On Fixing What You Can

Zach has started this new thing where he wakes up in the middle of the night. We can't tell what is going on, because he usually falls back to sleep after a short snuggle. I mentioned it to a coworker, who is a first-time mom, and her response was to ask how we handle it.

Honestly, I never thought about it.

It just comes naturally. What do I do when my baby cries? I go and get him. Simple. I think that was her way of asking if I make him cry it out. No. Never. And I never really thought of it until now because Zach has never been a challenge in this respect.

Don't get me wrong: I was the same when Evan was a baby. It just makes sense. Babies cry because they need something, even if that "something" is just to see your face and know you are still there. And this is really easy with Zachary because he has never been a crier. And I'm not sure why this is happening now. It could be that he is about to get new teeth, or that he is eating more and more foods and is getting a bellyache. It could be that he has decided recently that he is going to boycott naps and thus his sleep/wake schedule is all jacked up. Who knows? I just know that he cries and we respond. When Evan was a baby, this was particularly hard. I can still hear the shrill, colicky screams that went on for about eight hours per day for what seemed like a parade of months. John worked nights then, and so it was just me. There was no escape. And there were moments where I knew I loved him, I knew I would never hurt him, but as terrible as it sounds, I could understand how in a split-second a loving parent could lose their cool and cross that line into abuse territory. But still, the response to his cries never dulled. My desire to fix the unknown problem never faded.

This all has got me thinking about the different schools of thought on this topic. A lot of people will tell you that a baby needs to learn to self-soothe, or that you will be spoiling a baby by responding to their cries. Yeah, whaatevs. As if sweet little Zach is secretly planning how he is going to manipulate my entire life and control me. See how ridiculous that sounds? He cries because he doesn't have the verbal abilities to say, "Yo, Mom, I'm cold/hungry/ lonely/ in pain/ bored...." Seriously.

So we go to him. We will always go to him. Just like the sound of Evan crying causes the knee-jerk reaction of me going to see what is wrong. Still. And Evan is almost a decade old.

Because whatever it is, it is my job as his mother to go and fix it. One day, there will be things I cannot fix. But for now, I will relish the ones I can fix. And I don't believe for a second that I am feeding into Zach's plot for total world domination if I do.

Of course this is all coming at a very trying time for our family. Something is not quite right with Evan. I'm still trying to get him some treatment, but if it is what I think it is, I want the best therapists, the best doctors, that money can buy. And those people come with waiting lists. This is one of those times where I cannot fix it. I'm trying, Evan. I'm trying like hell. (When I find out more, expect some venting and heart-pouring action here, folks. It's bad and John is completely in denial.)

So I respond. When my babies are hurt or sad or scared. When they're lonley or angry or have just had enough.

When something is not right, I will be there. For both boys. For as long as I am living.

Birthday Pics

Long after the party with family, the four of us settled in to celebrate Zach's big day together. Just like it was a year ago when he came into the world. Without the stress of party planning and associated to-do lists, we were able to just focus on soending time together. And we had a ball, though when we sang "Happy Birthday" to my precious baby boy, I was crying too much to get all the way through the song. Zach enjoyed cake and ice cream for the third time (the first for the cake smash photos with the photographer and the second being the party with my in-laws). This time, I made chocolate-butterscotch cupcakes with vanilla frosting. An it seems with each occasion, Zach has gotten even more into it. This time, he even had sprinkles in his eyelashes before it was all said and done. The chocolate ice cream made an even bigger, hilarious mess, and we all dissolved into laughter when he tried to even lick the plate.

Overall it was a great day.

One

"I was six months old and full of fun.

With the blink of an eye, I was suddenly one..."



I started out with what seemed like endless photos of Zach and the intention was to make a video so poignant and moving that you would cry as you watched. And then I really thought about it. A) I'm no Spielberg, and B) why would you cry anyway? Instead you get this: poor transition timing, perhaps too long, and even one photo that repeats (Gold star for whoever can tell me which one it is!). What I did manage to do was make myself cry. A lot. From the photos. From the music. Because I was there.
I was there the day we discovered there was even going to be a baby. The day I took five separate home pregnancy tests, unable to believe that I was really pregnant. That after all of that time of me wanting another baby and never having one, and suddenly, at the point where I had given up and moved on with my life, there he was. His name was selected because I read online that Zachary means God has remembered.

I was there, in my bedroom, day after day, watching YouTube videos of preemies each and every day. A 26-weeker, a 28-weeker. And as the contractions got worse and my resolve got weaker and weaker, the searches got more specific: 30 weeks, 1 day; 31 weeks; 5 days. This is what my baby will look like. Will he be intubated? Have an IV in his head? Be swollen, yet tiny? have transparent skin that looks almost alien? And people generally don't put the horror stories on YouTube So I watched and cried and drew every single shred of hope from the success stories I could find at ever stage of gestation. And the first song in my video was in just about all of them.

I was there on the day he came into this world. And I felt that fear. And guilt. Fear that I had somehow caused this, that although his lungs were deemed mature, there was more to it than that. The 35-week brain is vastly smaller than the 40-week brain. And though we thought I was 35 weeks, there actually was a miscalculation of my due date that wasn't discovered until 5 weeks postpartum. Should I have lied about the contractions? And what if something happened to me in the process? Could John raise them both alone, armed with only my life insurance?



I was there when the doctors held him over the drape and I saw the scrunched up face. And the hair! I will never forget that hair. Enough hair that it had shown up on an ultrasound. Only this was no ultrasound. This was him. In front of my face. And he was half-whimpering, half-crying. No hearty, robust cry. And I cried. A day shift anesthesiologist I do not know, and never have met at work since, was the one to wipe my tears. Because as a respiratory therapist, I knew what that meant.



I was there in my room and I couldn't see him. And I didn't know if he was warm or cold. Breathing or not. Was he confused that he wasn't hearing my voice anymore? My heartbeat? was he rooting for me and I was nowhere to be found? My heart and my arms ached for him, this child for whom I went through so much.



I was there when they put him into my hands. Yes, hands. He was that small in stature that, with my hands under his head and back, his little butt aligned with my wrist. Which is so bizarre considering his birth weight. But he was swollen. From fluids. From drugs. I look back at his newborn photos and see that now. This is why he lost over a full pound in a little over a day. Which they mistook as a nutrition issue, and is thus why we were made to give him formula from day one. I'm so sorry for that because that isn't how it is supposed to be. But not really sorry because he is here. The drugs, the fluids, the hormones, and yes, the formula...they all worked.



I was there in those first nights. When I would just cuddle with him and breathe in the smells of newborn breath. With the downy top of his tiny head tucked under my chin, I realized I could've lived my entire life just like that. And suddenly, I didn't give a damn about medical school or whether they would hold my job open long enough for me to come back to work. I would find another job, do something else for school.



I was there when that smile first flashed at me. That bright, amazing smile. All gums and innocence and joy. As if a million stars were harnessed and placed right here for me. And those first baby giggles. My heart melted. And soared.



I was there. For each day in the life of this baby boy. For an entire year. Me. I was that lucky, that blessed to wake up (or return from work) each day and witness a new miracle unfold in this boy's life. To feel the sheer joy this baby has brought to the world. The love. The patience. And the best part is that I get to continue to be there, that this is not the end but the beginning.



I was there when God (or Allah or Yahweh or Jehovah or whomever you place your faith with) decided that this world was good enough for Zachary. That my life was good enough for Zachary. That I am good enough for Zachary. I'll never understand how that is possible.



I was there for the first minute, day, week, month....The first year in the life of a living miracle.




Happy First Birthday, Zachy.

(Photo Credits: The Eleven-month photos from the video, the cake-smash photos from the video, and the photo in this post were all taken by Katie Woodring (http://www.katiewoodring.com/). Though I purchased the copyrights to these photos and am in no way infringing legally on her rights as an artist, I am giving credit where credit is due. Thank you, Katie.)

Teaching the Art of Mess-Making: A Pictorial

If there is one thing our Evan is good at, one area in which he is truly gifted, it is in the art of making the biggest mess you have ever seen. This afternoon, he and Zachy were playing in the baby's room, and I, completely oblivious, was doing other things while periodically peeking in on the boys. Of course a large tote of Zach's outgrown clothes (which I had been organizing and packing away) was obscuring my view. Lo and behold, when I was able, I went into the room to play with the boys. What follows is a glimpse of what I saw: Evan has taught Zach to make a mess, unbeknownst to me. And we couldn't be happy unless all of the toys were on the floor...


It starts with a few....

And just when Zach has found something he would like to play with, Evan shows him something else, to which Zach immediately crawls over to get a look...

Hmmm, there are even more toys to scatter on the floor....

I love this one. The boys playing together. And you can really get a shot of Zach's big-boy haircut. Turns out he has the same hairline in the back as Evan and I do.

This one kind of freaks me out a little bit. The flash was off on the camera. The light wasn't on in the room. It's cloudy outside. Where did this light come from? And it isn't the first time light has surrounded Zach in pictures in his room. And it doesn't happen when we photograph any other subjects.

He is really interested in this little drum. And that little elephant: that's been his favorite since he was old enough to bat at toys.

And with this one, I suddenly don't mind the mess. Zachy, looking less like a baby and more like a toddler with his new haircut, reels me in everytime with those baby blues. Suddenly it was less about the mess and more about brothers playing. Despite the huge age difference. Together.

Houston, We Have a Problem (Maybe...Probably)

I'm sorry if this is you. So, so sorry. But this is my little piece of the Blogosphere and therefore I must be honest here: There is very little on this earth that irritates me quite as much as a walkie-talkie kid...with a pacifier in his mouth or a bottle in his hand. In my mind, if you are big enough to walk and talk, it is time to surrender the binky. Again, I'm really sorry if this applies to you. I'm now having flashbacks to the distant relatives who arrived at a family function with twin 4-year-old boys with both pacifiers and diapers. If your kid can not only tell you, "Hey mom, I shit my pants," and then follow that up by going and getting the wipes and a clean diaper and bringing them to you, then I think it may be close to time to start some sort of toilet learning with them. Call me crazy.
I remember going through this with Evan. Just like with Zach, he had a brand of pacifier he preferred. We discovered this and bought in bulk. Well, because anyone knows that pacifiers are disposable: you could buy 1 or 1,000 and no matter what, when you need one you will not be able to find it to save your life. But Evan preferred Mam pacifiers. And we loved them. He had one to match every outfit. And then one day, somewhere around 6 or 7 months, he just stopped needing one or wanting one. No problem, no worries. The same happened with his bottle. I offered him cups around 8 months or so, once he started drinking small amounts of juice. We had the nothing-but-formula-in-a-bottle rule. And he took to the cup right away with no problems. And when he was about 10 or eleven months, I just decided one day to stop the bottles. We never looked back. Diapers were another story. The kid was in Pull-Ups forever, and one day I will tell you all of my gut-splitting attempts to con Ev to use a toilet.

Zach's first birthday is less than a week away, and the kid not only will not let go of the pacifiers, but he refuses (and I mean refuses) to use anything to drink other than a Tommee Tippee bottle. We have tried every cup out there, I think. Soft spouts, hard spouts, no spouts. Spill-proof or not. Bright colors. Handles to help him hold them. It really doesn't matter. The Tommee Tippee line even gives us the ability to change the nipples in the bottles with soft, nipple-like silicone spouts. I thought this would work, since the spout would be the only thing different. The bottle will look the same and feel the same in his hand. But no. The milk/water/ juice comes out too quickly for him and he spits it out.
They tell you not to worry about it, that nobody ever goes off to college still on a bottle. But in my mind, we should be maing this transition.
Any ideas?

Nuh-Unh, No Way, Not on Your Life

Kids are so funny. And it amazes me to see their little personalities come out in a big way. And Zach's has come out.

What happened to my cuddly chubster? I don't know where he went. Instead, he has been replaced by this short little person with quite the temper. And he throws these little fits when something isn't going the way he would like. I could say it is aggravating. I could say it is annoying.
Mostly, it's just really cute. Zach, the infinitely happy, easy-going baby, can cry, can be unhappy. And just like the goofy amusement I had that he could pee and poop and all of his stuff worked upon his birth, I am eqully amused at this.

So when you are about 2 inches tall and someone feeds and clothes you, wipes your butt for you, and basically spends their days and nights trying to amuse you, what is it that makes you mad?

Holding him. Oh my God, don't do that. He must be free. To roam. and explore. To investigate the workings of anything from the remote control, to my laptop, to a table leg. It really doesn't matter. He wants to be down. And going. Even though he can't walk. (Wait, scratch that! He can walk. He took two steps the other day and I thought I could've fainted, but I remember my squeals of delight shocked Evan into falling, so I was sure to be really quiet this time around. And Zach stopped and must've realized he was on his own, because he lowered himself to the floor and crawled to wherever he was going.) And he is fast. Very fast. And when he knows you are coming to get him, he giggles and goes even faster. But picking him up??? He'll cry and thrash and squirm until you give in and put him down again.

Do not try to change the diaper. He will get pissed. I even took the mobile out of his crib (because he was getting tall enough to pull on it) and mounted it on the changing table to give him something to play with and look at during the process. Nope. He had none of it. He screams and cries and carries on like you would not believe. And turns over. And tries to escape your grasp. And let me tell you that I am no novice. I can put a diaper on upside down, sideways, blindfolded and more. But our Houdini is a challenge even for me.

Put clothes on him. Don't get me wrong. We aren't hillbillies. Zach always has clothes on. Cute clothes. Coordinated little outfits. Designer labels. He even has cute "loungewear" as I call it--not really pajamas and not really clothes I would take him out in now that he is older. But he absolutely hates the process of getting dressed. I think it is the same issue as with diaper changes. And being down on the floor. He wants to go go go go.

Feed him. Don't even think about spoon-feeding him. He will clench his little mouth shut and shake his head. He's all about the finger foods these days. And other than peanut butter and shellfish (because, face it, food allergies are crazy on my side of the fam), he eats what we eat. Anything. Anywhere. I even picked up this product at BRU called the Tiny Tot Diner made by Summer Infant: a soft silicone placemat with suction cups all around it that attaches to a table at a restaurant, and even has a tray to catch dropped food. And after, it folds into itself to be brought home and tossed into the dishwasher. And he does great. I've been giving him chunky-handled utensils to practice, but things like yogurt and applesauce still come from us and the spoon are still our territory. And he hates it. His favorites are Gerber Graduates Lil' Crunchers in just about any variety of flavor they come in. And puffs. He loves the organic puffs. And arrowroot cookies. And those fruit and yogurt snacks. And any kind of fruit you want to give him. Just don't try to to spoon-feed him, no matter what you do.

Don't confine him at all. In a carseat, a pack & play, a high chair (unless the food is there and ready for him to get down to business). He must be free. As mentioned above, the same rules apply.

He's becoming more independent. He's growing up just a little bit. He's moving away from being my cuddle bug and into being his own little person a little more every single day. And I have 12 days left of his first year. It almost feels like a deadline, like his baby days are wrapping up and I have to hurry and get all of the baby things done now while I still can. It has gone so fast.

Goosebumps

I just found this old picture of my mother. There aren't many of them because she was like me and refused to be in pictures as an adult. But this is her. She was around 50 years old in this photo, about 7 years before I lost her. She was already battling lung disease and has raised 6 kids, leaving only me in the house. I was in the fifth grade the year this photo was taken, and it was the day my oldest sister got married. But what gave me chills is the place in my files that the computer saved it. Right next to the other picture in this post. I swear she is here with us in Zachary. I just know it.

Mom, born May 12.

Zach, born May 13th.

The Early Birthday

Today, we celebrated Zach's first birthday with John's side of the family. John's stepfather, a man of faith, said the blessing before the meal, and I started to cry when he thanked God for our ability to celebrate his birth. It all could've gone so differently. He racked up on toys and loved it when we sang "Happy Birthday". The flicker of the flame on the one little candle caught his attention and he kept trying to grab at it, prompting us to pull it further away, over and over. Then he had a ball digging into Grandma's homemade red velvet cake while everyone else was entertained with the sight of him with the bright red cake in his hair, his eyelashes, up his nose... I keep trying to console myself with the idea that he isn't one just yet. But it is right around the corner...

11 Months

Here we are. The last month of Zach's first year. It's hard to imagine that in just a year, we went from the wrinkly preemie who would occasionally forget to breathe to the chubby, robust baby who cruises and babbles. Mama. Dada. Bababa. I love hearing him "talk" in his lilting little voice. It truly is music to my ears. And the teeth have finally come, as well. He has 2 now, both on the bottom. They aren't even all the way in, but two tiny little buds of teeth that show only when he gives us the biggest of Zachy smiles. This week, we are going to be making the trip to see John's parents, and Zach is going to celebrate his first birthday with family. We'll come home and celebrate his actual birthday here, with just the four of us. The way it all started a year ago. It seems appropriate. Fitting. After all, when we were going through the hell of his pregnancy, it was just John, Evan, and I, clinging to each other, just trying to get through. And after all of it, it will be Zachary with the 3 of us, celebrating his presence here in our lives.

I still swear he is an angel.

As far as Zach this month goes, he loves being outside. He loves the sun and the trees. It really is his first spring, and he is starting to absorb all that is around him. The chirp of a bird. The breeze on his cheek. 2 days ago, he went outside and we actually let him go in the yard, with close supervision of course. It was so fun to see him explore and learn. I didn't even care about the dirty knees. I even sat down in the grass with him, watching him go.

He's really starting to enjoy toys as well, and it is hilarious to hear him giggle at a noise one makes. His favorite is the baby laptop we bought him when he insisted on trying to get at mine everytime I would attempt homework.

On the food front: we went ahead and, after the last drop of my milk was gone, made the switch to cow's milk this past week. He is doing great with it. No problems whatsoever. He feeds himself more and more. I only spoon-feed him the really messy stuff: yogurt, applesauce. He handles the rest. Most of the time, he eats in the buff because he has decided he hates all bibs except for the Bebe auLait reversible bib. If they have a velcro closure, they are coming off, and that is that as far as he is concerned.

He laughs and coos at Evan to no end.

He steals our hearts again every day.

He's everything.

Freezing Time

Over the course of last evening and today, I have managed to book the photographer for the boys for next week. We were originally going to do this for the whole family, but I know I am going to be crying, so I don't want to be in pictures that are supposed to be happy.

Zachary's birthday photos.

I cannot believe it is just right around the corner. In 2 weeks, we are making the trip to John's mom's to celebrate with them, and I need the proofs of the photos for them to select the ones they want. I'm a little nervous because I did this completely differently than I normally do. Instead of taking them to a cheesy portrait studio, I booked a private photographer to meet us on location at a local park to capture what it is that I want to have for years to come. And I am thinking of the expense. I remember when Evan was a baby, and he was so photogenic. We lived in a small town, and the only place to get photos done was Wal-Mart. Home of the $5 Portrait Package. Even then, I managed to spend $600, and John was aghast that I could do that at such a cheap place. So you can imagine how a professional, private photography session could spin us into the spiral of bankruptcy. Whatever, I don't care. I need this.

Of course the photographer is going to think I'm crazy and weird and anything else you can think of, but I want her to know. I want her to understand when I cry. To know that this baby is a true miracle. That for someone who never should have made it into the world, he has brought so much joy to all he has touched. That watching him grow has been the most amazing journey this past year. Is a photograph truly worth a thousand words? And if so, will these be the words spoken? When she snaps photos of Zach and Evan together, will she get it? Will Evan's resilience he has shown as he has adapted from being an only-child to being a big brother after 9 years show through the photos? Can she capture that, frozen in time, for me to hold onto as the years pass in a blur of firsts: first days of school, first dates, first cars...?Because as the years pass, I will still be clutching these photos to my chest, remembering. The contractions, the baby giggles. Evan's innocence and his adoration for his baby brother. This. I will always remember this.

Of course I have some fun ideas up my sleeve. As in the Great First Birthday Cake Smash. I had this idea for a while now, and did some online searching to find out I am not as original as I thought and this is appparently all the rage in children's photography. Just a happy, chubby, diapered baby and a brightly-colored birthday cake. With a single candle. The first of many, yet so very precious. Because we experienced parents know how quickly those candles multiply. Just like parenthood, this is sure to be messy, unscripted, and completely joyous.

And so now I have done it: I have made myself cry in anticipation of roughly one month from now, when Zach's first year will be over. When Evan will enjoy the last summer of his first decade of life. It is like we are standing on a cliff, with all we have survived behind us. The joys, the struggles, the celebrations, the milestones. The experiences.

And we are just about to leap into the unknown.

I hope she can capture this time before we do.

Free Shopping is Lovely

So I had this big in-store credit for the breastfeeding boutique. Which would have come in handy any time in the past 10 months, because this woman literally has every-stinkin'-product for breastfeeding moms that I have purchased. My herbal supplements, my end-of-the-alphabet-sized nursing bras. Even all of my nursing tanks I have layered under my clothes for all of this time (doesn't seem like a biggie until you consider that everybody else carries the ones designed for stick-thin women, and aside from a few people I know, what mom is a stick immediately postpartum???). But now? Now that Zach is almost a year old and I have decided I am done? I didn't think I would find a thing.

I was wrong. I was so wrong, And it all seemed free because I didn't have to pay for any of it with plastic or paper! Which made me feel like I was on Cloud 9.

First of all, Big Baby Woombies. (B, you asked me about these a long time ago, and I wish I would've tried them then!) Here's the skinny on the swaddlers: Zach still sleeps swaddled. He shoulldn't because he is 10 months old, but he sleeps so well that way that I can't fight it. But he gets his arms loose now, waking himself up. The Woombies are made like a sleeper, zipping all the way up to the neck, and are confining, but still stretchy enough for him to wiggle and squirm. And I got 2 of them. And we heart the Woombies. Seriously. They also have one that lets you gradually train them to sleep without it by gradually giving them more freedom with their arms. We will be using that, I can tell you right now.

Bebe au Lait Double Reversible Bibs: I bought only one of these because they were really pricey in my book. $25.00 for one bib, when I honestly usually buy the 10-pack of bibs at BRU for $10, simply because they get stained. But this bib seemed posh and cute and the design and concept was really neat, so I decided to try one. Plus, since they are made to match the patterns of Hooter Hiders nursing covers, the majority of the patterns were rather feminine, and I only found one pattern in the store that would not make Sniper John the Marine freak the eff out. But I love it enough that I will be ordering more. After I see how it holds up in the laundry, of course.

Baby Legs. I bought a pair of Baby Legs and they are the best thing since sliced bread! Because Zach is at that age where he wants to go go go, diaper changes have become a pain in the butt, especially when he does the dirty. He spends the entire time trying to get away, and some times he is successful. Anything that complicates that is bad--i.e. pants. But with these, you can keep his legs covered, all warm and protected as he crawls all over, yet he can be in a onesie, so diaper changes are quicker and closer to painless. He still protests, and now that he babbles more, the newest thing is to cry, "OhMAMAMAMAAAAA!", which successfully breaks my heart and melts me in one step. But it really is quicker, so I have to endure the heartbreak less. Of course John couldn't help but point out their resemblance to leg warmers of 80's fashion, which had to be the most useless fashion fad ever (I still had them, though--don't laugh at me!). The entire first night Zach had them, John was singing Pat Benetar's "Hit Me With Your Best Shot". We need more of these, too.

I got a Maya Wrap. I know, I know. The Ergo was supposed to be the carrier to replace all of them. But I was talking about it being harder to use now that Zach is bigger and that the hip carry in it seems way complicated. And the woman's daughter, there working with her 18-month-old daughter in tow, did a demonstration for me on carrying a big baby in it, and I was sold. We used it today at the park and it worked like a charm.

And finally, the subject of the picture above: I bought Zach a Sophie the Giraffe. So many people I know swear by this teething toy. And here's the thing: Zach really doesn't gum anything. We have tried anything and everything: those soft flexible hands and feet that Evan loved when he was a baby (boy, did I have to hunt for them in order to try them for Zach!), textured rings, rattles with teething ends on them, the water-filled ones that go in the fridge, wooden ones....Anything that would catch his interest and would relieve his sore gums. The kid still has no teeth, so I want him to find something that works in order to help him help himself to break them through. They're still right there! The only thing we hadn't tried was Sophie. ("Sophie le Girafffffeeeee" according to a coworker of mine with a 7-month-old girl). And so I got Zach a Sophie. And it went like this: I bring it home, and John sees the price tag and flips out that I spent $25 on a rubber teething toy, first of all. I am trying to explain to him that it is the teething toy, and apparently Mason of Kardashian fame even has one (again, the girl at work). And it is going to cure the endless teething. I mean, we are going to wake in the morning and all 4 of the teeth that are straining against Zach's gums are going to be out. All because of $25 Sophie. And then I get the box opened. And the first thing that comes to mind is a 99-cent doggy chew toy. It really does have that texture. And smell. And sound. Honestly I am kind of appalled because I immediately think that I could have gone to Petsmart and achieved the same effect. I mean, am I giving my baby a dog toy? But I get over it and give it to Zach.

Zach effing hates Sophie. He puts it up to his face, and I think this is it, he is going to chew on it! But then he must've smelled her aroma, which smells like a box of latex gloves or a freshly unwrapped Trojan (you pick), and he wrinkles his nose and throws her. And I retrieve her and give her back to him. Same reaction. I had the camera all ready to take a picture for you, but he kept throwing her. Finally, while he was all smiley and interacting with me, I slyly sat Sophie on his lap and snapped the above pic. What you don't see in it is that 2 seconds after the pic was taken, he discovered that the offending giraffe was back, and Sophie abruptly flew across the room again. We are a stubborn bunch, though, and Evan and I are dead-set on teaching Zach to love Sophie like he is supposed to. John just laughs at us, but between Evan and I, Sophie is always there with Zach. He'll get used to her and we'll have the miraculous teeth popping through little swollen gums, I swear. That has to be the case because I am out of options for the teething, y'all.

And so that concludes my free shopping experience, It was real. It was fun. I got some stuff I love for the baby. And then I was abruptly thrust back into the real world by a phone call that Zach's new Pediped shoes had come in and I had to go and pay for the $200 shoe order. Such is life.

Pasghetti

Tonight was spaghetti night. And this time, Zach joined us. And what parent doesn't take photos of a messy spaghtti-eatin' baby? So here you go. It's practically a requirement of parenthood.

Who Pulled All of Those DVDs Out: The Anatomy of a Crime

Hint: It wasn't Evan this time....

Hmmmm, what's this????
Daddy's right there. Is he gonna stop me?

Nope, I'm gonna go for it!

I don't want that one!

Argh! Busted by Mama!

I'll try a new approach: STANDING!

10

Ten. 10 months. This week, I had to fill out my schedule request for the next 6-week schedule to come out, and I had to remember to mark myself off for the big day: Zachary's first birthday is that soon. And then, as if I wasn't already feeling that, today I got an email from the photography studio we use to recieve some discounts for his first birthday photos. And yesterday in Target, I saw all of the Birthday Boy stuff they have. And I started bawling in the middle of the store when I saw the little tee with a big blue 1 on the chest.

It was just yesterday.

It seems as if Zach's first year is flying by even quicker than Evan's did. As a matter of fact, next month, because of the way everyone's work schedule is falling, we are going to be making the trip down to John's parents' to celebrate Zach's birthday with them. There'll be cake and ice cream, and of course presents. And we'll sing "Happy Birthday" to him. And I will cry. Just like I cry every year with Evan. But Zach? This is hitting me even harder. Maybe it is because I'm getting older. Maybe it is because we always assumed Evan was to be the only child and Zach seems even more of a gift because of it. And more than anything, I don't ever want that gift to leave me. Having an older child has shown me just how quickly it all goes by. And so while this is the first birthday of many, I know that 2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9.....that they will all whirr by me in rapid succession. The tee with the blue one on it for that day and then the next day he is wearing a cap and gown, or a tux for his wedding. And even then, it will still have been just yesterday.

Just yesterday that I felt the last of those horrendous contractions and I begged the NICU staff to bring him to me. Just yesterday that the days of new babyhood flashed in a blur of home and togetherness and cuddles. Just yesterday that I held him on my chest and cried from his beauty.

So today, Zach is 10 months old. For 10 months, my very soul has existed outside of my body. For ten months, I have witnessed a miracle daily. And I won't bore you with milestones reached or new things he is doing, other than to tell you that we swear he said "Bubby" the other day, which is what we call Evan. This was the first time he made a consonant sound, and so now we know he is okay. Everything has fallen into place. He has escaped the debaucle of his pregnancy and premature birth literally unscathed, making him even more of a miracle.

2 months left of his first year...

I have loved being this little boy's mother. I cannot believe that he was not always a part of the plan. John is my heart. Evan has been my life and my breath. But Zach? Zach is my soul.

Another First

Because we are terribly healthy individuals and insist on passing our habits down to our kids, I present to you:

Zach's first McDonald's french fry.

Our Carpet Picnic (Among Other Things)

Tonight we gnoshed on homemade chicken alfredo and garlic bread. Zach participated in the family dinner today as we settled on the living room floor with bowls brimming with pasta. And I got brave. Despite Zach's trouble with tectures in his food, I gave him few noodles and a the crusty end of the loaf of bread. He was more interested in the bread than the noodles, but he did fine with both: no gagging, no sputtering, no choking.

He also pulled himself to a standing position today for the first time, though I didn 't capture that on film. Before I could, he landed on his little butt.

Go, Zachy, Go!

More from today, courtesy of Evan and John, all taken while I tried to sleep away my illness (in one, you can even see my blog pulled up in the background as I fell asleep with it open):

Disclaimer: Why does my kid appear to weigh a gazillion pounds in the pic of him on the ride-on toy??? He only weighs 20 lbs, 4 oz., which is significantly slowed down from an earlier gaining pace. But the kid is only 23.75 inches long, making him as wide as he is tall almost. Welcome to your genes, Zachy!

Another Chapter Ends

Where to start?

I remember when I started to get into the throes of my pregnancy with Zachary, and John and I started to make lists of the things we needed. And we got to feeding supplies, and we started to discuss whether we were going to go with breastfeeding. I wanted to with Evan, but his prematurity got in the way and neither of us ended up interested at all. Did I want to try it again? Not really, because I was kind of afraid to get myself invested in the idea. I had breastfed Ben for a couple of months, and when it didn’t work out, I remember crying the first time I gave him a bottle of formula. And with Evan, I just felt guilty that we didn’t give it more of an effort. But knowing how breastmilk is the best for the baby, and seriously thinking Zach was to be my last chance to do so successfully, I decided to give it a go. One more try.

Wow.

You start off with the idea of breastfeeding as being this remarkably bonding experience. With a mind full of rosy images of a tiny baby nuzzling at a mother’s chest. Of cuddling and warmth and a bond that can only be shared between mother and child. A bond that cannot be broken. And I think after the pregnancy horrors I faced, I really needed that. And then Zach was born.

It was never supposed to go like it has. I was not supposed to be separated from my baby immediately after his birth after only having a small glimpse of him over a surgical drape. And I remember John bringing pictures of him from the NICU for me to see while we were still separated, and it was so bizarre and surreal. I had endured so much for him and this is what I got? Some blurry images on a digital camera that John barely knew how to use? Was this little  person really my son? How could I be sure when I couldn’t hold him and touch him and smell his newborn scent? They said he was mine. And I could see a family resemblance, so it had to be true. He was beautiful, that was for sure. But really? I begged and begged for them to bring him to me. Everyone said he was doing great and had just needed a little longer to adjust to the outside world. So if he was fine, then he belonged with me. If he is mine, he belongs with me.

And just like that, he was with me. I kicked everyone but John out of the room as I stripped away layers of flannel blanket to look him over. So perfect. So so perfect. And then and there, we nursed. And all was right with the world. Suddenly it all was okay- the pregnancy, the time in the NICU. Suddenly, it was just Zach and I. I loved it. And I hated when the lactation consultant came in and told me he had to have formula and asked me what type I wanted them to give him. I hadn’t planned on that. And so my love/hate relationship with the pump began.

I hated that I had to pump at all. I hated that he got formula. I wanted to cry each time he took a tiny sip of it. 20 mL at a time at first. I gave him every bit of breastmilk I could. I wished they would have told me it was okay to stop the formula when my milk came in, but they didn’t until it was too late. And the supply issues started. I did everything I could and got most of it back. And then the latch issues happened, most likely a result of the bottle feeding he had received. Phrases like “nipple confusion” and “flow preference” entered my vocabulary. Still, I did everything. Always trying trying trying to get him off of the tiny amount of formula he was getting a day. And then when he wouldn’t nurse at all anymore and I learned what it meant to exclusively pump. And my reality became the breastpump, 15 minutes at a time, 8-10 times per day. I’ve kept that up since Zach was 4 months old. I hated it, but Zach was getting breastmilk. That was all that mattered. I still felt a deeper connection to him because of the months we spent together, nursing. That is how I spent the weeks of my maternity leave. And when I first returned to work, I would come home and Zach would nurse with me in the bed as I drifted off to sleep. Zach and Mommy. That’s all there was.

It has been such a difficult road. Difficult but rewarding. Worth it. I honestly can look at the differences in personalities between Evan and Zachary and I think the breastfeeding has something, if not everything, to do with it. Zach seems more content. More secure. I cannot help but think that this is because he had more of a connection to me.

So why am I writing this now? Because this afternoon, John helped me to gather up all of the supplies I have needed to exclusively pump. All of that equipment. And I cried as I made sure all of it was organized and packed away. This week and next, Zach will get what is left of my milk from the refrigerator and freezer, and that will be the end. When I initially started out, I said one year was my goal. In a perfect world, free from latch issues and prematurity, from supply issues and tongue-tie, I would have done one full year. I am pretty proud of myself that I made it this far in the face of all of the difficulties. By the time it is over, Zach will be 10 months old. He is to the point where he is getting more and more food from sources other than a bottle, and I feel like it is time to focus on enjoying the rest of his first year free from the stress of measuring every little ounce, from setting alarms to remind me to pump every 2 hours around the clock. I can spend time enjoying my baby boy and getting some well-deserved rest knowing that I gave him the best for 10 whole months.

So here is a picture for you. This is what thousands of dollars’ worth of breastpumps and equipment looks like. All of my work fits into this tote. Amazing. And the picture wouldn’t be complete without including in it the reason for it all.

A Night Out

The fam and I headed out for a nice night out this evening before I head back to work. Well, if you consider pizza and Chuck E. Cheese a “night out”. Of course we hate the Chuckster’s pizza. We opted instead to hit up Dewey’s first. Where I swear you can find perfect pizza. Both babies behaved themselves. John insisted on letting Zach try a hint of lemon, though I tried to tell him that the citrus was too acidic for Zach. Well, I’m wondering now if babies can taste sour, because Zach wanted to eat the lemon wedge instead of making the requisite funny face and turning away. I know they can’t taste salt before a certain age, so who knows.

And then we headed to B&N, where I picked up a complete anthology of Jane Austen. It makes me feel dirty to buy her books in such a way, but I cannot wait to get lost in the vastness of all of it in one book. Now I have to make the confession that I have never read Jane Austen. Not Pride and Prejudice. Not Emma. Not  Persuasion. I know it’s awful. But I am going to fix it all starting tonight. But at least I didn’t just watch the movies and pretend I know all about her works. I never even watched the movies. That would’ve been even sluttier than cheating and buying all of her books under one cover.

And then we went to see Chuck. What more torturous experience than to hear Justin Bieber songs piped over a PA in the voice of a mouse? But Zach looked on from his stroller while Evan and John played. I did find the coolest arcade game EVER in the form of the giant Operation. Evan spent $25 in tokens to win a whopping $3 worth of prizes, but the point is to have fun and he did. I can only take that place in small doses and today was just right because hardly anyone was there. Code for not many screaming children, no long lines, and no worries that I am going to turn my head and Evan was going to go missing or something equally terrifying. Actually, the last time we were there, there was this really creepy guy sitting in a booth by himself, watching all of the kids play. Who goes there without a kid???? And so we haven’t been there in some time since then. But no Chester the Molester tonight.

So now Zach, exhausted by the stimulation of the evening, has gone to sleep before we even had a chance to fully clothe him in pj’s. Poor kid is just in his onesie. Evan is finishing up his homework and will soon be heading to a niv=ce bath and bed. John, though he doesn’t know it yet, is going to serve me a bowl of ice cream and brew me some coffee while I dive into my foot-thick book. And I may just get a back rub while I read. Life really can be good.

The Catch-All Post

You know that receptacle on the kitchen counter or desk or wherever? It could be a basket or bowl or something, but its sole purpose it to be a place for random crap that people drop. Ours is a large ceramic bowl on the kitchen table. The Catch-All. Ink pens, keys, restaurant coupons, junk mail, my badge and stethoscope from work....You can find anything in there, and I'm sure we aren't the only family with one of those.
Well, this is the catch-all post. Because I don't wanna post a bunch because, well, I'll get to that first.

First of all, I am working like a slave. And it has caught up with me. And I feel like garbage in more ways than one. For starters, my job is getting to me. Last night, I had to withdraw care on a 45-year-old father of 3 who suffered a spontaneous aneurysm that created a massive bleed in his brain. He was gone. Brain dead. And after listening to the wails of his wife and children echo off of the walls of the ICU unit for about 6 hours, the family decided it was time to let him go. I hate doing that. The suffering. The sadness. And aside from that, my face will be in their memories of his death. They won't associate it with pathology. They will see the woman who came in and extubated him on command, knowing he would not breathe once off of the ventilator. And that is seriously some depressing crap. And furthermore, I am sick. Physically sick. I've caught it either from my children, who have both been ill, or from my nasty patients. Because apparently my position in healthcare denies me my basic rights to health and wellness and common courtesy. By this, I mean that multiple times a day, I lean over to listen to breath sounds and a patient coughs directly into my face. With their staph/ enterobacter/ pseodomonas/ tuberculosis/ strep/ gram-negative/ gram-positive shit. Yep, right into the air I am breathing. Nice. Thank You. So now I have it. The dry, hacking cough. The hot cold hot cold hell of a temporarily dysfunctioning internal thermostat. The aches. The stuffy nose. I hate being sick and haven't been since I caught H1N1 from--you guessed it-- one of my patients during my first trimester of Zachy's pregnancy. Being sick makes me a crabby bitch. So enough about that.

Evan is a celebrity around my hospital and his school. Last week, the Cincinnati paper had community event photos and since all of the catholic schools were having special events for Catholic Schools Week, Evan's school was no exception. They had a sock hop and there was a 5x7 photo of Evan on the second page of the paper, cutting a rug like it was nobody's bidness. As a result, people have been saving the clipping for us and I swear we have about 50 copies right about now.

Zachy had his hearing test today with the audiologist. They put these little things in his ears that looked like ear buds, which emitted sounds and measured the vibrations produced by his ear to ensure all was working. They use this in babies because it requires no cooperation at all. It's just measurment. But little Zach kept whipping his head around, looking for the source of the sound, which of course he could not see since it was in his ear. It was entirely too cute. And all is well. No hearing impairment detected. No collection of fluid behind his ear drums. Now we just wait and see what the doctor is going to do. I've checked my insurance benefits, since I doubt we meet the financial guidelines for a state-sponsored early intervention program. I only have to pay 10% and he gets 30 therapy sessions per year. The bad part is that this is 30, total. So if they do OT and speech, for example, they cannot combine to more than 30. We haven't gotten there yet. I really don't think it's all that bad.

John's dad is apparently engaged. We found out tonight over Facebook. They've been dating for awhile and we like her, so it is great news.

I hate my nasty neighbors and their nasty dogs. Really, I know hate is a very strong word. And I mean every bit of it at this point. It was bad enough that when they open their front door to the common vestibule we share in our duplex, my living room smells like dirty dog for about 15 minutes. And then we had the issue this past spring where their dogs were shitting in little piles on the concrete driveway by the doors of my car. So I have to be hyper-vigilant about where I step when I get out. Pretty tricky if you come home after dark. Or before dawn. And let me remind you that I work nights.Well, now they are doing it again. And for extra fun, they are hiking their legs and peeing on John's Harley as well. John's Harley that is valued higher than my only-2-year-old car. And on the weather cover, which was also expensive and which John touches with bare hands ot get it on and off the motorcycle. Now before you think I am an evil dog-hater, let me tell you I like dogs. I would like to have a dog but seem to be allergic to anything that is green or has fur. But there is such a thing as courtesy. And the lack of it these people have appalls me. Seriously.

So that's all. I told ya. Completely random. But I feel like dirt. See ya on the flip side.

The Coupon Diva's Night Out

So the fam and I went out last night to dinner, to rent movies, and then to the grocery store. And I am going to use this opportunity to vent about kids' Valentines. You know those valentines everybody gives out because they're like 200 for $1? For the free meals? Well around these parts, that restaurant is Frisch's. Don't get me wrong--I love their onion rings and hot fudge cake, but it is decidedly crap. And those free meals really aren't free because you can't get it to go. Meaning Evan begs and begs to use it, and to do so, we all have to go. But we don't eat free. My guess is that risch's make a killin' on those things. And so last night, when John and I both wanted italian, Evan insisted. I can't complain though. Both children behaved impeccably. Zach, who has been rather fussy lately (either teeth, his cold, or the fact that he's been waking about 10 times per night these days) chilled in his Floppy Seat/ high chair combo at the table and actually interacted with us for the first time while eating out. Then, when our food came, he just munched on the straps of his floppy seat while we ate.

So then I get this wild idea. While the boys are behaving, I'm going to try to do something I have never done: use coupons! I have a coworker who can get stuff free by the way she uses coupons. I'm not talking that hardcore, but just want to save a few bucks. Usually my trips to the supermarket are kinda like the 80's show Supermarket Sweep where you hurry and throw random shit in the cart before Evan has a full-blown tantrum and Zachy completely melts down. But they're behaving, so I can do this, right?

Fricken-A Right, I can! First stop: BRU. We need formula and other general stuff. I am armed with a "$4 off of two cans of powdered formula" coupon, and gift cards I got for buying two big boxes of Pampers and a large box of wipes last time I was there
(hey, I was gonna buy them anyway...). Well the moral of the story is that I walked out of there with 4 huge cans of formula (manufacturer made cans with "25% more free"), teething biscuits, and 4-4 packs of the organic baby food I use when we go out. I spent---Ta-Daaaaaaaa!--$48!!!! When the little cans of formula I normally buy are $25 each!

So on I go to the supermarket from there, and I won't bore you with the details, but between the sales they were having with their frequent shoppers' card, and the coupons I had, I saved about $68 off of my order.

That's money I would have spent.

Holy crap!

I am a fricken COUPON DIVA now! I'm converted.