Mine mine mine, all mine

a conversation in the wee hours

Yes, I am a big sucker.

I've read all the books and listened to all the advice about how to get your baby to sleep through the night. Yes, I have. I just choose to ignore all of it.

After listening to him cry for 15 minutes - not angry screaming crying, just that incessant, droning, upset, isn't-anybody-listening-to-me crying - I couldn't take it any longer. Yes, it only took 15 minutes. I'm a total lightweight.

So, I committed the cardinal sin of picking him up, even though he didn't need to be fed or changed and he wasn't bleeding. Not only did I pick him up, I somehow got suckered into taking him into my bedroom and laying down on my bed with him. I'm not sure how that happened - I think he used a mind ray on me.

So, this is the conversation I had with him while he was laying on my stomach:

"Yes, you see the pretty red lights on the clock. What do those lights say? They say four o-clock in the a.m. That's right! Four. O. Clock.
Four o-clock is not kicky, smiley time. No, it's not. It's sleepy time.
Yes, it is! It's mommy-has-another-two-and-a-half-hours-to-sleep time!"

"You see the kitty?
We don't grab the kitty by the ear, we pet the kitty gently.
See what you did? The kitty is running away.
There's no sense crying about it when you're the one who drove him off."

"Stop smiling at me and go to sleep."

"We don't kick mommy there."

"We especially don't kick mommy there."

He finally gave it up and dozed off in my arms, which was an indescribably wonderful, snuggly, warm feeling...until my arm went to sleep and I was afraid to move it because I didn't want him to wake up again.

Is this terrible? Have I started something that I won't be able to stop? Have I created a co-sleeping monster?

Oh, on another note, earlier this month I discussed my feelings about the Exersaucer debacle.

I am pleased to report that Charles managed to correctly decipher the hard-earned directions and we now have a functioning Exersaucer:

Thank god he actually likes it. It was such a pain in the butt to get functional that I think I'm going to make him play with it until he turns 18 - you know, to make sure we get the maximum value for our energy and time.

Six-month-aversary

Today is Drew's six-month birthday. He can't eat cake, but his dad and I can, although we're too broke to actually buy one.

Here are a few things I've learned in six months of being a mother:

1. It is possible to survive for half a year without ever getting one single full night's sleep.
2. People who are not parents do not have a clue about what it's like. I thought I had a clue, before I became somebody's mother, but I didn't.
3. The first three months seem like they will never, ever end. After that, it seems like time whirls into light-speed and before you know it your child is cutting his first tooth and trying to crawl and you're going, "Huh, what happened?"
4. Whoever invented ponytail holders and elastic waistbands had to have been a mother.
5. I have gained a newfound appreciation for single mothers and for mothers of multiples. God bless all of you, I don't know how you do it.
6. I have discovered a new kind of love for my husband, who, in the past year, has seen me bloated and swollen in 9-month-pregnant misery, has seen way too much of my insides during the C-section, has seen me covered in regurgitated green beans and baby pee, has watched me cursing and red-faced-sweating trying to fit into my pre-pregnancy pants and still manages to find me attractive.
7. I have realized that my mom and dad are wonderful, wonderful people, even when they're irritated at me. They have dropped everything to be there for me when I needed them. I hope one day my son will say the same about me.
8. It is not possible to love anything like you love your own child. I've never really experienced what it would feel like to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you would give up your own life for somebody else. This is not a romantic feeling. This is a scary, heart-wrenching, gut-twisting feeling - knowing that you would do anything, literally, to keep your child safe from harm.
9. Things that used to be very simple, like going to the grocery store, suddenly become a tremendous undertaking, involving much manipulation of car seats, diapers, bottles and burp cloths.
10. The most peaceful I have ever felt is when my child is asleep on my shoulder, breathing softly on my neck.
11. I've learned that you should ignore all advice pertaining to your baby unless it comes from your pediatrician or your own mother. And even then, it may not be totally right.
12. No matter how many awards you win, degrees you earn or promotions you receive, you will likely never experience a greater feeling of accomplishment than when you successfully calm down your crying baby.
13. It is amazing to what lengths you will go to get a smile from your child.
14. There is no greater feeling of acceptance than that first moment when you realize your baby actually likes you and isn't just using you for food and diaper changes.

Happy six-month birthday Drew.

a bouquet of spring pictures

Is it wrong for me to feel superior because my baby didn't cry during his Easter Bunny photo?
I think it probably is.

Drew thought the tulips looked particularly tasty this time of year. His Aunt Jennifer gamely attempted to keep him from ingesting the foliage.

I think this photo is so springlike:

This is Drew growing weary of being photographed. He has a tough life. I feel for him, really.

What's Easter without carrots? Lots of carrots. Everywhere.

And a final shot, that really has nothing to do with spring, but everything to do with my son's big, brown eyes:

bad nurse! no cookie!

The funniest part about Drew getting his 6-month immunizations this morning was the reaction of his father, who had never before participated in this particular parenting chore. (love the lovely alliteration)

I was trying to hold Drew still for the shots, so I didn't see Charles' face until after it was all over.

"That. Woman. Stabbed. My. Son," he whispered to me.

"I know," I whispered back. "Let's beat her up."

"He's crying," said Charles, sounding peeved. "I mean, he's like really mad. Just a minute ago, he was happy. Then she poked holes in his thigh."

(long pause, punctuated only by Drew's wailing)

"Give me my son. I'm taking him out of this place."

ever had a morning like this?

I actually woke up on time, which I thought boded well for the entire morning. A rather smug and egregious error that turned out to be.

Firstly, the socks I washed in Woolite last night weren't dry yet. Pas de problem, I thought. (I don't usually think in French; only when I haven't had enough sleep.) I trotted downstairs, tossed the socks into the dryer and set it on "damp dry."

Returned upstairs, took a shower, applied makeup, blow-dried hair, put on clothes (except for aforementioned socks) and I still had 30 minutes left before I had to leave. Nooooo problem.

Sauntered down the hallway to the nursery, where the sunshine of my life was laying in his crib playing with his toes, which he has discovered recently. What a morning! It's great to be a mommy! Life is grand and glorious!

Wait.

What's that smell?

Removal of the diaper of the aforementioned toe-playing sunshine boy revealed what I can only describe as Mutated Nuclear Poopy. It had the substance of road tar on an extremely hot summer day. It was black, sticky and it ran all the way up his back.

It took me no less than 15 wet wipes to remove this gummy mess from my child's nether regions.

OK. That took longer than I expected, but we're still good! We're only running a few minutes behind, nothing to sweat about.

I quickly mix up a bottle of formula (I'm not sure if I should nurse while I'm taking prednisone for this sinus infection, so better safe than sorry) and plop down with my son in the rocking chair, hoping that he'll be so hungry he'll Hoover down his food in 1.5 minutes so we can stay on schedule.

Sunshine, however, wants to linger over his breakfast, taking a sip here, playing with his fingers, taking another sip, playing with mommy's hair, another sip, ohhh, is that the cat? another sip....OK I'm done...wait, no, I'm still hungry. I SAID I'M STILL HUNGRY.

Ten minutes and 6 ounces later, we're finally finished with breakfast, and I am now officially behind schedule.

Son and I bounce downstairs, where I plop him on a blanket on the floor with some toys and instruct him to amuse himself while I get my socks out of the dryer and pack up his bottles for daycare.

I open the dryer door, and...I swear, I thought I put black socks in there...not brownish-grey ones. Oh. They're not brownish-grey. They're covered in a thick blanket of brownish-grey dog hair. I have matted-dog-hair-covered socks. I don't think I can wear that to work.

I forgot the most important rule of dryer maintenance: when your husband washes and dries the dogs' blankets, be sure to CLEAN THE LINT TRAP BEFORE DRYING ANYTHING ELSE. Stupid lint trap. Stupid dogs and their stupid furry blankets.

By this time, my husband has come home from work. I send him upstairs to locate another pair of black socks while I pack Drew's food.

OK! Socks are on! Shoes are on! Food is packed! Let's go!

I bend down, pick up my smiling gurgling happy deliciously wonderful sweet-smelling clean baby - and he promptly throws up.

Now both of our outfits are covered, literally, head-to-toe, in curdled milk.

Drew finds this all very amusing, and decides that he'll practice squealing and kicking while I'm changing his clothes. I'm so late at this point that I have no hope of arriving at work on time, so I stop even looking at the clock and go ahead and encourage my son's playfulness.

After all, if I have to be late, at least I get to spend some more time with him - curdled milk and all.

weekend from hell

If my husband's immune system was a car, it would be an armored truck driven by two burly, heavily armed security guards named Ox and Ogre.

If my immune system was a car, it would be a 1978 Ford Pinto driven by a drunk named Skeeter.

When Charles gets a cold, he sneezes twice, coughs once and it's all over.

When I get a cold, two weeks later I end up in the emergency room with a sinus infection so bad that I'm begging my husband to just shoot me in the head and end my miserable existence.

That's where I was last night. After the aforementioned plea for assisted suicide, my husband (hid the gun and) carted me to Oconee Memorial Hospital, where a very nice doctor gave me some very nice painkillers. After two of those babies, I felt very nice indeed.

Backing up a day, Saturday morning was spent taking my certification examination. This exam consisted of 250 multiple choice questions. Two. Hundred. And. Fifty.

Not only did I have a screaming headache that felt like rabid gerbils were trying to gnaw their way out of my skull through my eye sockets, but the test room had to have been at least 85 degrees. In addition, my body decided that morning would be a fantastic time to start its post-childbirth monthly cycle again. YAY! So now I have PMS, a skullcrunching grinder of a headache and I'm sweating.

All of this does not promote a peaceful and serene test-taking environment.

I didn't see much of Saturday afternoon, as I spent most of it curled up in the fetal position in the backseat of the car moaning and occasionally cursing loudly while Charles drove us from the middle of South Carolina to my parents' house in northeast Georgia.

At one point, I stopped groaning long enough to hear Charles offer this insightful look at my native state: "Georgia has some pretty big houses...that are pretty...and, um, big."

Post-happy-pain-pill, I asked him what that was all about, and he explained to me that he was just really tired from all that driving and was trying to keep himself awake.

Uh huh.

About the time we hit Athens, home of my alma mater the University of Georgia go Dawgs go, I was feeling well enough to sit up, so we decided to stop for a bite to eat. First, we had to hit the Junkman's Daughter's Brother, where a girl with green hair sold me a kick-ass infant onesie with the store's logo on it. Drew will be so stylish. All the other daycare babies will be jealous.

Then we stopped at The Grill, where we had sandwiches and fries with feta cheese dressing. I've missed Athens.

I was starting to feel that gerbils-eating-my-brain sensation again, so I passed out fell asleep again until we got to my parents' house, about an hour away.

When we got there, they proceeded to inform me that Drew had slept through the entire night Friday night. From 8:30 p.m. until 7:30 a.m.

He is physically incapable of doing this at home, but get him to grandma and grandpa's house....

I think they drugged him. Yeah. That explains it.

(note to Mom, if you are reading this: I know you didn't drug him. You are a wonderful grandma. And I'm sorry I said the word 'ass' earlier in this post. That's all.)

Mom also showed me the results of her foray to a local children's consignment sale. Said incursion resulted in approximately 2,576 new articles of clothing for Drew. Which means he won't need any new clothes for three months! Yay!

OK. Backing up yet another day to Friday night.

My first night without Drew. Just me and my husband and a cheap motel, as I mentioned in my last post.

It was nice, but not as nice as I envisioned.

The pros were:

1) A king-sized bed. Our bed at home is a queen. The king was a luxury.
2) Good TV reception. I was too sick to go out to a movie, so thank God we had a decent TV.
3) I didn't have to change any diapers.
4) They were all passed out by midnight. (see number 2 below for further explanation)

The cons:

1) If somebody in any of the surrounding units (or, possibly, any of the surrounding neighborhoods) flushed a toilet, our shower water turned either scaldingly hot or numbingly cold.
2) The motel was located near the University of South Carolina. Apparently, USC students like to party at cheap motels on the weekends, instead of getting drunk in their dorm rooms like normal college students. What can you expect from a school whose mascot is the Gamecock, and whose students can frequently be heard to shout, "Go Cocks!" ?
3) I was unprepared for how much I would miss my baby. At one point, I actually started crying when Charles and I were talking about some cute something Drew had done the night before.
Charles said, "I miss him too, but I'm not gonna, like, bawl about it."

Men...

So, that was my weekend in all its messy glory.

Anybody have any insight as to why I keep having hot flashes? Is it because of the aforementioned return of the dreaded monthly cycle? If so, why why why?

Why?

cheap motel

My husband and I are headed out of town this afternoon to Columbia, which is about a two-and-a-half-hour drive from where we live.

We're heading out today because I have to take my exam at 8:30 freaking a.m. tomorrow. Who schedules these things? Sadists, obviously.

Anyway, I'm really excited, and not because of the stupid exam, but because we're going to spend the night in a motel. And Drew will be staying with my parents.

Yes, that's right. A whole night of uninterrupted shut-eye. No crying babies. No screaming. No bottles. No burping, changing or cleaning.

Just me, my husband and a cheap motel.

This is what bad country songs are made of.

Phlegm

So.

I'm supposed to be studying for this addiction counselor certification exam, but I feel like I could at any given moment hack up a good chunk of my left lung.

I went back to work today, after being out on Monday and Tuesday, and am currently in the process of making everybody wince by coughing spasmodically and violently. Without covering my mouth! That's what they get for making me use up all my sick days on maternity leave.

This random guy felt the need to tell me that I needed to "get on some antibiotics." OK, thanks, Mr. Not-a-Medical-Doctor. A real doctor - not the wannabe-knowitall that you are - told me it's a virus, and that basically the only thing I can do is suck it up until it goes away. He said it more nicely than that - something about taking lots of fluids, blah blah blah, I sorta tuned out when I realized he wasn't going to give me a drug that would magically make it all go away.

Spent the weekend getting my new car to replace the sad, tired, wheezing Neon. It's a 2001 Mercury Sable. The Sable had several things going for it that made me choose it:

1. It's big enough for two suitcases, a very bulky stroller and Drew. And me and Charles, of course.
2. It only has 45K miles
3. My dad recommended it
4. My dad is financing it (and not even charging me interest - what a pal!)
5. It's pretty

The last one was the most important, of course.

Drew expressed his approval by throwing up on the backseat.

In other news, Charles actually put together three pieces of the Exersaucer before giving up and hurling the entire thing into Drew's Pack and Play.

go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleeeeep, little wide-awake baaaaby

So it's 2 o'clock in the a.m. and I'm waiting for my last dose of Nyquil to kick in so I can rest in peaceful oblivion.
Not so for Drew.
Apparently, if Drew is awake, then by god the rest of the family better be awake, too.
Not that there's any reason, mind you, for him to be awake. He's been changed, fed and burped. He's had his nightly puke-all-over-mommy's-shirt.
So, he should be good to go. But no...he wants entertainment, and another replay of his "Daddy Sings Goodnight" CD frankly isn't enough.
He's the one who gave me this bubonic-plague-type cold, for which Nyquil does practically nothing, so he needs to by god go to sleep because Mommy. Is. Sick. And Tired.

Not only that, but my husband decided today would be a good time to take down the baby gate that was keeping our cat downstairs and allow the little sucker free reign of the house. The cat is exercising this new freedom by running up and down the stairs, making me think there's a burglar in the house or, at the very least, an extremely large yet agile rodent.

Oh goody. The quiet space between his fussing is getting longer.
Much longer.

Lullaby time for Mommy!

Ah, crap. I think my son is on repeat, just like his ineffective lullaby CD.

weeping gratitude

This morning, I would like to take the opportunity to express my gratitude to a few people.

First, to the makers of Infant Pediacare, without whom I might never get a decent night's sleep during cold season.

Second, to the makers of the Baby Einstein series of videos, especially the Baby Mozart video, without whom I might never be able to put on makeup or blow dry my hair in the mornings.

Third, to Fisher-Price, for making the Kick and Play Bouncer, without which I might have to take a shower while holding my baby.

Fourth, to my mother, who told me there was no reason to cry, but when I answered, "Sometimes I don't need a reason to cry", said "Oh, honey, I know."
She understands.

And finally, to my husband, who burned the vegetables (probably on purpose) but made up for it by making the most delicious teriyaki chicken last night.
He used the wok and everything.

Oh, and an update from yesterday's Exersaucer debacle: I got Charles to call The Evenflo People (a much less technologically advanced and yet more vicious tribe than The Daycare People) and we made them look up the model number/manufacturer date for our Exersaucer Ultra.
Then we suggested that they fire their website designer.
So, anyway, now we have assembly instructions! In English, French and Spanish!
Any bets on how long it will take of my nagging and whining before Charles actually puts the damn thing together? I'm betting 4 days and 3 hours.
But, did I mention the really fabulous teriyaki chicken that he cooked all by himself? I think that earns him at least 12 hours nag- and whine-free. After that, it's gloves-off, unless he wants to cook something else really scrumptious.