10 months

We've now mastered pulling-to-stand. It's like second nature to Luke. I'm pretty sure he's experimented on every single thing in our house that he can pull himself up on. He's cruising now, too. He's walking sideways, or just awkwardly, while one-handing-it along furniture. Yes, we're one-handing-it now, as well. That bravery is certainly shining bright.

 

He's pulling up to stand with one hand while he has a toy in the other hand. Then, he's all waving his toy around like look who needs only one hand to hold on now, mom! Ok, son. One step at a time, buddy. And to add to his bravery and macho-ness, he's been letting go recently. He'll stand independently, for a moment, as if to test himself. 

Speaking of testing himself, he's discovered the stairs. This fun obstacle must have been built just for him, or so he thinks. Stair-climbing has become his new hobby, while mom and dad frantically follow close behind with open arms. 

He's also walking really well while I hold his hands. It feels like he's just going to let go and take off. It's so surreal how quickly time has passed since he was born, how much he's grown and learned. It's amazing in every way amazing can be amazing.

My Pitter is still growling and talking up a storm. Dada is still his favorite word. He has pronounced every sound in the alphabet except z. He's going to be the kid that gets in trouble for talking in class. That's ok; he comes by it honestly.
 

He's a social little stinker. We were walking him in his stroller in a busy shopping plaza one afternoon, and it was cold. People were hurrying to get from the stores to theirs cars and vice versa, including ourselves. And here this kid is yelling at everyone! He yelled "aaaaahhhhhhh" at every single person that hurried passed him. In the store, he was intently staring at people. If they didn't acknowledge and make faces at him, he'd yell at them, too. And people seem to find this hilarious, because as soon as they look at him, they're greeted with a big, warm baby smile. What feels better than that, right? Then, they happily oblige to his wishes. Babies are so smart. It just continues to baffle and amaze me at how they hypothesize about something, then create the opportunity to test their theories.
 

Daycare is only slightly better. I spend lots of time with him in the mornings in his classroom before I have to leave for work. It's still really hard. I'm so thankful for the camera system, though. 

Checking out the toys on the shelves (blue shirt)

Making new friends

What's in there?

10 months:
•Likes rolling toys. 

•Likes to spin things. 

•Grinds teeth. 

Daycare Catastrophe

Luke had his first day in daycare this month, in the care of strangers in a strange place, with people who don't know or love him.

I knew it was going to be difficult for me, so I took that week off of work. And that was a very good idea. 

Because I had a meltdown.  

The morning started out jacked up enough. He had a bottle at 5 am and went back to sleep with me until 7. We got up, and I fed him breakfast. He grunted a little like he was pooping. I figured I would finish feeding him, then a diaper change. 

Mistake. 

I should have known when he leaned to the side in his highchair and grunted that cascades of thick, chocolate waterfalls were being created. Poop had seriously leaked out of the leg holes of his diaper and down both of his chubby, rolling baby legs. 

I decided to just take him to the bathroom and hold him under running water, clothes and all. I took his pants and diaper off in the tub and held him under temperament water in an attempt to carefully rinse him off without needing a full-on bath. That idea was precisely executed in my mind. Not so much in person...

Poop.Went.Everywhere. 

He stepped in it, got his hand in it; chunks of baby poop were literally everywhere!

I gave up plan A and just shut the water off. I then carried him sideways into another bathroom where his 'baby tub' resided. I filled his little tub with water while still holding this squirmy poop-infested child sideways, careful not to contaminate everything. I sudsed the little dude up and bathed him as I should have to begin with. >defeated sigh<

Fast forward to actually arriving at the daycare facility: My stomach had butterflies. Read: poisonous butterflies. I just had a terrible feeling. Working-mom guilt? I don't know, but it was downright nauseating. 

We had a family friend nanny for us for a few months. I worked only 3 days a week during that time. Our sweet friend watched him 2 days a week, then my mom, or Josh's mom, watched him the other day. We managed to keep Luke out of public childcare until he was 9 months old. For that, I feel blessed. 

I researched every facility in our area. We toured and asked all of the questions you are supposed to ask. This place seemed like the best. Three cameras were in every classroom. Fast forward, rewind, pause, zoom... they did it all. And it was live feed that I could monitor directly from my phone. What a peace of mind! The classrooms were large and separated by floor-to-ceiling glass walls to make transitioning to the next room easier for the kids. That also made the classes feel safer for me, because anyone could see what was going on in any room. 

When I got to his classroom, there sat four babies in the middle of a cheap and thinly carpeted floor, crying. One was crying so hard she was doing the gasp-for-air-and-twitch thing between cries. She also had snot running out of both nostrils like heavy waterfalls (gag). They all looked so pitiful with bloodshot eyes and out-reached arms of desperation to be held. 

I clinched Luke a little tighter. 

The state law on ratio is 4:1, so the teacher was alone with these four screaming babies. She very dryly said to her babies, "Y'all are just going to have to wait. You'll be fine." Now, maybe I've said that a time or two to my son when he's screaming, and I haven't peed in 4 hrs, but something just didn't feel right about her saying that to someone else's baby. Someones pitiful, desperate, confused baby. And in front of me?! 

She called the front desk to ask for some help, because she was trying to give me a rundown on things. The director came in, wiped the snotty nose of gasping girl, and I don't even remember what else she did. I just stood there. I was in shock. I squeezed Luke so tight. I kissed his forehead and seriously considered turning around and walking out. Teachers from other classrooms were staring at me through the glass walls (or so it felt). They must have seen the pure panic on my face. You couldn't miss it, because I couldn't hide it. 

During the course of talking to this raspy-voiced, seasoned teacher, I felt myself get to the verge of tears several times. This was not how I envisioned daycare for my son. I imagined a loving environment with lots of happy babies. Not an uncomfortable room (for me) with screaming children and a teacher just a few years shy of being a walking, anti-smoking campaign slogan. Those butterflies were inflicting their poison into my gut the longer that I stood there. 

By now, another teacher had arrived, because the number of children had just surpassed four. I sat Luke down in front of the toys. It was almost his nap time. I stood and watched him for 45 minutes.
 

Forty-five minutes. 

I watched him crawl around and touch and explore this new land. He whined a few times, but resolved the issues himself. I told them that I rock/pat him to sleep for naps and that sometimes he's stubborn, and it takes a little effort. The latest teacher to arrive said that was no problem. She cuddled the other babies and really seemed to be genuinely caring. That made me feel a lot better. But I was still scared to leave him. 

I bit my lip to hold back the tears as I exited the room while he wasn't looking. He was engulfed in play, and I just hoped that he wouldn't even notice. As soon as I opened the front door and stepped one foot out into the frigid cold, tears began to pour down my cheeks. I bawled all the way to my vehicle. I put my sunglasses on during a grey, cloudy day to hide the mess on my face. I cried hard and loud. I called Josh, per his request. I could barely speak to him, because I was crying so much. I even turned on my GPS nav to get me home, because I just couldn't focus. 

I cried all of the way home. 

Once I got home, I tried to login to view him on the cameras, but my account hadn't been activated yet. The director told me she would activate it for me when I left. Apparently, she hadn't got to it yet. She obviously had no idea how badly I needed this! So, I sat at my pub table and cried harder than I've cried in a long time. I just imagined him crying like those other babies and not understanding why no one would pick him up. If those babies' parents could have seen them at that moment, I feel like a shitstorm would have erupted. It was heart-breaking. Like puppies in shelter cages crying out for love and affection. 

I cried some more. 

The thought of that being my baby tore me up. I feel like those babies should have taken priority over me. I would have had one on each hip or been in the floor with them telling the new parent that I would be right with them when my babies were calmer. They're all small babies (compared to my little giant baby). I just didn't understand why she was so cold about it. It was a clear first impression for me that she was probably in the wrong career. And I left my son with her. 

Bad, bad mom is all that rang in my ears. 

I tried logging in every 5 min. After an hour and a half, I called to check on him. The director forwarded me to his room. The raspy teacher answered. I could hear Luke screaming in the background.

Screaming. 

I felt my gut sink. She said he was fine, but really tired. She said he was "just going to have to wait," because she had three babies to feed before she could get to him. She said she put him in the swing. The swing? He hates swings now! At this point, he had been awake for 5 hrs without a nap. He usually naps in the morning after he has been awake for 2-3 hrs. I was mortified. I was pissed. I felt guilty. I cried, again. I had not cried that hard since Lexi died. It was bad.

 

I called Josh again and told him about hearing Luke crying and the way the teacher spoke to me. He told me to just go get him. That was all that I needed to hear to give me some validation that I should follow my gut-instinct. So, I cleaned up my face and left. 

 

When I got to the parking lot, I decided to try and log in one last time. Voila! It worked that time. I fast-forwarded through the last four hours of feed while he was there. He cried for two solid hours. Two hours!!! He was moved from crib to swing to floor to crib. Crying. The whole time. It appeared he had cried himself to sleep of pure exhaustion. How was this not child abuse in some way?! 

Bad, bad mom

 

I walked in to get him. The director greeted me at the front, where she buzzed me in. "Back already? That was a short first day," she said. I just smiled. I was so emotionally unstable, I'm surprised I didn't gouge her eyes out with a pen embossed with the school's logo. Whew. Good thing. For both of us.

When I walked in the room, Luke was sleeping in his assigned crib. I was told he crawled around, shortly after I left, looking for me. Then, he became upset. Break my heart a little more, won't ya?! He was picked up by a teacher and brought to me. He was sleepy, but happy to see me. And I him. I put his coat on and smothered him in kisses. The rest is a blur. I left. I cried all the way to my truck squeezing him. I apologized over and over again. I sat in the backseat and gave him a bottle before we headed home. 

 

I contemplated quitting my job all the way home, and would for several days to follow. I never imagined myself as a stay-at-home-mom, but I felt like it might be one of the only ways I could live with myself. What was I thinking?  

Guilty with Love

I did something today that I have never done before. Something I'm ashamed to say that I've never done. 

I live in an area with more than 100,000 people cramming into one town. That's a 50% growth in 10 years. The place is booming, and hosts shoppers from a 50-mile-radius regularly. We're a haven for homeless curb-dwellers. I've always ignored them, ranting silently in my head about their tacky antics. My husband freely gives them food and bottles of water when the heat is beaming down on them in the summer. I would just shake my head at the stupidity of standing in the heat or cold. It doesn't make sense. Not that I'm opposing my husband's humanity. I'm all for helping them with meals, just not cash. My rule is always no cash. For obvious reasons that we all think. But seriously, couldn't they be applying for jobs? Working hard like the rest of us? After all, that's what it takes! It takes drive and willpower to get anywhere in life. Little did I know that what I have always been thinking was very true and right in front of me as I thought those very thoughts.

I did something today that I have never done before:

I gave a homeless man all of the cash that my wallet had to offer. It wasn't much. Five dollars. But it's all that I had. 

I notoriously do not carry cash on me. I like to see all of my transactions digitally. Thus, I know where I spend every dime and am better able to budget things this way. I never have change for a bottle of water in a vending machine when the heat is making my thirst scream and long for a cold beverage. I never have cash to give a co-worker to grab me some lunch on their way out when my belly is growling from the massive calories I just burned in the first half of a shift. I never have anything to tip the carhops at Sonic when they bring me my delicious milkshakes with a smile on their face in the unforgiving heat, or when their noses are beet red from the bitter cold. I always feel so incomplete, guilty, or mad at myself for loathing the physical presence of cash in my wallet at these times. 

 

Every now and again, my husband will give me some cash from a transaction he's made, an ATM withdrawal, or a scratch ticket winning. And I'll tuck it away in the dark confines of my wallet for a rainy day. Or perhaps, more realistically, a time when I need cash. Sometimes it will sit there for months. Forgotten. Like a piece of clothing, not worn in years, tucked away in the farthest corner of a closet. But sometimes, sometimes I'll remember I have it and put it to good use. Like giving it to a complete stranger that wasn't even asking for it. 

 

The flimsy, cardboard sign read 'Homeless Veteran.' 

 

The man had a beard that looked as though it were decorated with salt and pepper. His eyes were heavy, wrinkles accenting every corner. His brows bushy and protective of his sunken, aged eyes. His clothes were layered and heavy with holes and wear. They laid on his thin body like a clothesline. His hands, and the few parts of exposed skin on his face, were chapped from the cold. His companion was sitting along side him on a curb. Her brown hair was mangled under an old hat. Her face was exposed to the bitter cold and chapped, as well. Her eyes distant with despair and shame, it appeared.

I saw these people. Not in a physical sense, but an emotional one. Human to human. I remembered that I had a five dollar bill tucked away in my wallet. My memory is typically rather poor, and why I remembered in that moment is beyond me. But it was my stash, and all that I had on me. I had no second thoughts, though. I was glad I had something. I scrambled to retrieve it from my unorganized bag while the traffic passed at the stop sign we sat at. As I was frantically rummaging my wallet, the traffic slowed. I didn't tell my husband what I was doing. I simply said to him, "Don't go yet." I found the five dollar bill, wrinkled and folded awckwardly. I rolled down my window and motioned for the man to come to me. He struggled to get up from the curb. I immediately felt guilty for not jumping out of the car to help him or bring the crinkly, little bill to him instead. He slowly approached my window. He looked baffled as to say, "What could I possibly help you with?" I handed him the five dollars, still folded the way I found it in my wallet. He slowly accepted it and smiled at me. He said, "God bless you" in the most sincere tone I've heard in a long time. Tears began to stream down my warm cheeks. Though it wasn't much, I had just given this man all that I had, and I couldn't even speak. I managed to mumble a "God bless" in return and rolled my window back up. My husband turned to me and said, "That was really nice of you." His tone surprised, but sincere. I didn't look at him. I couldn't. I was crying and didn't want him to know. For a variety of reasons. First and foremost, I was confused. I wasn't sure why these emotions had come over me so strongly. A few seconds later, I realized I was ashamed. Not to be crying, but that my husband was surprised that I had done such a kind act in his mind.

Had I always been so cynical? Judging every person on a corner with a cardboard sign? Shamefully, I knew I had. What does it take to put every ounce of your dignity aside and stand on a street corner with a pathetic sign? I wouldn't know the answer to that. But had I different occurrences in my life, I might just be able to say. I'm hard-working and driven, but I'm also human. My hard work and drive are backed by a strong, supportive family. What if I had not had that family, that support? Where would I be? Who would I be? Who knows. The thing is, everyone is going through something difficult at any given moment. And to judge them based on our own experiences is just ludicrous. We have no idea what it's like to walk in some else's shoes. None. No matter how close we are to them either. We just can't experience someone else's experiences and emotions. What has been the hardest experience in someone's life, and therefore their worst pain, may pale in comparison to someone else's hardships. But that does not pale their pain or experience in any way. As Buddha said, "Have compassion for all beings, rich and poor alike; Each has their suffering. Some suffer too much, others too little." I always thought these people must have been lazy to be asking for handouts. But it must take drive and willpower for them to get up in the morning and face people like me asking for a chance at life today. A chance for a warm place to sleep, a meal, more clothes, maybe a fix-if they need that. Whatever it is, it's not my place to judge them. I'm not contributing to their 'habits.' Even addicts get to a point where they need their fix just to survive. I'm just being humane. I'm giving another human being a chance. At what is not of my concern; it's just a chance. Plain and simple. 

 

I helped someone less fortunate in a way that I will never know. That may have contributed to his funds for a hotel room for the night. A night where temperatures would not be above freezing. Maybe it went towards a hot meal for him and his companion. Or maybe he bought a bottle of liquor. Who knows. And who am I to judge? Even if he did buy liquor, he obviously needed it more than I did. Maybe it will keep him warm wherever he is camping out and temporarily drown away whatever sorrows he has for his situation. 

Who knows if he was even a Veteran. His sign claimed such, so I choose to believe such. If I could go back to the curb, I would drive to the Hilton hotel behind him and buy him and his companion a room for the night. I would make sure it included a meal and breakfast. He fought for my freedom, so it would have been the least I could have done. But as with all good ideas, they only come after-the-fact. So, I will just ask God to take care of him tonight and hope he has somewhere warm to stay. In the words of a stranger that probably helped me in more ways than he'll ever know, God bless you. 

9 months

My 'baby' can still fit in most of his 9 month onesies. Most of his clothes are 12 months with some 18 month stuff. He's still fitting in size 4 diapers comfortably, too.

He is drinking about 30 oz of milk a day. The Ped informed us he should be between 16-20 oz now and said we can increase his solid intake to compensate. 

We do purées and table food. I like the purées, because there are so many varieties and textures available in organic. We do organic puffs for little snacks here and there and organic wafers for teething. I take some comfort in the organics knowing massive amounts of FDA-allowed pesticides weren't used (hopefully). But I also give him table foods that aren't organic (stuff with thick skins like bananas). I'm more leary about nonorganic foods that grow in the ground, though (greens beans, carrots, etc).
 

I know. I know. Eventually, he will make his own decisions and eat as he pleases. And frankly, I'm ok with that. I'm just trying to start him off on the right foot. Hopefully, he will make good decisions regarding food choices one day, but I vow not to cringe when he has a burger at McDonalds or a shake from Sonic. I will probably be sitting next to him chowing on the same thing. I just hope that I am able to give him the tools to understand self-control and moderation. 

As for now, he is quite pleased with discovering foods of all colors, textures, and tastes. It's pretty exciting for all of us. It's also stressful, though. 

 

How much does he need to eat in a day? At once? How much fluid should he have? What fluids can he have? What foods can he not have? What if he chokes? How often should I feed him? How do I know if he's full? Can I over feed him? This has pretty much been buzzing in my head since the day the kid was born. 

And it's always a new feeding plan after we see the doctor and get new recommendations. 

 

The latest:

 

5am:    8 oz bottle

7-8am: breakfast

11am:   lunch

2pm:    8 oz bottle

4-5pm: dinner

7pm:    4 oz bottle before bed if needed. 

 

Looks good on paper. We'll see. I'm flexible. 

 

He's tried everything imaginable, in terms of food. Minus dairy. He is still on the Alimentum formula, and thriving. I chopped up some honeydew and cantelope for him one night recently. Big hit. 

 

The kid has four teeth, FOUR! And the doc informed us, at his 9 month check up, he has FOUR more about to cut! I cannot, for the life of me, fathom that this kid is going to have at least eight teeth by his first birthday!!! I didn't realize this happens so fast. Or maybe it's just him? And they're like puppy teeth. If you're a dog person, you just cringed. If you're a dog person with kids, you just laughed while nodding yes. Am I right?! Those things are sharp! And he likes to test the waters with them, too. He bites everything. And he grinds them together! *Shudders at the thought of the sound.* 
 

Rolling over has been his thing for a few months now, and he just can't get enough of it. In the words of Forrest Gump: If he was goin' somewhere, HE.WAS.ROLL-ING! This makes for some interesting diaper changes. Why oh why was I ever excited for this milestone? I'm convinced it would be easier to baptize a cat than change a mobile baby's diaper! The military teaches how to disassemble and reassemble a weapon in record timing. New parents should be taught diapering techniques that way, too! It's a time-critical combat against poop, people. Shew. But gosh he's cute.
 

7 months

My little guy is still in 9-12 month clothing and size 4 diapers.

We've completely stopped breastfeeding now. I was down to only nursing him in the morning or before bed once a day or every other day last month. I deeply miss snuggling up with my baby in bed and nursing him to sleep, but I think it's truly easier for him to have more of a predictable amount of food now. He's noticeably less stressed.

He's still on the Alimentum formula and doing amazing. He was eating about five 6 oz bottles and one or two "meals" a day. But, just recently, we've changed that a bit and started more of a schedule with his eating & naps, because he starts daycare on December 16th (more on that later).

Our current attempt:

6:00 am: 7 oz bottle

7:30 am: 2.5 oz prunes

8:00 am: Nap

10:00 am: 7 oz bottle

11:00 am: Nap

12:00 pm: 3.5 oz fruit

2:00 pm: 7 oz bottle

3:00 pm: Nap

4:00 pm: 3.5 oz veggies

6:00 pm: 7 oz bottle

6:30-7 pm: Bath & bedtime

Once he starts daycare, the times will have to be moved up a bit. I will have to get him up at 5 am to feed him and get him ready, because he will have to be at daycare by 6 am. The two things we are still having a bit of a hard time with are the afternoon nap and bedtime, though.

Milk-Be-Gone

Bit the bullet. The cold lead seared my teeth, but I did it. I bit it. I'm finally weaning. It's bittersweet in so many ways. Ah, let me count the ways... one one thousand, two one thousand...

 

I feel good about my decision considering what I put myself through to get this far. It took me 2 months of hardcore commitment just to make enough milk for a newborn. It seems like I was always behind. I maxed out at making about one ounce per hour. That might have even been sufficient for some babies, but I have a big kid! I'm now at about half of an ounce an hour, and only nursing (or pumping at work) about twice a day. We'll see where it goes...

6 months

Weight: 21 lbs 3 oz (98.2%)

Length: 26.75" (57.9%)

Head: 45.5 cm (96.4%)

 

 

My baby! My itty bitty baby, born a mere 6 months ago, is on his way! 6 months old. Wow! I always see/hear parents marvel at how their child is 8 years old, oh but "just yesterday" they were learning to crawl. Honesty out in the open here, I was always like "Really?! You didn't realize your kid grew up?! Ok..." But I get it now. I soooo get it now! I get so many parent things that I never understand. Even as badly as I wanted kids, there were just things that I didn't get. This was one of them. It happens fast. As in 1.21 gigawatts-fast.

We are now in size 4 diapers! The size 3s leaked a few times, and they were getting snug. So, we went up a size, and what a difference that made. No more leaks, and the tabs aren't being stretched to their limits. He is still wearing mostly 9 month clothes (minus pants). His pants have to be at least 12 months to fit comfortably.

Does this diaper make my butt look big?

 

We decided to try pureed peas again since he refused them last time. He took them without hesitation. We've been experimenting with letting Luke feed himself some things.

Mmmmm nanas

I made a huge mess with oatmeal

Daddy, more!!!

Prunes.

 

Luke had some bumps on his gums and a recessed, white spot on the top where a central incisor would be. We were sure he was finally teething. Gnawing on everything, drooling, crying. Seemed to fit the bill, no? No is right. Pediatrician confirmed it was gingival cysts. Poor kid. It's one thing after another for him. No teefies yet. 

He had some bouts of screaming out, but we discovered it was his reflux acting up again. He's back on ranitidine (Zantac) twice a day. WONDER DRUG!

 

We made the switch with his formula. We are finally on Similac Alimentum (hypoallergenic). OMG. A-M-A-Z-I-N-G! We have our baby back. I say back. I pretty much mean the baby we never had. He doesn't fuss the entire time he is awake, gas is completely gone, no more diarrhea, no more congestion. I almost want to cry at the very thought that he has been allergic to cow's milk protein this whole time. Bad mommy. Uneducated, uninformed mommy. Thank God, I'm self-sufficient and able to educate myself! If we ever have another baby, at least I will know early on! I'm still breastfeeding with zero dairy in my diet (I miss ice cream and cheese sooooo bad).

 

Drum roll, my friends........ Pitter ROLLED OVER! Ha! I seriously thought the kid was going to skip it. He was sitting unsupported before he even rolled over. He's so back-asswards. Two days before he turned 6 months (on my MIL's birthday-how special), he rolled from tummy to back. Then, a couple of days later, back to tummy. Good boy. Mommy and daddy were stupid proud. We cheered and clapped like it was his first steps or something. He is still attempting to crawl, but he can't get on his knees yet. He can pick his head and butt up high in the air, just not at the same time. In due time my little Pitter. In due time.

 

  

Luke is so ticklish. I love it. He laughs out loud and squeals when we tickle his legs or ribs. It's almost torturous how much we do it to him, but his laugh is the best sound in the whole World!

 

We bought a jumperoo. Pitter loves it! He goes crazy! We just laugh and laugh. I must say, this is the best age so far. Newborns are cute (most of them, anyway), but 6 month olds are just freaking awesome. His personality is really shining through. I can finally distinguish things, like cries. I know his "I'm hungry. Feed me NOW!" cry, his "I'm sleepy" cry, his "Hold me" and "I'm uncomfortable" cries. It's a different world for all of us. A better world. A happy, loving world. One we have all been dreaming of. Ensue cheesy music with a slow-mo montage.

 

I haven't discussed sleeping. What is that anyway?! Guess that's why I haven't discussed it. In part, because it's almost embarrassing to say Luke still isn't sleeping through the night. The other part is that I'm sleep-deprived and known to get moody when talking about it.

I live with 3 male dogs, a husband, and a son. Lot of balls going on in this house. Well, minus two of my dogs-whispers-had those puppies snipped long ago. It took a lot of balls to do what I did. So, I gathered all of what's left of the balls in my house, and laid Luke on his tummy to sleep one night. The exact date is unknown (sleep deprivation, remember?). All of the bells and whistles for SIDS went off in my head when I just imagined him sleeping on his tummy. SIDS is much like a fire-red, demonic dragon in the far corner of the room. A dragon about the size of a German Shepard breathing heavily with a rasping exhale. I could feel it's orange, glowing eyes on me as I laid Luke belly down. I could imagine the drool rolling from it's scaly lips, just waiting to gobble up my son. My heart pounded. I hovered over my baby with my stainless steel body armor and shield guarding him for the longest. Eventually, I felt like I could lay the shield beside him and ease into my own bed, close by. I got up several times to make sure that dragon was staying in his corner, where he belonged. Seriously, the kid slept 5 hours straight! FOR-THE-FIRST-TIME-EVER! I was in utter dismay. I've been trying the no-cry sleep solution, and it's been working poorly. My son heavily relies on one of us to soothe him back to sleep. Don't get me wrong, I love when that kid falls asleep in my arms. I love to snuggle and kiss him. It's like gold for Josh and I. What's NOT gold is getting up a million times to a screaming child. I feel like a helpless, little mouse hiding under my covers from a hungry cat at the sound of his first whimper. I cringe every time. I climb out of bed, reassure him that I'm there, and pat him until he falls back asleep. Sometimes it works quickly. Sometimes it takes half of an hour, and I'm passing out trying to bend over his pack-n-play and pat him. The kicker, after "sleeping" about 3 or 4 hours total, I'll pull a 13-hour-shift (it's been as long as 17 hrs), come home, and do it again. Luke isn't sleeping well, I'm not sleeping well, Josh is and isn't (I usually get up 8 out 10 times-for example). I'm contemplating the Ferber method. I've tried once or twice, but caved after 5 minutes crying my eyes out. It's not for the faint of heart. I keep telling myself that Luke needs the sleep more than I do. He's a growing boy, and he needs sleep to replenish and grow. As for now, he is sleeping on his tummy happily-and the dragon has left the room. He can roll over now, and adjust himself as needed. Anytime he buries his face, he moves quickly. He hates having his nose covered and uses his instincts like lightening. Good little boy, that Pitter.

 

5 months

Weight: 21 lbs (99.7%)

Length: 26" (57.9%)

Head: 45.5 cm (98.2%)

I just realized Pitter will be celebrating birthdays on Friday the 13th every now and again. Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays. I love scary shit. I've been a haunted house lover as long as I can remember. My husband, on the other hand, polar opposite. It will be interesting to see which direction Pit goes on this. On this Friday the 13th he is going in the direction of almost half of a year old! Five months, baby! Yeah!

Luke has found his feet. He's been grabbing them every chance he gets when he is on his back. He shows out in the bathtub and splashes like crazy, then grabs his feet in approval of himself. He looks at his hands now, too. He's been clasping them together for a while, but now he intently looks at them.

He is wearing mostly 9 month clothes now. He can wear some 12 month stuff. His monthly picture is in a 12 month onesie. I had to buy a pair of shorts in 18 months because his legs and belly are on the plump side. He is still in a size 3 diaper, but I'm not sure how much longer. They are fitting more snugly these days! 

Pitter hates peas, but loves sweet potatoes. We've only fed him purées about once a week the past month. I'm still breastfeeding and supplementing when needed. This feeding shit is no joke. It's hard! He's had diarrhea a lot lately (not from illness), and finding the source has been maddening. I don't eat dairy, but I still have soy, wheat, nuts, and other potential allergens. I was going to stop breastfeeding, but when I pumped and dumped my milk out, I held back tears. Something tells me that means I'm not ready for that yet. I experimented with strictly formula for 2 days, but he still had diarrhea. I think it's the new sensitive formula we switched to. He's had congestion, coughing, and diarrhea without an explanation since we switched his supplemental formula. His Ped wrote it off as viral, but, oddly, he never had a fever. This may be why his weight gain slowed down this month, or he may finally be leveling off a bit. I'm going to switch his formula again to that really expensive shit. The hypoallergenic stuff that requires a second mortgage to finance it if you're strictly formula feeding? Yeah, that stuff. I'm tired of my baby being miserable and fussy and uncomfortable. Josh and I are going to request a cow's milk protein allergy test at his 6 month check-up.

Luke checks every new thing out with his mouth. He drools all over it, then places it in his mouth. My assumption is that he is seeing how different textures feel and taste on his lips, gums, and tongue. The drool is his body's way of coating things with germ-fighting enzymes to protect him when he is in exploration mode, so explore on my miniature little scientist. 

He is still gnawing on his hands and fingers a lot, but I still do not see "white caps" on his gums or feel teeth. He sucks his left thumb when he is sleepy. It's adorable. Josh and I both were thumb suckers. I was a righty, Josh a lefty. Luke looks to be falling in daddy's shoes on this one. Thumb sucking is cute, but it can be a bad thing down the road. Josh and I both had difficulty stopping in our childhood. I even had to wear a "bridge" in the roof of my mouth to stop when I was a kid. And it was placed in my mouth semi-permanently like braces by a dentist. But the adorableness (and not having to find, wash, and keep up with a pacifier) is the worst non-deterrent ever right now. Plus, Luke wouldn't take a pacifier if you forced him.

Pitter prefers to sit up most of the time. He can sit up supported very well. He sits up unsupported well for short periods. And he still loves to stand. He picks his feet up as if to walk, but doesn't quite make the steps correctly, yet. On his back, he pulls his knees up to his chest (usually to grab his feet) and rolls to either side freely. He hates being on his tummy still and refuses to roll onto it. When he is on his tummy, he holds his head up high and supports himself with his forearms and elbows. He can do mini push-ups and support himself with his hands, but prefers not to. He's probably further behind than most babies his age is this area, because he has despised tummy time since day 1. He doesn't roll from tummy to back; doesn't even attempt it. He has been trying so hard to crawl, though. He can make a triangle out of his body by planting his toes, straightening his legs, and pushing his butt straight up in the air. He has been making "crawling motions" with his legs. He grabs the play mat and tries to pull himself forward by kicking his legs. He clearly needs more upper body strength, though. He has a LOT of weight to be trying to pull. He will go in a 360 degree circle on his belly. I think our next big milestones will be sitting unsupported and crawling.

Sick Baby

It's inevitable. Children get sick. They must. Part of survival for us is immunity. We must be exposed to illnesses to build immunities to them. This is a strong reason I have for actually wanting my son in daycare (only second to socialization). I have been very protective up to this point. With him being premature (and spending time in NICU), his Pediatrician made it overly clear that an illness in the first two months of his life could very easily result in hospitalization. No one touched him without washing their hands. We placed a blanket over his carseat if we had to take him in public. Visitations were very limited, and we absolutely kept him away from small children during that time. But since he's gotten bigger, we've relaxed our stringent routine and allowed some exposure to the World. I have my limits with explorations, but if I feel it is safe, by all means, he may explore. He has been putting everything in his mouth (especially his hands/thumb). And, for the most part, I let him. It is how he discovers the World around him. Why not?

Last week he started getting congested. In my ignorance, I did not know babies could not have pollen/dander/etc. allergies yet. I thought that could have been the culprit as he hasn't had a fever at all.

I was wrong. 

He got his first cold. Viral. He went to the doctor twice. I'm still very nervous about him getting RSV. But the doctor said this was not the case. Phew. That's all that I needed to know. I can take care of him well enough to aid in recovery of the common cold, but not something as serious as RSV this young. 

He's been stuffy and coughs occasionally. He can't sleep lying flat. He's been clingy and wanting to be held almost constantly. He's been fussier than usual for sure. But in the midst of his cat-like purring breaths, he will smile and laugh. And it captures my heart like a small rodent in the talons of a prestigious hawk. 

He's so amazing. Even when he's sick. 

4 months

Weight: 18 lbs 9 oz (99.7%)

Length: 25" (57.9%)

Head: 43 cm (98.2%)

Luke is laughing out loud, grasping his hands, and making lots of funny faces. He smiles at new people. He laughs and smiles at daddy more than anyone. Daddy has the magic touch when it comes to rocking him to sleep. He still isn't sleeping through the night. He usually wakes up once or twice for a small feeding, then back to sleep until I wake him up to nurse before I go to work. 

He likes sucking his left thumb (when he can find it). He chews on his fingers and drools... A LOT. His Pediatrician looked in his mouth, felt his gums, and said it didn't look like he was teething yet. 

He usually takes 5-6 oz of breastmilk in a bottle when his babysitter watches him. His doctor said 30 oz of milk a day is the  maximum he should have now. He said it was ok to start him on stage 1 foods now, and he could have as much as 2 oz at a feeding twice a day. It's exciting to think of feeding him solids already, but I'm still up in the air. The "golden age" for starting solids is 6 months. Our Pediatrician agreed. But with Luke's weight and his appetite, it is hard to keep him at 30 oz/day. As long as breastmilk/formula stays his primary source of nutrition, we may try it. We just switched his supplemental formula from Similac Advance to Similac Sensitive to see if it helps with his sensitivity to dairy. It's still a milk-based formula, but lactose free. I am still not having any dairy in my diet, and that is going well for him. I experiemented with milkshakes (Ahhhhhh I MISSED them!!!), and he ended up with diarrhea and just not acting like himself. I felt terrible. No more dairy for this momma.

Luke is wearing mostly 6-9 month clothes. 3-6 month onesies are too tight on him. Some 6 month clothes fit, Some 9 month clothes fit. 

He hasn't rolled over yet. The Pediatrician said the chunky ones usually rollover later. Ha! That's ok. I love his chunky little butt. I give him a little nudge, and he rolls right over by himself; he just won't initiate it. He isn't thrilled about being on his tummy either. He tolerates it much better than he used to, though. The kid loves to stand. Any time we go to pick him up, he straightens his legs and pulls himself up to standing. 

He 'talks' up a storm. He says 'momma' a lot. He isn't saying it purposefully yet, but I enjoy hearing it just the same. It's hard to keep up with the reality of how fast he is growing up. 

Bathroom Spider

I went a step above becoming a juror of my peers today and went straight to being the judge. I let 2 spiders live. Yes, me. I'm notoriously afraid of spiders. Anything with more than four legs (or no legs at all, for that matter) freak me out!

I wash Luke's bottles in my bathroom sink exclusively. I've dedicated my vanity to it. I fill the sink with hot water and some natural, organic, hippie dish liquid soap or something like that, and I let the bottles soak. It's like a nice spa day for the bottles. All detoxing and shit. Or so I hope since I fill them with Pit's milk. On two separate occasions, I've found a flea in the water. Yikes! Can't ingesting those nasty little things can give you tape worms?? Ugh even more gross. I have 3 dogs. Fleas, dog hair, that stuff is inevitable. But in my bottles' spa water?! Damn. I found some new little bug in the toasty, bubbly water today. Damn. I was so frustrated. 

Not only do I kill spiders in my home out of fear, they are also a delightful buffet for house centipedes and those top my list of scary, disgusting shit. They have 567,389 legs and can run 687 MPH. Scary shit I tell ya! *Shudders* I HATE them, and I don't want their food in my house! They keep showing up in my bathroom on occasion. *Shudders* Which is also where my spiders seem to be hanging out, all in the open and what not. 

I was doing my hair, minding my business, and spotted two of the eight-legged-mobile-centipede-buffets just chillin in the corners of the ceiling above me.

I decided to let them hang out, indefinitely. They love the little buggies that are attracted to my sink for droplets of leftover milk. No harm. They're just trying to catch a meal, too. I can respect that. As long as they don't go trying to repel while I'm sitting under them, they will live. Another condition is as long as I don't find another creepy house centipede in my bathroom. *Shudders*



*Update: 8-22-13. Spider #2 came to his demise. He broke my conditions. He was in my territory one morning while I was getting ready for work. It was very clear this area was off limits. On top of that, allowing those two to live in the corners of my bathroom sent a message to all of their buddies that it was the new hang out. Two more decided to join. They were terminated due to being in areas too close for comfort for me. The one pictured above wasn't having any success obtaining food, but he followed the rules and stayed well above the living quarters of the bathroom and made a new home in the corner over Josh's sink. I believe he has since died due to starvation. Rest in peace bathroom spider.

Pitter

Luke's alias 'round herr. Josh's fault, by far. Let me start with our dogs.

Our oldest dog is named Tank. He was half of a pound when I got him. Poor pup was at a local pet store (I know, I know-I don't shop pet stores any more), and he was so tiny that his little feet were falling through the holes of his cage. Saddest sight ever to a dog-lover. I bought him. He's a miniature pincer. Tank was merely a play on words for his itty bitty size. He lived up to it well, because even as an old man dog, he still thinks he is large and in charge. Oh, and entitled I might add (see below with father-in-law). 

His name is Tank, but we call him Moo and Moo Moo. I have no amusing story as to how this came about. I'm just as clueless as the people that give me the dog-head-tilt when I call him that. I am now convinced it was Josh. All Josh. Lord only knows how it happened, but it stuck. It's what we call him. It has now trickled down to our son. 

Josh humorously calls sandwiches samitches and animals aminals. Not because he's dislexic, just because he's Josh. He started out calling Luke caterpillar, because he looked like a caterpillar when we swaddled him. That turned to cap-a-tillar. Then, it was cap-a-titter. Eventually, it just became Pitter. I witnessed this transformation before my very eyes. And I'll be damned if it hasn't stuck. I caught myself calling him Pitter and soon gave Josh credit for being an ear-worm genius. Sigh. I've been had. 

A Taste of Something New

Luke has a crazy appetite. The kid is 4.5 months old and weighs 19.5 lbs!!! He gets about 20 oz of breastmilk (that's all I can make) and 10 oz of formula in a day. I know plenty of babies that eat this much and aren't near as big as him. I am diligent in measuring any formula he gets, so I know he isn't getting concentrated formula with higher calories. My only guess is that my milk is high in fat? He's a 'healthy' little boy. That's all that matters. I love his chunky thighs and the rolls on his arms. His little pot belly and two chins make me squint as I smile with glee.

I stumbled across something called baby-led weaning when Luke was first born. It is a concept, from what I understand, to let your child discover food on their own terms and feed themselves. Milk stays their primary source of nutrition for the first year of life, though. Food is for play and exploration only. No cereal, no spooning purées, just safe, soft table/finger foods. Supposedly, it really promotes self-reliance, independence, and decreases 'picky eating.'  A picky eater myself, I would do anything to shield my son from this curse. Maybe start him out on a different foot. Maybe try this baby-led weaning? That was my plan. 

Planning has not seemed to be on my side since the start of wanting a family, though. Why I've assumed it would change from that point, eight years ago, to today... No clue. Incurable optimist I suppose. But with his appetite, and needing more and more to be satisfied, we've been entertaining trying purées. 

It's exciting to think of starting him on solids. And I'll admit, with the baby-led weaning we would be missing out on the very first spoon feeding of messy puréed vegetables that first time parents are so eager to shove into tiny, gummy mouths. 

We broke down and bought some organic purées. Organic because there is a hippie that lives in my soul. We bought the stage 1 stuff that the doctor approved. Carrots, squash, sweet potatoes, and what not. I really just wanted to see where he was in being ready for solids. We decided on carrots first. I didn't expect him to even open his mouth, let alone eat anything. He surprised me. He opened, took most of what was on the spoon, made chewing motions, and swallowed! Josh and I were blown away. 

He actually ate! I couldn't believe it. I was in such awe. And he cried because we couldn't get the spoon back to his mouth fast enough! He loved the carrots! He loved them, gobbled them up, couldn't get enough! 

It was so much fun feeding him, too! He enjoyed it, we enjoyed it. I nursed him and he had 4 oz of formula before we offered any baby food to him. The jar was 2.5 oz, and he took almost half of it! He probably would have taken the whole thing if I hadn't fed him his milk first. But I just want solids to be for exploration right now. I want milk to be his primary source of everything. I really enjoyed feeding him, though. And I liked it so much because he did. 

I've been beating myself up over how to feed my child since he was born. I never realized how much I didn't know about babies until I had my own! It's a lot earlier than I wanted to start solids. I stood my ground when cereal kept getting suggested when he was only 3 months. And I didn't want him to have any purées, or any other solids for that matter, until after 6 months old. But after he took that spoon so well, I'm torn. I just didn't expect that at all from him! I think we are going to continue it simply for the experience and bonding with our little man. When he finally reaches for food, I think we will drop the purées and let him lead his feeding experiences from that point on. 

I'll be sure to update the journey. 

good bye!

3 Months

 

Weight: 15 lbs 8 oz (81.6%)

Length: 23.75" (30.8%)

 

Blessed

No one could have explained to me what being a mommy was going to be like or just how much it would change my life in every aspect.

Work used to really stress me out. I have a job with a lot of responsibility/liability on my shoulders. Maybe it's because I've only been back for a brief time since having Luke, but things are different. I don't drive home rethinking everything that happened at work, what I should or shouldn't have done/said, or what I need to do the next day. I drive home wondering what kind of mood Luke is going to be in, imagining what he smells like, and how his soft skin will feel against mine. I don't stress when I am not in bed by 8pm. I just live life on the fly. I would prefer more sleep, but I'm well-adjusted to missing it. I never imagined that I could be one of those people that could function on 2-4 hours of sleep. And sometimes we aren't talking consecutively; maybe 20 minutes here, 40 there, etc. And because I'm the type of person who needed a good 10-12 hours of sleep to feel productive, I would have a child that would sleep no more than a few hours at a time. That's ok. I've overcome much worse. This child makes me feel like I can conquer the World! No doubt. He's the most challenging thing I have EVER had in my life! And yet the most rewarding. 

I hear a lot of people say they are "blessed" when things are easy, textbook, or going as planned/better than expected in their lives. Guilty myself. But if someone else's definition of "blessed" defined it for me, I'm pretty sure I would be cursed. It seems like I can't remember an easy road. I feel scarred from having to climb the side of a mountain to get pretty much anywhere I've been trying to go. 

My childhood was difficult due to a severe lack of structure. Anyone "blessed" through teenage years? Yeah, me either. I lost my brother and grandmother within two months of each other. Marriage started out very rocky and difficult for Josh and I. We couldn't conceive, after trying for years. Fertility treatments were failing. We lost our daughter. I lost Luke's twin early on, went into preterm labor, was put on bedrest, had a rough L&D, then NICU. And now our son has been very difficult compared to other babies his age. Those are just the high points of some of the most difficult times in my life thus far. But here's why I am "blessed": because despite the fact that I pointed out the negatives, the way those difficulties have shaped me is what makes me who I am. And I am a person that can overcome anything. I am a person that can see past the negative and find the good. I am a person that is inspired and becomes inspirational. 

Proving it to myself, I see my childhood as the basis, foundation, and structure to everything I am now. It was a poor foundation, weak and wobbly, until I understood life a little better. Maybe I credit my interest in my pschycology and sociology classes in college? Who knows? But once I realized that I wasn't defined by my past, and I could live in the now, my viewpoints and life changed dramatically. Through a lack of structure, I found a profound independence in myself. I was a leader. I learned very early that the way you treat people, and how you make them feel, directly affects how you feel about yourself. I know adults who still refuse to believe this. Their loss. 

I found appreciation for life after losing my brother and grandmother when I was 17. I was finally close to both of them for the first time in my life. The emptiness hurts. The loneliness scars. I lived "loosely," as older teens do. No fear of dying. I've read it has to do with brain maturity. At that age, the area in the prefrontal cortex that processes consequences and the instinct of fear (needed for survival of our species) is still very underdeveloped. I believe this was the argument in the northern US states for having an older age requirement to obtain a driver's license. I could be making that up? It just seems like I remember reading that once. Back to my story. My grandmother died of cancer and my brother a single car accident. My brother would still be here if he'd been wearing a seatbelt. Talk about a wake up call. I can't tell you how "grown up" I became about vehicle safety, particularly wearing a seatbelt. Which I still don't understand how people drive/ride in a car without a seatbelt on?! I wonder if they would be comfortble on a roller coaster without lap bars?! It's essentially the same thing. They both do about the same speeds, and while a vehicle may be enclosed, it can still go upside down. Crazy people out there. Anyway, I started to live less risky and took more control of my life, from that point on. I talked about my brother a lot. I even gave a heartfelt speech about seatbelt safety in college. I'm terrified of the day my son starts driving, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Today, he is still lying in my arms. 

College was a hard time in my life, but I am a much different person because of it. Education doesn't make people better than others, but it does seem to occasionally bring out the insecurities in the people around you. I still feel insecure around physicians with tons of experience and published research studies. It's intimidating. But it's really all in the head of the intimidatee, because those who try to be intimidators typically intimidate no one.

Before nursing school, I enjoyed college. I worked full time and took night classes and online classes. I loved the people I met, and the things I learned. Nursing school was the worst part for me. I was flat out bullied by a couple of my instructors. Ridiculous, immature, and unprofessional. One of my instructors had the audacity to say to me: "Pateints want a nurse that is competent, not sweet." This stemmed from the accusation that I was "too nice" to my patients and that I worried more about them liking me than taking care of them. The part of me wanting to be a nurse was the fact that I love to help and care for others. I am truly compassionate for other human beings, and it was never an "act" with my patients. That teacher insinuated that I could not be kind and competent at the same time. Oh, if only she could see me now. She wanted me kicked out of the program. She made my life Hell, and with all honesty, I hated her. And to make matters even worse, there were a group of girls... Ha! Girls. Grown ass women, I should say. I had this feeling that they were no good, just rotten to the their cores. But it was just a feeling, a hunch, nothing concrete. Until I sat in a satellite class with them where others couldn't hear them. I listened to them laugh and make fun of other classmates, people that they were unbelievably nice to when around. I knew it! Jerks. Immature, childish women. I'm so glad I've never seen them again since graduation! I will say that I am very happily still friends with some amazing people that I met in my nursing class, though. They made life so much more tolerable during that time, and they don't even know this very important fact. Maybe I should confess it to them one day? Yet again, another good outcome from a poisonous environment. 

Everything in life is a matter of finding the good in a bad environment. I am responsible for all of my own experiences. And I take full responsibility of that in my life. And I am happier. 

Back to my son being more difficult than other babies his age. I will accept responsibility for that, as well. I don't have a predictable schedule for him, and I choose to breastfeed, even though I do not make enough milk for him. I supplement with formula when needed. I don't starve him (whew obviously-have you seen the size of this kid?). But when I breastfeed him, it's hard to tell how much he ate, thus how much supplementation he needs. I just start out with one or two ounces of formula and continue to mix it at 1-2 oz intervals as he needs. This is freakin tedious. Not like poppin a baby on a boob for 10-15 min then burp and done. It's a game. Is he full? Does he need more milk? How much? Ay yi yi. He's worth it, but it's very difficult to handle. My choice though, and I accept that. 

I have not made a routine with him for a sleep schedule. We bathe every night, but the times are various, and he doesn't always go to bed afterwards. His naps are also sporadic. He doesn't put himself to sleep, and he tends to catnap. I HATE catnaps. They are the devil. I've heard consistency is key in sleep/nap scheduling, so I have a plan. We'll see how it goes. 

Some people have those babies that can go with the flow of anything. Not mine. He needs constant attention, and gets bored easily. He wants a change of scenery all of the time. He stares at life outside with a curiosity inside of him that I know we will one day share.

I have a feeling he is going to be a deep thinker, motivated by good and intrigued by nature. I can't wait to watch this child grow up and get to know the amazing person he is going to become. I'm overjoyed to be a mom, finally. I am blessed.