As it turns out, maintaining a blog while having a baby is difficult, or at least more difficult than it was when I was confined to the couch during bed rest. It is especially hard to find the motivation to blog when I have the convenience of updating family and friends in short little blurbs via Facebook. What could be easier than quickly sitting down and writing out a short message about G's latest adventures? Easy-peasy. But coming up with things to actually write about in detail on my blog? Not so much. I don't know about you, but my favorite kind of blog tends to be one that is well thought out and has a little meat to it, so I tend to not bother with the short little quips that pop into my head. Because of that, also my lack of sleep and general lack of time (I'm pretty sure Husband wouldn't agree that taking time to blog should take priority over something like the mountain of laundry piling up in our room) I tend to neglect my blog which means you may have missed a few thing in little G-Man's life. So let's take a few minutes to update. If you know me in my Facebook life, or even better - in my real life, then this is probably going to be a bit repetitive for you. Oh well. You'll live.
Here we go... 9 Months!! What in the world?? How did we get here so fast? G-Man has officially spent more of his little life outside of me than he did inside. **tear** He's growing up so fast. We just got back from the pediatrician and these are his stats:
Weight - 17lbs 14oz (10th percentile) Skinny mini! The pediatrician says not to worry, that at this age it's quite common because they increase their activity and are burning a lot of calories. At this point he nurses every three hours during the day, has solids 3 times a day as well as snacks so the boy isn't in want of food.
Height - 28.5 inches His height seems to be tapering of a bit, at his 6-month appointment he was in the 96th percentile and now he down to the 50th or at least that's what the doctor's chart said. When we go to my mom's group he's one of the tallest babies there. He's also one of the youngest.
Head - 46.3cm A large melon just like his Daddy and Mama.
Things he's been up to lately:
Crawling crawling and more crawling! For a while there he was doing this crazy army crawl where he kind of just flailed around the room. I was starting to think he would never do a "normal" crawl but then one night while we were visiting the grandparents a couple of months ago, he just did it. Within the next couple of weeks he had a burst of developments, crawling on hands and knees, pulling up to standing, cruising around his play yard and crib, and standing on his own (he's only done this a couple of time and he can't stand for very long without collapsing).
Talking talking talking! Of course there are all of the normal baby babbles, the ones you have no idea what they mean, but then there are the real words too. In his current repertoire: Mama, Dada, Hi and maybe Bye-Bye. He loves to scream "Hi Dada!" when Husband gets home from work and periodically throughout the day he will say "Bye-bye Mama" not really sure what he's trying to tell me with that one. Then there is the swearing. Despite my best efforts, we haven't quite cut all the swearing out, although Husband's way worse than me! ;P The other day I was feeding G and he quite clearly said "damn" the "gah damn" and then just for good measure "damn" again. I guess we won't be winning parents of the year any time soon.
Teeth! He has four of them. The bottom two came in with relatively no problem. He did have a little (----------- WARNING --------- TMI ALERT!!! ----------) diarrhea which caused quite the diaper rash, but other than that there was minimal fussing. Then about a month or so later the top left one came in, again not a lot of problems, some runny nose issues and a low-grade fever but he got over it quickly. Then his top right tooth started to make an appearance and that hasn't gone as smoothly. Luckily the teething didn't start until after we had already done the sleep training (see previous post) otherwise we wouldn't have been able to do it. There has been a lot of screaming and fussyness. He wants to nurse constantly and chew on everything. For a while there the gums looked pretty raw and red, but I think it's mostly in now so the worst (of that tooth) is over.
Sleep - for details see my last post. We had yet another night of sleeping twelve hours straight. Woooooohoooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sharing - He just (within the last few days) started offering his toys and food to people. Mostly to Daddy, not so much to me.
Things he loves:
Sophie the giraffe - a teething toy
His activity table - he loves to stand next to it and push all the buttons, he also enjoys crawling under it, but he might cry if he feels trapped.
His lovies - one is a little mini-blanket with this dog head attached to the corner. Don't know how else to describe it. The other is his glow worm.
Books - He loves to be read to, to help turn the pages, try to sneak peaks at the next page before we're ready to turn them and of course he loves to chew on them.
Baths - he now sits up in the tub like a big boy and plays with his toys, he also loves to lie down and splash like a maniac.
Being tickled - his inner thighs, his tummy, his neck, his back - pretty much everywhere.
Food - Mum Mums, Yogurt melts, rice cakes, sweet potatoes, most fruits, chicken, pasta, avocado, but he's pretty much not a fan of veggies. We're working on that.
Milestones we're still waiting on:
Standing on his own for an extended period of time.
Walking
Clapping his hands - he loves it when other people clap but hasn't quite figured it out.
Waving - he kinda/sorta did it once, but he definitely doesn't do it regularly.
That's all I can think of for now. Hopefully it won't take several months for me to think of a new blog post. :)
Friday, April 8, 2011
Thursday, April 7, 2011
I'll Have a Full Night's Sleep With a Heaping Side of Guilt Please
I've been trying to work this post out in my head for a couple of days, but have been having trouble finding the right way to approach it. Matter-of-factly? Humorously? Heavily laden with guilt? I don't know. How do you describe doing something as a mother that you never thought you would do? How do you describe putting your child in the crib and walking away while they scream for you, without looking like a monster? Although I haven't quite figured out how to approach it, I'm going to try my best to talk about what we've been going through for the last few days. Perhaps someone, somewhere will benefit. Bear with me.
In case you are just tuning in, a little back story: G is (was) a terrible sleeper. That's pretty much it.
Oh, you want more? OK. Well picture this: Eight and a half months of fighting to get your baby to sleep. Eight and a half months of having no longer than two hours of sleep at a time (two hours of sleep being a good night). At his worst, it was taking over two hours to get my little man to sleep at night. Two hours of patting, rocking, shooshing and nursing. In fact, some nights I ended up nursing him so much that he would spit up from being so full. Finally after two hours of nursing, spitting up, nursing again, screaming, rocking, bouncing, etc. he would allow me to place him in his crib. Heart pounding from fear, I would gently lower him into the depths of his crib, stand for twenty minutes, on the tips of my toes, bent down with my hands on his chest. Only then could I even think about ever so slowly sneaking away.
So what? Everyone knows it's hard to get a baby to sleep, right? If that's all I had to endure then this wouldn't even be a blog post, but that's not where it ended. Between fifteen and thirty minutes after stealthily sneaking out of his room the wailing would begin. Back to the room I would go, rock, nurse, shoosh, repeat. If I was very very lucky he would then sleep for an hour in his crib, mind you, only if I was lucky. On such a lucky night, Husband and I would wearily crawl into our beds and pray for rest. (No really, I think I actually petitioned to God on a nightly basis for my baby to sleep - death and famine all over the world? Sure, but could you also make my baby sleep? Please??) Like clockwork, an hour later G-Man came a-callin'. Have you ever noticed if you wake up at the wrong time in your sleep cycle it almost physically hurts to move? Well inevitably that's right where I would be when the little man would begin calling to me to from the other room. In a sleepy haze, I would drag myself to the other room, pluck him from his crib and as quickly as possible slip us both back into bed where he would happily nurse to sleep. Eventually he would fall off of me and I could adjust and fall asleep myself. Then... thirty minutes to an hour later I would feel a slap on the face, or a kick to the stomach and scream in my ear. Having not even bothered to *ehem* put myself away, I would quickly pop the boob back in and off to lala land we would go. This lovely pattern would then repeat all night long, every thirty to sixty minutes until we woke up for the day. Some nights I would just pray for morning to come because being awake had to be better than that.
For months Husband has been trying to persuade me to let G cry it out (CIO) but every fiber of my being told me it was wrong. Leaving your child to cry himself to sleep? How cruel and unfeeling can you be? Instead I read every book I could get my hands on, on how to get a baby to sleep gently. The No Cry Sleep Solution, Good Night Sleep Tight, Nighttime Parenting, Attachment Parenting, on and on. While some of the books offered up some useful tools nothing really worked. At Husband's insistence I believe I did try CIO one night (see blog post from a couple months ago) and he just kept crying and crying and crying. He cried so hard that he spit up/threw up all over himself. Eventually, nerves completely shot, I rescued my baby from his crib of torture and swore never again. Lesson learned. Never swear.
After eight and a half months of sleep deprivation (an actual form of torture) I decided to research this whole cry it out business. I grabbed Ferber's book Solve Your Child's Sleep Problems and decided that perhaps he wasn't really the devil like everyone thinks he is. Perhaps a man who is the director at the Center For Pediatric Sleep Disorders and has taught at Harvard might actually have something of value to say about how to get my child to sleep. Maybe he knows something I (and many other mothers) don't. Maybe... With Husband's support, I decided to give it a try. I committed to three nights and if it didn't work we would quit. I could take three nights of crying and I was feeling pretty sure that three nights wouldn't turn my sweet baby into some sort of serial killer. Right?? And so it began.
Night 1: This night was kind of a mishmash of two techniques: Kim West's Sleep Lady Shuffle, followed by Ferber's CIO. After our regular bedtime routine of bath, pajamas, stories and one last nursing session I started with the Shuffle which involved sitting by the crib and gently soothing him from there. After about an hour of him thinking I was in there to play with him I fully submitted myself to CIO. I gently helped him lie down one last time, gave him his lovey, turned on his noise machine and walked away. The screaming began. At this point I wanted to make sure that he knew he wasn't alone so after five minutes I went back in. I didn't talk to him but instead shooshed him, patted his belly and gave him his discarded lovey. Once calm, I left. More screaming. This time I stretched my time away to ten minutes. Once again I went and soothed him without picking him up or talking to him. Once sufficiently calm I left the room. He immediately started crying and I started watching the clock again, waiting for the next ten minutes to pass (a little secret - wine helps). Again I made my way back into his room. I believe he was pretty hysterical at this point and it took a long time to calm him down, but I could see he was winding down. He desperately wanted to sleep he just couldn't quite figure out how. When I put my hands on his chest his eyes would start to droop but they immediately popped open when he realized he was falling asleep. Again I left and this time I stretched the interval to fifteen minutes. This went on for about an hour before he finally gave in and fell asleep.
I would love to say that that was it and he then miraculously slept through the night blah blah blah. No such luck. He woke up an hour later and I had to do it all again, but this time it only took twenty minutes. After which he slept for four whole hours. That night he woke up once and we had to do the CIO process again for about forty-five minutes. Then, after that he woke two more times but miraculously put himself back to bed within a matter of minutes. Overall the night was very difficult. After he first fell asleep I cried. I mean I really cried. Like sobs in the bathroom so Husband wouldn't see/hear. But, the night also had a few successes, like putting himself back to bed. I never in a million years would have imagined that happening on night one. Also, we didn't need to nurse at all. Amazing.
*side note - if you go from nursing all night long to night weaning, remember to pump a couple of times at night. Otherwise you may get some nasty plugged ducts or even worse, mastitis. Lesson learned.
Night 1 v 2.0: Unfortunately the morning after our first night little G-Man woke up very sick. Right then and there I almost gave up, thinking I had broken my baby with the crying. The doctor reassured me that I had done no such thing and that it was purely a coincidence. Unfortunately, due to his illness I couldn't continue the routine that night. Ferber specifically says not to CIO when sick or in pain (teething, ear ache, etc.). So once again G returned to bed with me for a night of marathon nursing. Oh well. The next day however, G was feeling a hundred times better so we started again. Something that I found really helped ease my mind was having a video monitor. At any time during the process I could easily check in on him without disturbing him. I could see for myself that he wasn't crying from pain and that he wasn't throwing up, he was fine. Oh and did I mention the wine? That helped too. Basically this night was just like the first, but a little shorter. I went in after five minutes, then ten, then fifteen and then fifteen again and that was it. He fell asleep. It's interesting watching him learn how to fall asleep on his own. There were a couple of times during his naps that day and that night where he fell asleep sitting up, which if you have any sort of sense of humor is actually kind of comical.
Night 2 (or 3 depending on how you look at it): Again I followed the pattern of stretching out the intervals, but this time I skipped the five minute interval and went straight to ten minutes, then we did a fifteen minute and then a twenty minute interval. It was hard but I could tell it was working. His crying was less intense, more like complaining really. After the last stretch, he quietly put himself down on his tummy, popped his little diaper butt up into the air and fell asleep. That night he woke maybe two times and each time he put himself back to bed. Pure amazingness.
Night 3: We went through our bedtime routine, I nursed him then stood in the dark with him singing until I could feel him relax. I put him in his crib and said "night night" then walked away. He was quiet. Luckily I have a handy dandy video monitor. Turning it on, I found him quietly playing with his glow worm. A few minutes later he let out a little cry and I prepared myself to start up the ten minute timer in my head. But that was it. He cried for maybe a minute and then he was out. For. The. Whole. Night. He slept, completely undisturbed for ten hours.
Since then we have had good nights, followed by amazing nights. In fact, for the last three nights in a row, I have put him in his crib, he fell asleep without crying and he woke up twelve hours later, a happy and well-rested baby. It's like a whole new world. I am like a band new woman and a much better mom because of it. As much as I never wanted to hurt my child by letting him cry, this has been our life saver. I spent the first five or so months of G's life struggling with a mild form of post-partum depression and although I felt like I had been coming out of it the last few months, the sleep issue kept dragging me back. I can't even begin to describe the kind of strain having a non-sleeping child can put on you both mentally and physically. So, while I know that Ferber and CIO is so completely looked down upon (at least in my neck of the woods it is) I know that I did the best thing for me, for my baby and even for my husband and our marriage. Judge if you must, but my baby sleeps through the night and so do I!
In case you are just tuning in, a little back story: G is (was) a terrible sleeper. That's pretty much it.
Oh, you want more? OK. Well picture this: Eight and a half months of fighting to get your baby to sleep. Eight and a half months of having no longer than two hours of sleep at a time (two hours of sleep being a good night). At his worst, it was taking over two hours to get my little man to sleep at night. Two hours of patting, rocking, shooshing and nursing. In fact, some nights I ended up nursing him so much that he would spit up from being so full. Finally after two hours of nursing, spitting up, nursing again, screaming, rocking, bouncing, etc. he would allow me to place him in his crib. Heart pounding from fear, I would gently lower him into the depths of his crib, stand for twenty minutes, on the tips of my toes, bent down with my hands on his chest. Only then could I even think about ever so slowly sneaking away.
So what? Everyone knows it's hard to get a baby to sleep, right? If that's all I had to endure then this wouldn't even be a blog post, but that's not where it ended. Between fifteen and thirty minutes after stealthily sneaking out of his room the wailing would begin. Back to the room I would go, rock, nurse, shoosh, repeat. If I was very very lucky he would then sleep for an hour in his crib, mind you, only if I was lucky. On such a lucky night, Husband and I would wearily crawl into our beds and pray for rest. (No really, I think I actually petitioned to God on a nightly basis for my baby to sleep - death and famine all over the world? Sure, but could you also make my baby sleep? Please??) Like clockwork, an hour later G-Man came a-callin'. Have you ever noticed if you wake up at the wrong time in your sleep cycle it almost physically hurts to move? Well inevitably that's right where I would be when the little man would begin calling to me to from the other room. In a sleepy haze, I would drag myself to the other room, pluck him from his crib and as quickly as possible slip us both back into bed where he would happily nurse to sleep. Eventually he would fall off of me and I could adjust and fall asleep myself. Then... thirty minutes to an hour later I would feel a slap on the face, or a kick to the stomach and scream in my ear. Having not even bothered to *ehem* put myself away, I would quickly pop the boob back in and off to lala land we would go. This lovely pattern would then repeat all night long, every thirty to sixty minutes until we woke up for the day. Some nights I would just pray for morning to come because being awake had to be better than that.
For months Husband has been trying to persuade me to let G cry it out (CIO) but every fiber of my being told me it was wrong. Leaving your child to cry himself to sleep? How cruel and unfeeling can you be? Instead I read every book I could get my hands on, on how to get a baby to sleep gently. The No Cry Sleep Solution, Good Night Sleep Tight, Nighttime Parenting, Attachment Parenting, on and on. While some of the books offered up some useful tools nothing really worked. At Husband's insistence I believe I did try CIO one night (see blog post from a couple months ago) and he just kept crying and crying and crying. He cried so hard that he spit up/threw up all over himself. Eventually, nerves completely shot, I rescued my baby from his crib of torture and swore never again. Lesson learned. Never swear.
After eight and a half months of sleep deprivation (an actual form of torture) I decided to research this whole cry it out business. I grabbed Ferber's book Solve Your Child's Sleep Problems and decided that perhaps he wasn't really the devil like everyone thinks he is. Perhaps a man who is the director at the Center For Pediatric Sleep Disorders and has taught at Harvard might actually have something of value to say about how to get my child to sleep. Maybe he knows something I (and many other mothers) don't. Maybe... With Husband's support, I decided to give it a try. I committed to three nights and if it didn't work we would quit. I could take three nights of crying and I was feeling pretty sure that three nights wouldn't turn my sweet baby into some sort of serial killer. Right?? And so it began.
Night 1: This night was kind of a mishmash of two techniques: Kim West's Sleep Lady Shuffle, followed by Ferber's CIO. After our regular bedtime routine of bath, pajamas, stories and one last nursing session I started with the Shuffle which involved sitting by the crib and gently soothing him from there. After about an hour of him thinking I was in there to play with him I fully submitted myself to CIO. I gently helped him lie down one last time, gave him his lovey, turned on his noise machine and walked away. The screaming began. At this point I wanted to make sure that he knew he wasn't alone so after five minutes I went back in. I didn't talk to him but instead shooshed him, patted his belly and gave him his discarded lovey. Once calm, I left. More screaming. This time I stretched my time away to ten minutes. Once again I went and soothed him without picking him up or talking to him. Once sufficiently calm I left the room. He immediately started crying and I started watching the clock again, waiting for the next ten minutes to pass (a little secret - wine helps). Again I made my way back into his room. I believe he was pretty hysterical at this point and it took a long time to calm him down, but I could see he was winding down. He desperately wanted to sleep he just couldn't quite figure out how. When I put my hands on his chest his eyes would start to droop but they immediately popped open when he realized he was falling asleep. Again I left and this time I stretched the interval to fifteen minutes. This went on for about an hour before he finally gave in and fell asleep.
I would love to say that that was it and he then miraculously slept through the night blah blah blah. No such luck. He woke up an hour later and I had to do it all again, but this time it only took twenty minutes. After which he slept for four whole hours. That night he woke up once and we had to do the CIO process again for about forty-five minutes. Then, after that he woke two more times but miraculously put himself back to bed within a matter of minutes. Overall the night was very difficult. After he first fell asleep I cried. I mean I really cried. Like sobs in the bathroom so Husband wouldn't see/hear. But, the night also had a few successes, like putting himself back to bed. I never in a million years would have imagined that happening on night one. Also, we didn't need to nurse at all. Amazing.
*side note - if you go from nursing all night long to night weaning, remember to pump a couple of times at night. Otherwise you may get some nasty plugged ducts or even worse, mastitis. Lesson learned.
Night 1 v 2.0: Unfortunately the morning after our first night little G-Man woke up very sick. Right then and there I almost gave up, thinking I had broken my baby with the crying. The doctor reassured me that I had done no such thing and that it was purely a coincidence. Unfortunately, due to his illness I couldn't continue the routine that night. Ferber specifically says not to CIO when sick or in pain (teething, ear ache, etc.). So once again G returned to bed with me for a night of marathon nursing. Oh well. The next day however, G was feeling a hundred times better so we started again. Something that I found really helped ease my mind was having a video monitor. At any time during the process I could easily check in on him without disturbing him. I could see for myself that he wasn't crying from pain and that he wasn't throwing up, he was fine. Oh and did I mention the wine? That helped too. Basically this night was just like the first, but a little shorter. I went in after five minutes, then ten, then fifteen and then fifteen again and that was it. He fell asleep. It's interesting watching him learn how to fall asleep on his own. There were a couple of times during his naps that day and that night where he fell asleep sitting up, which if you have any sort of sense of humor is actually kind of comical.
Night 2 (or 3 depending on how you look at it): Again I followed the pattern of stretching out the intervals, but this time I skipped the five minute interval and went straight to ten minutes, then we did a fifteen minute and then a twenty minute interval. It was hard but I could tell it was working. His crying was less intense, more like complaining really. After the last stretch, he quietly put himself down on his tummy, popped his little diaper butt up into the air and fell asleep. That night he woke maybe two times and each time he put himself back to bed. Pure amazingness.
Night 3: We went through our bedtime routine, I nursed him then stood in the dark with him singing until I could feel him relax. I put him in his crib and said "night night" then walked away. He was quiet. Luckily I have a handy dandy video monitor. Turning it on, I found him quietly playing with his glow worm. A few minutes later he let out a little cry and I prepared myself to start up the ten minute timer in my head. But that was it. He cried for maybe a minute and then he was out. For. The. Whole. Night. He slept, completely undisturbed for ten hours.
Since then we have had good nights, followed by amazing nights. In fact, for the last three nights in a row, I have put him in his crib, he fell asleep without crying and he woke up twelve hours later, a happy and well-rested baby. It's like a whole new world. I am like a band new woman and a much better mom because of it. As much as I never wanted to hurt my child by letting him cry, this has been our life saver. I spent the first five or so months of G's life struggling with a mild form of post-partum depression and although I felt like I had been coming out of it the last few months, the sleep issue kept dragging me back. I can't even begin to describe the kind of strain having a non-sleeping child can put on you both mentally and physically. So, while I know that Ferber and CIO is so completely looked down upon (at least in my neck of the woods it is) I know that I did the best thing for me, for my baby and even for my husband and our marriage. Judge if you must, but my baby sleeps through the night and so do I!
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
AT&T Wireless... Suck It!!
That's it. After nearly seven years of taking your crap, I have had it! Despite your bad behavior over the years I have defended you to Husband, who wanted to leave you a long time ago. Now I see the error of my ways. Husband was right all along (shh, don't tell him!), as a provider you suck. AT&T Wireless/Cingular, whatever you're calling yourself these days... you can kiss my ass!!!!
It was almost seven years ago that I led Husband (Boyfriend at the time) into a seedy little Cingular store down University Ave. Husband's family was never very technologically advanced - think typewriters and Tandy's used to write school papers, not in the 1980's but the late '90's and early 2000's. So, expecting him to have a cell phone was pretty much out of the question. Until one fateful night, when his train was beyond delayed and my overactive imagination led me down the path of full blown panic attack. Begrudgingly he agreed that it was time to take a step into the 21st century and get a cell phone. Seedy Cell Phone Man did his best to convince Husband that he needed the top of the line phone, but sadly (for Seedy Cell Phone Man) Husband walked out with the most basic phone and plan they had. I didn't care, as long as I could call him when I needed to I was fine.
As time went by, Boyfriend became Husband and our lives were merged. As is tradition, I left my parents' cell phone plan for my husbands. There we were, two cell phone numbers on one plan, united at last. Overall I would say our time with AT&T has been relatively painless with the exception of Husband's monthly tradition of squawking every time we get the bill and the ever unpleasant trips to the store to upgrade our phones, thus binding us to the company for two more years. It seems that it is nearly impossible to set foot in one of their stores unscathed.
Let's start with the fact that almost (note the word "almost" people!) every employee that works at AT&T Wireless seems to be trained in either one of two modes of thought: Dipshit or Asshole. Sometimes you come across that rare sparkly jewel, the one trained both ways, the Diphole (or Assshit, whichever you prefer). The Dipshits are the ones that have clearly memorized a script pertaining to their product, but should you ask them a question that deviates from the script their face goes blank and in a blind panic they frantically scramble for a piece of the script that might apply. Admitting that they don't know? Not possible! The script must have answers. If it doesn't, blame the customer. It's the question/questioner that is faulty, not them. Dipshits.
Then the Assholes. Gotta love the Assholes. You probably know them well. You walk into the store and their smugness almost overtakes you. They are clearly far superior (never mind they work in a cell phone store at the mall) and they will only deem you worthy if you are there to buy the latest and the greatest. So, when you approach them with your Palm Treo from four years ago to inquire about getting the touch screen fixed, their nose instantly wrinkles up in disgust and they suggest throwing it away. When you tell them not to be insane, that it's a perfectly good phone, they tell you to contact Palm because they don't deal with such antiquated technology, all the while practically pushing you out the door as if you are some sort of cell phone leper. Assholes.
Last summer our relationship with AT&T Wireless nearly came to an end when Husband decided it was time to get his free upgrade. At the time I was around 37 weeks pregnant and in that lovely window of about five days when I wasn't on bed rest. Although I wasn't on bed rest, I was huge, uncomfortable and having Braxton Hicks contractions like crazy. The plan was to go in, pick out the cheapest and most basic phone they had, get the free upgrade and leave. What should have been a thirty minute trip to the store ended up taking almost two hours. We walked in and instantly were greeted by a Dipshit. She was all smiles as she recited her script and when Husband tried to interject so as to cut to the chase her poor face went blank. He wants a cheap phone and quickly?? Huh? Never fear, she quickly plastered her smile back on her face then started up the script again, "iPhones, blah blah blah, data plans, blah blah blah..."
Ultimately, we were able to refocus her and she helped guide us over to the dark corner where they keep the cheap, non-data plan phones. Pushing the cobwebs aside Husband quickly picked out a simple flip phone and she guided us back over to the register. She babbled on and on about how it was a free upgrade but we would be incurring various expenses. When questioned about said expenses again the blank expression returned. Being that I had already been on my feet for about twenty minutes, Husband didn't press the issue and handed over his credit card. All smiles she started to ring us up and then put his old SIM card into the new phone. I'll never quite understand what happened next, but somehow Dipshit switched (through the computer system) my SIM card with Husband's so now all my information was on his new phone. Furrowing her brow, Dipshit claimed that it was no problem she just needed to see my phone and she could fix it. Wanting to expedite the matter I handed over my phone. After several more minutes my phone was back safely in my hands and we were that much closer to leaving the store.
As I waited I decided to look through my (antique) phone only to discover that half of my numbers had been erased. When I confronted Dipshit with the problem she tells me that Palms don't have SIM cards (never mind the fact that she just put one in my phone??) so she couldn't have erased it. I insist that half of my numbers are gone and that she fix it. At some point I become so exhausted and frustrated that I find myself sitting on the floor. (Hello, no chairs in the whole freaking store??) After about an hour of her fumbling around and talking to her manager (the Asshole variety) she insists that either the numbers were never there or I deleted them and didn't realize it. Feeling completely pissed off but like I might go into labor if I stay there any longer Husband and I leave. Oh and to top everything off Dipshit also tells me that she accidentally gave my number the free upgrade so if I want to upgrade my phone I'll have to explain the whole situation to the next Dipshit and they'll have to upgrade Husband's account which will really be my account. Huh? What?
Not wanting to be hasty and feeling that my pregnancy hormones might just be getting the better of me, I let that whole situation slide. Until today. I've been wanting to upgrade my phone for a while now. Several months ago the touch screen stopped working which wasn't too much of a problem, but now I'm finding that it also won't hold a charge. So, today, after little G's morning nap, I bundled us both up and made my way over to our local AT&T Wireless store. As I walked in I was instantly greeted by a smiling employee. Not wanting to judge, I stood there hoping I had encountered a non-Dipshit/Asshole. I explained that I was looking to purchase a new phone and he quickly led me over to his computer to check our account information. Slowly he started to reveal his Dipshit training. Trouble turning on the computer? Check. Trouble navigating the computer system? Check. Eventually he took my cell phone information and accessed my account information. I stood their waiting, mentally preparing myself to explain the debacle from last summer (my account was accidentally upgraded blah blah blah), but instead he stops and gives me this look. That smug Asshole look. What is this? Can it be? Have I encountered the rare Diphole? Indeed I had. Diphole wrinkles up his nose and in an unbelievable condescending tone tells me that I am not authorized to make changes to the account including upgrading my own phone. Completely shocked, I said, "Seriously?" With a little laugh he mockingly replied, "Yes, seriously." He went on to explain that if my husband wanted to he could call and grant me authorization. Or if he didn't want to do it over the phone, Husband could escort me to the store and help me buy the phone there. Feeling completely talked down to, I informed him that I was his wife not his child and I should not need him to grant me authorization. "All it takes is ten minutes on the phone ma'am." I refrained from telling him that my husband was in an all day mediation and didn't have ten minutes to deal with this nonsense as he had assumed that I was a grown woman who could upgrade her own freaking phone. I also refrained from telling him that I would be glad to walk to the other end of the mall and visit a little store called Verizon.
Thus, I suspect my relationship with AT&T Wireless will be coming to an end. Unfortunately Husband is at the start of a two-year contract with them, but that doesn't mean I can't move on!
It was almost seven years ago that I led Husband (Boyfriend at the time) into a seedy little Cingular store down University Ave. Husband's family was never very technologically advanced - think typewriters and Tandy's used to write school papers, not in the 1980's but the late '90's and early 2000's. So, expecting him to have a cell phone was pretty much out of the question. Until one fateful night, when his train was beyond delayed and my overactive imagination led me down the path of full blown panic attack. Begrudgingly he agreed that it was time to take a step into the 21st century and get a cell phone. Seedy Cell Phone Man did his best to convince Husband that he needed the top of the line phone, but sadly (for Seedy Cell Phone Man) Husband walked out with the most basic phone and plan they had. I didn't care, as long as I could call him when I needed to I was fine.
As time went by, Boyfriend became Husband and our lives were merged. As is tradition, I left my parents' cell phone plan for my husbands. There we were, two cell phone numbers on one plan, united at last. Overall I would say our time with AT&T has been relatively painless with the exception of Husband's monthly tradition of squawking every time we get the bill and the ever unpleasant trips to the store to upgrade our phones, thus binding us to the company for two more years. It seems that it is nearly impossible to set foot in one of their stores unscathed.
Let's start with the fact that almost (note the word "almost" people!) every employee that works at AT&T Wireless seems to be trained in either one of two modes of thought: Dipshit or Asshole. Sometimes you come across that rare sparkly jewel, the one trained both ways, the Diphole (or Assshit, whichever you prefer). The Dipshits are the ones that have clearly memorized a script pertaining to their product, but should you ask them a question that deviates from the script their face goes blank and in a blind panic they frantically scramble for a piece of the script that might apply. Admitting that they don't know? Not possible! The script must have answers. If it doesn't, blame the customer. It's the question/questioner that is faulty, not them. Dipshits.
Then the Assholes. Gotta love the Assholes. You probably know them well. You walk into the store and their smugness almost overtakes you. They are clearly far superior (never mind they work in a cell phone store at the mall) and they will only deem you worthy if you are there to buy the latest and the greatest. So, when you approach them with your Palm Treo from four years ago to inquire about getting the touch screen fixed, their nose instantly wrinkles up in disgust and they suggest throwing it away. When you tell them not to be insane, that it's a perfectly good phone, they tell you to contact Palm because they don't deal with such antiquated technology, all the while practically pushing you out the door as if you are some sort of cell phone leper. Assholes.
Last summer our relationship with AT&T Wireless nearly came to an end when Husband decided it was time to get his free upgrade. At the time I was around 37 weeks pregnant and in that lovely window of about five days when I wasn't on bed rest. Although I wasn't on bed rest, I was huge, uncomfortable and having Braxton Hicks contractions like crazy. The plan was to go in, pick out the cheapest and most basic phone they had, get the free upgrade and leave. What should have been a thirty minute trip to the store ended up taking almost two hours. We walked in and instantly were greeted by a Dipshit. She was all smiles as she recited her script and when Husband tried to interject so as to cut to the chase her poor face went blank. He wants a cheap phone and quickly?? Huh? Never fear, she quickly plastered her smile back on her face then started up the script again, "iPhones, blah blah blah, data plans, blah blah blah..."
Ultimately, we were able to refocus her and she helped guide us over to the dark corner where they keep the cheap, non-data plan phones. Pushing the cobwebs aside Husband quickly picked out a simple flip phone and she guided us back over to the register. She babbled on and on about how it was a free upgrade but we would be incurring various expenses. When questioned about said expenses again the blank expression returned. Being that I had already been on my feet for about twenty minutes, Husband didn't press the issue and handed over his credit card. All smiles she started to ring us up and then put his old SIM card into the new phone. I'll never quite understand what happened next, but somehow Dipshit switched (through the computer system) my SIM card with Husband's so now all my information was on his new phone. Furrowing her brow, Dipshit claimed that it was no problem she just needed to see my phone and she could fix it. Wanting to expedite the matter I handed over my phone. After several more minutes my phone was back safely in my hands and we were that much closer to leaving the store.
As I waited I decided to look through my (antique) phone only to discover that half of my numbers had been erased. When I confronted Dipshit with the problem she tells me that Palms don't have SIM cards (never mind the fact that she just put one in my phone??) so she couldn't have erased it. I insist that half of my numbers are gone and that she fix it. At some point I become so exhausted and frustrated that I find myself sitting on the floor. (Hello, no chairs in the whole freaking store??) After about an hour of her fumbling around and talking to her manager (the Asshole variety) she insists that either the numbers were never there or I deleted them and didn't realize it. Feeling completely pissed off but like I might go into labor if I stay there any longer Husband and I leave. Oh and to top everything off Dipshit also tells me that she accidentally gave my number the free upgrade so if I want to upgrade my phone I'll have to explain the whole situation to the next Dipshit and they'll have to upgrade Husband's account which will really be my account. Huh? What?
Not wanting to be hasty and feeling that my pregnancy hormones might just be getting the better of me, I let that whole situation slide. Until today. I've been wanting to upgrade my phone for a while now. Several months ago the touch screen stopped working which wasn't too much of a problem, but now I'm finding that it also won't hold a charge. So, today, after little G's morning nap, I bundled us both up and made my way over to our local AT&T Wireless store. As I walked in I was instantly greeted by a smiling employee. Not wanting to judge, I stood there hoping I had encountered a non-Dipshit/Asshole. I explained that I was looking to purchase a new phone and he quickly led me over to his computer to check our account information. Slowly he started to reveal his Dipshit training. Trouble turning on the computer? Check. Trouble navigating the computer system? Check. Eventually he took my cell phone information and accessed my account information. I stood their waiting, mentally preparing myself to explain the debacle from last summer (my account was accidentally upgraded blah blah blah), but instead he stops and gives me this look. That smug Asshole look. What is this? Can it be? Have I encountered the rare Diphole? Indeed I had. Diphole wrinkles up his nose and in an unbelievable condescending tone tells me that I am not authorized to make changes to the account including upgrading my own phone. Completely shocked, I said, "Seriously?" With a little laugh he mockingly replied, "Yes, seriously." He went on to explain that if my husband wanted to he could call and grant me authorization. Or if he didn't want to do it over the phone, Husband could escort me to the store and help me buy the phone there. Feeling completely talked down to, I informed him that I was his wife not his child and I should not need him to grant me authorization. "All it takes is ten minutes on the phone ma'am." I refrained from telling him that my husband was in an all day mediation and didn't have ten minutes to deal with this nonsense as he had assumed that I was a grown woman who could upgrade her own freaking phone. I also refrained from telling him that I would be glad to walk to the other end of the mall and visit a little store called Verizon.
Thus, I suspect my relationship with AT&T Wireless will be coming to an end. Unfortunately Husband is at the start of a two-year contract with them, but that doesn't mean I can't move on!
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Oh What A Morning!
*WARNING - this is about poop*
It's 9:00am. How many of you have been pooped and peed on? More than once? No one? So that's just me I guess. Awesome.
The night after G was born Husband and I had the pleasure of experiencing our first midnight diaper change. I remember it well. Little wrinkly newborn G started his pathetic little cry from the bassinet next to my hospital bed. Husband, being a man of action decided it was time for a diaper change. We slowly unwrapped his hospital blanket like he was a delicate present. Husband then gently began the process of opening the diaper, careful not to bump the umbilical cord area. We were in luck, just a little pee in the diaper. As husband began to lift little G's bottom to take the dirty diaper away it happened. Like the La Brea Tar Pits, thick black poo began to ooze out of our sweet delicate baby. It flowed and flowed. Quickly we grabbed cloths to wipe it up, thick black tar-like poop was everywhere. Thankfully the flow eventually stopped. In a midnight stupor we cleaned up the mess and returned our now clean sweet boy to his bassinet where if memory serves, he did not sleep. Somehow I have since managed to avoid much contact with my little man's poop. Sure I have changed the dirty diapers but usually they are already dirty and all I have to do is take them away. Actually watching it come out and subsequently getting it everywhere has been limited to that one night in the hospital. Until today.
Last Thursday my little guy finally cut his first tooth. It was kind of surprising because he really wasn't exhibiting many symptoms. Other than the drooling and chomping he had been doing for the past three months nothing had changed, he was as happy as can be. Wednesday night we went to bed, no teeth. Then, Thursday morning as he was chomping away on my hand I felt something sharp. Sure enough there was a little tooth beginning to poke through his lower gums. I was sure that would be the beginning of a crazy fussy baby, but magically he stayed in good spirits. Then on Sunday I noticed a change. Although he was still a pretty happy baby I noticed his tolerance for things had gone down considerably. When he was done playing on the floor, he was done. If I didn't get him, complete and utter meltdown. He also started having diarrhea. It's really hard to tell when a baby has this but it seemed pretty watery and he ended up going to the bathroom (can you say that about babies since they don't go to the actual bathroom to do their business?) 4 or 5 times that day, way out of the norm for him. It was the same yesterday. More fussiness and diaper changes about 7 times. As a side effect G developed quite the little red/raw bottom.
Hoping that it was just teething making my poor baby feel bad I put him to bed. This morning as he slept beside me, he began to make these terrible grunting noises and started thrashing back and forth. That's when I heard it, a blowout of epic proportions. Quickly I removed his sleepsuit and rushed him to the changing table. Sure enough more diarrhea. I cleaned him up and decided I should probably call the doctor. Wanting to be thorough I decided to take his temperature. As the thermometer started to take the reading I heard a little "pop" and looked down just in time to see poop flying out, all over the thermometer, the table and my hand. Now if you know me, you know that I'm relatively squeamish. Believe it or not I don't actually enjoy talking about poop, much less having it all over my hand. However, I remained calm and quickly cleaned up the mess and attempted to take his temperature again. More poop. Just as I got him clean for the second time and began to aim the thermometer back at my target (I was determined to get a reading) a small stream of pee began to shoot up into the air. Somehow I managed to avoid the tiny spray and I continued on with my mission. This time he peed again, more forcefully, I tried to block the stream with my hand but before I could he shot himself in the eye. UGH! Then, I kid you not, as I was wiping off his face he pooped again. WTF??? After all of that I finally got his temperature, 99.9. Normal for him is usually around 98.1 but the pediatrician has already informed me that they don't care about temperatures unless they are over 100.
After sanitizing the baby and his room little G played on the floor like all was right in the world. He chomped away on his Sophie the giraffe quite gleefully as I scrubbed my hands and arms with antibacterial soap. Thankfully he is now napping while I decide what to do about his diarrhea. Do I chalk it up to teething or put in a call to the pediatrician only to have them tell me it's normal? Decisions decisions.
It's 9:00am. How many of you have been pooped and peed on? More than once? No one? So that's just me I guess. Awesome.
The night after G was born Husband and I had the pleasure of experiencing our first midnight diaper change. I remember it well. Little wrinkly newborn G started his pathetic little cry from the bassinet next to my hospital bed. Husband, being a man of action decided it was time for a diaper change. We slowly unwrapped his hospital blanket like he was a delicate present. Husband then gently began the process of opening the diaper, careful not to bump the umbilical cord area. We were in luck, just a little pee in the diaper. As husband began to lift little G's bottom to take the dirty diaper away it happened. Like the La Brea Tar Pits, thick black poo began to ooze out of our sweet delicate baby. It flowed and flowed. Quickly we grabbed cloths to wipe it up, thick black tar-like poop was everywhere. Thankfully the flow eventually stopped. In a midnight stupor we cleaned up the mess and returned our now clean sweet boy to his bassinet where if memory serves, he did not sleep. Somehow I have since managed to avoid much contact with my little man's poop. Sure I have changed the dirty diapers but usually they are already dirty and all I have to do is take them away. Actually watching it come out and subsequently getting it everywhere has been limited to that one night in the hospital. Until today.
Last Thursday my little guy finally cut his first tooth. It was kind of surprising because he really wasn't exhibiting many symptoms. Other than the drooling and chomping he had been doing for the past three months nothing had changed, he was as happy as can be. Wednesday night we went to bed, no teeth. Then, Thursday morning as he was chomping away on my hand I felt something sharp. Sure enough there was a little tooth beginning to poke through his lower gums. I was sure that would be the beginning of a crazy fussy baby, but magically he stayed in good spirits. Then on Sunday I noticed a change. Although he was still a pretty happy baby I noticed his tolerance for things had gone down considerably. When he was done playing on the floor, he was done. If I didn't get him, complete and utter meltdown. He also started having diarrhea. It's really hard to tell when a baby has this but it seemed pretty watery and he ended up going to the bathroom (can you say that about babies since they don't go to the actual bathroom to do their business?) 4 or 5 times that day, way out of the norm for him. It was the same yesterday. More fussiness and diaper changes about 7 times. As a side effect G developed quite the little red/raw bottom.
Hoping that it was just teething making my poor baby feel bad I put him to bed. This morning as he slept beside me, he began to make these terrible grunting noises and started thrashing back and forth. That's when I heard it, a blowout of epic proportions. Quickly I removed his sleepsuit and rushed him to the changing table. Sure enough more diarrhea. I cleaned him up and decided I should probably call the doctor. Wanting to be thorough I decided to take his temperature. As the thermometer started to take the reading I heard a little "pop" and looked down just in time to see poop flying out, all over the thermometer, the table and my hand. Now if you know me, you know that I'm relatively squeamish. Believe it or not I don't actually enjoy talking about poop, much less having it all over my hand. However, I remained calm and quickly cleaned up the mess and attempted to take his temperature again. More poop. Just as I got him clean for the second time and began to aim the thermometer back at my target (I was determined to get a reading) a small stream of pee began to shoot up into the air. Somehow I managed to avoid the tiny spray and I continued on with my mission. This time he peed again, more forcefully, I tried to block the stream with my hand but before I could he shot himself in the eye. UGH! Then, I kid you not, as I was wiping off his face he pooped again. WTF??? After all of that I finally got his temperature, 99.9. Normal for him is usually around 98.1 but the pediatrician has already informed me that they don't care about temperatures unless they are over 100.
After sanitizing the baby and his room little G played on the floor like all was right in the world. He chomped away on his Sophie the giraffe quite gleefully as I scrubbed my hands and arms with antibacterial soap. Thankfully he is now napping while I decide what to do about his diarrhea. Do I chalk it up to teething or put in a call to the pediatrician only to have them tell me it's normal? Decisions decisions.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Ball Twisting.
Yep, you read that right. I considered titling this something else, but all my poor little sleep deprived mind could come up with was "Ball Twisting." So there you have it... Perhaps now is a good time to put a little reminder out there of the disclaimer I gave when I first started this blog before I continue with this particular entry. I will say that it is unlikely I will be discussing those same exact words, as I am no longer pregnant, but I will be using other just as unpleasant ones. I mean come on, I have a baby who (gasp!) poops and let me tell you, does it stink now that we've introduced solids. He also pees! Sometime in the tub! (shock and awe!) Then there's me. Yep. You guessed it. I still have a uterus. Does it have a baby in it? God I hope not! It does, however still present me with some problems. Problems that have been giving me trouble since the dawn of time, or more accurately since I was twelve. If you don't want to hear about poop and pee, or God forbid my uterus, I feel compelled to remind you, this is not the blog for you. Turn back now. Do not proceed. Scroll down at your own risk.
With that out of the way... In an effort to bring myself out of the postpartum funk I've found myself in, I've been trying to take better care of myself. As cliche as it sounds, if I'm not taking care of myself then I'm not going to be able to take care of my baby, right? Sooo, I've been forcing myself to eat breakfast every day, I've been making sure I don't spend every day in my pajamas, little G-Man and I have been going on walks almost daily and I've been trying to make other mommy friends (for the love of God why is that so hard??).
Today, after forcing a bowl of cottage cheese and fresh pineapple down, I put the little one down for a nap, waited for Husband to come home and I went off to get a filling. Apparently taking care of my teeth after having G was also low on the list of priorities and now I must pay. At least I got a little adventure away from the couch. After spending some time in the torture chair I came home, tagged Husband (you're it!) who trotted off back to work, and I resumed caring for the little stinker. Who as it turned out was quite literally a stinker. After changing a near blowout (a "poosplosion" as they're known around here) I decided to take G for our afternoon walk. Walks around here are usually pretty uneventful. I live in a small little community where the road conveniently goes in a circle so I can do "laps." As we make our way around my mind begins to wander. Today it went something like this: Who lives in that house? What outfit should I wear tomorrow? What outfit should G wear tomorrow? If G bites me with his new tooth, how bad will it hurt? What will I do if/when he bites me? Gee this stroller sucks. I should get a jogging stroller. Who am I kidding? I don't jog! Ow that hurts. Did those old ladies just lap me? Wait, what? What the hell is that pain? Shit. That pain feels familiar. Yes they did lap me!! Better pick up the pace. Damn. There's that pain again. It's baaa-aack!
And with that we returned home. For those that don't know the story, I'll try to give a brief back story. Painful (like passing out, puking, need a shot of whiskey painful) and heavy periods since forever. Countless doctors, many of whom laughed me out of their offices, and years of taking over-the-counter and prescription (don't worry not the addictive kind!) pain pills during that time of the month. Finally saw an OB who listened, Dr. M, and was willing to take action. In the summer of '09, after countless ultrasounds and endless debating I went in for an exploratory laparoscopy. Dr. M. warned me repeatedly that they might not find a source for my pain but I figured it was worth taking a look. At that point extensive walking and sometimes just getting up off of the couch caused a shooting/stabbing, take-your-breath-away pain in my pelvic area. Although they had found cysts on my ovaries through ultrasounds, she didn't think that was the cause, so she decided to take a deeper look.
That day my wonderful parents drove down to be with Husband and me as I went in for the procedure. Since I was out like a light I don't really remember much about that day except for the excruciating pain as Husband and my Dad helped carry me up the stairs to our apartment. As I understand it, the procedure took a little longer than Dr. M had originally anticipated. Lo and behold, not only did she find a source for my pain, she actually found a couple of sources. The first being what I already expected, Stage II Endometriosis. Then the unexpected news... buried somewhere under or around my intestines was a relatively large (about the size of a small egg I believe) subserosal pedunculated fibroid tumor. For those that don't care to follow the link I will rely on the words of the wonderful Dr. M. Apparently as she was telling my parents and Husband about her findings she explained that the fibroid was one that was growing on the outside of my uterus. This kind of fibroid is attached to a stalk rather than growing on/in the lining of the uterus. When the stalk twists it can cause pain. Feeling that her words weren't carrying enough weight she continued. (Paraphrasing here) It would be like if every time you sneezed or got up from the couch someone grabbed your balls and twisted them. Apparently the look on Husband's and Dad's faces was priceless. Too bad I was zonked out in the recovery room, I would I have like to have been there.
So, here I sit today, that nasty tumor was removed but I am left wondering if I have a new little friend growing. As I took my walk I felt some familiar twinges. They're not quite at the "ball-twisting" stage yet, so I'm hesitant to call the doctor. I was hoping to make it a full year without seeing her. A full year without medical problems. Of course if the ball-twisting worsens I suppose I'll be forced back to her office. Until then, anyone have any good jogging stroller recommendations? I can't be letting those old ladies lap me any more.
With that out of the way... In an effort to bring myself out of the postpartum funk I've found myself in, I've been trying to take better care of myself. As cliche as it sounds, if I'm not taking care of myself then I'm not going to be able to take care of my baby, right? Sooo, I've been forcing myself to eat breakfast every day, I've been making sure I don't spend every day in my pajamas, little G-Man and I have been going on walks almost daily and I've been trying to make other mommy friends (for the love of God why is that so hard??).
Today, after forcing a bowl of cottage cheese and fresh pineapple down, I put the little one down for a nap, waited for Husband to come home and I went off to get a filling. Apparently taking care of my teeth after having G was also low on the list of priorities and now I must pay. At least I got a little adventure away from the couch. After spending some time in the torture chair I came home, tagged Husband (you're it!) who trotted off back to work, and I resumed caring for the little stinker. Who as it turned out was quite literally a stinker. After changing a near blowout (a "poosplosion" as they're known around here) I decided to take G for our afternoon walk. Walks around here are usually pretty uneventful. I live in a small little community where the road conveniently goes in a circle so I can do "laps." As we make our way around my mind begins to wander. Today it went something like this: Who lives in that house? What outfit should I wear tomorrow? What outfit should G wear tomorrow? If G bites me with his new tooth, how bad will it hurt? What will I do if/when he bites me? Gee this stroller sucks. I should get a jogging stroller. Who am I kidding? I don't jog! Ow that hurts. Did those old ladies just lap me? Wait, what? What the hell is that pain? Shit. That pain feels familiar. Yes they did lap me!! Better pick up the pace. Damn. There's that pain again. It's baaa-aack!
And with that we returned home. For those that don't know the story, I'll try to give a brief back story. Painful (like passing out, puking, need a shot of whiskey painful) and heavy periods since forever. Countless doctors, many of whom laughed me out of their offices, and years of taking over-the-counter and prescription (don't worry not the addictive kind!) pain pills during that time of the month. Finally saw an OB who listened, Dr. M, and was willing to take action. In the summer of '09, after countless ultrasounds and endless debating I went in for an exploratory laparoscopy. Dr. M. warned me repeatedly that they might not find a source for my pain but I figured it was worth taking a look. At that point extensive walking and sometimes just getting up off of the couch caused a shooting/stabbing, take-your-breath-away pain in my pelvic area. Although they had found cysts on my ovaries through ultrasounds, she didn't think that was the cause, so she decided to take a deeper look.
That day my wonderful parents drove down to be with Husband and me as I went in for the procedure. Since I was out like a light I don't really remember much about that day except for the excruciating pain as Husband and my Dad helped carry me up the stairs to our apartment. As I understand it, the procedure took a little longer than Dr. M had originally anticipated. Lo and behold, not only did she find a source for my pain, she actually found a couple of sources. The first being what I already expected, Stage II Endometriosis. Then the unexpected news... buried somewhere under or around my intestines was a relatively large (about the size of a small egg I believe) subserosal pedunculated fibroid tumor. For those that don't care to follow the link I will rely on the words of the wonderful Dr. M. Apparently as she was telling my parents and Husband about her findings she explained that the fibroid was one that was growing on the outside of my uterus. This kind of fibroid is attached to a stalk rather than growing on/in the lining of the uterus. When the stalk twists it can cause pain. Feeling that her words weren't carrying enough weight she continued. (Paraphrasing here) It would be like if every time you sneezed or got up from the couch someone grabbed your balls and twisted them. Apparently the look on Husband's and Dad's faces was priceless. Too bad I was zonked out in the recovery room, I would I have like to have been there.
So, here I sit today, that nasty tumor was removed but I am left wondering if I have a new little friend growing. As I took my walk I felt some familiar twinges. They're not quite at the "ball-twisting" stage yet, so I'm hesitant to call the doctor. I was hoping to make it a full year without seeing her. A full year without medical problems. Of course if the ball-twisting worsens I suppose I'll be forced back to her office. Until then, anyone have any good jogging stroller recommendations? I can't be letting those old ladies lap me any more.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Crying It Out
Cry it out. What are your thoughts on this (assuming you have any)? The baby of course, not me. Although occasionally I have been known to cry it out too. :)
Up until recently I have been adamantly against letting G cry for any length of time. My natural instincts led me to inadvertently subscribe to the "attachment parenting" method of parenting. I say "inadvertently" because prior to having him I had not read up on attachment parenting or any other style of parenting for that matter. I wasn't a baby whisperer or a happiest baby on the block-er. I was just me. A fairly laid back, sensitive, sometimes planner, who was ok with winging it. My past experience with babies had taught me that "planning" was futile. The baby, to a large extent, is in charge. Early on you can attempt to direct and guide their day, but if they decide 2:00am is a perfect play time there's not a whole lot you can do to convince them otherwise.
After G was born my own parenting style began to take form. Lots of holding, carrying in various carriers (two Moby wraps, a Bjorn and a Beco), exclusively breast feeding (and I do mean exclusively, this kid won't take a bottle to save his life), co-sleeping/family bed (more for my sanity than for his benefit) and never letting him cry if it was in my control. I'll admit sometimes he was left to cry when I had to run to the bathroom or on a long drive over a twisty mountain road where there was nowhere to pull over, but you better believe there was no other choice and the mommy guilt hit hard.
Fast forward to present day. As I have already mentioned, G isn't exactly a good sleeper which in turn has turned me into a non-sleeper. As is typical with babies, just when I think one thing works/does the trick he switches it up and I have to work to find the new thing that will help him sleep. For a long long time the only two ways for him to fall asleep were nursing and his swing. Then one day it was like a switch was flipped and that just wasn't doing it anymore. Suddenly I had to stand by his crib and vigorously pat his stomach while repeating "shh shh shh" over and over. Then there was this blissful week where I could put him in his crib, walk away and he would fall to sleep on his own. Pure magic.
Just to keep things new and fresh, my little monster has decided to switch things up again. Last night we went through the whole routine, pajamas, books, nursing, rocking, bed. It worked. Then an hour later he was up. No amount of patting or shooshing helped. Nursed again just to calm him down and back to bed. This happened over and over until midnight when he finally gave up... for four hours, then he did it some more. It's nights like this that I find myself faced with the decision of letting him cry it out. I'm so tired. So desperate for him to sleep. What do you do when none of your "tricks" are working? Do you really just leave your baby to sob in his crib? If you do, how do you not cry it out yourself? How long do you let him cry? What do you do if you have a baby that just doesn't stop crying?
Up until recently I have been adamantly against letting G cry for any length of time. My natural instincts led me to inadvertently subscribe to the "attachment parenting" method of parenting. I say "inadvertently" because prior to having him I had not read up on attachment parenting or any other style of parenting for that matter. I wasn't a baby whisperer or a happiest baby on the block-er. I was just me. A fairly laid back, sensitive, sometimes planner, who was ok with winging it. My past experience with babies had taught me that "planning" was futile. The baby, to a large extent, is in charge. Early on you can attempt to direct and guide their day, but if they decide 2:00am is a perfect play time there's not a whole lot you can do to convince them otherwise.
After G was born my own parenting style began to take form. Lots of holding, carrying in various carriers (two Moby wraps, a Bjorn and a Beco), exclusively breast feeding (and I do mean exclusively, this kid won't take a bottle to save his life), co-sleeping/family bed (more for my sanity than for his benefit) and never letting him cry if it was in my control. I'll admit sometimes he was left to cry when I had to run to the bathroom or on a long drive over a twisty mountain road where there was nowhere to pull over, but you better believe there was no other choice and the mommy guilt hit hard.
Fast forward to present day. As I have already mentioned, G isn't exactly a good sleeper which in turn has turned me into a non-sleeper. As is typical with babies, just when I think one thing works/does the trick he switches it up and I have to work to find the new thing that will help him sleep. For a long long time the only two ways for him to fall asleep were nursing and his swing. Then one day it was like a switch was flipped and that just wasn't doing it anymore. Suddenly I had to stand by his crib and vigorously pat his stomach while repeating "shh shh shh" over and over. Then there was this blissful week where I could put him in his crib, walk away and he would fall to sleep on his own. Pure magic.
Just to keep things new and fresh, my little monster has decided to switch things up again. Last night we went through the whole routine, pajamas, books, nursing, rocking, bed. It worked. Then an hour later he was up. No amount of patting or shooshing helped. Nursed again just to calm him down and back to bed. This happened over and over until midnight when he finally gave up... for four hours, then he did it some more. It's nights like this that I find myself faced with the decision of letting him cry it out. I'm so tired. So desperate for him to sleep. What do you do when none of your "tricks" are working? Do you really just leave your baby to sob in his crib? If you do, how do you not cry it out yourself? How long do you let him cry? What do you do if you have a baby that just doesn't stop crying?
Saturday, January 1, 2011
A New Post For The New Year
Friends, family, countrymen, I am back! It has been pointed out to me that I have grossly neglected my blog and although I have frequently thought of posting, life has always gotten in the way. I have so many ideas for blog topics swirling around in my head. Babies and (lack of) sleep, sleep deprivation, babies and marriage, babies and depression/anxiety, baby milestones, baby smiles and kisses. So much to say. For now, as G-Man naps, I will do a quick update, newsletter style.
~ G-Man is now (almost) 6 months old. How in the world did that happen? At his 4 month check-up he weighed 14lbs 11oz and was 27 inches (hello 96th percentile). When I last weighed him at home, by oh so scientifically weighing myself and then doing it again while holding him, he was weighing in at around 16lbs. We will have the official 6 month stats in a couple of weeks.
~ Developmental milestones: G can now roll both ways, sit unassisted for a few impressive seconds, push up with his arms and when placed on his hands and knees stay up (also for a few precious seconds). He is scooting around, grabbing at toys, and putting everything he can into his mouth. He recently discovered his feet and is in love. He especially loves to grab them while taking his bath, unfortunately this habit has, more than once, led to him rolling over in the tub. Hello water up the nose.
~ Sleep: Doesn't happen. Still. Well actually that's not quite true. If you had asked me last week it would have been. My little monster's day looked something like this: Wake up between 8:00 and 9:00am. Play. Attempt a nap in the swing around 10:00, maybe 30 minutes if we were lucky. Play some more, get super cranky and attempt another nap around noon. Play some more and another attempt at a nap some time in the early evening. (Notice the use of the word "attempt"). Between 6-7 we would start our bedtime routine. Bath, pajamas, books, nurse to sleep. From there on out our nights were a total crap-shoot. G-Man consistently woke every one to two hours for the rest of the night until morning. Then, miraculously, last Tuesday he started taking naps, on his own, in his crib. What really happened was Monday night, after literally no naps during the day, he refused to go to sleep while nursing. Utterly frustrated and tired I put him into his co-sleeper and just sat there patting his belly and shooshing him while he cried. I didn't know what else to do. To my complete surprise, he fell asleep. Sure it happened 45 minutes later, but still he fell asleep. So I tried it again the next day for naps and it kept working. Now he falls asleep on his own for naps (did I mention the naps are in his crib???) about 85% of the time. Now we are working on his night time sleep habits. Still up every hour. :(
~ Sleep Deprivation: Needless to say, I am beyond sleep deprived. The circles under my eyes are so deep purple I look like I have two black eyes. I went to the doctor for a regular check-up without makeup on and she wanted to know what was wrong with me. I haven't slept for more than two consecutive hours in over 6 months (remember that whole getting up to pee 10 times a night when I was pregnant?). I am tired. Very very tired. Husband works 14+ hours a day and more often than not nights are left to me. I am "on" 24 hours a day. My "break" is the 20 minute shower I get in the evening. Bliss. As a not so pleasant side effect I have, to a small degree, experienced some postpartum anxiety/depression. I'm not talking "Down Came the Rain" level of depression, but still, it hasn't been fun. It affects my ability to be a mom, a friend, and a wife. I'm not really at a place where I want to talk about it beyond that, but maybe some day I will share in a future post. Let's just say being a mom is the hardest thing I have ever done.
~ Coming Up: We've made it through the holidays and now it's time to make plans. G and I will be returning to our Mommy and Me classes (more on that later) and hopefully making new friends now that he has become more aware of the other babies. I plan to enroll him in swim lessons at the end of the month since he loves loves loves to splash around during bath time. I'm still hoping this little pooch on my stomach and excess baggage in the hips/thigh area will magically disappear, if not maybe I'll actually get around to doing something about it. G is working hard on crawling so there will definitely be some major baby proofing going on in the near future. I also hope to get back into my regular life, at least a little bit. Play World of Warcraft with the family, maybe squeeze in a visit or two with some very missed friends, maybe have a date with Husband, go for walks, read books that aren't about how to get my baby to sleep, just generally enjoy the way things are.
Happy New Year!!!!
~ G-Man is now (almost) 6 months old. How in the world did that happen? At his 4 month check-up he weighed 14lbs 11oz and was 27 inches (hello 96th percentile). When I last weighed him at home, by oh so scientifically weighing myself and then doing it again while holding him, he was weighing in at around 16lbs. We will have the official 6 month stats in a couple of weeks.
~ Developmental milestones: G can now roll both ways, sit unassisted for a few impressive seconds, push up with his arms and when placed on his hands and knees stay up (also for a few precious seconds). He is scooting around, grabbing at toys, and putting everything he can into his mouth. He recently discovered his feet and is in love. He especially loves to grab them while taking his bath, unfortunately this habit has, more than once, led to him rolling over in the tub. Hello water up the nose.
~ Sleep: Doesn't happen. Still. Well actually that's not quite true. If you had asked me last week it would have been. My little monster's day looked something like this: Wake up between 8:00 and 9:00am. Play. Attempt a nap in the swing around 10:00, maybe 30 minutes if we were lucky. Play some more, get super cranky and attempt another nap around noon. Play some more and another attempt at a nap some time in the early evening. (Notice the use of the word "attempt"). Between 6-7 we would start our bedtime routine. Bath, pajamas, books, nurse to sleep. From there on out our nights were a total crap-shoot. G-Man consistently woke every one to two hours for the rest of the night until morning. Then, miraculously, last Tuesday he started taking naps, on his own, in his crib. What really happened was Monday night, after literally no naps during the day, he refused to go to sleep while nursing. Utterly frustrated and tired I put him into his co-sleeper and just sat there patting his belly and shooshing him while he cried. I didn't know what else to do. To my complete surprise, he fell asleep. Sure it happened 45 minutes later, but still he fell asleep. So I tried it again the next day for naps and it kept working. Now he falls asleep on his own for naps (did I mention the naps are in his crib???) about 85% of the time. Now we are working on his night time sleep habits. Still up every hour. :(
~ Sleep Deprivation: Needless to say, I am beyond sleep deprived. The circles under my eyes are so deep purple I look like I have two black eyes. I went to the doctor for a regular check-up without makeup on and she wanted to know what was wrong with me. I haven't slept for more than two consecutive hours in over 6 months (remember that whole getting up to pee 10 times a night when I was pregnant?). I am tired. Very very tired. Husband works 14+ hours a day and more often than not nights are left to me. I am "on" 24 hours a day. My "break" is the 20 minute shower I get in the evening. Bliss. As a not so pleasant side effect I have, to a small degree, experienced some postpartum anxiety/depression. I'm not talking "Down Came the Rain" level of depression, but still, it hasn't been fun. It affects my ability to be a mom, a friend, and a wife. I'm not really at a place where I want to talk about it beyond that, but maybe some day I will share in a future post. Let's just say being a mom is the hardest thing I have ever done.
~ Coming Up: We've made it through the holidays and now it's time to make plans. G and I will be returning to our Mommy and Me classes (more on that later) and hopefully making new friends now that he has become more aware of the other babies. I plan to enroll him in swim lessons at the end of the month since he loves loves loves to splash around during bath time. I'm still hoping this little pooch on my stomach and excess baggage in the hips/thigh area will magically disappear, if not maybe I'll actually get around to doing something about it. G is working hard on crawling so there will definitely be some major baby proofing going on in the near future. I also hope to get back into my regular life, at least a little bit. Play World of Warcraft with the family, maybe squeeze in a visit or two with some very missed friends, maybe have a date with Husband, go for walks, read books that aren't about how to get my baby to sleep, just generally enjoy the way things are.
Happy New Year!!!!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)