Did you know grizzlies have 4 inch claws? This is the kind of nonsense one learns from watching TV at all hours of day and night.
In other news, you know the Luke that came home with us from the hospital? The one that screamed for hours with no good reason? The one that was steadily breaking me of my will to live? Yeah, apparently, the stork realized his mistake and came and took that Luke away, and in his place, has left us a delightful baby who CAN BE COMFORTED. Imagine that! So now, when he gets ready to screech, I can pick him up and pat his back and he calms down, instead of clawing his eyes and screeching even louder, which is what he was doing for a couple of weeks there.
The Great Test came last night, when we decided to go to an actual restaurant with indoor seating, as opposed to the semi-fast food type places that we've been frequenting because they have outdoor seating, so if Luke started screaming, at least the screams wouldn't be quite so piercing. But last night, we got brave, plus we figured that between McMoose, his dad, dad's fiancee, and myself, we could probably handle one very small person, so after an hour and a half of preparation, off we went to a Japanese restaurant.
We were nowhere near brave enough to sit at the hibachi tables (big fire + small baby = stuff of nightmares and sitcoms), but we did sit at the weird, low tables with the cutout in the floor for your legs and the baby sat in his car seat next to us. Soon after we got there, he started his pre-screech squeaking, which immediately struck terror into my soul, but I held him for all of 5 minutes and he was knocked out and managed to stay asleep through appetizers, sushi, and dinner. Granted, the screeching did accompany us on our drive home, but if the trade-off is 2 hours of quiet for 5 minutes of screeching, I'LL TAKE IT!
A month ago, I was celebrating defending my thesis. Now, I'm celebrating the simple fact that I can comfort my own child. Somehow, it feels like this current milestone is going to have a much bigger impact on my life, practically speaking. (How sad is that?)
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Three Weeks
Luke is three weeks old today, and I know that's kind of an odd age to commemorate, but the one week mark was depressing for me because his age would never again be counted in days and that, apparently, was a big deal. Judging by that particular (irrational) reaction, I'm guessing that the one month birthday will be more on the bitter side than the sweet. And then, by the time his two week birthday came along, I was entirely too sleepy to think of anything to say. Plus, that was smack dab in the middle of his "I like to scream all day and night" phase, so even if I could have thought of something to say, it certainly wouldn't have been anything nice.
So instead, we're celebrating today. Not literally, of course, because the kid is still a little too young for cake and ice cream, but in my head, there's a huge celebration, in part because the first six weeks with a newborn are supposed to be the most challenging, and as of today, we're halfway there. Oh, and here's hoping that Luke has also heard that the first six weeks are supposed to be the most challenging, because so far, he hasn't exactly been doing what he is "supposed" to be doing according to the self-appointed experts of all things infant related.
Of course, even this milestone is bittersweet because he will never again be this small, he will never again fit in my arms quite the way he does right now. Each day, he comes a little bit closer to outgrowing those tiny newborn outfits. But each day also brings us closer to the time when he'll be able to smile at us (on purpose), when he'll be able to laugh and coo and roll over and crawl--and hopefully, when we will all be able to sleep a solid six hours (See? I don't ask for much. I'm not asking for eight hours. Six suits me just fine for now. Is that really so unreasonable?)
And although he might only be twenty-one days old, he fits here with us. I feel like I've known him forever, like he's been in my life forever. During the first week, I was worried that he still didn't feel like a full member of our little family, but sometime in the past two weeks, between the diaper changes and the feedings and the hours we've spent in the rocking chair, he suddenly fits.
So instead, we're celebrating today. Not literally, of course, because the kid is still a little too young for cake and ice cream, but in my head, there's a huge celebration, in part because the first six weeks with a newborn are supposed to be the most challenging, and as of today, we're halfway there. Oh, and here's hoping that Luke has also heard that the first six weeks are supposed to be the most challenging, because so far, he hasn't exactly been doing what he is "supposed" to be doing according to the self-appointed experts of all things infant related.
Of course, even this milestone is bittersweet because he will never again be this small, he will never again fit in my arms quite the way he does right now. Each day, he comes a little bit closer to outgrowing those tiny newborn outfits. But each day also brings us closer to the time when he'll be able to smile at us (on purpose), when he'll be able to laugh and coo and roll over and crawl--and hopefully, when we will all be able to sleep a solid six hours (See? I don't ask for much. I'm not asking for eight hours. Six suits me just fine for now. Is that really so unreasonable?)
And although he might only be twenty-one days old, he fits here with us. I feel like I've known him forever, like he's been in my life forever. During the first week, I was worried that he still didn't feel like a full member of our little family, but sometime in the past two weeks, between the diaper changes and the feedings and the hours we've spent in the rocking chair, he suddenly fits.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Here's the Good
Too many of my recent posts have been negative in tone, which has actually been helpful because it has allowed me to vent my frustrations, but there's so much good in my life right now that I want to be sure to record that too. So here's the good:
-McMoose, who wakes up with me at all hours of night and sits on the couch so that I don't feel quite so alone when I'm feeding Luke at night. And who sacrifices his own sleep when I'm done feeding Luke so that I can get some rest. And who's patient with the screaming when I no longer can be and who changes most of the diapers and who was able to be home with us for 3 weeks, without which I would have been completely lost.
-Luke, who's quite possibly the cutest kid ever born. And who recognizes me and looks for me, and who furrows his eyebrows and looks like a little, grumpy, old man, and who sounds like a grouchy pterodactyl when he cries out of boredom. Who curls his fingers around mine and who maybe has my nose and who has a bald spot on the back of his head which is just so kissable. Who already has a personality, and even though on bad days, that personality can only be described as "Grouchiest Human Being On The Planet," on good days, it can be described as "Knows What He Wants And Isn't Afraid To Announce It To The World," and as personalities go, that's a pretty good one.
-My family, who give me support and who listen as I complain about not getting any sleep. And who plan to visit us from faraway places, giving me a palpable sense of their interest in and excitement about Luke.
-My friends, both in real life and online, who have offered invaluable advice and insight into this early postpartum period.
-The animals, who have been adjusting to life with a screeching baby with enviable ease, and who try to "help" with the baby by pushing his swing or alerting us when he's crying (because, you know, we can't hear the screeching unless Yellow Cat screeches along or The Dog paws at us...)
-Our downstairs neighbors, who always take a peek at Luke whenever we go for walks and who always tell me how cute he is and how lucky we are to have him.
Yes, these early weeks are hard, but the good definitely outweighs the less-than-good.
-McMoose, who wakes up with me at all hours of night and sits on the couch so that I don't feel quite so alone when I'm feeding Luke at night. And who sacrifices his own sleep when I'm done feeding Luke so that I can get some rest. And who's patient with the screaming when I no longer can be and who changes most of the diapers and who was able to be home with us for 3 weeks, without which I would have been completely lost.
-Luke, who's quite possibly the cutest kid ever born. And who recognizes me and looks for me, and who furrows his eyebrows and looks like a little, grumpy, old man, and who sounds like a grouchy pterodactyl when he cries out of boredom. Who curls his fingers around mine and who maybe has my nose and who has a bald spot on the back of his head which is just so kissable. Who already has a personality, and even though on bad days, that personality can only be described as "Grouchiest Human Being On The Planet," on good days, it can be described as "Knows What He Wants And Isn't Afraid To Announce It To The World," and as personalities go, that's a pretty good one.
-My family, who give me support and who listen as I complain about not getting any sleep. And who plan to visit us from faraway places, giving me a palpable sense of their interest in and excitement about Luke.
-My friends, both in real life and online, who have offered invaluable advice and insight into this early postpartum period.
-The animals, who have been adjusting to life with a screeching baby with enviable ease, and who try to "help" with the baby by pushing his swing or alerting us when he's crying (because, you know, we can't hear the screeching unless Yellow Cat screeches along or The Dog paws at us...)
-Our downstairs neighbors, who always take a peek at Luke whenever we go for walks and who always tell me how cute he is and how lucky we are to have him.
Yes, these early weeks are hard, but the good definitely outweighs the less-than-good.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Confession
I am convinced that the Universe gave me the exact child that I got for the express purpose of opening my mind. I will admit that before him, I had ideas about the "right" ways to do things--I would have a completely unmedicated childbirth, I would breastfeed the baby, he would sleep in a crib from day one. And while I did have the unmedicated childbirth (thanks in large part to McMoose and a very helpful nurse), there was still a point when I was literally BEGGING for that epidural. And that was in spite of the 12 weeks of natural childbirth classes, where we learned a million techniques for pain management; it was in spite of the dozens of books and articles I read to help prepare myself; it was in spite of all the mental preparation I had done in the weeks preceding the birth. With all of that, when I was actually in the moment, my only coherent thought was "THIS HURTS!" Ultimately, I didn't turn down the epidural because it was in my birth plan or because I thought it would be best for me or Luke or because I had any kind of inner strength--I did it only because my fear of the catheter outweighed any desire to end the pain.
And then, came the whole feeding thing. I never before understood people who said "I tried breastfeeding, but had to quit after 1 (or 2 or 3) weeks." Whenever I heard that, I always thought, "Well, that person just didn't try hard enough." Then, when Luke was 4 days old, I was sitting there in tears at 3 in the morning, wishing that I hadn't asked McMoose to hide all the formula samples that had come in the mail because there is something uniquely grotesque about feeding your newborn child and then finding your blood on his face. And in spite of the multiple visits with the multiple lactation consultants, in spite of the special shield that keeps him from chewing on me, in spite of all the literature that extols the virtues of breastmilk, the formula aisle at CVS is still tempting. I now understand that when people say they tried, but had to quit, it might mean that they dreaded the moment when their child would wake up because he would be hungry; it might mean that they couldn't hold their baby except when he was asleep because it hurt too much when he moved. It might mean that even though they put up with the pain and woke their baby up every 2 hours to feed him, he still wasn't gaining weight quickly enough, so they didn't even get the reinforcement that they were doing what was best for their child. I'm still sticking with it, but I can fully understand how the opposite choice is just as valid.
So at this point, all my ideas about the way I "should" be doing things have been blown out of the water and for the first time, I can fully understand choices other than my own. So for that, I guess I'm thankful. But Universe, next time you want to make a point, if you could do it in a slightly less painful way, it would be much appreciated.
And then, came the whole feeding thing. I never before understood people who said "I tried breastfeeding, but had to quit after 1 (or 2 or 3) weeks." Whenever I heard that, I always thought, "Well, that person just didn't try hard enough." Then, when Luke was 4 days old, I was sitting there in tears at 3 in the morning, wishing that I hadn't asked McMoose to hide all the formula samples that had come in the mail because there is something uniquely grotesque about feeding your newborn child and then finding your blood on his face. And in spite of the multiple visits with the multiple lactation consultants, in spite of the special shield that keeps him from chewing on me, in spite of all the literature that extols the virtues of breastmilk, the formula aisle at CVS is still tempting. I now understand that when people say they tried, but had to quit, it might mean that they dreaded the moment when their child would wake up because he would be hungry; it might mean that they couldn't hold their baby except when he was asleep because it hurt too much when he moved. It might mean that even though they put up with the pain and woke their baby up every 2 hours to feed him, he still wasn't gaining weight quickly enough, so they didn't even get the reinforcement that they were doing what was best for their child. I'm still sticking with it, but I can fully understand how the opposite choice is just as valid.
So at this point, all my ideas about the way I "should" be doing things have been blown out of the water and for the first time, I can fully understand choices other than my own. So for that, I guess I'm thankful. But Universe, next time you want to make a point, if you could do it in a slightly less painful way, it would be much appreciated.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Rubber Ducky, You're the One
I always suspected that I would make a terrible first-time parent, and I have to admit that the past two weeks have only confirmed that suspicion. But it surprised the hell out of me that McMoose makes a pretty rotten first time parent too. From the first diaper change, he was all cool and confident and acted like this whole baby thing was completely old hat to him, which was awesome because it meant that unlike one of my friends who just had her first baby with her husband, I don't have to listen to things like "I need help changing the baby!" or "I don't know how to hold the baby's head!" And in general, my reaction to most baby-related weirdness has been "Meh. He'll live." Which I'm told is a very bad attitude for a first time mom to have. Apparently, I'm supposed to call the pediatrician at 3 in the morning because he sneezed.
But while the "Meh, he'll live" attitude is serving us well in terms of being less stressed, it unfortunately goes hand in hand with the "Oops, we forgot to document our child's life" attitude. As a result of which we have no pictures of his first bath in the hospital or his trip home from the hospital or his first tub bath at home. In fact, I meant to re-stage his trip home from the hospital (aka: put him in the same outfit and strap him into the car seat) and I haven't even managed to do THAT. What we HAVE managed to do, however, is get some pictures of his SECOND bath:
Why yes, that IS his happy face. Apparently, the kid LOVES baths, probably because the water is warm and we've already learned that he takes after me in that being cold makes him want to stop existing in the world.
I'm still not sure how I managed to grow a person who looks nothing like me, but apparently, he's a cross between McMoose and an octopus (do you SEE those tentacles--I mean fingers?)
But while the "Meh, he'll live" attitude is serving us well in terms of being less stressed, it unfortunately goes hand in hand with the "Oops, we forgot to document our child's life" attitude. As a result of which we have no pictures of his first bath in the hospital or his trip home from the hospital or his first tub bath at home. In fact, I meant to re-stage his trip home from the hospital (aka: put him in the same outfit and strap him into the car seat) and I haven't even managed to do THAT. What we HAVE managed to do, however, is get some pictures of his SECOND bath:
Why yes, that IS his happy face. Apparently, the kid LOVES baths, probably because the water is warm and we've already learned that he takes after me in that being cold makes him want to stop existing in the world.
I'm still not sure how I managed to grow a person who looks nothing like me, but apparently, he's a cross between McMoose and an octopus (do you SEE those tentacles--I mean fingers?)
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Reading: Good For The Soul
I discovered the whole "mommy blogging" genre a couple of years ago, when I stumbled onto Dooce's site and spent a couple of hours devouring her funny and honest writing about her life and family. Ever since then, I've been steadily adding to the list of blogs I enjoy reading and many of these fall into the mommy blog category, simply because I've always enjoyed hearing and reading about kids in general. Plus, many of the bloggers I love reading have a wonderful, sarcastic way about them and I do love the fine art of sarcasm.
But as much as I've always loved reading these blogs, lately, they've become almost a lifeline for me. I'm LOVING reading about other people's kids--the colicky babies, the sleepless nights, the tantrumming toddlers, the potty training two-year-olds and all their related accidents. And it's not that I like reading about other people's misery, exactly. It's just that...it's nice to know that other people have no idea what THEY'RE doing either.
Of course, if you really think about that, all it means is that we're all growing human beings and none of us have a clue what's going on. For every study that says babies should do Thing A, there are two more that say Thing A will horrifically damage them for life. So in the end, all you're left with is "follow your gut," and in all honesty, my gut doesn't really have any advice for me right now, other than "You haven't eaten in 13 hours, FEED ME." So really, it's just nice to know that I'm not the only one who didn't get the instruction booklet.
But as much as I've always loved reading these blogs, lately, they've become almost a lifeline for me. I'm LOVING reading about other people's kids--the colicky babies, the sleepless nights, the tantrumming toddlers, the potty training two-year-olds and all their related accidents. And it's not that I like reading about other people's misery, exactly. It's just that...it's nice to know that other people have no idea what THEY'RE doing either.
Of course, if you really think about that, all it means is that we're all growing human beings and none of us have a clue what's going on. For every study that says babies should do Thing A, there are two more that say Thing A will horrifically damage them for life. So in the end, all you're left with is "follow your gut," and in all honesty, my gut doesn't really have any advice for me right now, other than "You haven't eaten in 13 hours, FEED ME." So really, it's just nice to know that I'm not the only one who didn't get the instruction booklet.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Not A Morning Person
Our birth class instructor used to say that during the first few weeks postpartum, we should consider it an accomplishment if we managed to take a shower every day. At the time, I scoffed because come on--a shower as an accomplishment? It's ridiculous, right?
Apparently not so much. Because the morning schedule goes something like this:
-Wake up. Realize you should have fed the baby an hour ago. Panic and look at the baby to make sure he's still alive. Realize that he is breathing. Debate letting him sleep for another 20 minutes. Remember that he still hasn't regained his birth weight, so he needs to be fed RIGHT NOW.
-Wake McMoose. Ask him to change the baby. He grumbles something about how he's trying to open his eyes. Sigh.
-5 minutes later, McMoose's eyes are open. The baby's eyes, on the other hand, are still tightly shut. McMoose changes the baby. Baby screams bloody murder.
-Get everything necessary to feed the baby. Scoff at all those books and articles that say breastfeeding is great because you don't need any extra stuff. Clearly, the authors of those books and articles did not require blankets and plastic shields and pumps in order to have a relatively successful and pain-free nursing session.
-Start feeding the baby, who promptly falls asleep 90 seconds into the process.
-After 30 minutes of intermittent sleeping and eating, decide that he probably has eaten enough. Put him down. He immediately wakes up. Rock him for 20 minutes until he's asleep again. Put him down. He immediately wakes up and this time, he screams. And screams. And SCREAMS. Rock him. Shush him. Sing to him. Give up and sit there holding him and staring at him, wondering what kind of crazy being you've brought into this world.
-An hour later, decide to feed him again. The screaming finally comes to a blessed end. 90 seconds into the process, he falls asleep.
Rinse. Repeat. And this is why showers? Yeah, totally don't happen until after noon on most days.
*I'd like to add a disclaimer to this post: When Luke is screaming like a crazed little hyena, I still think he's cute. Clearly, this kind of irrationality is exactly what has ensured the survival of the human species thus far.*
Apparently not so much. Because the morning schedule goes something like this:
-Wake up. Realize you should have fed the baby an hour ago. Panic and look at the baby to make sure he's still alive. Realize that he is breathing. Debate letting him sleep for another 20 minutes. Remember that he still hasn't regained his birth weight, so he needs to be fed RIGHT NOW.
-Wake McMoose. Ask him to change the baby. He grumbles something about how he's trying to open his eyes. Sigh.
-5 minutes later, McMoose's eyes are open. The baby's eyes, on the other hand, are still tightly shut. McMoose changes the baby. Baby screams bloody murder.
-Get everything necessary to feed the baby. Scoff at all those books and articles that say breastfeeding is great because you don't need any extra stuff. Clearly, the authors of those books and articles did not require blankets and plastic shields and pumps in order to have a relatively successful and pain-free nursing session.
-Start feeding the baby, who promptly falls asleep 90 seconds into the process.
-After 30 minutes of intermittent sleeping and eating, decide that he probably has eaten enough. Put him down. He immediately wakes up. Rock him for 20 minutes until he's asleep again. Put him down. He immediately wakes up and this time, he screams. And screams. And SCREAMS. Rock him. Shush him. Sing to him. Give up and sit there holding him and staring at him, wondering what kind of crazy being you've brought into this world.
-An hour later, decide to feed him again. The screaming finally comes to a blessed end. 90 seconds into the process, he falls asleep.
Rinse. Repeat. And this is why showers? Yeah, totally don't happen until after noon on most days.
*I'd like to add a disclaimer to this post: When Luke is screaming like a crazed little hyena, I still think he's cute. Clearly, this kind of irrationality is exactly what has ensured the survival of the human species thus far.*
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