girlfiend

Baby sweater

Thursday night, with two days to spare until the shower, I managed to finish the sweater for my future niece or nephew. It’s adorable. Just as cute as the Fiendling’s sweater only it’s probably not as cute in the picture because a handsome baby’s not wearing it.

When I sewed it together I realized that I’d accidentally ironed one side so that it was close to an inch longer than the other side. I nearly had a nervous breakdown trying to iron the other side and the back to match. I also managed to fuck up the decreases on one of the sleeves, but I think I was pretty much able to compensate for that when I sewed it together.

Anyway, the baby’s due right around Christmas. They think they’re having a girl based on the lack of genitalia visible in the ultrasounds. Boyfiend is convinced it’s a boy, which is nothing but wishful thinking on his part. Girl or boy, I certainly hope the baby’s cute, because our Fiendling has really set the standard for cute babies in the family. I am such an obnoxious mom.

An obnoxious mom who’s sore and cranky. Last night, for what seemed like the kajillionth night in a row, I slept with the Fiendling draped across my stomach. He went to bed early for him, around nine (phc- you may have been right about the clock change) but awoke an hour later and went back down in his crib after a good cuddle, awoke an hour after that and nursed back to sleep, then woke 45 minutes after that screaming his little heart out so I gave up and brought him into bed with me so I wouldn’t have to get up to get him every hour.

He sleeps like shit when he’s in bed with us, waking up constantly and he’s been sleeping like shit in his crib- up too often  for me to go and get him all night,so it’s a no-win situation. The absolute worst thing about this is that he used to be a good sleeper. Starting at six weeks old he’d sleep five hours straight. This seems like it’s been the longest stretch of not staying asleep. Even in the beginning of the month, after similar sleep patterns to what’s happening now, when I experimented with 15-20 minutes of CIO he’d fall asleep and stay that way for at least five to seven hours. But lately when I let him cry for a bit he just gets more and more upset. Rather than fussing himself to sleep he’s fussing himself awake. When I peek in he’s on his knees, clutching the bars of the crib, tears streaming down his face, and the screams are heartbreaking.  As soon as I pick him up he slumps against me and sleeps. But once he’s down he’s up 45 minutes to an hour later.

I know he’s not hungry because half the time when he wakes I automatically offer him the breast because I’m asleep and it’s easy, only he’s totally disinterested and just wants to be held. It could be the teeth- the third popped through and now one of his top teeth is visible, yet not through yet, but he’s not actually showing signs of discomfort the way he did with the first two. And the one night I gave him tylenol just to see if it would help it didn’t and I felt bad for needlessly drugging my baby. Maybe he’s working on trying to stand and walk and that’s keeping him up? He pulls himself up pretty well, but he doesn’t seem to be anywhere near walking yet, so perhaps that’s keeping him up?

I don’t know. All I know is that he sleeps on top of me and he has been every night for weeks and my whole body hurts from sleeping like that. But I finished the sweater. And it looks great. And I picked up a new pattern and yarn for the next project. It’s a bear cub cardigan with a hoodie. Cute as can be. I’m knitting it in a size 3/4 so you’ll get to see it some time in the next year or two.

You may have been thinking to yourself, “Huh. I haven’t heard Girlfiend complain about her health in at least a week now.” Or not. Either way, I seem to have developed yet another case of the mastitis. Or perhaps it’s just a clogged duct that isn’t visible on the surface. Clog or infection, it hurts like a motherfucker. And I’m thinking it showed up because I was bold enough to think to myself (while examining the bruises, bumps and scabs that still remain on my arms, legs and stomach) that the poison ivy, while still pretty damn ugly, at least isn’t itchy these days.

Or maybe it’s because yesterday at the gym, this big, muscular, black dude Gary approached me to tell me how good I look these days. Gary, who is in sickeningly perfect shape, is one of the friendliest guys at the gym and has watched me gain 60 pounds and lose 50 of it.  Yesterday he told me that my haircut makes me look taller and that he can see I’m really losing weight. I thanked him and said, “I’m working on it, ” which is true, even though I haven’t bored you with the details lately.  A few minutes later, as I was setting up the leg press machine he walked over, leaned in and said, “In addition to what I just told you, I wanted to say that I’m proud of you.” I think I may have blushed as I thanked him again.

As for the working on it, I made an appointment with one of the trainers a couple of weeks ago to revamp my workout. In addition to the yoga and cardio I’d been sort of doing the old strapless dress workout in a half-assed sort of fashion and really wanted to step things up. Now I’m lifting heavier weights and alternating opposing muscle groups so the workout takes less time. It takes about 35 minutes to complete the weight circuit, which is about 15 minutes less than I was spending before. It’s only been two weeks, but I’m pretty sure it’s working, since I’ve been pretty sore the past few days. We’ll see. I’ve had these last ten pounds to lose for a couple of months now. Their will may be stronger than mine.

I guess I should take a few days off from the gym, what with the mastitis and all. I don’t have a fever yet, but based on the last several times I’ve had it, it’s just a matter of time.  Sweet.

Despite the fact that I’d forgotten how to knit seams with double pointed needles and pick up stitches, last night, with the help of Doodlebug (and Mix who counted for me) I managed to knit both shoulder seams of the new sweater and pick up the 54 stitches needed to knit the first sleeve. It took several frustrating tries, but I have about an inch of sleeve. Which is wonderful, because the shower is on Saturday, and while I  know I’m not required to have the sweater for the shower, as we did buy them a few other gifts, I’d really like to give it to her then. In fact, since it’s gloomy and cold out today I should invite myself and the Fiendling over to my mother-in-law’s house to “help” and let her play with him while I get some knitting done.

It’s kind of nice to be knitting something interesting again, especially after all of the compliments on the Fiendling’s sweater. Maybe when I finish this sweater for my future niece or nephew I’ll start another sweater using a new pattern and mutter and curse about how much I hate knitting for the entirety of that project.

So that 365 Day Flickr thing? I think I might be done with it. I’ve actually managed to take a self-portrait every day, but the truth is that I don’t really have the time or inclination to make them interesting. It doesn’t help that I’m lame and wear the same three things every day. Every hand held  shot looks just like the rest. Honestly, my pictures are downright boring, especially compared to Mac  and I know it’s an unfair comparison because she’s such a good photographer and all I photograph are babies, flowers and blurry shots of me in the mirror, but I feel dopey actually submitting my pictures to the pool.  I dunno. Maybe I’ll keep it up for a while just because it’s a project and I like finishing things.

About a year ago I took a baby sweater class at The Tangled Web to knit a sweater for my Fiendling. Not knowing his sex, I chose what I considered a nice, neutral color that wasn’t too, well… babyish. I was sick of the pale yellows and greens that so often accompany new babies.

When she saw the sweater in its nearly complete form, my mother immediately made me feel bad by expressing her disdain for the color. “Couldn’t you have chosen something more cheerful,” she asked. Huh. Well it was too late, and I hadn’t and the sweater was almost done. So I finished it. Sort of. I never got around to actually weaving in any of the ends until recently and I never sewed on any buttons.

Now it’s fall and it’s cool and I’m knitting the same sweater in a different color for my brother-in-law’s baby-to-be. It’s going pretty quickly and I’m making far fewer mistakes than I made the first time I attempted the pattern and I’m pretty pleased with myself so far. So pleased that I decided enough was enough and it was time to sew the buttons on my Fiendling’s sweater. He’s worn it the past two days and I love it, even though it’s not a cheerful color.

He seems to like wearing it too.

It’s 11 o’clock and where’s the Fiendling? Still asleep. As usual, as soon as we get back into some semblance of a sleep schedule something else comes along to screw it all up. This time another tooth threatening to emerge some time in the next several weeks is ruining my sleep. It’s in there and it’s visible, but it’s not at the surface yet. During the day he’s mostly fine, with a few bouts of whining for no reason and ear-pulling, but at night it just keeps him up.

No point in crying it out when it’s pain keeping him awake, so last night (and the night before) he slept in bed with us, waking me up every couple of minutes. He tossed and turned and whimpered and whined and slept for a couple of good two hour stretches. The last time he woke was around 8, so now that it’s morning, he’s in his first good three hour stretch of the night and I don’t have the heart to wake him. I barely had the heart to wake myself.

There was a woman in the first Mommy and Me yoga series I took part in who insisted that from the time he was six weeks old she could put her baby boy in his crib awake, say goodnight, and leave. She’d return twelve hours later to a smiling, happy, well-rested baby. Naptimes would be the same. She’d lay him down and two hours later she’d return to an agreeable, smily baby. The Fiendling was four weeks old at the time and her son was nine months. When the Fiendling was six weeks and started sleeping for six hour stretches I thought of her and her baby and assumed I was in the clear, that we’d officially hit what would become a lifetime of sleeping through the night. Now, six months later, I call bullshit. What baby does that all of the time? What baby is unaffected by teething, growth spurts, colds, developmental changes? I’ll bet she just closed the door and ignored the cries. Babies sleep through the night just fine if you can’t hear them crying.

People always talk about sleep schedules like they’re static. Who the fuck are these people who have these magical babies who just sleep through the night all the time? The Fiendling is a good baby and a good sleeper, but every few weeks he’ll hit a terrible stage where any 6,7,8 or 9 hour stretch of sleep is a laughable thing of the past. And it’s miserable and I freak out and I don’t know what to do, but then I read a book like the Wonder Weeks, or notice the tooth emerging from the surface, or read that babies often practice skills like crawling or walking in their sleep which keeps them up, and it occurs to me that I should just stop freaking out and accept that some weeks I’ll sleep through the night and be happy and well-rested and other weeks will have nights like last night- shitty.

So I’m done freaking out about sleep. I may be sleep-deprived and whiny on occasion, but I’m through having mini-nervous breakdowns about the Fiendling never sleeping through the night again. He’s a baby. Babies go through stages. Stages come to an end and new stages begin. He likes to sleep and so do I, so I know that each rough patch is just that, a rough patch that we’ll work through together. If he needs help falling asleep or cuddling through the night it’s fine. I’m his mom and that’s what moms do. Except for that bitch in yoga. She was either a liar or had a house full of white noise machines.

Last night, just as I was getting ready to put my very tired Fiendling to bed and relax with Boyfiend, I managed to spill an entire glass of red wine everywhere. I put the Fiendling on the floor where he immediately began to crawl away and cry and ran into the bathroom where Boyfiend was taking a shower. I ripped off my shirts, which were wine soaked, and threw them into the shower with B, grabbed a towel and started blotting. Everywhere. Boyfiend rinsed out my shirts, grabbed a towel for himself, scooped up the Fiendling and got dressed while I ran downstairs, topless, in front of our many, many windows, and filled a bucket with warm water (should I have used cold? I never remember temperature wise what sets and what dissolves stains)and a scoop of oxyclean. I went under the sink and got a few rags then ran back up the stairs, bucket sloshing, and began to scrub furiously.

At some point, forgetting it’s down and sheds feathers like crazy, I thought it’d be a good idea to remove a sofa cushion from it’s upholstery and scrub it that way.  Feathers everywhere. Wine everywhere. Boyfiend returned with our fussy baby as I finished scrubbing the seat cushions and back cushions of the couch, so I sat and fed the Fiendling praying he’d fall asleep quickly  so I could finish getting wine off of the beige couch, wondering why’d I’d never gotten around to having a slipcover made.

Boyfiend gave everything another scrub and the Fiendling went off to bed. He used a dustpan and brush to sweep up the feathers despite my desire to vacuum because running the dyson with a sleeping baby would’ve been foolish. The oxyclean did its job and the sofa cushions are wine free. Except for the enormous spot we missed that I noticed as soon as I walked into the room this morning.  Fuck. Hopefully the oxyclean will work as well the morning after- that stuff’s amazing.

This is unrelated, but it’s a product recommendation so I’ll throw it in anyway. If you have one of those electric toothbrushes and you have to buy those outrageously expensive replacement heads don’t under any circumstances buy the CVS store brand replacements. I saw them and they were new and $5 less and I couldn’t resist and I’ve been cursing myself ever since. They do not fit. At all. They fall off constantly midbrush.

Adding to my now outdated list of 100 things
101. I have three black hairs that I pluck obsessively- one on my chin, one on my cheek and one on my neck. These are in no way like my superlong eyelash that grows to be three inches long and gets split ends when left alone
102. The older I get the more I turn into my father. I’m becoming even more nutty about cleanliness and I’m constantly muttering about other drivers (they’re all assholes who shouldn’t be on the road, especially the ones who speed up to cut you off when you try to merge or the ones who stop in the middle of the street for no reason without blinkers or without pulling into one of the five available parking spots- see I’m getting all worked up) when I’m driving
103. I am far more relaxed about motherhood than I ever imagined. It’s all really, really good.
104. Back to the father thing, right now all I want to do is vacuum the rug but I can’t because the Fiendling has unfortunately entered a stage where he doesn’t like the vacuum.
105. Lately I’ve been seeing a number of women with kids who have nose rings which sort of makes me want to put mine back in. What’s stopping me you ask? The Fiendling would immediately try to rip it out of my nose and my father would ask, “what’s that thing in your nose?” and “when are you getting rid of that thing in your nose?” every time he sees me.
106. I was not expecting my dad to be such an influence in this section of the list.
107. I’m smug about breastfeeding which isn’t really fair because I know that despite the troubles I’ve had that I’ve had it relatively easy. I understand low supply and I understand allergies and I understand all of the other obstacles that women face like having nowhere to pump but a dirty restroom stall. But I can’t understand formula feeding just because you don’t want to breastfeed.
108. I went through about two years- 9th and 10th grade- where I was unhealthily self-centered and I just wasn’t very nice. So I’m really sorry if you knew me then and I treated you badly. You probably deserved better.
109. One of the best things about breastfeeding is the Fiendling’s sweet, milky smell.
110. Unless they’re no-show low-rider socks I always seem to have an issue with socks leaving elastic marks around my legs. I hate that.

Going out for drinks with friends for the first time in seven months. Or longer if you count the lack of drinks while pregnant. This picture is significant because I’m wearing the jeans, the outrageously expensive jeans I’ve been dying to wear again since I grew out of them minutes after learning I was pregnant. They’re still a little tight, but I was assured that they’re not “skanky teenage girl” tight.

I couldn’t resist hopping on the flickr 365 days self portrait bandwagon. This was my photo for day one. I’m going to have to keep the bathroom mirror cleaner for this.

Things I’ve given up on and generally let him chew

• his shoes
• his socks
• my sneakers
• books
• remote controls
• cell phones
• cordless phone
• scratching post
• water bottles
• empty shampoo bottle

Things he wants to chew, but isn’t allowed to chew

• Boyfiend’s sneakers
• digital camera
• fireplace tools
• fireplace screen
• laptop
• power strips
• library books
• the fireplace
• bathrooom trashcan
• trashbags
• wires
• phone jack and wires
• dsl filters
• the cats
• my nipples

Several weeks ago an incident involving way, way too much whiskey led to a moment of sheer panic the following morning. Options were considered and I was talked out of following through with my initial take-no-chances response. Two weeks late and three negative tests later I can now breathe easy again.