Random thought

I never notice the age of this building like when I try to quietly move through our place when Gillian is asleep. In some places, I swear the floors are so thin from 100 years of sanding that I might just fall through one day. Until then, like an expanse of landmines, I will continue to try to make mental maps of where the creakiest floorboards are, and do my best to avoid them-particularly at nighttime and during naps (which is almost all the time). See? Even walking and not waking the baby takes a game plan. Parental life is complicated. I am told it only gets more so. I wait in breathless anticipation.

Then and Now

There was a time when weekend nights were for parties and socializing, usually with a good bit of beer involved. My, how times have changed.

Parenthood changes your life in subtle ways, and not so subtle ways. An example of a subtle change is how you wouldn't even think of having a third drink (too much alcohol=can't nurse baby=have to pump and dump=dehydration=low milk production the next day). A not so subtle change is the fact that we are ALWAYS home by 6:30 pm. Every, single day. This is because Gillian's etched-in-granite bedtime is 7 pm. "Why?," you ask?? Because an overtired infant is the worst kind of screaming, inconsolable misery you might ever encounter. Babies who are overtired usually scream themselves to sleep (taking every ounce of your willpower not to go pick them up and try to soothe them-then you learn they will scream whether or not you're holding them, and your presence might just keep them awake). In general, you learn that having a child requires a great deal of planning, particularly if you are going to leave your house. You would be amazed at the forethought that goes into taking your baby for a walk, for example. You also have to be calculated about your evenings if you do decide to go out and be social (which, Thanks to Sean, I have done a few times). You realize it's not worth it to be out too late and miss sleep or drink too much, or do anything that might jeopardize being in top shape tomorrow. Because the baby will still be there tomorrow, and will still be completely dependent on you. You learn that it's just not worth it to stay out too late. In my experience, a good rule of thumb is to be home by 10. It keeps you out of trouble.

So, do we miss the freedom of just picking up and going if someone called us at 5 pm on Friday and invited us to game night at their place and a few episodes of the muppets afterward? Or seeing a good band play till very late after an indulgent dinner at some place we just felt like trying? Sure. But, those scenarios are no longer options (till babysitting is an option, anyway). But more importantly, we don't care about doing those things as much as we use to. Somehow we have changed. Needless to say, we are DAYTIMERS now. We do brunch out with friends instead of dinner. We know we've got about an hour to sit at a table before G starts her meltdown. To be fair she DID do remarkably well watching Sean's friends playing on St. Patrick's Day in a pub for, are you ready for this??, 2.5 HOURS before the meltdown!(her long attention span where music is involved makes me hopeful for some kind of Partridge Family).

Is she worth not hanging out at smokey bars till 2 am? Or picking and choosing our travelling (or not travelling at all, as we have done since she was born 6 months ago? (this is remarkable if you know me))? Or having less time for our alone time, hobbies, and moments that ground one's sense of self? Or not even being able to go to the movies? Is she worth it??-YES. Having a child is the most important thing I have ever done. Much more so than the hurt, challenges, and triumphs of my youth that made me who I am, and that I once wore with pride like battle scars. Much more so than the things that now seem so surficial and mundane-like my degrees (which really helped to define me). I grew another human being inside my body. Now I am feeding her with my body-all her nourishment comes from me. She is BECOMING right in front of us. She has a soul, and she is perceiving every second, completely present-with a mindfulness mentality a theravada buddhist would be proud of. She is always processing and putting things together. She is building a worldview, and I have the priviledge of a front row seat. Folks, that is amazing. Blow-your-mind-if-you-think-about-it-too-much amazing. I am so grateful for this blessing that I didn't have to be given. I have those "God gave you to me??" moments every day...awe, wonder, and joy, all bundled together. So many things could have kept her from us; so many truly frightening moments in the beginning. But here she is-a miracle. She is perfect. And she's ours.

Silly Gilly

It is so endearing when something really tickles Gillian and she belts out a hearty belly laugh. That 'completely delighted with life' laugh reminds me of my grandmother, Ada Gracie Minnie Belle Lee (I swear to God that was her real name) Anderson, who had to be one of the most fabulous and gregarious women I have ever met on this earth (and Gillian proves to us daily that she is, in fact, delighted with life).

Maybe Gillian has channeled the joi de vivre of the great-grandmother that she will never have the pleasure of meeting. One thing is for sure-she is a very silly girl, and we love her to pieces.

Ok, so this has nothing to do with the baby...AI Rant

Someone PLEASE explain to be how it is that Sanjaya was safe this week (more people voted for him than Stephanie!?!)?? And how the Justin Timberlake guy is in the bottom two (and although I don't love him, he seems to be one of the few that has a really good ear)? And who the *heck* were the two guest "mentor" singers? I don't even live under a rock and I'm at a loss. I personally think we would all benefit from a current "mentor" every now and then. This is the part of the season where I get outraged at least once a week...during the results show. Grrrr.

Gillian tells a very sad story...with a happy ending

The Breast Pump Leavin’ Blues

Breast Pumps are a vital part of motherhood. Well, if you’re nursing, that is. The simple fact of the matter is that you just can’t be with your baby 24/7, and sometimes you need relief. And you need to keep up your supply. You have to trick your body into thinking the baby is still being fed when they are not physically with you. This is especially true when you go back to work (as I now am two days a week, and soon will be full time-sad).

Breast pumps are ingenious little contraptions that make me feel like a dairy cow when I use them. I got really close to my Medela when Gillian was in the NICU, since as a preemie she especially needed the superhuman/superfood/nectar of the Gods that is breast milk. At first it felt ridiculous. I was being MILKED. How weird. But, then again, being a mammal and all, it goes with the territory (kind of). Most of the women I know who breastfeed have a stash of breast milk in their freezer that could feed a small country, but you become too paranoid to part with it (what if I have a drop in supply? what if I need to be on antibiotics? what if??).

So, you must have a baby or breast pump to nurse or risk engorgement, which is an extremely unpleasant sensation.

It’s Monday today. I was awakened by G. wanting to eat at 4:30. She ate. “Good timing”, I thought, and was able to get up and start my morning a little after 5, which allowed me to leave on time for once. It is a little trickier when she wakes up later, but being a little late isn’t a big deal. I left right at 6. I was feelin’ fine. No, I felt better than fine. I could get to work early and take care of a few things (one of which is finishing something for my research advisor, with whom I am meeting this afternoon). As I settled in to my book in the nice warm train car, feelin’ better than fine, I was thinking, “what a smooth Monday morning!” Until I got to Granville. ARG!! I realized I had forgotten my mechanical baby surrogate at home!!! ARRRRRRRGGG!! Well, Sean couldn’t bail me out this time and drag the baby downtown to being it to me (as he had with my work laptop twice before-have I mentioned what a GOOD man he is?). So, at Thorndale, I got off the train, got one the next train back north to Morse and made the trek back home to get my more than vital breast pump. We’ll call her Stella. Stella was there waiting for me, like a faithful old dog. And I wasted 40 minutes being a flake. So much for my smooth Monday morning.

How COULD you??!!??

*Vaccinations*. [insert banshee mourning wail to illustrate one of the more terrible banes of motherhood] .

Gillian, as a "VERY premature" infant (yes, VERY is a fancy medical category of being born at less than 32 weeks gestation) is prone to a serious respiratory illness called RSV. This adds a monthly monster shot to the slew of regular shots she has to have throughout her first year of life, but only through flu season. Vaccinations are just plain awful. Did you know infants get about 20 vaccinations in their first year of life (26 for Gillian)? Some people choose to delay their baby's vaccination schedule due to concerns about "bundling" vaccines and pain. I guess we just decided not to delay the schedule because she will suffer now or later, and I think she will be more cognizant of the whole thing the older she gets.

So, last month was her 4 month visit. It was just terrible. She was so happy and in fine spirits when we arrived. As Martha said, I felt like I was "leading a lamb to the slaughterhouse" as we drove there. Gillian was so happy to visit with the doctor and nurses-cooing sweetly, smiling, and being very charming. I decided to try to nurse her through the vaccinations, thinking I could Jedi-mindtrick her into not realizing she was getting shots/soothe her in the event of discomfort. For the record-that doesn't work. So, we started nursing, and Gillian settled in for a comfortable snuggle. Then out of nowhere, WHAMMO!! burning, stinging sensation #1, then #2, then #3 in the right thigh. The inconsolable crying began, real tears and her look through the tears? Betrayal. Horror. They shouted, "THIS IS MY SACRED HAPPY PLACE! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS/LET THEM DO THIS TO ME, ESPECIALLY HERE????!!!!!!" and made me cry too (in case you haven't had this adventure just yet). Just as she finally calmed down and she started eating again, they came in with the RSV vaccination, which is a big honker of a shot. Then a burning poking sensation in the other thigh, and even worse inconsolable crying. I found myself questioning my own fitness for being a mother-who would allow their child to be intentionally tortured this way?

This month I was happy to be at work the day she had to get her RSV vaccination. Stepping in for Sean, my mother-in-law got the betrayed look and got to cry watching the baby freak over the fat poke (thanks for taking one for the team, Suzi!). Next month I get to do needle overload again at the 6 month vaccination hell. That's the last time she gets so many at once (I think), and that is very, very good.

Sharin' the love with my RPMs

Everyone-

I just have to tell you that I have a great playgroup filled with fantastically beautiful, intelligent mamas, and gorgeous, funny, silly little babies. A shout out to Rox, who already had a lovefest for the RPMs on Anni's blog-I have to echo your sentiments. Having the RPMs in our lives has made us so much richer! We seriously adore you all!

And folks-if you have never seen a pack of wild mamas roming your neighborhood (bebes in tow) sporting smoothies, sunglasses, a hip diaperbag that you would never ID as a diaperbag, and a fanatastic dog named Ada-beware. Don't mess with the bebes-except to say "fine lookin' bunch of bebes ya'll have there". There's some superpower tendancies in mamas when it comes to protecting their young. Think Lioness. Or something.

It's a lot like giving birth...for men.

Kidney stones, that is. This morning, after Gillian got her morning feeding from Papa, Papa started having THAT feeling. He first had THAT feeling in 2001, with his very first experience with kidney stones. So, this morning, he knew. They always say men having kidney stones is a lot like giving birth. An aside- how weird is it that you grow calcium deposits as hard as bones in your kidneys?

Given this situation, I found myself in a bit of a quandary. Sean and I are fine with the other not hanging around the ER with us for non-life threatening situations (like me and my ear infections, for example). It takes at least most of the day or night to do your business when you're in the ER, and usually you are drugged up enough that you don't care if you have moral support. It's no fun to have conversations with people in that state, and the majority of the time they are sleeping. So, if you are the person accompanying the patient, it gets boring pretty quick. So, assuming I would get Sean registered and see to it that he would live (and comfortably) before returning home while he waited for tests and got diagnosed, I had to decide what to do with Gillian. ERs are very bad places for preemies who are vulnerable to respiratory infections, so hanging out in the disease and germ ridden waiting room wasn't an option. So, after a minute of hand wringing, I decided to call upon my fabulous neighbor and fellow RPM, Sarah, for my very first request for babysitting. Sarah, being fabulous, was happy to help. So, I brought everything I thought Gillian would need and prayed to God she would be her sweet, easygoing self. That's the best you can do while knowing that all is definitely well on the other end-another mom with a little baby probably has a good handle on how to soothe a crying baby, change her diaper, feed her, etc. Plus, Gillian is buds with Elliot (Sarah's Elliot), who is also a wonderfully sweet, mellow baby. Anyway all that being said, I did help Sean get registered and to a room, and once he was taken care of, I felt ok leaving. So, then, a mad dash home to get Gillian, who might want more than that bottle at any minute. What was refreshing is that when I walked in the door, Sarah instinctively gave me a rundown of everything that happened while we were gone-her mood, her diaper need, her feeding, her nap, her waking and self-entertaining (I didn't even have to ask!). Sean gets exasperated with my sponge-like need for details after he takes Gillian for the day...so, this was quite a nice non-pulling-of-the-teeth offering from another woman, who most assuredly likes to be in the know, especially regarding her own child. Even better? Gillian fared just fine without me for a couple hours, and she didn't die without me! (we all secretly must think this is a real possibility in the beginning phases of motherhood). This bodes well in the event we ever actually plan to need a babysitter. Yay! Oh, and thanks again, Sarah and Elliot, for your hospitality!!

The surreal world of making infant portraits

I hadn't stepped foot in a portrait studio since my senior year of high school before today. But, in addition to the literally thousands of digital photos of Gillian we have already taken, I naturally thought we needed some professional ones too. One of my RPMs recommended a place called "portrait innovations"-a place that has no sitting fee, and a package deal including one 10x13, two 8x10s, four 5x7s, 8 4x6s, and four sheets of wallets, all for the bargain price of $9.95!! Of course, what they are banking on is that you, so in love with your photogenic angel, will want well more than a single pose. I mean, how could you not??

See, this is a brilliant marketing scheme-take high quality, digital images, and LOTS of them. Take as many as the baby can stand to sit for. As many good ones as possible so mom and dad walk out with as many "have to have" poses as possible. No skin off their back-they aren't developing film or anything. Just pulling out the memory card, putting up your 75 photos to choose from on a giant screen, and you're off. They say things like "you can change her clothes as much as you want" and toward the end "are you SURE you don't want to take any more poses??"(since Gillian started grabbing her head with both hands and looking distressed (a brand new thing), the answer was a resounding YES)... And each pose is $16.50 for "3 sheets". And you can't buy just a 5x7 of a pose. You have to buy a whole package. Hence us paying a lot more than $9.95 for her first trip to the photo studio.

I can't imagine working there every day. You should have seen and heard them trying to make Gillian laugh-high pitched shrieking shrill squeaking and jabbing at the baby's belly to try to get a smile out of them. While we were there, three other babies came in, so there is a whole lot of squeaking and jabbing all day long. Sounds a lot like how I would imagine hell to be-noisy, painful, and crowded. I think those people must go home hoarse after a couple of days in a row working with all the vocal acrobatics. I found myself disturbed and wondering, really wondering, if someone could actually like working there. Perhaps that is why most of the employees look like they are seniors in high school-they aren't jaded yet, and have a lot more energy than someone ten years older. They are capable of making sounds like that all day and not losing their sanity.

Then there are the poses. When a baby is three months old, there are lots of tricks to getting them posed since they can't sit up on their own. So, they support her with a boppy over a blanket, or have someone hold her under the blanket, all the while everyone is acting like nutjobs trying to get the prize-a precious smile. And the backgrounds. The only reason we didn't get the one with a cloud background is because Sean was convinced it made Gillian look like the smiling baby-faced sun in the Telletubbies. Which begs the question-how does Sean know what the sun in Telletubbies look like, anyway? Does he have a secret side I don't know about? (actually, I find out things I don't know about him all the time, so that wouldn't be so strange). So, there are all kinds of corny backgrounds you can put the baby in front of. Even tackier-there is a little motorcycle you can have them pose on or next to (one of many nauseating backdrops you can choose). There were lots of unsettling display pictures of little girls that made me quite sure that Gillian will not be wearing makeup for photos (or at all) for the next 15 years.

We opted for no background in the end. And we love that we captured her sweet little face in this moment of her life with good lighting, a nice camera, and as Roxanne said "enough pictures to plaster a wall with". It was soooo worth it. Amen, sister.

Laudy, Laudy-Hep me!!

So, Miss G. has a new thing. She likes to rub/grab her head while waking (comfort) or when completely overwhelmed (Hep me!). It is endearing, unsettling, and a completely familiar expression all at the same time. It's the same thing my boss does when I'm too honest in conference calls. Is it exasperation? Perhaps. A feeling of being overwhelmed? A lot more likely (the former is more likely the case with my boss, but I digress).

Sarah snapped the photo above at this week's play group. G. was feeling overwhelmed for sure. The other babes, being legitimate 6 month olds (or in Angus' case, as big and developed as a 6 month old) are more mobile, much more vocal (and much louder), and grabby. Francie is a hell raiser and singlehandedly made Angus and Gillian cry, all the while completely oblivious. I think they aren't big fans of having someone else stuff her hand in their mouths and pull (although it was seriously fun to watch her antics), and to be sure Francie was just looking for some action (no ill intent on her part). So, in a moment of utter despair, at one point, surrounded by squealing, excited, death-monkey sounds, Gillian put her hands over her head and held on tight in full on meltdown mode. Pobrecita. Too much going on for our quiet, introspective girl. But she was a good sport all the same, and bounced back after an especially lovely Booby sandwich.

Growing (royal) pain and the things that steal your time

Growth spurts are no fun. Not for G. or for us. All the unpleasantness your infant can display throughout a regular month is condensed for an super-fun action packed 2-4 days. Near constant feeding, near nonstop fussing, and sometimes blocks of crying that can upset you more than the baby are commonplace. Bean seems to be just coming out of a growth spurt...the one that happens on or about 3 months gestational age. Thank GOD. It has been a rough few days. Sean had broken out the sound eliminating headphones. Yes-that bad.

Today, she is back to her sweet, mellow, good napping (once I get her down, that is) self. Complete with smiles and coos and stellar cuteness. The only new development I can offer is that she is standing more (with support) and is grabbing better every day. Oh, and tummy time has continued not to suck. And that is very, VERY good.

One thing today became clear- I really dislike things taking my time away from Gillian when I'm home. I had a virtual parade of commitments today that took away from our play time, and I am very unhappy about that. My time with her is golden, particularly as I start going back to work another day a week. So, to the three people that buzzed us while she was trying to nap, to the milk donation blood collector guy, the Home Depot door installation crew (an epic of mammoth incompetence, which would take days to explain), trying to figure out just how much of my identity was stolen, to fedex/DHL pickups (related to the blood collector guy): I thumb my nose at you, and you, and you, and you. I had fewer sweet/special/funny moments today with Bean because of you. And I resent it.

Do not go gentle into that good night...

Ahh...as another naptime battle of wills comes to a close, I feel the need to bemoan the misery that is getting Gillian to go to sleep. Gillian hates to go to bed most nights, and she especially hates to go to sleep during the day (for which I revert to the old swing crutch). She even hates it with our immutable evening routine: cuddly bedtime nursing, new diaper, get dressed in sleepsack. In that order. Then we rock. Every now and then she goes down without a fight, but most nights go like this: sit down in rocker, Gillian stares at monsters with occasional grunt or out and out talks to the yellow bunny monster; Gillian realizes that it's bedtime and it occurs to her that she has left many things undone and is not ready to or interested in going to sleep; Gillian squirms, grunts, rubs her face against my neck and shoulders, pulls at my clothes and/or hair, fusses, squirms some more and fusses. This goes on for 10-15 minutes at diminishing levels of intensity. Till she's still and limp, and I put her down in her bed where she sleeps like the dead. I am thinking that this nursing/cuddling/holding/rocking/patting/rubbing is pretty luxurious and that she should reward me for being so generous and selfless by slipping peacefully into slumber, but she doesn't see it that way. My consolation (and it is huge) is that she sleeps VERY long stretches once she's down, so 10-15 minutes is nothing in the grand scheme of our nocturnal sleep bliss.

Sean has a different approach, which doesn't work for me (for I am the Keeper of the Milk)- He does all the above, may or may not rock her very briefly, then puts her in the cosleeper, where she cries as he lays on the bed facing her and soothes her. She only cries for a minute or two with his method, and then he gets up and leaves her quiet and awake to fall asleep on her own.

The difficulty we as parents face with getting this very young baby to go to sleep-a baby who is yawning, rubbing her eyes, and fussing/crying while he eyes are constantly shutting from sheer exhaustion-makes you wonder "why is this soooo hard"??!! Doesn't she KNOW that she needs to go to sleep? Is this the beginning of the famed "I'm the parent and I know what is good for you, whether or not you do" vs. "you're not the boss of me" battle already??

".....rage, rage against the dying of the light....." Hhrrmpph. Indeed.