Crying it Out

These are tough times.

I'm sitting in our living room, listening to the heart-wrenching sound of my daughter crying herself silly. It is nearly 10:00 - about 2 hours after her usual bedtime. Of course, her bedtime has slipped considerably in the past few days as she has decided that going to sleep is not really her thing, regardless of how exhausted she is. And she is definitely exhausted today, as she was yesterday, and as she was the day before.

Fiona used to be a champion sleeper. By the time I returned to work after my maternity leave, she was frequently sleeping through the night. And the nights she did wake up, it was to be fed just once, and I was happy to bring her to the big bed with me where she'd remain for the duration. Eventually she got to a point where she wasn't waking up hungry, and she slept all the way through almost every night. I counted myself among the lucky ones.

Then disaster struck - in the form of two top teeth - about six weeks ago. She was pretty uncomfortable with the new chompers breaking through. Then she got the mysterious itchy rash that forced us to stop solids for a bit. Taking the food she had grown accustomed to out of the picture messed with her hunger levels a little, so we were back to waking up for food in the wee hours.

After a couple of particularly rough nights a few weeks back, plus the fact that M's parents would be soon be taking her for an entire weekend while he and I were off for a wedding in New Hampshire, pushed us to what I called "Baby Sleep Bootcamp." I had planned to allow for lots of crying it out, difficult nights, and one really pissed off baby. Fortunately for all of us, Fiona did pretty well. She only hollered a little bit a couple times, and the few times she woke up in the wee hours, she put herself back to sleep after a little fake crying. All was well until this week. For whatever reason, the past 3 nights have been a nightmare again. Last night, I gave in when she woke up at 1:30 - only 2 hours after we'd managed to finally get her to sleep after much cajoling, rocking, and soothing - and I brought her to bed with me. Even then, she was not to be swayed, and she buffeted against me all night. I, too, am exhausted.

And now, as I have been writing, she has finally passed out. We went in three or four times during the howl-fest to reassure her that we were still around.But in between those visits, we let her scream it out. And lo and behold, it worked. Painfully, but here we are... and it is quiet. She fell asleep while sitting up, and slouched over her own lap. We gently put her into a position that would not cut off the blood supply to her legs, and she remained asleep. I am cautiously optimistic for now.

That said, I worry about of the sanity my generous in-laws will retain after this weekend when M and I leave Fiona in their care for two full nights. Let's face it: letting your baby scream with misery and exhaustion is not for wimps. Good thing they're not wimps. I'm a wimp. But then, I'm her mother.

Favorite Photo Fridays - May 2

It's time for another installment of Favorite Photo Fridays. Sorry for the delay. I know you've all been on pins and needles. Without further ado...


Does my kid have the most marble-blue eyes you've ever seen or what? This one was taken just last week as she stood in her crib. That's her new thing: standing in her crib, trying to make trouble.


This one was taken in early April at M's parents' house. Few people can make her smile and laugh as much as her Grampa can. Note the tiny pearly whites on the bottom

Thanks for joining for today's installment. More to come next week! Well, I hope so anyway.

Baby's First Doctor Visit

With the exception of the day after we brought her home from the hospital, Fiona never had any reason to go to the doctor except for her wellbaby visits where she got weighed, measured, poked and stuck with vaccines. Last week, however, I made the first phone call to the doctor's office in over 8 months.

A rash that had been quite minor and small when it appeared on her upper chest under her neck just before she turned 6 months had become much larger and very itchy to my little girl. She could barely keep her hands off it. Whenever we would take her top off, her hands would immediately latch on to her chest in a scratching frenzy. And let me tell you - this kid is strong. I don't know how she does it, being so small, but it took both my hands to pry her clenched fingers off her rash. It reminds me of trying to cut the cat's nails: Xena weighs all of 8 pounds, but she'll manage to wiggle her way out of M's super-strong-and-manly grip just to release a powerful stream of cat whiz on both of us before scampering under the bed (this actually happened just the other day).

Anyway, I digress. Fiona's rash was looking more irritated every day, and she was clearly getting itchier. So off to the doctor's office she went with her Nana late last week.

The verdict: Eczema. Nothing terribly serious, and not at all uncommon in babies. We got some recommendations - lukewarm, infrequent baths; Eucerin and Aquafor; 2.5% hydrocortisone cream for really itchy times; and starting from square one with solids. Boooooo. So much for slow weaning with the help of solids. I was really hoping to eliminate my worktime pumping sessions because good GOD am I done with the pumping. Besides that, Fiona really likes food. So it's a bummer to have to start her back at the beginning and move with the pace of a glacier again. Sorry, kid, no more sweet potatoes for you for a while.

We managed to get the rash under control very quickly. Within less than two days, it was nearly gone. She didn't have solids again until yesterday when we gave her some oatmeal (so much less disgusting than rice cereal). Bad news: that may have been the culprit. As of this morning, the rash was back and in multiple spots. Sigh. I don't know what this means other than that oatmeal is off the list for now. Maybe we really do have to resort to rice cereal. Sadly, she just doesn't really like rice cereal that much (I tried it - I don't like it either).

One interesting factoid that came out of the doctor visit... Fi got weighed and came in at 2 ounces LESS than she was at her 6 month appointment. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised - she's been moving around like a maniac, standing all the time and more trouble than a monkey in a banana shop (what?). Sweet - that buys us some more time to use all her "good to 25 pounds" baby gear!

Favorite Photo Fridays - Apr. 4

Here's this week's installment. Less talk, more rock.

This picture is from mid-December of last year(as if it could be from a mid-December of some other year) and really illustrates how happy Fiona typically is. She, like most babies, especially enjoys being naked, which is where I think the twinkle in her eye comes from in this shot.















I took this picture of Fiona and my father during our trip to Fargo. He was so head over heels for her and couldn't stop saying so.















This one is from Easter Sunday. Her dress, a gift from Nana (M's mom) was the cutest, least frothy outfit imaginable, and it was perfect for her.

February Flashback to Fargo

As I mentioned in the January Flashback post, February was a pretty big month for little Fiona. So what if February was eight million years ago? Let's get recap-tastic!

Early in the month, I started researching a possible trip for Fiona and me to Fargo, North Dakota. My paternal grandmother's 90th birthday was looming on the horizon, and it seemed like just the kind of excuse I needed to get out there and introduce the young one to her great grandmother, grandfather, and other assorted relatives. I struck gold when I found a relatively affordable flight out of Boston going direct to Minneapolis, from where my aunt generously offered to pick us up and drive us to Fargo. I booked the hell out of it, not with a little trepidation. Flying? Alone? WITH A BABY? Oy, this was new territory.


M's parents were kind enough to drive us to the airport, and after braving parking lot-like traffic conditions on the way that convinced me we'd be taking the next flight out, we arrived with time to spare thanks to a near-empty airport. Those of you who have ever been to Logan know that the travel gods were indeed smiling upon us that the airport was so easily traversed. Before I knew it, we were past the security line and awaiting pre-boarding. Finally! It was my chance to be in that elite group of travelers: "First class passengers, passengers with small children, or passengers who require extra time for boarding." I've been traveling by plane for going on 30 years now. This was a first for me. Yes, now it was my turn to board early.

A quick aside: I learned a lot from this trip; tips, pointers, little annoyances that I could have avoided. At some point I'll post them all, too, so that you, my vast array of readers, can benefit from my newfound knowledge. More on that later.

Anyway... I met a very nice lady in the terminal before boarding who had a baby girl just a few weeks younger than Fiona. We arranged to sit together so that a smaller section of people would be put out should both of our babies go into meltdown mode. Fiona, however, never melted down. She was amazing. I couldn't believe my luck. She didn't even have a poo-related disaster, although I did end up changing her at one point... simply because it was something to do, and at least I'd be able to say I'd changed a baby in an airplane lavatory (not really anything to write home about). I nursed Fi on the ascent in the hopes that it would prevent any painful ear popping. It apparently worked. And by the time we started the descent (said to be more painful for babies), she was asleep. But the most important and interesting tidbit about this particular flight is this: Fiona cut her first tooth! Just after we'd reached cruising altitude, I stuck my knuckle into her mouth as is normal for us only to find a sharp little addition in there. Considering this was something over which my little girl had absolutely no control, I couldn't have been prouder. And Fiona didn't have a word to say about the whole thing.

We flew direct to Minneapolis. It was more expensive to do so, but looking back I'm glad I did it. My Aunt Nancy and Uncle Dale picked us up, with a borrowed car seat all ready for Fiona. We stopped to pick up one more person in Minneapolis - Great Aunt Helen (or, to Fiona, Great-Great Aunt Helen) and set off for Fargo. Did I mention it was approximately eight degrees above zero when we landed? Yeah, good times.

We arrived in Fargo later that evening and went straight to my grandmother's house. She'd had no inkling that we would be showing up, and while she doesn't show a lot of emotion, she was clearly moved. Then all there was left to do was wait for my father's arrival. I had told my step-mother the day before that we were coming because I knew there was a chance my father would resist a random trip to my grandmother's house in the dead-cold of a North Dakota winter. I was right to have done so. He put up a fight, and my step-mother dragged his stubborn ass out of the house anyway and managed to keep mum about the real reason.

Good thing, too. In all my years, I've never seen my dad react the way he did when Fiona and I came around the corner. I'd never seen my dad cry or even tear up before that moment. He was so shocked he threw his hands up over his head and shouted something I can't remember. But it was a shout of pure happiness and surprise.

The next few days flew by in a blur of family time, eating, being too warm in my grandmother's well-heated house, and trying to maintain some semblance of Fiona's normal routine. Hard to do with a family who likes to stay up into the wee hours playing the card game golf. On February 17th, Grandma hit the 90-year mark and Fiona passed six months. Milestones all around. And the next morning,which came all too quickly, it was time to head back to Minneapolis. Of course, I missed M. And I missed all the comforts of the copious baby gear back home. But leaving my dad was tough to take.

My parents divorced when I was still a baby, and by the time I was two my mom had moved us to Montana and 600 miles away from my father. Until I had Fiona, I never realized how that might have been for him. I can barely fathom being away from her overnight, let alone 50 weeks out of the year. It makes me truly sad to think that Fiona will grow up so far away from her maternal grandfather and won't have a lot of opportunities to get to know him. It makes me more sad to think he won't have a lot of opportunities to get to know her, and I know that makes him sad, too.

But back to Minneapolis we went, to find our flight quite delayed. Which was OK because it gave me time to have a little lunch and Fiona time to have a massive, near-disastrous poo blowout. It was one of those blowouts where I knew if I left her in her stroller in the seated position for even 30 more seconds to get her to a restroom, the clothes she was wearing would need to simply be tossed. So I did the unthinkable: I changed her right there in the terminal waiting area. I've become one of those people. Oh, god, the humanity.

We got home with no problems, albeit a few hours late. To make up for it, Bobby Brown was on our flight, sitting in the same row as we were at the opposite window. Fiona's first celebrity! What good fortune to finish off her first big trip.

Favorite Photo Fridays

Because I have been blessed with such an adorable, photogenic child, I am implementing a new feature here called Favorite Photo Fridays. I would imagine this is pretty self-explanatory. It's Friday. There are photos. And I will share my favorites with all of you. As if Friday isn't awesome enough just by its very nature. Could it get any better? Let's commence with the further awesomeness, then, shall we?


This was taken in late February in our back yard. She's sitting in a little sled contraption that her father sat in when he was her age. It was such a ridiculous winter with all the cold and rain that this was the one time we were able to actually put her in it.




Every time I look at this picture, I have to laugh. Fiona makes the funniest little faces sometimes. If I were Photoshop-inclined, I could do all sorts of amusing things with this shot, but I'm sure someone will be doing some random image search on Google one day and come across this little gem and do that for me.


This one was taken just a week ago and really captures Fiona's usual attitude about everything. Plus, it shows off her awesome new sitting-up skills! Fi is really, truly a happy baby. In all honesty, I just don't know how we got so lucky.


This is another one of those that just makes me so happy to look at. It's the "crazy happy" look. It was an accidental picture, but I laugh every time I see it.

And that's it for this week's installment of Favorite Photo Fridays. Hope you enjoyed. Tune in next week for more photographic phun!

Month Six Stats

Fiona's six-month checkup was nearly two weeks after she actually turned six months. That happened while we were in Fargo, North Dakota. And it's partly to blame for the fact that her turning seven months completely sneaked up on me. Up until a week before then, when I finally took a good look at the calendar, I was still saying she was just over six months old.

At this point, it's all a numbers game. Time continues to go faster and faster, and months are measured in minutes it seems. Her "age" at this point isn't as significant as turning age one, or age two; although, I remember distinctly as a young girl that the six-month "birthday" was highly important, and after that point I was not just "ten" but "ten and-a-half, thank you very much." With Fiona I see every month older she becomes as anchors in time that I can actually grasp, unlike normal time, which is continually getting away from me.

So with a couple (okay, three...plus) weeks under our belts, it's time to review the results of Fiona's six-month doctor visit. Get crazy with the stats!

Weight: 20 pounds, 10 ounces. Just over a four-pound gain, her largest jump in a while. Naturally, she remains in the 97th percentile. She's fat, happy, and looks like the Michelin baby with all those rolls. I'm starting to think my boobs are dispensing lard. In case you're wondering, yes, the creases of the rolls collect all sorts of things: lint, drool, spit-up, and breastmilk. They're typically a main focus of bathtime.

Length: 26 3/4 inches, a gain of an inch and a quarter. Starting to have a body shape more like Mom and Dad's every day. Our little fire hydrant baby dropped from the 90th percentile for weight into the 55th. We're pretty sure she's storing most of it in two places: her massive brain and her meaty ham-hock thighs.

All told, the doctor was pleased with her health. She had a bit of fluid in her right ear that we were told to keep an eye on. The pediatrician asked again about solids, which at the time we had not started. I really hadn't been in much of a hurry to start them for whatever reason. But when the doctor suggested we start supplementing her with vitamins since she probably wasn't getting enough Vitamin D or iron through just breast milk, I made up my mind immediately to get cracking. Fiona had her next round of vaccinations, after which she bawled like the baby she is for a few minutes, and we were on our way.

The next appointment won't be until she's nine months... which, based on how quickly time is passing, will be in approximately 20 minutes by my internal clock. In the meantime, please enjoy this picture taken in mid-February.