At the risk of falling into a cliche, it's a new year and I have some... intentions for the year. I did pretty well with my intentions last year, except for the one about writing in my blog more often. But what I did do was track all of our finances for an entire year, where in the past I'd tracked a month here or there, only to trail off and not enter anything for months at a time. I kept my office... well... it's not the disaster area it once was. I mostly stuck to my grocery budget. Not bad.
So 2011, here's what I'm thinking:
#1 combat my anxiety. Yep, the old anxiety has really been a bitch lately. I'm vowing to kick its ass in 2011 with whatever means necessary.
#2 get a piece of writing published. Just one piece, as I don't want to be too lofty here. Preferably for some $.
#3 continue decluttering the house.
That's it. It feels like a lot, and it's making me a wee bit anxious (see intention #1) so I'm off to pop a rescue remedy pastille.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Stil Here...
I've got about five minutes before the boys come home from swimmin', and I should probably use it to pick away at the thick level of filth on the floors/kitchen counter/bathroom sink, but eff it.
Lot's been going on-- workin', Maxin', playdates and spending time with my parents. The days are flying by like nobody's business. Max can walk now but mostly still chooses to scoot around like a cute little crab because it's faster. He's also started dancing and he has several fancy moves-- his old standby, the arm sweep, the bum wag, and the lean and fold. He also occasionally busts into some old school breakdance moves to mix things up a bit. He even points to the iPod to demand that appropriate music be played to accomodate said dancing.
Other favorites include playing Pattycake--a few mornings last week he began the day by climing onto my stomach and clapping his hands expectantly-- his way of imploring that Pattycake be played.
Well, that's about it for now. Hopefully-- more soon.
Lot's been going on-- workin', Maxin', playdates and spending time with my parents. The days are flying by like nobody's business. Max can walk now but mostly still chooses to scoot around like a cute little crab because it's faster. He's also started dancing and he has several fancy moves-- his old standby, the arm sweep, the bum wag, and the lean and fold. He also occasionally busts into some old school breakdance moves to mix things up a bit. He even points to the iPod to demand that appropriate music be played to accomodate said dancing.
Other favorites include playing Pattycake--a few mornings last week he began the day by climing onto my stomach and clapping his hands expectantly-- his way of imploring that Pattycake be played.
Well, that's about it for now. Hopefully-- more soon.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Sleepin'
So I've been sleeping a little. Finally. We've tried gripe water and kinesiologists, extreme elimination diets and bacon. Osteopathy and homeopathy and cry-it-outopathy. We've tried big dinners and stinky t-shirts that smell like mama in the crib. For the past few days, Bunky has been going to sleep in his crib with just a few minutes of fussing (okay, let's call it what it is-- screamin'), staying in his crib until somewhere between 11pm and 1am, at which point Papa Bear (did I seriously just call Scott Papa Bear?!?) goes in and brings him to bed, whilst I slumber downstairs in the guest room until somewhere between 3 and 5a.m. when Max demands milk. We sort of stumbled onto this arrangement, which, while far from perfect or a long-term solution to our sleep woes, is working for the moment, and bringing me some much overdue sleep. We weren't really even planning on night weaning-- it just sort of happened.
I've been thinking a lot lately about "mothering in the middle." I got pretty wrapped up in the idea of "attachment parenting" and I still believe strongly in a lot of it-- wearing your baby, breastfeeding on demand, meeting their needs, etc. What's not so black and white is that my baby is now becoming a toddler and what used to be his needs-- frequent nursing, sleeping in bed with us all night, being carried like a kangaroo bebe, etc.-- are now more like wants. Whereas I need to be getting more than two hours of consecutive sleep. It's been an interesting learning process, with a lot of guilt, comparisons and chats with other mamas. What I'm finding is that most of us are always going to be somewhere in the middle of whatever continuum we're on, whether it's parenting or finances or even politics. There will always be someone more attachmenty than I, and someone more unattachmenty. (Yeah, I've been sleeping more but I think the vocabulary portion of my brain may still be recovering!) And there's some comfort in that.
Shoutout to my friend Megan who wrote a great article on the ebbs and flows of attachment parenting here.
I was really beating myself over even considering letting the babe cry at night. I frequent these message boards at mothering.com that are great in a lot of ways but also make me feel guilty. The tipping point for me, besides 13 months of very little consecutive sleep, was running into three moms within less than a week who all are very compassionate, attachmenty mamas, and all had to let their babies do some crying. That and my therapist who has been trying to talk me into this for months. So, we're part way there-- instead of laying in bed with Max for an hour while he sits up and down and up and down and crawls over us and yells "nigh-nigh-ni-ni-ni-ni-ni" and moans and pokes us in the eyes and finally goes to sleep, the little one goes in his crib, we leave, he cries for a few minutes and then he's out. It's pretty sweet.
I've been thinking a lot lately about "mothering in the middle." I got pretty wrapped up in the idea of "attachment parenting" and I still believe strongly in a lot of it-- wearing your baby, breastfeeding on demand, meeting their needs, etc. What's not so black and white is that my baby is now becoming a toddler and what used to be his needs-- frequent nursing, sleeping in bed with us all night, being carried like a kangaroo bebe, etc.-- are now more like wants. Whereas I need to be getting more than two hours of consecutive sleep. It's been an interesting learning process, with a lot of guilt, comparisons and chats with other mamas. What I'm finding is that most of us are always going to be somewhere in the middle of whatever continuum we're on, whether it's parenting or finances or even politics. There will always be someone more attachmenty than I, and someone more unattachmenty. (Yeah, I've been sleeping more but I think the vocabulary portion of my brain may still be recovering!) And there's some comfort in that.
Shoutout to my friend Megan who wrote a great article on the ebbs and flows of attachment parenting here.
I was really beating myself over even considering letting the babe cry at night. I frequent these message boards at mothering.com that are great in a lot of ways but also make me feel guilty. The tipping point for me, besides 13 months of very little consecutive sleep, was running into three moms within less than a week who all are very compassionate, attachmenty mamas, and all had to let their babies do some crying. That and my therapist who has been trying to talk me into this for months. So, we're part way there-- instead of laying in bed with Max for an hour while he sits up and down and up and down and crawls over us and yells "nigh-nigh-ni-ni-ni-ni-ni" and moans and pokes us in the eyes and finally goes to sleep, the little one goes in his crib, we leave, he cries for a few minutes and then he's out. It's pretty sweet.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Examination Station
So I'm trying another little experiment. That's how I convince myself I've not leapt over the deep end into crazy housewife land, by saying "it's just an experiment." I'm trying writing for the Examiner, which actually seems like a somewhat cool, well, experiment. I figure it's another way to keep me writing, make a few cents on the side (I've already made 20 cents, watch out purple piggy bank!) and gather up some clips for any future writing endeavors. So I'm now a Portland Healthy Living Examiner. Let me know if you have any ideas for little articles~ healthy living could include quite a bit. Of course my first article was about savin' money. Check 'er out here.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Time Flies...
Yep, it does. I can (still) hardly believe my kiddo is a year old. Time is draining away in a blur of diaper changes, couponin' crazes, blogging, and my most recent expedition, mystery shopping.
And today marks the 20th anniversary of my grandma Jeanne's death. It is hard to believe that she's been gone from my life longer than she was in it. I imagine this is true for a lot of people, but I feel like every few years my life undergoes a vast transformation that eclipses previous eras of my life. Right now, as I just mentioned, life is mostly about Max and frugality and making writing fun again. In other times it's been all about death, or hockey, or falling in love, or getting drunk, or theater. It feels a little like a crazy quilt, and I imagine it's partly the nature of life for things to evolve constantly, and that it's partly just my personality.
And I also think these chameleon traits, which are mostly fun and surprising, (and sometimes a little depressing in a culture that starts asking "so what do you want to be when you grow up?" far too early)are genetic. I inherited it from my mom who has enjoyed a colorful array of jobs and hobbies, and that she in turn inherited it from her mom. My grandma moved to Alaska from New York by herself as a young woman which in itself is pretty bad-ass. She slung clothes, liquor, raised two amazing, creative kids, divorced, subscribed to Playboy, volunteered, stitched costumes for the local theater, made my brother and I feel like stars and sometimes not, and she died suddenly twenty years ago today when I was fifteen.
I suspect she'd be mostly proud of the disparate seasons I've gone through. And though most days my grandma seems lifetimes away to me, because so much has changed in the last twenty years-- I can still remember the cracked lines on her feet (which alarmingly, my own feet are rapidly coming to resemble), I can remember the ruddy skin just below her collarbone, the splash of pink in the Strawberry Shortcake sheets she bought for my weekend slumber parties, and the way I felt when she'd give me a book like Little Women, or when she'd tell me we would publish my poems. I miss you, Grandma.
And today marks the 20th anniversary of my grandma Jeanne's death. It is hard to believe that she's been gone from my life longer than she was in it. I imagine this is true for a lot of people, but I feel like every few years my life undergoes a vast transformation that eclipses previous eras of my life. Right now, as I just mentioned, life is mostly about Max and frugality and making writing fun again. In other times it's been all about death, or hockey, or falling in love, or getting drunk, or theater. It feels a little like a crazy quilt, and I imagine it's partly the nature of life for things to evolve constantly, and that it's partly just my personality.
And I also think these chameleon traits, which are mostly fun and surprising, (and sometimes a little depressing in a culture that starts asking "so what do you want to be when you grow up?" far too early)are genetic. I inherited it from my mom who has enjoyed a colorful array of jobs and hobbies, and that she in turn inherited it from her mom. My grandma moved to Alaska from New York by herself as a young woman which in itself is pretty bad-ass. She slung clothes, liquor, raised two amazing, creative kids, divorced, subscribed to Playboy, volunteered, stitched costumes for the local theater, made my brother and I feel like stars and sometimes not, and she died suddenly twenty years ago today when I was fifteen.
I suspect she'd be mostly proud of the disparate seasons I've gone through. And though most days my grandma seems lifetimes away to me, because so much has changed in the last twenty years-- I can still remember the cracked lines on her feet (which alarmingly, my own feet are rapidly coming to resemble), I can remember the ruddy skin just below her collarbone, the splash of pink in the Strawberry Shortcake sheets she bought for my weekend slumber parties, and the way I felt when she'd give me a book like Little Women, or when she'd tell me we would publish my poems. I miss you, Grandma.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
First B-day
Dear Max,
We've all made it through a year. It's hard to believe an entire year has gone by-- the days flew even when many of the nights were long. I feel like you just got here and like you've always been here at the same time. And I still wonder where you were before you got here-- you are just so here that I feel like you must have existed somewhere, somehow, before.
On Saturday we had a little gathering for you. Daddy cooked up an amazing spread of baked ziti, chicken parm and a gorgeous icebox cake. Who knew he could cook like that?! Grandma and Pa, Auntie Annie and Iris, Uncle Matt and cousins Sophia and Matthew, and your godparents Hannah and Jared were all here to celebrate with us. We picked out a quality in each of them that we admire and asked them to help cultivate it in you over the years. You should be in good shape if you end up with even half of the love and positive qualities that you were surrounded with yesterday. Your other Grandma and Grandpa couldn't be with us yesterday, and we miss them as much as they miss us.
You didn't take a nap until 4p.m. yesterday after everybody left. You got some really fun gifts but you were more intently focused on ripping the tissue paper they came in into tiny shreds.
It's been quite the year, kiddo. We traversed those first hard months and they, like labor, are becoming a distant memory. When I look at pictures of you from back then, I almost don't recognize you. When I hold you, it's hard to believe that a year ago you were still hanging out in my tummy.
You have just learned to crawl and you crawl just like your cousin Sophia, a cute little crabwalky thing. One of your other new favorite pasttimes is pulling yourself up on the window sill in the dining room and babbling like a grumpy old man surveying the neighborhood. Some of your other hobbies are going for computer cords (you're actually trying to get my laptop right now), hot cups of tea, and playing mama jungle gym where you crawl all over me like a little monkey. And you're not yet too big to carry around in the Ergo~ I still put you in there to get a few things done around the house, and it seems to calm you down to be snuggled in like a koala cub. I wonder if you still remember the sound of my heartbeat from when you were inside, and that makes me a little sad. I realize that one of the hardest lessons of my life will be all the letting go I will have to do with you, and it makes me ache a little when I consider that. But for today, I'm just enjoying that you're our little big boy, our one year old. Happy birthday Maxers.
Love,
Mom
We've all made it through a year. It's hard to believe an entire year has gone by-- the days flew even when many of the nights were long. I feel like you just got here and like you've always been here at the same time. And I still wonder where you were before you got here-- you are just so here that I feel like you must have existed somewhere, somehow, before.
On Saturday we had a little gathering for you. Daddy cooked up an amazing spread of baked ziti, chicken parm and a gorgeous icebox cake. Who knew he could cook like that?! Grandma and Pa, Auntie Annie and Iris, Uncle Matt and cousins Sophia and Matthew, and your godparents Hannah and Jared were all here to celebrate with us. We picked out a quality in each of them that we admire and asked them to help cultivate it in you over the years. You should be in good shape if you end up with even half of the love and positive qualities that you were surrounded with yesterday. Your other Grandma and Grandpa couldn't be with us yesterday, and we miss them as much as they miss us.
You didn't take a nap until 4p.m. yesterday after everybody left. You got some really fun gifts but you were more intently focused on ripping the tissue paper they came in into tiny shreds.
It's been quite the year, kiddo. We traversed those first hard months and they, like labor, are becoming a distant memory. When I look at pictures of you from back then, I almost don't recognize you. When I hold you, it's hard to believe that a year ago you were still hanging out in my tummy.
You have just learned to crawl and you crawl just like your cousin Sophia, a cute little crabwalky thing. One of your other new favorite pasttimes is pulling yourself up on the window sill in the dining room and babbling like a grumpy old man surveying the neighborhood. Some of your other hobbies are going for computer cords (you're actually trying to get my laptop right now), hot cups of tea, and playing mama jungle gym where you crawl all over me like a little monkey. And you're not yet too big to carry around in the Ergo~ I still put you in there to get a few things done around the house, and it seems to calm you down to be snuggled in like a koala cub. I wonder if you still remember the sound of my heartbeat from when you were inside, and that makes me a little sad. I realize that one of the hardest lessons of my life will be all the letting go I will have to do with you, and it makes me ache a little when I consider that. But for today, I'm just enjoying that you're our little big boy, our one year old. Happy birthday Maxers.
Love,
Mom
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Checkin' in
Not much terribly exciting to write about, but the boys are at swim class so I wanted to check in here, since it's been a few weeks. And one of my intentions for the year was to write in here at least twice a month. So here I be.
Nothing terribly exciting is going on right now-- my life seems to largely revolve around attempting to get Max to take naps so I can take a breather. Or play with my coupons. I recently discovered that if I put him down on his tummy for naps, instead of his puny little 20 minute nap, he'll often sleep for anywhere from 40 minutes to over an hour. Good, good, good stuff!
And it's been almost a year now that we've been parents. People have been asking if it feels like a year, and I say it feels like when Scott and I were first dating. (And by dating I mean living together.) It both felt like we'd known each other forever, and also like it was impossible that time was passing so quickly. And that's what it feels like with Max. Don't get me wrong-- I most certainly remember my life before him. Days of puttering around the house, sometimes reading a book a day,watching a season of TV on dvd in a weekend, going to movies with Scott... yes, I remember those things. Some days I miss them. It's not that I don't remember my life without Max, I just can't imagine it without him now. There are these amazing little jewels of moments scattered throughout days that are a little more domestic than I used to be comfortable with. Like he's waving now, and he waves with both hands at the same time, which is probably the cutest thing I've ever seen. Or how he likes to be dipped upside down-- he makes this half-wry, half-delighted smile that makes him seem much older than his 11 months. Or how he kicks his legs and makes appreciative little noises when I'm feeding him something he really likes-- this week, it's baked pears with a little olive oil.
So life is pretty good. The house is somewhat tidy. I slept more than two consecutive hours last night. I'm warm and cozy on the couch with my monkey sock mug full o tea. By the time Scott and Max get back from swimming, I will have started to miss them.
Nothing terribly exciting is going on right now-- my life seems to largely revolve around attempting to get Max to take naps so I can take a breather. Or play with my coupons. I recently discovered that if I put him down on his tummy for naps, instead of his puny little 20 minute nap, he'll often sleep for anywhere from 40 minutes to over an hour. Good, good, good stuff!
And it's been almost a year now that we've been parents. People have been asking if it feels like a year, and I say it feels like when Scott and I were first dating. (And by dating I mean living together.) It both felt like we'd known each other forever, and also like it was impossible that time was passing so quickly. And that's what it feels like with Max. Don't get me wrong-- I most certainly remember my life before him. Days of puttering around the house, sometimes reading a book a day,watching a season of TV on dvd in a weekend, going to movies with Scott... yes, I remember those things. Some days I miss them. It's not that I don't remember my life without Max, I just can't imagine it without him now. There are these amazing little jewels of moments scattered throughout days that are a little more domestic than I used to be comfortable with. Like he's waving now, and he waves with both hands at the same time, which is probably the cutest thing I've ever seen. Or how he likes to be dipped upside down-- he makes this half-wry, half-delighted smile that makes him seem much older than his 11 months. Or how he kicks his legs and makes appreciative little noises when I'm feeding him something he really likes-- this week, it's baked pears with a little olive oil.
So life is pretty good. The house is somewhat tidy. I slept more than two consecutive hours last night. I'm warm and cozy on the couch with my monkey sock mug full o tea. By the time Scott and Max get back from swimming, I will have started to miss them.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Bye Bye, 2009
2010, wow! Wasn't it just, like, 1992?
So I know it's just another day and all, but I'm among those that likes to take a moment to pause and review what's come to pass and think a bit about any course corrections that might be called for in the new year.
2009 was a particularly big year for me as we became parents, which is probably the biggest single change of my life besides my brother's death. So we welcomed Max, stopped sleeping, I had a (gracefully pretty short-lived) time with post-partum depression, went to a crap-load of mom's groups, stopped eating anything fun, saw Max smile for the first time and forgave it all. I saw some old friends much less than before, and made some new friends with similarly aged little ones. I ate meat for the first time after 20 years. I made phone calls for work while holding my breath that Max wouldn't scream. And this year, what with all the nursing of my nursling, the world has become my personal Mardis Gras-- my boobs have been out on boats and in churches and restaurants, in the backseat of my car and at the mall. My boobs get out more than I do!
And for the coming year-- a few intentions/goals:
Keep using coupons and sales so I can keep within our grocery budget.
Track our finances for the entire year (usually I do this for awhile and then stop).
Write in here at least twice a month!
Deal with mail and dishes daily. Or at least bi-daily. : )
Relax and have more fun (when not tracking finances, or dealing with mail and dishes).
Go on dates at least once a quarter. (Yes, with my husband!)
Ask for, or at least accept offered help-- especially around childcare so I can spend time with Scott or do nice things for myself.
Happy 2010!
So I know it's just another day and all, but I'm among those that likes to take a moment to pause and review what's come to pass and think a bit about any course corrections that might be called for in the new year.
2009 was a particularly big year for me as we became parents, which is probably the biggest single change of my life besides my brother's death. So we welcomed Max, stopped sleeping, I had a (gracefully pretty short-lived) time with post-partum depression, went to a crap-load of mom's groups, stopped eating anything fun, saw Max smile for the first time and forgave it all. I saw some old friends much less than before, and made some new friends with similarly aged little ones. I ate meat for the first time after 20 years. I made phone calls for work while holding my breath that Max wouldn't scream. And this year, what with all the nursing of my nursling, the world has become my personal Mardis Gras-- my boobs have been out on boats and in churches and restaurants, in the backseat of my car and at the mall. My boobs get out more than I do!
And for the coming year-- a few intentions/goals:
Keep using coupons and sales so I can keep within our grocery budget.
Track our finances for the entire year (usually I do this for awhile and then stop).
Write in here at least twice a month!
Deal with mail and dishes daily. Or at least bi-daily. : )
Relax and have more fun (when not tracking finances, or dealing with mail and dishes).
Go on dates at least once a quarter. (Yes, with my husband!)
Ask for, or at least accept offered help-- especially around childcare so I can spend time with Scott or do nice things for myself.
Happy 2010!
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Shameless self-promotion
Like money? Check out my new blog, the Portland Penny Pincher. I swear, the pennies like it when you pinch them, even if you hear them scream.
http://portlandpennypincher.blogspot.com/
http://portlandpennypincher.blogspot.com/
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Dental Damn
The boys are at swim class so thought I'd catch up a bit in here. It is, of course, a busy time of year, and at the same time, the time of year that I most want to snuggle into bed and sleep and eat cases of clementines. Okay, what I really want to eat is pizza, but since I can't, I'll settle for those sweet temptress tiny oranges.
Speaking of sweet, despite the fact that I've rarely ingested sugar in the last seven and a half years, (not counting those vanilla soy latte days) I somehow ended up with a mouth full of cavities. It may have been that I didn't go to the dentist for about nine years. How does that happen, you might wonder? Well, it starts by just a bit of procrastination. I'll go next month. And then that next month comes and goes. After a few years of this, it becomes a matter of not wanting to go because I'm embarrased that it's been so long since I've gone. The old "gotta clean up the house before the housekeeper gets here" mentality. Then when I finally went, about a year and a half ago, I had a negative experience with the practice I chose. They tried to get me to buy some fancy schmancy vibrating (!) toothbrush, told me I needed a mouthguard at night (!) and other such silliness. I really was going to get the cavities taken care of at another practice, but then I ended up With Child and the only thing I could tolerate having in my mouth for months was cinnamon toothpaste (and tater tots).
So I finally went back and am getting the seven, yes, seven cavities taken care of. Yesterday was round one. Of course, as fate would have it, the only dentist covered on our otherwise fabulous health coverage is the yucky place I went before. However, I'm far too cheap to just pay out of pocket for dental work, so I sucked it up (so to speak) and went back for another exam. It was actually not so bad. My favorite part being that all the chairs have TVs on them! Since Max was at my parents playing his little heart out, I actually considered asking if I could stick around and just watch TV and maybe take a little nap.
Yesterday I went back for the first chunk of work on my teeth-- I was surprisingly anxious. Or maybe not surprisingly. Does anybody really like to go to the dentist? Besides my dad? It's so awkward-- strange people with gloves spelunking in your mouth. (Okay that sounded way naughtier than I'd planned it to. But I'm leaving it there anyways.) I like having the TV at the dentist because it gives your eyes a place to focus-- perhaps that's my biggest qualm about having people work on your teeth-- they're staring at your face, but at no cost should you try and make eye contact with them. I tried closing my eyes but that felt wrong-- what if they tried to slip something in there and I wasn't being vigilant? (Okay, that also sounded naughtier than intended.) So instead I spent about an hour staring up at the holes on the ceiling, while trying to look complentative lest the dentist folk think I'm a little slow. Of course, trying to look complentative while half of your face is all Bells Palsied up is challenging.
Add to this that I have a hard time when I'm anticipating pain-- I turn into a twitch mess when I get my eyebrows waxed. It's not that it hurts that much-- it's that I think it's going to hurt. Fortunately I took advantage of the fancy TV and switched on Discovery Health. At night that channel, which is probably my favorite, has all kinds of awesome shows like "The Woman With Giant Legs" and "I Didn't Know I was Pregnant" which has seemingly in touch, intelligent women accidentally giving birth into toilets ("I looked down and there was a little face staring up at me") but during the day it was mostly pure birthin' goodness. It seemed to slightly unnerve the dentist and the male dental assistant (Justin Timberlake lookalike!) to have women groaning and bloody vernix-smeared little babies on the TV-- though they shouldn't have been watching-- they're supposed to be paying attention to the dental work, yo!-- it helped me enormously. What a reminder -- a little shot of novocaine in my jaw? A drill barrelling into my pearly (not so) whites? That's nothing. I birthed the ample-headed Max, after all! After that little realization, I calmed down significantly and was able to breathe while pensively examining the ceiling and playing with my half numb face when the dentist took breaks.
I go back Tuesday morning for the rest of the fillings-- hope Discovery Health has something good waiting for me!
Oh, and I'm still obsessed with coupons. Scott thinks I have a problem and I agree. Doesn't that count for something, that I'm not in denial? I'm thinking of starting a new money saving blog to let people know about good local deals. Anybody interested?
Alright, happy holidays to all my readers (hahahahahahahahahahahha). See y'all soon.
Speaking of sweet, despite the fact that I've rarely ingested sugar in the last seven and a half years, (not counting those vanilla soy latte days) I somehow ended up with a mouth full of cavities. It may have been that I didn't go to the dentist for about nine years. How does that happen, you might wonder? Well, it starts by just a bit of procrastination. I'll go next month. And then that next month comes and goes. After a few years of this, it becomes a matter of not wanting to go because I'm embarrased that it's been so long since I've gone. The old "gotta clean up the house before the housekeeper gets here" mentality. Then when I finally went, about a year and a half ago, I had a negative experience with the practice I chose. They tried to get me to buy some fancy schmancy vibrating (!) toothbrush, told me I needed a mouthguard at night (!) and other such silliness. I really was going to get the cavities taken care of at another practice, but then I ended up With Child and the only thing I could tolerate having in my mouth for months was cinnamon toothpaste (and tater tots).
So I finally went back and am getting the seven, yes, seven cavities taken care of. Yesterday was round one. Of course, as fate would have it, the only dentist covered on our otherwise fabulous health coverage is the yucky place I went before. However, I'm far too cheap to just pay out of pocket for dental work, so I sucked it up (so to speak) and went back for another exam. It was actually not so bad. My favorite part being that all the chairs have TVs on them! Since Max was at my parents playing his little heart out, I actually considered asking if I could stick around and just watch TV and maybe take a little nap.
Yesterday I went back for the first chunk of work on my teeth-- I was surprisingly anxious. Or maybe not surprisingly. Does anybody really like to go to the dentist? Besides my dad? It's so awkward-- strange people with gloves spelunking in your mouth. (Okay that sounded way naughtier than I'd planned it to. But I'm leaving it there anyways.) I like having the TV at the dentist because it gives your eyes a place to focus-- perhaps that's my biggest qualm about having people work on your teeth-- they're staring at your face, but at no cost should you try and make eye contact with them. I tried closing my eyes but that felt wrong-- what if they tried to slip something in there and I wasn't being vigilant? (Okay, that also sounded naughtier than intended.) So instead I spent about an hour staring up at the holes on the ceiling, while trying to look complentative lest the dentist folk think I'm a little slow. Of course, trying to look complentative while half of your face is all Bells Palsied up is challenging.
Add to this that I have a hard time when I'm anticipating pain-- I turn into a twitch mess when I get my eyebrows waxed. It's not that it hurts that much-- it's that I think it's going to hurt. Fortunately I took advantage of the fancy TV and switched on Discovery Health. At night that channel, which is probably my favorite, has all kinds of awesome shows like "The Woman With Giant Legs" and "I Didn't Know I was Pregnant" which has seemingly in touch, intelligent women accidentally giving birth into toilets ("I looked down and there was a little face staring up at me") but during the day it was mostly pure birthin' goodness. It seemed to slightly unnerve the dentist and the male dental assistant (Justin Timberlake lookalike!) to have women groaning and bloody vernix-smeared little babies on the TV-- though they shouldn't have been watching-- they're supposed to be paying attention to the dental work, yo!-- it helped me enormously. What a reminder -- a little shot of novocaine in my jaw? A drill barrelling into my pearly (not so) whites? That's nothing. I birthed the ample-headed Max, after all! After that little realization, I calmed down significantly and was able to breathe while pensively examining the ceiling and playing with my half numb face when the dentist took breaks.
I go back Tuesday morning for the rest of the fillings-- hope Discovery Health has something good waiting for me!
Oh, and I'm still obsessed with coupons. Scott thinks I have a problem and I agree. Doesn't that count for something, that I'm not in denial? I'm thinking of starting a new money saving blog to let people know about good local deals. Anybody interested?
Alright, happy holidays to all my readers (hahahahahahahahahahahha). See y'all soon.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
For me to coupon (said in Triumph the insult comic dog voice)
Holy crap, I think I’m a housewife.
So my latest obsession is coupons. Seriously, have these been around all along? How come nobody told me about them? We’re working on trimming our expenses and the biggest ones we have that are malleable are our food expenses. I’m a little embarrassed to say that I never really paid attention to grocery store sales in the past. I just bought what we needed, or more frequently—wanted. I didn’t realize you could go online and check out what’s on sale at each grocery store. And then the fun part—try and match sale stuff up with coupons.
So for the past week or so I’ve been practically carrying around a pair of scissors (don’t worry—I don’t carry them in the same hand I use to carry the baby!). And the Universe clearly wants me to be using coupons-- when I went to Dash of Diva to dance with the Nia girls a few weeks ago, I stumbled upon the Hannaford booth and they had tons of great Hannaford coupons there. As the rest of the crowd was greedily grabbing the free whisks and apples and oranges, I was grabbing the $1 off this, $2 off this coupons. Also on my first grocery excursion using coupons, I found that the coupon fairy had left me a little coupon inside the freezer by some frozen fruit that was on my shopping list. And I found a little coupon organizer at Goodwill for 99 cents. Cool stuff.
There are actually entire huge online communities dedicated to couponing—I am happy to report that despite my new obsession, there are people far more crazed then I am. Although, there’s still time.
Also within the last few weeks I’ve made apple crisp. Somebody get me an apron, I think I might be a housewife.
So my latest obsession is coupons. Seriously, have these been around all along? How come nobody told me about them? We’re working on trimming our expenses and the biggest ones we have that are malleable are our food expenses. I’m a little embarrassed to say that I never really paid attention to grocery store sales in the past. I just bought what we needed, or more frequently—wanted. I didn’t realize you could go online and check out what’s on sale at each grocery store. And then the fun part—try and match sale stuff up with coupons.
So for the past week or so I’ve been practically carrying around a pair of scissors (don’t worry—I don’t carry them in the same hand I use to carry the baby!). And the Universe clearly wants me to be using coupons-- when I went to Dash of Diva to dance with the Nia girls a few weeks ago, I stumbled upon the Hannaford booth and they had tons of great Hannaford coupons there. As the rest of the crowd was greedily grabbing the free whisks and apples and oranges, I was grabbing the $1 off this, $2 off this coupons. Also on my first grocery excursion using coupons, I found that the coupon fairy had left me a little coupon inside the freezer by some frozen fruit that was on my shopping list. And I found a little coupon organizer at Goodwill for 99 cents. Cool stuff.
There are actually entire huge online communities dedicated to couponing—I am happy to report that despite my new obsession, there are people far more crazed then I am. Although, there’s still time.
Also within the last few weeks I’ve made apple crisp. Somebody get me an apron, I think I might be a housewife.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Fall Fun
So I’m realizing one excellent fringe benefit of becoming a parent is doing all sorts of fun things with your kid—even if they’re nowhere near old enough to enjoy it with you. We’ve navigated our way through a corn maze, been apple pickin’, taken a hayride, and of course, fired off the corn cannon in recent weeks. I find myself looking forward to future years of similar fall fun, as well as having a good excuse to go watch kids movies in theaters.
Eight months has been a really good age so far. Max isn’t really mobile yet—rolling is still his preferred method of travel. At the same time, he’s still very content to hang out in the Ergo carrier while I putter around the house. So he’s still very portable, but I don’t have to chase after him yet. Plus, we can still swear around him and he won’t remember it. And he’s now able to start the night in his crib, which feels like a small miracle. I’m getting little slices of my life back, while still enjoying the new pieces of my life. I went out twice this week in the evening, and Scott was able to get Max to bed. Starting to find a semblance of balance between who I was before Max, and the me that hangs out at libraries singing “Pattycake”. (Just to clarify, I mean singing “Pattycake” with other parents and tots at a library story hour, not just hanging out at the library randomly singing “Pattycake. Although I will mention that they should change the name of the story hour from “Finger Fun with Babies” unless they are trying to attract pedophiles.)
Despite all this fun, I still make room for my melancholic tendencies. Recently after a nice walk with a friend, I was prepping apples to attempt making an apple crisp, with Max in the Ergo. He fell asleep, his little head (okay, in all honesty, not so little—it’s a 97th percentile head!) resting against my chest. I found myself thinking “this might be the last (and first, for that matter) time that Max falls asleep on me while I peel apples.” He will eventually forget the sound of my heartbeat. When was the last time I heard my mom’s heartbeat?
Life is much busier than it was before—I used to be very content to putter around the house, taking my time, stretching out on the couch and reading in between getting things done around the house. Now I am always multi-tasking—feeding Max and checking my email, dancing with Max while doing the dishes, catching up on phone calls while trying to entertain Max. And because he’s a curious little guy who seems happiest when we’re busy, we’re out and about all the time. So different, but good.
Last night we attended—sort of—our good friends’ annual Halloween party. What a difference a year makes—last year I was 5 months pregnant with Max and having a fat day meltdown the day of the party. This year, at the last minute I decided I needed some black and purple tights so we headed out to the Halloween shop Spirit, and the mall to join the rest of the procrastinators. Unfortunately they only had black and purple thigh-highs, and the young sprite of a clerk informed me I would need a garter belt to keep the thigh-highs up. So there I found myself standing in line with my baby in the carrier, looking ragged from a bad night, and a tiny black garter belt in my hand. Sweet Lord. We went to the party early and headed home just as the other guests began to arrive. Got some good pictures at Jared’s fancy photo booth, and Max enjoyed staring at the trippy party lights. Next year—babysitter. Although Max looked pretty cute in his little pumpkin suit. Facebook pictures will be uploaded soon. Today—it’s out to Peaks with Max’s cousins.
Eight months has been a really good age so far. Max isn’t really mobile yet—rolling is still his preferred method of travel. At the same time, he’s still very content to hang out in the Ergo carrier while I putter around the house. So he’s still very portable, but I don’t have to chase after him yet. Plus, we can still swear around him and he won’t remember it. And he’s now able to start the night in his crib, which feels like a small miracle. I’m getting little slices of my life back, while still enjoying the new pieces of my life. I went out twice this week in the evening, and Scott was able to get Max to bed. Starting to find a semblance of balance between who I was before Max, and the me that hangs out at libraries singing “Pattycake”. (Just to clarify, I mean singing “Pattycake” with other parents and tots at a library story hour, not just hanging out at the library randomly singing “Pattycake. Although I will mention that they should change the name of the story hour from “Finger Fun with Babies” unless they are trying to attract pedophiles.)
Despite all this fun, I still make room for my melancholic tendencies. Recently after a nice walk with a friend, I was prepping apples to attempt making an apple crisp, with Max in the Ergo. He fell asleep, his little head (okay, in all honesty, not so little—it’s a 97th percentile head!) resting against my chest. I found myself thinking “this might be the last (and first, for that matter) time that Max falls asleep on me while I peel apples.” He will eventually forget the sound of my heartbeat. When was the last time I heard my mom’s heartbeat?
Life is much busier than it was before—I used to be very content to putter around the house, taking my time, stretching out on the couch and reading in between getting things done around the house. Now I am always multi-tasking—feeding Max and checking my email, dancing with Max while doing the dishes, catching up on phone calls while trying to entertain Max. And because he’s a curious little guy who seems happiest when we’re busy, we’re out and about all the time. So different, but good.
Last night we attended—sort of—our good friends’ annual Halloween party. What a difference a year makes—last year I was 5 months pregnant with Max and having a fat day meltdown the day of the party. This year, at the last minute I decided I needed some black and purple tights so we headed out to the Halloween shop Spirit, and the mall to join the rest of the procrastinators. Unfortunately they only had black and purple thigh-highs, and the young sprite of a clerk informed me I would need a garter belt to keep the thigh-highs up. So there I found myself standing in line with my baby in the carrier, looking ragged from a bad night, and a tiny black garter belt in my hand. Sweet Lord. We went to the party early and headed home just as the other guests began to arrive. Got some good pictures at Jared’s fancy photo booth, and Max enjoyed staring at the trippy party lights. Next year—babysitter. Although Max looked pretty cute in his little pumpkin suit. Facebook pictures will be uploaded soon. Today—it’s out to Peaks with Max’s cousins.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
The Vegetarian who Eats Bacon
Many years ago, my little brother decided to follow in my footsteps and become a vegetarian. I figured this would be a short-lived lifestyle change, as the boy believed pepperoni was one of the food groups. I knew it would be short-lived when he asked me “do you know any vegetarians who eat ham?” I think it was the next morning that I found him in the kitchen, stirring chunks of maroon pepperoni into his scrambled eggs.
I was a vegetarian for twenty years. The first few years I would sometimes eat chicken and fish. Then, the bruised veins on chicken wings made it impossible for me to continue, and a few years later fish went by the wayside, too. I always loved animals, and wasn’t able to disassociate the fact that my meals were coming at the cost of their lives. For quite some time, I didn’t even eat eggs. I was never one of those annoying types who was waiting to lecture you on the environmental impact of eating meat, or the elevated risks of health problems due to eating meat, or the way that animals are treated before being killed for meat. (Okay, there was that one persuasive speech in 11th grade but that was for school!) I never would’ve eyed your steak with disdain. Eating meat was simply something that didn’t work for me, so I didn’t do it. “But you wear leather shoes!” occasional instigators would say, trying to point out my hypocrisy. I would shrug. So what? My grandma Louise always asked me if I was “still in that vegetarian phase? You know that God gave us animals to eat, don’t you?” The “phase” lasted years and years but she always called it just that, a phase. I was pretty certain, in fact, that the phase would last for a lifetime. I would occasionally wonder what would happen if I was in some sort of survivalist situation that required me to eat the meat of either animals or humans, and whether I would simply perish instead of eating the meat. Of course in this pondering I would turn waifish and ethereal before perishing, the other survivalists eyeing my hollowed out cheekbones with what I thought was admiration at my saintly determination. But probably they were just wishing that they could get their bony fingers on some salt to sass up my wilting flesh a bit.
Enter Max. My constantly nursing, sweet-faced, blue-eyed boy. Who seemed to be reacting to all the vegetarian staples in my diet—beans, soy. Veggie bacon. After a few visits to a woman who wiggles her fingers while holding a food in front of my and Max’s stomachs and tells us whether it’s a “no,” “yes,” or “1/3 of a cup, then three days off,” my already limited diet (no meat, no wheat flour, no cow’s milk), a self-imposed month of a bastardized Total Elimination Diet consisting of only rice products, sunflower seeds, pears, olive oil and squash, a yeast overgrowth test that saw me carting a sample of my own filth (tucked away in an innocent looking Hannaford bag) to a lab—which came back positive for yeast overgrowth and put me on a nearly no-grains diet—I realized I needed, for my own health and stamina, and in turn that of Max—to see if I could tolerate eating a little meat.
First I tried chicken. It seemed benign enough. My husband fried it up in olive oil and neatly chopped it into small pieces that could be hidden into my food. I tried that for about three days but I could feel the little chewy bits between my teeth. I tried some amazing Alaskan smoked salmon—same thing. It tasted delicious but the texture was just too… meaty. Little bits of turkey sausage fared better texture-wise, but it turned out there were spicy bits in it that Max didn’t like. Finally, after much thought, I wondered if bacon might just be the meat for me.
As a girl, I once impressed my grandma Jeanne by putting away an entire pound of bacon in one sitting. “Lynnie ate well,” she reported to my mom. I’m still not entirely sure how a lapsed Jew like my grandma came to be proud of my feat, or whether this early accomplishment was a flashing yellow light signaling long battles ahead with eating, dieting, and weight. Bacon makes little sense from a health or environmental standpoint, but it just tastes so fricking good. And though it had been twenty years since the flesh of piggies had seen the dark cavern of my mouth, my recall told me that it wouldn’t have the same disturbing chewy effect that poultry or fish did.
My recall was right. Due to the candida, I had to find a bacon that had no sugar added in the curing process—not easy or cheap. But persevere I did, and thanks to Lois’ Natural Marketplace, the bacon that would feed just me and not my naughty candida was found. Scott kindly fried it up for me (okay, he had a bunch of it himself. Not quite a pound, but still) and I popped a few digestive enzymes for good measure before tentatively lifted the purple-brown curly goodness to my mouth. Crunchy, not chewy. Salty. Porky. Delicious. “The only bad thing about bacon is that it makes the whole house smell like bacon for days afterwards,” Scott complained. “That’s not a bad thing,” I rebutted.
And that, my friends, is how I became the vegetarian who eats bacon. I don’t know that I will continue this erratic behavior, as I once again am struggling to pretend that this salty treat comes to my plate from a plant of some sort—a bacon bonsai, if you will—and not a (formerly) living, breathing, squealing creature. But for this moment—and new parenthood, I’m finding, is all about trying to stay in this moment—it’s working for me. I think my brother would be proud. My grandma Jeanne would certainly be proud. And my grandma Louise would say “I told you it was just a phase.”
I was a vegetarian for twenty years. The first few years I would sometimes eat chicken and fish. Then, the bruised veins on chicken wings made it impossible for me to continue, and a few years later fish went by the wayside, too. I always loved animals, and wasn’t able to disassociate the fact that my meals were coming at the cost of their lives. For quite some time, I didn’t even eat eggs. I was never one of those annoying types who was waiting to lecture you on the environmental impact of eating meat, or the elevated risks of health problems due to eating meat, or the way that animals are treated before being killed for meat. (Okay, there was that one persuasive speech in 11th grade but that was for school!) I never would’ve eyed your steak with disdain. Eating meat was simply something that didn’t work for me, so I didn’t do it. “But you wear leather shoes!” occasional instigators would say, trying to point out my hypocrisy. I would shrug. So what? My grandma Louise always asked me if I was “still in that vegetarian phase? You know that God gave us animals to eat, don’t you?” The “phase” lasted years and years but she always called it just that, a phase. I was pretty certain, in fact, that the phase would last for a lifetime. I would occasionally wonder what would happen if I was in some sort of survivalist situation that required me to eat the meat of either animals or humans, and whether I would simply perish instead of eating the meat. Of course in this pondering I would turn waifish and ethereal before perishing, the other survivalists eyeing my hollowed out cheekbones with what I thought was admiration at my saintly determination. But probably they were just wishing that they could get their bony fingers on some salt to sass up my wilting flesh a bit.
Enter Max. My constantly nursing, sweet-faced, blue-eyed boy. Who seemed to be reacting to all the vegetarian staples in my diet—beans, soy. Veggie bacon. After a few visits to a woman who wiggles her fingers while holding a food in front of my and Max’s stomachs and tells us whether it’s a “no,” “yes,” or “1/3 of a cup, then three days off,” my already limited diet (no meat, no wheat flour, no cow’s milk), a self-imposed month of a bastardized Total Elimination Diet consisting of only rice products, sunflower seeds, pears, olive oil and squash, a yeast overgrowth test that saw me carting a sample of my own filth (tucked away in an innocent looking Hannaford bag) to a lab—which came back positive for yeast overgrowth and put me on a nearly no-grains diet—I realized I needed, for my own health and stamina, and in turn that of Max—to see if I could tolerate eating a little meat.
First I tried chicken. It seemed benign enough. My husband fried it up in olive oil and neatly chopped it into small pieces that could be hidden into my food. I tried that for about three days but I could feel the little chewy bits between my teeth. I tried some amazing Alaskan smoked salmon—same thing. It tasted delicious but the texture was just too… meaty. Little bits of turkey sausage fared better texture-wise, but it turned out there were spicy bits in it that Max didn’t like. Finally, after much thought, I wondered if bacon might just be the meat for me.
As a girl, I once impressed my grandma Jeanne by putting away an entire pound of bacon in one sitting. “Lynnie ate well,” she reported to my mom. I’m still not entirely sure how a lapsed Jew like my grandma came to be proud of my feat, or whether this early accomplishment was a flashing yellow light signaling long battles ahead with eating, dieting, and weight. Bacon makes little sense from a health or environmental standpoint, but it just tastes so fricking good. And though it had been twenty years since the flesh of piggies had seen the dark cavern of my mouth, my recall told me that it wouldn’t have the same disturbing chewy effect that poultry or fish did.
My recall was right. Due to the candida, I had to find a bacon that had no sugar added in the curing process—not easy or cheap. But persevere I did, and thanks to Lois’ Natural Marketplace, the bacon that would feed just me and not my naughty candida was found. Scott kindly fried it up for me (okay, he had a bunch of it himself. Not quite a pound, but still) and I popped a few digestive enzymes for good measure before tentatively lifted the purple-brown curly goodness to my mouth. Crunchy, not chewy. Salty. Porky. Delicious. “The only bad thing about bacon is that it makes the whole house smell like bacon for days afterwards,” Scott complained. “That’s not a bad thing,” I rebutted.
And that, my friends, is how I became the vegetarian who eats bacon. I don’t know that I will continue this erratic behavior, as I once again am struggling to pretend that this salty treat comes to my plate from a plant of some sort—a bacon bonsai, if you will—and not a (formerly) living, breathing, squealing creature. But for this moment—and new parenthood, I’m finding, is all about trying to stay in this moment—it’s working for me. I think my brother would be proud. My grandma Jeanne would certainly be proud. And my grandma Louise would say “I told you it was just a phase.”
Saturday, May 9, 2009
This morning’s walk
You snugged against me, curled
Cornflower blue eyes taking in
Smudges of green
Curves of stone
Flitter of branch
Older boys stumble around the pond
Donning nets
Flailing wide for small, tailed things.
I count turtles
Their long lizard necks
Reaching towards the sun
And I tell you how we walked here before,
When you were a pebble, a plum, a palm
You slide into sleep
Dreaming of warm rivers?
Coils and caves?
We pass three men digging a grave
And I steal kisses from your head
You smell of bark and rain
I think of the winding nights
Your legs kicking
Cheeks maroon, eyes like seeds
Both of us in tears
Or when you wake
And remember us
Your smile a half moon
Your almond eyes crescents
I think of first gaze, giggle, grasp
Of the way the days avalanche by.
There is not enough time
For you to teach me all I need to know…
You snugged against me, curled
Cornflower blue eyes taking in
Smudges of green
Curves of stone
Flitter of branch
Older boys stumble around the pond
Donning nets
Flailing wide for small, tailed things.
I count turtles
Their long lizard necks
Reaching towards the sun
And I tell you how we walked here before,
When you were a pebble, a plum, a palm
You slide into sleep
Dreaming of warm rivers?
Coils and caves?
We pass three men digging a grave
And I steal kisses from your head
You smell of bark and rain
I think of the winding nights
Your legs kicking
Cheeks maroon, eyes like seeds
Both of us in tears
Or when you wake
And remember us
Your smile a half moon
Your almond eyes crescents
I think of first gaze, giggle, grasp
Of the way the days avalanche by.
There is not enough time
For you to teach me all I need to know…
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Swingers
I'm probably establishing some poor sleeping habits, but my little one is once again peacefully swinging away in la-la land. Mama got to do laundry, dishes, and take a shower~ complete with a mustache Nair session, bang trimmin', and a bit of eyebrow plucking. Total bliss. This, on top of our new Sunday a.m. tradition~ Scott making gluten-free (banana this week!) pancakes. Good, good stuff. Oh, and Max must've slept at least 5 hours straight last night~ the fact that I'm not entirely sure how long he slept is an excellent sign. Today is definitely one of the top-ten Sundays~ at least since Max's arrival. Okay, so it's only been 11 weeks, but still!
Yesterday marked my first outing with Max~ excluding a brief excursion to my parents condo to put their trash cans inside (about 10 minutes away) when he was about 2 weeks old. I went to a yoga class and it was great. Getting out the door was hard though~ it felt so weird to leave the little guy behind, even in the extremely capable hands of my husband. Driving without having to worry about one-handedly reaching back to replace Max's pacifier was strange. I felt like I was forgetting an arm or something. But, once I got there, it was nice. And my body sooo needed to stretch. Sadly, the little guy was a little fussy for Scott~ which I felt bad about. But they both seem to have recovered nicely.
Well, I'm off to extract (it just sounds nicer than pumping, somehow) some milk for said little one before he wakes up...
Yesterday marked my first outing with Max~ excluding a brief excursion to my parents condo to put their trash cans inside (about 10 minutes away) when he was about 2 weeks old. I went to a yoga class and it was great. Getting out the door was hard though~ it felt so weird to leave the little guy behind, even in the extremely capable hands of my husband. Driving without having to worry about one-handedly reaching back to replace Max's pacifier was strange. I felt like I was forgetting an arm or something. But, once I got there, it was nice. And my body sooo needed to stretch. Sadly, the little guy was a little fussy for Scott~ which I felt bad about. But they both seem to have recovered nicely.
Well, I'm off to extract (it just sounds nicer than pumping, somehow) some milk for said little one before he wakes up...
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Silent Night, Holy Crap!
So we've been struggling with Max wanting to nurse almost constantly, and being pretty fussy at times. But Tuesday night, after a long hard Monday, we gave him a bottle of expressed milk and a bath and he slept for 5 hours straight... woohoo! Even our little kitty, whose been acting out a bit since Max's arrival, slept on my pillow and refrained from her "death howl" for an entire night.
Unfortunately, I didn't sleep so well because I kept waking up thinking Max would be up. And after about 4 hours went by, I started getting super excited that he'd been asleep for so long... oh well! It was still pretty cool. Last night he did a 4 hour stretch and several 1-2 hours. Now he's been sleeping for a few hours in his swing, and I've gotten some stuff accomplished around the biohazard zone that used to be our home. Oh, who are we kidding... we've never been neatnics!
Life is going pretty well~ the turtles and tadpoles are once again making appearances in the cemetery, and my bud M. and her little one have been enjoying jaunts with us there on Fridays~ thinking "Tuesdays with Morrie" but with less life lessons and more diaper explosions (on the babies, not us. Usually.)
My parents get back to Maine in a few weeks and I'm looking forward to them being back and getting to know Max. Should be fun.
Well, going to try to squeeze in a few more chores before the Booby Bear awakens.
Unfortunately, I didn't sleep so well because I kept waking up thinking Max would be up. And after about 4 hours went by, I started getting super excited that he'd been asleep for so long... oh well! It was still pretty cool. Last night he did a 4 hour stretch and several 1-2 hours. Now he's been sleeping for a few hours in his swing, and I've gotten some stuff accomplished around the biohazard zone that used to be our home. Oh, who are we kidding... we've never been neatnics!
Life is going pretty well~ the turtles and tadpoles are once again making appearances in the cemetery, and my bud M. and her little one have been enjoying jaunts with us there on Fridays~ thinking "Tuesdays with Morrie" but with less life lessons and more diaper explosions (on the babies, not us. Usually.)
My parents get back to Maine in a few weeks and I'm looking forward to them being back and getting to know Max. Should be fun.
Well, going to try to squeeze in a few more chores before the Booby Bear awakens.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Where is the time going? Suddenly our little peanut is 9 weeks old and almost 13 pounds and it's almost May.
Life is good. The first few weeks were really, really hard~ hormones, sleep deprivation, and the evaporation of our old, good life. But we are settling into our new, good life, and finding some semblance of routine.
I still look at this little dude and wonder where the heck he came from~ lessons about the birds and bees aside. He strongly resembles Scott but I can sometimes see me in him, too. And at the same time, he is clearly, innately himself.
We finally had a good experience giving Max the bottle this weekend~ he did really well. Which means that at some point, Mom can take a little break and catch a bath or a yoga class. Although I have the feeling that I'll miss him when I do take a break~ I already miss him if he's in the back seat for a long car ride, or when he takes an extended nap.
Well, he just woke up so I need to go, but wanted to not let too much more time go between entries.
Life is good. The first few weeks were really, really hard~ hormones, sleep deprivation, and the evaporation of our old, good life. But we are settling into our new, good life, and finding some semblance of routine.
I still look at this little dude and wonder where the heck he came from~ lessons about the birds and bees aside. He strongly resembles Scott but I can sometimes see me in him, too. And at the same time, he is clearly, innately himself.
We finally had a good experience giving Max the bottle this weekend~ he did really well. Which means that at some point, Mom can take a little break and catch a bath or a yoga class. Although I have the feeling that I'll miss him when I do take a break~ I already miss him if he's in the back seat for a long car ride, or when he takes an extended nap.
Well, he just woke up so I need to go, but wanted to not let too much more time go between entries.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Mama
Max finally decided to make his debut (with a little nudging) on February 15th. The last few weeks have been a blur~ quite a roller coaster ride. Max and I are both healthy and we narrowly avoided my big fear of having a C-section, thanks to the expertise and trust of our midwife Jen. Scott was an amazing birth partner~ he was right there the whole time offering love, encouragement, Gatorade, and cool washcloths. He saw more of me than probably either of us would've liked, but modesty had a way of quickly vanishing during the birth process.
We're slowly adjusting to the enormous change in our lives and trying to figure out this little guy who suddenly lives with us. Max is pretty mellow for the most part so far, but he occasionally goes Mad Max on us. I never really minded crying babies before~ but it's different when it's your own and you're helpless to make whatever is wrong better.
I am as anxiety prone as ever~ the latest obsession was "why is Max's poo green?" Thanks to lots of internet reading and a phone call with a lactation consultant, you'll be happy to know his poo is now the normal mustardy texture (oooh, I think he just made one right now as I was typing this!).
We ventured out of the house this morning to check out the breastfeeding support group at Mercy. It was a little overwhelming with about 20 moms and babies, but it was great to get out of the house and hang with some other new mamas and compare notes. And the trip went much better than our outing to Starbucks the other day~ which really seemed like a good idea at the time. I took him in the stroller on what normally would maybe be a five minute walk, but the sidewalks are icy and slushy and bumpy and riddled with tipped over recycling bins. By the time we got home my pants were soaked (from the slush~ I'm happy to report that I no longer seem to be incontinent!) and most of my decaf vanilla soy latte landed on either my coat or Max's car seat. Fortunately the bumpy ride put him into a blissful sleep and he was none the wiser about the mishaps!
We're slowly adjusting to the enormous change in our lives and trying to figure out this little guy who suddenly lives with us. Max is pretty mellow for the most part so far, but he occasionally goes Mad Max on us. I never really minded crying babies before~ but it's different when it's your own and you're helpless to make whatever is wrong better.
I am as anxiety prone as ever~ the latest obsession was "why is Max's poo green?" Thanks to lots of internet reading and a phone call with a lactation consultant, you'll be happy to know his poo is now the normal mustardy texture (oooh, I think he just made one right now as I was typing this!).
We ventured out of the house this morning to check out the breastfeeding support group at Mercy. It was a little overwhelming with about 20 moms and babies, but it was great to get out of the house and hang with some other new mamas and compare notes. And the trip went much better than our outing to Starbucks the other day~ which really seemed like a good idea at the time. I took him in the stroller on what normally would maybe be a five minute walk, but the sidewalks are icy and slushy and bumpy and riddled with tipped over recycling bins. By the time we got home my pants were soaked (from the slush~ I'm happy to report that I no longer seem to be incontinent!) and most of my decaf vanilla soy latte landed on either my coat or Max's car seat. Fortunately the bumpy ride put him into a blissful sleep and he was none the wiser about the mishaps!
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Waiting... part deux
Max is officially one week past due as of today. Although as the midwives told us, the most common reason babies go past due is because their due dates were wrong to begin with. So it's hard to say. I'm drinking raspberry leaf tea and mall walkin' when I can. Yesterday I had an intense acupuncture treatment that got Max quite wriggly and left me dizzy but obviously didn't send me into immediate labor. 'Cause I'm still here.
I've actually been fairly calm about the whole waiting thing~ probably because I'm okay with putting off the next phases... labor, delivery... suddenly being someone's mom. I mean, I can't wait to meet Max, but it's such a huge, sudden responsibility that I'm mostly okay with procrastinating it a bit. And I love all the suggestions I've been getting for home remedies for "curing pregnancy"~ pretty soon I'll be driving over railroad tracks, eating pad thai, while concurrently fighting and "havin' a little fun" with my hubby. Watch out, other drivers! (I apologize vigorously for the image I may have just produced in your mind!)
The midwives don't start talking induction unless we get to two weeks past due, at which point it's up to us. We do have an ultrasound today just to check and see if everything's going well in the placenta palace. I'm excited to get a little peak at Maxers~ hopefully he's outgrown the creepy pirate eye he gave us at the last ultrasound in September.
I've actually been fairly calm about the whole waiting thing~ probably because I'm okay with putting off the next phases... labor, delivery... suddenly being someone's mom. I mean, I can't wait to meet Max, but it's such a huge, sudden responsibility that I'm mostly okay with procrastinating it a bit. And I love all the suggestions I've been getting for home remedies for "curing pregnancy"~ pretty soon I'll be driving over railroad tracks, eating pad thai, while concurrently fighting and "havin' a little fun" with my hubby. Watch out, other drivers! (I apologize vigorously for the image I may have just produced in your mind!)
The midwives don't start talking induction unless we get to two weeks past due, at which point it's up to us. We do have an ultrasound today just to check and see if everything's going well in the placenta palace. I'm excited to get a little peak at Maxers~ hopefully he's outgrown the creepy pirate eye he gave us at the last ultrasound in September.
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