Stair Sanity Stealer

 

After about a million different configurations, we have finally found a baby gate/box/etc. combo that has managed to keep Sterling off of the stairs for a WHOLE WEEK! 

It's not pretty, but it works. She has started climbing the outside of the stairs now, so I need to get creative. One hurdle at a time though :-)

 

No Such Thing As "No"

That thing in her mouth? A ceramic coaster I had placed in the center of the coffee table to keep it out of little hands. Problem solved! To fix the situation, she pulled the toy basket over and climbed up on it.

Operation Destruction

Having a baby has destroyed my body. There, I have said it.

No, I don't mean destroyed my body in the bad-skin-stretch-marks-stomach-pooch-cellulite-C-section-scar-cellulite-dark-circles-pee-when-I-laugh/sneeze/jump/sit, although those are all there too.

No, when I say destroyed my body, I mean that I have literally been sick for 6 months in a row with an escalating series of illnesses. Now, you could say "huh, maybe that's a crazy coincidence", and you may be right with a normal person, but not me. Until I got pregnant, I was that crazy healthy friend who NEVER got sick. No lie, until the baby, my doctor hated me because the only time she saw me was when I broke my foot. I literally went years without so much as a sneeze.

And then I had a baby, and suddenly I have become my doctor's wet dream. It all started with a series of escalating sinus infections that piggy backed off of each other, escalating with each occurrence. Each round of antibiotics wrecked my system a little further until I forgot what exactly "normal" was like. Then the appendicitis scare which after 3 days in the hospital, turned out to be a particularly nasty abdominal infection in my lymph nodes. Major round of antibiotics later, I was sent home, just in time to catch the stomach flu from hell a week later. It lasted 24 hours for the baby, 12 hours for my husband, and 7 days for me, including virulent explosions from pretty much every orifice imaginable. Then the cold that took the baby down for 3 days, and a week and a half later I am STILL fighting.

Long story short, I have pretty much forgotten what healthy feels like at this point. And I have thoroughly lost confidence in Western medicine. It doesn't feel like any of the care I have received has ever made me feel better, and I am starting to think that wellness is as much a state of mind as a state of being.

So, I am getting healthy. I am taking the time to take naps when my baby does (one of those great tips from other parents which sounds great, but is nearly impossible to actually do), I am eating healthier, I am increasing my exercise, and most importantly, I am getting to a healthy mindset.

Let's see if the mind is stronger than the pregnancy :)

World's Youngest Food Critic

Sterling has a new response to anything that she doesn't enjoy. I would be offended by her commentary on my cooking (or more accurately, baby food jar opening) if it wasn't so freakin cute :)

 

Mom's Group Or Soul Mates?

So today I got together with a new mom's group, a group of ladies who had never met one another before.

I was a bit apprehensive, after sampling a few mom's groups in the past, I have become way too familiar with the undercurrent of competition that seems inherent with these groups and yet I continue to try new ones in hopes that I will find that Holy Grail, a group of similarly minded people who have kids of similar ages who are just as lonely and befuddled by the mom journey as I am.

I had several epiphanies as a result of today's meeting:

1- We are all a little embarrassed when we realize that the same woman who used to rule the board room (namely, us) is now talking in dulcet tones to an infant while said infant screeches at the top of his/her lungs. That same woman is the one who will be dancing with scarves to nursery rhymes at the "Infant Dance Class". Yep, same girl is wearing no fewer than 3 bodily secretions from that infant, and couldn't be happier about it.

2- It isn't that we lose all sense of style once a baby is born and hibernate in slouchy maternity jeans, over-sized sweaters and sneakers (what I have lovingly titled the "Jennifer Garner Uniform"). It's that nothing fabulous in our wardrobe currently fits, and even if it did, it really wouldn't be pragmatic for squatting on the floor to play with a baby. Also, it is amazingly easy for an infant to go fishing in a sexy top and expose more boob than you have shown since college.

3- We all struggle with guilt. The fear that we don't do enough, that we can't be enough, that we are somehow shortchanging our precious bundle because of our all to human weaknesses.

I can't say why exactly, but discovering that I wasn't the only one struggling with these changes somehow comforted me. It's like I suddenly have compatriots on this long, often strange path of parenthood.

Note: this was originally published on 11/4/10, the day that I met some of my greatest friends ever. No, we don't all have the same opinions but we DO share an open mind and a willingness to accept each other as we are, and have become incredibly close ever since that first meeting :-)
Raising our kids together has brought us closer than I ever would have guessed and I feel incredibly lucky to have their friendship.

Pink

So until I had a baby girl, the color pink was not in my repertoire. I was a neutrals kind of girl. My wardrobe was full of classic clothes in a full spectrum of neutral. My home was tastefully decorated in neutrals. I even drove a car in a lovely metallic neutral. In fact, I do believe I was allergic to pink.

And then I had that ultrasound that showed that I was having a little girl. And my world shifted.

Suddenly, a new rosy world of color opened up to me, one adorned in ruffles and bows and little lacy things. And I went a bit crazy with the pink. I bought pink blankets, tiny pink sweaters, pink toys, pink snugglies, and yes, an entire pink bedroom for our little bundle of pink to come home from the hospital to.

It is amazing how one simple ultrasound can completely change your life. I have even added a few pieces of soft pink to my own wardrobe.

Who would have thought I had it in me? Not me.

Guilt

Before I became a mom, I used to hear about "Mother's Guilt" and think it was an absolutely absurd concept. After all, moms give us life. What we do with it is up to us. What in the world would the average mom have to feel guilty about?

And then I had a baby.

And I realized that pretty much every decision I make has a tinge of guilt associated with it. My baby girl S is 5 1/2 months old now. At 24 hours of age, she made the momentous decision not to nurse, and stuck to her guns no matter how I tried to entice, beg, and pry her tiny little mouth open to get her to nurse. After what felt like eons of torment, I agreed to give her a bottle just to get something into her system.

Having a strong commitment to breast feeding, I refused to be side-tracked by an infant and so began a month of alternating pumping and adamantly insisting that I would convince this kid to nurse. Finally, after 4 weeks I gave in and accepted that perhaps she was right. She would not nurse.

And so began my long, not so loving relationship with the milking machine I lovingly titled "Pumpy". Pumpy and I spent long hours on the sofa together, while Pumpy did the work that my daughter refused to do. 6 times a day, 45 minutes a shot Pumpy and I dedicated ourselves to the task of keeping our girl fed.

When S was 4 months old, I was diagnosed with a pretty severe sinus infection after experiencing extreme vertigo. After weighing the impacts to S, I finally decided to go ahead with the antibiotics. Two rounds of antibiotics later, my system was all out of whack, my sinus infection still had not left the building, and all remaining options to clear up my system would be pretty rough on S. I put off treatment for 3 more weeks while I stock piled enough milk to get us to that critical 6 month point.

So right now I am in the process of decreasing milk production. My long, arduous hours with Pumpy are decreasing, my tether to a pumping schedule is weakening, and with each ounce that I decrease in production, my guilt grows because I feel like I am short-changing my daughter.

No, it isn't the emotional connection that I fear we will lose because to be perfectly honest, from the beginning S has screamed during my long visits with Pumpy each day. And no, it isn't that I fear being replaced because from the beginning S has pretty much associated anyone willing to stick a silicone nipple in her mouth with meal time. I feel guilty because S will only be breast fed for 6 months and while that is a great minimum, I fear that perhaps there is a Harvard scholarship that she will miss by thismuch because mommy couldn't tough it out.

Yeah, I am sure I am over-estimating the impact that her meals will play in her overall success, but what if I'm not?