Wednesday, August 10, 2011

A parent's darkest moments.. compliments of The Band Perry.

My heart is lost.
Or it’s dead.
Whatever it is, it no longer beats.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t live.
I won’t.

This is how I felt this morning for the few minutes I was overwhelmed with emotion thinking about how I would continue living if something happened to Max. As a parent, these thoughts are our darkest moments. I’m working so hard right now to keep him safe. Is it enough? What about when he’s no longer mine to keep safe.. when he’s his own person to keep safe. I want to provide him with all the tools and resources and knowledge to keep himself safe when he’s older. Will it be enough?

These utterly depressing thoughts on this totally normal Wednesday are not totally my fault. It’s that damn song, “If I die young.. blah blah blah” and the part about, “not even gray and burying her baby..”. I shouldn’t just gotten out of the car after the Jason Derulo song. :/

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Who cares about the dishwasher.

Half way to work this morning and I found myself balling my eyes out in the car.
I’m super stressed lately. The AC in our house recently broke and while we finally have resolved that scenario, the dish washer has decided to quit draining the post-wash water (the disgusting smelly water), the garage door only opens and closes when it wants to, and my car has an intermittent funny noise that mysteriously disappears when I send my husband to investigate—and of course it’s the kind of noise that is nearly impossible to describe in such a way that the hubs will say, “ah, okay! I know EXACTLY what it is!”. The daycare has ants, the baby is on a crib strike and my carpets are in desperate need of vacuuming but the baby is terrified of the vacuum and I can’t bring myself to put him through it. Oh, and the biggest stressor—I received my formal layoff notice! August 19th. Dooms day.  In preparation, I have surrendered my bank account to the hubs to manage and have already had to endure the wrath of, “do you realize you spent xxx at Marshall’s last month?!”. Yep. Good times.
And then, being a female, I have the normal girl ‘life-bites’: will my saggy stomach ever go back to its cute tight self? Am I doomed to endless summers of ‘mom swim suits’?!
Strangely enough, none of these things opened the flood gates. It was Paul Simon and his song, “St. Judy’s Comet”.  He’s such a bully.
I hadn’t heard this lullaby in years and this morning, with Max soundly sleeping in the back seat of my SUV,  I felt like Paul Simon was singing just for him. I mean, the lyrics are so perfect,
Little sleepy boy
Do you know what time it is?
Well the hour of your bedtime's
Long been past

And though I know you're fighting it
I can tell when you rub your eyes
You're fading fast
Fading fast
Well I sang it once
Then I sang it twice
I'm going to sing it three times more
I'm going to stay 'til your resistance
Is overcome

I think this song just helped me remember what’s really important in my life. My family, my baby. Who cares about the dishwasher.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Once Bitten, Twice Shy

I have a biter. I have waited 6 looooong months (he’s been teething since month 4!) for my baby’s mouth to sprout some pearly whites. Now, I envy the ‘late bloomers’ in his class. These days (evenings, really), I nurse in fear. When the tiny chompers first appeared, I knew I’d get bit sooner or later; obviously hoping for the latter. Our nursing sessions are further complicated because I have quite the wiggle worm! While nursing, my son will twist his body from side to side, climb up me to ‘root’ in mommy’s squishy parts, and it is not unusual that he attempts to stand WHILE nursing as well. I’ve been bit at least once per session—sometimes twice! What once was a quiet peaceful time, is not ridden with fear and anxiety. I’m unable to relax and keep my ‘unlatch’ finger ready!

I remember attending a breastfeeding support group very early on in motherhood and hearing a young mother seeking advice for deterring boob biting behavior. I remember distinctly the lactation counselor saying, “unlatch, make eye contact, and firmly say NO BITE’; and also, “try to predict when the bite is near”. So this is what I do. A few nights’ ago, he bit me, I obeyed technique, re-latched him, and my barracuda bit me again! I stayed true to technique; however, this time, it sent him into major meltdown mode that only daddy could calm. When he was in a restful state, I took over again and encouraged him to finish nursing on his way to dreamland.

I think this ‘no bite’ technique is my baby’s first introduction to boundaries. And his meltdown was his reaction to me denying him comfort.. for the first time in our mother/son relationship. It makes me sad to think that for a few short minutes, my baby actually felt hurt and betrayed by me, but that is a small price to pay in the land of nipple bites! I try to find comfort in convincing myself that like most things, this is a phase. I’ve heard that this biting behavior is very unnatural given the mechanics behind suckling; and I’m thinking that the action of nursing might physically soothe any oral discomfort my boobling might have as a result of teething. Whatever the case may be, I can’t wait for this phase to be over and I can go back to loving breastfeeding.

Thursday, March 10, 2011


Usually, if I have a decision to make, no matter how tough, I am one to spend hours upon hours gathering the necessary facts to convince myself I’m making the right decision. It’s a time consuming process, but I usually have no regrets. Even if the choice I made isn’t as awesome as I thought, I figure, “eh, I researched everything I could. I thought my decision was sound. It wasn’t. Moving along.” That is until recently. This week, two decisions have haunted me:
1. The decision to have a c-section. (yes, I realize I have an earlier post on here boasting about how 'fine' I am with they way Max was born-- but there were these 5 minutes that disturbed me)
When Max and I were cuddling one very early morning, the thought crept into my mind, “I should have at least tried to have a vaginal birth”. Not sure where the thought came from, just all of a sudden, it was there! For 5 whole mins I stewed on the fact even though I had spent 9 months formulating my birth plan to include a vaginal birth—how I spent 9 months reading about why I didn’t want a c-section—and somehow, that is exactly how I ended up having my baby.
 Here’s what I know:
I know I was super uncomfortable. I was tired of being pregnant. I couldn’t sleep. I was constantly starving (not just hungry). I was 185lbs- up 60 whole F-ing lbs from my prepregnancy weight. I had ultrasounds estimating my baby’s weight to be 10+ lbs if carried 40 weeks. My doctor was telling me very honestly, but graphically, that if I attempted to birth my baby vaginally, I would tear “up to my butt”.  So when my doctor said to me, “I think we need to consider a c-section”, without hesitation, without even stopping to discuss with my husband, I said, “Great. Put me in for Thursday!”.
Hindsight (which is always 20/20) I should have surrounded myself with some strong female role models. Women who could put me at ease about child birth. I don’t know. I think I could have done it. But now I will never know.
2. Circumcising my son.  
I really thought this was the ‘normal’ thing to do. As awful as the procedure is, yes, I thought that having my son’s foreskin on his penis surgically removed was normal. Afterall, all of my friends that have boys did it. My thought process kills me. I spent hours and hours researching vaccination and finding a pediatrician that was ‘okay’ with a delayed vax schedule, and yet, I never once considered that I didn’t HAVE to have Max circumcised. I never researched it. When the day came, I just handed my 4 week old baby son to the pediatrician for a 5 min procedure that left my baby screaming for the 20 minute car ride home.
Here’s what I know:
I remember talking about the circumcision once or twice during my pregnancy. I remember thinking, “well of course I’m going to have him circumcised, because if not, it is difficult to clean” or “make him more susceptible to STDs”. With Brian, I remember saying, “we’ll have him circumcised so that you and him will look alike”, and “I don’t want him to feel different when he realizes that he doesn’t look like his dad or his friends”. How ignorant of me.
I wish I would have considered my options. Now it’s too late. And I fear that I will forever deeply regret this decision.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Happy Valentine's Day

Dear Husband,
Are you fucking kidding me? Thanks for being such an asshole this morning when I needed you. When Max needed you. You think our baby is some master con-man! He’s six months old- crying is pretty much his only means of communication! You’d think by now, you would have learned all his different cries: his hunger cry, his “I’m bored” cry, his “I’m tired” cry, and his “I don’t feel well” cry! Last night was clearly his “I don’t feel well” cry.  I mean, besides last night, when was the last time you heard him cry all night like that?! Exactly. Christmas break when he had RSV. So why in the world wouldn’t your daddy radar pick up on the fact that his behavior wasn’t normal; his cry was harsh and screechy like he was uncomfortable?!! He was not crying because he didn’t want to sleep in his crib; or because he didn’t want to sleep; he needed us. He needed our attention, our warmth, our protection, our comfort.
Your attitude really pissed me off this morning. While I appreciate you getting up out of bed to help me with him—the type of help you offered was much less than awesome, and more so offensive and just plain disrespectful.  It was annoying, and frustrating; and leaves me worried about future parenting challenges we’ll face; and makes it difficult for me to even consider asking you for help in the future regardless of how much I need it.
So thanks for being a giant D-bag. Happy Valentine’s Day.


Friday, February 11, 2011

What an ignorant thing to say?!

"A newborn baby has only three demands. They are: warmth in the arms of tis mother, food from her breasts, and security in the knowledge of her presence. Breastfeeding satisfies all three." Grandly Dick-Read

One of my Facebook friends recently posted a news story about how introducing solid food early to formula fed babies can increase their risk of battling childhood obesity. Someone in the comments posted the following:
Neither of my older kids was obese at 3 months and they were both on 3 meals a day by somewhere around 4-6 months! Isn't it a matter of listening to why they are crying and not feeding on demand? There are many philosophies on these subjects and much listening to the baby.....patience on Mom's part for sure! Let the Wise one direct you!
What an ignorant thing to say?! First off, I’m guessing that when this person says, “Let the Wise one direct you”, she’s referring to the Baby Wise book that is highly controversial among the pediatric community. In my opinion, it’s a disgusting and hurtful approach to parenting—in fact, nothing could be farther from Attachment Parenting than the Baby Wise philosophy. I have heard that the author of Baby Wise has a severely broken relationship with his children; and there are accounts of babies “failing to thrive” when subjected to the Baby Wise methods. Baby Wise is borderline inhumane. And that’s all I’ll say about that. My real beef with this person’s comment is the part I bolded, “Isn’t it a matter of listening to why they are crying and not feeding on demand?”
When I first brought Max home, every single time he cried, I offered him a breast. Even if I had just fed him. Breastfeeding is so much more than actually feeding your baby. It’s comfort, it’s love, it’s bonding, it’s your baby learning that you are his safe place, his ultimate protector and provider, and nourishment. Further, breastfed babies turn to the breast for several reasons: they aren’t feeling well, they are teething, growth spurt time—if a developmental milestone such as rolling over or crawling is bothering them; they will want to breastfeed to relax.
Maybe I’m being over dramatic. Maybe the commenter’s reference to “the Wise one” set me off. I don’t know. What I DO know, is that I will never deny my baby my warm embrace or my breast. I will never deny him food in his mouth. I will never deny him the security of my guardianship.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

$#!* my mother says, part II

My mother has struck again. Saying something very thought provoking. I’ll start at the beginning.

A month or so ago, I mustered up some motivation to get dressed up and attend a job fair for a company who recently won a contract out here at the Space Center. I never go to job fairs.  I hate them. They are a waste of time. All they ever are is a bunch of people standing around, shaking hands, and telling job seekers to visit their website to browse and apply for career opportunities. I thought this one would be different. It wasn’t.

After much consideration, I decided to attend because a few of my co-workers were going to be there, and I decided that I would be upset if I DIDN’T go and later learned that someone who DID go got a job offer. You never know.

While there, this overly friendly man approached me. He talked to me like we were old friends. The way he talked to me, I thought I should know him from somewhere, even though he wasn’t physically familiar to me. He asked me a few questions like, “how it go?” and “do you think they’ll call you”. Then he asked to trade resumes. Without thinking clearly, I agreed, and almost immediately, I regretted it. He dove into this monologue of self pity—unemployed, used to work on Constellation, wife left him, house in foreclosure.. I realized it was just him and I out in the middle of the parking lot; him in his car, and me standing outside his passenger side window—My mind couldn’t help but equate the event unfolding to a Lifetime movie. The hair on the back of my neck stood on edge and my guts, my instinct, told me to say good-bye and get into my car and lock the doors. So I did.

I told everyone about the creepy encounter that left me feeling uneasy and nervous. By giving this guy my resume, I had willingly given him my address, my phone number—he’s unemployed so for all I know, he is spending his free time scoping out my home, finding out when we’re there and when we’re not! I am so disappointed in myself for doing something so stupid. At the time, I was preoccupied—I had left Brian home with Max for the first time and all I could think about was rushing home to my baby! That’s no excuse though. I put myself and my family in danger. Irresponsible.

I learned from that experience and I thought it was behind me until yesterday when the guy called my cell phone out of the blue. I answered the phone, even though I didn’t recognize the number—yet, another mistake. He started asking me questions about Brian—where does he work, what time does he get home in the evenings; I asked what the phone call was in regards to, he said, “I want to come over to your house and talk to you about some business opportunities. I think we can work together with your background”. Red flag. “Um no. That’s not a good idea. We aren’t interested. Please don’t call again.” He said, “I’m just really hurting here. My ex wife is taking me to court, I’m still jobless, and unemployment isn’t going to last forever.” ::crickets:: Me, “Sorry, something will work out. I have to go” ::click::

The first thing I did when I hung up the phone was call Brian and tell him what happened. Next I told some of my co-workers, one of which is a part-time cop who told me there isn’t anything he can do right now. That’s okay. I just wanted him to know. Both Brian and I agreed that I should keep the garage door closed when I’m home alone, and I should delete my address from my resume. I had never even considered this! But really, a resume only needs my email and phone number. Oh, and I looked up this guy on LinkedIn—his profile picture is C-R-E-E-P-Y! I made sure Brian got a good look at him too.

I told my mom and dad about the incident. My dad, my Great Protector, said that next time he calls, I should send him his way! I laughed and said, “The guy is probably harmless. He probably won’t call again.” To which my mother remarked, “Well did you think he was going to call the first time?!

See what I mean? Thought provoking. No, I didn’t think he would call in the first place. So I shouldn’t assume that he is ‘harmless’. Be cautious. Pay attention. And most importantly, listen to your instincts. They never lie.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

$#!* my mom says

Every once in a while, my mother will say something that is 110% profound.
We have had a rough couple of nights with Max. He fights going to sleep, he’s on some kind of crib strike, and once he is finally asleep- he is up every hour and half or so crying. I spent last Saturday night snoozing in the glider while he nursed on and off all night.. and Sunday night, I spent in and out of bed with him, nursing him, rocking him; needless to say, him and I both have had quite the zombie eyes lately. I’m not sure what’s to blame for his recent behavior; it seems I’m blaming everything on teething right now. But in the 11th hour (and near tears of exhaustion), I wonder the same questions over and over again: Is he cold? Is he too warm? Are his jammies uncomfortable? Does he have a belly ache? Is he hungry? Is he running a fever? Is he frustrated over a developmental milestone (yes, this is possible)? And so on, and so forth. The theories are endless.
And when people ask me how things are going, I’m cautious about mentioning the sleepless nights. I’m so sick of people offering unwanted parenting advice, i.e. have you tried letting him cry it out? Are you giving him some cereal to fill his belly before bedtime?; when really all I want is a “Sorry to hear that. It will get better soon”.
Enter my mother. I can almost always count on her to be the voice of reason. If I have a decision weighing heavily on my mind, she’ll say, “Listen to your heart”, and even though I’m familiar with that saying, when she says it, it’s like I have a newfound clarity and instantly know what to do. The other day I was feeling completely defeated, not knowing what to do to help Max sleep at night; not knowing what to do to keep my sanity the morning and day after another sleepless night? And my mother says to me,
“Cherish these sleepless nights cuddling with your baby. Your brother is 28 years old and doesn’t want to cuddle with me anymore.”
See what I mean? Profound, right? I mean it’s funny, but it makes me feel like I can do another all nighter in the glider.

Monday, February 7, 2011

In-Law Sundays

I have come to really hate Sundays. And I mean that with all the power behind the word hate. I wish I could say I hated Sundays because they mean Monday is JUST around the corner, and thus starts another week. Sadly no. I actually look forward to Mondays. I like the routine that daycare offers our household and family as a unit. Instead, on Sundays, every freaking Sunday, my in-laws come to visit.
They might seem like ordinary people from the outside. Some might even call them nice upon meeting them. I know them as those who come to my home every Sunday and tell me everything I’m doing wrong and/or question every single thing I’m doing as a mother.  It’s always, “when is he going to eat real food”, “when are you going to wean him from the boob”, “you should buy him a walker”, “have you tried just letting him cry?”,He really shouldn’t be sleeping in your bed” … … … ::breathe::
The truth is, my mother in-law has done and said a lot of things that have been and continue to be very hurtful to myself and my husband. Here’s a taste:
·         Lying to my husband about who is real father is for 30 years
·         Whispering  to my husband in the kitchen that she wishes I would realize that breastfeeding is a ‘pain in the ass’ when I’m in the living room crying about my milk taking for ever to come in
·         Telling me not to jump up at every fuss whimper or cry from my 6 day old baby—because it builds bad habits

I’m getting worked up just writing about these so I’ll stop here and save the rest (and/or details) for another blog. Thank God I have a supportive husband. Anyways, I am not one to forgive and forget (also another blog), and I am very good at holding a grudge. So Sundays are very stressful for me.  I want to just be able to enjoy the time away from work and with my baby. After all, he spends 40+ hours a week with strangers at daycare! I don’t want to make plans—further I don’t know when he’s going to be hungry, when he’s going to be napping—I just want to spend time doing what I want to do and not have to worry about being home at a certain time (or being awake for that matter!) so they can come over and visit. So annoying.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Whoever said, “Don’t cry over spilled milk..”

I realize this phrase is more about not worrying about small unfortunate events that cannot be changed than actually crying over spilled milk; but for me, since my introduction to motherhood back in July 2010, I have spent more tears over lactation than anything else!
It started when my first child was born. I cried for a week following my cesarean because my milk was taking FOREVER to come in. I was (AM) so passionate about breastfeeding, that my biggest fear was that I wouldn’t be able to do it! There was a lot going on at this time- recovering from major abdominal surgery, dealing with in-laws being at the house 24/7- dealing with anxiety and just being overwhelmed having a newborn in the house outside of the comfort of the hospital.. and to top it off, we had to formula supplement because our baby was slightly jaundice and had lost a few ounces since birth.. and my milk was slow to arrive. Oh, and add post-pregnancy hormones and major pain medication to the mix and I was E-M-O-T-I-O-N-A-L! Of course my milk finally came in BIG TIME! I have 3 freezers full of milk stash to prove it.
A few weeks later, I accidently left the doors to the refrigerator open all night. Sounds ridiculous, I know. And my fridge is actually equipped with a ‘door alarm’ to prevent this from happening, but in order for that alarm to work, you have to turn it on. Anyways, because the doors were left open for about 8 hours, all the contents in the refrigerator warmed, including about 25oz of breastmilk I was saving to stash. This was very early on in my nursing days; I was learning to pump in preparation of returning to work, and thought I needed to have a healthy freezer supply of breastmilk.  I know now that’s not the case. But at the time I was devastated to have to pour 25oz of breastmilk down the drain. What a waste.
I can be pretty clumsy. Especially when I’m operating on about 4 hours of sleep. There have been two separate occasions when I have spilled a container of freshly expressed breastmilk. I remember these occurrences distinctively because although I have a very healthy stash of frozen breastmilk, it pains me deeply to sacrifice a single drop! Once I was transferring milk to a freezer bag for storage and my husband approached me to wipe spit-up off his arm. That task could have waited for me to properly seal the bag, but alas, I put the bag on the counter convinced it wouldn’t spill over and sure enough, the bag fell over and spilled about 5 oz of breastmilk all over my kitchen counter. The other time, I was at work in the medical center for one of my pumping sessions. When the session was up, and I was working to clean up the area, I nearly tripped over the cord to the pump, knocking one of the bottles from my hands-free pumping system I wear. It happened like slow motion, I remember watching the bottle fall from my chest, hitting the terracotta floor and spilling in a free form design. This was serious since that sacrifice could have impacted my baby’s lunch for the following day. Thankfully I have very juicy boobs and those 5 oz were destined to be stashed away in the freezer with the other 600+ oz! Still, I mourned. Liquid Gold, you know?
My most recent tears still disturb me. My child, who doesn’t sleep, has never slept, started exhibiting some interesting behavior before bed. I’ve always nursed him to sleep, but recently, after our bedtime nursing session, when I put him in his crib he rebels! Thrashes and cries—even though he was JUST sound asleep on me in the glider. I pick him back up and he fusses, cries, arches his back when I try to rock him.. so after about 20 mins of trying to manage his crying, I gave up. I took him to the living room, sat him down with his toys, and watched him play happily for an hour. Nothing but smiles and laughter. I was completely confused. After two nights of this, and while in tears thinking, “I can’t do this another night. I’m so tired. I don’t know what he wants”; I decided to prepare a bottle of breastmilk and see if he’d take it- EVEN THOUGH he had just nursed for a half hour and showed no signs of being hungry. To my surprise, he sucked down nearly 5 oz, leaving about a half an oz in the bottle; he entered a milk induced immediately! I put him in his crib, he rolled to his belly, and slept till midnight! That was a 4 hour stretch! And anything over a 2 hour stretch is a big deal for us! However, I can’t help but feel very mixed emotions. I’m sad because I feel like my body has failed me by not being able to satisfy my baby’s appetite before bed- is this a supply issue? My baby spends 40+ hours a week in daycare and I really cherish these bedtime nursing sessions- it saddens me to interrupt them with a bottle. But at the same time, if he needs an extra full belly at bed, I’ll give it to him—I’ll nurse him first, and if he needs more, give him a bottle-- at least he’s still getting breastmilk. I’m still sad though. Hoping this is either a growth spurt, or a temporary lull in my nighttime supply.

Monday, January 24, 2011

The way it's supposed to be

When I first became pregnant, I had the perfect birth in mind. I was going to labor for as long as possible at home (or nearby- walking around a 24-hr Wal-Mart) before going to the hospital. I didn’t want any medication; certainly no pitocin and I was optimistic about laboring without (and delivering without) an epidural or narcotic drugs. I figured, like many women reminded me, “my body is made for this”. Fast forward to my third trimester- I felt like I was 300 months pregnant. At 36 weeks, an ultrasound estimated my baby to weigh 9 lbs and forecasted a 10+ lb baby if carried to term. My OB/GYN expressed concern for delivering a 10 lb baby vaginally, since I had no previous history of doing so. I have to admit, I was concerned as well. My husband and I weighed the pros versus the cons, and together, we made the decision to go with a scheduled C-section. At first, I felt sad that I wouldn’t be able to experience all those typical labor/delivery milestones: my water breaking, timing contractions, rushing off to the hospital, pushing out a baby.. etc. But you know, the more I thought about it, the more excited I became about having a date and time that I would be certain to greet the most awesome person I have ever met. Is that selfish? Maybe. Did I catch a lot of negative tones? Of course- you know, the usually, “so sorry you’re having a c-section”, “that’s too bad a normal birth didn’t work out for you”, and the worst, most unsupportative comments: “You know, you don’t HAVE to have a surgical birth!”, “Get another opinion!”, “See another doctor!” and “It’s your right to refuse surgery!”  Not a single person (outside of my mother) said, “Wow. Congratulations!” or expressed any excitement or happiness that I was about to embark on one of the most significant milestones of my entire life! I was made to be a mother! In the final 7 days leading up to my date, I embraced the final hours of pregnancy- my heart smiled with every kick from my loved one as if he was saying, “I’ll see you soon mom!”.  In the end, his method of getting here wasn’t important. What was important was that he gets here and that he is safe and healthy!
My next pregnancy will undoubtedly result in another scheduled c-section and I’m okay with that. It might not be the way God intended for ALL women, but it is the way that he intended for me.

Oh, and let me add that my newborn son weighed in at 9lbs8oz!

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

What a difference a year makes!

On January 11, 2010, I went to my first prenatal doctor appointment. I was sooo excited to hear the heartbeat and receive orders for our first ultrasound! Now, nearly a year later, on January 15, 2011, Max was introduced to solid foods! He ate his first avocado! What a difference a year makes!

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

2010 Christmas- Full of Firsts!

I never imagined how much fun Christmas can be when you have kids! Granted, Max being only 5 months old for his first Christmas, chances are he won’t remember a thing! And I’m sure he didn’t understand the presents, although the sparkly ribbons were mesmerizing for him.  It was so fun to celebrate the holidays with a new baby, as a new family unit! I really got into it. It was only the second time in mine and Brian’s 13 year relationship that we had a Christmas tree—and I actually bought Christmas decorations (placemats, napkins, new stockings for the dogs!). So fun.
It was *so fun* despite Max and us being so sick! Max caught RSV, a pretty serious respiratory virus through daycare and spent the holidays pretty miserable. I learned yesterday that several of the other babies from the daycare that also had RSV had such serious cases that they were admitted into local hospitals for observation! We got lucky! Regardless, he couldn’t breathe, which meant he had trouble nursing; he couldn’t sleep because he was coughing; and all this gave him a double ear infection! AGH! He was on nebulizer treatments (which anyone who’s ever successfully convinced an infant to wear a mask that delivers vaporized medicine deserves a pat on the back!) and antibiotics—and Tylenol for the teething and overall sickness discomfort. As he started to recover, it was mommy and daddy’s turn to endure an awful cold! So for Christmas, we all sat around listening to each other cough and blow our noses.
Santa took a risk though, entered our germ infested home, and delivered us all a wonderful first Christmas with Max.

This is a first.. and hopefully a last!

L So I managed to pack my breastpump bag with everything except enough bottle caps to get me through the day. There was no way I was going to pour 9 ounces of BM down the drain—1 oz, okay, but 9?! No way! So I ran down a nurse at the medical facility I pump at and we found some urine specimen containers I could use! It was either that or a Grande Starbucks cup! I’m blaming sleep deprivation.