In The Space Of A Year

Saturday, August 31st, 2008

The first football game of Virginia Tech's 2008 season was scheduled to be played that afternoon in Charlotte, North Carolina. McMoose and I, in an attempt to start the season on the right foot, decided to go.

Over the course of the past three months, I had taken more pregnancy tests than I care to admit because I wanted a baby and I was impatient and waking up ridiculously early to take those tests gave me something to do, something to write on my calendar, something to look forward to. Each time another one came back negative, I swore to myself that I would NOT take another one until the next month...and then, 2 days later, I'd be setting my alarm 30 minutes early again. (No, it does not take 30 minutes to take a pregnancy test. But it DOES take 30 minutes to sit on the couch and mope when they come back negative.)

That August, I had already taken three tests and watched them all come back with one line instead of two. The last of those three was so late into the month that it should have been absolutely conclusive. But after the game, we were going to a party at a friend's apartment, and being familiar with the tone at VT football games and after-parties and my group of friends, I knew the alcohol would be free flowing.

So I decided that just to be sure, just for my own peace of mind, I should take a final test that morning.

It's going to be negative, you know, said the voice in my head.

I know, I replied.

So don't take it, said the voice.

I have to.

Why?

Because...what if it's not negative?

The alarm went off at 5 in the morning because I was so dead certain that it would be negative that I just wanted to get it over with and go back to bed for an hour, so that I could start the day off on an excited note, rather than a disappointed one. I stumbled into the bathroom, assembled the test, searched around for my glasses and peered blearily at the display on the test. There was the test line, as always. And then, there was a second line. Ever so faint. Almost not there. But getting stronger by the second.

A second line? A? Second? Line? Quick, grab another test!

So I reached back into the drawer...and came out empty handed. I had just used MY LAST TEST. And there was a SECOND LINE. Obviously, it was a mistake. Someone at the factory had messed up, clearly, because there was NO WAY that second line was for real.

I rushed around like a blind fool, getting dressed and then waking McMoose to say something about how I had to go to the pharmacy RIGHT NOW. His eyes opened instantly--a first for someone who frequently takes over an hour to wake up.

Is it...positive?

I don't know, maybe it's wrong, but I have to go to the pharmacy.

And then, I was driving around town in the dark, the only car on the road, trying to find a pharmacy that was open at that time of morning. 45 minutes later, I found myself standing outside a Wal-Mart, waiting for it to open. Rushing in, buying two different brands with 2 tests each, rushing back home. Re-testing and watching as ALL FOUR of the new tests turned positive.

I don't remember a single thing from that game.

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Monday, August 31st, 2009

I was woken up this morning by my almost-4-month-old, who was grousing and kicking, unable to stay asleep, but unwilling to be happy about waking up.

Look, Bug, I said, using the nickname I had coined for him during my pregnancy, either go back to sleep or wake up with a smile.

He chose the second option and we started our morning routine: breakfast for him, a shower for me, a diaper change for him, breakfast for me. My calendar now says things like Playdate and Pediatrician visit and Baby Yoga. There's a pacifier on my coffee table. There's a crib in my bedroom. There's a baby sleeping on my lap who, 365 days ago, was just a second line on a pregnancy test.

Newborn Fears

At the meeting last Friday, there was a mom with a three week old, and I know that everyone says this, but I'm going to jump right onto the cliche bandwagon and admit it: I absolutely canNOT remember Luke being that little. Well...no, it's not the smallness that seems so strange to me because I know that at 3 weeks old, Luke was a good pound smaller than this other baby, but I really can't remember him ever being so...sleepy. Or floppy. Or just generally newborn-like in nature.

One of the reasons I so feared a newborn was because of their floppiness. I'd had plenty of experience with babies who were over 6 weeks old, but for the first 6 weeks, I expected to be a complete mess. And then, Luke came out and on day 3, I was able to sit him on my lap, the way I used to do with the 6-week-olds and he looked around and had some semblance of head control and I figured that hey, maybe 3-day-olds and 6-week-olds weren't all that different after all.

And then, I met this other baby, who had all the head control of, say, a rag doll and I'm terrified of newborns all over again. Of course, this other baby also slept in his mom's arms like an angel the entire time, which is another thing that was completely unfamiliar to me because the thing that stands out the most for the first two months of Luke's like was the non-stop screaming. But given the choice, I think I'd go with the non-floppy screamer again because at least I know I can handle that. Of course, I'm NOT being given the choice and the next time around (in the very DISTANT future), I'll probably end up with the angelic rag doll.

Meeting Crashers

Sometimes, drama just seems to walk around until it finds me...

Luke and I went to our La Leche group this afternoon and we were having a lovely time, talking to the other moms, watching the other babies, snacking on some chips, when this new woman walks in with her baby. Now, considering that this was a breastfeeding group, it was natural to assume that this mom was nursing her baby, yes? Well...apparently not...

Lactation consultant: Welcome to the group!
New mom: Oh, thanks!
LC: Would you like to introduce yourself?
NM: Sure! I'm Jenny and this is Gabby; she's seven months old.
LC: Great! We've been talking about some of the issues people have been having this week...is there anything you'd like to bring to the table?
NM: Mm....well, it's really hard to get her to finish her bottles because all she wants to do is crawl around.
LC: Her bottles...at daycare?
NM: No, at home.
LC: Oh, are you pumping?
NM: Uh...no...
LC: Oh, are you supplementing with formula?
NM: I'm not supplementing with formula, I'm FEEDING formula.
LC: Oh...ah...this is actually a breastfeeding group...
NM: Ugh! I would never do that! I mean, I understand that people have choices, but I hate seeing women doing *that.*

At this point, there were at least three women in that room (myself included) who were doing *that* and nursing their babies. And this ridiculous woman gave each of us a mean and nasty look, after having crashed OUR meeting. So...did we get embarrassed? Did we grab blankets and throw them over our babies' heads? Or...did we do just the opposite and allow just a little bit extra skin to show?

(If you know me AT ALL, you won't need me to answer those questions for you)

Selling Him To The Circus

The Dog and I have had our share of disagreements today. We started like this:

Dog: I think I'd like to eat now.
Me: Huh? Didn't McMoose feed you?
Dog: McMoose NEVER feeds me.
Me: McMoose ALWAYS feeds you.
Dog: He lies. I'd like to eat now.
Me: Hm. No.
Dog: Fine. *Lopes off into baby's room*

10 minutes later, he reappears.

Me: There's something different about you.
Dog: No, there isn't.
Me: There definitely is. Hey! What's that white stuff hanging out of your mouth?
Dog: What white stuff?
Me: THIS white stuff...with the torn off Pampers logo!
Dog: Huh.
Me: Dog?
Dog: Huh?
Me: Did you eat a Pampers diaper?
Dog: No....
Me: Where did you even FIND a disposable diaper?
Dog: Um...
Me: *Go to baby's room, find remains of (unused), half-eaten diaper, throw in trash.*

10 minutes later...

Dog: Ugh
Me: What now?
Dog: ...I don't feel so good...

Apparently, the stuff in the diaper that turns into gel when the diaper is wet also turns into gel in other wet environments. For example, Dog's stomach. And also? The gel acts as an emetic.

Our Week in Bullets

We've had a big week around here, with lots of activities and changes. Here are a few...

• Yellow Cat figured out how to open the laundry room door earlier this summer, which is highly annoying, but lately, I've been finding his toys sitting INSIDE the washing machine. I still don't know how he does that.
• Luke has figured out that hey! He has hands! He can't get them to do exactly what he wants, but he can hug his favorite toy frog and pull off my glasses when I'm feeding him.
• He has also started "laughing." I put that word in quotes because it's not so much a real laugh as an overly theatrical...um...noise that goes "Ahhh...ahhh...ahhh..."
• We've been looking at SUVs again and I think we've finally decided on one. But there were at least 2 other people looking at it too, so who knows if it will still be available when we call later today to make an offer.
• Luke has also figured out how to use his doorway jumper. And by "use," I mean that he spins around in circles and does this odd, little hop that makes him look like a deranged flamingo. And then, he swings wildly around and I come close to having several heart attacks because his head always comes within CENTIMETERS of the door frame.
• We've been doing things every day this week and as a result of that and the fact that my insomnia has returned in full force, I am worn out. I don't think I've mentioned it on here, but when we realized that I was having supply problems and Luke wasn't gaining weight, the most powerful tool in our arsenal was that we started waking up our child, who was sleeping 9-10 hours each night, at 3 in the morning so that he could have an extra, large feeding. It worked, in that we saw weight gain almost immediately, but as a result of that disturbance each night, I now lie awake for about 2-3 extra hours trying to fall back asleep. And by the time I do, it's 6 in the morning and Luke starts stirring at 6:30.
• But! As a wonderful offset to the insomnia is the fact that Luke, who used to eat for an hour at a time, has figured out how to get the same amount of food in 20 minutes. Do you have any idea how much extra time I have on my hands? I actually straightened up the whole house, scrapbooked, sewed, and then got so bored that I rolled all his blankets up and arranged them artfully in a basket. I vacuumed, I kept up on the laundry, I dusted, I baked. Seriously, I don't know what to do with all this time.
  

Germy Encounters

I took Luke in to get a couple of shots today and while we were in the waiting room, I noticed a woman who was clutching her toddler like her life depended on it. The toddler, for his part, was doing his best to wiggle out of her lap. After a few minutes, she moved over next to me and pointed out to her child the fact that Luke was sitting so nicely on my lap. The child was not impressed & continued his quest to go play with the waiting room toys. Naturally, I was very curious about this little interaction, so I eavesdropped (although I'm not sure it can be called eavesdropping since she was sitting all of 18 inches away from me).

Woman: Stay still, Baby. Look, see the little baby? He's staying still.
Toddler: Toys.
Woman: No, no. Look, can you sit with Mama?
Toddler: Toys!
Woman: No, those are dirty. They have germs.
Toddler: Toyyys!
Woman: The toys are dirty, sweetie. They could make you sick.
Toddler: Tooooyyyyyyssss!
Woman: You don't want to be sick, do you? Remember when you had a cold? You couldn't breathe and that wasn't any fun, was it?
Toddler: Toooyyyyssss, Toooyyyysss, Tooooyyyysss!!!

This went on for a while, with the woman's explanations about germs and illness becoming increasingly detailed (at one point, she actually used the term "Mucus membrane") and the toddler's exclamations becoming increasingly...um...insistent. Luke and I soon got called to the exam room, but when we were done, I decided to stop at the restroom before heading home. And because the Universe knows just how much I love a healthy dose of irony, guess who I found swishing his hands around in the toilet water...

The Evils of Juice?

Luke has had a really good nursing day today (thank you, bad-tasting-herbs!), which means that I've had hours and hours of computer time, so I thought it would be fun to just start on CNN's front page and follow links that sounded interesting. As a result of this little game, I now have more knowledge than I ever though possible about animal cruelty, the eating habits of koala bears, and choosing the right houseplant for your family. And also? Did you know that the American Academy of Pediatrics has a Committee that met to discuss the "Use and Misuse of Fruit Juice in Pediatrics?" And also, there were 18 people on the committee, plus "liaisons" from various health-related organizations both in the U.S. and from Canada, as well as "Additional staff." And they came up with 9 conclusions and 9 recommendations. About fruit juice. And one of the conclusions was that "fruit drinks" are not the same as "fruit juice."

And reading all that has now made me really thirsty for some apple juice.

Mommy and Me

There's this business near us that calls itself a "baby spa" and when I was pregnant, I vowed to avoid ever entering it at any cost. Of course, I now go there twice a week--once for a breastfeeding support group and once for a Mommy and Baby Yoga class. Yes, that's right. I just said "Mommy and Baby Yoga class." I'll wait while you roll your eyes discreetly.

See, here's the thing. When I was pregnant and busily mocking stay-at-home moms who did dumb things like enroll in Mommy and Baby classes, what I didn't realize is that staying home with a person who can't talk? Yeah, it's kind of...tedious. I'm not going to say it's boring because as it happens, I can entertain myself for HOURS just looking at the kid and marveling at how he sighs...and breathes...and twitches his eyes in a weird, zombie-like fashion. But at some point, you have to get up and leave the house, if only because if ever you get pulled over for driving on the wrong side of the road, you cannot say "I'm sorry, Officer, but I haven't left the house in EIGHT YEARS and have therefore forgotten everything about the outside world."

And since there aren't all that many places to go in the 100 degree weather with a 3-month-old, the baby spa was the obvious (read: ONLY) choice. Now, this baby spa is run by a woman and her mother, both of whom seem like very nice people. Except. I'm a little bit worried that the mother might try to steal Luke. Why, you ask? Because of conversations like this:

Her: Oh, that baby is so cute!
Me: Thanks!
Her: No, I really mean it. He's beautiful.
Me: Thanks.
Her: I'm not even kidding. Just adorable.
Me: Um. Okay. Thank you.

After that went on for a couple of minutes, I decided that perhaps I should end the conversation, so I put Luke in the sling so we could go get some lunch.

Her: Oh, that sling is too small for him!
Me: Well, he likes it actually.
Her: Aww, poor thing. Hey, do you want me to hold him while you go to the bathroom?
Me: Uh...no...I don't need to go to the bathroom, actually. I was just going to go get lunch around the corner.
Her: Oh! Well, I'll keep him for you while you go eat!
Me: Haha! Ah, that's okay...I'll just take him with me...thanks...

And of course, Luke, who usually hates strangers and frowns at them mightily, decided that he LOVES this woman and spent the entire conversation grinning and cooing and being generally charming and very kidnap-able.

A Full Turnaround

Since Luke hit the big 0-3 last Friday, we decided to go get his 3 month pictures taken on Saturday. Now. I should preface this whole post by saying that McMoose? Definitely not into pictures. In fact, other than engagement and wedding pictures, I can count on one hand the number of pictures I have of the two of us since we started dating FOUR YEARS AGO. And apparently, his memories of childhood are tarnished by the fact that every once in a while, his parents "forced" him to put on a sailor suit and sit through family portraits. Oh, the cruelty.

So of course, he was very much against the whole 3 month portrait thing. I believe he used all of the following arguments:
1. NO ONE gets portraits of their babies.
2. ALL portraits suck.
3. He could take pictures that look just as good as any of those portrait studios.
4. Sailor suits are awful.
5. Oh, the unbearable expense.
6. Did he mention the awful, terrible, dreadfulness of portraits? And the fact that they suck out innocent babies' souls? Did I WANT to be left with a soul-less baby?

Somehow, we managed to navigate through two full days of grousing about the portraits and on Saturday morning, we both put on black shirts, picked out some cute outfits for the baby and off we went. And then? Something magical happened. The photographer came and took the pictures and went off to pick out the good ones for us to preview and McMoose FELL IN LOVE with the portraits. In fact, I think the portraits might very well have temporarily sucked out HIS soul because he went from "Portraits are awful and expensive and just no damn good" to "Hey, let's get the $300 package."

(As it happened, I retained full ownership of both my soul and my common sense and we left the store having spent WAY less than $300.)

((How much do you want to bet that arguments 1-6 will resurface when it's time for the kid's 6 month pictures?))

(((Luke didn't wear a sailor suit, but he DID wear a romper with a picture of a crab on it. Does that count?)))

3 Months!

Luke turns three months today...and as you can see, he's wide-eyed in disbelief:

He has decided that rolling over is for babies, so he's going to work on walking instead:

He's also experimenting with facial hair:

He spends his days just hangin' around:

All this growing is tiring though!

Adventures In Weirdness

Every couple of weeks or so, I like to go through my sitemeter reports to see who has been coming to the blog and for the most part, I recognize people's locations or Internet providers or reference pages, if they clicked into my blog through another site. But sometimes, there are some strange google searches that bring people to my virtual doorstep; things like "gutter flip" (here), and "unicycle + ice" (here), and "Frog police" (here).

So. I'm used to seeing this kind of thing and it no longer surprises me. You know what does surprise me? When I run across a reference page called "Asian Girls on the Internet." That one kinda threw me for a loop. So of course, I had to go see exactly why my blog was listed on that website.

About 99% of this website links to different women's photobucket and flickr accounts. I'm guessing by the title of the site that these women are Asian? I didn't really have the patience or the desire to click any of the links. But finally, after careful searching, I came upon my blog listing! Now, I already knew that there are exactly 3 pictures of me on this blog and all three of them were posted with the express intent of showing off the pregnant belly, so I wasn't sure why a fetish website would link to one of those pictures. But when I clicked on the link, I certainly wasn't expecting to find this.

How did these clowns even know I was Asian from that picture?????? (And also, I no longer mind my link being on that website. Ain't nothin' sexy about a pregnant girl with messy hair, a huge sweater, and a YELLOW SMILEY covering her face. I mean, unless you happen to be the WalMart Rollback man or something...)

The Possibilities Are Endless

Since my third trimester of pregnancy, I've meant to go to the monthly breastfeeding support groups held by La Leche League, but I kept putting it off for "just one more month" because (a) I'm not so good with new social situations and (b) I was a bit worried of being one of *those* moms. You know. The kind that breastfeed. The kind that use cloth diapers. The kind that co-sleep. The kind that make their own baby food and try to cook with whole foods and maybe even the kind that avoid eating meat.

Except that I do breastfeed and cloth diaper and co-sleep. I'm sure I'll at least try the whole baby food making thing and although I don't currently restrict myself to cooking with whole foods (because dude, I'm just happy when I manage to pull it together for long enough to cook ANYTHING), I did go through a vegetarian phase which ended only because I needed the protein and iron while I was pregnant. So really, by avoiding the meetings, I was only cutting myself off from other, similar minded moms in the area.

When I started having supply problems, I decided that I'd *finally* go to a meeting, and by a most excellent stroke of luck, I got an email from one of the women in my old birth class about attending a meeting today, so I gathered up my courage (and the diaper bag), and off we went.

Can I just say how much I appreciated being in a room full of women and their babies? Not a lot of my friends have children, so I often feel like the odd one out--the one thinking about milk supply and sleeping habits and diaper output, instead of concerts and careers and weekend plans. (Well. I DO think about weekend plans, but they're more along the lines of "this weekend, we can try out the jogging stroller" instead of "this weekend, I will test the limits of my tolerance for jello shots.")

So now, I'm hooked. I'm going to a weekly meeting on Friday. And then? Maybe I'll sign up for a Mommy and Me class. And then? Maybe I'll actually know people who have children! *Gasp!* And maybe we'll get together for play dates and maybe our kids will grow up together and maybe I'll find someone to exercise with and maybe, maybe, maybe....maybe I'm getting just a little bit ahead of myself.

A Sad Post

I've written and re-written this post three times now. It's not one I thought I'd be writing.

For the past decade, I've heard about how breastmilk is the perfect food for babies. I've read books and articles about its benefits, about how best to sustain the breastfeeding relationship, about EVERYTHING to do with it. I was not expecting it to be as rough as it has been, but for the past three months, I was gritting my teeth and dealing with it.

Just last week, I told McMoose that I could finally see myself possibly continuing to do this until Luke's first birthday. And then, the other shoe, the one labeled HA-HA, YOU DON'T GET TO CHOOSE, dropped squarely on my head.

98% of women are capable of maintaining their milk supply with regular, frequent feedings. Of course, it stands to reason that I'd be among the other 2%. For the past two days, I've been nursing Luke every waking moment. After feeding him for an hour, two, three, he gets an ounce. Obviously, he isn't very happy about this and has decided that he far prefers the bottle.

I have a few last tricks up my sleeve, mostly involving awful, AWFUL tasting herbal supplements (which will soon make me smell like maple syrup, apparently. Yech.) But if this doesn't work, I guess I'll be taking down the cardboard box filled with formula samples that has been sitting on top of my bookshelf for the past three months.