Pass/Fail

Motherhood is all about passing and failing, either your parenting method works, or it doesn't.  This past week Alex and I have had to change some things around, especially since we were failing more than we were comfortable with.

So, how did we do?

First test:  JG's screaming fits.

You may remember reading about me pulling my hair out while JG threw fits, and me being entirely clueless as to what action to take.

So, Alex gets home Tuesday night and JG is still being a terror.  We both stare at her in frustration, and I let her scream while I make dinner and Alex deals with her.  While we're eating dinner, JG is just rambling along around us and Alex gives her a bit of curry off his fork.  She eats it, goes back to her thing, and then comes back for more.  And more, and more.

My child does not eat.  We have been wrestling with this for months, and her doctor emphasized that I should be feeding her more fatty foods, like butter (which she can't have because of the bloody poop it results in).  I have tried to feed her many things, and the majority of the time she simply refuses, which leads to her being more hungry and results in her being severely irritable.

Thus: screaming fits of hungry rage.

Until this breakthrough.  Surprisingly enough, as a one-year-old she is easily distracted and soon gets tired and irritated of sitting in her high chair.  Most of the food on her tray goes to the dogs.  However, if I allow her to go about her business and then take the opportunity to shove food in her mouth as she comes near me, SHE EATS!  And, she eat enough that I am flabbergasted and a bit humiliated that I didn't think of this before.

This is our new routine: I will carry some type of food with me, say hot cereal, and I will offer some to her as she plays and comes near me.  I refuse to chase after her with the food, she does have to wander back over to me to get some, but happily for me she returns to me at regular intervals and eventually eats enough to satisfy my need for her to be stuffed with food at all times (as is the drive in most mothers, commonly labeled as "food pushing").

This morning she ate a bunch of Cheerios, some pancake, and she drank some hypoallergenic formula (we are gradually starting the weaning process) and some Odwalla strawberry superfood.

I give us a PASS on this test, excuse me while I pat myself on the back.


Second test: SLEEP.

As mentioned above JG is easily distracted, and this crosses over to her nap and bed times.  Nursing her to sleep has turned into a process where I just get frustrated and want to lock her in the closet, and in the end she gets what she wants: she gets to stay up with us.

And I don't get the two hours I normally get to spend with my husband at night.

Since Alex didn't see the closet solution working out for us (and probably resulting in child welfare knocking at our door) he deemed it time to put the crib back together.  Because, as odd as it may sound to you, I was nursing her to sleep in her crib, and we had replaced one gate side with a guard rail.  It made it easier for me to get out... and, unfortunately, easier for her to get out as well.

So on Saturday we put JG to bed in her crib and let her cry for five minutes, check on her, and on for 45 minutes until she passed out in the sitting position.  Chin presses against her chest, body leaning forward, and legs sprawled in front of her.  Alex eased her back, calmed her down again, and she was out.

Success?  Time-wise, yes, it's been taking me two hours to get her to sleep, and most of that is spent trying to get her to lay down at all.  Nap time she cries for about 10 minutes, and bed time is more like 40, and listening to her cry feels like razor blades dancing in my skull... but I am relieved not have to fight with her to get her to fall asleep.

I mean, it's still sort of like fighting... but I feel like I'm more on the winning side.  The mean winning side, because it seems a bit unfair.  But, what in life is 100% fair?

Pass or fail?  I think it's a little of both.  I'm not a big fan of letting her cry herself to sleep, but her negotiating skills (yes, google it, toddlers negotiate like crazy) are getting to the point where I want her to know that when I say "bed time" I mean it.

I am, however, still sleeping her her room when she wakes up in the middle of the night.  Why?

When was the last time you woke up at two in the morning and had to comfort someone back to sleep and then go back to your own room and comfort yourself back to sleep?  It's just easier to comfort together.  Plus, this is a weaning process for both of us.  Sadly enough, I sleep better in her room than I do my own, but I am now going to bed in my own room first.

Small steps, man, small steps.

Through Their Eyes

Over the past nine months I have been a stay-at-home-mom, which means I spend most of my time inside with nobody but myself, JG, and Alex to see me.  Which means I spent little to no time thinking about my appearance or doing much to "keep myself up."  So, when I got a job where I would be standing in front of 14-year-olds I knew I would have to make some wardrobe changes.

Especially in the bra area.

Why?  Well, because I know how much you love to hear about my boobs, let me tell you.  The four nursing bras I bought last year are all in the DDD/F area.  As time goes by your breasts learn how much milk to carry, and gradually they shrink down a bit.  Meaning, my nursing bras (or "feeding harnesses") were doing little in the way of supporting the ladies.  They were almost greeting my belly button on a daily basis.

I became painfully aware of this when I realized that standing in front of a group of 14-year-old boys with my hoots danglin' in the wind and standing at attention (pointy-wise) would not be a good idea.

You may naively ask, Why?

Um, have you met teenage boys?  Do you know what they think about?  Or what new hormones they have coursing through their veins?

To be honest, I was sort of terrified.  If you're a woman you may have experienced the "blank stare" from the opposite sex while walking, or sitting, or standing, or anywhere.  Those glazed over eyes that translate to "What were you saying?  I was distracted by your boobies, I swear they want me to touch them."

Is that going too far?  I just want to communicate to you how I have felt about my boobs over the years.  Sometimes it can work to your advantage, but in no way does it work that way in the classroom.  I had one professor who REALLY needed a better bra.  Her party hats were so distracting that I would get lost thinking about how she needed to cover them up, and then I wouldn't know what she had just said.

All this to say that having good coverage and support is a priceless tool in a teachers arsenal.

So I went to the Lactation Station yet again where I was set up.  I love going there.  LOVE IT.  When I told the owner that I was going to teach teenagers she knew I would want padded bras.  I didn't have to say it.  She knew.

I found three great bras and I'm very pleased.

However.

My boobs are still huge, double D's.  While I try to do my best in making them an understated part in the classroom, there are times when I move or point, or something, and catch someone looking at them.

Oddly enough, it has been the girls I catch.  I can't blame them though, mainly because I just admitted to looking at my professors boobs.

I promise not to write about boobs again for a while.

Not Allergies

After JG's doctor suggested it I made an appointment with an allergy specialist about a month ago and had been dreading it.  When I had my skin prick test at 14 (imagine lying face down on a table while they poke your back 100 times with pins and possible allergens to see how you react) it sucked.  But I made the appointment for JG after she screamed for three days after I ate some almond poppyseed muffins, which may or may not have been the offender.

My mom and sister both insisted we not go, fearing the skin prick test and how horrible it can be.  But all I could think about was my screaming baby and how wearing it is to try and deal with her when she's like that.  I had to know what was wrong and exactly what I had to avoid.

Thankfully the allergist was very nice and immediately knew what was going on with JG - it's not allergies, it's protein-induced proctitis.  Basically, her colon has a high intolerance/sensitivity to cow's milk and soy proteins.  He said that about half of nursing mothers dump their protein into their milk while the other half don't, and it's common for babies with protein-induced proctitis to suffer from malnutrition -- at this point he looks at JG with her shirt off and says, "Obviously that is a problem she doesn't have."

She's a bit chunky.

Everything I eat goes into my milk.

Then they did the skin-prick test to verify is initial diagnosis.  When the doctor and nurse said that a lot of babies don't usually mind being poked Alex and I looked at each other and almost rolled our eyes, thinking, "They haven't met our child."

Alex held her and, amazingly, she didn't cry at all.  She gave the nurse a crusty look, but was otherwise calm and held on to her dad.

And behold, she is not allergic to anything they tested for.  Not milk, not almonds, not grass, nothing.

However, the allergist suggested I avoid soy products as well.  I love soy sauce.  Booger.

The good news is that most babies outgrow this type proctitis anywhere between nine and twelve months.  She's seven-and-a-half months now, so it is possible that in the next two months she could outgrow this...  But I'm willing to bet she'll have it for the full twelve months.  Which is fine.

I just look forward to eating whatever I want next summer and putting on twenty pounds.  Seriously.  I weigh about 105 right now and I am freezing all of the time.

I have no ass.  My pants don't fit.  But still my boobs are big enough that my old shirts don't fit either.

Joy.

Blue Ribbon MOTHER-LOVERS!

Put that in your pipe and smoke it! Yeah! (If you squint past my grinning mug to the chicken with the blue ribbon dangling from his hand, that's what I'm all up in your grill about.)

This week has been interesting.

My cat (the one who is still available if you'd like to purchase him) is in his third week of wearing a cone on his head. Said cone was necessary because he would NOT stop licking his damned maimed foot. So not only have I been caring for JGR, I've also been nursing a sick cat back to health... which is not fun. I have stories... but, I won't share them out of fear of seriously grossing out my small pool of readers.

By the by, my cat has eosinophilic granulomas (warning, the pictures are gross, and he has had this in his mouth, paws, and neck), which requires steroid injections and guarantee's that he will eventually have diabetes. Awesome.

JGR has been refusing naps and bedtime, and screams/cries like crazy when I try to get her to sleep. Joy. It's times like these when I think of how naive high school girls are when they pursue pregnancy in hopes of bearing a bubbly happy baby. (Hey, this happened at my high school.)

Let me tell you, high school girl, do not do it. Babies are freakin' hard, and I've had to push all thoughts of dropping said baby, or throwing said baby, or doing anything un-motherly to said baby out of my head.

I don't want to go to prison.

So it's times like these when I thank the G-O-D that I live near both sets of grandparents and I can pawn her off on them. Er, I mean, have them care for her when I am unable.

She's going through a transition where certain things I'm used to working with her are no longer working. (I have to admit that when I say "things" I mean "boobs," and while they can be one of the last things I turn to, when my boobs don't work, I'm clueless as to how to help sooth her.) So, in hopes of figuring out what the (hell) is going on, we gave her some rice cereal tonight. She'll be five-months-old next week, and she seems to be hungry after I feed her, so why not?

And you know what? Fell asleep like a charm tonight. Cried a bit, but nothing compared to the last few nights.

Now I leave you with some kitty abuse. I don't know how he lives with himself.

These two make me exhausted. I'm going to bed.

Formula + Baby =

Screaming, and lots of it.

This is what happens when you lapse in giving your baby a bottle and before you know it she's refusing to eat from it. Alex spent half of Saturday spraying formula into her mouth to get her to eat, but thankfully we figured out a trick and by the end of the day she was eating from the bottle.

She wasn't happy about it. Every time I held her she eyed my boobs and tried to nestle in them... but I told her that her guts needed time to heal and as horrible as it was she would have to endure.

Yes, this is the way I speak to my 11-week-old.

Three days of hypoallergenic formula, three days of tired clingy baby, and three days of the most stinky boiled-spinach looking poo you may have ever seen. (I don't know what kind of poo you've seen, I can't make that assumption.) If there was any blood in it there was no way to tell, it was so dark and thick. Nasty. However, it was also three days of a calm JGR because allergens weren't going through and tearing up her guts.

So, now it's Tuesday and I've started an elimination diet to find out what she's allergic to. This means I will only be eating foods on the safe list (foods nobody is allergic to, like rice) and slowly mixing in possible allergens to see how she reacts. I'm pretty sure dairy is on her allergic list, but wheat may be on there too. I will know soon enough.

Now, why go through the trouble? Why not just keep feeding her formula?

Mainly because of the power a boob holds over a baby, and because I missed it like crazy. JGR didn't understand the bottle, and I'm too lazy when it comes to having to make her wait while I mix it up so she can eat. Seriously, bottle/formula feeding is a lot of work and I commend any woman who does it. Sure, my boobs ache and my nipples are raw, but that makes one happy JGR.

(One who refused to get off my boob this morning when I could finally give it to her again. Could you imagine if adults were like this? Oh, wait, they're called men.)

Hoots*

Just a note to say that Jen was here for our 4th of July party and confirmed that my boobs are HUGE.

HUGE.

She made a face and literally mouthed the word "Wow."

I know, I've told you all over and over again, but even I was amazed to evoke such a reaction from a woman I have known since I was 13.

Also, my sweet husband, Alex, has taken to calling my nursing bra's "Feeding Harnesses."

Nothing says sexy like a feeding harness.

I know, it's so hot.

(*This is one of my favorite words to describe boobs. I learned it from my sister-in-law Sallee, who is a genius at describing things in funny ways.)

Ode to a Breastpump

I love my breastpump.  Yes, essentially it is a vacuum that sucks the milk from my boobs, making it a very unromantic thing.  However, it provides me with profound relief when it empties the hefty milkbags that dangle from my chest. 

Holy crap.

It's also helping me stock up on a milk supply so that I can leave my beautiful daughter with a relative while I go watch a movie (or do anything else) with my husband.  That way I can feel un-guilty about enjoying myself when she can still eat.

Lately, when I leave the house, it's like I've started a marathon and I have to race out and race back so that if she starts to fuss because she's hungry she doesn't have to fuss long.  It's strange being the food source for another living being... I'm still getting used to it.  

This whole mom thing is hard and completely unpredictable.  I totally applaud my sister who is doing this with twins and a 5-year-old right now.  She doesn't sleep.  I'm mean enough that when JG starts to fuss a bit in the middle of the night I check to see if she's serious, then say in my head, "Give me another ten minutes of sleep, then I'll change your poopy diaper/feed you."

It's wrong.  I still do it.  I love sleep.  I also love my breastpump.  You try carrying around an extra two pounds or more in your boobs, then maybe you would understand what I'm talking about.

Boobs

My. Boobs. Are. Huge.  But, I don't want to wear bras... which seems kind of illogical, right?  I just feel like the bra straps them in and makes them more sore and uncomfortable than they were before.  It's like trying to contain two small watermelons in small plastic cups.  The melons can't be contained!  They must roam free!  But then there are other issues with going braless in public with such "hooters," but I won't go into detail because I can only imagine who I would make uncomfortable.  Basically, before pregnancy my boobs were sweet kittens, content to stay out of sight and out of mind.  But, now, they prefer the spotlight and will do practically anything to gain it.

Therefore, I wear very thick and oversized sweaters.