Incommunicado

This post is way over due, as our story begins at Thanksgiving, but let me set the stage:
Branson, MO
Vacation with lots of family in a rental house
Kid with green goo pouring out of his face
Double ear-infection
Making the switch from crawling to walking

The Thanksgiving-destination-vacation was great!  We went to see the sights, ate turkey, and genuinely enjoyed each others company (Yes, I got lucky.  I love my in-laws).  Everything went without a hitch, except for the tantrums.

I have talked before about my child's experiments in rage as well as my inability to form coherent sentences when he is experiencing said rage, so add that together with being a new place, with people my son doesn't remember (so he thinks they are strangers, and my kid could host his own after-school special about stranger danger, he is NOT one of those, "I'll go to anyone"-kids), and add to that,  trying to contain his outbursts so as not to set off his sweet, 4-month-old cousin.  We were gearing up for something big.

The first day we had a few melt downs and chalked it up to getting 6 hours of sleep, ear-infections, blah, blah, blah, but several days later, it had only gotten worse.  He was extremely attached to me, which is sweet and makes me feel his love, but is also very exhausting.  It was at Bob Evans that it all came to a head for me.  After being routinely hit in the face, screamed at, and head-butted by my kid in the lobby while we waited 40 minutes for a table, I was starting to enter mom-demon-mode.  I felt it start to wash over me.  I could no longer listen to the conversations around me, I was alone with this little monster.  We got our booth.  He ripped everything off the table in record time and screamed and began banging his head in the place where his food should be.  The food came and after a few bites, the little morsels we had placed in front of him made a quick trip to the floor.  I got the pity look from a few moms who had been there, but I could take no solace in it.   My kid was acting terribly and I was too burnt out to take it anymore. 

I did something I never do, but got on my phone to reach out to an internet mom blog/forum for help.  In the status box I typed something like, "Help.  Tantrums bad, 14-months.  Make stop. please." Within minutes the replies started coming in.  About a half dozen of them said, "He is probably frustrated because he can't express himself."  I thought about this and wrote back to them a short while later, explaining about his hearing impairments before he had tubes put in and his delay in speech acquisition.  They continued to suggest ways to let him express his feelings and opinions.

I'll be honest, at first I was kind of annoyed.  I thought-if he is just frustrated that he can't talk, I would have known that.  I am with him everyday, I would know if that is all that it was.  I don't think he is developmentally ready.  I am a teacher, I know these things (turns out I really don't)...yady yada. 

It took me about a day to think on all that was said and actually accept someone's advice.  I thought about how frustrated I would be to not be able to communicate even the simplest needs-hungry, hurt, hot, cold, tired, etc.  So, I tried to bridge the gap.  The next morning for breakfast, I held out an English muffin and his cereal.  I asked him which one he wanted and held them close enough for him to reach.  Eventually he batted the muffins, I clapped and cheered and made him a muffin.  I don't know that he knew what he was doing in that moment, but he does now.  I started working on yes/no head nods.  At bedtime, I tell him it is bedtime and he walks to his room instead of being carried.  I offer him two different shirts in the morning.  Our entire world is opening up.

We still have melt downs and tantrums.  He is perpetually cutting teeth, which accounts for most of the hitting on others and hitting himself, but this switch has changed our lives.

I think it took him reaching such a state of intensity to wake me up to the fact that he is not a baby.  He made the switch to personhood, and I had missed it some how, but I am really glad he told me.

Tonight I was getting him ready for bed and began to feel that lump in my throat.  I put his superman jammies on and sat down in the rocking chair.  We jabbered back and forth for a few minutes, then he laid his head down, and started to settle.  I rocked and rocked until I heard the slow, steady breathing of sleep.  And then I rocked some more.  I rocked and cried for my love of him.  For his people-ness.  For his personality.  For his preferences.  For becoming my little boy and no longer my baby.  For sadness that I missed his message.  For joy of wondering what is to come.

 Below is the unusual lullaby I have to sang him his whole life.  If you need me, I will be rocking him for the next to weeks that I am off work. 

Love, 

J

Baby Boy Curls

That is all.

The id, the ego, the superego, and the momdemon

The id is governed by the pleasure principle.  The ego is governed by the reality principle.  The superego is governed by the goal of perfection.  The little-known fourth level of consciousness, which will be referred to as momdemon, is governed by the ensuing meltdown of one's own spawn.  It is this fourth level that we are going to explore today, but first the LONG backstory.

On Saturday, we went to a pre-Thanksgiving feast at a friend's house.  The pre-Thanksgiving feast was hosted by a beloved friend and his girlfriend, who together have 10,000 friends who are all beautiful.  So there we were, the two parents and baby, in a house exploding with single people working on their careers and personal interests.

Attempting to mingle with the masses, we introduced ourselves to a few people who made really exaggerated faces at our son and kind of poked at him in a sweet-intentioned way. And as usual, we retreated further back until we found ourselves standing around the folding tables in the kitchen, waiting for the brie to come out of the oven.  We made small talk about how amazing filo dough is.  We tried to explore the topic of walnuts and honey, but conversation died quickly and anxiety rose faster.

My family is kind of like a bunch of hermits who live together.  We have friends that we dearly love, but for both my husband and myself, parties are just generally hard for us.  Especially when there are no pets around to pretend to be overly interested in.  

We arrived at 2:15 to a 2:00 invitation and feared that our tardiness would interrupt the meal.  At 3:30 the brie finally came out of the oven and appetizers began.  We shoved crackers at our child who was starving and we made ourselves a little station in the corner to enjoy some snacks.  Other folks caught the smell and made their way to the kitchen as well.  These other folks had been drinking wine since they arrived, so the attempts at small talk became even more distorted and impossible.  Crowds started pushing their way in.  And we quickly found ourselves sitting on the floor next to the trash can and the attic door.  In a corner.  Out of the way.  When the food came in sometime after 4:00 everyone was warm with wine and delighted at the prospect of food.

Everyone else = happy

The baby = LHS

LHS- A new acronym I just made up, which means "Losing His Shit".  We were still sitting in the corner on the floor (the table was full) and that is when it happened.  MOMDEMON.

Let me lay it all out for you- It started when the baby started to buck himself around.  Turning into a stiff board and shoving himself upright and out of any sort of restrained position.  Whilst bucking, he was squawking his awful gut-scream.  I had kept him contained for two hours in an environment where nothing is baby friendly (i.e. finding multiple screws and pennies on the floor), in environment that causes me great emotional turmoil, being hungry, and knowing the baby is hungry, and then the wave came over me.  The wave of transition as my consciousness switched from something human into what for lack of a better term, shall become known as, momdemon.  

My eyes become hyper focused on the kid.  Everything else going on the the world is a pain in my rear end at the moment.  I start thinking short, abbreviated thoughts.  I start communicating in single word demands. "Roll."  I bark and my husband. "Fork."  He stands near us on the floor and watches as the baby smacks the plate and our food goes flying.  He watches as I attempt to gather some of the little bits and shove them into his screaming mouth, while licking my fingers to get some sustenance for myself. My husband stands there as an ally in the war, but some how in momdemon state, even having the other half of your soul stand and look on as you fail to control your child, pushes you too far.  I demand, "Just go." (his friends are eating outside).  "It's fine", I state 10,000 times.  "I don't want to be an absent father, who walks away when things are hard," he retorts. My heart hears it and thinks, "I love this man."  My mind sees him and thinks, "NO ONE LOOK AT US!  EVERYONE GO AWAY!  CAN'T YOU SEE HOW HARD THIS FOR MY KID.  WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?! I CAN'T BELIEVE I USED TO THINK PARTIES WERE FUN!  STOP LOOKING AT ME!"


After a short fit of this, I took the baby outside and went for a walk.  It was 42 degrees and I was wearing a dress, but dadgumit I would sit in that corner no longer.  He eventually calmed down and we returned and ate pie and all was well, but the whole memory of that party will be forever filled with the red-raged momdemon moments of trying to survive that situation.  I don't know if women get in this mood as some evolutionary by-product of saving a child against all else or if I just literally cannot handle it all sometimes.  

A quick 4 hours after we arrived at the party, we got into the car.  For a few moments we drove in sweet silence.  Then my husband begins, "When you get in 'that mode'…"  I tried to come up with how to explain myself, but found it impossible in that moment and I was also still on the borderline of going back to the 4th state of consciousness, so I just didn't answer him.  However, the idea for this post came to mind.  Anyone else find themselves in momdemon mode, too?

RAGE Against the Momchine (Zack de la Rocha gets no money for ripping off this title)

My son is in a stage of trying on different emotions and roles.  He is significantly more dynamic since he turned one.  He has moved on from his repertoire of: hungry, tired, needy, silly, and/or annoyed to loving, sincere, thoughtful, determined, strong-willed and sometimes very, very angry.

Like head shakin', hands-in-fists, angry. The accompanying noise can either be one of a blood-curdling scream variety or a monster-undertoned-grunt-yell.  It is so strange because in a span of five seconds, he can go from happy, to rage, to right back to happy.  Sometimes stopping at remorse or annoyance along the way.

Unable to handle much more of it at the current moment, (as I have been solo parenting for quite a while due a blessing in my husband's career) I decided to make a list of all the things that have induced rage in my fourteen-month-old this week, in hopes that the ridiculousness of it all will ease the upcoming bath battle followed by the hysteria of a diaper change.  And since it is nighttime, that means the cursed diaper rash cream must also be applied.  Lord, help us all.

Things that have made my child IRATE since last Sunday:

• Diaper changes
• Using wipes
• Applying diaper rash cream
• Applying lotion
• Using nasal saline
• Using the bulb syringe to pull the gallons of constantly draining snot from his nose, in attempt to make him breathe better
• Putting on a jacket
• Taking off a jacket
• Not being able to instantaneously get myself around to the back door of the car after putting the vehicle in park
• Buckling the car seat straps
• Closing the door
• Hair washing
• Body washing
• Really just anything involving hygene
• Not being allowed to crawl up the concrete steps outside in a thunderstorm
• Putting on pants
• Not having the macaroni in his mouth my the time his butt hits the high chair
• Adults eating anything in front of him
• The sound of crinkling anything (he assumes it is graham crackers)
• Not letting him pull glass jars from the fridge
• Not letting him rip my glasses off my face
• The dog deciding to stop wagging his tail
• Putting his water bottle full of dried beans into a koozie
• Getting in the car after an hour at the park
• Pulling the bits of a half-eaten Kroger receipt out of his mouth
• Not letting him chew on the hangers at the Goodwill
• Restraining him when he tries to pull my hair out
• Placing him on the other side of the kitchen when I have to take the food out of the oven
• Not letting him pinch his fingers in the lazy susan

Please note, that he has played contentedly with a metal potato masher, a medicine cup, and the dog while I wrote this entire post.  He is so good, when he is not trying to summon dementors with his howling cries of anguish.

Also, this whole thing reminds me of a great tumblr feed.  Please see below.

http://imgur.com/gallery/yLaMU
 


 

Another Therapy Post

I had a really good therapy session this week. The 45 minutes I spent on that couch probably added another 10 years to my life.  But not every week is like that.

When I first started therapy, I was expecting fast results, believing that this was something I could just do for a while until I got back on the right track and then walk away from it.  What I didn't expect to learn was that this was going to take a while, be hard work, and I would eventually realize that I was on no "right track" to begin with, or that 5 months later, I still wouldn't exactly know what the right track looks like.

There have been many weeks where I walk out to my car, seemingly unchanged, and I think, "That wasn't too exciting.  Maybe I should start coming only every 2 weeks?"   And then there are those weeks.  Those weeks when I have wadded Kleenex in both hands and I float out to my car on some cloud of freedom.  This was one of those weeks.

Remember back when I explained about taking the hormone test and beginning supplements?  Did I mention somewhere in here that I had melanoma a few years back?  Well because of those two things, last week I found myself standing in the nude getting a nooks-and-crannies-check by a resident looking for freak moles, and as she was lifting my arms and looking in my armpits, she began causally talking to me about the laundry list of supplements that were listed on my chart.  She mentioned her time spent studying at an endocrinology clinic and some condition where women can produce low cortisol after having a baby, due a disorder in the pituitary, caused by...(brain stopped listening)  My head started swimming.  A few minutes later she can back from the computer in the corner of the exam room with a slip of paper informing me of my appointment with the endocrinologist next week. 

I don't do well with health issues.  Long story short, I have some amount of hypochondria and that little piece of paper in my hand, just made me feel immediately doomed.  

I was STRUGGLING through the week waiting for that appointment.  My body was flipping out and being dizzy and wonky and genuinely stupid.  My mind was caught in a circular trap.  And I was not in a good place.

By Thursday, sweet, blessed, Thursday (therapy day), my mind was an eff-ing disaster.  I sat across from my therapist, heart-pounding in my chest trying to figure out how to begin this conversation.  Within about 5 minutes I erupted into a mess about how I feel the Grim Reaper knocking whenever I have health issues.  And she made me face it.  I had been circling around the fear that there was something terribly wrong with me.  But at the same time I was obsessing over the thought of "I shouldn't be thinking this.  Brain shut up.  This is stupid., etc"  All of this was compounding into a week of intense anxiety and depression.

"What is the worst thing that could happen?"  She asked me.  And she made me say it.  She made me say that the worst thing would be to go in to that appointment and a find out I have some fatal disease.  Saying it gave me freedom.  It was there the whole time, but I kept trying to squash it.  Extinguish it and make it go away.  But at the same time, I never fully acknowledged it.  It was like a shadow that I knew was there, but was too scared to turn around and look at.  And while my brain knew that that shadow would just be my familiar shape on the ground, some sneaky back corner of the brain was throwing out suggestions like, "Ooh, maybe it's a murderer!"  So, to let my brain think that worst-case-scenario-thought (look at the shadow) and stop trying to run from it was the first step.

"Ok, so they tell you that.  Now what do you do?" She asked.  I begin to tell of all the things I would do.  She looked at me, tortise-shell glasses perched on the end of her nose and nodded.  She was right.  If I found out some end-all news, I would live my life.  Because that is what you do in that situation.  This was the second step.

"So when you have these thoughts, what do you do next time?" was her final question.  Together, we made a list of things to do next time (a la cognitive behavioral therapy) which included things like: let myself think it, write every single stupid circular thought down for ten minutes, stop saying "should" to myself.  Step three.

I wish I could say it more eloquently, but that is proving to be very difficult.  What I am trying to say is: my brain is wired for worry.  Ask any woman in my family and they will agree, we are biologically and conditionally prone to this kind of thinking.  My previous patterns of thinking provided me with dead ends and lost routes that expended much of my time and energy.  Now, I can actually feel my brain start working in a new way.  I am learning how to think through things in new ways and learning how to stop fighting myself.  

That 45 minutes changed my life.  For how long, you may ask?

P.S. I had the endocrinology appointment, took some tests and got a prescription.  More cortisol this time, but not the supplemental form I had been taking.  Some real drugs with safety lid.  There was never great cause for concern, but I couldn't convince myself of that on my own.  

Parental Roles as Defined by a 13 Month Old

I always thought my first child would be a boy.

When I got pregnant two years ago, I pictured myself holding a little dark haired boy in my arms in the hospital nine months from then.  I envinsioned his little features and sharp cry.  I just felt sure that this little bean was going have a beanbag.  At the 20-week anatomy scan, my husband and I looked away as the ultrasound tech wiggled the wand around looking for organs and bones, so as not to accidentally see the gender of the baby.  And though all we saw that day, was north of the equator, still I felt like it was a boy in there.  Maybe it was the high levels of activity and aerobic exercising the child did in utero that hinted me in to his maleness.  Maybe it was intuition.  Maybe it was a decent guess on something with 50/50 odds.

And nine months later, after one final and very epic gust of willpower, my husband's choked-up voice said, "It is a boy." (sans dark hair)

I have loved his boyness right from the start.  He has been rather independent and was not much of a cuddler from the get-go.  He loved to stretch out and lay unbound on the floor.  He wriggled and squirmed, working on his mobility just days after getting home.  He has grown up and become destructive and rambunctious.  He is curious and inquisitive.  He is relentless and sneaky.  He is loud and strong.  He bangs things together and tears things apart.  He has a dimple.  He gets away with too much.

( I know, I know.  Gender stereotypes.  But, dude, there is a reason that certain stereotypes exist.  My kid is a lot like the others that have come before him.  He can be whatever he wants in this life ((except mean)), but right now, he is exactly what one thinks of when they think of little boys.)

And as a boy in the midst of his little-boydom, he has defined his relationship with his mom and dad. 
Parents are baby's whole world.  I didn't realize how much this was true until going to visit family several states away.  Every night a different house.  Everyday a house full of different folks.  The only constant: mom and dad.  I really saw his point of view when I got away from all the daily distractions of my everyday life. 

Dad is baby's best friend.  Dad is baby's playmate, hide and seek partner, tickle machine, and climbing tower.  Dad is fun and dad is funny.  Dad captures baby's eyes.  Dad is baby's role model.  Dad is baby's buddy.

Mom is baby's home base.  Mom is where baby goes to get reassurance and healing.  Mom is baths and bottles.  Mom is the stuff of the daily grind.  Mom is safe when we are in new places and with new people.

Learning this about ourselves and about our son has been very meaningful because it made me realize something:  Everyone who has a had a baby will tell you how demanding babies are.  Even happy, healthy babies require constant support, supervision, and care.  Then I thought about myself.  I thought about all the people who contribute to my welfare- my husband's love, support, and friendship.  My parents endless love and patience. My siblings humor and kindred-spiritness.  My friends encouragement and solidarity.  My co-workers challenge and camaraderie.  The list goes on and on.  As adults we get fulfillment by collecting little bits and pieces of what we need from boatloads of different people.

Who does baby have?  Baby has you.  And if you have partner in this, then that makes two.  Babies need all that social and emotional support that we need, but they only have one or two resources to get it from.  They require it all and they deserve it all and that is why we are dead-on-our-asses tired by 8:30 even on days we haven't left the house or gotten dressed. 

If you have raised a child or are doing so now then, "this bud is for you".  (or this glass of wine, or this donut, or this DQ blizzard...whatever your vice)  If you have been the birthday cake maker, the doctor, and the teacher in one afternoon-this one is for you.  If you have been peed on, kissed, and hit in the face in the same hour-this one is for you. 

They say "it takes it village", so I guess by that logic, I am a village?

A Quick Update- My Kid

I am a few weeks behind, but a quick update is needed.

My kid had chronic ear infections.
My kid had hearing loss in both ears.
My kid had only one letter sound-"da"
My kid had taken antibiotics 10 out of his 12 months of life.
My kid got ear tubes put in on Thursday.
My kid said "mom" on Friday.
My kid said "ba" on Saturday.
My kid danced and sang to Those Darlins with complete joy and lack of pain.
My kid makes my heart explode with happiness and love.

Back to the Therapy Buisness

I left off with a post about how I was feeling like therapy is really starting to make a change in my life and the feeling was reaffirmed after this week's session.  Two important things happened this week:

1. I got the results of my hormone test back.  During one of my sessions, I explained the crazy body sensations I was feeling and my therapist recommended getting my hormone levels checked.  What did I find?  I have the hormones of a woman about to enter menopause.  My cortisol levels are very low, so to get by, my body has been hoarding the chemicals and important building blocks I ingest and create to bring that level up.   In turn, this has stolen the supply of building blocks that my hormones need, so those levels tanked, too.

I am the little black dot.

While this isn't the most alarming of cases, it is significant enough to require a course of action.  I was prescribed several supplements, vitamins, and proteins to start taking.  Much to my relief, no hormones were prescribed.  This process should begin next week.

2. I had a panic attack on Tuesday.  

It had been a while since I had had one, and this was friendly reminder that I do in fact have an anxiety disorder, instead of this line of "anxiety is just a little something I struggle with" that I have been feeding myself.  I had been feeling overwhelmed, cry-faced, and exhausted and it all came to a head in a swirling moment of dizziness, terror, sweating, and gasping for air.  I sat on the front step, trying not to pass out.  I was crying and feeling so burnt out, not even cognizant of the neighbors in their driveway a few feet away.  I knew what I was feeling in that moment, but I couldn't explain why.  I couldn't pinpoint specific events or concerns that had accumulated to this feeling of panic.

Two days later, I cozied into that familiar couch and I talked to my therapist.  I cried about feeling overwhelmed and she helped me to breakdown this generalized feeling of despair into: unbalanced energy in vs. energy out, sadness that my students come from such desperate situations and I can't really do anything about it, my lack of boundaries that have kept me from declaring the things I need for fear of disappointing/annoying others, I haven't defined my role in my new school, I haven't made a personal mission statement to guide me on a daily basis, etc. (the list is truly long) 

After that session, I drove home quieter.  I really thought about the things she said and my mind was changed.  Not in a dramatic way, but a little synapse lit up a new part of my brain.  The part of my brain that has decided to live a specific life.  I want to live in clarity.  I feel that thinking about my place in the world and making choices about my job here, will turn my feet in the right direction.  I have been quite lost. Sparing the road of life metaphor and a diatribe about my loathing of the GPS, I am way off course.  I can't get ahead because I am just wandering around in a dark cave with a bag on my head.  I haven't been able to get my bearings enough to pick a direction to go.  But I do think, that being specific might get me back above ground.  So being specific, I will remind myself,  "I have an anxiety disorder.  I have boundary issues.  I struggle with codependency.  I have a negative image of myself.  These are things I have.  They are not things I am.  I want to live a life of value and purpose, beginning with restoring my own self care so that I have enough energy to share it with those I love and those who need it."

The Kid Turns One

Some how this sweet child has survived a year with his dad and I as his caretakers.  Don't get me wrong, we try..."wicked hard", but it still seems crazy that we actually pulled it off.  As I sit down for a brief minute before the family comes rolling in to celebrate, interrupted only by poopy diapers and phone calls from the pediatric ENT, I feel reflective and sentimental.

In the first year of baby life, we have both learned so much.  If I could tell a new mom a few things that I have discovered as I recieve my "One Year" pin, it would be:

1.  You will never be "old you" and that may be frustrating and lonely for a while.  I was convinced that I would be rested and clean by this point in little man's childhood, but alas, I am not.  I thought that soft belly skin would dissipate.  I thought my marriage would be just as easy as before.  I was wrong on all counts, but I am learning that this is actually a much better me, mostly because it isn't so much "me" anymore as it is spouse/parent/grown-up.  I have more richness in my life as cliche as it sounds, I really do love more than I did before.

2. Don't use the baby to belittle your partner.  Using some squeaky version of your own voice to comment on the elasticity of the mashed potatoes, does not make it hurt any less.  And a baby doesn't give a shit about the viscosity of his root vegetables, they would never say that.  This has happened to me and been done by me, but no more.  I will not use my child to hurt my spouse.

3. You are going to do a good job.  Things are going to worry you and keep you up at night that don't bother your babe a bit.  My son's daycare started feeding him "kitchen food" this week.  He had: chili, chicken nuggets, and fish sticks this week.  I have only cried about it a half dozen times, but he is no worse for the wear and his guts are hard at work learning to process the processed garbage that he will be demanding in a few years.  Your insistence on bringing the hormone free milk to his daycare everyday, or your choice to have him roll with the mainstream and not interfere are both equally valid, you will do what you think is right and in that way you will be right.

4. Babies get sick.  My child has never gone for a "well visit" and not had some health issue: ringworm, eye infections, ear infections, C Diff, etc.  He has been on gobs of antibiotics and other meds, but it is okay.  Even though I am a nut about natural living and don't take medicine myself (if I can help it), babies get sick, but they are fierce little creatures and they will get through it.  Even though the baby is coughing, try to sleep.  It will help you both.  Also, co-sleeping does wonders when your nerves are shot.  It is my go-to remedy to get both of us through sickness.

5.  Don't judge people who are childless.  A good friend told me that he and his wife don't want kids, they like to travel and pick up and go without planning/packing/etc.  My first reaction was (embarrassingly) a judgmental reaction of "wow, how selfish?".   Then my mind punched itself.  While this first year of motherhood has consumed my brain and I have felt my own growth as a person, it is so unfair to judge those who don't want to venture down this road.  People still grow and learn and get more incredible without kids.  And just because they sleep better at night, doesn't make them less accomplished, valuable, or generous.  So train your brain, that while you have made the choice to procreate, "it takes all kind a' people to make the world go round" (as my Nee-Nee would say).

 6.  Just keep going, one day at a time and before you know it, that sweet bundle of joy will be one.


Love,
J

Fever Fun

Last weekend, little man felt warm.  A few hours later he felt hot.  A few hours after that?  Boiling!  For 2 days my husband and I watched in horror as our first born's temperature spiked up and down, reaching as high as 104.3 degrees.  For endless hours we debated whether or not to take him to the ER.  I called a number of urgent care places (trying to avoid the chaos and supergerms of the ER), but no one would see kids under 18 months.  Knowing the ER was the only option we tried to work him through it at home.

Our kind on-call doctor was on speed dial all weekend, and she patiently told me the same thing over and over again, "If you can make him comfortable and keep him drinking, he will be okay, but take him to the ER if you start to feel uncomfortable about the temperature."  She also told us about the femoral seizures that can occur when temperatures spike too quickly.  Thus creating shear panic in us as parents. 

Countless numbers of tepid baths, many with he and I in the tub together-as he was too tired to sit up by himself for the length of time it helped to bring the fever down, were given.  Oral doses of ibuprofen.  Anal suppositories of acetaminophen. Old-timey remedies of salted socks and essential oils in his humidifier water- nothing seemed to work.

I kept telling myself (though I wasn't truly believing) that the fever was good and his body was hard at work protecting itself.  I also decided that it was probably viral and that taking him to the doctor would be a waste because they wouldn't be able to do anything.  However, come day three of a fever over 102, my reasoning began to seem weak- it was time to take him to see the doc.  

My husband and I made a plan, wherein he would take our son to the doc at about 9:00, so I got up and started to get ready for work at 6:45.  I grabbed the baby from his bed and laid him down with my husband to cuddle, soothe, and monitor him.  At 8:15 when my husband's alarm went off, he awoke to find my side of the bed a disgusting, sweaty mess.  Guess who's fever finally broke?

Having already set up the appointment and wanting to get to the root of all this mess, my husband took him to see the pediatrician, who informed us that little booger had a double ear infection.  Hmm, so advice from someone who didn't get it completely right?

Well, here it goes:
If your baby is experiencing a fever:
1.  Let them drink anything they will accept.  I, to my horror, gave my son some Sprite- fresh from the McDonald's fountain.  I desperately wanted to keep him from dehydrating, so I did whatever I thought might work, and he did not get dehydrated.
2. If acetaminophen isn't working, try ibuprofen.  I was always told to use tylenol and that is what the doctor recommended, but after 2 days of it not working, she suggested to try ibuprofen.  And it worked.
3. Anal suppositories, while very gross and very weird, are magical.  The stupid fight of making a baby ingest medicine while they are thrashing around makes it so hard to tell how much they actually got.  These are a once and done deal.  You know exactly what they got and it gets into their system fast.
4. If your child is not desperately ill, call your insurance company.  I called early on in the fever trail and they were able to tell me how to anticipate the cost of ER vs. Urgent Care, etc.  It was helpful to know our options.
5. If you are having no success, think outside the box.  After finding out that Bubba had a double ear infection, we started an antibiotic.  After two doses, he began showing signs of an allergic reaction.  With no medicine to help him, I started looking for other ways to help him in this fight.  I took him to see a chiropractor this week who adjusted him.  I know it seems odd and it was a little hard to watch him lay on the table (he cried when he was laying there, but stopped immediately when I picked him up, he was scared, but not in pain) but it was been three days without meds and the adjustment seems to have taken some pressure off his ears and no signs of a returning infection have surfaced.
6. Enjoy the bizarro version of your child who will cuddle you and watch movies.  It is heartbreaking, but also the sweetest thing to see your baby take so much comfort in a mom and dad.  

Trying the salt in the socks method my Nee-Nee swears by.

Normal Life Stuff, not Mental Issues Stuff

So my kid is almost one.  A whole year old.  I can't believe how much I think about where I was this time last year.  When the weather is just so, or same tv shows start back up with their fall line up, I am reminded of the pregnant version of myself a year ago.  And for the first time since my son was born, I started to get a little sentimental about it all.  Like, "oh, I see why people do this again".  Truthfully, until now, the thought of a having another baby made my insides quake.

Now that little bubba is getting older, he has become so much fun.  Infinity times harder to manage (I didn't understand how that could be possible), but really fun.  We do things.  Really do things together.  And it is the best.  This last week he picked up the word mom.  I turn to mush every time I hear it, though it is mostly heard when he is yelling at me while I suction his nose.

Why am I suctioning his nose?  Because the sweet boys sinuses are draining out of his eyes.  He looks like he has two black eyes, it is the saddest thing.  I don't know if it is allergies, sinus infection, or teething, but it is gross.

In addition to booger-y gross.  He has been very, very poop gross.  After producing the most potent baby poo 4-5 times a day, through his diaper and clothes, we took him to see the doc.  A stool sample revealed that the little man has C. Diff.  A bacteria that he shouldn't have in his gut.  So he is taking a medication for that three times a day. 

Medicine three times a day?  Nah, how about four times a day!?  Remember that ringworm post from three months ago?  Yep, still fighting that battle.  These meds, which blend nicely into apple juice, are finally starting to take hold and this ringworm is on the way out.

Sometimes I feel like he is never not sick.  I can't recall a time when he did not have some sort of aliment: ear infection, fungal infection, etc.  He is, however, a healthy boy and praise the lord for that.  All his internal body systems work, his motor skills are on track and his ol' noggin is firing on all cylinders.  I am incredibly thankful for that.

He is crawling, eating actual food, obsessed with the Dog book that we read every night.  He has figured out how to manipulate all his toys to make them light up and make music.  He can call for his dad and wave goodbye.  He is my hearts delight. 

Therapy

So I tried the meds.  I felt crappy.  I stopped the meds.

Then the new prescritption came, but I decided to go rogue.  I felt the need to let my body and brain rest, so I did not start the medication-this one is called Lexapro.  I made some reference to the fact that I wasn't taking them to my husband, who got real serious faced and told me that he thought I needed to be taking them, that a doctor would not have prescribed them if the need wasn't there.  Okay I thought.  I will take them.  (But I still didn't)

That week, I started therapy.  Yep, the whole "talk about it while someone with a notepad takes notes" buisness.  Getting to this point was very hard though.  I called a million places trying to get this process started, but I found that: a) they don't have any therapists that accept Cigna insurance, b) it costs $150+ an hour, c) the last session was at 4 (I get out of work at 4:15), or d) no one called me back.

Losing hope and getting angry, I typed into the google search bar exactly what I was looking for and found Agape.  A national group of people who support people.  I called and they got me in for the next week.  I got a 5:00 appointment, too!  They don't accept my insurance, but the fees are $40 a session.  Yay for being in the lower income bracket!

*update*
It has been almost an month since I started typing this post.  And I can say that I am starting to feel different.  I am still unmedicated, but I am working on coming to terms with my anxiety.  I mean, it is has cost me nearly $200 to realize that I have an anxiety disorder and that I need to accept it.

 I had something I could liken to a small breakthrough in my last session, when my therapist told me that when I feel like my arms aren't attached or my head is floating away, or I am the only one in the world who feels this way and everyone is different and better and I am alone, that I needed to stop and say to myself, "This is the anxiety."  I know that seems glaringly obvious.  Like, really, I know how clear that should have been, but I needed to hear it and needed to practice it.  The art of depersonalizing the crazy things that your body does is not an innate skill.  However, I have seen a change in myself by following this technique.  When I start to panic, I remind myself, this is the anxiety.  It isn't me.  It is the anxiety.

I can't express how much relief this one small change has brought me.  My life is different now than it was a week ago.  I am so grateful.

Sertaline

In my last post I admitted that I am struggling with my mental state.  I wish that "admitted" wasn't the word to use, but it is what describes the feeling of telling others that you have brain issues-like a secret you have to admit with caution.   I do admit it, however, in hopes of opening up the dialogue about mental health.  It should not be something so secretive that people feel nervous writing it down in a quasi anonymous blog. (getting off soap box)

All that said, I wrote that I would be addressing this problem.  Not sure how to begin,  I called my OB doctor- since this is most likely baby related.  His nurse called back and said go to my regular doctor and could offer me no help or advice.

Step One: Call doc
I called up my general care physician who said he could get me in a few days later.  You should know, I am not a big fan of this doctor. He is someone I found on a list of who accepts my insurance within 3 miles of my house and I just put up with his lack of personality and sub-par wait times out of convenience.  After making the appointment, I began to feel extra anxious from that point on.

Step Two: Go to Appointment
I went into the appointment with a pretty good idea of what was going on, thanks to my internet self-diagnosis.  I told him all the things I had been feeling and he agreed that I had anxiety. He took some notes, pointed out that I had ringworm on arm (thanks, kiddo), and wrote me a script.  I drove to Walgreens and picked up my generic Zoloft medicine.  five dollars.

Step Three: Drugs
I got home and took the first dose before going to bed as it makes a lot of people tired.  I woke up in the morning feeling the same, no immediate side effects, so that was good.  I guess.  I kept taking the meds in the evening and monitored my feelings.  On day three, we went to the home depot to get some house fixer-upper supplies.  As we walked through the store, my husband excitedly looking at light fixtures, I thought, "what is it all for?"  And that was the beginning.  During that first week on the Sertaline, I felt those creepy, over-sad-Eeyore, we are all a pile of nothing- thoughts.  It seemed like my anxiety was ok, my body was ok, but my brain was a deep, dark, hole.  Oh, and, uh, martial relations...nope.  Not on these pills.

Step Four: Make executive decision 
 I felt too disconnected to the world to keep on with the medicine any longer.  I called the doc, told him how I felt, and he immediately called in something else.  Not encouraging.  

Where I am

I have entered a new phase as a mom.  I had a pretty smooth sailing pregnancy, a no hiccups delivery, and have a very happy baby.  Things, truly, have gone so well.  But, (of course there is a but) I feel bad.

Over the last few months, I have felt the following things:
Dizziness
Mental confusion
Funny body sensations
Panic Attacks
Shallow breathing
Side cramps
Busy headedness
Disrupted sleep
Generally worked up
Overwhelmed
Body betrayal (excessive clumsiness and the like)
Loss of apetite
Weird and scary thoughts
Thinking I was becoming a nutcase
Planetarium stomach (a term coined by my sister that means, the inability to process everything and it makes you feel tiny and swirly and nauseous to try and comprehend all that is around you, which is heightened when I think about my baby's whole life)

I started to think I was crazy.  Or that I had Lupus.

I called my doctor several months back and told him I felt out of sorts, fatigued, and sick-ish.  He took blood work, which all came back normal.  I began to feel better after that, and thought it was a fluke virus or something.  Then those feelings started to come back a few months later.  But this time they were more aggressive.  There was a moment in Kroger when I thought I was going to die (I am not being sarcastic.  I truly thought I was having a heart attack and I was going to die right there.  And some aproned employee would find my body draped over all the cartons of eggs, that would be sticky and wet since I would have crushed them as I fell to my demise.).

But the crazy thing is, if someone would have asked, I would have said that I did not feel stressed or anxious.  I thought that these things that were happening were physical and not related to my mental state.  I was wrong.  After searching the symptom "feeling drunk when haven't been drinking"  I landed in a blog about post-partum anxiety.  And it was the first time that it even dawned on me, the fact that I had a baby in the last year might have done something to my brain.

I knew about post-partum depression.  I was keenly aware of my mental state in those first few days and was happy to find that I wasn't burdened with that challenge.  However, my understanding of this disorder was that it had a short window of time to strike and that it would always show its face through sadness.  I didn't know that it was much bigger than that.

After I read that blog post, I started thinking.  I thought about all that I had been through in the last year.  I found my list of woes and life changes to be rather long and pretty gloomy.  I think it was the first time I really thought about it.  Making a career change for myself, an unexpected loss of employment for my husband, switching daycares for my son.  Then I kept thinking.  I thought about the day that my beautiful nephew was born, I was standing in the snow, listening to "Taps" being played as my son's name sake was lowered into the ground.  I thought about looking into the rearview mirror and seeing a fifteen passenger van slam into the back of my vehicle on the interstate.  I thought about it all and realized-I needed some help.  (the list goes on.)  And what I found was that,  right now, this life thing has gotten bigger than I can handle.  I believed that I could walk these thoughts away, or meditate them away, or bible them away, but nothing worked.  And my brain, which tries hard not to think about all these things, is telling me(through crazy symptoms) that there is a problem that needs to be addressed.  I am addressing that problem.


The following site helped me realize what was going on.  If you feel at all like I have described, take a read.
http://www.postpartumprogress.com/the-symptoms-of-postpartum-depression-anxiety-in-plain-mama-english

The Little Weenie Weaned Himself

After nine months, two weeks, and three days of breastfeeding, it was just done.  

It wasn't until I was five months pregnant and working on a baby registry at Target that I even thought about the fact that I would have to feed this child.  I knew that the doctor would cut the cord after my baby (lovingly called Hummingbird) was born and then (s)he would look to me for food.  And I had a choice to make.  I was flush, embarrassed, and honestly weirded out by the thought of the actual act of breastfeeding.  I was thinking about all of this while my mom was asking me, "Do you want to register for a breastpump?"  What?  A pump?  For breasts?  What the what?  I gave a quick, "Uh, yeah?  I guess so."  I held the scanner at safe distance and heard the beep.  I knew that I had successfully registered for something in the breastpump section, so I moved on and began scanning tiny bath accessories.  Trying not think about the whole feeding thing for a while.

When I was a kid, my grandparents had a dairy farm.  I spent many summer evenings talking to my grandma as hundreds of cattle moved through shiny mechanical gates, into neat lines.  My grandma would diligently spray each utter with iodine and wipe them a towel then throw on the four pronged automatic milker.  I would stand there and watch as pint after pint of fresh, white milk moved through the lines.  I was going to be a dairy cow.  Just without my grandma to spray me down.

So I thought some more and worked up enough lady balls to start asking questions.  I asked my mom and what my siblings and I ate.  I learned that she nursed us all for 2 months and then like clockwork, her milk dried up and we did formula from there on out.  I asked some other family members and friends and heard so many different feeding strategies.  But, I still felt weird.  

As the months drew past and I got larger and closer to meeting my kiddo, I started to feel a change a-brewin'.  I think it had largely to do with my getting larger.  The more my body started to look like it wasn't  mine anymore, the more it seemed to belong to the baby.  Like the thought of nursing this child would be okay, because those weren't really my cans down there anyway.  They were, ah, changing, and it was all for the baby.  Whatever was in there, wasn't mine and I was okay with sharing it.  

I, like other moms, faced some challenges when actually beginning the whole nursing buidness, but within a few short weeks, we hit our stride.  Then I went back to work and started pumping 3 or 4 times a day.  My little guy had to have formula to supplement his growing appetite.  And as the months wore on, he was needing more formula and I was producing less milk.  Summer came and we quickly found ourselves just nursing in the morning and at night.  The amount of calories he was getting was dismal I am sure, but I felt like I had to this.  I had set goals for myself.  I was going to nurse this baby until he was 11 months old and I went back to work.  11 months, dangit.  

Well, how naive am I to make plans without consulting the baby?  He woke up one morning and REFUSED to nurse.  What does that look like?   It looks like full-on scream-crying, flailing, pushing away with real tears, protest.  Again at nightime.  Again the next night.  

And then it was done.

He voiced his opinion and I heard it loud and clear.  I just didn't want to hear it.  I wanted to meet my goal.  I wanted to still be his mama that could make food for him that was healthy and good for the heart.  I wanted to give him immunity powers.  I realized that this thing, this dairy cow, saggy boobed thing, was something that I wanted.  I was so scared of it just a year before and now I was crying that it was all over.  

Mi bebe tienes RINGWORM!

My kid got ringworm.  How, you may ask?  I have no idea, is the answer.

A few weeks ago I noticed this circle of red skin forming on the back of his head.  My first thought was, "Oh no!  Lyme's disease!" But the lack of a tick bite convinced me that he did not have Lyme's disease.   Also, the fact that he was not exhausted and sick should have tipped me off that he did not have Lyme's disease.  Since the red ring appeared about a week before my son's 9 month appointment, I decided to keep an eye on it and if it didn't change, I would just ask the doctor then.

About two days before the appointment, I thought, "Could that be ringworm?"  But I was fairly certain that it was not, as he had not been wrestling around on damp mats with high school boys.  (This is all I knew of ringworm.)  So, I googled it.

Ringworm, for those who don't know, is an infection of the skin caused by a fungus.  It is not caused by or related to worms.  It is similar to athletes foot and spreads through contact with someone who has it.  And was probably what was on the back of my kid's head. (The more you know-----shooting star!)

Two days later, I took him to the doctor, and to his surprise he said, "Wow!  That is ringworm.  I haven't seen that on a kid this young for a long time."  Cool!  My kid is lucky!

The doctor said that because the ringworm was on the back of his head, that he would prescribe an oral anti-fungal, as the scalp is hard to treat.  He also said that he would need to take it for at least 3 weeks until the ring was gone.  As a good patient, I went and picked up the prescription and forced the sickly, sweet orange liquid into my kids mouth.

(Aside)  My child is super easy.  He is so stinkin' good.  He only looses it when I lay him flat on his back or try to give him medicine.  (End Aside)

I filled the syringe and tried to hold little man on my lap, arms pinned down, and squirted the medicine into his mostly toothless mouth.  He flung his head, cried, screamed, gagged, and spit out most of .5 mL  that I had squeezed out.  There were still 3 mL in the syringe.   I squirted those into a bottle.  He said, "No, thanks."  Then I put some juice in there with the meds and tried to give him that.  Still nothing.

I gave up.  I would try again the next day.

The next day I tried to give him smaller doses throughout the day mixed into various bottles, but I could  not get him the take the stuff.  Knowing I had to get rid of the ringworm, I decided to try something different.  I have recently gotten into essential oils and home remedies, so I started researching how to naturally get rid of ringworm.  I found that tea tree oil has great anti-fungal properties, so I gave it a shot.  Each day, I put one drop of oil onto the ring in the morning and before bed.  In six days the ring was dried out (dead) and healing.

Things my kid ate yesterday:

1. Hormone- and antibiotic-free, free range chicken pureed with organic carrots and organic green beans.
2. A mouthful of sand, which he choked on
3. A piece of the American Express junk mail flier, which I tried to pull out of his mouth, but it was too far back, so we just got some water and swallowed that mess.

Things my child has put in his mouth...in the last week

I realize that this makes me look like a negligent parent, especially to those of you who do not have kids, but those of you who do, know that a child can get his hand to his mouth at about the speed of two atoms flying toward each other in a particle accelerator.  And that their tiny fingers make for the most accurate set of tweezers.  So, though all of these things have found their way into little man's mouth, none have been swallowed or choked on.  I swear.

1. the open end of a sunscreen tube (sans lid)

2.  a nickel

3. the cord for the record player (covered in hair)

4. the dog's squeeky bone

5. the dog's actual bone (cow femur)

6.  the dog's foot

7. the dog's tongue

8. a furniture pad

9. my husband's shoe

10. two dvd cases with Brad Pitt on the cover

11. my toe

12. the legs of the coffee table

13. scooby doo

14. a brown paper bag

15. the edges of the rug


Can you tell he is army crawling everywhere?

God Bless the Single Parent

(disclaimer-this entry is very graphic)

I am not a single parent.  I have a good and kind husband.  My son's delight in him shows me the incredible level of devotion between father and son.  And because of that devotion, my husband works very hard to take care of us.  As of late, he has begun a project at work and has been working 12-14 hour days trying to complete it.  On day five of his being at work during all hours of our son's awake time, I was starting to feel the weight of "doing it all": working, cooking, cleaning, child-rearing, generic gender stereotypes, etc.  Add to that my son is teething.

After said day five of my temporary single parenting, I was hoping to get some things accomplished at home after work.  After a ten hour day, I picked my son up at daycare and finally made it home.  Home to my terrible, awful, poop-smelling home.  Let me clarify, my home does not usually smell of poo, but as I walked in the door, the scent of feces was heavy in the air and my eyes fell to the dog kennel.  But even before I saw it, I knew by the smell that this was not going to be an easy clean up.  I found that my poor creature had been VERY sick in and outside his kennel (if that gives you any idea).  There was a general splatter within a three foot radius.  

I put down the car seat carrier and attempted to think through the situation, but was not having great success.  That said, I opened the kennel to take my dog, Phil, outside, and he did the ol' doggie shake, flinging doo all over me and my work clothes.  I managed to get him outside and tied to a tree, then headed back in for the kennel.  Before entering the house, I turned to look back, hoping my make shift tie out was going to hold him.  Looking back at him, he gave me a look-a look I had seen once before; three years ago, when a student I really loved was vomiting on the desks and floors of my classroom, and in between heaves, he was frantically apologizing.  Of course I was not angry at the child.  Nor was I angry at the dog, he clearly could not have prevented this from happening, and seeing his ears drooped against his lowered head, outside in the rain, covered in shit, I felt bad for the guy.  However, the pity was not going to get my work done, so I stripped off my work clothes, put on some scrub clothes, and went outside to face the mess.  

Meanwhile, every time I left my son's line of vision he started screaming.  I grabbed the hose and started to wash the dog.  When he was clean, I went after the kennel.  Since it was 50 degrees and raining, I couldn't take my son outside with me, which meant that he was screaming outside of my line of vision, but not out of earshot. And I don't mean fussing or crying.  I mean screaming, as in, sweating, flush face, sometimes holding the scream too long and doing the silent scream.

But the poop.  So much poop.  Must.  Keep.  De-pooping.

I tried to soothe him by talking to him, but was not having it.  Since I knew he was recently fed and had a dry diaper, I dredged on.  I scrubbed the beshatted floor hands-and-knees style to get the grout all scrubbed out.  And the with the distance between the stink and my nose reaching more than friendly distances, my stomach started to turn, and my son's screaming was starting to weigh down my brain.  In that moment I felt a twinge of something similar to desperation, but instantly, even in all that mess and noise, I knew that I had it good.  I have a baby.  I have a dog.  I have house for both those things to poo in.  Tomorrow, my husband will be home. The two of us can face tomorrow's disasters together.  But some people have to clean up the dog poop and the baby poop on their own, and those people are deserving of gold medals and a good night's sleep.  So to all the parents who are doing it alone, God bless ya.


I thought of doing that public shaming of dogs with written signs to explain their bad behaviors thing, but it didn't seem fair, he clearly wasn't trying to be a menace.   However, here are some very ashamed dogs that other people have posted to the interwebs and last one isn't too far off.

Also, I had wine and oreos for dinner.

The Amazing Adventures of the Super-Uncoordinated Mom!

"Please catch it.  Please catch it."

I am not a coordinated person.  I drop 75% of the things I pick up.  My baby being the exception (some how my subconscious knows to try harder when holding that cargo).   I trip over things more often than I would like to admit, but, don't worry, I always play it cool.  "No, it's okay, I wanted to get a closer look at that tile!" 

So needless to say, the other day I had a quite an amazing adventure.  

My husband loves to play baseball, so sometimes on Sundays, he fills in on a friend's softball team when they are short on players.  I am not much of a sports fan myself, but I can enjoy a live game of anything.  So when our friend called asking for a fill-in, we packed up the car and headed to field, delighted to be spending the afternoon lounging outside.  When we arrived, one minute before game time,  my husband ran out onto the field (wearing a grey shirt and playing for the red team).  I laid out an old hospital blanket on the ground and kicked off my shoes.

The first hour of the game was great.  My son rolled around and grabbed at the grass.  He watched several leashed dogs go by and communicated with them in their native tongue.  It was super.  Then at one hour and one minute, he started to totally lose his cool. 

He notoriously starts this fake crying thing when he is tired.  He pretty much just yells.  It is so pathetic because he doesn't cry tears, he just makes this loud, drone of irritation.  And the only cure is sleep.  So, naturally, I let him carry on like this for 10 minutes while he laid on the blanket and I didn't try to soothe him.  I got a few turned heads with looks like, "Geez lady, have you no heart?"  I looked back with a look like,  "Stop sending me messages with your head turn."

Within 15 minutes, he was zonked out(as I knew he would be), as peaceful and as calm as a baby on a blanket, in the park, in the spring, with a light a breeze, at a softball game.  With him a-snoozing, I leaned back on my elbows to see which corner of the outfield they had stuffed my husband in (he is a really good baseball player, but apparently a fill-in cannot play a base position).  I finally spotted his beard blowing in the wind far out in right field.  I turned my attention to the batter, when a ball flew by on my left.  As I turned to look at where the rogue ball had come from, I "shit you not" time slowed down.  I saw the tacky highlighter-yellow-green-oversized ball heading our way.  I reached my left arm out, over my sleeping son's belly, and the ball smacked into my wrist.  Leaving purple stitch marks on the bone.  I looked down at my kiddo, still lost in a dream, totally unaware that he almost got hit with a ball.  

Most of the time, I can't catch a ball when I am trying.  Especially when my husband doesn't throw it directly into my outstretched glove.  So, to turn, see, and stop a ball in no seconds, and the experience the emergency-situation-super-human-mom-strength was a truly amazing adventure.

How being a mom has made me a better person.

Nobody wants to say it out loud.  We all might think it, but it is so not-classy/egotistical to say it.  However, I said I would be honest here.  So, ahem..."I, anonymous writer of this blog, think I am a good person".

I live pretty responsibly.  I car-pool.  I have manners.  I give my money to United Way.  I give my blood to the Red Cross.  I am a law abiding citizen(speeding home from work aside).  I work hard at a job with no possibility of bonuses, promotions, or accolades because I believe that it helps others.  I generally try to good things.  I feel like I am not a Scrooge.

But then I became a mom.

I never truly understood how much I was living for myself until I was face-to-face with a human that depended on me in order to live.  Suddenly, the generous person I thought was, was being taxed and torn by a tiny, crying, drooling little creature. 

I used to pride myself on my efficiency.   Don't get me wrong, I can be as lazy as anyone else, but I can also throw it into overdrive and accomplish a months worth of tasks and chores before lunch.  (If you knew my mother, this would make sense.)  I have been known to wake up Saturday and cleaned the house and left to run errands before my husband has woken up for the day.  But recently, that has all changed.  Except for the part about all that stuff needing to still be done.  Oy.

In the last six months, my level of efficiency at home and personal grooming has become something like that of Homer Simpson's.  I watch TV, burned out from the day of work and love on my baby from five to nine pm.   The dishes pile up-beyond the sink and onto the counter.  The recycling can becomes a mountain of paper and catalogs that I never signed up for.  Every day I think about taking care of it and every few days I actually do something about it, though it really does bother me everyday to have a mess in the kitchen, I have learned that there are other more important things in need of my attention.  And those important things are not daily showers or hair fixin'.

I am also reminded of this every morning, after hearing the alarm go off before 5:30.  Even the temptation of sleep.  Even the temptation of sleep when it is still dark outside.  Even the temptation of sleep when it is still dark outside and it is winter, and I know that the floor will be cold when I step on it, is now trumped by the thought that my baby needs me. I am reminded that he needs me more than I need sleep, sunlight, and warm feet and so I groggily walk to his bedside.   As soon as I see him laying the wrong direction in his crib, rolled onto his belly, forehead shoved up against the slats, I know I made the right decision. 

 I am not complaining.  Please don't read it that way.  I am just realizing that before I had a kid, I was living a life dedicated to my own whimsies.  Now, I spend a large part of my day wiping poop off a little white hiney.  But I have a joy like I have never known.

28 things to do in the last 28 days

I am sharing with you a list of 28 things to do in the last 28 days of pregnancy.  I was inspired to write it after finding the few weeks leading up to delivery to be: long, emotional, and in-need-of-distraction-y.  I have shared it with my sister and my cousin, with good response.  Use it if you find yourself in my shoes or give it to someone you know to motivate and encourage them.

The list 

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Find, buy, and watch your favorite kid's movie.  Some day you will get to share it with your little one, why not have it on hand?  The Wal-mart $5.00 bin is a great place to look.

Pick out your pediatrician and call them.  If don't have someone in mind, ask for recommendations from other parents or look them up online.  If you don't know the doctor personally, you can call their office and schedule a time to meet them and ask them some questions.  If you aren't sure what to ask, here is a good list of topics:

http://pregnant.thebump.com/pregnancy/pregnancy-tools/articles/checklist-interviewing-a-pediatrician.aspx

Remember-you are potentially dealing with this person for the next 18 years, make sure you really like them!

Go to http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/pregnancy-survey and take the survey about your pregnancy.  Write down the questions and answers on paper and put it in your baby book.

Practice swaddling.  Watch a youtube video, read a how-to blog post, or ask someone who knows.  

Figure out how to use your stroller.  Also figure out how to use your baby carrier or wrap if you have one.

Pack your hospital bag.  Two things I thought were useful: chapstick for all the huffing and puffing, and pillows from home- the hospital ones were terrible!

Get a stack of thank you cards and stamps.  People love to send gifts and cards when the baby comes.

Double your dinner recipe and freeze half.  Having pre-made food after the baby comes is awesome, because finding the time or energy to cook is hard.  I made simple things like spaghetti, meatballs, and soup and froze them.

Make a family tree for your baby.  

Make a labor or postpartum playlist.  Pick out songs that make you happy and feel calm, just remember to pack your ipod or computer and charger.  

Write out a birth plan.  When trying to process all the possibilities of labor it helps to nail down what is really important to you (even if it changes at the last minute) like specifying who you want in the room, if you want to have pain meds available, if you don't want interns involved, etc.

Make a list of who you want contacted and assign that job to someone.  Decide if you want to call, text, or email your friends and family to let them know the good news.  You can even type up a draft email or text and then you can just fill in the details and hit send!

Start a timer and drive to the hospital, park, and walk to the right floor.  Then you will know what to expect during show time.  While you are there, you can go in and look at the babies in the nursery, and stop for a frosty on the way home.

Buy one post-pregnancy thing for yourself.  Not something that will take several months to get into, but something that you can be happy to put on after the baby comes.  My sister bought me this sweet nightgown that is super soft and pretty, which is nice to wear especially when I feel so un-used to my body being just mine.

Spend extra time loving on your pets.  You will always love them, but it is hard to give them a lot of attention after having a baby.  It takes time to work out a new routine as a family and get back to bonding with your animals, so love them up now.  Also pick up a few toys or treats and keep them stashed away for when you are feeling guilty.

Transition your closet and drawers by pulling out maternity things and putting your old clothes back.  It might take a while to get back into them, but having your old clothes can help you get back to feeling more like yourself.  I can't explain why, but throwing on my old ratty Red Hot Chili Peppers t-shirt was really comforting.

Watch a movie about having a baby.  I highly recommend Baby Mama, other good choices are Junior, Away We Go, and Juno.  I do not recommend Look Who's Talking-that movie gives me the creeps.

Clean like crazy!  I know you are probably really tired and your house is already clean, but think about it as a clean-pay-it-forward kind of thing.  If you scrub already clean toilets and sinks, the cleanyness will last for a while after the baby comes.

Go buy plenty of pads for yourself (the Always Infinity were definitely worth the extra few dollars), and rubbing alcohol wipes for baby's umbilical cord. 

 Do something with your feet.  They will be up in the air, and well, they might as well look decent.  I know they are hard to reach, but give them a few minutes of attention, or get someone else to do it.

Make sure you have baby medical stuff at home.  It seems babies only need something like that at a really inconvenient time and then someone is going to the 24 hours Walgreens in the dead of night.  Things to check for might be: thermometer, gas drops, baby tylenol, etc.

Put together a few baskets of baby stuff.  We have a changing station in our bedroom, but I find myself changing little man on the couch/floor/pack-n-play quite often, instead of taking him back there every time.  Throw some diapers and what not into a few baskets and stash them in different rooms, especially those that you spend a lot of time in.

 Do something that you won't do for a while after the baby comes, like go to the movies or a small, crowded, baby-unfriendly restaurant.

Find a baby picture of you and your husband.  Throw them into the hospital bag or have them handy when you get home.  It is fun to see what features get passed along.

Check your bills and bank accounts.  I got so distracted when little man was born, that I let one of our accounts get a negative balance.  I just wasn’t thinking about it.  If there is anything you can do, like set up automatic payments or transfers, do it ahead of time.

Get a good water bottle.  If they let you drink during labor, it is nice to have your own bottle and watch how much you drink.  After the baby comes, you will have to drink a lot of fluids and breastfeeding can make you feel really thirsty.  Splurge for something fun.

Bake something.  You will have a lifetime of making birthday cakes and holiday cookies ahead of you.   Start sharpening your skills and enjoy some tasty treats.

Take a picture of your belly in a way that you can recreate it with your baby once they arrive.  Wrapping your hands around the bottom and holding it up, lay the baby’s coming home outfit on your belly, etc… then just substitute a baby for the belly for an after picture.

Take a bath.   Doctors recommend you don’t take one for a long while after the baby is born, since your body is trying to rid itself of un-useful material and don’t want to risk infection.  Make it a good long one and bring a book.