What do you say? February 24, 2009

What’s the proper response when people tell you how gorgeous your child is? I never know what to say. “Thank you” seems wrong since I didn’t personally design him like a dress or mold him like pottery.  This is just what the genetic lottery gave us, and we could have easily done worse (I always expected our child to have a Chris Farley quality, and was especially afraid of it happening to a girl).  “I know he’s perfect” is just rude.

I realize this is a minor issue and a good one to have, but I’m seeking your wisdom oh wise internets. What should I say when the masses fawn over my fabulous spawn? Hehe.

A sign i’m sleep deprived February 23, 2009

We’ve got a CD of instrumental lullabies that we play any time we take Andrew into his room for a wardrobe or diaper change. I don’t know the words to most of them, and even the ones  I do are spotty. Case in point: I was mentally singing along to a classic tune, the title of which  I don’t recall and don’t care enough about to go look up, and realized my lyrics were probably a deviation from the actual song:

…and if that looking glass gets broke

Papa’s gonna buy you an artichoke.

File that one away for future reference

Next time I smell something heinous,  I’ll not only sniff Andrew, his clothes, bouncer and bed and the cat–I’ll add myself to the list because maybe, just maybe, the vomit smell really is babypuke that was absorbed by my shirt several hours ago.

This is my life.

Why I shouldn’t be left alone with babies February 22, 2009

Stinks threw himself another all night party last night, complete with hourly nursing. Good times were had by none. As I stared into his bright, shining eyes about 9:30 this morning, I decided I needed to tell him a little cautionary tale about not sleeping when he should. Here’s how it went:

“There once was a boy named Andrew who wouldn’t take his nappy-nap. He was eaten by wolves. The end.”

Chunks was nonplussed. I think it’s because he doesn’t know his name is Andrew; he thinks  it’s Stinks/Chunks/Chubs or some variation thereof. Otherwise I’m sure he would have heeded the warning posthaste.

We survived. February 19, 2009

ETA: I thought this posted yesterday-or the day before, or who the hell knows, what month is it again?

Well, we survived that night. The next one was blissful–he slept the entire time except to wake up briefly for feedings. I gave myself lots of mental high fives after that one.

Then came last night, when he projectile vomited two entire feedings. You’d be amazed at how much those little stomachs can hold, especially when it ends up coating your entire person.

After the second episode I called our pediatrician’s afterhours number (because I am that neurotic mom) and the nurse told me we couldn’t let him eat more than a few minutes every hour. Since his stomach was empty he was screaming like a crazy person and didn’t understand why his mom wouldn’t feed him. I’ve never felt worse in my life, I promise. I could have deep-fried puppies with less remorse.

I finally had to wake up Mr. Aggie to hold Andrew in between our allotted ten minute feedings, because with him he’d actually give up and go to sleep for a little while. Sucked for dad though, because he had to go to work on almost no sleep today.

Anyway, it’s a new day (night) and the situation seems to have resolved itself.  In celebration of that here are some new and recent pics of my superspawn.

Sidenote: In the first one, he is in the final stages of pooping all over the towel/his handler. We didn’t realize it at the time, but it does kind of explain the facial expression.

There are no words. February 15, 2009

It’s 6:38 a.m. and Andrew just went to sleep. He’s fallen asleep numerous times tonight

wait. He’s awake again.

I can’t go get him, I really can’t. A few minutes ago I put him in his swing, against his wishes, because I just couldn’t take it anymore. We’ve been crying together off and on all night because every time you put him down, he wakes up screaming immediately. I don’t know what happened to my happy baby, but I need him back. I’ve slept for one hour in the last 24 and that’s just not going to cut it my friends.

To top it off, I’m pretty  sure we have thrush. This means that when he feeds–and even when he doesn’t–my boobs feel like they’re being sliced with razor blades. It’s a pain I can’t really describe except to say it’s excruciating and I understand now why the primary result of thrush is “premature weaning.” Did I mention all he wants to do tonight is eat? That’s right. There has not been a time longer than 45 minutes since 11 pm that he hasn’t demanded to eat.

I have to get him now before he gives himself an aneurysm.

This sucks.

“Mom’s chocolate milk is the shiznit.” February 12, 2009

I’ve been letting Mr. Aggie sleep through Andrew’s nighttime antics during the workweek, because no one wins if he passes out at work and drools all over his keyboard. Usually I’ve had one of our moms to help me with the night shift so it hasn’t been a problem. We were alone last night, though, so he insisted that he help out. He’s fantastic that way.

So I woke him up at 2:30 (2.5 hours in on the all-night party) to change a dirty diaper and get the kid situated afterward. He did a great job with the blowout diaper (I sure know how to pick ‘em!) and returned with a happy baby and a chocolate chip granola bar. Here’s the one-sided conversation that followed:

Mr. Aggie: Hey Andrew, want some granola bar?

Silence.

MA: I’ll let you lick it.

More silence.

MA: Oh, I know! I’ll give you one of the chocolate chips! Yeah, I’ll smoosh it up good for you and you can eat it, then mom can feed you a little and I’ll shake you up [demonstrates the motion of shaking, sans baby] and bam! mom’s chocolate milk! You’re going to love it. Mom’s chocolate milk is the shiznit.

Andrew Update February 11, 2009

I’m too exhausted to make this witty. We had our two week visit to the pediatrician and found out Andrew is officially a chunk, weighing in at 10 lbs 6 ounces (up almost a pound in six days). His cord fell off (!!) allowing us to give him his first real bath as seen here.

In less happy news, the doctor realized that Andrew probably has a fractured collarbone from delivery. The fact that two other pediatricians have examined him on four separate occasions without noticing is extremely upsetting. The doctor said it’s probably almost healed by now and that we shouldn’t be concerned about the fact that we’ve been manhandling him for two weeks while he had a broken bone we didn’t know about.

Deep breath.

He’s been having trouble sleeping at night. That’s not entirely accurate–he’s not bothered at all by the lack of nighttime snooze. Don’t believe me? Here’s a photo I snapped around 4 am this morning:

I’m hoping he’ll decide to go back to sleeping through the night (except for waking up to eat of course) tonight after two nights of this rave-like behavior.  It’s gotten to the point that I can’t relax and turn off the lamp at night because I know he’ll wake up as soon as I drift off, and the sound of his sudden screaming outburst takes years off my life and brings me to tears.

Good times.

I think we’re alone now… February 9, 2009

Today is the first day that Andrew and I haven’t had someone else to help out around the house. I’m interested to see how I handle everything, and I’m also terrified. What am I supposed to do if I need to, ahem, use the facilities for an extended period of time? How am I supposed to wash my hands immediately after changing him since I’ll be the one holding him?

We’ve had some drama this weekend as I noticed that Chunks has cut his feeding time in half. Instead of visiting the buffet for 30 minutes at a time, he’s been requesting the check after only 10-15 minutes. At that point, he’s dead asleep. There’s nothing Mr. Aggie and I have found that will rouse him from his milk-induced slumber. I’m worried about what this means for my supply and for his growth, so I’ve got a call in to the pediatrician and I spoke to a lactation consultant at the hospital where I delivered. She said most likely it was nothing to be concerned about but did agree that I should probably inform the pediatrician just in case. She mentioned that some babies just become very proficient eaters and learn to take care of business in record time. Let’s hope that’s the case here.

My free time should be coming to an end soon, so I’m off to brush my teeth since I’m not entirely sure I did that yesterday. Sorry this post isn’t very interesting, but this is my life as it stands today. Maybe if you’re lucky I’ll do a post on poop later.

Is that crack cocaine in my breastmilk, or are you just trying to punish me? February 6, 2009

For some reason, Andrew  has decided that his most wakeful time of the day should be between the hours of 12-4 a.m. He’s so alert right now, you’d think I’d fed him red bull instead of breastmilk. He’s not fussy, he’s just sitting in his blessed bouncer hiccuping and staring off into the distance.  For the love of all things holy, kid, go.to.sleep!

Speaking of breastmilk, I’d just like to say that breastfeeding makes me feel like a superhero. I can sustain life with my boobs–what can you do?