I even imported all of the old posts. Its pretty cool. It will start looking cooler and easier to look things up soon. And I will have a real "About me" post for new readers.
I even imported all of the old posts. Its pretty cool. It will start looking cooler and easier to look things up soon. And I will have a real "About me" post for new readers.
So this blog is my current way to decompress. Let me tell you about my day, starting at midnight.
Went upstairs with Donald as I always do. He woke up at 1:40 to eat and then again around 5:30. He went back to sleep easily both times. That is one thing that makes him WAY easier than his brother, especially since he eats directly from the source.
7:45 I wake up again and half-asleep head to the basement with Donald in my arms. Firstborn and Dear Old Dad have been up for 2 hours. (I love love love love love that Dear Old Dad wakes up with Firstborn and feeds him breakfast and stuff.) I fall down half the flight of stairs with the baby in my arms. Donald is screaming. I am immediately mad that it is Monday. My tailbone hurts, I scraped my right elbow and my pointless toe on my right foot (the one next to pinky toe) hurts for some reason.
I fall asleep with Donald in a recliner in a basement and sleep through Firstborn's first nap. Dear Old Dad goes to work and I do the play/chase/sooth infant for a couple of hours cursing the fact that I didn't have a shower.
10:00 am: Magically, Firstborn and Donald both go down for a nap at the same time. I get a shower, find some non-pregnancy clothes and try on the jeans I bought around this time last summer. They FIT! Dear Old Dad and I im for a while and I decide to call the chiropractor. 2:30 appointment. I don't want to wait at home between lunch and that appointment so I decide to also go with Dear Old Dad to Sam's on his lunch hour and tough out the amount of driving these 2 trips entail.
Noonish: Drive to Dear Old Dad and do Sam's. Boys do well in the car. Get a cherry limeade. Hurt toe turns purple.
1:30ish: Drive to chiropractor. Both boys nap. OK. Hopefully Firstborn will also nap when we get home, but possibly no. He doesn't do 4 naps in a day. Hooray for Donald being good in the car again.
2:00: At the chiropractor's crowded little parking lot early. Firstborn still asleep so I get out Donald and play with him a bit in the front seat. He grins at me so big that I think he is about to laugh. I melt. I also had a crazy letdown that drenched half of my shirt. Hooray for black tshirts and their magical abilities to hide drenchiness. Nurse Donald. Somebody parks next to me and gets a peep show.
2:15: Firstborn wakes up and we go to the chiropractor. While waiting, Firstborn immediately finds the bathroom with the open toilet and swishes his hands in the water. I purell his hands, we go into the exam room (where he is completely used to and allowed to play with her random instruments) and Donald starts screaming. The receptionist takes him and I have a productive sympathetic adjustment where we exchange stories about the crap our kids get into. I tell her about honing oil. She tells me my purple toe is probably sprained and all I can do is tape it to its neighbor. And my tailbone is probably bruised and there isn't much I can do for that either. I wrangle the kids, a stranger pulls Firstborn from the water cooler, and another stranger takes pity on me and opens the door for me.
3:00: Donald starts his incessant angry screaming right as I get on the interstate for our 30 minute drive home. This is what I get for going to a chiropractor whom I love in my previous town of residence. He is a tense chubby ball of screaming infant when I get him out of the car. Firstborn wants me to chase him up the driveway. I almost melt down in my front yard but I pull it together and drag both babies and a diaper bag into the house. All at once
4:00ish: After calming Donald and nursing him, he goes down for a nap pretty easily. That screaming likely wore him out. I play with Firstborn for at least an hour, reading him books and just loving his playful cuteness.
5:00: Donald wakes up and demands to be held. Firstborn is getting tired and fights me about the plug protectors. He is angry I won't let him play with them. I desperately want a nap. Dear Old Dad gets home and juggles the boys while I throw together dinner.
6:30: I put Firstborn in the tub. Donald is screaming so Dear Old Dad does bathtub duty while I try to calm Donald down and find pajamas for Firstborn in the clean clothes he brought upstairs. I can't find a complete set of pj's and its really irritating me. Donald screams louder. They come in looking for pj's and I am losing my mind, yelling at Donald to stop yelling and throwing clothes everywhere. My head starts throbbing as goblins stab knives into it. I really melt down. Dear Old Dad takes Donald away and I recite Good Night Moon by memory to Firstborn through tears and put him to bed. Dear Old Dad does more angelic things and tells me to take it easy up here and sleep. I catch up on the Evil FB, read blogs and write this post.
As much as that baby frustrates me with his nonstop screaming, I miss him. And I would rather be closer to Dear Old Dad (the one adult I consistently get to spend time with) downstairs. So now I will take another painkiller left over from last week's medical procedure and cheat on my dairy-free diet and make myself a big bowl of raspberry sherbet with chocolate syrup. And watch True Blood and Breaking Bad and Weeds.
Firstborn got a haircut at a real salon from an old guy with the old vacuum clippers. He is adorable and I hope that it is naturally spikey because of the length. His cut is Nat-style (3 out of the 5 readers will get that.) He was a super strong champ and only got scared once. And then he had his first sucker.
And I did the boys' pediatrician checkups today. At 2 months exactly, Donald is 13.5 pounds and 85th percentile. Firstborn is 22.2 pounds and 36th percentile. Soon they will wear the same clothes. It was a long laborious ordeal at the pediatricians because local schools start in less than 2 weeks and everyone is getting shots, physicals, etc. When I got home I decided I'm not doing that alone again, and luckily school will be in session next time too.
And I went to the hoity-toity part of town to Trader Joe's. I could rant on the behaviours of the people in that part of town and in the store, but it just isn't that interesting. I used to live around there, I shouldn't have been suprised. I just had little patience for it at the time.
Over the last couple of days, I have decided that I only want to go to stores in the a.m. if the kids are with me. I'm not sure if I can stick to that, but I will try. It should be easier when Firstborn goes to one 3-hour nap (which is sometimes appealing, sometimes not). But then Donald will have a set nap schedule. Ug. Maybe I should stop leaving the house daily.
In other news, I did fall in love with sewing again the other day. I'm on the verge of sewing a holder for those plastic ice coolers that will cool the car seats while we are out and about. I feel bad putting the boys in black/grey rear-facing carseats in the TN heat.
And dorky me discovered all of my old bookmarks from my old desktop computer. I'm sure Dear Old Dad moved them for me and I'm not observant enough to notice things like that right away. Anyway, I was reminded of a link to this song. I sang this to Firstborn a lot when we had that awful 36-hour stay at the big deal hospital when he was 5 weeks old. I have caught myself singing it to Donald and sort of myself lately. Its good stuff. I'm a big Ze Frank fan. I first fell in love with him my first year of teaching, especially this song.
Dear Old Dad is going to do the Donald Bounce tonight while I go to Target and Publix for a bit ALONE. I'm so excited that I'm going to wash my face before I leave. Hopefully that will keep me awake.
So Firstborn's hair still smells like a machine from the honing oil. This afternoon I spent 3 hours laying in bed with Donald laying across me pondering stuff online. I decided that I must attempt to cut Firstborn's hair tonight. Dear Old Dad, in all of his wise niceness, went along with it.
What a mistake. It WAS long, sort of poking him in his eyes and covering half of his ears. With my attempt at cutting it with my super sharp huge sewing scissors I have turned him even more into Moe from the Three Stooges, except it is badly uneven. I got the ears uncovered. But its bad. So he's like a poor pageboy who cuts his hair with a knife plus a mullet. Messed up business in the front, wild party in the back.
I didn't have anything pressing to do tomorrow until now. Go to a barbershop and beg forgiveness. I cut it so short he is going to have to have a real boy haircut all over. He will look like a tiny 4-year old.
In other news, I decided not to update my resume and apply to work at Homework Hotline. Working there would mean fewer bedtimes with the boys and I just love those too much. I would rather tutor college students on Saturdays. So I made a flyer and I will post it at the community college this weekend.
So, huh, someday I will also think this stuff is funny, right?
I just called Poison Control for the first time in my life. But I must back up and tell the story of the whole day until this point.
Today was play group day with the infertility girls. Well, the ones who got pregnant and are no longer infertile and have multiple kids. It was nice to see them. One of them slightly gets on my nerves sometimes but she is a nurse practicioner and confirmed that my dairy elimination is the right thing to do so I liked her today. Of the babies, there's a 2 year old girl , 20 month old girl twins, 15-month old Firstborn, a cute one year old boy and 2 infants (Donald and the 2-year old's brother 4 days younger than Donald). At one point the host pointed out that the girls are more calm and demure (my word not hers) when they play and Firstborn is always busy. And I guffawed with a "SEE?!? I told you so." Girls are way different than my Firstborn, who must be watched constantly. He ate a pretzel from their garbage, busted his lip and constantly stole the twins sippy cups. One mom asked me "Have you ever just broken down?" It was in the context of Donald's constant crying. I said only a couple of times with Donald when I just gave him to Dear Old Dad in the middle of the night. One time I shouted that God is punishing me. But I brused it off as if I'm strong as I am wont to do.
We left shortly after that because Firstborn was an hour past his naptime. Both boys slept well in the car and I got Sonic, went thru a drive-thru pharmacy for Dear Old Dad and got gas. Somewhere around the pharmacy Donald realized it had been too long since he screamed so he had a fit and I bounced him in my arms while pumping gas and got that smile from the lady at the gas pump next to me.
That smile = "aww how cute but he is screaming so I am not jealous of you at all".
The car ride was about an hour and since Firstborn played so hard I figured I could get him to sleep at least another hour in his crib. Nope. Donald was his typical semi-fussy self. And I realized that this time it was because there was at least 1 cup of serious breastfed goo poop in his diaper.
So I got Firstborn out of bed, played with him a bit and (this was the good highlight of the day) flung him back and forth towards Donald who loved it and gave us some great smiles. I would have done it for an hour but my back was killing me and Firstborn needed a snack.
So we schlepped to the basement with snacks to watch Finding Nemo. Firstborn really has little interest in television that isn't Elmo or Baby Einstein, so here was my first mistake. But I was getting into Nemo and dealing with Donald crying/sleeping/nursing and kind of ignored Firstborn because he has free reign in the basement and I knew Dear Old Dad's office was closed.
But there is one random box of junk of Dear Old Dad's. I didn't even know what was in it. Knife sharpening stuff. Baseball cards. Things that don't make sense. And I realized I hadn't heard Firstborn for a while. I get out of my chair and find him and smell a weird motor oil-ish smell and realize he is sitting in a puddle of something shiny and disgusting with baseball cards all around him. He has oil in his hair, all over his shirt, he stands up and immediately slips down. I set down Donald in a bouncer and attempt to clean it up with my 15-month-old busy body screaming and trailing me. He is in everything. I wipe things up, sort of. Donald screams because its been 5 minutes. I start to lose my cool. Donald and I sit down and try to watch Nemo but Firstborn is a walking screaming mess. I find the bottle of goo. It was "Honing Oil". Its so old I don't even notice a brand name on it at first. It smells like age and I have no idea why we have it or what it is for and want to curse the fact that it had to be in that spot in our not-unpacked house.
We trudge up the stairs but Firstborn is distracted by something shiny at the top of the stairs and I felt something snap in me. I scold him and drag him to his crib and shut the door. I go to the laptop and google "honing oil is it safe for baby" and get mixed not-comforting results. So I call Poison Control.
They were nice, and they had the brand name on record. I admit that I'm not sure if he even ingested any but it was all thru his hair and his clothes. Its ok, he might have an upset tummy or some diarhea but likely fine. Oh, and Donald screamed like he was dying that whole call. But then I got him to sleep.
I clean the floor better with some nondescript blue stuff. (I haven't used any cleaning products in an embarassingly long time.) I get annoyed with how gross our floors are. I realize this will only get worse over the years before it gets better.
And Dear Old Dad did not have a good day either. I keep thinking about "Have you had a breakdown?" I want to. We're having pizza tonight. Well, Dear Old Dad is and I'm eating chicken fingers and breadsticks. And I will resist the urge to get angry at Dear Old Dad for randomly having honing oil.
Because I should have been watching. Rock on with the Mommy Guilt.
I miss pizza. And ice cream. And almost everything.
Last week I discovered some blood in Donald's diaper. At the pediatrician's we deducted that its time for me to do some elminations to my diet and the big culprit is diary. I've been good since last Tuesday, with the exception of 2 gulps of chocolate milk that I had without thinking. But, dude, we eat a lot of pizza and spaghetti in this house. Or we did. And there is a sweet local pizza shop near our house that sells 1 topping XL pizzas for $7.99 carryout. So sad. I was on a big mac n cheese kick at lunch. That's over. Now I make almond milk or apple juice smoothies with frozen fruit (love summer fruit frozen) and pbj for breakfast. And brown rice with edamame and soy sauce or seasoned black beans for lunch. Lots of fruits and veggies too. I am hoping this will start me losing weight too. I miss Sonic milkshakes. I'm not sure when these cravings will go away. I've never been good at denying myself stuff. But at the same time I think it might be working on Donald's peacefulness. Last night he slept from 10:30 pm-ish until 5 am-ish. And the screaming has been more controllable (knock on wood).
So we'll see.
I really like this moment because I have very few of them. Settled on the bed, mid-morning, showered, both babies asleep, half-dressed, with shocky-therapy thing on my hip (have I mentioned I'm old and have bursitis in my hip and it kills). There's the humidifier, an overcast day outside which means 80s not 100s, lingering plans to go OUT for lunch with Dear Old Dad and the boys, and much more.
We went to a friend's house who has 2 boys close together like Firstborn and Donald except they are 4 and 5. And she has a third boy who is Firstborn's age. And she is about to homeschool her oldest. I'm in awe of her and she is good company. Being in her house is like a study of what is to come and that there is hope. She even lost a bunch of weight recently and only lives about 3 miles from our house. There really isn't anybody more perfect for us. She gave me some nursing covers that don't suck and let me dig through baby boy clothes for Firstborn. Donald is doomed to hand-me-downs.
I know I have said this probably multiple times but Firstborn and Donald cannot be more different in size and so far personality. Firstborn is the Tasmanian Devil and stuff just rolls off his back. And he is a long toothpick. He eats plenty but it doesn't stick. At his 2 month appointment he was 9 lbs 12 oz. Donald is Mr Sensitive and cuddles. He seems to sleep well (knock on wood) and right now weighs 12 lbs 14 oz. His 2 month birthday is next week. I just can't get enough of his fatty thighs and I really love that it is summer and I can just dress him in onesies so I can see the folds and bulges all the time. Both boys love(d) me to wear them in the Moby wrap, although oddly enough I rarely wear Donald around the house because carrying the Moby to and from the car is too much extra effort when there are 2 boys, a carseat, diaper bag and loot I bought.
Well. I was going to write more but Donald is demanding I feed him and my brown rice is done. Sometime soon I will discuss my new diet limitations of avoiding dairy. Right now I'm not sure how it is going to work because cheese and ice cream are my friends.
I found myself feeling unexplainably blue yesterday. Or bored. Or both. I was really needing some adult conversation that didn't involve nagging Dear Old Dad over IM or leaving the house that didn't involve the grocery store, but I have so many more excuses not to now. (Heat. Extra kid. Saving money. Can I nurse. Will Donald scream and embarass me. Ug.)
And that makes me sound like an ingrateful jerk. I know how lucky I am to have 2 adorable babies, a house right where we want, a supportive husband who is a great dad, and to stay at home with my kids.
I needed a mental challenge. I've been thinking and reading some more about nutrition and thinking about what I'm going to do to drop off all of this extra weight. I want to be strong. I still feel like the half marathon thing is been-there-done-that, I want to be able to do push-ups for real and be a tough yoga person. And I can do that business at home. So yeah.
But that isn't a mental challenge.
And then this morning I was reading the start of a blog from an old college friend who I never keep in touch with anymore. I really respect and admire her and she is wicked smart and strong. Always has been. I have known her husband for years and years (via parents knowing each other, growing up in same stuff, etc). And I just think they are great folks. And I miss them.
But here is her blog. Good for her. And then she has this student who is doing a "One Dress Protest" that I couldn't stop reading about and am fascinated by. My brain and inspiration just did a back handspring.
So I have a mission when I go out for a "break" on this Saturday. Better books to read at the library.
But this mommy has to tend to 2 crying babies right now, so back-handspring out.
Five years ago in 2007 Dear Old Dad (before he had that name) and I were in London. I was thinking about that today as I read about the Olympics because the Tour de France started there right after we left. It was an awesome trip. We did it sort of as a 30th birthday present for me. And kind of a belated 5th wedding anniversary. And because we could. I'm so glad we did. It was really cold there. We went on to Amsterdam, Berlin and Munich on that trip and Dear Old Dad started his ambition to move to Berlin someday.
That was before we even started trying to get pregnant. Now that trip seems so so long ago. We didn't start trying until that fall.
In 2010 I was working at my friend's fireworks stand and my parents were visiting. We went to see fireworks about 10 miles from our house but the traffic to get home was so bad it took an hour. I remember feeling so lame being a group of 4 adults with no kids watching fireworks, and talking to my infertility bff about how fireworks don't seem fun anymore.
And last year we were in Louisiana visiting Virginia Slim and the rest of Dear Old Dad's family. We saw his brother, which is kind of a big deal, and Virginia Slim had a "party" for us to celebrate Firstborn. It was sweet. We didn't go see fireworks because we had a 3-month old and that night we were staying at the father-in-law's.
That year I thought we'd go the next year because Firstborn would love them and care about them. I had no idea whatsoever that we would have another infant.
So Firstborn is in bed and we are watching TV. We will watch fireworks in Washington DC. Not lame, self-preserving.