we had this time, I realize how poor my care was with Son. I had a catheter as soon as I got my epidural, and gee, no huge, full bladder to get in the way of actually delivering the child. With Son, the freaked out nurse didn't do that (although BabyA's nurse acted like that was the standard of care) and part of Son's problem was that his enormous noggin was getting stuck with my over-full bladder. But I digress.
I was back into my pre-pregnancy clothes at around two and a half weeks. I still am dealing with the saggy middle, but I honestly think that it will resolve itself with a sane regimen of crunches. Since I didn't gain any weight, I'm still below where I was before I got pregnant. At three weeks, I was a little over 20 lbs lighter than before I got pregnant. I just need to get back into the swing of eating like I did while I was pregnant-it really made a difference. I don't want to go back to where I was. I'm almost at the point of getting rid of all of my clothes that would allow me some comfort if I backslide. I don't know if I'm that brave yet, but I need to keep it in mind. My closet can't handle to sets of sizes anyway, so I can give myself a kick in the butt for the sake of space in my dinky closet.
I could just keep on adding things as I have been for the past couple of days, but I should cut it off here. One up side is that we had a stretch last night from 10:15 to 4:30...for the second night in a row. No happy dance yet...don't want to jinx it...please.....
Thursday, September 13, 2007
She's here
BabyA made her arrival on Wednesday, Sept. 12 at 1:34 after an interesting induction. No progress for almost 5 hours, epidural that sort of worked, was perfect after anesthesiologist #2, and then went from 3 cm to complete in a little over an hour.
On the size front, the timing was probably a good thing. At 39w3d, she was 8 lbs, 12 oz and 21 inches on the nose.
Breastfeeding is going OK. We were able to start earlier than with Son, so no issues on the sugars front (yea!) but we're a little high on the bilirubin levels so we'll have to see how that goes. Barring any issues arising on that front, we should be headed home tomorrow. Son thought that she was OK-he's having fun at SIL's, so he really isn't that concerned. Yet. Friday afternoon may be interesting.
Gotta go and try to get at least a little sleep. I'm going to have to wake her up in an hour to try to feed her to head off the jaundice issues. I didn't sleep very well last night, so I need to try to cover myself. OK...maybe I won't get my hour....
On the size front, the timing was probably a good thing. At 39w3d, she was 8 lbs, 12 oz and 21 inches on the nose.
Breastfeeding is going OK. We were able to start earlier than with Son, so no issues on the sugars front (yea!) but we're a little high on the bilirubin levels so we'll have to see how that goes. Barring any issues arising on that front, we should be headed home tomorrow. Son thought that she was OK-he's having fun at SIL's, so he really isn't that concerned. Yet. Friday afternoon may be interesting.
Gotta go and try to get at least a little sleep. I'm going to have to wake her up in an hour to try to feed her to head off the jaundice issues. I didn't sleep very well last night, so I need to try to cover myself. OK...maybe I won't get my hour....
Friday, August 31, 2007
GAH!!!
Last day of work today. Can't/won't focus...denial plus not being in yesterday plus not really having a chance to do much until 11AM is making today look like a very long day. I'm stressed, and I know that this isn't good. I've been having some serious, "hey pay attention idiot because we're really really serious here" Braxtons since I got into the Jeep this morning to leave for my BPP. I need some way to shut off certain parts of my brain to help me control the parts that I desparately need right now, a la ST:TNG's Data.
Oh, and did I mention that we're having a houseguest ALL WEEKEND? No? I would be completely flipping out if that didn't mean that Husband will have help cleaning out the garage so we can actually part vehicles in there. Since that hasn't been happening all summer. Oh, and they have both promised to not only finish up the molding in BabyA's room, but also plant the parts of our front foundation plantings that I purchased yesterday so that they will be in before Son's party and I won't have to listen to my Dad bitching about it not being done. (In all honesty, only half of the front of the house has had it done for almost four years.)
God, I so don't want to do this...
Oh, and did I mention that we're having a houseguest ALL WEEKEND? No? I would be completely flipping out if that didn't mean that Husband will have help cleaning out the garage so we can actually part vehicles in there. Since that hasn't been happening all summer. Oh, and they have both promised to not only finish up the molding in BabyA's room, but also plant the parts of our front foundation plantings that I purchased yesterday so that they will be in before Son's party and I won't have to listen to my Dad bitching about it not being done. (In all honesty, only half of the front of the house has had it done for almost four years.)
God, I so don't want to do this...
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Just the facts
Dr. Wonderful was a no-show today. Turns out that Tuesdays are his surgery days, and he was on the other side of town, delayed, with great aspirations of getting to my appointment, but short on execution. Oh well. I saw yet another doctor that I had never met before. This is not helping to calm my rather frazzled nerves one bit. Oh, and the NST took forever again. I don't think that I should probably complain too much-BabyA is very active, and it makes it really hard to keep a trace on her. Combine that with the whole anterior placenta, and enough abdominal padding for at least four supermodels, and well, it isn't pretty.
Husband showed up for the tail end of the NST, but wasn't able to stay for the appointment since I was going to have to wait for the next available doc. I really hate that-he peppers me with all sorts of questions that I never thought to ask, and have no reasonable way of answering. Then he gets mad because I'm not telling him everything he wants to know. Grrrr.
Anyway, the induction is still a go. We can't schedule it until a week before (per the hospital's rules), so I'll be doing that next Tuesday. Cue panic attack. OK. Moving on.
She didn't do a cervical check today (I guess that I should take my bonus points where I can get them) since she really didn't see the point. I will get one for sure next week to see if I have to go in the night before and get the Cervidil or whether I can just waltz in the morning of the induction. My stomach is in knots just typing that word. At this point, she's not so worried about size, since while BabyA is around the 85th percentile, she's not alarmingly big. It's more an issue of how well my placenta continues to perform. Apparently, with diabetics, it tends to age a bit more rapidly at this point, and may not do its job of nutrition as well. Hence the 39 week cutoff. So, if anything, the latest that I can push this off is probably the 12th. I'm not planning on it, but it would be nice to actually know who is on call the day I deliver. Call me nuts, but I would like to see a somewhat familiar face on the receiving end.
So, there it is. I'm really trying to push down the panic, but I'm not doing real well right now. Let's hope that I can manage to keep it together for another couple of days.
Husband showed up for the tail end of the NST, but wasn't able to stay for the appointment since I was going to have to wait for the next available doc. I really hate that-he peppers me with all sorts of questions that I never thought to ask, and have no reasonable way of answering. Then he gets mad because I'm not telling him everything he wants to know. Grrrr.
Anyway, the induction is still a go. We can't schedule it until a week before (per the hospital's rules), so I'll be doing that next Tuesday. Cue panic attack. OK. Moving on.
She didn't do a cervical check today (I guess that I should take my bonus points where I can get them) since she really didn't see the point. I will get one for sure next week to see if I have to go in the night before and get the Cervidil or whether I can just waltz in the morning of the induction. My stomach is in knots just typing that word. At this point, she's not so worried about size, since while BabyA is around the 85th percentile, she's not alarmingly big. It's more an issue of how well my placenta continues to perform. Apparently, with diabetics, it tends to age a bit more rapidly at this point, and may not do its job of nutrition as well. Hence the 39 week cutoff. So, if anything, the latest that I can push this off is probably the 12th. I'm not planning on it, but it would be nice to actually know who is on call the day I deliver. Call me nuts, but I would like to see a somewhat familiar face on the receiving end.
So, there it is. I'm really trying to push down the panic, but I'm not doing real well right now. Let's hope that I can manage to keep it together for another couple of days.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Well, OK then.
My OB appointment on Tuesday was, in a word, interesting. Informative, long, etc.
It started off with a bang-my manager was in town for the first time in almost a year, and we had sat down to go over the hand-off of my various projects. He was in the mood to chat, and since I actually SEE him so regularly (oh, and they are discussing compensation this week) I ended up sticking around longer than I should have. I look at my watch, panic, and proceed post haste to my appointment.
I took an alternate route, because my usual way is under (naturally) construction, and will be until fall of next year. Lovely. I've figured out an alleged back way, and off I go like a bat out of hell. Well, as much of a bat as my poor Jeep can muster. Oh the joy! More MnDOT crews! Hooray! Single lane with flagmen. Ugh. Needless to say, I ended up screaming into the parking lot a good 20 minutes late. Shit.
I'm late enough that they have put my file away. They go and retrieve it, and I do the shuffle of shame off to the waiting room chairs. I ended up waiting a while, since, well, now I was at their mercy. I finally get called back, and they do all of the lab stuff first before I get settled into the recliner from hell for my NST. I least I catch a break there-BabyA is wiggling quite happily after the buffalo chicken sandwich for lunch. Problem is that the wiggling is also entailing a great deal of rolling side to side, which makes it tough to keep a heartbeat trace. Much to my credit, I've done enough of these things to be able to chase it down without a great deal of nurse intervention. However, since I was late, I had screwed up the flow of things, so instead of being on the monitor for 20 minutes like I have in the past, it was almost 45. While it felt good to have my feet up, they were actually a little tingly by the time I was released from the pink Velcro straps.
The OB came in, not Dr. Wonderful, but another one of the practice docs that I have grown to like quite a bit. I was grumping about my aches and pains (hey, I'm entitled here) and she said that "you know that we're inducing you at 39 weeks, right?" Um, no. Insert deer in the headlights look. In the back of my mind, I recalled that I had read that in some cases of GD, early induction was recommended to try to head off any issues regarding size during delivery. However, I had assumed that since I had had GD with Son, and they let me go to term (I was scheduled for an induction on my due date-he came the day before) that the same protocol would be in line here. The main difference is that this time around, even though I have controlled it really well with no weight gain and very few sporadic BG spikes, is that I'm on insulin, and that shifts me into a different category. Great.
On the one hand, this could be a good thing. No panicking by the delivery staff due to a big head and shoulders, although it could still happen due to the decreasing accuracy of ultrasound at this point. I will end up with set date; plans can be made and finalized (a big bonus in my book-I tend to be a bit anal about this kind of stuff), animals dropped off at the kennel with the proper instructions in place, Son's care can be coordinated between my brother and the neighbors, Husband can get things in order to maybe really be able to take a week off.
The down side? Well, since I had been planning on working up until the 7th, and then taking a week off before, this throws a large wrench into the works. Huge. I suppose that I could stick to the plan; work until the 7th, birthday party for Son on the 8th, get induced on the 9th (39 weeks on the nose) and go home on the 11th. Just doesn't sound like a lot of fun, or very smart for me.
Soooo, I've moved up my last day to the 30th, and am cramming madly to try to get it all done. I suspect that I'll end up here over the weekend. I don't want to, but it may be a necessity if I want to have any time of the my time at home to really be a vacation, and not spent on email and reviewing responses. I probably should be doing that right now. BabyA has been making her presence known all afternoon, and I'm hideously sore, my back hurts, and I have a sneaking suspicion that dinner may be off for me, since I've been fighting to keep lunch down all afternoon.
I'll know a whole lot more after our appointment on Tuesday with Dr. Wonderful. Dr. OtherDoc said that they will do a cervical check then, and we'll talk about stripping membranes in the near future to try to get things rolling naturally. Guys, I'm not ready for this. I'm really not ready. However, they may get their wish. On top of BabyA doing her squirms all afternoon, I've been having a decent amount of low back pain and shooting pain down through my pubic bone. I'll also whisper this part: I think I may have even had a contraction or two. Shhhhhh.....
I'll continue to soldier on though, and try to gather it all up. I did manage to schedule a little me time this weekend between umpteen loads of laundry; a very-needed haircut and wax (I don't want that, but the brows are more than out of control and the lovely PCO 'stache has got to go). Just four more days of having to sit in this lousy office chair. Four...more...days....
It started off with a bang-my manager was in town for the first time in almost a year, and we had sat down to go over the hand-off of my various projects. He was in the mood to chat, and since I actually SEE him so regularly (oh, and they are discussing compensation this week) I ended up sticking around longer than I should have. I look at my watch, panic, and proceed post haste to my appointment.
I took an alternate route, because my usual way is under (naturally) construction, and will be until fall of next year. Lovely. I've figured out an alleged back way, and off I go like a bat out of hell. Well, as much of a bat as my poor Jeep can muster. Oh the joy! More MnDOT crews! Hooray! Single lane with flagmen. Ugh. Needless to say, I ended up screaming into the parking lot a good 20 minutes late. Shit.
I'm late enough that they have put my file away. They go and retrieve it, and I do the shuffle of shame off to the waiting room chairs. I ended up waiting a while, since, well, now I was at their mercy. I finally get called back, and they do all of the lab stuff first before I get settled into the recliner from hell for my NST. I least I catch a break there-BabyA is wiggling quite happily after the buffalo chicken sandwich for lunch. Problem is that the wiggling is also entailing a great deal of rolling side to side, which makes it tough to keep a heartbeat trace. Much to my credit, I've done enough of these things to be able to chase it down without a great deal of nurse intervention. However, since I was late, I had screwed up the flow of things, so instead of being on the monitor for 20 minutes like I have in the past, it was almost 45. While it felt good to have my feet up, they were actually a little tingly by the time I was released from the pink Velcro straps.
The OB came in, not Dr. Wonderful, but another one of the practice docs that I have grown to like quite a bit. I was grumping about my aches and pains (hey, I'm entitled here) and she said that "you know that we're inducing you at 39 weeks, right?" Um, no. Insert deer in the headlights look. In the back of my mind, I recalled that I had read that in some cases of GD, early induction was recommended to try to head off any issues regarding size during delivery. However, I had assumed that since I had had GD with Son, and they let me go to term (I was scheduled for an induction on my due date-he came the day before) that the same protocol would be in line here. The main difference is that this time around, even though I have controlled it really well with no weight gain and very few sporadic BG spikes, is that I'm on insulin, and that shifts me into a different category. Great.
On the one hand, this could be a good thing. No panicking by the delivery staff due to a big head and shoulders, although it could still happen due to the decreasing accuracy of ultrasound at this point. I will end up with set date; plans can be made and finalized (a big bonus in my book-I tend to be a bit anal about this kind of stuff), animals dropped off at the kennel with the proper instructions in place, Son's care can be coordinated between my brother and the neighbors, Husband can get things in order to maybe really be able to take a week off.
The down side? Well, since I had been planning on working up until the 7th, and then taking a week off before, this throws a large wrench into the works. Huge. I suppose that I could stick to the plan; work until the 7th, birthday party for Son on the 8th, get induced on the 9th (39 weeks on the nose) and go home on the 11th. Just doesn't sound like a lot of fun, or very smart for me.
Soooo, I've moved up my last day to the 30th, and am cramming madly to try to get it all done. I suspect that I'll end up here over the weekend. I don't want to, but it may be a necessity if I want to have any time of the my time at home to really be a vacation, and not spent on email and reviewing responses. I probably should be doing that right now. BabyA has been making her presence known all afternoon, and I'm hideously sore, my back hurts, and I have a sneaking suspicion that dinner may be off for me, since I've been fighting to keep lunch down all afternoon.
I'll know a whole lot more after our appointment on Tuesday with Dr. Wonderful. Dr. OtherDoc said that they will do a cervical check then, and we'll talk about stripping membranes in the near future to try to get things rolling naturally. Guys, I'm not ready for this. I'm really not ready. However, they may get their wish. On top of BabyA doing her squirms all afternoon, I've been having a decent amount of low back pain and shooting pain down through my pubic bone. I'll also whisper this part: I think I may have even had a contraction or two. Shhhhhh.....
I'll continue to soldier on though, and try to gather it all up. I did manage to schedule a little me time this weekend between umpteen loads of laundry; a very-needed haircut and wax (I don't want that, but the brows are more than out of control and the lovely PCO 'stache has got to go). Just four more days of having to sit in this lousy office chair. Four...more...days....
Monday, August 20, 2007
Not all gloom and doom
I'm still not the world's happiest camper, especially after today. Oh dear God, not after today. This goes way past a "case of the Mondays." I'm not going there though. I want and need to, but I've got to remember some of the good things.
Last night Son walked up to Husband grabbing at the back of his pants and saying what sounded like "hoopy," but Husband had a hunch that the h was really a p. Hmmm.....I was running Son's bathwater, and he marched into the bathroom and repeated his statement. OK. I asked him if he wanted to use the big potty or his small potty. He left and got his "royal" potty (and remembered the bottom part-a small necessity) and plunked it down in the bathroom. We read a book and chatted. I thought that maybe he had done something, but since the royal fanfare didn't play, I thought that it was a bust, but was happy the Son was willing to try, and that he had recognized the sensation that he may have to go.
He gets up and well, he had, um, well, done his thing. I felt like I was going to hear Bill Cosby come around the corner and do his poo-poo bit, but still, the praise and rejoicing! He had done it. Son had this self-satisfied grin on his face too. If I have learned anything, this kid will do what he wants on his own time table. In the end, he will most likely just do the whole training himself; on his timeline. My only job will be to be there to make sure the potty is ready.
Last good thing. I went into my endocrinologist appointment this morning with more than a little trepidation. While my numbers have looked good, I have been throwing keytones all week. Part of it was stress related. I've been so busy and preoccupied that I've been forgetting to eat. No real excuse, but it was just a bad week. I expected to get a admittedly-deserved lecture. Instead, she was really happy-my numbers were good and I haven't gained any weight, which she was really happy with. She still returned to what I need to do after BabyA shows up. I know that she is right, but right now that seems very far away. Anyway, I don't have to go back until six weeks post-partum. I need to get a bit of clarification as far as a testing schedule for after BabyA arrives. I've read that it really is pointless to test for the first two weeks, because all of my systems will be in massive adjustment mode and that will throw any numbers all out of whack. Regardless, it looks like I will have a chance to actually get this right this time, and not blow this chance to keep the weight off and maybe even make progress in the right direction.
Last night Son walked up to Husband grabbing at the back of his pants and saying what sounded like "hoopy," but Husband had a hunch that the h was really a p. Hmmm.....I was running Son's bathwater, and he marched into the bathroom and repeated his statement. OK. I asked him if he wanted to use the big potty or his small potty. He left and got his "royal" potty (and remembered the bottom part-a small necessity) and plunked it down in the bathroom. We read a book and chatted. I thought that maybe he had done something, but since the royal fanfare didn't play, I thought that it was a bust, but was happy the Son was willing to try, and that he had recognized the sensation that he may have to go.
He gets up and well, he had, um, well, done his thing. I felt like I was going to hear Bill Cosby come around the corner and do his poo-poo bit, but still, the praise and rejoicing! He had done it. Son had this self-satisfied grin on his face too. If I have learned anything, this kid will do what he wants on his own time table. In the end, he will most likely just do the whole training himself; on his timeline. My only job will be to be there to make sure the potty is ready.
Last good thing. I went into my endocrinologist appointment this morning with more than a little trepidation. While my numbers have looked good, I have been throwing keytones all week. Part of it was stress related. I've been so busy and preoccupied that I've been forgetting to eat. No real excuse, but it was just a bad week. I expected to get a admittedly-deserved lecture. Instead, she was really happy-my numbers were good and I haven't gained any weight, which she was really happy with. She still returned to what I need to do after BabyA shows up. I know that she is right, but right now that seems very far away. Anyway, I don't have to go back until six weeks post-partum. I need to get a bit of clarification as far as a testing schedule for after BabyA arrives. I've read that it really is pointless to test for the first two weeks, because all of my systems will be in massive adjustment mode and that will throw any numbers all out of whack. Regardless, it looks like I will have a chance to actually get this right this time, and not blow this chance to keep the weight off and maybe even make progress in the right direction.
Friday, August 17, 2007
I was going to ask about my Group B strep results this morning when I was at my OBs office, but was so out of it/tired that I forgot. I've been toying with trying to labor without an epidural (maybe with the one-time shot, but that's it) this time. However, that was all contingent to a great degree on how the Strep B test came back. If I had to be essentially tied to a bed with an IV, all bets were off.
Yep, you guessed it-it's positive. Again. Shit.
I had sort of come to the conclusion that I would end up with an epidural again, although I was more than a little disappointed in myself that I couldn't find the wherewithal to just suck it up and do it without drugs. I admit it; I'm scared of the pain. Even more so this time because I know what I am up against.
With Son, my labor was not one of those where you notice a contraction, start timing, and watch them ramp up over a period of hours. I woke up from a rather nice night of Ambien-induced sleep (due to my trip to L&D the night before for some breathing issues), in full blown, every three to four minutes for a minute contractions. No time to find a rhythm to get through them. Just blinding and searing pain that left me with no control over anything. My legs would buckle under me-I couldn't stand or speak through them. I peed. More than once (and hence the mountain of towels that Husband put on the seat of the Caddie when we left for the hospital). Once we got to the hospital, I started throwing up-which only stopped after they put something into my IV to help with the nausea. Any illusion that I had about this peaceful, fulfilling experience left right about the same time as the Subway from the night before.
I was Group B Strep positive that time too, so I knew in advance that I would end up with the IV, but I had held onto the hope that maybe I would be able to walk, use the birthing ball, pace, whatever, to go as long as I could before I would have to be stuck in the bed. My thought was that maybe I could drag things out long enough that viola! I would be at 9 or so and I wouldn't be able to get the epidural anyway. Basically, tricking myself. I thought that this theory had legs, since I was at 4 cm and 90% effaced at my OB appointment three days before and things would most certainly be further along once I was admitted. At least I got that part right-I was at 5 cm and almost completely effaced once I was admitted. As we all know, the rest of it went to hell not too long afterwards, and I caved and got the epidural.
To some degree, I feel like the epidural robbed me of a lot of things that I had always thought that I had wanted. I hadn't wanted to subject Son to those types of drugs at the point where he was most vulnerable. I wanted to give my body a chance to FINALLY do something right, something that it had staunchly refused to do during our years of infertility. Maybe even give me a little bit of respect for myself to making it through it.
Instead, I had to have the epidural upped after about half an hour because it quite simply wasn't working that well. However, once they did that, I couldn't feel or move my legs. Which, at the time, didn't seem like a big deal. I had stalled somewhere between six and seven, and Pitocin had been added to the mix, and I knew that Pitocin fueled contractions were nothing to mess around with.
The problem was that once I was complete, and they had turned the epidural off, I still couldn't feel my legs, or anything resembling an urge to push. Absolutely nothing. Through the haze, I could feel that I was contracting, but between this being my first baby, a nurse wigging out because she couldn't convince a doctor to come (apparently sevenish hours of labor wasn't enough), and just being flat out scared, I had no idea of what to do. No one would tell me when to push, or give me the rules. When you feel the contraction hit this point, you do this. None of that. Instead, I was chastised by the nurse for not helping to move around-remember, legs are logs and I have NO control over them, a Husband yelling at me that I wasn't listening, and feeling completely, and totally helpless and alone, I just didn't know what to do. Oh, and one I started to push in earnest, I started throwing up on every. single. push. I had nothing left in my stomach, so it was nothing but bile. That really helped.
I guess what this ramble gets down to is that there wasn't very much that was positive about the whole experience, other than getting a healthy baby in the end-which is something that I know that not all people get. To add insult to injury, I was left by myself in the stirrups, episiotomy unstitched, for about 10 minutes. No one was even remotely paying attention to the fact that I was even there. We watched the video afterwards, and Husband apologized, since he didn't realize that no one was with me. I had told him to go to Son, since they were a little concerned about how his shoulders were, and making sure his airways were OK. Son had to be suctioned pretty well after he was born, since while my water had been clear when it was broken, there was a lot of mucenium present when he was actually delivered. Knowing what I know now, I know that we were lucky that he was fine.
The whole thing was rushed and chaotic-my doctor only stayed long enough to stitch me up (which took a good 20 minutes) and had to run to another delivery. On labor day, fittingly enough, five of us delivered within a three hour span. I understand that it was busy, but I felt like a bystander, no control, and robbed of what should have been one of those defining moments. Instead, I ended up feeling like a complete and utter failure, since Son had a huge hemotoma from the suction from the vacuum and I had been such a lousy pusher that I couldn't just deliver my baby. The bruising was so bad that in the end, part of it ended up calcifying. Every time I run my hand over Son's head, I can feel that bump. It's not obvious to anyone other than me I suppose, but I want to cry all the same. Because I couldn't do my job as a mother, as a woman, he will carry this for the rest of his life.
I suppose that this is a lot of baggage to attach to one lousy test result, but the worry has been sitting there since I first found out that I was pregnant. Getting this result makes it all the more clear that this is going to happen, and soon. I don't feel ready, and I don't know if I will be able to have any more control than last time. Considering where my mind set has been lately, I just don't know if I have the emotional resources to do this again without messing it up again. I don't trust myself, and I don't have a lot of faith in Husband, or anyone else, to be able to help me find the strength and belief to do it.
Yep, you guessed it-it's positive. Again. Shit.
I had sort of come to the conclusion that I would end up with an epidural again, although I was more than a little disappointed in myself that I couldn't find the wherewithal to just suck it up and do it without drugs. I admit it; I'm scared of the pain. Even more so this time because I know what I am up against.
With Son, my labor was not one of those where you notice a contraction, start timing, and watch them ramp up over a period of hours. I woke up from a rather nice night of Ambien-induced sleep (due to my trip to L&D the night before for some breathing issues), in full blown, every three to four minutes for a minute contractions. No time to find a rhythm to get through them. Just blinding and searing pain that left me with no control over anything. My legs would buckle under me-I couldn't stand or speak through them. I peed. More than once (and hence the mountain of towels that Husband put on the seat of the Caddie when we left for the hospital). Once we got to the hospital, I started throwing up-which only stopped after they put something into my IV to help with the nausea. Any illusion that I had about this peaceful, fulfilling experience left right about the same time as the Subway from the night before.
I was Group B Strep positive that time too, so I knew in advance that I would end up with the IV, but I had held onto the hope that maybe I would be able to walk, use the birthing ball, pace, whatever, to go as long as I could before I would have to be stuck in the bed. My thought was that maybe I could drag things out long enough that viola! I would be at 9 or so and I wouldn't be able to get the epidural anyway. Basically, tricking myself. I thought that this theory had legs, since I was at 4 cm and 90% effaced at my OB appointment three days before and things would most certainly be further along once I was admitted. At least I got that part right-I was at 5 cm and almost completely effaced once I was admitted. As we all know, the rest of it went to hell not too long afterwards, and I caved and got the epidural.
To some degree, I feel like the epidural robbed me of a lot of things that I had always thought that I had wanted. I hadn't wanted to subject Son to those types of drugs at the point where he was most vulnerable. I wanted to give my body a chance to FINALLY do something right, something that it had staunchly refused to do during our years of infertility. Maybe even give me a little bit of respect for myself to making it through it.
Instead, I had to have the epidural upped after about half an hour because it quite simply wasn't working that well. However, once they did that, I couldn't feel or move my legs. Which, at the time, didn't seem like a big deal. I had stalled somewhere between six and seven, and Pitocin had been added to the mix, and I knew that Pitocin fueled contractions were nothing to mess around with.
The problem was that once I was complete, and they had turned the epidural off, I still couldn't feel my legs, or anything resembling an urge to push. Absolutely nothing. Through the haze, I could feel that I was contracting, but between this being my first baby, a nurse wigging out because she couldn't convince a doctor to come (apparently sevenish hours of labor wasn't enough), and just being flat out scared, I had no idea of what to do. No one would tell me when to push, or give me the rules. When you feel the contraction hit this point, you do this. None of that. Instead, I was chastised by the nurse for not helping to move around-remember, legs are logs and I have NO control over them, a Husband yelling at me that I wasn't listening, and feeling completely, and totally helpless and alone, I just didn't know what to do. Oh, and one I started to push in earnest, I started throwing up on every. single. push. I had nothing left in my stomach, so it was nothing but bile. That really helped.
I guess what this ramble gets down to is that there wasn't very much that was positive about the whole experience, other than getting a healthy baby in the end-which is something that I know that not all people get. To add insult to injury, I was left by myself in the stirrups, episiotomy unstitched, for about 10 minutes. No one was even remotely paying attention to the fact that I was even there. We watched the video afterwards, and Husband apologized, since he didn't realize that no one was with me. I had told him to go to Son, since they were a little concerned about how his shoulders were, and making sure his airways were OK. Son had to be suctioned pretty well after he was born, since while my water had been clear when it was broken, there was a lot of mucenium present when he was actually delivered. Knowing what I know now, I know that we were lucky that he was fine.
The whole thing was rushed and chaotic-my doctor only stayed long enough to stitch me up (which took a good 20 minutes) and had to run to another delivery. On labor day, fittingly enough, five of us delivered within a three hour span. I understand that it was busy, but I felt like a bystander, no control, and robbed of what should have been one of those defining moments. Instead, I ended up feeling like a complete and utter failure, since Son had a huge hemotoma from the suction from the vacuum and I had been such a lousy pusher that I couldn't just deliver my baby. The bruising was so bad that in the end, part of it ended up calcifying. Every time I run my hand over Son's head, I can feel that bump. It's not obvious to anyone other than me I suppose, but I want to cry all the same. Because I couldn't do my job as a mother, as a woman, he will carry this for the rest of his life.
I suppose that this is a lot of baggage to attach to one lousy test result, but the worry has been sitting there since I first found out that I was pregnant. Getting this result makes it all the more clear that this is going to happen, and soon. I don't feel ready, and I don't know if I will be able to have any more control than last time. Considering where my mind set has been lately, I just don't know if I have the emotional resources to do this again without messing it up again. I don't trust myself, and I don't have a lot of faith in Husband, or anyone else, to be able to help me find the strength and belief to do it.
I knew I should've made that bet!
All along, my primary OB has insisted that since we caught the GD earlier, and have been aggressively managing it, with a great deal of success, that BabyA wouldn't be a big baby. Read: not a 9lb moose like Son. As I've discussed before, Son was also almost 23 inches, so in reality 9lbs was actually pretty good for him. He's stayed in that 95th+ percentile for height, 75th for weight since birth.
After my NST on Tuesday, we saw Dr. Wonderful, who actually does a full OB visit for me after the NST. Most of the other docs see how much monitoring I'm having, and sort of blow me off to some degree. A couple haven't even measured, which with my fears over another huge baby and subsequent episiotomy, isn't good. Dr. Wonderful, however, does. checks position, the whole deal. Husband asked him to give him a guesstimate on weight, and Dr. Wonderful said that he was sticking my his guns that we won't hit 9lbs.
Remind me to smack him later. Or better yet, make a bet with him before he reads my BPP/growth report from today. I don't often win bets, so I will take a gimmee any time that I can get one.
According to the growth estimate today, BabyA is 6lbs, 11 oz.
I have four weeks left.
There is absolutely nothing going on down there are far as dilation, etc. He checked. Ouch. It was one of those deals that "...as long as we have to do the Group B swab..." Gah. Did I ever mention that this guy has huge hands? Yes, he does. Husband told me afterwards that he could understand how much it hurt. Oh, and the thing with me grabbing onto his shirt with a clenched fist didn't hurt in aiding his appreciation for my discomfort.
Sigh. OK. I know that my pelvis is perfectly capable of handling a large baby. I'm built like my Mom, and she had two 10lb babies. She never told me about any tearing or anything (and I don't think that I want to ask), but never had any issues. My brother was born before the use of vacuum, so he was helped out with forceps, but no other side effects other than looking like a conehead for the first 48 hours of his life. (Well, of course there are other issues, but I think that his general personality is a genetic issue....)
I know that ultrasound measurements can be off, especially the further on down the line that you go. However, I was getting attached to those 0-3 month clothes that I have been washing and folding. Maybe I will have to have the 3-6 month stuff done early this time too. Goody, more up and down the stairs this weekend. Glorious, just glorious.
After my NST on Tuesday, we saw Dr. Wonderful, who actually does a full OB visit for me after the NST. Most of the other docs see how much monitoring I'm having, and sort of blow me off to some degree. A couple haven't even measured, which with my fears over another huge baby and subsequent episiotomy, isn't good. Dr. Wonderful, however, does. checks position, the whole deal. Husband asked him to give him a guesstimate on weight, and Dr. Wonderful said that he was sticking my his guns that we won't hit 9lbs.
Remind me to smack him later. Or better yet, make a bet with him before he reads my BPP/growth report from today. I don't often win bets, so I will take a gimmee any time that I can get one.
According to the growth estimate today, BabyA is 6lbs, 11 oz.
I have four weeks left.
There is absolutely nothing going on down there are far as dilation, etc. He checked. Ouch. It was one of those deals that "...as long as we have to do the Group B swab..." Gah. Did I ever mention that this guy has huge hands? Yes, he does. Husband told me afterwards that he could understand how much it hurt. Oh, and the thing with me grabbing onto his shirt with a clenched fist didn't hurt in aiding his appreciation for my discomfort.
Sigh. OK. I know that my pelvis is perfectly capable of handling a large baby. I'm built like my Mom, and she had two 10lb babies. She never told me about any tearing or anything (and I don't think that I want to ask), but never had any issues. My brother was born before the use of vacuum, so he was helped out with forceps, but no other side effects other than looking like a conehead for the first 48 hours of his life. (Well, of course there are other issues, but I think that his general personality is a genetic issue....)
I know that ultrasound measurements can be off, especially the further on down the line that you go. However, I was getting attached to those 0-3 month clothes that I have been washing and folding. Maybe I will have to have the 3-6 month stuff done early this time too. Goody, more up and down the stairs this weekend. Glorious, just glorious.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
And the beat goes on
To follow up on Son's expanding musical tastes, I told Husband about the whole "Pinball Wizard" incident, and he told me that the last time he picked Son up from daycare, he did the same thing to Metallica and, oh God, Pithy I have to admit this, Megadeath. I've been known to tune into the true hard rock station in town too, so its not ALL Husband's fault. But still, interesting kid.
Oh, two more tidbits and I'll drop this topic. Yesterday, it was "Heart of Glass." It was on as we parked at daycare, so I stayed in the car with him until it was done. I got him out, and as we were walking in, he looked up at me and said "I yiked it." Could only be referring to the song. He also just hits the music button on his sit and spin (sounds like 80s video game music) and dances around. What would he do if I hooked up the old Atari and played Pacman?
I can't complain about him getting into music-honestly, I'm thrilled. On the one hand, I've read the research on how music appreciation and involvement tends to flow over into other areas of academics and development. I would tend to agree with it based on my experiences as a kid. Most of the kids that were involved in music at some level, to any degree of seriousness (which means more than taking choir because study hall wasn't available) did pretty well academically. While Husband doesn't really get and/or appreciate that about me, I've always been into music. I used to be able to play piano, trombone, and an baritone passably. (While I can still handle all three now, the chops just aren't there any more. The last time I hauled out my trombone, the dogs howled-everyone is a critic, sheesh- and my upper lip swelled up so badly I looked like a botched Botox patient.) Did show choir in high school. I was in band in college for chrissakes.
So, I like to think that he gets some of this from me. I might have to push up trying to find a place for my piano a little earlier than planned. It's currently languishing in my parents lower level, untuned and unplayed since I left home. My brother never played, and my mom is too intimidated to take lessons, even though she wants to. While we are seriously space challenged right now, I would still love to have it with me. Mom and dad don't have an issue with me taking it-at least it would get used. However, they insist that I have a decent spot for it, and right now, I really don't. Just one more tally on my list of needing to upgrade our housing!
Oh, two more tidbits and I'll drop this topic. Yesterday, it was "Heart of Glass." It was on as we parked at daycare, so I stayed in the car with him until it was done. I got him out, and as we were walking in, he looked up at me and said "I yiked it." Could only be referring to the song. He also just hits the music button on his sit and spin (sounds like 80s video game music) and dances around. What would he do if I hooked up the old Atari and played Pacman?
I can't complain about him getting into music-honestly, I'm thrilled. On the one hand, I've read the research on how music appreciation and involvement tends to flow over into other areas of academics and development. I would tend to agree with it based on my experiences as a kid. Most of the kids that were involved in music at some level, to any degree of seriousness (which means more than taking choir because study hall wasn't available) did pretty well academically. While Husband doesn't really get and/or appreciate that about me, I've always been into music. I used to be able to play piano, trombone, and an baritone passably. (While I can still handle all three now, the chops just aren't there any more. The last time I hauled out my trombone, the dogs howled-everyone is a critic, sheesh- and my upper lip swelled up so badly I looked like a botched Botox patient.) Did show choir in high school. I was in band in college for chrissakes.
So, I like to think that he gets some of this from me. I might have to push up trying to find a place for my piano a little earlier than planned. It's currently languishing in my parents lower level, untuned and unplayed since I left home. My brother never played, and my mom is too intimidated to take lessons, even though she wants to. While we are seriously space challenged right now, I would still love to have it with me. Mom and dad don't have an issue with me taking it-at least it would get used. However, they insist that I have a decent spot for it, and right now, I really don't. Just one more tally on my list of needing to upgrade our housing!
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Where did that come from?
On the drive in to work/daycare this morning, I had the radio turned up a little. Since I had to take Husband's car today due to a brake job being done on my Jeep, I was stuck with his radio presets. Now, this car has so many gadgets that I can't figure out how to set me own radio stations (as Driver 1 according to Cadillac). I left it on the "classic" rock station that Husband is always listening too. I tolerate it, but I'm not a huge fan. Put it this way, I worked for the on-campus food service in college-I've heard enough Led Zepplin, etc. for a lifetime.
Regardless, the opening riff for "Pinball Wizard" comes on. I look into the rear view mirror to see Son's blond head bobbing all over the place (right on the beat, may I add) and he catches my eye in the mirror and beams: "I yike it! I yike it!" Continues to bob on, making his stuffed bear dance with him. This continues on through "Take it Easy" by the Eagles as well.
Sigh. All those trips with MPR on, and he turns out to be a metal head. Who knew?
Regardless, the opening riff for "Pinball Wizard" comes on. I look into the rear view mirror to see Son's blond head bobbing all over the place (right on the beat, may I add) and he catches my eye in the mirror and beams: "I yike it! I yike it!" Continues to bob on, making his stuffed bear dance with him. This continues on through "Take it Easy" by the Eagles as well.
Sigh. All those trips with MPR on, and he turns out to be a metal head. Who knew?
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