making friends wherever i go
{ Category Archives }
I would like to thank Clifford the Big Red Dog for anesthetizing my children. This is the first time in two hours that one of more of them has not been in tears.
I would also like to thank the brisket recipe for calling for a half cup of red wine, allowing me to drink the other half cup. It has been a long day.
No one gives a shit about your brand new mommy blog. Your 3 weeks worth of posts that you’re emailing about, posting on facebook, and shoving down everyone’s throats are boring. No one cares that you’re one of the idiots that actually purchased a time out chair and a timer to go with it. No one is impressed by your list of best books for children. We’ve all read those books to our own children and if we were to pass that list on to our friends we most certainly would not give you credit for a list that you compiled from other people’s Amazon lists. It’s especially annoying that you are asking for credit for your list, as though everyone who clicks on your daily links out of boredom is going to laud you as an expert in children’s literature. Speaking of Amazon lists, we don’t give a shit about your holiday toy guide either. Thanks for taking all of the magazine picks (that you haven’t tried for yourself) and compiling them in one Amazon list and taking the credit for yourself. And your parenting advice is annoying. How about some anecdotes with your didacticism, a little something to entertain while you shove your advice down our throats.
Sorry, had to get that off of my chest. I turned off her facebook updates and I’m still getting this shit. Time to unfriend.
I don’t know how it has been six months already. I don’t know how my sweet, squishy, sleepy newborn has turned into a giant baby who sits, grabs, squeals, babbles, stands holding onto a couch or table, chews and gives sloppy wet baby kisses. She wants to play more than sit, she loves her brothers and plays games with them, and since she doesn’t quite know how to reach out for someone yet, she uses both arms and legs to try to “swim” over to B.
She’s in the middle of the giant, developmental stretch that lasts from 4 months to 9 months, and she’s probably teething too, so the sleep has been pretty lousy. She went from going to bed at 7, waking up at 5 to eat, then sleeping again until 9 to going to bed at 11, waking randomly to cry and eat 2 or 3 times throughout the night, and getting up when it is the least convenient for me to nurse her/diaper her/dress her. But last night she went to sleep at 11 and slept until the boys woke her up a little after 6, so I trust that she like her brother T will be a good sleeper once she gets through all of the shit. At least she doesn’t take after F who never slept through the night, ever.
I’ve been a little smarter this time around, too. Instead of moving her to her own room where I’d have to get up several times throughout the night to tend to her, she still sleeps in ours in the borrowed cosleeper beside the bed. Last night, since I know she wants to be a good sleeper despite it all, when she didn’t want to go to sleep I just put her to bed beside me and she slept all night (unlike F who would have used me as a pacifier.) I had a mole on my chest removed, so I don’t have to deal with another baby trying to pick it off, and I bought a nursing necklace for me to wear so she can tug at it instead of trying to pull out my hair, non-baby safe necklace, or chunks of skin.
She blows bubbles and sticks out her tongue. She smiles at everyone who talks to her. She is pleasant and easy-going and seems to have a very similar temperament to T, which is the kind of baby temperament you want. (Not that F wasn’t a good baby. He was a sweet, wonderful baby. He just never slept and was attached to my boob around the clock for more than a year. But this post is about Miss N, not T or my sweet F.)
So, six months. Six. I can’t believe it.
T’s speech therapist is a fucking idiot. My cell phone was in my coat pocket so I didn’t hear the text alert that she was waiting outside. Or the text alert that she was leaving 40 minutes later. Keep in mind the first text message was received 40 minutes after she was supposed to get here.
1. Why can’t the bitch ever be on time?
2. Why doesn’t she knock on the door? There is still a note on the broken doorbell to knock, but does she really need the reminder after 6+ months?
3. Why didn’t she call? Clearly she has my phone number if can text. Why would you wait outside for 40 fucking minutes without knocking or calling?
Idiot.
I know I’ve mentioned T’s language explosion. He went from nothing to talking in what seems like no time at all. Along with the actual words he’s had a developmental spurt. He doesn’t simply push the trains along the track now; he narrates the stories. Last night in the bath he started yelling “Help! Help,” and crying, “Thomas fell into the water! Get Sir Topham Hatt to help.” Now I have two competing Thomas episodes going on at any given moment. Three if you count the TV. At two and half it doesn’t sound that impressive. The talking and narratives, I mean. But considering that a few months ago he was still just barely saying mama and dada, we are both so proud and pleased and relieved. We knew he was smart, but the speech delay was troubling.
One of T’s favorite phrases is hot dog bun. I’m not sure why. He generally doesn’t eat hot dog buns, handing them to me so he can concentrate on the actual hot dog. But he likes to say it, often using it as a way to express displeasure or disagree. For example, F will say something like, “No, T. That’s my train. Give it to me.” T will respond with “hot dog bun.” Or F will say, “Look T, it’s an elephant.” T will reply, “No. Hot dog bun.” “Mom, T says it’s a hot dog bun, but it’s an elephant.” “NOooooooo. Hot dog bun.”
Halloween was the best yet. The Fiendling is now old enough to really get it, and loved walking around the neighborhood saying, “Trick or Treat,” and “Thank you. Happy Halloween” at every house. He was excited to see all of the costumes and the candy and decorations. “Look, mama! I got a chocolate bar! I LOVE chocolate bars!” He was so much fun. Most of the time he’s not that much fun. He’s been whiny and disagreeable and all sorts of other words I shouldn’t use to describe my kid. But on Halloween he was at his best, and I had the best time with him. T liked it too, but mostly just for the lollipops he double fisted all night.
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One last tidbit, just because.
One of my mother’s favorite things to do is to change the linens. Her house is never actually clean. (My house is never actually clean these days either, but my excuse is that I have three children, two cats and a man thwarting my efforts.) Her house always looks magazine ready, as things mean a great deal to her, but if this is any indication of her level of cleanliness, she only bought a broom, dustpan and brush after we bugged her about it. If you walk barefoot in her house, your feet will be black. She didn’t even have hand soap in her bathrooms until we complained about it. Anyway, she loves to make beds. She is good at it. They look beautiful.
When she told us where we were sleeping my mother told us the linens were freshly laundered. Iit never would have occurred to me to ask, but she seemed to take pleasure in saying the phrase freshly laundered that day. The bed, as always, was made, so even after changing the “freshly laundered” filthy crib sheet I didn’t think much of it. Later that night, after the hideous conversation with my mother and the subsequent loading of the car, Boyfiend got into bed and asked, “Why is there sand in the bed?” I didn’t know what he was talking about. “Put your hand here.” Sure enough, right in the middle of the bed, was a small pile of sand. In her freshly laundered linens.
Was it just another of her small, inconsequential lies? Or, like the missing clothes and the beach cart the workmen must have thrown away, was just a passive aggressive way to fuck with us?
It’s been two weeks since we got home from the hospital and I am having a tough time adjusting to three kids.
Like his brother before him, T has decided that napping is for babies. With F it wasn’t that much of a surprise- he was barely napping to begin with. But T was napping for 2-3 hours a day in his crib before this nap strike. Now that he learned to climb out of his crib- the day we got home from the hospital, of course- it’s a lost cause. I put him in his room and he plays quietly for an hour, but he doesn’t sleep then he is tired and cranky. I hope it’s just a strike and he’ll go back to napping, but I fear that this may be permanent and I may lose my mind. He’s only two. He needs a nap.
The Fiendling is doing well since he adores his sister. But he’s been regressing in a lot of ways, telling me he doesn’t know how to put on his clothes or shoes and he’s been speaking this irritating brand of baby talk, either speaking nonsense (WTF is Safa and why does he keep insisting it’s on the dining room table) or adding the long e sound to everything(I want the greenie platey). I am trying to be patient, but I am not. Especially when he takes his goddamn sock off after I put it on him because even though he gave me his left foot, he wanted me to put the right sock on before the left.
The new baby is wonderful. I love newborns and wish I’d known how easy they were when I had the Fiendling. She is sleepy and hungry and has gained more than a pound in two weeks. She is up a pound and a half from her discharge weight. She is starting to wake up a little and act a little fussy, but she’s a newborn, so she’s easily soothed. I wish they were all so easy.
My mother is out of her goddamn mind and we’ve only spoken twice since she stormed out of the house 2 weeks ago. The situation is not good, and it looks as though we won’t be spending much time at the beach this summer. Which sucks for the kids, but is good for my stress level. I will write out the story one of these days, cutting and pasting from emails, but I need a good chunk of time to compose the story because it is lengthy and crazy and infuriating.
It’s tough getting out of the house and it’s tough rounding them up and getting them home. It’s not easy feeding and watering everyone and keeping everyone content. The lack of T’s nap is making it incredibly difficult for me to get things like housework and laundry done. Thank god for my friends who have been delivering meals, because we’d be eating pretzels and nutella for dinner without them. I am tired and I wish I had more time to myself. I am sick of the tantrums and one child starting to cry after another has stopped. Mornings like today, when all children were crying at the same time before nine are morale killers. I just want to get back into bed, but I can’t, because my door doesn’t lock and the kids just follow me in, crying even harder. My sister-in-law, who has been very helpful, said that she didn’t want to bother me by calling because it looks like I have everything under control. I do not. I have very little under control, but I’m trying.
I either have four or five weeks left before B is home from the summer. I hope I can make it.
I have an induction scheduled for Tuesday but I may chicken out. We’ll see what happens. I have an appointment tomorrow morning to discuss the induction. As of Friday I was 2cm dilated and 60% effaced. Which means nothing, but it’s better than the previous week when I was high and closed.
Initially my due date was yesterday. An early ultrasound dated me close to a week ahead, but not a full week ahead so they didn’t change my due date. A later ultrasound dated me way ahead of my due date, so far ahead that the doctors at the perinatal testing center told me that I needed to have this baby by the end of April. But by the end of April the baby was measuring so small that I needed an ultrasound to confirm everything was okay with growth, my placenta, etc. Everything was fine. But now it’s not a problem that I’m overdue. The baby is small, I have plenty of fluid and if I decide not to go with an induction Tuesday I can schedule one for the following Tuesday if I still haven’t had the baby. They’ll just see me more than once a week.
But T was a full 8 days early. So we’ve all been expecting this baby since April. Even my OB said, my god, I can’t believe you haven’t had this baby yet. I have been on edge for weeks, trying desperately to keep the house in some semblance of order so it’s not a disaster after two days of my mother in charge. I’m winning the laundry battle, the floors are swept and/or vacuumed daily, the refrigerator is stocked and clean. Even my bedroom is orderly. It’s exhausting. And I’m so uncomfortable.
I do not like being pregnant. I do not like the foot protruding from my right side. I don’t like the contractions and the cramps and the sharp, stabbing pains. I do not like being aware of my cervix. I don’t like peeing every fifteen minutes then peeing again a minute after I’ve peed the first time. I have weird rashes, dry skin, my hips keep going out on me. I want this to end.
I fear that if they induce me something will go wrong. I’m afraid that I won’t progress and I’ll have to have a c-section. I know that the odds of that are pretty slim: I’m already dilated, I’ve done this twice before, my body knows what to do, I trust my OB and she said that she’d send me home if the induction failed. But if they break my water I’ll be stuck and that is what makes me nervous. I just don’t know if I can deal with this for another week.