Sucker punched

Sometimes motherhood is just a big punch in the gut.

You carry the baby inside you for 9 months.  You’re exhausted, sick, misshapen, and swollen.  You lovingly note every kick and turn and anticipate the day the discomfort will all pay off.

You endure pain and stitches and sleepless night after sleepless night.  You change diapers and cuddle and coo and rock and sway and bounce and then you do it all again.

You love.

And you worry.  Oh, how you worry!  And you know the worry will never end.

And you love some more.

And then…

Cold, hard REJECTION.  Your toddler that you nurtured and sacrificed for and loved and worried about wants nothing to do with you.  She buries her face into her daddy’s shoulder when you try to say hi to her in the morning.  She bypasses you as she reaches her arms out to be held by her daddy.  She bawls when he leaves in the morning and pushes you away.

KID, I AM YOUR MOTHER.

Did I do something wrong?  Do I not sing enough songs or make enough silly faces?  Are my hugs inferior?

The guilt sets in.  Maybe I’m too impatient.  Maybe I’m not around enough.  I work too much…maybe…maybe…maybe…

Or maybe it’s just a classic case of a Daddy’s Girl.  And I am grateful that my girl has a daddy who loves her.

All I can say is my future boys better be Mama’s Boys.

Tags: daddy's girl; toddler; rejection; love

One step forward, two steps back

Last week I briefly mentioned that in my quest to be more frugal, I was following the advice of the book and tackling my grocery bills.  Oh, I so wanted to write a post on the beautiful, organized spreadsheet I had developed in order to compare prices.  I wanted to talk about the shock I felt when I realized how much more money I was spending than I should have been.  I had big dreams!

But then…we were struck with the thing that can bring a home with children to its knees:  illness.  With some pretty crappy timing too. Not that any time is particularly convenient to get sick, but still…  The husband and I started school again and in an attempt to make our schedules work, coordinated a baby swap a few times a week with a neighbor also trying to finish school.  In the midst of the craziness the husband and baby were hit with a doozy of a cold.  That’s right, a DOOZY!  Poor little Claire especially, and any parent knows that there is little worse than having a sick child.

My schedule for the last week basically looked like this:

4:02 AM- Baby crying, offer comfort.

4:37 AM- More crying, more bleary-eyed comfort offered.

5:15 AM- Baby too congested to sleep.  Sit in rocking chair with baby to keep her upright and help her breathe.

6:20 AM- Crawl back into bed.

6:35 AM- Baby cries.  Discover diaper leak, urine everywhere.  Awesome.  Baby in tub.

7:55 AM- Leave for school.

10:00 AM- Baby swap so husband can go to school.  Tend to sick child.

10:12 AM- Wipe snot

10:23 AM- Wipe snot

10:37 AM- Restrain child in order to wipe snot

10:42 AM- Give up on keeping snot river under control and accept that everything will be covered in mucous for the next several days.

11:00 AM- Naptime!= homework time for mom

12:45 PM- Baby awake, wipe snot, lunch time, sick and tired husband comes home

1:15 PM- Work, work, work…

8:30 PM- get home, start getting baby ready for bed.  Baby’s coughing fit induces BARFING.  Baby in tub.

9:15 PM- baby finally asleep.  Eat late dinner.

9:35 PM- Lapse into a coma from exhaustion

So!  As you can see, there has been no time for organized spreadsheets or meal planning or even checking my email.  Besides, had I even printed off one of those lovely spreadsheets I’m pretty sure it would be covered in snot.

Let’s hope this week runs a little more smoothly.

Tags: feeling crazy, schedules, sick baby

When it rains, it pours

I totally fell off of the NaBloPoMo wagon.  I was doing so well, too!  Oh well, there’s always next year.  This year a little thing called life got in the way, I’m afraid.

Last weekend I got a flat tire that couldn’t be fixed, and since my car needed new tires anyway we had to deal with the whole rigmarole of arranging driving and all that fun stuff until we could finally take my car in on Tuesday, which also happened to be the day that I was irrational and emotional, probably due to lack of sleep and hormones, and the hubby was the same way so that equaled out to some marital discord.

The previous night, Monday, all was going fairly well (except the car thing) and since the hubby had to pick me up from work he thought it would be nice for us to go out for a family dinner to my favorite restaurant.  We didn’t have a baby-sitter or anything, but figured Claire would be just fine and would enjoy getting out for a bit.  Everything started off great- Claire was happy watching all the people and playing with crayons and we were enjoying our salads and bread.  I look up from my salad to glance at Claire in her high chair and HOLY CRAP!  She’s spewing vomit everywhere! Not a sound did she make, nor was there any inclination whatsoever of her not feeling good.  But out of the blue she starts barfing copious amounts,which is a mystery to me, since she was still avoiding eating that day.

I grabbed all the napkins I could find, including ones off of other peoples’ tables in an attempt to catch/clean up some of the mess.  The poor girl is crying pretty hard now and we’re trying to figure out a way to get her to the bathroom without smearing puke all over ourselves, all the while pretending that all the other diners aren’t staring at us in horror.  I finally managed to escape to the restroom, strip her down, clean her up, and put her in the spare onesie in the diaper bag.  We hung out in there for a little while, just in case, and when I felt the coast was clear we headed back to the table.  However, the second I rounded the corner and approached our table…

“BLEEEEEHHHHH!!   WAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!”

She barfed again.  Back to the restroom we went, leaving the hubby to get everything boxed up and in the car.  So much for the nice evening.  One of those things you put under the “WHY DO WE EVEN TRY?” category.

I do have to pause for a second though and mention that while I was in the restroom with my crying, half-naked, smelly child that I felt very grateful for the sense of camaraderie I felt with the other women in there.  None of them stared, none of the pretended to ignore us in the hopes of avoiding something unpleasant and uncomfortable.  Each woman that came through offered her sympathies and help and shared stories of when their child had done something similar.  It made me feel as though I was part of this network of mothers that understood and cared.  We didn’t really know each other, but we had an understanding of what the other had been through.  For some odd reason feeling as though I wasn’t alone in my struggles made everything easier.

So with Monday and Tuesday both in the crapper, the week was off to a pretty un-promising start.  More to come of the remainder of the week’s events…

Tags: car crap, motherhood, puke, sick baby

Toddler fatigue

I’m beginning to realize more fully every day that I am completely unprepared to parent a toddler.  I would probably say that, oh, 99% of people would probably make the same comment, but that doesn’t make me feel any better knowing that I’m in good company.

Surviving the infancy of my daughter was hard.  The lack of sleep, the lack of freedom as you are homebound with a tiny and helpless human.  The never ending cycle of a new baby- eat, poop, sleep, cry, eat, poop, sleep, cry…But, infants do sleep a lot.  And if they aren’t sleeping, they’re usually pretty content if they’re held or being fed.  They don’t move much, they don’t need much entertainment, and they eat the same thing all the time.  So simple!

Surviving toddler-hood may prove impossible.  When my daughter was about 4 months old we could tell she would be an extremely active baby and little girl by the way she would wildly pump her arms and legs on a regular basis.  Our prediction was spot-on.  My now 15 month old never stops moving.  She is always exploring something.  She likes lot of action and entertainment.  She is a smart and sweet little thing.  But she has an uncanny way of driving me truly crazy.

Not only does she still not sleep and lately she still poops 4 frickin’ times a day, but the ever-changing eating habits, the need to be constantly on the move, and the frequent whining/groaning/grunting/screeching  jags due to boredom or teething pain or who knows what has me exhausted and feeling as though I am on the edge of losing it.  I have a complete understanding of the phrase bone tired. And the stubbornness!  Oh, the stubbornness!

I know these years are precious, and in many ways I do love them.  But some days I wonder how on earth I am going to survive another day (or night) like the one I just endured.

Tags: toddlers

One of those days

Here I was, looking forward to the weekend with the naive hope that it would offer some relief from the stress of the workweek.  Sadly, my hopes have been dashed.  Here is how the last 24 hours have gone:

- The kid wakes up over and over in the night for unspecified reasons.  When I demanded an answer at 3:00 AM as to why she insisted on waking me up again all I got was an “eh?” in response.  I think she’s faking that she doesn’t understand the question.

-  The kid decides after not sleeping all night that waking up for the day at 6:15 AM is a great idea.

-  Husband leaves for work at 7:45 AM, leaving a tired and very grumpy mama with a teething and also grumpy toddler.  Brewing a recipe for disaster commences.

-  As I am attemtping to make myself decent, I realize the house is eerily quiet.  No noise from the kid in the next room.  I go to inspect and discover her emptying my purse and being particularly taken with the bright red lipstick in there.  In order to investigate this exciting new product further, the kid decides to taste it, smear it on her jammies, and rub it on the carpet.  Awesome.

- The kid spends the rest of the morning ignoring my attempts to distract her with fun items (”Look, honey, a plastic spoon!”) and fakes that she doesn’t understand the word “no”.  I know she is faking because the entire time she is doing something naughty she says “no” repeatedly.  Multiple time-outs ensue.

-  The kid decides that the mild whining and grunting over the last couple of hours has not been sufficient and decides to screech incessantly at the top of her lungs, over NOTHING.

-  Oh, did I mention that through all of this mama has PMS= the overwhelming feeling that I am completely unable to cope with life in general?  I didn’t mention that?  Silly me, since that has made everything exponentially worse.

- 1:00 PM.  I’ve had it.  The countdown to when daddy gets home has begun.  Thankfully, the kid is taking a nap.

The bright beacon of hope shining through all of this today has been the knowledge that tonight I get to go to the SYTYCD live concert.  YEAH!  If I can just keep that in my sights, I think I’ll make it through the next five hours…

Tags: feeling crazy, PMS, whining

Its a hard knock life

Last night as we were getting ready for bed Claire woke up very unhappy.  As in screaming-her-guts-out unhappy.  After trying everything I could think of to soothe her I figured that something was hurting her and decided to check her diaper.  Sure enough, her poor, precious little bum was so red it was practically glowing in the dim light.

As I commenced cleaning her up the little thing writhed and screeched and shook from the pain.  Oh!  Could my heart break any more?  I ended up a a hot mess with tears streaming down my face, later followed by a brief cry in the bathroom because it hurt my heart to see my baby so unhappy.  Could I be more pathetic?  I’m crying over diaper rash! Can you imagine what a wreck I would be if something truly traumatizing were to happen?  I’m totally not tough enough for this motherhood thing.

So this morning Claire is still rather uncomfortable and is trying to avoid sitting on her little derriere and having crying spells where she reaches for me, desperate for comfort.  During one of these fits of pain I was trying to cuddle and comfort her, and I happened to look into her mouth to see four little white points that weren’t there just a couple of days ago.  The poor thing is cutting a molar (with another one coming in on the other side too), and has a bright red tush to boot.

Being a baby is tough!  I’ll take worries about money and what to make for dinner ANY DAY over a burning butt and spikes coming through my gums.

Tags: diaper rash, teething

Feeding frenzy

While I was pregnant one of the last things I worried about was feeding my baby.  Surely keeping her healthy/comfortable/clean/breathing/alive would be more difficult, right?  Wrong.  While feeding hasn’t been the most difficult thing we’ve encountered (sleeping has been FAR more troublesome, but that’s a different post entirely), it’s been something that has proved to be challenging.

First off, nursing did not go as planned.  I read everything I could about it, met with the lactation consultant, and tried, tried, and tried again.  But alas, my little baby was not interested in learning to latch properly and I endured weeks of toe-curling pain.  Add to that the fact that I discovered my body hardly produced any milk at all and it was a recipe for disaster.  So after two months the nursing/pumping ended entirely and we turned to formula which made for smooth sailing for a while.

Then came the time to introduce solid foods, and I realized I was completely clueless.  What solid foods are best to try first?  How much should she eat?  How many bottles should she still drink?  Do I need to worry about creating a “balanced meal” each time with something from fruits, veggies, protein, dairy, and grains?  Or is a jar of strained peas ok for a small meal?  And now that she eats mainly solid food, how much should she be eating a day?  She is a small thing, on the low end of the weight chart, so I worry about the fact that she really can’t afford to miss out on any calories lest she waste away before my eyes.  In short, I had no idea what I was doing.

Luckily, I read some articles on good finger foods for baby and that seemed to help for a while.  There are plenty of foods she seems to enjoy: avocado, tomatoes, buttered toast, Goldfish crackers, watermelon, green beans, corn, cheese, sweet potatoes, etc.

One thing I’ve noticed she’s not fond of though is meat.  I’ve determined that it could be because she’s a) aiming for a healthy lifestyle by limiting her red meat intake b) a future member of PETA c) purposefully aggravating her father who thought in his bachelor days that every meal should consist of steak in some form, or d) just doesn’t like it.  It’s hard to say.  Most meat we try to give her ends up on the floor, much to the delight of the waiting dog.  Being the worrier that I am, this concerns me that she isn’t getting enough protein.  How do I get this kid to eat meat?  I suppose I could feed her tofu, but…ehhh….

At this point Claire has graduated past having a few noodles or pieces of avocado to eat and would like an actual meal that will fill her up for some period of time.  See, there are so many things to do an explore that she really doesn’t have time to stop and eat, so we need to make the most of the few moments I can confine her to a high chair.  I don’t think she can subsist on a diet of Goldfish crackers for much longer, and I’d like to have something to give her that she won’t choke on and she can feed herself as she seems to enjoy that more.  An added plus would be if it didn’t make a massive mess each time either.  Mama doesn’t have time to draw a bath three times a day, ya know?

So, this will be the topic of study over the next little while.  As evidenced, I don’t quite know how to approach this problem, so I’m hoping to find some people that do.  Expect to see a  “review” of sorts soon on a book about feeding your baby.  We’ll see what sort of chaos may ensue.  Fun!

Tags: clueless, feeding

A mother’s intuition is born

I decided to document my experiences here because I’d like to have a record of my successes and failures in child rearing.  I will destroy the evidence of the failures later of course so no one can point and say with proof that I’m a terrible mother.  I realize now that the firstborn truly is the test guinea pig.  I’m the oldest child in my family, and I guess I turned out ok, for the most part, so I’m crossing my fingers my daughter does too.

Generally speaking, when it comes to raising my daughter I rely on a mix of advice from the experts and my own gut instinct.  I basically treat anything from my pediatrician’s mouth as The Gospel that must be obeyed.  He seems like a pretty down to earth guy that knows what he’s doing, and I assume he knows a whole lot more than I do.  So far he hasn’t led me astray, so I still trust him.

However, I am very wary of old wives’ tales and such.  Overall I just think its a load of crap and tune it out as much as possible.  I’ve learned that in most instances my motherly instinct will serve me much better when taking care of my child.

One instance in particular really drove this message home.  Let me preface this story by saying that generally speaking I tend to be a bit of a worrier.  Ok, maybe I should be more specific:  I worry a LOT.  More than I should.  And I knew that with a new baby I would be a bundle of nerves and anxiety, so I made the conscious decision to not be an overbearing mother and to try to relax.  Certainly our loving friends and family members would not hurt my child, so there was no need to be completely neurotic as others held and cooed over her, right?  So during the first month or so and often in new situations I was constantly repeating to myself, relax!  Everything is fine!  Most these people have their own children, and they’re ok!  A little dirt never killed anyone…just relax.  Relax!  RELAX ALREADY, WOMAN!!

Anyway, on with the story.  Claire was six weeks old and we were visiting family for the weekend in another town.  That Sunday we ended up basically doing a tour of the town so family could see our newborn child.  Why the various family members didn’t come to where we were staying rather than us visiting each home individually is beyond me, but hey, who am I to argue? 

Well, I should’ve argued.  Poor little Claire was strapped in her carseat, then taken out, then back in, then out, then in…all the while being passed around from stranger to stranger at each location.  We stayed at one house for a while to visit, as the family there had just barely had a baby a few days before and a few other people were stopping by to visit.  At that point, Claire reached her breaking point and began wailing.  Every adult woman present and about half of the men seemed to feel it was their moment to comfort the screaming child, and all manner of comforting commenced, but to no avail.  At some point in all the commotion the women determined that she had a gas bubble that was bothering her.  “Yes!  A gas bubble!” they all said, and suddenly the comforting ended and the thumping on the back began.  Maybe if I put her over my shoulder!  THUMP THUMP THUMP  No?  How about if I lay her over my arm and thump her back that way?  THUMP THUMP THUMP  Hmm, still no?  “Give her to me, I have a technique that works every time!” some complete stranger says, and my poor baby gets handed off to be pounded on the back by some lady I’ve never seen in my life, all the while still screaming.  “Should we try some infant gas medicine?” someone from the crowd cries, and before I knew it drops were being put in her mouth.

Where was I during all this you ask?  I was standing on the sidelines telling myself to relax.  I didn’t want to come off as the overprotective mother by snatching my baby away while all these well-meaning and loving people were trying to help.  But all the while, my instincts were SCREAMING at me that I knew what was wrong with my baby.  I knew it wasn’t gas, she’d never struggled with gas before.  I knew that the only reason she was screaming was because she longed for some peace and quiet.  She’d been driven around and manhandled for the last two hours, and frankyly, she was sick of it.  She wanted a cozy place to sleep without interruption.  It seemed as though every particle of my body knew this, but I was trying to fight it. 

When I could take it no more, I swooped in, grabbed my unhappy baby girl, and ran for the car while shooting a look to my husband that said you better follow me or this is the last time you’ll ever see me!.  Fortunately for him he caught on, and we zipped off in the car with little explanation to the rest of the well-intentioned family members.  We were actually supposed to make another stop before being done for the day, but this time I was wise enough to put my foot down.  My daughter needed a nap, and she was going to get it no matter what anyone said.

Sure enough, as soon as we got back to my husband’s childhood home where we were staying fo the weekend, I swaddled my baby and laid her in her pack and play.  Within seconds she was out like a light, and she slept soundly for a good two hours.  I felt validated, and proud, realizing that I did have a mother’s intuition after all.  I knew how to care for my child and what her needs were.  I just wish I had had the guts to speak up about it earlier.

Tags: family, mother's intuition