Scared

When people told me to make the baby sleep on his back, use ONLY sleepers and above all else, put NO TOYS or bumpers in the crib. I listened. I listened because I am a new Mom and I didn't want to make a drastic mistake. Over the last week, as we leave month three happily behind us ( gimme me a break, I had a rought start ) and enter month four ( thank you God of rice cereal ), we have made the swing a part of Jake's past and introduced him to his new one and only sleeping spot. His crib.
It's been fairly easy, as the timing seemed right. Well, that, and since he was teething he was on some doses of Tylenol so once that kicked he didn't give a rat's patootie WHERE he was sleeping.
In order to smooth his transition into his "big boy bed", I allowed him one eensy teensy tiny itty bitty allowance. His eight inch by eight inch square binky. Silky on one side and fuzzy wuzzy soft on the other. He loves the thing and it helps him fall instantly to sleep once the cool, shiny silk is placed lovingly against his cheek. How can a mom say no?
Last night, while home alone, I put him down for a late afternoon nap. Binky and all. Suddenly I heard his guttaral screams and at first, figured he was spoiled and his pacifier fell out... again. But then something about that cry made me run like the wind towards his room. I flung the lights on and the poor little guy had gotten his binky somehow stuck across his face. The more he tried to breathe in, the more stuck he felt. Since he was screaming, I knew he was okay, but when I leaned in to pick him up, he went limp in my arms and immediately snuggled his head on my chest. It took him a good twenty mintues to calm down and breathe at his normal rate. It took me at least twenty four hours. Well, actually, I don't think I am over it yet. I don't think I will ever be "over" it.
Tonight, he went to sleep withOUT his special binky. I actually want to throw the darn thing away, but figure he will grow into it.
Now that my first scare is over, I feel more like a mom than ever. As I buttoned my big-sized pants around my rounded middle this morning, I thought how lucky I was that I heard him. How lucky I am to even be graced with his life. How quickly things can go wrong. How horrid it would be. I am a humbler Mom today.

Oink Oink

As new parents of our three and a half month old, we have been really missing out on some quality time together as a couple. We anticipated our weekend visit to the babysitters, I mean Grandma's house, with enthusiasm. Despite the extra hour in the car due to stormy, potentially hydroplaning weather in our two-wheel drive car, we made it. Albeit exhausted and excitement slightly waning.
Generally, an eight o'clock PM arrival would signal a trip straight to the fridge for a nice tall cold one, while Grandma took over all baby duties. HOWEVER, I wasn't feeling it. Really, just wasn't in the mood. And after catching up with everyone for a little bit, admitted that my shortness of temperament suggested I needed to hit the sack. I figured I could get rested up and perhaps hit the town with the hubby tomorrow night.
When I woke up in the morning... I knew something wasn't right. The deep congested cough sounded like a dying cow, and my bones ached to their core. Of course, this didn't stop me from a trip to Walmart to pick up some essentials. Or a visit to Farm and Fleet, wherein I proceeded to peruse the baby clothes and toys while my husband scoured the rest of the store, checking out bullets and tire gauges and deer blinds and wrenches.
By the time we got back home, a mere hour and a half later, and as the much detested Swine Flu set in, sorry piggies, I mean H1N1, I needed to lay on the couch. As day turned into night, I realized our night on the town would need to be toned down bit. More like a night on the couch. With Tylenol and jammies. Sadly, I stared at my husband through fevery eyes as he tried to keep up his spirits by cracking open a few cold ones by himself with me laying there and Grandma holding the baby. Probably wasn't what he had in mind for a date night. To top it all off, seemed like the baby was getting his very own dose of the piggy flu, too.
Saturday was even worse, with nothing signifying it was anything but another lame day. Couch. TV. Feed the sick baby. Stuff the sick Mommy with Tylenol. Sleep.
Sunday we packed up, fevers and all and headed back home. Stuck in traffic. Not feeling good. Unable to sleep. Once we got in the door, we spend the better part of Sunday doing the same things as Saturday. Canned soup for dinner. Amazing Race. Early EARLY bed.
So the weekend we had so looked forward to was a bit of a bust.
However, today, I am feeling MUCH better. The baby is in sleep mode. Tomorrow we will be back to the grind like any other day.
The baby's first "sickness" was not what I anticipated. Easier than I thought it would be to manage. Not as scary as I worried about. I am thankful it is behind us and didn't get worse than it could have.
I feel bad I didn't get to spend time with my husband, which we are in dire need of. We have scheduled a babysitter ( thankssoveryverymuch Jen ) for next Sunday. Hopefully My One and Only will not also fall sick... leaving THAT a bust as well.
As for the Swine Flu... I find it a bit emabarassing... say like a case of lice or something. Dirty. Nasty. Piggy-like. When I texted my co-worker this morning she repsonded with an "oink oink". Maybe the name of it doesn't garner the kind of sympathy a more scary sounding illness gets, like say strep throat, or bronchitis.
Either way, all is getting back to normal and I again can look forward to a date with my man.

Realistic Women

You know your life is getting pretty darn small when you almost wet yourself with excitement when you see the new US Weekly laying in your mail pile. Really. I almost wet myself and especially when I have forgotten that it's coming and it surprises me, like a wet lick from a puppy.
You can pretty much bet that the 24 hours following it's arrival will leave me unattentive to pretty much anything anyone has to say... that is unless you have a comment or insight into an article I am reading. My current favorite topic, aside from Lady Gaga's lazy eye, ( please tell me you know what I am talking about? ) is Tory Spelling's eating disorder, I mean, "stomach issues". Becuase we all know that when you drop down to 98 pounds and your upper thighs are thinnner than your knee caps and you get a bad case of the runs you are fine... just need a little imodium is all. Or some LUNCH. But whatever, I actually like her and wish her well.
Anyway, while poring over the photos of the who's who in Hollywood, I must admit that on certain days I find myself wistfully thinking how much I would like to be that rich/that thin/that well dressed/well groomed, etc. And then I take a cold shower, cram my fat butt into some cozy sweat pants, spackle my porous face with expensive make up and I am suddenly brought back to my reality.
But I really do catch myself sometimes, wishing wistfully and all. So it's with great pleasure when I come across some great news... like this German mag, Brigitte. Three cheers for realistic women.

Motherhood... So Far Anyway

With so much time spent at work, and all my evening time spent catching up with the baby and the husband, I am finding that having time to write a blog, let alone a thank-you note, is getting away from me. But today, as the dust sits collecting in little piles, the laundry basket has well overflowed, and the bed goes unmade for the umpteenth day in a row, I find myself sitting here instead of catering to my chores. Wanting to get my thoughts written down while I was still thinking them.
And that's when it hit me. I am not really having any thoughts, lately, other than should we wake him? Should we put him down? Should we put rice in the bottle? Should we put on more/less blankets? Should we put him inside/outside/upside-down? Basic thoughts. Caring thoughts. Easy thoughts. Thoughts that are not only a great break from the norm, but are also a welcome excuse to avoid more taxing, unpleasant thoughts, like paying bills or what to make for dinner. Like should we make a will and how can we get out of this condo?
That is what, to me anyway, is so beautiful about Motherhood. How I can do so little to soothe him. Make him giggle. Provide him comfort and be his everything, that while certainly time consuming, is so... simple.
And as much as I want to see him grow up and crawl and walk and talk, I want to remember what this time was like, too. Because when he becomes a mouthy, independent adolescent, I want to have a vivid memory of being in love with him. And other stuff, but really, I want to remember what it was like to be so needed, and how fufilling that is.
So no, I don't really have anything interesting to say outside of how lucky I am to finally get the chance to be a Mom. Of how much I like it. Of how things have realligned themselves and I have never been happier. But who wants to hear about that?
He will. Maybe that's the point.

Calling Me Crazy

SOMEone stole the little white pumpkin. SOMEone threw rocks at my window. SOMEone threw mud balls at the bricks. Then I had a baby. And when SOMEone threw more rocks, eggs, and water balloons at my windows, I got mad.
Because there is a baby in the house and I am one protective Mama. And thoughts of the glass cracking and letting in all the hot air or cold air or the elements come into my house... my BABY'S house...and possibly inhibit his comfort? Well... now... I don't THINK so.
So we started calling the cops. Yep. 911. Well, not exactly. We called the local non-emergency line. And then they would transfer us to the police. We would and well, DO, wait patiently on the patio for them to show up. And because of our property taxes and the town we live in, they did. Show up, that is.
The first few times, we were... uncomfortable. I mean, it's highly UNlikely that any REAL harm will result from any INTENTIONAL crimes here. Junior High pranks at best. I know.
But try mixing a protective Mama, a TIRED Mama, and a wife who FINALLy got to sit down to a nice candlelight dinner of homemade burgers and a Caprese salad with her husband for the first time in months, and have a laser beam shining into her face shortly after hearing some kids say... "This one.. this one.. THIS is the one".
That is where THIS woman throws her fork down already. Because quite honestly? It was at THAT moment that I knew. I knew that for whatever reason we were the neighborhood "target", and I was DONE DONE DONE.
And while we had been reporting the last FEW transgressions, the officers seemed to care little to none, and we assumed our efforts were an effort in futility.
However, this police officer was very nice. I started off with my usual description, a white kid, a black kid, an asian kid and an hispanic kid. His response? Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke. I knew right away that THIS Officer might be the first to "crack the case".
His phone call within the hour confirmed my confidence. After talking to one of the "followers", who sank like a rotted ship and narced them ALL out, he was able to identify and visit each home. Not so great if you are the parent of a Junior High aged child, I would guess.
When I thanked him for his efforts, he warned me to "not get too excited" as the parents played nice but only agreed to "work on it with their kids"... he sounded pessimistic.
I, however, am excited. I am excited because I feel validated that even though these are childhood pranks, they are becoming increasingly frequent, aggressive, and intrusive. They are preventing me from feeling safe and comfortable when I am home with the baby.
I am not excited that there are some families out there that had a pretty bad night. Or some kids today, for example the narc, that probably get beat up. My husband said late last night, after we both had spent some time contemplating the series of events, "You know, I have been thinking, this is the kind of thing that creates a fork in the road. These kids are going to be making a decision because of this. This is where they say ef it, or ask themselves why they are doing this kind of stuff ".
Truer words could not be said.

Precious Life

Before Jake was born, and before I was even with child, it was just Billy and I. It was then that we somehow managed to illicit friendships with the neighbor folks. A lot of them. The octogenerian set. That is what you get in a condo building in our part of town.
When our friends found out we were expecting, much excitement was felt throughout the courtyard. Stopped frequently by enthusiastic congratulations and talks and memories of raising their own little ones many years ago. We were gracious for thier gifts. Not only of the standard onesies, photo albums and recieving blankets, but also the advice, support, and cheerful smiles.
When Jake finally arrived, we could barely sit on our front patio without feeling somewhat accosted by the curious and happy-for-us neighbor friends who wanted to stop by and meet our little bundle and of course, bestow MORE gifts and wisdom. That with the colic we most surely needed, appreciated and accepted.
In the days and weeks that followed, a few of our most eager friends seem to have disappeared. I missed the quick chats in the parking lot, on the patio, and under the apple tree in the courtyard. The invitations to come by with the baby or if we needed some support or a break.
And then yesterday happened.
Neighbor Rich banged on our door with his cane. Insisting we open up immediately so he could rest his eyes on the peanut. If you didn't know him better, you would surmise that his gruffness translated into insensitivity, however we knew better. He then went on to tell us about his pain. The arthritis that has taken over his body and left him virtually immobile. How it was so severe that he was going to be asking the doctor to kindly unplug his heart defribulator pumping inside his body so that he could die peacefully within two weeks of a massive heart attack. Luckily, he told us, there was a renewed hope as his newest medications seemed to be easing it a bit.
Then there was neigbor Dorothy. We were laying on the couch with the baby finally asleep restfully after his first round of shots. I rolled my eyes when I saw her approaching, annoyed that my first real time to relax was being interrupted. She knocked ever so gently and with such timidity that I was ashamed at my initial annoyance.
She came in and of course, was looking for the baby. It was then she told us that she was blind. Suddenly. Seems as if some strep had settled in her one good eye leaving her blinded. The good news was that she was going to be able to keep the eye. If it had happened when she was fifty she is pretty sure she would have killed herself, because now, literally overnight, at the age of 78, she cannot do anything. Drive, cook, dress, read. She cannot SEE. It's no way to live, she tells us. Her own grown children are devastated for her. WE are devastated for her. She was sad that she couldn't see the baby that she had so anticipated watching grow.
Once she left and we settled back into our places on the couch, it sunk in more fully.
As I looked down at the precious bundle in my arms, I thought about the beauty of life, as well as the horror of it. I hope Jake knows one day how much he was loved by so many people without ever having to try. I hope he knows that there were some special people that loved him as they were leaving this world and he was entering it, and how those people calmed us, soothed us, supported us and helped us get his life started.
Mostly, I hope he learns to respect life, and the life cycle and how precious it all is.

Operation Get Things Back On Track Day

I am getting snowed. I am getting taken for a ride by my 10 week old, hook, line and sinker. Seems as if the little peanut has noticed that he gets a lot more attention if he chooses to eat little 2 ounce snacks every couple of hours instead of some decent sized 5 ounce meals.
Last week we had managed it all but good, getting him up to 5 ounces at a shot- leaving us with beautifully long slumbers and lots of pleasant adults in the house.. and then we went to Grandma's. It's not her fault. Not by a long shot- but with several three hour road trips in front of us, we were desparate to get him to play nice and sit in his car seat and shut up, I mean rest peacefully, for the duration. Which also means with barely a whimper to be heard we were running like a Jamaican to get him his bottle, pick him up, change him... you name it. It was a very short-lived, but princely time in his life.
It wasn't until yesterday that I noticed the severe regression from all the chaos and his lack of ability to get back into the swing of things.
Today? Operation Get Things Back On Track Day.
Armed with several "How to do this" and "How to do that" baby books in my arm and a newfound reisistance to the peanuts yelps and squirms for MORE MORE MORE- I started the day with "The Plan".
"The Plan" consists of little more than extending the time between his feedings and not picking him up when he's needing a good long nap. Somehow- this has ended up involving lots of pacifiers getting shoved into his tiny, adorable, sweet little pie-hole. Mommy of the Year anyone?
It seems to be working and we have already made some progress. And as I tell my husband... it's actually good for the WHOLE family, namely ME- as I am much more pleasant when the diaper changings are interspersed with quiet moments in which I can put the peanut's scrapbook together already.
Which as of today, is actually coming along quite nicely- thanksverymuch.
The only real fear is the "big debate"... which is him resisting his encouraged bedtime tonight of 7 pm and pushing it to his usual 9- which has majorly interfered with my prime time television watching. Thank God for OnDemand.