As if the fact that it's Friday and the weekend starts in approximately 4 hours isn't enough! New favorite photos, coming at you in 3...2...1...
All of these were taken in the latter half of October. In the first two, you can see that Fiona had recently discovered Ollie's bed was awfully fun to hang out in - especially when he was in it. I love the first one because she just looks so damn pleased with her situation. Meanwhile, Ollie is just tolerating it. He's a pain in the ass in a lot of ways, but he's really good with Fi, and I consider us very lucky in that regard.
The other two are from an apple picking trip we took in Franklin, MA, with some dear friends and their one-year-old son, Ethan. What's cuter than two little fall babies hanging out together and eating apples straight off the tree?
Happy weekend, all!
We used to not want a kid. Good thing we changed our minds, because we've got one now.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Too tired to eat lunch
In my post yesterday, I mentioned that Fiona managed to sleep through what sounded like a small army of elephants playing cricket on our roof. I guess I shouldn't have been all that surprised. I mean, she was really, REALLY tired, as evidenced in this terribly cute and amusing video. Poor little shaver!
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Baby + Tired = Not waking up for ANYTHING
I've always known the old adage, "babies can sleep through anything." I'd witnessed the strange ability for babies and toddlers to shut out the noisy world around them and have a nap. It's uncanny, really.
But then of course, there are the times when even the slightest hint of a noise will wake a slumbering child into an upright shrieking banshee. Seriously, how do they do that? Fiona has scared the bejebus out of me more than once when I've walked into her room late at night to check in on her - silently as a cat - only to have her suddenly rise from her prone position - also silently as a cat - staring at me with those big blue eyes of hers. Sometimes I think she must still be asleep when she does that because leaving the room has no ill effect. Other times, naturally, if you're caught sneaking into the baby's room, she will make you pay. She will make your eardrums pay. She will make your own need for sleep pay. This stock-straight standing thing she occasionally does when roused from sleep by a mere whisper of sound reminds me of movies where dead bodies in morgues suddenly sit up with their sheets still over their head. Yeah, it's that creepy.
OK, sorry, I got distracted. So, babies sleep through anything. Yes, back to that. Today Fiona amazed me most of all. I put her down for a nap a little after noon when she was so tired she fell asleep while I was feeding her. And of course, not 10 minutes later, the roofers (expected either today or tomorrow) showed up. And they immediately set up their first ladder directly in front of Fiona's window. And proceeded to clomp all over the roof of the house as they ripped it to shreds.
I cannot emphasize this next part enough: this shit was LOUD, people. LOUD! Had I not known what was going on up there, I would have been scared out of my mind. Actually, even knowing what it was I was a little scared. I think it was only 5 guys, but it sounded like 50. And it went on for nearly three hours. Pounding, pulling, banging, clomping, crashing.
And that baby didn't even so much as peep. I'll grant that she's obviously still under the weather from her cold; and it was significantly later in the day than she's used to taking her first nap (at least on the days she's home with me). I also put a small fan in her room for a bit of extra white noise. But this was the equivalent of a herd of elephants stomping across the roof! Really?? Fiona will pop to life at the sound of the teeny, tiny click her door makes when I come in her room, but will sleep like, well, a baby during the cacophony we heard today? Well. OK, then. Maybe that means I don't need to tiptoe around this joint so much at night.
But then of course, there are the times when even the slightest hint of a noise will wake a slumbering child into an upright shrieking banshee. Seriously, how do they do that? Fiona has scared the bejebus out of me more than once when I've walked into her room late at night to check in on her - silently as a cat - only to have her suddenly rise from her prone position - also silently as a cat - staring at me with those big blue eyes of hers. Sometimes I think she must still be asleep when she does that because leaving the room has no ill effect. Other times, naturally, if you're caught sneaking into the baby's room, she will make you pay. She will make your eardrums pay. She will make your own need for sleep pay. This stock-straight standing thing she occasionally does when roused from sleep by a mere whisper of sound reminds me of movies where dead bodies in morgues suddenly sit up with their sheets still over their head. Yeah, it's that creepy.
OK, sorry, I got distracted. So, babies sleep through anything. Yes, back to that. Today Fiona amazed me most of all. I put her down for a nap a little after noon when she was so tired she fell asleep while I was feeding her. And of course, not 10 minutes later, the roofers (expected either today or tomorrow) showed up. And they immediately set up their first ladder directly in front of Fiona's window. And proceeded to clomp all over the roof of the house as they ripped it to shreds.
I cannot emphasize this next part enough: this shit was LOUD, people. LOUD! Had I not known what was going on up there, I would have been scared out of my mind. Actually, even knowing what it was I was a little scared. I think it was only 5 guys, but it sounded like 50. And it went on for nearly three hours. Pounding, pulling, banging, clomping, crashing.
And that baby didn't even so much as peep. I'll grant that she's obviously still under the weather from her cold; and it was significantly later in the day than she's used to taking her first nap (at least on the days she's home with me). I also put a small fan in her room for a bit of extra white noise. But this was the equivalent of a herd of elephants stomping across the roof! Really?? Fiona will pop to life at the sound of the teeny, tiny click her door makes when I come in her room, but will sleep like, well, a baby during the cacophony we heard today? Well. OK, then. Maybe that means I don't need to tiptoe around this joint so much at night.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Baby's First Cold
It had to happen sometime. After almost 15 months of blissfully good health, Fiona finally got her first cold. It came on subtly: last Thursday she was just a little off, not too interested in food, kinda crabby. Friday morning when she woke up, she had a thoroughly crusty nose, and my mother-in-law informed me later that day that Fi was officially a sick little puppy. She was in good spirits, though, and played most of the day with her usual vigor.
Of course, when I showed up to pick her up that evening she took one look at me and remembered that she was sick and demanded some love and attention, which I gladly dispensed to my usually independent child. By Saturday evening, she was still congested but apparently feeling better. Not so on Sunday. More congestion, more crabby. Poor little shaver. As of today, she's on the mend again, but I have her humidifier on full blast to do as much as I can to alleviate the snot block going on in her wee noggin.
The dreaded toddler cold couldn't be held at bay forever. Lots of things conspired against poor Fiona. On Halloween morning, we visited a day care just to check it out, and she naturally got her little hands all over all kinds of stuff that lots of other little hands had been on. Then the day after Halloween we had a party that was overrun with other kids, much to Fi's delight; much toy-sharing and drool exchange transpired. The following Tuesday, I took her to the pediatrician fearing she had an ear infection (no ear infection; apparently, she's an ear tugger). Her immune system - no longer benefiting from the antibodies in breastmilk - just couldn't withstand those voracious germs.
Still, we weathered this first cold pretty well, I think. She has continued to sleep like a champ (14 hours a day!) and still finds great comfort in food. Especially apples, which she enjoys gnawing on while walking around the house. All in all, it could have been worse.
Of course, when I showed up to pick her up that evening she took one look at me and remembered that she was sick and demanded some love and attention, which I gladly dispensed to my usually independent child. By Saturday evening, she was still congested but apparently feeling better. Not so on Sunday. More congestion, more crabby. Poor little shaver. As of today, she's on the mend again, but I have her humidifier on full blast to do as much as I can to alleviate the snot block going on in her wee noggin.
The dreaded toddler cold couldn't be held at bay forever. Lots of things conspired against poor Fiona. On Halloween morning, we visited a day care just to check it out, and she naturally got her little hands all over all kinds of stuff that lots of other little hands had been on. Then the day after Halloween we had a party that was overrun with other kids, much to Fi's delight; much toy-sharing and drool exchange transpired. The following Tuesday, I took her to the pediatrician fearing she had an ear infection (no ear infection; apparently, she's an ear tugger). Her immune system - no longer benefiting from the antibodies in breastmilk - just couldn't withstand those voracious germs.
Still, we weathered this first cold pretty well, I think. She has continued to sleep like a champ (14 hours a day!) and still finds great comfort in food. Especially apples, which she enjoys gnawing on while walking around the house. All in all, it could have been worse.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Friday, October 24, 2008
Favorite Photo Fridays - October 24
I'm just going to pretend I've been here all along, posting my little heart out...
Onward!
It's Friday. And you know what that means. Hold on to your hats, kids. Fiona is cute as hell! Unfortunately, my blogging skills are limited, so I'm not going to try and provide captions alongside these pictures. Here's the info you need:
1) Early October: Fall + Redheaded Baby + Jack-o-lantern sweater = Ridiculous Adorableness
2) Holy frickin' crap we are PSYCHED for our first swimming pool adventure! This was late August on our trip to my aunt & uncle's place in Menomonie, WI. The kid is a pollywog.
3) September at Nana & Grampa's one day. The overalls alone are cute. Put them on my baby, it's like cute overload!
That is all!
Onward!
It's Friday. And you know what that means. Hold on to your hats, kids. Fiona is cute as hell! Unfortunately, my blogging skills are limited, so I'm not going to try and provide captions alongside these pictures. Here's the info you need:
1) Early October: Fall + Redheaded Baby + Jack-o-lantern sweater = Ridiculous Adorableness
2) Holy frickin' crap we are PSYCHED for our first swimming pool adventure! This was late August on our trip to my aunt & uncle's place in Menomonie, WI. The kid is a pollywog.
3) September at Nana & Grampa's one day. The overalls alone are cute. Put them on my baby, it's like cute overload!
That is all!
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Quick Hit - No walker required!
The baby can walk! The baby can walk! THE BABY CAN WALK!!!
How lucky am I that I got to see this?? And that I had a recording device at the ready?? Answer: Super-lucky!
Sorry for the lousy video quality, but you get the idea anyway.
Go, baby, go!!!
How lucky am I that I got to see this?? And that I had a recording device at the ready?? Answer: Super-lucky!
Sorry for the lousy video quality, but you get the idea anyway.
Go, baby, go!!!
Monday, August 18, 2008
Quick Hit - First Birthday
Fiona celebrated her first birthday yesterday with family, friends, and a blue-frosted cupcake just for her. I'll post more about it later, but as I myself am recovering from post birthday exhaustion, here's a quick hit for all you watchers out there. At first, Fi was tentative with the Cookie Monster cupcake. That's really her way - touch lightly and softly until she knows it's OK. Once she figured out that frosting is yummy, she dove in. Slowly and methodically to be sure; but as the second picture below reveals, also with a ferocity known only in babies on their first birthdays.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Favorite Photo Fridays - August 15
Time for another long-awaited (is there any other kind?) Favorite Photo Friday installment! Please to enjoy my impossibly adorable spawn!
This one is from June. M took a picture of Fiona's reaction when I returned from work one day. Is it any wonder I can't wait to get home every day?
Back in mid-July, Fiona and I took a trip to Arizona to visit NaiNai (my mom) for a few days. We had some professional pictures taken while there by Nnamdi Solomon. Who can resist this face? No one, that's who.
That's all you get for pictures today because there will be lots more coming after the ultimate celebration of the century (aka: Fiona's first birthday) takes place this weekend. Happy Friday, all!
This one is from June. M took a picture of Fiona's reaction when I returned from work one day. Is it any wonder I can't wait to get home every day?
Back in mid-July, Fiona and I took a trip to Arizona to visit NaiNai (my mom) for a few days. We had some professional pictures taken while there by Nnamdi Solomon. Who can resist this face? No one, that's who.
That's all you get for pictures today because there will be lots more coming after the ultimate celebration of the century (aka: Fiona's first birthday) takes place this weekend. Happy Friday, all!
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Kitchen remodeling is not for wussies
It's been quiet in 20dollarbet world lately. And that's because it's been anything but quiet in the real world for Fiona, M, Ollie, the kitties and me. Here's what I've learned in the last 6 weeks: Remodeling a kitchen is not particularly fun. And while I've never gone through a kitchen remodel without a baby in the house, I think a baby makes it even less fun. I
started badgering M about getting a new kitchen about 3 years ago when IKEA moved into the area and it seemed like it wasn't entirely financially unfeasible. It was mostly just a fun idea (especially when M refused to entertain the idea, or even banter with me about the prospect), but I did my darndest to plant the seed.
The kitchen we inherited when we bought this house was serviceable. Old, worn, and not the most convenient layout one might hope for; but altogether OK. But when we tried to refinance our mortgage last winter and couldn't because the housing market had tanked, M and I held onto something the appraiser had said. When he asked if we'd made any changes to the house since the last appraisal, I said heck, yeah, we have a new mahogany deck and pretty new front steps! Clearly that wasn't what he was looking for because he said, hopefully, "No new kitchen? Bathroom?" Sadly, no. But it was the impetus we needed.
We demolished the old kitchen (along with a wall that used to separate the kitchen from the dining area) the last weekend of June and have been living in utter chaos, filth, and general disarray since then. This remodeling business is not for the faint of heart. Luckily for us, we have a wet bar in the basement, which meant we haven't had to do dishes in our bathroom sink (although a bar sink is hardly any easier) and actually had an additional source of running water. But going up and down the stairs just to get a dish, clean a dish, microwave something, get a dish out of the way... it gets old really fast.
But I sit here tonight and I can see the finish line. The counters were installed today and I'm starting to feel human again. We have a laundry list of to-dos left in this largely DIY project - namely plumbing (oh! to have running water again... not to mention a dishwasher!!) - but we're so close. With any luck, plumbing won't be the final straw to break our spirits and we'll be back in business within a few more weeks.
Good thing, too. I can't take another pizza, bowl of cereal, take out from Chili's (which we actually abandoned quite a while ago out of disgust), or sandwich. Fiona has been a total champ, though. She scarcely noticed the mess she was living in, and accepted being contained much of the time in her Playzone (lovingly termed "baby jail") in spite of the fact that she's becoming quite the mover and shaker these days.
Short story, we're close enough that I can just about say, "Yeah, it's been worth it." Maybe I'll call the appraiser and see what he thinks.
(PS: Pictures will come at some point in the not-so-distant future.)
started badgering M about getting a new kitchen about 3 years ago when IKEA moved into the area and it seemed like it wasn't entirely financially unfeasible. It was mostly just a fun idea (especially when M refused to entertain the idea, or even banter with me about the prospect), but I did my darndest to plant the seed.
The kitchen we inherited when we bought this house was serviceable. Old, worn, and not the most convenient layout one might hope for; but altogether OK. But when we tried to refinance our mortgage last winter and couldn't because the housing market had tanked, M and I held onto something the appraiser had said. When he asked if we'd made any changes to the house since the last appraisal, I said heck, yeah, we have a new mahogany deck and pretty new front steps! Clearly that wasn't what he was looking for because he said, hopefully, "No new kitchen? Bathroom?" Sadly, no. But it was the impetus we needed.
We demolished the old kitchen (along with a wall that used to separate the kitchen from the dining area) the last weekend of June and have been living in utter chaos, filth, and general disarray since then. This remodeling business is not for the faint of heart. Luckily for us, we have a wet bar in the basement, which meant we haven't had to do dishes in our bathroom sink (although a bar sink is hardly any easier) and actually had an additional source of running water. But going up and down the stairs just to get a dish, clean a dish, microwave something, get a dish out of the way... it gets old really fast.
But I sit here tonight and I can see the finish line. The counters were installed today and I'm starting to feel human again. We have a laundry list of to-dos left in this largely DIY project - namely plumbing (oh! to have running water again... not to mention a dishwasher!!) - but we're so close. With any luck, plumbing won't be the final straw to break our spirits and we'll be back in business within a few more weeks.
Good thing, too. I can't take another pizza, bowl of cereal, take out from Chili's (which we actually abandoned quite a while ago out of disgust), or sandwich. Fiona has been a total champ, though. She scarcely noticed the mess she was living in, and accepted being contained much of the time in her Playzone (lovingly termed "baby jail") in spite of the fact that she's becoming quite the mover and shaker these days.
Short story, we're close enough that I can just about say, "Yeah, it's been worth it." Maybe I'll call the appraiser and see what he thinks.
(PS: Pictures will come at some point in the not-so-distant future.)
Monday, July 14, 2008
Kissy
Yesterday was a banner day for Fiona and me. For the most part, it was a normal Sunday. She and I went out and about to run errands (i.e., I dragged her through a couple of stores in her stroller while she came patiently along for the ride). By the time we got home in the late afternoon, she was good and mellow after being exposed to so much rampant consumerism. I understand this feeling, it has the same effect on me.
To make what would usually be a very long story with lots of background short, I'll get right to the point. I got my first baby kiss from Fiona yesterday. An honest-to-goodness kiss. I had to ask, plead, beg, and otherwise cajole it out of her. But suddenly she gave in (after approximately 8 months of me trying to convince her that it would be fun to give Mommy a smooch).
I've since learned from others that babies don't do much in the way of puckering. It's all mouth. This would explain why what I really got was less kiss and more slobber. But it was terribly, terribly sweet. When she planted her drooly little 'O' mouth on mine, my heart just melted. This is what makes the (admittedly rare) late night or midnight waking worth it (not to mention a million other things).
So far there's been no repeat smooch, but this wasn't her first (kiss #1 went to Grampa, M's dad, a few weeks ago - and while it wasn't to me, I didn't feel too badly about it because at least I got to see it), so it certainly won't be her last. Tomorrow, we fly out to Arizona to visit NaeNae (my mother). Perhaps we can convince her to shell out a few more smooches.
To make what would usually be a very long story with lots of background short, I'll get right to the point. I got my first baby kiss from Fiona yesterday. An honest-to-goodness kiss. I had to ask, plead, beg, and otherwise cajole it out of her. But suddenly she gave in (after approximately 8 months of me trying to convince her that it would be fun to give Mommy a smooch).
I've since learned from others that babies don't do much in the way of puckering. It's all mouth. This would explain why what I really got was less kiss and more slobber. But it was terribly, terribly sweet. When she planted her drooly little 'O' mouth on mine, my heart just melted. This is what makes the (admittedly rare) late night or midnight waking worth it (not to mention a million other things).
So far there's been no repeat smooch, but this wasn't her first (kiss #1 went to Grampa, M's dad, a few weeks ago - and while it wasn't to me, I didn't feel too badly about it because at least I got to see it), so it certainly won't be her last. Tomorrow, we fly out to Arizona to visit NaeNae (my mother). Perhaps we can convince her to shell out a few more smooches.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Favorite Photo Fridays - June 20
Been a while since you got your photo fix, eh?
Please to enjoy today's "aww"-inducing shots! Happy Friday, people!
This one was taken earlier this month and, I think, shows just how pretty a little girl Fiona is becoming. I may be biased. But I'm pretty sure that's just a fundamental truth.
This one is from last month. Nothing much to say about it other than what a cute couple we make.
This one makes me laugh because it shows what happens when a baby literally passes out from being tired (why won't they just sleep when they're tired??), regardless of what they're doing at the time. Fiona had found the post of her swing super-enthralling before succumbing to sleep.
That's all for this week. Have a great weekend, everybody!
Please to enjoy today's "aww"-inducing shots! Happy Friday, people!
This one was taken earlier this month and, I think, shows just how pretty a little girl Fiona is becoming. I may be biased. But I'm pretty sure that's just a fundamental truth.
This one is from last month. Nothing much to say about it other than what a cute couple we make.
This one makes me laugh because it shows what happens when a baby literally passes out from being tired (why won't they just sleep when they're tired??), regardless of what they're doing at the time. Fiona had found the post of her swing super-enthralling before succumbing to sleep.
That's all for this week. Have a great weekend, everybody!
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Month Nine Stats
Fiona's nine month wellbaby appointment took place right smack in the middle of naptime, so she was pretty much pissed the entire time. That's okay, we've got stats to share anyway!
Weight: 20 pounds, 6.6 ounces (down 3.4 ounces from her 6-month checkup). The South Beach Baby Diet we put Fiona on has clearly worked. We were pretty concerned with her excessive girth, and felt that she was going to be unable to compete in today's cutthroat world of thin and sexy babies. How was she ever going to get ahead in life?
Of course, I'm kidding. We love our super-chub baby. The doctor wasn't particularly concerned with her weight, although we're supposed to keep an eye on it. Considering she was previously in the 97th percentile for weight (and also considering the change in her height) this change is not terribly surprising. In any case, she's now in the range of the 50th to 75th percentile in weight.
Height: 29 1/4 inches, a gain of 2 1/2 inches. So while Fiona was more or less static in terms of weight, she was busy shooting up like a chubby-thighed weed. As a result, she moved from the 55th percentile in height to the 90th, and is now officially too big for her infant carseat. We'd switched over to her convertible seat shortly after her 6-month appointment thinking she was going to surpass the 22 pound weight limit. Obviously, she hasn't done that yet, but given that the height limit is 29 inches, we can now safely pack her first seat away.
The rest of the appointment was relatively standard fare with the exception of the occasional, explosive shrieking my poor nap-deprived baby emitted. I actually had to hold her head steady while the doctor looked in her ears and eyes. No shots this time around, but she did have her finger pricked and milked for a few drops of blood, which will be tested for lead and, I think, iron levels. Naturally, she was not a fan; and just like when she gets her shots, I felt terrible holding her down just so someone else could cause her pain. Necessary, yes. But hard to bear, too.
All in all, she remains a very healthy little girl. And by the time we got to the front desk to pay the co-pay and make our 12-month appointment (12 months!!), Fiona was her usual happy little self, sucking contentedly on the sparkly, kid-bandaid on her poor priced finger. And I'm pretty sure she doesn't hold my treasonous behavior against me.
Weight: 20 pounds, 6.6 ounces (down 3.4 ounces from her 6-month checkup). The South Beach Baby Diet we put Fiona on has clearly worked. We were pretty concerned with her excessive girth, and felt that she was going to be unable to compete in today's cutthroat world of thin and sexy babies. How was she ever going to get ahead in life?
Of course, I'm kidding. We love our super-chub baby. The doctor wasn't particularly concerned with her weight, although we're supposed to keep an eye on it. Considering she was previously in the 97th percentile for weight (and also considering the change in her height) this change is not terribly surprising. In any case, she's now in the range of the 50th to 75th percentile in weight.
Height: 29 1/4 inches, a gain of 2 1/2 inches. So while Fiona was more or less static in terms of weight, she was busy shooting up like a chubby-thighed weed. As a result, she moved from the 55th percentile in height to the 90th, and is now officially too big for her infant carseat. We'd switched over to her convertible seat shortly after her 6-month appointment thinking she was going to surpass the 22 pound weight limit. Obviously, she hasn't done that yet, but given that the height limit is 29 inches, we can now safely pack her first seat away.
The rest of the appointment was relatively standard fare with the exception of the occasional, explosive shrieking my poor nap-deprived baby emitted. I actually had to hold her head steady while the doctor looked in her ears and eyes. No shots this time around, but she did have her finger pricked and milked for a few drops of blood, which will be tested for lead and, I think, iron levels. Naturally, she was not a fan; and just like when she gets her shots, I felt terrible holding her down just so someone else could cause her pain. Necessary, yes. But hard to bear, too.
All in all, she remains a very healthy little girl. And by the time we got to the front desk to pay the co-pay and make our 12-month appointment (12 months!!), Fiona was her usual happy little self, sucking contentedly on the sparkly, kid-bandaid on her poor priced finger. And I'm pretty sure she doesn't hold my treasonous behavior against me.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Mastitis: Enemy of the Boob
I practically should have expected it. There were plenty of reasons for it to happen. There was a bleb, or milk blister, on Lefty's nipple (= susceptible to bacteria) ; I started battling a cold late last week (= depressed immunity); then M and I went out of town for a wedding last weekend, which involved lots of fun, late nights, and partying a little hard (= "run down"). Conditions - according to what I've read and been told since then - were pretty much ripe for what happened Tuesday of this week.
I went to bed feeling fine and normal Monday night, and woke up at 5:00 in the morning with excruciating pain in Lefty (a note to readers who haven't picked up on this before, but Lefty is by far the more successful sister as far as milk production). At first, I thought it was just engorgement, easily fixed by pumping since Fiona wasn't awake yet. Very quickly I realized there was a big problem. It was so painful to pump I was immediately nauseous. But I could feel the wedge-shaped clog on the top of the breast, and knew that not working it out could mean bad things. So I continued, not wanting to chance that things could get worse. Too late: they were already worse. The pain got so intense I started to feel faint, and I started to cry. Really, really hard.
I stopped, and heated up my little flax-pack, which I'd been using for the past several days before nursing to ease the pain of the bleb. It wasn't helping that morning, but I knew I had no choice. So I took it to the next level and got into a hot shower, bringing my trusty little manual pump with me, and kept trying. But it was an exercise in futility. Hardly anything was coming out, and I wanted to die the pain was so awful. Let's put it this way: I didn't cry out in pain while pushing out my nearly-9-pound daughter... but I couldn't stop crying during this.
By now, it was 6:00 and Fiona was awake. Having had a clog once before, I knew that she was the best person for the job of getting me unclogged. I figured it would be uncomfortable for sure. But I was determined to deal with this thing and get on with my day, and figured I was so used to her that maybe it would be better than the pump. I was horribly mistaken. Pain shot through me like a bullet and I wailed like a siren. This, naturally, scared the hell out of Fiona, and she, too, began to cry/nurse/cry/nurse. M says it sounded "like a torture chamber", Fiona and me both screaming and crying. She did work out the bulk of the clog, thankfully. But the pain persisted, and my plans for the day (namely, going to work) were were scrapped. There was no way I would be able to function in normal society like that.
My mother-in-law, who cares for Fiona when I'm at work anyway, was generous enough to come over as usual and allow me to be sick without having to take care of a baby at the same time. By this point, I was pretty sure the issue wasn't just a clog, but likely the more serious - and dreaded - mastitis. On my mother-in-law's (much appreciated) insistence, I called my OB's office to talk to a nurse. I didn't even make it past the receptionist: when she asked why I was calling, I said "extreme breast pain" and she said, "Well! You need to see a doctor. Come in at 1:45." Fastest appointment I ever made.
I pumped again, only because I absolutely had to, and then went to bed in the interim, miserable as hell. MIL woke me at 1:00, gave me some soup, and sent me off to the doctor. Predictably, mastitis was confirmed, and the doctor wrote me a script for antibiotics. My temperature there was only 99.2, but certainly explained why I was feeling woozy. I left the doctor's office, called my mom, and headed straight for the pharmacy to pick up the drugs. I was sitting in the parking lot, just saying goodbye to her when I heard the rushing wind and felt that all-over tingling you get right before you pass out. Before I could do that, though, I got the 15-second warning indicating that barf was imminent. So I did that instead, right out the side of my car door. Good times. I think the pharmacist must have known I was in a bad way because she gave me the briefest, most sympathetic look as she said, "Do you want to wait for it?" And I did.
The rest of the afternoon dissolves into a haze of fever, pain, and general misery. I woke up at one point with a temperature of 102 degrees, took some Tylenol, and went back to bed only to be awakened a few hours later sweating myself silly the way you do when a fever breaks. That cycle repeated itself twice more throughout the night and into the next morning.
I still felt pretty banged up by Wednesday morning, but my temperature was mostly back to normal, and I just wanted to start feeling normal again. So I went to work and sort of glazed my way through the day. By the end of the day, though, I was feeling considerably better, in spite of the fact that pumping was still pretty painful (and producing very disappointing amounts of milk). Since then, I've improved leaps and bounds, and was even able to nurse Fiona by Thursday morning. Not comfortably, but I did it. I think she's the only thing that will bring my dwindling supply back to its former glory. Lefty's nipple is still pretty touchy, but it's getting better all the time.
There are women out there who have gone through far worse episodes of mastitis than the bout I just experienced - and who have gone through it many times. I have to bow to these women, because to endure this kind of torture is nothing short of miraculous. I myself hope to never, EVER go through it again, but I know that having had it once makes me more susceptible to having it again. Still, I know what to watch for now, and with luck it won't kick my ass quite so hard if it does ever recur. Yeah, right.
I went to bed feeling fine and normal Monday night, and woke up at 5:00 in the morning with excruciating pain in Lefty (a note to readers who haven't picked up on this before, but Lefty is by far the more successful sister as far as milk production). At first, I thought it was just engorgement, easily fixed by pumping since Fiona wasn't awake yet. Very quickly I realized there was a big problem. It was so painful to pump I was immediately nauseous. But I could feel the wedge-shaped clog on the top of the breast, and knew that not working it out could mean bad things. So I continued, not wanting to chance that things could get worse. Too late: they were already worse. The pain got so intense I started to feel faint, and I started to cry. Really, really hard.
I stopped, and heated up my little flax-pack, which I'd been using for the past several days before nursing to ease the pain of the bleb. It wasn't helping that morning, but I knew I had no choice. So I took it to the next level and got into a hot shower, bringing my trusty little manual pump with me, and kept trying. But it was an exercise in futility. Hardly anything was coming out, and I wanted to die the pain was so awful. Let's put it this way: I didn't cry out in pain while pushing out my nearly-9-pound daughter... but I couldn't stop crying during this.
By now, it was 6:00 and Fiona was awake. Having had a clog once before, I knew that she was the best person for the job of getting me unclogged. I figured it would be uncomfortable for sure. But I was determined to deal with this thing and get on with my day, and figured I was so used to her that maybe it would be better than the pump. I was horribly mistaken. Pain shot through me like a bullet and I wailed like a siren. This, naturally, scared the hell out of Fiona, and she, too, began to cry/nurse/cry/nurse. M says it sounded "like a torture chamber", Fiona and me both screaming and crying. She did work out the bulk of the clog, thankfully. But the pain persisted, and my plans for the day (namely, going to work) were were scrapped. There was no way I would be able to function in normal society like that.
My mother-in-law, who cares for Fiona when I'm at work anyway, was generous enough to come over as usual and allow me to be sick without having to take care of a baby at the same time. By this point, I was pretty sure the issue wasn't just a clog, but likely the more serious - and dreaded - mastitis. On my mother-in-law's (much appreciated) insistence, I called my OB's office to talk to a nurse. I didn't even make it past the receptionist: when she asked why I was calling, I said "extreme breast pain" and she said, "Well! You need to see a doctor. Come in at 1:45." Fastest appointment I ever made.
I pumped again, only because I absolutely had to, and then went to bed in the interim, miserable as hell. MIL woke me at 1:00, gave me some soup, and sent me off to the doctor. Predictably, mastitis was confirmed, and the doctor wrote me a script for antibiotics. My temperature there was only 99.2, but certainly explained why I was feeling woozy. I left the doctor's office, called my mom, and headed straight for the pharmacy to pick up the drugs. I was sitting in the parking lot, just saying goodbye to her when I heard the rushing wind and felt that all-over tingling you get right before you pass out. Before I could do that, though, I got the 15-second warning indicating that barf was imminent. So I did that instead, right out the side of my car door. Good times. I think the pharmacist must have known I was in a bad way because she gave me the briefest, most sympathetic look as she said, "Do you want to wait for it?" And I did.
The rest of the afternoon dissolves into a haze of fever, pain, and general misery. I woke up at one point with a temperature of 102 degrees, took some Tylenol, and went back to bed only to be awakened a few hours later sweating myself silly the way you do when a fever breaks. That cycle repeated itself twice more throughout the night and into the next morning.
I still felt pretty banged up by Wednesday morning, but my temperature was mostly back to normal, and I just wanted to start feeling normal again. So I went to work and sort of glazed my way through the day. By the end of the day, though, I was feeling considerably better, in spite of the fact that pumping was still pretty painful (and producing very disappointing amounts of milk). Since then, I've improved leaps and bounds, and was even able to nurse Fiona by Thursday morning. Not comfortably, but I did it. I think she's the only thing that will bring my dwindling supply back to its former glory. Lefty's nipple is still pretty touchy, but it's getting better all the time.
There are women out there who have gone through far worse episodes of mastitis than the bout I just experienced - and who have gone through it many times. I have to bow to these women, because to endure this kind of torture is nothing short of miraculous. I myself hope to never, EVER go through it again, but I know that having had it once makes me more susceptible to having it again. Still, I know what to watch for now, and with luck it won't kick my ass quite so hard if it does ever recur. Yeah, right.
Friday, May 16, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, May 2, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
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!
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!
Friday, April 4, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, March 28, 2008
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!
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!
Sunday, March 23, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Adventures in Business Travel
I'm sitting on the Acela Express in New York City's Penn Station, waiting to pull out and start the four-plus hour ride home. I spent the day here at a conference for work. I enjoyed myself, learned some new things, saw some former co-workers and talked shop. But it's been an all-day thing. I'm tired, I'm a little burned, and I'm pissed that the train is currently running 33 minutes behind schedule. Make that 34.
This is the first day I've really spent away from Fiona. Not like your average workday, where I leave home around 7:00 after feeding her and spending a good 30 minutes with her; when I get home around 6:30 and get a good two and-a-half more hours with her before we put her to bed. It's not even quite like the days when I actually do something after work with other adults and don't get home until late.
35 minutes late...
Today, I left the house at 4:40 to catch my 5:24 train to New York. Fiona wasn't exactly asleep, much to her father's dismay no doubt. But the four seconds I was with her as I put her back into her crib before leaving the house wasn't exactly time well spent.
37 minutes late...
Of course, I did get to spend much of the night with her. The little stinker had the audacity to NOT sleep through the night for a change and bade me collect her for a feeding at 1:00 this morning. She's a sleeping angel when it doesn't count. But somehow, she knew I would be getting far less sleep than is typically necessary for me and she opted to make it a little worse by getting me up in the wee hours. But co-sleep time is also not quality time.
39 minutes late...
Today I will have spent the entirety of her true waking hours apart from her. And my god, how I miss her. When will this cursed train start moving? As it was, I would not have arrived at the Rte 128 station in Dedham until nearly 10:30. Now, it will be after 11:00. And another 30 minutes before I reach home after that. There's a part of me that hopes she's awake when I arrive. But that's the selfish, bad-parent part who just wants to hold her and give her a kiss and tell her how much I love her.
Electrical problems? You're checking out electrical problems on the train that are delaying our departure? Screw you and your electrical problems! Don't you realize I have a baby daughter who turned seven months old today who is waiting for me? Who needs me??
43 minutes late...
It doesn't help, either, that I opted out of a late afternoon pump session thinking I'd be home in a timely enough fashion that it wasn't necessary. I think that wasn't a great decision. Yeah, definitely not. These suckers are going to need some attention pretty soon.
Oh, well.
We're moving now. 44 minutes late. This business of being away from her is seriously going to take some getting used to. I have an overnighter coming up in a few weeks. But at least for that one, transportation won't be out of my hands. I'll get to come and go as I please. And I think I just might leave early.
...
Nope, never mind. We're not moving. We went for about 5 minutes and stopped again. "Waiting for 2 westbound trains to clear the area." Well, screw you and your westbound trains. How about giving the train that's a full hour behind schedule the right of way!!! My kid will have forgotten who I am by the time I get back. And my boobs hurt. This does not bode well.
8:07. Finally moving. So help me god if we stop again for anything other than legitimate station stops...
(p.s. As I did not have Internet access while actually on my little business travel adventure last night, I am posting after-the-fact. Of course, I realize this reduces the impact. I am okay with this.)
This is the first day I've really spent away from Fiona. Not like your average workday, where I leave home around 7:00 after feeding her and spending a good 30 minutes with her; when I get home around 6:30 and get a good two and-a-half more hours with her before we put her to bed. It's not even quite like the days when I actually do something after work with other adults and don't get home until late.
35 minutes late...
Today, I left the house at 4:40 to catch my 5:24 train to New York. Fiona wasn't exactly asleep, much to her father's dismay no doubt. But the four seconds I was with her as I put her back into her crib before leaving the house wasn't exactly time well spent.
37 minutes late...
Of course, I did get to spend much of the night with her. The little stinker had the audacity to NOT sleep through the night for a change and bade me collect her for a feeding at 1:00 this morning. She's a sleeping angel when it doesn't count. But somehow, she knew I would be getting far less sleep than is typically necessary for me and she opted to make it a little worse by getting me up in the wee hours. But co-sleep time is also not quality time.
39 minutes late...
Today I will have spent the entirety of her true waking hours apart from her. And my god, how I miss her. When will this cursed train start moving? As it was, I would not have arrived at the Rte 128 station in Dedham until nearly 10:30. Now, it will be after 11:00. And another 30 minutes before I reach home after that. There's a part of me that hopes she's awake when I arrive. But that's the selfish, bad-parent part who just wants to hold her and give her a kiss and tell her how much I love her.
Electrical problems? You're checking out electrical problems on the train that are delaying our departure? Screw you and your electrical problems! Don't you realize I have a baby daughter who turned seven months old today who is waiting for me? Who needs me??
43 minutes late...
It doesn't help, either, that I opted out of a late afternoon pump session thinking I'd be home in a timely enough fashion that it wasn't necessary. I think that wasn't a great decision. Yeah, definitely not. These suckers are going to need some attention pretty soon.
Oh, well.
We're moving now. 44 minutes late. This business of being away from her is seriously going to take some getting used to. I have an overnighter coming up in a few weeks. But at least for that one, transportation won't be out of my hands. I'll get to come and go as I please. And I think I just might leave early.
...
Nope, never mind. We're not moving. We went for about 5 minutes and stopped again. "Waiting for 2 westbound trains to clear the area." Well, screw you and your westbound trains. How about giving the train that's a full hour behind schedule the right of way!!! My kid will have forgotten who I am by the time I get back. And my boobs hurt. This does not bode well.
8:07. Finally moving. So help me god if we stop again for anything other than legitimate station stops...
(p.s. As I did not have Internet access while actually on my little business travel adventure last night, I am posting after-the-fact. Of course, I realize this reduces the impact. I am okay with this.)
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Goodbye, Montana
Most of you know I moved to Massachusetts from Billings, Montana nearly 10 years ago. At the time, I left thinking that someday I'd probably go back "home" to live there permanently. I grew up there; many of my dearest friends were there; and, most importantly, my mother was there. Through the ensuing years, a lot has changed. I've really made a home and a life for myself in Massachusetts. I got married to M, we bought a house, got a dog. And now we have Fiona. I spent my most formative growing-up years in MT, but I've really become an adult in MA. Even so, Montana has always been what I think of when someone says "hometown."
As of today, my most important link to Montana is gone. My mother, untethered by marriage, mortgage, or job, packed as many of her belongings as would fit into her sparkly red convertible Mustang and hit the road. As I write this, she's making her way to the sunnier climes of Phoenix, Arizona, where she plans to live for the duration.
I can't blame my mom. In fact, I'm really psyched for her. After all, I had my own similar adventure when I moved here, and clearly it has worked out. But I'm sad, too. Montana has always been one of the main characters in my life story, and having a home base there was a significant comfort. I always knew that if, for some reason, things didn't work out so well here, there was always Montana... there was always "home."
I'm fortunate to have my own little family, though. M and Fiona, along with the animals, our friends, and our lives here are my real home now. And I still have a few lovely friends back in Montana to be my home base (they probably won't put us all up for weeks at a time, and cook for us, and generally host us like my mom would have... although perhaps now is the time to ask). It's just going to be weird to go back to Montana as a pure visitor, not as someone who "sort of lives here" by virtue of her mother's residence.
To be sure, M, Fiona and I will all take the long trip one day so I can have the pleasure of showing my daughter where I grew up, where I went to school, where I played and had friends. All around my favorite places in Billings - the sandstone cliffs that line the northern part of the city known as the rimrocks; the downtown area; the mall where I spent countless hours of my pre-teen years. And we'll all go to my favorite places around the state, too - Beartooth Pass, Yellowstone National Park, Cooke City, Bozeman, Missoula, and Fairmont Hot Springs. I do love that state. And who knows? Maybe someday my new little family and I will go back there to stay.
As of today, my most important link to Montana is gone. My mother, untethered by marriage, mortgage, or job, packed as many of her belongings as would fit into her sparkly red convertible Mustang and hit the road. As I write this, she's making her way to the sunnier climes of Phoenix, Arizona, where she plans to live for the duration.
I can't blame my mom. In fact, I'm really psyched for her. After all, I had my own similar adventure when I moved here, and clearly it has worked out. But I'm sad, too. Montana has always been one of the main characters in my life story, and having a home base there was a significant comfort. I always knew that if, for some reason, things didn't work out so well here, there was always Montana... there was always "home."
I'm fortunate to have my own little family, though. M and Fiona, along with the animals, our friends, and our lives here are my real home now. And I still have a few lovely friends back in Montana to be my home base (they probably won't put us all up for weeks at a time, and cook for us, and generally host us like my mom would have... although perhaps now is the time to ask). It's just going to be weird to go back to Montana as a pure visitor, not as someone who "sort of lives here" by virtue of her mother's residence.
To be sure, M, Fiona and I will all take the long trip one day so I can have the pleasure of showing my daughter where I grew up, where I went to school, where I played and had friends. All around my favorite places in Billings - the sandstone cliffs that line the northern part of the city known as the rimrocks; the downtown area; the mall where I spent countless hours of my pre-teen years. And we'll all go to my favorite places around the state, too - Beartooth Pass, Yellowstone National Park, Cooke City, Bozeman, Missoula, and Fairmont Hot Springs. I do love that state. And who knows? Maybe someday my new little family and I will go back there to stay.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
January Flashback
I've been quiet for a while now. Not for lack of things to write about, or for lack of moments I'd like to record and share. Strictly for lack of time and willingness to separate myself from my amazing and adorable daughter for long enough to come up with witty anecdotes and cogent points.
The aftermath of all those holiday firsts ("Baby's First Thanksgiving!" "Baby's First Christmas!" "Baby's First New Year's Eve!!") is a little like the day after your wedding. There's a bunch of planning and a bunch of anticipation. Not to mention all the family gathering madness. When you have a new baby, you're like a celebrity at these things. In our case, we were seeing a bunch of people we hadn't seen since before Fiona was born. And boy, were they psyched to meet her.
But then it was all over. Fiona will never again have a First Christmas or First Turkey Day. It was a little bit sad. But with the end of the holiday season and 2007 came the start of 2008 and a whole bunch of new possibilities.
In mid-January, we took our first road trip with the young one when we headed up to North Conway, NH for a weekend with some good friends and all the associated kids. It was chaos - all those adults and children (and adult children). The kind of chaos I never expected to tolerate and even enjoy. Fiona handled it all pretty well, even though we went through every single one of the more than enough (or so I thought) outfits we had packed. The child has a gift or... something. M was banished to the couch on the second night due to excessive snoring and the fact that Fiona refused to sleep in the pack 'n play provided for that very purpose and instead had to sleep with me in the big bed.
The weekend after that, Fiona hit the five-month mark with relatively little fanfare. It wasn't until the end of the month when she reached a small development milestone and started babbling like a maniac. For those of you with kids, you know what I'm talking about. This stuff is pure comedy. I admit, my babytalk is rusty, but I understand her perfectly well. Usually, she is just talking a blue streak and swearing like a truck driver.
February has been a pretty big month for us, but I'll get into that more in depth later. To whet your whistle, here's a preview: air travel, meeting the other grandfather, turning 1/2 year old, and ... TEETH! Stay tuned, kids!
The aftermath of all those holiday firsts ("Baby's First Thanksgiving!" "Baby's First Christmas!" "Baby's First New Year's Eve!!") is a little like the day after your wedding. There's a bunch of planning and a bunch of anticipation. Not to mention all the family gathering madness. When you have a new baby, you're like a celebrity at these things. In our case, we were seeing a bunch of people we hadn't seen since before Fiona was born. And boy, were they psyched to meet her.
But then it was all over. Fiona will never again have a First Christmas or First Turkey Day. It was a little bit sad. But with the end of the holiday season and 2007 came the start of 2008 and a whole bunch of new possibilities.
In mid-January, we took our first road trip with the young one when we headed up to North Conway, NH for a weekend with some good friends and all the associated kids. It was chaos - all those adults and children (and adult children). The kind of chaos I never expected to tolerate and even enjoy. Fiona handled it all pretty well, even though we went through every single one of the more than enough (or so I thought) outfits we had packed. The child has a gift or... something. M was banished to the couch on the second night due to excessive snoring and the fact that Fiona refused to sleep in the pack 'n play provided for that very purpose and instead had to sleep with me in the big bed.
The weekend after that, Fiona hit the five-month mark with relatively little fanfare. It wasn't until the end of the month when she reached a small development milestone and started babbling like a maniac. For those of you with kids, you know what I'm talking about. This stuff is pure comedy. I admit, my babytalk is rusty, but I understand her perfectly well. Usually, she is just talking a blue streak and swearing like a truck driver.
February has been a pretty big month for us, but I'll get into that more in depth later. To whet your whistle, here's a preview: air travel, meeting the other grandfather, turning 1/2 year old, and ... TEETH! Stay tuned, kids!
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