Wheezing, fevers, and bulb syringes

So, I've kept the kids at home all this week because the three of us have been in an alternating battle against sinus/upper-respiratory infections, colds, bronchial wheezing, and LOTS of drippy green snot (both of my little ones have had the "green elevens" all week, if you know what I mean), so I didn't want to further expose their already compromised immune systems to more germs/get a bunch of other kids sick.


As a result of trading our usual trips to the park, story time at the library, the Bounce House, play dates, the Little Gym, and even various errands for fevers, sniffles, aforementioned green elevens, coughing, Tylenol, Benadryl, Amoxicillin, respirators, humidifiers, saline, and bulb syringes, some of us have been struck with a bonus case of Cabin Fever, and by some of us, I mean MJ.


Even under-the-weather, she's into everything.


On Monday, MJ had a 102 degree fever.  Regardless, I spent 90% of the day saying things like, "Sit on your bottom!  Couches are not for bouncing!"  This inspired me to share some of the interesting conversations (albeit most one-sided) I've found myself having with myself my two-year-old.
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me: Okay, Lovey; let's blow your nose.
MJ: Nooo!  No blow nose!  I wike bogies!
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Alex: waaaaaaaaaah!
me: Oh!  What happened?
MJ: Machaewa throw shaker. Hit Bay-Awex head.
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me: Couches are not for diving!
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MJ: No poopies in uh unnawares.  Nooooo.  It's yuckies.
(Guess where the poopies were?)
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me: Couches are not for coloring!  Where did you get that pen?
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MJ: I snuggle Bay-Awex.
me: MJ!  We do not sit on our brother's head!
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me: MJ!  No bite!  Dining chairs are not food!
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MJ: Mommy's working.
me: Yes. Mommy's writing a grocery list so Daddy can go to the store.
MJ: Machaewa make list?
me: Great idea! (Handing her paper and crayons) Only color on the paper!
MJ: No bite.
me: Right! Crayons are for coloring.
MJ: (eats red crayon) I fixed it!  Nooooo!  Ugh!  No color lips!  Only color paper!
(apparently I'm not the only one who talks to myself.)
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me: MJ, what's in your mouth?
MJ: Rocks. Paper.
me: (trying not to laugh) Scissors, too?
MJ: No scissors.  No touch.  No put scissors in mouth.  That's yuckies.
(Duh, Mom.  Only rocks and paper are culinary delicacies.)
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MJ: Get down!  Right now!
me: Machaela!  We do not stand on the table!  Let go of that light fixture!
MJ: Time out.


Note: I was planning to post a pic of MJ wearing her nebulizer mask (poor thing), the giant bite mark left on the dining room chair by our goat daughter, and Alex up on his hands and knees (rocking back and forth!) but I can't find the connector thingy for my camera's memory card.  Ugggh technology!

Mean Girls

MJ is one of those wonderful little souls that has never met a stranger.  She will run up to any child, boy or girl, big or little, and attempt to engage them in some kind of play.  I've always liked this about her and encouraged her to be friendly to all little children.  She's so different than me, since I need a written invitation to approach a group, but motherhood has given me an excuse to get better about that, but hey, this isn't about me anyway . . . 


Apparently, other parents are training their children to be total jerks.  This isn't true of all parents, or their children.  And when it happens, I don't really think it's intentional.  Some children gleefully take MJ's outstretched hand and follow her into hours of fun.  For example, at the Bounce House the other day, two older girls were climbing up this huge inflatable thing and sliding down holding hands.  MJ, of course, wanted to join them, so once at the top the girls waited for her and then they lined up three across, yelled "Ready, Set, Go!" and all slid down into giggly oblivion.  My heart almost exploded witnessing her joy.


I had a complete opposite reaction to one of the world's most ginormous toddler-jerks yesterday.  MJ noticed a new little girl entering the park.  She looked about MJ's size, so my little greeter ran right over to her and exclaimed, "Hi!  Come on!  Let's go play!" as she extended her hand.  The little girl stared at this welcoming invitation from the cutest person on the planet and immediately rejected her, wrinkling up her nose as if she smelled something stinky, and ran off in the other direction.  MJ just looked at me as if she was thinking: was it something I said?  At that moment, my heart shattered into a million pieces, and I had to physically restrain myself from punching someone else's toddler in the nose.  


Okay, I would never really consider punching a toddler.  Or punching anyone, really, because I'm pretty non-confrontational.  Except with children.  I see a child out of line and I correct them, even if I don't know them.  You're welcome, parents.  Like the time we were at Water Country and this little boy kept literally climbing over the decorative part of the slide to cut in front of the kids who were waiting patiently to climb the steps to get to the top, and as he attempted to step in front of my sweet girl, I blocked him with my arm, looked him in the eye, and simply told him "Wait!  It's not your turn.  Go up the stairs like everyone else!"  His mother just looked on from beneath her sun hat, perched comfortably with a book in her lounge chair dangling her feet into the pool.  She didn't say a word, so I doubt it bothered her that her son was being a total jerk or that I was doing her parenting for her.


A similar incident occurred at the play space in Chesapeake Square Mall a few weeks ago.  MJ was happily climbing on all the plastic structures, chasing other children, and generally having a great, squeal-y time.  Because she is TWO, it takes her about 6 seconds to carefully lower herself to a sitting position at the top of the slide.  Apparently that wasn't fast enough for this kid, (we'll call him "Cage," because he should be in one, and it actually rhymes with his real name), because as she was mid-squat, he hurriedly ran up the steps, saw that MJ was in his way, and shoved her.  Because she was mid-squat, this sent her flying head-first through the air and into a crumpled mess at the bottom.  I placed Alex on the blanket I'd had for him on the floor and rushed over to make sure she was still breathing.  She wasn't really hurt, just surprised (the slide isn't really all that big), so she dusted herself off and looked up to find out what in the world had happened.  I gave her a hug and shot a glare at the brat still standing, looking a little shocked, at the top of the slide, and then hissed at him that he needed to keep his hands to himself and that pushing was unacceptable.  I may also have done some pointing/finger-shaking.  Usually I would have mitigated some kind of conflict resolution skills between the two children, but my heart was still racing and I was still eye-checking her for signs of sudden-onset bleeding or bruises.  


I then looked over the structure to see what his mother was planning to do about her little deviant (I may or may not be judging him a little harshly, but that's what happens when you poke a mama bear with a stick), only to find her oblivious to the entire situation because she was absorbed by her stupid iPhone.  Which should be illegal for all parents, because apparently the mere ownership of an iPhone makes people believe they are way more important than they really are, and that whatever text or app or status update or tweet they are checking is way more important than being present with their child.  I digress.  The point is, her reaction could have fostered an opportunity for positive growth in her child.  Her absence sends the message that it doesn't matter what he does or how he acts.  He was probably about six years old, and it didn't even occur to him to apologize to the baby he just carelessly pushed down a slide.


But we've experienced the effects of "Cage's" mother's "parenting" before, at a local park.  And I've written too much about them already, so that's enough rant for now.


Anyway, the experience with the toddler I wanted to punch at the park makes me think about how mean other kids (especially girls) can be, and I think about how much I am NOT looking forward to seeing MJ's (or Alex's) heart broken every time some little brat thinks he or she is king or queen of the playground.  Can it really be starting already?

Yuck.

It's raining.

When you have a toddler, rain is the worst. thing. ever.

If it's sunny out, I can give MJ a bag of giant chalk sticks and she will happily scribble on the back patio for at least thirty blissful, quiet, minutes while I do all the glamorous and sexy things I enjoy doing, like unloading the dishwasher or staring into the freezer wondering what I'm going to make for dinner.

But it's raining.

We've already built sixteen different block castles and then sent them crashing to the floor, gotten dressed, eaten two delicious snacks of bananas and goldfish crackers, changed clothes when we realized we weren't going to make it to church this morning due to Alex's desperate need for a nap, painted with watercolors, and watched two episodes of Curious George (not back-to-back, good Heavens!).

Usually, Mike is pretty good at entertaining MJ while I clean, fold laundry, etc. but he's tired this morning. He couldn't sleep last night, and stayed up pretty late watching TV, and in a sweet effort to let me sleep in, got up with MJ when she randomly woke up at six. Now he's crashed out on the couch.

MJ knows it's raining and that Daddy is not in his usual rough-and-tumble mood, and is expressing her annoyance by attempting to color on anything that's not paper, climbing up the front of the bookcase, and jumping on the couch.

Must. get. out. of. here.

Busy, busy, busy!

Alex rolled over last week. LAST WEEK, and I don't think I even mentioned it to anyone. Well, I mentioned it to his pediatrician, while he was screaming because she was looking at him (how dare she) and in general, not being cute at all. I also tried to tell her how great he is at holding his head up and pushing up onto his elbows, and how much he loves watching his sister bounce off the walls. He's doing some really amazing things! When I pull on his hands, he sits up (and then usually projectile vomits from the combination of reflux and pressure on his abdomen). He can stand up by himself from this position by arching his back and planting his feet firmly on the floor. He grins and drools ferociously once this is achieved. I think maybe she didn't believe me, because as he lay there, face as red as a tomato, wailing at the top of his lungs because it was his nap time and the staff had kept us waiting waaaay too long and he was nowhere near his beloved crib, he was doing none of his great tricks.

The screaming is an issue.

Alex is not exactly a people person. Some babies are really laid-back, and just kind of chill their way through every day. Pass them around? Sure. Nap spontaneously in a stranger's arms? No problem. This is not Alex's personality. He is regimented and scheduled. Eats at 8:30am, plays until naptime, naps in his crib from 9:30 to 11:30, and then the cycle starts all over again. This continues throughout the day, until he goes to sleep between 7 and 8, and wakes up again at 8:30am. He doesn't like deviations, which makes things like running errands and taking MJ out of the house difficult. So we deal with the crying; otherwise we'd have no life! Sometimes I think I should wear a T-Shirt to circumvent the inevitable dirty looks and often intrusive comments. No, he's not hungry. No, he isn't sick. No, there's nothing wrong with him. No, please, he doesn't need to suck your finger. He's just off-schedule.

While Alex is busy learning how to roll and stand, MJ is teaching me how she sees the world. She asks to play in the dirt every day, and is fascinated by the sound of a stick clanging down the siding on the house. She discovered that when you mix colors of paint, you can create new ones, and she can name them correctly. Yup, not even two, and she knows all the colors (and can count to thirteen, and identify all the letters of the alphabet in both upper- and lower-case. I'm aware that we might have a genius on our hands). Inexplicably, she enjoys naming all the kitchen appliances. She tells me every day which one is the "fer-frig-uh-rator" and microwave, as if I might forget. She spins in circles and sings her own medley of her favorite songs, including "Twinkle Twinkle," "The Wheels on the Bus," and "Edelweiss." She points to the floor when she demands I join her in a dance to whatever music happens to be playing, and smacks the TV, calling out "high five, Fish" when The Cat in the Hat Knows a Lot About That is on. She thinks you can't see her if she has a bowl on her head. She pronounces her name "Uh-Kay-la" (which is an improvement over "Ba-geek-uh"). When I go into her room in the morning or after a nap, she sings, "good mooooorning," whether it's morning or not. When she finishes a drawing, painting, or "message," she holds it up, cocks her head to the side, and says, "hmmm. Boo-ful!" Everything she likes, from babies to sippy cups of milk, is "soo key-uuute!"

These babies are the best, crying or not.

All Kinds of New Things

I have been a bad, bad blogger. When I started teaching last year, I just kind of gave up trying to keep up with this thing, and in so doing lost a great opportunity to document all of MJ's amazing milestones. Now, there is a second Baby Rhodes on the scene, and nothing from his first precious four months have been recorded.

Oh, to add a few more hours onto every day.

MJ has become a toddler right before my very eyes. It happened overnight, just as I suspected it would, and now she is possibly the most brilliant, talkative, observant, friendly, hyperactive little person ever created.

Check out those curls. LOVE.

photo credit: Kristin Moore Photography

Our most recent venture has been (drumroll) potty training.

It's one of those funny things about being a mom, that you get excited about things that other, possibly more normal, people would never get excited about. One of these things is encouraging another person, through exultant celebration and the giving of stickers, to pee and poop in a specific location. I decided that I wasn't going to really sweat it. If it was time, I would know, and she would just figure it out. But the more I thought about potty training, and the more I researched it, I realized that deciding to no longer just "go" whenever the urge struck wasn't going to be something she just did on her own. We ultimately chose to follow a specific method, detailed in a book called Three Day Potty Training by Lora Jensen. Mike's cousin and his wife used this method, and their daughter was potty trained, in three days, at age 18 months. Their son was also trained the same way, and dropped his diapers in a mere four days at age 19 months (boys take longer, you know).

This information was enough to sell me on it, and I was certainly tired of having two in diapers, so we bought the book (with purchase, you also get one-on-one mentoring with the author, online). The way it works is that you have to devote an entire three-day period to exclusive potty training. This means you actually throw away the diapers, so that you can't cheat and go back when it gets hard. And it does get hard. You can't leave the house. You really can't do chores. You can't nap, or watch TV, or check your Facebook page. You spend the three days glued to your child's side, so that you can "catch them in the act" of having an accident, scoop them up and run them to the potty. The method utilizes positive reinforcement, which means that when they go, even a little bit, in the potty, they get a prize. The idea is that by the end of the three days, the child is done with diapers, and (hooray!) so are you! So, we started on a Saturday and Mike took off work on Monday so that we could devote the full three days to MJ's potty training. Honestly, I expected her to be trained within the first hour.

For us, the three-day method took eight days.

For all her 22-month-old brilliance, MJ was much happier to let go mid-sprint than actually stop what she was doing to let us know she needed to go to the potty. There were a LOT of accidents (hers) and a lot of crying (mine). Some even advised us that she was too young to be potty trained, which I knew couldn't be true, since so many other children have been trained at even younger ages. We changed the sheets on her crib, on average, three times a night. After six days, I was ready to get a refund on my investment! Then, suddenly, she started telling me "I potty?" when she needed to go. She dropped to two accidents a day, then one. As of today, she has been accident-free since Sunday morning.

Too young. Ha.

(Knock on wood.)

We are, however, doing Pull-Ups at night, which is not part of the method, but I don't think that will last much longer since she has started calling out to go potty when she wakes up and has to pee. Sigh. My little girl really is growing up.

Being a mommy of two is so much harder than being a mommy of one. When it was just MJ and me, I could devote every second of my waking hours (and many that were supposed to be non-waking, unfortunately) to her every need, wish, or whim.

Sometimes I feel guilty, that Alex is getting the short end of the stick somehow.

MJ is, without a doubt, an extremely precocious child. She is interested in everything, from what happens when she sticks her hands into the water of a flushing toilet to what Mommy might do if her colored pencils drag on the kitchen wall. Meanwhile, Alex has to be fed, which is approximately twenty minutes of time for MJ to get into something, which means that instead of lovingly staring into his gorgeous blue eyes while he eats I am constantly putting him on the floor to chase after his sister, to intercept whatever she's gotten her hands on from flying through the screen door, or rescue my (NEW!) blinds/carpet/kitchen appliances/leather sofa/curtains/walls/pantry contents/etc. from certain ruin in her destructive (I mean curious) hands. When MJ was a baby, we spent her hour of wake-time between meals and naps engaged in witty banter, staring at stimulating black and white pictures, practicing holding her head up via tummy time, and listening to a variety of brain-developing music. Alex usually spends his wake-time staring at the ceiling fan, listening to Mommy reprimand MJ for whatever she's spilled, broken, or bitten, or chewing on his hands out of sheer boredom.

What happens if there's ever a third?

I distinctly remember watching a series of home-videos with my best friend, Kristen. They belonged to her family, and had captured some of the milestones of her and her two younger brothers. The first video was of Kristen, maybe a year-old or so, taking her first steps. Family members hovered over and around her. Toys and furniture were cleared out of the way as her chubby little legs wobbled through someone's living room. Collective gasps were heard as she nearly fell, although she wasn't actually near anything that could have caused her any harm. Her dad manned the video camera and narrated every move. Soon, the video fast-forwarded several years, and showed Kristen and her brother, the second child, climbing a tree as the baby, just within the screen and not really the focus of this particular video, munched happily on some leaves he'd managed to collect in his chubby little hands.

That's what happens. The subsequent children become the independent ones, I guess, left to their own devices and to entertain themselves, at least while they aren't yet mobile. Austin certainly figured out a way to feed himself. ;) (I'm sure someone was watching him, even if from afar.) But really, people used to have way bigger families than they do now, and somehow managed to keep everyone alive, well-fed, and well-nurtured. I think about Memaw, who is a mom of five kids. Or Mike's mom, mother to six. Or Michelle Duggar, mother to nineteen.

Maybe Alex won't be too damaged after all.

Really, he does have special time with Mommy. Usually I try to get both babies to nap at the same time, so that I can get some things done (or sometimes just take a nap myself), but Alex has figured out that MJ's naptime is a great time to be awake. He also gets solo time with me in the evenings, when Mike is giving MJ her bath and putting her down for the night.

While Mommy feeds me, she looks at me, and talks to me, and makes me smile. She doesn't keep tossing me on the floor and running away. She sings to just me. She snuggles me. She dances with me. She tickles that goofy spot on my neck that makes me chortle. She kisses my cheeks and strokes my forehead. Sometimes, she nestles me under her chin and I can hear her familiar heart beat as we drift off to sleep.

I know what he's thinking: MJ should sleep more often.

photo credit: griffin photography

First Words

I'm just as bad as everyone else at this blogging thing. Things get busy and writing about my precious baby's life slips down the priority list. Yikes.

MJ has changed so much since July. In fact, my mother swears she might as well be a different baby since she saw her last (two weeks of vacation = baby withdrawal). She chews her toes, rolls over from front to back and back to front, giggles uncontrollably, eats oatmeal cereal, sweet potatoes, corn, and carrots, shifts items from one hand to another before shoving them mercilessly into her mouth, weighs at least 20 pounds, and most wonderfully of all, says "Mama."

That's me.

Typically, babies say "Dada" first. It's not because they like their daddies better; the /d/ sound is just easier for those little mouths and vocal chords to say. /m/ is hard!! I was fully expecting MJ to say "Dada" first, and I wasn't going to take it personally. I was even encouraging her to say it, just to hear her say something, but her first word was "Mama," music to my ears.

She's been vocalizing the /m/ sound for quite a while, probably since she was four months old. It wasn't until a few weeks later that she really started stringing those /m/ sounds together, making a sound that sounded like "muhmuhmuhmuh." I knew she was just making noise, and didn't read into it.

Last weekend, Mike & I decided to break MJ's pacifier addiction. After weeks of waking several times in the night just to have her "nippy" returned to her mouth, we'd had enough, and were looking forward to a full night's sleep. I saw an old friend at a wedding who told me she and her husband had taken the pacifier away from their daughter at four months, so I knew we could do it. We just had to be strong.

The weekend that MJ and I returned from Nags Head with Kristen & her family, we put Operation Break Nippy Habit into effect. We put her into her crib, nippy-less, and waited for her to fall asleep. Surprisingly, she did fall asleep without the pacifier (for the first time since she was 10 weeks old) without even one minute of crying. We were shocked, yet gleeful, and congratulated ourselves on our accomplishment.

Our glee lasted until about 3am, when MJ woke up expecting someone to rush over and put a pacifier into her mouth. Sigh. I reminded Mike (his turn) that he just needed to reassure her and then go back down the stairs, turned over, and returned to dreamy bliss. I awakened the following morning to an empty bed. As it turns out, Mike denied her the pacifier, lay on the floor to see if she would fall asleep, dozed for 15 minutes, and then finally gave it to her when she wouldn't stop crying.

Night one: fail.

The next night, it was my turn to test my strength. She again fell asleep with no problem, only to awaken at 2:30am wanting the pacifier. I stumbled up the stairs and peered over her crib to find her opening and closing her mouth as she turned her head back and forth, searching for what she wanted. She didn't even open her eyes. I kissed her little cheek, stroked her hair, and patted her tummy to let her know she was okay. At my touch, she opened one eye, peeked at me, and clearly said "muhmuh!" I gasped, but then decided she didn't really mean it. Then she opened both eyes, looked directly at me, and said again, "muhmuh!" When I still didn't give her the pacifier (as I stood with mouth open, staring in shock), she raised her eyebrows, shrugged her shoulders, and pleaded, "muhmuh, muhmuh!"

Obviously, I gave her the pacifier.

The next morning, Mike said I was weak. Like he would have ignored that sweet request!

The next night, we decided to hold our ground together. We went up to check on her when she inevitably woke up in the middle of the night and then returned downstairs right after. She mumbled some cries for only eleven minutes before going back to sleep on her own.

Ever since, she's slept through the night sans nippy. Tomorrow will mark one whole week of full sleep for everyone.

Victory.

Since she's been saying "Mama," I think Mike's been a little jealous. I overheard him shamelessly repeating "Dada" to her for five straight minutes after he pulled her out of the bath tonight. Poor Dada.

Additionally, MJ has been at her baby sitter's since Monday. I thought it would be extremely hard for me to leave her, but with everything I've had to do to get my classroom ready in time for school to start, I've been so incredibly busy that I've hardly noticed I'm alone. I think it's been easier for me because she is with someone that I trust. Diane is my mother's cousin, and between babysitting and rearing her own three children, she has close to 30 years of childcare experience. Also, she's amazing with kids. I remember when I was little and going to their house to play, and feeling like I was in a world built for children. Sleepovers included piles of pillows and blankets all over the floor, movies rented, and fun snacks. There were toys and games everywhere, and because she cared for kids, there were lots of them to play with! The transition for MJ has been so easy for her too. I know she loves watching the older children play, and they love taking care of her as if she's their little doll. All in all, good things.

Baby Machaela is fast asleep after a fun day of play, strolling through Olde Town, watching her father and grandfather build her mom's classroom easel, dinner with good friends, flinging corn and sweet potatoes all over her high chair (and mom), and a relaxing bath with Dada.

What more could we ask for?

Trying New Things

The Rhodes girls have been busy lately.

I'm doing a little online article writing for a company that outsources such things, and when I'm not doing that, now that I've taken the VRA, I'm busy studying for the Virginia Praxis II. These are the last hurdles between me and a Virginia teaching license, so I'm pretty stoked. On top of all that, we've decided MJ needs more stuff.

We just bought a new baby carrier. Isn't it beautiful?

After taking MJ to the beach several times lugging her stroller, car seat, umbrella, beach bag, tent, and diaper bag (not to mention our own beach bag and towels!!), we decided we needed a better system. So, my bright idea is to strap her to one of us and pile the rest of the junk into a beach cart! This is a fabulous idea. Unfortunately, it involves buying more things. Like the afore-mentioned carrier, and a beach cart. Considering the time we will save, not having to have someone carry the stuff, someone to carry her in the heavy car seat, and someone to wait with the stroller and other junk . . . it's worth it. Now I just need to find the cart and we'll be all set. I tried the carrier out today with MJ in it. I strapped her in, pulled out the vacuum, and started cleaning. It worked so great! She got to watch everything I was doing, and I got to get something done before naptime. Why have I not done this sooner?

I'm not the only one getting things done. MJ has been busy checking off milestones over the past few weeks. On top of all the other marvelous things she can already do, lately she's been practicing grabbing both sets of toes, rolling from her back to her sides, strengthening her torso by sitting up and leaning over, and sucking her thumb. She also folds her hands together, and bending her elbows slowly brings her fists back and forth above her head, staring at them intently. The best trick, however, debuted yesterday. We were sitting behind her play mat, the square one with arches dangling brightly colored jungle animals stretching from each corner. Lately, MJ has been doing some great standing. She supports her own weight with her legs as I simply help her balance. Yesterday, I was helping her stay balanced as she was standing, when suddenly, she reached out with both hands, grabbed onto the arches, and balanced herself as I let go completely! It was amazing! MJ, at only 4 1/2 months old, was standing on her own. I never thought she'd be trying to stand before she could even sit up by herself. It's going so fast!

I'm totally obsessed with the show Modern Family, but couldn't watch during the regular season because it came on at the same time as two other things I already TiVo, so I'm catching up this summer. Today's episode featured Claire and Phil's oldest daughter, Haley, getting her driver's license. As she pulled the van out of the driveway and waved to her family standing on the lawn, her mother took several deep breaths (following the advice she gave to Haley earlier in the episode, before the driving test) and let her go. I totally lost it. I guess the take-home point is that fear is inextricably linked to parenting. Can you have parenting without fear? Where does faith come in? When I'm calling the pediatrician at 9pm to ask about a rash that has popped up out of nowhere, or in a panic because she has been crying for my parents for three straight hours, faith is often the furthest thing from my mind. I worry about everything, from how long she's been napping to why she's pressing so hard on her gums to whether or not we should start solids. Mike does too; he has asked me for reassurance at least a dozen times that her head will eventually round out and her bald spot will grow hair. There is a Laurie Berkner song that goes: "One day, I'll be a year, then I'll be two, then three, then four; but as for now I'm sittin' here, just five days old and no days more." I think that's my fear. That I'll blink and she'll be all grown up, heading out the door to start her own adventures. We worry. about. everything.

Because we love her so much.

Really Excited

It's amazing what thrills me these days.

We've been cloth diapering now for quite a while, and I still love it. I love it so much, in fact, that I realized I needed to buy some more. I went online, and found a great deal on a pre-order of the new BumGenius One Size 4.0 diapers. That's right, I'm practically shaking in anticipation of the arrival of a brand new set of cloth diapers. How my priorities have changed.

Something I do want for myself is a Kindle. Not even the Kindle DX, with its fabulously large 9.7" display, just the regular, latest generation Kindle. Not that I have time to read, but it holds something like 1500 books! Luckily for me, with the introduction of the Apple iPad, Kindle prices have dropped significantly, and there really might be one in my future. Like, in August. I do have a birthday coming up.

Yesterday I had a doctor's appointment. Most people would be annoyed at having to take time for one of these visits, or maybe slightly nervous, but I look forward to them like Christmas. Going to the doctor = ALONE TIME. I actually get to spend precious minutes by myself in the car, and then time having a conversation with another adult which doesn't revolve around poopy diaper counts and the possibility of teething early. Mike's sister, Caroline, came over to babysit, and I practically sprinted out the door. Not to mention Mike called me and invited me to lunch at Hell's Kitchen with him and an old college friend. Thank goodness for getting me out of the house!

Speaking of early teething . . .

MJ's pediatrician thinks that MJ is "advanced." She's having separation anxiety whenever I leave the house. The last time Caroline babysat, the little genius screamed for a solid two straight hours. Poor Caroline. Thank goodness she's patient - and tough. The last time Mike and I left her with my parents, she screamed from 6pm - 9pm, and we got called home from our date night. Dr. Ballard says that separation anxiety is a six to nine month skill, and since she's already experiencing it now, she's "advanced." Couldn't she be advanced in a different area? Like, sit up and stack some blocks already. Screaming incessantly . . . not fun for anyone. At four months old, she's also beginning to teethe early. Poor baby is whining and groaning as she gums everything to death. She looks so miserable! Orajel to the rescue.

I think some people are more excited about MJ's toys than she is. Dad persistently danced MJ's little glowing seahorse (Seamus, I named him. How's that for a moniker, Uncle Brad?) in front of her for almost an hour yesterday. She just jabbered and chewed her hands, pretty much ignoring his attempts to entertain her with the seahorse. He then moved on to pretending to sneeze in her face, which gave her endless delight. Why even buy her toys?

MJ and I have a playdate tomorrow. We're really excited. Well, I am. Playdates are obviously more for the parents than for the babies, who typically just lie on the play mat and jabber, giving one another a cursory glance every now and then. Playdates are another of those saving graces where I get to be out of the house engaging in adult conversation. Playdate hooray!

Mike and I are church shopping. We've visited a couple since we've moved here, but we're looking for something similar to the church home we left in Ohio, which we absolutely loved. We maybe found it. The pastor just started a new series on Sunday (perfect timing!), and it's exactly what we need to hear. Funny how God does that, giving you exactly what you need even before you realize you need it. We'll definitely be back!

Baby MJ is sleeping, and I need some vitamin D. Let's see if she'll let me sit outside for an hour while she naps. I would catch up on some reading . . . if only I had a Kindle.

Gifts for Mommy & Daddy

Have you ever been so proud of someone you could just cartwheel right out the door?

Some people know how much we've been struggling lately with MJ and her sleep issues. She was doing so well in Ohio since we started Babywise: two hour naps, 10-12 hour sleeps through the night . . . how could we ask for more?

Then we moved.

Suddenly she wasn't napping at all, and had started this odd pattern of waking at 2, 4, and 6am, just to have her pacifier replaced (which had never been an issue before). Over time, her naps became more and more regulated, and she began napping longer and longer, until this past week, when she began reliably taking two 3-hour naps per day. Usually I wouldn't let her sleep that long during the day, but since she wasn't sleeping at all at night, I wanted to let her catch up a little so she wouldn't be so miserable.

Then came Wednesday night.

She went down happily at 9pm, and slept until 2:30am. Then woke again at 3am. And again at 3:30am. And again at 4am. Finally, she stayed asleep, but kept making these weird humming noises that drove me out of the bedroom and onto the couch. The monitor wasn't picking those up, so I ultimately drifted off around 4:15am.

Until 4:30, when Dad was up for work and decided that my sleeping on the couch must mean that something horrible had happened, and woke me up to ask if the baby was okay. Really?

Uuuuuuuggggghhh.

I mumbled something probably incomprehensible, and tried to fall back asleep, until then Mom was up and stomped through the house to reach the kitchen, where I swear she picked up a spoon in both hands and began spinning as fast as she could to bang as many objects as possible.

Double uuuuggghhh.

I stumbled back up to bed and managed to sleep on and off with the baby until around 9.

I think I slept a grand total of 15 minutes. Poor MJ didn't get much more.

So yesterday I decided to get tough with the naps. Even if she seemed like she was going to sleep longer, I woke her up after two hours. I also upped her formula intake, because she still seemed hungry after her usual six ounces.

She took three 2-hour naps and all of her feedings were 7oz.

Last night, she slept ten straight hours.

I, however, woke up every hour, wondering why I wasn't hearing someone demanding her pacifier be popped back into her mouth, so unfortunately was unable to take advantage of this gift of sleep. Tomorrow is another day.

In other news, cloth diapering is going GREAT. I absolutely love it. I just wish I had more of them! Six isn't enough, even though I wash every day (really, I need like ONE more), and I wish I had more covers so that when they sometimes get slightly damp (after a marathon nap, for instance), I had others ready to go. Surprisingly, even after her ten-hour snooze last night, the cover wasn't wet. Shrug.

Also, when I went back to disposables the other day because I ran out of cloth, she almost instantly got a diaper rash. I don't know if it's the chemicals in the disposables or the absorbant gel or what, but as soon as we switched back to cloth, it disappeared (with a little help from the creamy Desitin in the blue box - best stuff EVER). Maybe circumstantial, maybe cloth is just amazing. I'm going with amazing.

So, what have I learned? Babywise is the baby sleep bible, and should be followed exactly for a happy baby and happy mommy. If your baby seems hungry after a full feeding, you should probably feed her a little more. Cloth diapers are the best things ever, and I can't wait to buy more. What else is there to know?

The Great Cloth Experiment - Day One

As of yesterday, we've gone cloth. I had pledged to cloth diaper MJ even before she was born. I could pat myself on the back for my environmentalism (disposables sit in landfills pretty much forever, so like styrofoam, they are the devil), but really, it's all about the money. Some estimates place the cost of diapering a child to potty training at near $1,200. This, for something that gets tossed out with the garbage! Yikes.

I know what you're thinking. Gross. Those things get poopy and then have to be hand-rinsed. Yeah, true. When I told my cousin, Hilary, that I was going to cloth diaper, she almost threw up on the dinner table. But cloth diapers have really come a long way. They have inserts that don't have to be folded, and with the advent of snaps and velcro, there are no pins to wrestle with. The covers come in all kinds of adorable colors and patterns, and some brands even have one-size covers that grow with your child.

Admittedly, cloth diapers are more expensive up front; our first set of gDiapers, purchased on Saturday, hit up our checking account for $53.98, plus tax. This included two diaper covers and six cloth inserts. I bought them at Babies R Us for convenience; I'm sure they're cheaper somewhere online. The great thing about cloth is that even if you end up spending as much as $400 to diaper a child to potty training, you can reuse all of those diapers for future children. Let's say we end up having four children (permit my insanity for a moment, just to illustrate the point). Through disposable diapers, we'd spend approximately $4,800 to collect their waste until they were all potty trained. Through the use of the cloth, we'd only spend about . . . $400. That's a generous estimate which even includes the energy costs of machine washing up to age 18 months. Let's even throw in another $100, to replace a few that got lost or ripped or stained beyond repair. That's still a savings of $4,300 over the diapering lives of all four children.

Unless we suddenly win the lottery, a little extra cleaning work on my part is worth it.

Last night was our first cloth diapering experience. gDiapers are easy to load. The diaper inserts don't have to be folded; they already come sized properly for the diaper. Made of a highly absorbent blend of hemp and cotton, they are soft as those sweet little cheeks! I kind of wish I had some sleep pants made out of them. Anyway, the diaper covers are cotton, and the nylon liners simply snap in. Then the inserts rest inside the liner. The covers velcro-close in the back, which apparently keep little hands from ripping the diaper off, but we don't really have to worry about that yet, since she's only recently even discovered that she HAS hands. Ha.

After a battle over fit (I wanted to make sure they were tight enough to stay on, but not so tight they squished her fat little tummy), she seemed not to notice a difference. I certainly noticed that they are a bit bulkier than their disposable counterparts, but what is cuter than a padded baby bottom? As she begins to sit on her own, and eventually takes a tumble or two, she'll probably appreciate a little extra padding.

She woke up twice in the night. We're not sure if she's always done this, and she only wakes us up because we're in the same room with her, or if she's just begun reverting back to newborn sleep patterns, but she didn't seem to need a change or feeding, so she went back to sleep. Waking up for good at 7:30 this morning, I scooped her up and placed her on her changing pad. I patted her little bottom, and noticed a slight dampness.

Darn.

She'd leaked through her left leg opening a little. Really, she was only slightly damp on the outside of the diaper cover, and it seemed not to get on her sleeper at all since the diaper covers are cotton, and therefore also absorbent. Disposables can't boast that! You leak in a disposable and end up having to change everything. Unfortunately, as I was pulling off the old diaper, I realized I didn't have anything in which to put her wet cloth insert. The diaper pail is still home to soiled disposables.

Darn again.

As I went to replace the cloth diaper with a new Huggies Little Snugglers Size 2 (I left the other loaded diaper cover downstairs - oops), she suddenly began peeing.

Sigh. Well, that's not unique to cloth diapering. That's just fresh air hitting the pee-pee parts.

Overall, I'm pleased with the first attempt. I think I will check out the website and see if I can figure out what's up with the leg opening fit. Do they adjust somehow? I also need to get something to put the dirty inserts in. Today, I had enough laundry to simply run a load of baby things, so I just threw in the wet insert, but I'm sure that won't be the case every time I change her.

So far, happy baby, happy mommy. We'll see how it goes.

Brand New Tricks, and New Sizes Too

Ahh. This has been a big week for the little one. I think she is finally beginning to get back to her old Babywise schedule. Right after we moved, she abandoned her wonderful through-the-night sleeps and two-hour naps and reverted to her freshly newborn every two-hour wake-ups.

It was a dark time.

The last two nights in a row she slept for seven and six hours, respectively, before awaking in the middle of the night. It's so bizarre, because she's not even hungry. She gets that pacifier back into her mouth and off she drifts again. What is the deal with this? Is she frustrated because she doesn't have her own room anymore? Do things smell different in Virginia? Has she begun a new love affair with 2am? I don't know, but it's frustrating. Her naps have not been great, but they're getting better. She was napping for two hours at a time during nap time, but after we moved, they suddenly became 30-45 minute naps.

How to get anything done?

Now they're about an hour apiece, so that's a little better.

On to the good stuff.

On Tuesday night, we were all sitting around the dining room table. We were just finishing dinner, so I lifted MJ out of her bouncy seat and set her on my lap to "see stuff" (aka, let everyone gaze upon her chubby face). Mike held her hand, shook it up and down, and told her "hi," about sixty times until suddenly, the most amazing sound graced our ears: MJ laughed out loud for the first time ever. It was this throaty, guffaw-like chuckle, and she kept laughing for a few seconds as we all cheered. Just as quickly, all five of us were all over her, shaking her arms, bouncing her, blinking wildly and grinning like maniacs in a vain attempt to recreate the precise conditions which resulted in that sweet sound.

She decided we were no longer funny, and suddenly became her serious, observant self again. We continued to pursue The Laugh over and over every day, and Mike keeps greeting her by shaking her arm and telling her "hi," but it stopped working. Finally, tonight, Mike & I took her on a stroll through the neighborhood. She was in an amazing mood, grinning all over herself and checking out the scenery. When we got back inside, I started talking to her as I pulled her out of her carrier, and it happened again! She laughed, and laughed, and laughed. I kept repeating whatever I was saying ("You're making my face hurt," I think) over and over, and she kept thinking it was the most hilarious thing I'd ever told her. It was great! Again, it was over as suddenly as it had begun, but Mike got part of it on video on his cell phone.

Treasure.

She has another new trick as well. Today, I left her on the floor on her gym mat to swat at her hanging animals while I ran upstairs to replace her diaper bag's supply of Mylicon. When I returned, she was lying on her side with her fingers shoved halfway down her throat. I shrieked cheerfully and told her what a brilliant baby she is, and in one swift motion, she rolled onto her back and over to her other side! I think she would have made it all the way, but because she had those fingers in her mouth her elbows were sticking out at an angle that made it impossible for her to get over them. I tried to get her to replicate this trick for Granny that afternoon, and then again for Mom & Dad, and finally again for Mike, but I think she's trying to make everyone think I'm nuts. She refuses to perform for other people! I swear, I'm really not lying. She really does these things! She just seems to only do them when there are no other witnesses.

I'm going to spend the weekend rolling her manually from side to side to jog her memory.

Also, guess who is wearing her 6-month clothes already? Caroline put her in a 6-9 month outfit on Thursday, and it fit her, so today she wore a 6-month outfit, and it fit. It's kind of disgusting how fast she is growing.

Sigh.

MJ at Three Months

I can't believe MJ is three months old today. It seems like I was just packing up her newborn outfits; I must have blinked, because already it's time to pack away her three months size outfits. It's really been time for about a week, and yet they still hang in her armoire. Maybe I'm just putting off the inevitable, which is laundry, because I need to wash all of her new 6-9 month clothes and have them ready to hang next to the 3-6 month size she is currently wearing, so when she soon outgrows this size the bigger ones are already waiting.

It's sneaky how she does this growing thing when I'm not looking.

She has all kinds of new tricks, and they're much better than the early vomity variety.

Things she can do:

1. Grab. She is really reaching out for her hanging "friends" on her little activity center mat. She has been batting at them for some time now, and she's always been a good stare-er, but now she's grabbing onto "Polly Parrot's" (mom picked out the friends' names, FYI. As my uncle Brad will tell you, I just called that one "Bird.") crunchy wings and holding on for dear life. Also, she sweetly grips her blanket as she sleeps, and yanks out clumps of my hair. Adorable.

2. Respond. Okay, she's been responsive for a long time. She used to follow us around the room with her eyes, and if we made faces at her, she would grin as though we told her the funniest joke ever. But now she follows directions. For example, if I "direct" her to blow a raspberry with her lips by blowing one at her, she will comply, scrunch up her lips, and hum as she blows through them. It's the cutest thing ever. Guess what else? She blows kisses. This is her newest trick, and as my mother as my witness, she will make a kissing sound at you if you make one first. What a little copy-cat!

3. Sucks her fingers. She's been trying to get this one down for about three months. She used to just whack herself in the head trying to get those hands to hang out anywhere near her mouth, but now she can get them up and the fingers curled over her lip in sucking glory!

4. Holds her head up. She is getting SO good at this one. I was worried about it, mostly because they say babies are supposed to spend Tummy Time practicing raising their heads to strengthen their little neck, arm, and chest muscles, and our little MJ absolutely HATES spending time on her tummy. She will tolerate it for a few seconds, then begin to whine and complain until Tummy Time turns into Scream Fest. Needless to say, I doubt she got as much as she was supposed to, and yet, she is somehow developing the ability to support her giant head.

5. Stands. I know - you don't believe me. That's okay. I wouldn't believe me either. But yesterday, we were sitting on the floor, and she had her little bottom parked on my crossed leg. I held onto her hands with mine, and she extended her arms as I pulled her forward slightly. She then straightened her legs, and just like that, my little girl was standing, supporting all of her 16ish pounds on her chubby little legs. I cheered, amazed, and praised her for this outstanding feat, and after only half a minute, she had plopped back down onto my leg. She even held up her head.

Three months old, and completely brilliant.

I've maybe said that before; now you know it's true.

Happy 3-Month Birthday, little one. Don't grow up so fast.

overwhelmed and oh, so blessed

There is so much going on. I remember my mother telling me when I was in high school that I was "burning the candle at both ends," but I never really realized what that meant until now.

Trying to move, especially from one state to another, is no fun. Add to that stress the constant demands of a two-month old baby, and it becomes almost impossible even to pack! So, for the first two weeks that we knew we were going to move, very little was done. I think I manged to box up my shoe collection. Thank goodness for two very special people: my dad and my mom's brother, Brad. They drove up on Sunday and planned to stay until Thursday, which was Moving Day. They worked tirelessly, packing boxes and bins, making dumpster runs, and keeping Tim Horton's in business with Dad's morning trip to donut heaven.

All day Sunday, we worked. As we got boxes packed, we hauled them out into the garage and stacked them against the wall. Suddenly I turned around and noticed that Mike was leaning over slightly with his hand on his chest. I asked if he was okay, and he said that he'd been feeling a little dizzy and his heart was racing. We'd been really busy packing, and he'd been carrying a lot of boxes back and forth, so I thought that combined with hunger was making his blood sugar pretty low. I made him eat a turkey wrap and some Baked Lay's, and the rest during lunch seemed to help. After we had been working again for a while, he stood against the wall and slid down, sitting with his back against it. He complained again that he felt dizzy. We figured that he was probably pretty tired, so he went upstairs to take a nap. I told him that he should call his doctor the next day.

At around 9:00am on Monday, she sent him immediately to the ER.

Around noon, I got a text from him. He'd had an abnormal EKG and x-rays.

Around 2:00, I got another. He was being admitted for an overnight observation. I immediately threw on a jacket and grabbed my purse, accepted my dad's offer to watch the baby, and called out instructions over my shoulder as a ran out the door.

Arriving at the hospital, I felt suddenly very strange. I've been in the hospital quite a lot in my recent life. Two months ago I was arriving at St. Anne's to deliver my precious daughter, and not even a full year earlier I had to have an appendectomy at the OSU Medical Center. You could say I'm familiar with hospitals, only this time I wasn't a patient; this time it was like I was looking in from the outside. It's hard to be in the hospital when you're sick, but I think it's much harder when you're there for someone else.

When I got there, he was still in the ER, waiting for a bed to become available elsewhere. People might not know this about Mike, but he rarely gets sick. He maybe takes one or two sick days every year, and for that to happen, he's got to be REALLY sick. So, walking through the sliding glass door to see him wearing a hospital gown, connected to a monitor, IV placed in his arm, and looking quite pale was unnerving. I moved the visitor's chair as close to the bed as I could get it and placed my hand on his arm. He explained that there was something irregular about his heart rate; there was an extra connection making his blood pressure drop, but they weren't really sure exactly what was causing it. I asked how he felt, and he said that he was still having palpitations and feeling light-headed. A technician came in and told us he needed to do an ultrasound of Mike's heart. We watched, hoping we could see what was causing this strangeness, but it looked pretty much exactly like every other ultrasound we'd ever seen. You could have told me I was looking at a fetus for all I could make out on the screen. Oh, I'd probably say, yes, I see the spine, and yes, that must be the tiny nose . . .

I called home to check in, and was told that everything was going well.

We waited for what seemed like days, and were finally taken to Mike's observation room. As soon as we'd gotten there, Dr. McAllister, a generalist, came to explain what the cardiologist had seen. Mike had a Left Branch Bundle Block, which basically means that there was an extra connection between the left atrium and ventricle of his heart. It was causing the electrical current of the heart to skip the direct route it was supposed to take and circumvent the ventricle, which resulted in too much time lapsing between beats. This caused his blood pressure to drop, and his physical symptoms. The cardiologist consulted with an electrocardiologist, who determined that Mike needed surgery to correct the problem.

This is about the time I thought I might need a cardiologist.

Heart surgery? I thought he just needed a snack, and you're telling me he needs heart surgery?

We digested this information between nurses darting in and out of the room to ask health history questions, check his IV, and bring water.

Promising to return with a set of comfortable sweatpants and clothes to eventually go home in, as well as some toiletries, I went home to feed, bathe, and put MJ to bed.

She had a lovely bath, and Brad and I enjoyed watching her splash it up until it was time to eat. I fed her, watching the clock and hoping she would finish quickly and go right to sleep so I could take Mike his bag before it got too late. Of course, she was ready to play instead of sleep. I put her in her cradle while I packed for Mike so that she could watch me, and hopefully get sleepy while she did it. No luck. I set his packed back outside the room, picked her up, and sat on the edge of my bed to sway her to sleep. Suddenly, I heard a gurgle in her throat. I knew it was coming, but I couldn't move fast enough. Before I could even stand, she, I, and my king-sized duvet cover were covered in warm, ricey milk chunks. I almost cried, but instead tiptoed over the puddles on the floor and climbed, baby and all, into the bathtub. I started peeling her wet clothes off and dropped them into the tub behind me. I turned on the faucet and rinsed her, and when she was chunk-free, I set her on the bathmat and started on myself. I didn't have time for a shower, so I just tried to get as much off my skin as possible, and quickly re-dressed both of us. I certainly wasn't going to feed her again, so I rocked her back to sleep, and put her in her cradle. I threw my and her clothes into the washer, and as I walked out the door, begged my dad and Brad to add in the duvet cover.

I got to the hospital as quickly as I could, and set up all of Mike's belongings, putting away his work clothes and helping him into his sweats. The electrocardiologist came in to explain how Mike's surgery would work. They would insert two catheters into his groin, and run them up into his heart. From there, he would do an ablation, cauterizing the extra connection to redirect the errant signal. It would take between 2 and 4 hours, and if all went well, he'd be released after a few hours of observation. We agreed it was the best course to take, and the doctor left to set it up.

A few minutes later, my phone rang. "Kelley," Brad said, "Machaela has awakened, and she is fit to be tied." I could hear the screaming in the background. "I'll be there in a few minutes," I assured him. The hospital is probably an eight minute drive from my house.

Three minutes from the house, stopped at a red light, my phone rang again. "Hey, she's really crying." More screaming in the background. "I'm on the way; I'll literally be home in minutes," I said, and looking both ways, ran the light. I know, I know, tsk, tsk, but really, it was 11:00pm on a Monday night and there was zero traffic. Apparently my baby was screaming her head off. I knew I needed to get there to rescue my dad, if not her. I floored it the rest of the way home, pulled into the driveway, and opened the garage door. I walked into the kitchen, fully prepared for the assault on my ears, and heard nothing. Silence. There, on the couch, were my dad, snuggling a quietly sleeping infant in his arms, and Brad, looking sheepish. "Didn't I tell you?" he asked my dad. "I knew that as soon as Kelley walked in the door, she'd stop crying." The first thing my dad said was: "I'm going to burn all of those swaddle-things." We'd been debating the calming-effects of swaddling a baby over the preceding 24 hours. Exhausted, I carried her up to my room and settled her into her swing, fully swaddled and sleeping soundly.

She slept 10 straight hours.

In the middle of the night, my mom crawled into bed with me. When Mike was sent to the hospital, my dad called her and told her to come, and she did, straight from work, without even packing a bag. She just drove straight to the airport and got on the first flight. Mothers are amazing.

The first thing she said to me was this: "Kelley, is she okay sleeping in that swing thing?" Sigh. Nope. It's actually a torture device. I always let her sleep in torture devices. It makes her tough. What's with all the grief I'm getting about my parenting?

Mike was released the next day, and his surgery was scheduled for Friday. My parents, Uncle Brad, and I spent the next few days in a whirlwind of taping boxes, packing them, running errands, donating old clothes, throwing out junk, and making trips to the dumpster. Thank goodness for help! Mike was told not to do any lifting, so he rested, feeling useless. The movers came on Thursday to load all the big furniture and most of the boxes into the 26-foot truck. We still didn't quite fit everything. Brad left Thursday afternoon with Mike's car. One vehicle down.

Friday morning, dad left with the moving truck. Two vehicles down. This was also the big day. We got up at 5 so that we could be at the hospital by 6am. We were the first people in the lobby that morning. After registering, Mike was led back to be prepped for his surgery. I sat in one of the recliners (what a brilliant idea, Mt. Carmel!!) and alternated reading Malcolm Gladwell with watching the news. I had been told it would take half an hour to get him prepped, and then I could go back and see him before his surgery. I did a lot of reading. The next thing I knew, the very kind, elderly, receptionist, Betty, (who soon became my best friend) was tapping me on the shoulder. "Mrs. Rhodes?" she whispered. I bolted up, not remembering that I was in a recliner, tilted the whole chair forward, tripped over the extended footrest, and launched myself onto the floor. I looked up to see a very surprised Betty stooped over me and several other waiting people staring at my graceful display. Oops. She helped me up without a word, and then my new best friend led me back to the Heart Center to hang out with Mike until he was wheeled away.

Then the waiting. The surgery was supposed to take 2-4 hours. After Mike was wheeled into the OR, I wandered over to Subway, where I sampled one of their ham, egg & cheese english muffins. I added green peppers and onions, and YUM! it was delicious!! Their coffee is also quite excellent, if anyone is wondering. I read a little more Malcolm, and then walked back to the lobby to read some more. I received a lot of great phone calls while I was waiting. My true BFF Kristen called, and helped me feel busy for a long time. I also talked to Mike's grandmother, Nana, his mother, Suzanne, his Uncle Dwight, his sister, Caroline, his brother, Dusty, and my mom. Mike's Aunt Connie also called and left a message. Thank goodness for these angels. Just talking helped pass the time, instead of having to just sit and watch the clock (which I did anyway).

My other best friend (you know, Betty) became my best friend during all the waiting. Every once in a while, she would come out into the lobby and call the name of a waiting family to let them know their loved one was out of surgery. Every time she did this, I literally sat a little straighter, and I think my ears perked up like a puppy's, and my eyebrows shot up on my forehead in the sheer hope that she would call my name. This probably happened eight times during my wait. I became very attuned to Betty's every move. I even got excited once when she got up to get herself a soda from the vending machine. Other times, Betty would receive a call on the phone at her desk, then look over at me and motion to let me know that the sweet nurse taking care of my husband wanted to give me an update. Mostly, the updates were just to let me know that nothing horrible had happened. There wasn't much else she could say.

Eventually, Betty left. I was very sad to see her go. After all, after watching her every move for four and a half hours and bonding over my fall from the recliner, we were very close. Her replacement was there for only five minutes when she called my name and I was sent back to speak to Mike's surgeon, Dr. Patel. He explained that it was the most difficult of these procedures he's ever done. The extra connection in Mike's heart was wrapped around the side, making it very hard to see. He was able to do the ablation, and cauterized the connection in two places. The surgery was a success! At least for now; if the symptoms come back (sometimes they do) before three months pass, he'll have to have the surgery again.

I managed to at least call the family before my cell phone battery died.

After eating a quick sub from my new favorite in-hospital restaurant, I skipped over to Mike's recovery room. I was nervous and excited to finally see him. He looked very pale, but over the next few hours, his color returned and he was discharged!

Over the next few days, Mike rested, and my mom and I took turns with the baby and cleaning the townhouse. We had several people come look at it, but no one has decided to take over our lease yet. Sigh.

Today is Wednesday, and we're Virginians again. It feels kind of weird, because we keep expecting to have to pack our bags and hop on a plane to go back to Ohio. We're staying with my parents until we can find an apartment, so we're waiting for it to stop feeling like a visit. Yesterday, Mike went to CHKD to fill out his new-hire paperwork and get his blood work done. His first official day of work is Friday. Even after having heart surgery, the show must go on, I guess. How blessed we are that he has a job, and that they were understanding about his coming in a day late.

Important order of business: we're doctor shopping. MJ needs a new pediatrician, one with hospital privileges at Sentara Leigh and that takes Optima insurance. I need a new OBGYN, one that's as hip and withit as my previous Columbus OBGYN, whom I dearly loved and now sorely miss. Mike & I both need a family doctor. Suggestions?

Ranitidine

So much of parenting is guesswork. How much does the baby need to eat at any given time? How long should she nap? What's the best cure for diaper rash? What brand of bottles should we use?

Why is she crying?

The latter question is especially constant and consistently stressful. You wonder not only what will bring about its end, but how much is too much, or how much is not enough. When is crying part of every baby's growth and development process, and when is it neglect? Determining what to do about crying and when can be a frightening and difficult line to toe.

Last weekend was an especially trying one. MJ cried, nonstop, on Saturday. She would fall asleep for periods of 45 minutes or less, then wake up screaming. Mike and I were at our wits' ends. Sure, some crying is normal, but this lasted all day! Guesswork. We jiggled; we rocked; we swayed; we swaddled; we unswaddled; we shushed; we sang; we put her in her swing. Turns out, the only guess that was a good one was calling the pediatrician. She told us she probably had reflux and to give her Maalox.

The pediatrician was right. The Maalox turned her back into our happy, sweet cooing baby. The next day, she even took all her naps! Thank goodness there are pediatricians to tell us which guesses are better than others. She wanted us to call back on Monday for a prescription.

Ranitidine, generic for Zantac. Who knew a 10-week-old could take Zantac?

Even though MJ hasn't been the best napper in the world, she does usually sleep through the night. I could at least count on two sets of 5 hours of sleep, sometimes even as much as 8-10 straight hours! After starting the Zantac, she was up every hour. I would go in and rock her until she seemed to be sleeping, then put her down, praying that she would stay asleep. Thirty minutes later, my prayers would be rewarded with screaming anew. Sigh. After two nights of this, I read the pamphlet that comes with the prescription package. Possible side effects include: headache, constipation, diarrhea, dry skin, and insomnia. Insomnia? I'm giving this to a baby! They are already insomniacs by definition! Now what do I do? She needs the medicine to keep from vomiting constantly and to keep her esophagus from burning, but we all need sleep. Guesswork. She was supposed to take it twice a day, and because it is mint flavored (come on people, really, mint??) I gave it to her right before her last bottle of the night so she can wash down the taste with yummyness. Now, I give it to her with her 6:30-7:00 bottle, so it has a chance to get through her system a little before bedtime.

Guess who slept for 10 straight hours last night?

Success.

Sometimes the guesswork is confusing, and exhausting, but it's always rewarding when you get it right.

Wit's End

Ahhh. It's officially my first ever Mother's Day. MJ is sleeping peacefully, and Mike is watching Gladiator. I'm thinking I should be asleep too. I now understand why mothers deserve their very own holiday.

It's been a tough couple of days.

It seemed like Machaela was adjusting to her Babywise schedule. She would wake up between 7 and 8 in the morning, and then eat every 2 1/2 to 3 hours, just like she was supposed to. Suddenly, it seemed like her vomiting was increasing in frequency. I'm not talking about the spit-ups that are part and parcel of babyhood; I'm talking about those projectile vomits, the ones that are now legend (and becoming much more projectile as well . . . eesh). Not only was she vomiting more, she was sleeping less during the day. Her naps were decreasing in length and frequency. Clearly, this was unacceptable.

Between yesterday and today, MJ took a grand total of three naps. They each lasted no longer than 40 minutes. One actually only lasted 15.

Not okay.

Tonight, after a very long day of a screaming, non-napping 9-week old, I called her pediatrician's office. Closed, of course, but fortunately her wonderful pediatrician was the one on call. We had already switched her to soy formula, which only made the vomiting worse, and had tried the Sensitive Stomach type for two days, which didn't help. After explaining what we'd been going through since Friday morning, Dr. Jacob had a hunch.

Machaela has reflux.

Ay yi yi.

So, following her instructions, I sent my wonderful husband to our neighborhood CVS to pick up a bottle of cherry flavored Maalox. Dr. Jacob specifically noted that we should not get the mint flavor, since babies are not fans of mint. I suppose they do not appreciate the value of fresh breath. She said we could either get the regular strength or the extra-strength, but should avoid the maximum strength-24 hour version of said medicine. We should then call again on Monday to get an appointment, after which she'd probably prescribe something stronger for her to take long-term.

Meanwhile, I went ahead and began MJ's bedtime ritual, beginning with her bath. Favorite. She, as usual, loved it, and grinned through its administration. As soon as it was over, she predictably began to cry. Usually, this crying lasts only as long as it takes to get her dressed and swaddled, because she knows that yummy rice bottle is coming next.

Tonight was a little different.

She screamed. And screamed. Ohmygoodness. Was I pinching her without realizing it? Was there a piece of plastic or a corner of velcro sticking into her skin? Nothing; I checked.

It got worse. And loud. And screechy. It's actually hard to describe the sounds that were coming from her mouth, because they were like nothing I've ever heard before. Her lips were actually quivering, and her little tongue was raised and shaking inside her mouth. Her eyes were squeezed shut. Oh wow. I finally picked her up once she was dressed and ready for bed, then snuggled her close to me to calm her down. This usually works, but she just got louder. I tried to pop a pacifier in her mouth, but she just ignored my attempts. She screamed like this for a full fifteen minutes. I'm not even sure she was inhaling between screams. Finally, she accepted the pacifier, and began breathing in short little gasps, sniffling and snorting, and eventually calmed. This is about the time Mike returned from the store.

With mint-flavored 24-hour Maalox.

Really?

I had him make her a rice bottle and sent him back to the store. I am very proud of myself for not letting my head spin around and pop off my neck. I tried to bite my tongue. I had to bite really hard.

He came back when she was halfway done, so I burped her and squirted the quarter-teaspoon of medicine into her cheek. Clearly, she's not a fan of cherry either, because she pushed it right back out with her tongue. Great. I tried to scoop it back into her mouth with my thumb, and I think she maybe swallowed half of what I'd originally given her. Sigh. We'll see how she does tomorrow.

Maybe her Mother's Day gift to me will be a full recovery from infant reflux, so that she can nap, and I can pack. After all, we have only one week and four days until Moving Day.

Gah.

Happy Mother's Day to all the mommies. You're amazing. Especially mine. (Love you, Mom.)