Wednesday, September 21, 2011
# 127 of Things Not to Do While Tired
It is best to be at least somewhat rested when attempted to use your breast pump....
Instead of turning the dial all the way to the left to turn it off- I turned it all the way to the right.. very quickly... I now resemble one of those women you see on the cover of National Geographic....
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Clash of the Titans
The moment the doctor placed a squalling bundle of joy on my chest said I just delivered a girl she matter as well have just said "Congrats, you just delivered a living terror who will do endless battle with you from this day forward. Of course, I love my child more than anything but I knew that my daughter would inevitably inherit certain personality traits from me- unbreakable willpower, unreserved and free flowing opinions and the total willingness to compromise and since the fates would conspire against me- the complete inability to see logic and reason (inherited, of course, from her father). Sure enough not yet 6 weeks into her young life and we have already butt heads.. I think she should sleep; she disagrees. I knew this would happen. I can easily see myself years down the road battling my daughters will...
" no, little 8 year old daughter, we are not getting a pony"
"hell no, 14 year old apple of my eye, you cannot get a tattoo"
"Absolutely not, 17 year old precious gem, I will not let you out of your room so you can run off and marry that tattooed long haired freak named Dirk and I dont care he has a motorcycle and a part time job at target"
As you can see I fully anticipated some epic battles in the future. What I was completely unprepared for is for my daughter's little iron will to present itself so early. I always considered baby cries to be so cute and sometimes she will cry in such a way that break my heart, but more often than not she will clench her fists look at me and bust out this high pitched yell. Its not a cry because its just one sustained sound like an angry troll shriek. Our biggest battles center around pacifiers, tummy time and eating.
I heard babies sometimes have preferences for pacifiers... I was unprepared for the fact that there would be one ONE type of pacifier my daughter will allow. Any attempts to trick her will be met with her swift form of justice- spitting the offensive pacifier out and yelling that troll yell while angrily shaking her fists. Who knew that a tiny 6 week old could force two grown adults to run around at 3 am desperately searching for THE pacifier (yes we have since gotten more than one) She wins this round
As a nursing mother I am entirely under my daughter's minuscule thumb when it comes to eating. She says when and how long. I knew this when I signed up for "on demand" feedings I did not sign up for a middle of the night Reign of Terror. Instead of one long sustained chow session she has the propensity to treat my breasts as an all you can eat buffet. You know how it works.. you go to the buffet gorge for a couple minutes sit back relax and then go back.. repeat several times all in a gluttonous attempt to get your money's worth. Several times a night she will demurely eat and fall sound asleep after 4 minutes only to wake up an hour later screaming for more. This sh*t may have been acceptable when her tummy was the size of a marble but I will not have this! I am determined to end this tit tyranny! Unfortunately the only option is to just ignore these plaintive cries for nourishment... I steel myself to attempt this- however, the little wench has convinced my breasts to defect onto her side causing the traitorous orbs to gush like Niagara at any attempts to ignore her demands.... This round also goes to her.
tummy time.... sigh. This is our epic battle. I know she needs it if she is ever going to be a functioning being, she refuses to see the logic in this argument and screams bloody murder the second her round little tummy hits her way too expensive, animals of the world, sensory stimulating, activity mat. I can really only tolerate about 30 seconds of this noise before I pick her up and cuddle her against my now soaking wet shirt and am immediately rewarded with a sly grin and despotic giggle...
we have, at least for now, reached a detente of sorts. I wake up and feed her as many times as she would like and she responds to my insistence on tummy time, not with angry screaming that makes my ears bleed but rather with passive resistance.. she immediately falls asleep and is peaceful as can be... I guess thats the Ghandi response of the baby world.....
" no, little 8 year old daughter, we are not getting a pony"
"hell no, 14 year old apple of my eye, you cannot get a tattoo"
"Absolutely not, 17 year old precious gem, I will not let you out of your room so you can run off and marry that tattooed long haired freak named Dirk and I dont care he has a motorcycle and a part time job at target"
As you can see I fully anticipated some epic battles in the future. What I was completely unprepared for is for my daughter's little iron will to present itself so early. I always considered baby cries to be so cute and sometimes she will cry in such a way that break my heart, but more often than not she will clench her fists look at me and bust out this high pitched yell. Its not a cry because its just one sustained sound like an angry troll shriek. Our biggest battles center around pacifiers, tummy time and eating.
I heard babies sometimes have preferences for pacifiers... I was unprepared for the fact that there would be one ONE type of pacifier my daughter will allow. Any attempts to trick her will be met with her swift form of justice- spitting the offensive pacifier out and yelling that troll yell while angrily shaking her fists. Who knew that a tiny 6 week old could force two grown adults to run around at 3 am desperately searching for THE pacifier (yes we have since gotten more than one) She wins this round
As a nursing mother I am entirely under my daughter's minuscule thumb when it comes to eating. She says when and how long. I knew this when I signed up for "on demand" feedings I did not sign up for a middle of the night Reign of Terror. Instead of one long sustained chow session she has the propensity to treat my breasts as an all you can eat buffet. You know how it works.. you go to the buffet gorge for a couple minutes sit back relax and then go back.. repeat several times all in a gluttonous attempt to get your money's worth. Several times a night she will demurely eat and fall sound asleep after 4 minutes only to wake up an hour later screaming for more. This sh*t may have been acceptable when her tummy was the size of a marble but I will not have this! I am determined to end this tit tyranny! Unfortunately the only option is to just ignore these plaintive cries for nourishment... I steel myself to attempt this- however, the little wench has convinced my breasts to defect onto her side causing the traitorous orbs to gush like Niagara at any attempts to ignore her demands.... This round also goes to her.
tummy time.... sigh. This is our epic battle. I know she needs it if she is ever going to be a functioning being, she refuses to see the logic in this argument and screams bloody murder the second her round little tummy hits her way too expensive, animals of the world, sensory stimulating, activity mat. I can really only tolerate about 30 seconds of this noise before I pick her up and cuddle her against my now soaking wet shirt and am immediately rewarded with a sly grin and despotic giggle...
we have, at least for now, reached a detente of sorts. I wake up and feed her as many times as she would like and she responds to my insistence on tummy time, not with angry screaming that makes my ears bleed but rather with passive resistance.. she immediately falls asleep and is peaceful as can be... I guess thats the Ghandi response of the baby world.....
Monday, August 8, 2011
Back off or I will rip your face off
Since having a child I feel a new found sympathy and camaraderie towards those mother grizzlies that attack seemingly innocent hikers that gets within 50 yards of their cubs. I never thought I would be over protective to the point of near physical violence but somehow that switch gets turned on. My husband has not been immune to similar feelings of papa bearness. It wasnt two days after we got our precious miracle home that we needed to venture out back into the germ infested hospital. We bundled her up and protectively carried her in her covered carseat between us walking remarkably quickly to our destination. As we make our way through the hallway we pass by a seemingly harmless man who then has the audacity to sneeze within 10 feet of our newborn fragile daughter!!! Yea sure he covered his nose and mouth but I know germs got through (have you ever tried to keep water in your hand - it leaks through?!) I somehow manage to not rip his germy little head off and we speed past quickly. As we wait for the elevator and fervently hope that no one else would ride along with us- closed space, germy people, no air... might as well dip our daughter into a petri dish! , my husband leans in and whispers- "is it wrong that I really wanted to punch that guy in the face?" somehow his own rage that matched mine was a comfort to me.
I thought this was a phase attributable to her fragile new immune system and my newness as a mother. I never expected the crazy need to purell every visitor to remain an integral part of my personality nor the deep breath I take whenever anyone approaches her carrier. I can feel myself preparing for battle- my muscles steeling themselves in preparation to either flee with my infant or fight off the well meaning, but dangerous attack, my tongue sharpening against my teeth ready to viciously chastise those who dare come too close or god forbid touch, my eagle eyes glued on every ones hands for the first sign of any attempts at physical contact and my brain feverishly trying to ascertain the worst potential predator- is it the woman with the oh too curious looking germ filled child? is it walking bacteria factory cleverly disguised as a ignorant teenager eager to squeal at my precious bundle of cuteness or is it the grandmotherly old lady who is equally as armed as me wiht her own weapons of insidious comments and unwanted advice. It doesn't matter I am well prepared to maul each of them or all three of them at once if need be- hell I'll also take down that creepy would-be pedophile with the moustache standing in the corner while I am at it.
Perhaps my grizzliness took its truest form while at Church. The problem with church is that its a bunch of germy strangers crammed into a tiny space touching and talking and pretending they are some sort of closeknit community. I dread the moments we shake hands and ache with impatience looking for the next opportunity I can discreetly disinfect myself. My papa bear husband and I try to get there early to get the last pew so that no one is leaning over our daughter's carrier (placed protectively on the pew between us) and breathing their foul breath on her. Last week we missed the opportunity and we were stuck sitting in front of a young man. oh well he probably wont be interested enough to lean close to her plus hes fairly tall hopefully his germs would drift right over her. Then to my absolute horror he moves over to let his wife and 4 small children in next to him. As his young daughters lean dangerously close to my daughters sleeping face I can feel myself stiffen- What do I do? Do I say something? Do I risk waking my peaceful child up just to hold her in my protective arms away from the breathy assault of this young brood behind me? As I contemplate my next move my husband leans in and whispers "I can actually hear you growling".... the metamorphosis is complete. I have officially become a vicious overprotective grizzly bear- growl and all and if you don't stay at least 10 feet away from my child you can rest assure I am imagining ripping your body apart limb from limb.
I thought this was a phase attributable to her fragile new immune system and my newness as a mother. I never expected the crazy need to purell every visitor to remain an integral part of my personality nor the deep breath I take whenever anyone approaches her carrier. I can feel myself preparing for battle- my muscles steeling themselves in preparation to either flee with my infant or fight off the well meaning, but dangerous attack, my tongue sharpening against my teeth ready to viciously chastise those who dare come too close or god forbid touch, my eagle eyes glued on every ones hands for the first sign of any attempts at physical contact and my brain feverishly trying to ascertain the worst potential predator- is it the woman with the oh too curious looking germ filled child? is it walking bacteria factory cleverly disguised as a ignorant teenager eager to squeal at my precious bundle of cuteness or is it the grandmotherly old lady who is equally as armed as me wiht her own weapons of insidious comments and unwanted advice. It doesn't matter I am well prepared to maul each of them or all three of them at once if need be- hell I'll also take down that creepy would-be pedophile with the moustache standing in the corner while I am at it.
Perhaps my grizzliness took its truest form while at Church. The problem with church is that its a bunch of germy strangers crammed into a tiny space touching and talking and pretending they are some sort of closeknit community. I dread the moments we shake hands and ache with impatience looking for the next opportunity I can discreetly disinfect myself. My papa bear husband and I try to get there early to get the last pew so that no one is leaning over our daughter's carrier (placed protectively on the pew between us) and breathing their foul breath on her. Last week we missed the opportunity and we were stuck sitting in front of a young man. oh well he probably wont be interested enough to lean close to her plus hes fairly tall hopefully his germs would drift right over her. Then to my absolute horror he moves over to let his wife and 4 small children in next to him. As his young daughters lean dangerously close to my daughters sleeping face I can feel myself stiffen- What do I do? Do I say something? Do I risk waking my peaceful child up just to hold her in my protective arms away from the breathy assault of this young brood behind me? As I contemplate my next move my husband leans in and whispers "I can actually hear you growling".... the metamorphosis is complete. I have officially become a vicious overprotective grizzly bear- growl and all and if you don't stay at least 10 feet away from my child you can rest assure I am imagining ripping your body apart limb from limb.
Oops blogging fail
Obviously, I am not very good at keeping up with posting. Oh well. I have some other posts regarding my pregnancy in the hopper they just need some tweaking. In the meantime I will blog as I feel it and keep checking for backdated posts.. :)
Monday, July 11, 2011
Hospital Bag
I read LOTS of lists of everything I should bring with me to the hospital and lots and lots of books about what I should expect..some suggestions were great ( a smuggled in sandwich) some were downright dumb (cards.. yea because anyone really wants to play go fish with a woman having contractions...) So this is it- the end all be all list of what you actually need if you are laboring in an hospital. Seriously throw away those books.
1- a Smuggled in sandwich- they won't let you eat when you are there but that is just crazy-making. During a typical labor and delivery you burn around 30,000 calories (Google) Your body simply cannot do it without food. Now I understand that there are risks to eating and that you should be mindful, but in my case I went in at 7 and was barely barely dilated- I knew I had a long day..night ahead of me so yea I ate a peanut butter and helly sandwich and you know what it was delicious and kept me from killing my husband, parents, nurses and a kindly old lady who passed me during my many hallway walk-abouts
2- Slippers. The idea of my socked feet touching the floor that has seen placenta, womb juice and let's not kid ourselves the occasional 'damn he's slippery' baby got me skeeved out. I have a foot thing- like I can't get into bed with dirty feet or socks I've worn around. So if you are ok doing that skip the slippers and wear your placenta laden socks to bed.
3- 'Nutritional' bars. I am fairly certain I can't legally name them, but you know what I'm talking about. These are more to keep hubby happy and while that’s not too high on my agenda once I'm IN LABOR-Not being in labor makes me significantly more magnanimous. Plus who wants a cranky hungry hubby!!
4- Electrolyte drink- again with the generic names, but you know it. This is again for the hubby…
4- Tennis balls in a clean gym sock. This is a dual purpose item. First off it is GREAT to use to press on that area of your back that is in so much pain you want to dig it out with a spoon. (if you never went into labor you don't know that pain but trust me- its awful so plan ahead) Second and I argue more importatly it provides the perfect blend of hardness and bounce to walup your hubby when he annoys you. The sock gives you a good handle and provides stretch to reach several more inches and the tennis balls hurt just enough to get him back in line without leaving welts.
5- Unscented massage oil- Unscented because yea you think you love the smell of vanilla now (be honest it makes you think of cupcakes) but when you are suffering through endless contractions you may hate it) Digression- this theory also applies to hubby's aftershave, shampoo, deodorant, breath.. so be prepared to make him shower and rebrush. The oil is good be/c this is the last time anyone will be nice enough to massage your aching shoulders or sausage feet. Sorry but true.
6- Birth Book- the kind that you can get your baby's footprints stamped in. You will want it but be way too tired to remember to do it on your own.
7- going home outfit for baby. Not for you just wear home what you wore to the hospital no one is looking at you anyway. But the baby- yes he/ she needs something special and WEATHER APPROPRIATE.
That's it. That is all you need. I promise you.
1- a Smuggled in sandwich- they won't let you eat when you are there but that is just crazy-making. During a typical labor and delivery you burn around 30,000 calories (Google) Your body simply cannot do it without food. Now I understand that there are risks to eating and that you should be mindful, but in my case I went in at 7 and was barely barely dilated- I knew I had a long day..night ahead of me so yea I ate a peanut butter and helly sandwich and you know what it was delicious and kept me from killing my husband, parents, nurses and a kindly old lady who passed me during my many hallway walk-abouts
2- Slippers. The idea of my socked feet touching the floor that has seen placenta, womb juice and let's not kid ourselves the occasional 'damn he's slippery' baby got me skeeved out. I have a foot thing- like I can't get into bed with dirty feet or socks I've worn around. So if you are ok doing that skip the slippers and wear your placenta laden socks to bed.
3- 'Nutritional' bars. I am fairly certain I can't legally name them, but you know what I'm talking about. These are more to keep hubby happy and while that’s not too high on my agenda once I'm IN LABOR-Not being in labor makes me significantly more magnanimous. Plus who wants a cranky hungry hubby!!
4- Electrolyte drink- again with the generic names, but you know it. This is again for the hubby…
4- Tennis balls in a clean gym sock. This is a dual purpose item. First off it is GREAT to use to press on that area of your back that is in so much pain you want to dig it out with a spoon. (if you never went into labor you don't know that pain but trust me- its awful so plan ahead) Second and I argue more importatly it provides the perfect blend of hardness and bounce to walup your hubby when he annoys you. The sock gives you a good handle and provides stretch to reach several more inches and the tennis balls hurt just enough to get him back in line without leaving welts.
5- Unscented massage oil- Unscented because yea you think you love the smell of vanilla now (be honest it makes you think of cupcakes) but when you are suffering through endless contractions you may hate it) Digression- this theory also applies to hubby's aftershave, shampoo, deodorant, breath.. so be prepared to make him shower and rebrush. The oil is good be/c this is the last time anyone will be nice enough to massage your aching shoulders or sausage feet. Sorry but true.
6- Birth Book- the kind that you can get your baby's footprints stamped in. You will want it but be way too tired to remember to do it on your own.
7- going home outfit for baby. Not for you just wear home what you wore to the hospital no one is looking at you anyway. But the baby- yes he/ she needs something special and WEATHER APPROPRIATE.
That's it. That is all you need. I promise you.
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