I've come to terms with having a boy and am throwing myself wholeheartedly into the color blue. On a recent shopping trip, I purchased blue pacifiers, blue receiving blankets, blue sleepers, and a blue pacifier holder. I could use what I had from Louise, but most of her baby accessories are pink. I made sure to get neutral colored big ticket items, like the baby swing, bouncy seat, etc., but went crazy with pink for everything else. So this time, I'm going crazy with blue and no matter what I have next time around, I'll be prepared.
After drinking very well from her cup for a while, Louise has started throwing her cup (full) of milk on the floor again. I had read somewhere that if your child is begging for a bottle when he or she is too old for it, go ahead and give it to them. The child will soon tire of working so hard for such a small amount of milk and will want their cup back. So I figured why wouldn't this work on Louise? She went in time-out for throwing her cup and when she came back, I handed her a baby bottle with a slow flow nipple. I told her that because she wasn't being a big girl when she threw her cup, that she could no longer have a big girl cup and had to drink from a bottle like a baby. She was hesitant to take the bottle from me at first so I set it on her high chair tray and left the room to get a load of laundry out of the dryer. When I came back to the kitchen, Louise's food was untouched and she was blissfully sucking on the bottle. She took it out long enough to smile happily at me, and I took the opportunity to reinforce the theory that bottles are for babies just in case she didn't get it the first time.
"I baby." she said, popping it back into her mouth.
Okay, maybe that would've worked better if she weren't obsessed with babies and everything about them. Guess I'll demote her to a sippy cup for a while and keep giving her time-outs every time the cup lands on the floor. Hopefully she'll get the idea that throwing her cup is NOT acceptable, and I'll be able to upgrade her back to a regular cup before she turns three.
Remember that nice minivan I mentioned in my last post? Less than two weeks after buying it (or to be more specific, taking out a loan for it), I managed to scratch the sliding door on the driver's side. I very stupidly thought I could get out of a parking spot that most other drivers would be able to get out of without mishap. I forgot to take into consideration that I AM A TERRIBLE DRIVER! The term "woman driver" is not without some truth in my house. The local body shop in town gets a good laugh every time I come in because I'm what you would call a regular there, and my mishaps are generally incredibly stupid. My dad who was with me when I scratched the van, called them up before I could get there and told them what happened. When I walked in the door I was met with snorts of laughter. The owner's wife told me that she'd heard I hadn't even gotten it off the car lot before wrecking the van. Which was somewhat true because I was back at the dealership having a new latch put in the glove compartment when I scratched the van.
The first time I damaged a car was 6 days after getting my license. I was attempting to adjust the radio while going around a curve and ended up going off the road, flying through a mailbox, over a driveway, went airborne over a ditch, and landed in a cornfield narrowly missing a light pole. I was fine, but had the joy of calling Hubby, then my boyfriend, at work and telling him that I'd wrecked his car which he was loaning me until I could get my own. After that incident, he still married me though, so whenever he gets mad at me for doing something to whatever vehicle I'm currently driving, I remind him that he knew what he was getting into when he married me.
Unsolicited Advice:
I recently read two books that I recommend for any parent. "Time-Out for Toddlers" by Dr. James W. Varni and "It Works For Us" by Tom McMahon. The second book is a compilation of helpful tips for just about every child-rearing situation from hundreds of different parents.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Happy Thanksgiving!
Happy Thanksgiving, all!
We had a relaxing, enjoyable day. Although I enjoy hosting Thanksgiving, the size of my house prohibits me from doing so. Instead, we went to my sister, Elizabeth's large house to celebrate. At one point during the day, I realized how relaxing it is to go somewhere else for holidays. I didn't have to clean my house, get up early to put the turkey in, find enough dishes and places at the table for everyone, or deal with the mess when everybody leaves.
I have some news to share. On Tuesday, Hubby and I went for my first ultrasound at 18 weeks gestation. It was really neat to see my baby for the first time. We asked the ultrasound technician if it was a boy or a girl and she asked us what we thought it was. I told her that Louise had assured me it was a boy. As the tech moved the wand to verify, we could very obviously see that Louise was correct! I made sure the tech printed us a picture of the "proof" to embarrass the poor boy with when he gets older.
To be honest though, I was hoping for a girl. I had several reasons for this, the top one being that Hubby thinks that with one of each, we're done having kids. Ummmm, I'm not done yet. I'm not ready for this to be my last pregnancy, my last baby, my youngest child. I also was hoping for a girl because I was kind of looking forward to getting Louise's baby clothes back out and dressing the two alike for special occasions. Having a sister close in age to me, I wanted to give that experience (good and bad) to Louise. I'm really not sure what to do with a boy. Having a boy means buying new clothes, bibs, and accessories. It means a whole new set of toys (and I've already run out of space!) and it means I'm going to be mother to a son. I'm all girl. I'm all about the frills, baby dolls, abundance of pink, and everything else that means girls. A boy is strange territory to me. When my mother found out what I was having, she thought about it a while and then confessed that she really can't see me with a boy. In about 5 months though, that's what's going to happen. But I know that I will learn as I go along just as I did with Louise and the minute they lay my baby boy in my arms, I will fall so madly in love with him that I can't imagine not having him there.
When Hubby and I found out that we're having a boy, we celebrated by buying a blue minivan. We got a fairly decent price on a Honda Odyssey and so came home with ultrasound pictures and a new vehicle. I know that we don't technically need a minivan yet since we'll only have two kids, but my sister and I go a lot of places together. With two carseats in the back of the car, it gets too crowded to buy a lot of groceries (we live 45 minutes from the nearest "big" city so we stock up when we go.) Since she and I are both expecting baby #2 in April, a minivan was a must. Also, because Hubby and I take so many LONG trips (6+ hours one way), a dvd system in the vehicle is a huge plus for us.
Anyways, it's 9 pm and it's been a long day. Signing off.
We had a relaxing, enjoyable day. Although I enjoy hosting Thanksgiving, the size of my house prohibits me from doing so. Instead, we went to my sister, Elizabeth's large house to celebrate. At one point during the day, I realized how relaxing it is to go somewhere else for holidays. I didn't have to clean my house, get up early to put the turkey in, find enough dishes and places at the table for everyone, or deal with the mess when everybody leaves.
I have some news to share. On Tuesday, Hubby and I went for my first ultrasound at 18 weeks gestation. It was really neat to see my baby for the first time. We asked the ultrasound technician if it was a boy or a girl and she asked us what we thought it was. I told her that Louise had assured me it was a boy. As the tech moved the wand to verify, we could very obviously see that Louise was correct! I made sure the tech printed us a picture of the "proof" to embarrass the poor boy with when he gets older.
To be honest though, I was hoping for a girl. I had several reasons for this, the top one being that Hubby thinks that with one of each, we're done having kids. Ummmm, I'm not done yet. I'm not ready for this to be my last pregnancy, my last baby, my youngest child. I also was hoping for a girl because I was kind of looking forward to getting Louise's baby clothes back out and dressing the two alike for special occasions. Having a sister close in age to me, I wanted to give that experience (good and bad) to Louise. I'm really not sure what to do with a boy. Having a boy means buying new clothes, bibs, and accessories. It means a whole new set of toys (and I've already run out of space!) and it means I'm going to be mother to a son. I'm all girl. I'm all about the frills, baby dolls, abundance of pink, and everything else that means girls. A boy is strange territory to me. When my mother found out what I was having, she thought about it a while and then confessed that she really can't see me with a boy. In about 5 months though, that's what's going to happen. But I know that I will learn as I go along just as I did with Louise and the minute they lay my baby boy in my arms, I will fall so madly in love with him that I can't imagine not having him there.
When Hubby and I found out that we're having a boy, we celebrated by buying a blue minivan. We got a fairly decent price on a Honda Odyssey and so came home with ultrasound pictures and a new vehicle. I know that we don't technically need a minivan yet since we'll only have two kids, but my sister and I go a lot of places together. With two carseats in the back of the car, it gets too crowded to buy a lot of groceries (we live 45 minutes from the nearest "big" city so we stock up when we go.) Since she and I are both expecting baby #2 in April, a minivan was a must. Also, because Hubby and I take so many LONG trips (6+ hours one way), a dvd system in the vehicle is a huge plus for us.
Anyways, it's 9 pm and it's been a long day. Signing off.
Monday, November 16, 2009
You Have It So Easy!
It was Sunday morning before church. Hubby was relaxing on the couch with the tv remote having already showered, shaved, and put on the suit and tie I'd picked out for him. I was simultaneously packing the diaper bag, picking out a dress for Louise and cutting up a pear for her breakfast. As I chased my squealing daugher with her ruffled fuschia dress and a pair of tights, I glanced enviously at Hubby lounging on the couch with not a thing to do, but watch tv. After corraling Louise and pinning her down long enough to wrestle the dress over her head, I made it a point to stop in the living room and give an exaggerated sigh. Hubby obliviously channel surfed so I decided to use a more direct method of conveying my frustration.
With a look of confusion, Hubby tore his eyes off the tv long enough to glance at me, "What'd you kick me for?" he asked.
"Because I'm doing everything as usual and you're just sitting there not lifting a finger to help me!"
"If you want my help, just ask!"
I instructed him to feed Louise her breakfast while I attempted to find a skirt and shirt for myself that matched and was not wrinkled.
Somehow I managed to get dressed and finish packing the diaper bag while answering 872 questions from Hubby about how to feed Louise breakfast. After she was done with breakfast, Hubby went back to the tv while I cleaned up the mess the two of them had made in the kitchen.
On the car ride to church, I thought about how nice it must be to be a dad.
Hubby didn't have to go through nine months of pregnancy, give birth or struggle with the first painful months of nursing. He didn't have to discipline and entertain a toddler all day, rock a sick child all night long, or try to figure out what 4 foods Louise currently accepted as edible.
As my resentment grew, I happened to glance in the backseat where Louise sat strapped into her carseat. Then I realized something. Hubby didn't get to experience the joy and wonder of new life growing within for nine months. He didn't get to go through the life changing experience of giving birth to that new life or gaze into the adoring eyes of a tiny baby as she filled her tummy with warm milk that he provided. He didn't get to spend all day with a toddler who was constantly learning new things and being incredibly cute about it. He didn't get to comfort that toddler when she didn't feel good and spend time just holding her in his arms. What Hubby got to do was go to work all day and come home to listen to me tell him about all the adorable things she'd done that day. He didn't get to spend much time with her because of his work and had to ask me to interpret most of what she said because he wasn't around her enough to know.
Even though at times it can be stressful and it's the hardest job I have ever and will ever do, I decided right then that I would much rather be a mom.
Unsolicited Advice:
To make it easier in the morning, I (sometimes) will pick out clothes the night before and pack the diaper bag. I've found it's easier to pack the diaper bag when I remember to fill it back up with diapers and wipes whenever it's running low instead of waiting until right before I have to be somewhere.
With a look of confusion, Hubby tore his eyes off the tv long enough to glance at me, "What'd you kick me for?" he asked.
"Because I'm doing everything as usual and you're just sitting there not lifting a finger to help me!"
"If you want my help, just ask!"
I instructed him to feed Louise her breakfast while I attempted to find a skirt and shirt for myself that matched and was not wrinkled.
Somehow I managed to get dressed and finish packing the diaper bag while answering 872 questions from Hubby about how to feed Louise breakfast. After she was done with breakfast, Hubby went back to the tv while I cleaned up the mess the two of them had made in the kitchen.
On the car ride to church, I thought about how nice it must be to be a dad.
Hubby didn't have to go through nine months of pregnancy, give birth or struggle with the first painful months of nursing. He didn't have to discipline and entertain a toddler all day, rock a sick child all night long, or try to figure out what 4 foods Louise currently accepted as edible.
As my resentment grew, I happened to glance in the backseat where Louise sat strapped into her carseat. Then I realized something. Hubby didn't get to experience the joy and wonder of new life growing within for nine months. He didn't get to go through the life changing experience of giving birth to that new life or gaze into the adoring eyes of a tiny baby as she filled her tummy with warm milk that he provided. He didn't get to spend all day with a toddler who was constantly learning new things and being incredibly cute about it. He didn't get to comfort that toddler when she didn't feel good and spend time just holding her in his arms. What Hubby got to do was go to work all day and come home to listen to me tell him about all the adorable things she'd done that day. He didn't get to spend much time with her because of his work and had to ask me to interpret most of what she said because he wasn't around her enough to know.
Even though at times it can be stressful and it's the hardest job I have ever and will ever do, I decided right then that I would much rather be a mom.
Unsolicited Advice:
To make it easier in the morning, I (sometimes) will pick out clothes the night before and pack the diaper bag. I've found it's easier to pack the diaper bag when I remember to fill it back up with diapers and wipes whenever it's running low instead of waiting until right before I have to be somewhere.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Fingerprints
I wrote this poem when Louise was 7 months old. She was obsessed with my glasses at that time and, much to Hubby's delight, was constantly touching them with her slobbery sticky little fingers.
Fingerprints
There's a fingerprint on my glasses
Just over my right eye
But I can't bring myself to wipe it away
Although it's blurring my sight
Because someday I will wish
That you were back in my arms again
Exploring the details of my face
With tiny fingers, so delicate and warm
Staring up into my eyes
With such a trusting gaze
It's especially in moments like this
I wish you would always stay
My baby girl, my tiny one
So soft, so small, so sweet
And yet, I can't wait to see you grow
Into a woman with the world at her feet
But for now, just stay with me
Let me rock you while we still have time
And when you leave fingerprints on my glasses
I pray that they'll remind me that for now
You're still mine.
Fingerprints
There's a fingerprint on my glasses
Just over my right eye
But I can't bring myself to wipe it away
Although it's blurring my sight
Because someday I will wish
That you were back in my arms again
Exploring the details of my face
With tiny fingers, so delicate and warm
Staring up into my eyes
With such a trusting gaze
It's especially in moments like this
I wish you would always stay
My baby girl, my tiny one
So soft, so small, so sweet
And yet, I can't wait to see you grow
Into a woman with the world at her feet
But for now, just stay with me
Let me rock you while we still have time
And when you leave fingerprints on my glasses
I pray that they'll remind me that for now
You're still mine.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Where Can I Find a UHaul?
My little brother, David has always hated small town living. Which is where all of my immediate family except for my two younger brothers lives. So when David moved to the "Big City" three hours away, found a wife there and rented an apartment, we pretty much assumed we wouldn't get to see him, his wife, or their beautiful baby girl very often. And then he lost his job. I feel terrible that he was laid off, but look on the bright side. That means that he can no longer afford his apartment and has no money to support his family. Okay, that still didn't sound like the bright side. Bear with me here. The bright side of this terrible situation is that David is moving his family to the dreaded, boring, pathetic small town that the rest of us live in. Due to the fact that money is still absent from his wallet or bank account, they are moving in with my older sister, Elizabeth, her husband and their son Will. I would have let them move in with me, but I have a small 2 bedroom basement apartment while Elizabeth has a large 4 bedroom house. So the choice of where was easy to make.
Today is officially moving day for David, his wife Shara and their daughter Rose. As soon as Louise wakes up from her nap, I will be scooting my butt and hers into town to help out. Elizabeth, Shara and I all had babies within a year of each other so it should be fun watching the three toddlers enjoy (or hate) their time together. Will is 6 weeks older than Louise and Louise is 5 1/2 months older than Rose. Elizabeth and I are both expecting babies in April and Shara, well, her daughter is already over a year old and you never know when she and David might spring some news on us. I am slightly jealous of Elizabeth because having another family living in her house during her pre and post baby stages means that she has help right there. If Will is wide awake and the new baby is sleeping, Elizabeth will be able to take a nap anyways because Shara will be there to keep an eye on Will. Not me. It's going to be just me, Louise, and the baby. Although I do have the handy landlady/friend/neighbor/bonus grandma upstairs. I had just started a new semester in online college when Louise was born and our landlady spent quite a bit of time rocking Louise while I took a test online or rushed to finish an assignment.
Anyways, I'm excited to have my little brother back home again, even if it is just until he gets back on his feet financially. I've missed the insult battles David and I used to have and the debates we'd provoke with each other, often taking a side we didn't agree on simply to be able to hone our debating skills aka. prove the other wrong. For most of our childhood years, David and I either were the best of friends or the worst of enemies. Those were some great times and although we've both changed and (hopefully) matured, we still like to start an insult battle with each other occasionally. By the way, David, if you're reading this, may the fleas of a thousand camels infest your armpits, and you're so far below my intelligence level that you would need the Hubble telescope to even catch a glimpse of my level.
Unsolicited Advice:
Being pregnant at the same time as my older sister for the second time in a row, I can say that I enjoy having a pregnant buddy to go through all this fun stuff with (and to whine and moan about all the bad stuff with). If you're pregnant and you don't know anyone else who is in the same blessed maternal state as yourself, find an online forum where you can get in touch with other pregnant people (mostly women). My favorite site that I frequent way too frequently is parenting.com where you can ask and answer questions about every pregnancy or parenting situation you might encounter. Who knows, I might run into you there.
Today is officially moving day for David, his wife Shara and their daughter Rose. As soon as Louise wakes up from her nap, I will be scooting my butt and hers into town to help out. Elizabeth, Shara and I all had babies within a year of each other so it should be fun watching the three toddlers enjoy (or hate) their time together. Will is 6 weeks older than Louise and Louise is 5 1/2 months older than Rose. Elizabeth and I are both expecting babies in April and Shara, well, her daughter is already over a year old and you never know when she and David might spring some news on us. I am slightly jealous of Elizabeth because having another family living in her house during her pre and post baby stages means that she has help right there. If Will is wide awake and the new baby is sleeping, Elizabeth will be able to take a nap anyways because Shara will be there to keep an eye on Will. Not me. It's going to be just me, Louise, and the baby. Although I do have the handy landlady/friend/neighbor/bonus grandma upstairs. I had just started a new semester in online college when Louise was born and our landlady spent quite a bit of time rocking Louise while I took a test online or rushed to finish an assignment.
Anyways, I'm excited to have my little brother back home again, even if it is just until he gets back on his feet financially. I've missed the insult battles David and I used to have and the debates we'd provoke with each other, often taking a side we didn't agree on simply to be able to hone our debating skills aka. prove the other wrong. For most of our childhood years, David and I either were the best of friends or the worst of enemies. Those were some great times and although we've both changed and (hopefully) matured, we still like to start an insult battle with each other occasionally. By the way, David, if you're reading this, may the fleas of a thousand camels infest your armpits, and you're so far below my intelligence level that you would need the Hubble telescope to even catch a glimpse of my level.
Unsolicited Advice:
Being pregnant at the same time as my older sister for the second time in a row, I can say that I enjoy having a pregnant buddy to go through all this fun stuff with (and to whine and moan about all the bad stuff with). If you're pregnant and you don't know anyone else who is in the same blessed maternal state as yourself, find an online forum where you can get in touch with other pregnant people (mostly women). My favorite site that I frequent way too frequently is parenting.com where you can ask and answer questions about every pregnancy or parenting situation you might encounter. Who knows, I might run into you there.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Breathing: An Unneccessary Addiction?
Last week was...interesting. Maybe horrific would be a better word.
On Saturday night, Louise started having a hard time breathing, as did I. By Sunday, she was taking nebtreatments which didn't seem to do any good. She spent most of the day gasping, wheezing, and sounding like she was about to take her last breath. Scary. Especially knowing from experience as I do, that severe asthma can be fatal at worst and traumatizing at best. On Monday morning, I called the doctor and got Louise in at 1 pm. The doctor diagnosed her with pneumonia and sent us home with an antibiotic. Tuesday and Wednesday, Louise and I both seemed to improve which was good because I was about ready to have a break-down worrying about Louise so much while being unable to breathe myself. On Thursday, Louise and I were both much worse. I got Louise into the doctor again. This time, chest x-rays and a blood draw were ordered. Louise does not particularly care for doctors and nurses probing, touching, or generally looking at her so I was concerned about sending my baby girl off into the x-ray room by herself (They still haven't changed the rule about pregnant women being near the x-ray machine). Apparently however, she and the nurse in charge of baby wrangling that day really hit it off and the only time Louise cried was when the x-ray technician tried to touch her.
The blood tests came back negative and the chest x-ray showed that Louise had pneumonia. DUH! Tell me something I didn't know. The doctor assured me that, since Louise didn't appear to be sick in any way or wasn't even running a small fever, that she had the "best kind of pneumonia to have." That really made my day especially since my daughter was still lying on my lap wheezing and exhausted from lack of oxygen. We were sent home with a prescription for prednisone this time.
Being a lifelong asthmatic myself, I've been around the block a few times with prednisone. In case you don't know, prednisone is a strong steroid that is often given to asthmatics when nothing else is helping. It weakens your immune system, does weird things to your stomach and appetite, can bloat you and make you gain weight. And that's just a few of the lovely side effects. Not something I really wanted to give my daughter, but breathing is kind of important and I know how much prednisone can help.
Louise loves taking medicine and I've had to hide her baby tylenol because otherwise she begs for it. So I was totally unprepared for the reaction I'd get to the prednisone. The stuff tastes incredibly strong and burns your throat on the way down. Being a strange child, I actually didn't mind the stuff when I was a kid. Louise does not take after me in that way. She started eagerly sucking it down and then stopped, gave me a stony glare that clearly said, "How dare you give me something that tastes like this." and turned away. Try as I might, not another drop went down her throat. Most of it made it into her mouth, but was rejected and kicked out immediately. The next morning, I decided to be sneaky. So I made some really strong sickeningly sweet chocolate milk that I knew Louise would absolutely adore. Then I made sure she wasn't watching and surreptitiously poured 2 teaspoons of prednisone in the milk. I handed the cup to Louise who happily took it from me and began gulping it down. Then she realized that I had sabotaged the chocolate milk and I was graced with another "if looks could kill" glare as she handed the cup back to me. Try as I might, she only drank about 2 more sips. In desperation, I called the doctor's office to see if they had any ideas on how to get a 21 month old to take some of the worst tasting medicine available. The nurse cheerily suggested I put it in chocolate milk because "that works every time." She was rather taken aback when I informed her that I had already tried that and my one-in-a-million kid had not cared for it at all. She offered to call the pharmacy and see if they had any ideas. The pharmacist didn't call me back that day and so that night, I recruited Hubby's mom to help with the predisone taking. She used M&Ms as a bribe and managed to get both teaspoons into Louise. I was very relieved to see that Louise had finally taken a full dose of her much needed medicine. The stress of taking care of a child who couldn't breathe, trying to get her to take her medicine, not being able to breathe very well myself, and the incredibly crabby, clingy mood Louise had understandably, but still frustratingly been in for the last couple of days was wearing me down and I was literally standing on the edge of the cliff ready to push someone (probably Hubby) off of it.
Thankfully, Friday night I got a reprieve from the governor. My parents were going to a concert called Bowfire (look it up on youtube, it's amazing) and I had guilt tripped Hubby about not getting me anything for my birthday until he said I could go too. The timing could not have been better. We met one of my mom's old friends at an Indian restaurant which was really good food that I didn't have to cook or clean up afterwords. Then we went to a concert where I managed to relax and enjoy myself. By the time I got home that night, my nearly dead battery had been recharged and I was ready to get back to real life.
Saturday morning, after convincing Louise to choke down another dose of prednisone, I got a call from the pharmacist.
"I put the wrong dosage on the bottle. It's not 2 teaspoons twice a day, it's 2/3 of a teaspoon twice a day." he said.
I stopped breathing until he continued. "It won't hurt her to have taken so much, but it is hard on her stomach. Better skip a dose tonight."
I was furious. Was he saying that I had just forced my daughter to take over twice as much of a harsh steroid as she needed?!?!?!? Since I've been going to the same pharmacy since I started taking medicine and never had a problem before and because Louise was not going to suffer any permanent damage from the overdose, I managed to forgive him, but I will be triple checking everything from now on!
So anyways, that's my week. Lets just say I don't do well under pressure, but everyone came out alive. Even Hubby who almost didn't make it on Friday when, on my ONLY day to sleep in, Louise uncharacteristically woke up at 6:30 am. He could've been sympathetic, but instead his reaction was, "Oh good, you're up. Now you can pack my lunchpail before I go to work." But I managed to refrain from killing him (this time) and we're once again a happy semi-healthy family.
Unsolicited Advice:
I understand that not everyone has this tremendous resource at their fingertips, but whenever I get sick, I call in reinforcements to help me take care of Louise and the house. My younger sister was the lucky victim this time who not so willingly did my dishes, swept the asian beetles off my porch and did my laundry. If you have someone like that around, either ask them over or send the kids to their house!
On Saturday night, Louise started having a hard time breathing, as did I. By Sunday, she was taking nebtreatments which didn't seem to do any good. She spent most of the day gasping, wheezing, and sounding like she was about to take her last breath. Scary. Especially knowing from experience as I do, that severe asthma can be fatal at worst and traumatizing at best. On Monday morning, I called the doctor and got Louise in at 1 pm. The doctor diagnosed her with pneumonia and sent us home with an antibiotic. Tuesday and Wednesday, Louise and I both seemed to improve which was good because I was about ready to have a break-down worrying about Louise so much while being unable to breathe myself. On Thursday, Louise and I were both much worse. I got Louise into the doctor again. This time, chest x-rays and a blood draw were ordered. Louise does not particularly care for doctors and nurses probing, touching, or generally looking at her so I was concerned about sending my baby girl off into the x-ray room by herself (They still haven't changed the rule about pregnant women being near the x-ray machine). Apparently however, she and the nurse in charge of baby wrangling that day really hit it off and the only time Louise cried was when the x-ray technician tried to touch her.
The blood tests came back negative and the chest x-ray showed that Louise had pneumonia. DUH! Tell me something I didn't know. The doctor assured me that, since Louise didn't appear to be sick in any way or wasn't even running a small fever, that she had the "best kind of pneumonia to have." That really made my day especially since my daughter was still lying on my lap wheezing and exhausted from lack of oxygen. We were sent home with a prescription for prednisone this time.
Being a lifelong asthmatic myself, I've been around the block a few times with prednisone. In case you don't know, prednisone is a strong steroid that is often given to asthmatics when nothing else is helping. It weakens your immune system, does weird things to your stomach and appetite, can bloat you and make you gain weight. And that's just a few of the lovely side effects. Not something I really wanted to give my daughter, but breathing is kind of important and I know how much prednisone can help.
Louise loves taking medicine and I've had to hide her baby tylenol because otherwise she begs for it. So I was totally unprepared for the reaction I'd get to the prednisone. The stuff tastes incredibly strong and burns your throat on the way down. Being a strange child, I actually didn't mind the stuff when I was a kid. Louise does not take after me in that way. She started eagerly sucking it down and then stopped, gave me a stony glare that clearly said, "How dare you give me something that tastes like this." and turned away. Try as I might, not another drop went down her throat. Most of it made it into her mouth, but was rejected and kicked out immediately. The next morning, I decided to be sneaky. So I made some really strong sickeningly sweet chocolate milk that I knew Louise would absolutely adore. Then I made sure she wasn't watching and surreptitiously poured 2 teaspoons of prednisone in the milk. I handed the cup to Louise who happily took it from me and began gulping it down. Then she realized that I had sabotaged the chocolate milk and I was graced with another "if looks could kill" glare as she handed the cup back to me. Try as I might, she only drank about 2 more sips. In desperation, I called the doctor's office to see if they had any ideas on how to get a 21 month old to take some of the worst tasting medicine available. The nurse cheerily suggested I put it in chocolate milk because "that works every time." She was rather taken aback when I informed her that I had already tried that and my one-in-a-million kid had not cared for it at all. She offered to call the pharmacy and see if they had any ideas. The pharmacist didn't call me back that day and so that night, I recruited Hubby's mom to help with the predisone taking. She used M&Ms as a bribe and managed to get both teaspoons into Louise. I was very relieved to see that Louise had finally taken a full dose of her much needed medicine. The stress of taking care of a child who couldn't breathe, trying to get her to take her medicine, not being able to breathe very well myself, and the incredibly crabby, clingy mood Louise had understandably, but still frustratingly been in for the last couple of days was wearing me down and I was literally standing on the edge of the cliff ready to push someone (probably Hubby) off of it.
Thankfully, Friday night I got a reprieve from the governor. My parents were going to a concert called Bowfire (look it up on youtube, it's amazing) and I had guilt tripped Hubby about not getting me anything for my birthday until he said I could go too. The timing could not have been better. We met one of my mom's old friends at an Indian restaurant which was really good food that I didn't have to cook or clean up afterwords. Then we went to a concert where I managed to relax and enjoy myself. By the time I got home that night, my nearly dead battery had been recharged and I was ready to get back to real life.
Saturday morning, after convincing Louise to choke down another dose of prednisone, I got a call from the pharmacist.
"I put the wrong dosage on the bottle. It's not 2 teaspoons twice a day, it's 2/3 of a teaspoon twice a day." he said.
I stopped breathing until he continued. "It won't hurt her to have taken so much, but it is hard on her stomach. Better skip a dose tonight."
I was furious. Was he saying that I had just forced my daughter to take over twice as much of a harsh steroid as she needed?!?!?!? Since I've been going to the same pharmacy since I started taking medicine and never had a problem before and because Louise was not going to suffer any permanent damage from the overdose, I managed to forgive him, but I will be triple checking everything from now on!
So anyways, that's my week. Lets just say I don't do well under pressure, but everyone came out alive. Even Hubby who almost didn't make it on Friday when, on my ONLY day to sleep in, Louise uncharacteristically woke up at 6:30 am. He could've been sympathetic, but instead his reaction was, "Oh good, you're up. Now you can pack my lunchpail before I go to work." But I managed to refrain from killing him (this time) and we're once again a happy semi-healthy family.
Unsolicited Advice:
I understand that not everyone has this tremendous resource at their fingertips, but whenever I get sick, I call in reinforcements to help me take care of Louise and the house. My younger sister was the lucky victim this time who not so willingly did my dishes, swept the asian beetles off my porch and did my laundry. If you have someone like that around, either ask them over or send the kids to their house!
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Someone's Going to be a Big Sister!
It's been 8 weeks since I found out. Hubby didn't want to tell anybody, so I decided to abide by his wishes. But now it's time to let the cat out of the bag. Baby #2 is on its way! I'm 12 weeks pregnant now and everything has gone well. I got to hear the baby's (strong and easy to find!) heartbeat at 10 1/2 weeks. We had a little scare around 6 weeks when I had three days of small amounts of bleeding, but that stopped and then the morning sickness kicked in to reassure me that I was indeed, pregnant. Unlike my last pregnancy, when I craved potatoes in any shape or form, this time I'm craving cheese. Which has done wonders for my pregnant digestive system. Have I mentioned I hate chugging Metamucil?
My due date is April 27th although I know from experience (Louise was 2 weeks late and had to be induced) that a due date doesn't mean much. My sister, the one with a son 6 weeks older than Louise, is also expecting a baby in April. Hers is due two weeks before mine. So, if she goes a week late and I go a week early, we could save the relatives a trip to the hospital and kill two birds with one stone. But I know better than to count on that happening.
I'm nervous about adding a second child. I'm looking forward to having a baby again and am more confident this time because I know a lot of little tricks that make taking care of a newborn easier, or at least bearable. Of course, there is always the chance that everything that worked with Louise will irritate this baby immensely. What I'm nervous about though, is taking care of a toddler and a newborn. Especially since the toddler is very possessive of me and her toys. If I hold another child, she has a meltdown and tries to push them off my lap. Because Louise adores babies so much and is such a good little mother to her dolls, I think she'll love her baby brother or sister unless I'm holding him or her. Which could be a problem because newborns require a lot of holding. This time, I have a sling I plan to use which should help at least some, especially since I will breastfeed this one as well.
When I was pregnant with Louise, I didn't really start to show until I was over halfway done with my pregnancy. This time, I was wearing maternity clothes by 10 weeks. The fact that I'm a little pudgy around the middle and am wearing maternity clothes has made it a little harder to keep the pregnancy a secret. I thought I'd kept it a secret from most of my coworkers at the bed and breakfast, but apparently they had it figured out anyway.
My doctor told me that it's normal to show sooner with the second baby because your stomach muscles are already relaxed from the first pregnancy. No offense, doc, but that one was kind of obvious. Even though I lost all the baby weight and then some, my stomach never quite looked the same as before pregnancy. And by the way, although I was pleasantly surprised at the way the weight just kind of disappeared after having Louise, I hold out no such hopes for this one. If it does happen, great! But if it doesn't, I understand that it can be much harder to lose the weight the second time around.
Just a note to the person who left a comment on my last post about the pacifier saga-I will try to blog about how I got Louise to eat and stopped stressing myself out about her weight. However, just in case I don't get to it, leave another comment with an email address or something and I'll definitely talk to you about what's going on with your child. That way I could answer your direct questions better instead of just writing broadly about the subject. I know how rough it can be and I know it realllllllly helps to talk to someone who's been there.
My due date is April 27th although I know from experience (Louise was 2 weeks late and had to be induced) that a due date doesn't mean much. My sister, the one with a son 6 weeks older than Louise, is also expecting a baby in April. Hers is due two weeks before mine. So, if she goes a week late and I go a week early, we could save the relatives a trip to the hospital and kill two birds with one stone. But I know better than to count on that happening.
I'm nervous about adding a second child. I'm looking forward to having a baby again and am more confident this time because I know a lot of little tricks that make taking care of a newborn easier, or at least bearable. Of course, there is always the chance that everything that worked with Louise will irritate this baby immensely. What I'm nervous about though, is taking care of a toddler and a newborn. Especially since the toddler is very possessive of me and her toys. If I hold another child, she has a meltdown and tries to push them off my lap. Because Louise adores babies so much and is such a good little mother to her dolls, I think she'll love her baby brother or sister unless I'm holding him or her. Which could be a problem because newborns require a lot of holding. This time, I have a sling I plan to use which should help at least some, especially since I will breastfeed this one as well.
When I was pregnant with Louise, I didn't really start to show until I was over halfway done with my pregnancy. This time, I was wearing maternity clothes by 10 weeks. The fact that I'm a little pudgy around the middle and am wearing maternity clothes has made it a little harder to keep the pregnancy a secret. I thought I'd kept it a secret from most of my coworkers at the bed and breakfast, but apparently they had it figured out anyway.
My doctor told me that it's normal to show sooner with the second baby because your stomach muscles are already relaxed from the first pregnancy. No offense, doc, but that one was kind of obvious. Even though I lost all the baby weight and then some, my stomach never quite looked the same as before pregnancy. And by the way, although I was pleasantly surprised at the way the weight just kind of disappeared after having Louise, I hold out no such hopes for this one. If it does happen, great! But if it doesn't, I understand that it can be much harder to lose the weight the second time around.
Just a note to the person who left a comment on my last post about the pacifier saga-I will try to blog about how I got Louise to eat and stopped stressing myself out about her weight. However, just in case I don't get to it, leave another comment with an email address or something and I'll definitely talk to you about what's going on with your child. That way I could answer your direct questions better instead of just writing broadly about the subject. I know how rough it can be and I know it realllllllly helps to talk to someone who's been there.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Part One of the Pacifier Saga
I gave Louise a pacifier to try when she was only a few days old. Ever since then, the "paci" has been a part of our lives. When she was younger, she got the paci when she was fussy or tired or loud in church. When she turned one, the paci was banished to her crib where it was only to be used when Louise was sleeping. I bent the rules a few times when she was really sick or when I was really sick, but basically the paci is only for sleeping.
I was three when I gave up my pacifier. Before my third birthday, my mom began psyching me up to lose the pacifier. She told me over and over how when I turned three, I would be a big girl and big girls didn't need pacifiers. On my birthday, the beloved pacifier disappeared and I sadly went to bed that night without it. I remember several weeks or maybe months later, finding my old pacifier in a drawer in the changing table and looking at it with fondness. I wanted desperately to stick it in my mouth for old time's sake, but knew that I was too old for it. So I put it back and never thought about it again. The whole process was relatively painless even though up until that point I had always had my pacifier for bedtime. I thought this might be a good way to get rid of Louise's pacifier as well, but here we are, trying to get rid of the pacifier at 20 months.
Personally, I don't have a problem with Louise using a pacifier for sleep. It's not like she walks around with it in her mouth all day. However, I have fallen prey to mommy guilt. Mommy guilt is not just the guilt a mommy feels when she feels guilty for giving in to her child's demands for jelly on white bread for supper the fourth day in a row. Mommy guilt can also occur when somebody else makes the mommy feel like she's doing a bad job in raising her kids. The second is what happened to me. Hubby's brother and his wife have made no secret of the fact that they strongly disapprove of me letting Louise have her paci. Never mind the fact that their son gave up his pacifier himself when he got his front teeth. Never mind the fact that Louise is not their child and they have no idea what she really needs. I also have gotten several guilt-inducing lectures from co-workers, friends, and relatives. Hubby is of the strong opinion that Louise needs to throw her pacifier in the trash yesterday since he has been listening to all these people as well. Never mind the fact that he doesn't have to sit up half the night when she cries. Parenting is pretty easy for him. He tells me how it should be done and I do all the dirty work. What he doesn't know is that, since he's rarely home, I pretty much do what I want when it comes to parenting. This has worked pretty well for us both. He sees a well-behaved child who adores him and I do things my way. Of course, occasionally a hot-button issue will pop up that requires me to either reach a compromise with him or do it his way completely. The pacifier issue is just that. If it were up to me, I would leave Louise alone until she's old enough to understand that big girls don't suck pacifiers, just like my mom did with me. But because of increasing pressure from so many people, I have begun cutting Louise off her pacifier. Literally.
Rather than go cold turkey which would result in traumatizing sleepless nights and days for both Louise and me, I am cutting the end off her pacifier little by little. The first time I cut a tiny sliver off, it didn't seem to bother Louise much although she immediately became more attached to her baby blanket. The second time, I cut off enough so that the air could get through and Louise...well, she noticed. She has become even more attached to her blanket and is not as thrilled about getting the pacifier as she was before. Every week, I will cut a little more off until she (hopefully) decides that the pacifier is not worth it and gives it up completely.
This whole thing seems ridiculous to me. With Louise's asthma, the paci has been an invaluable tool to calming her down and getting her to breathe again when she's gasping for air. She's also getting very attached to her baby blanket which to me means that no matter what I do, she will need something to sleep with, be it the pacifier or the blanket. Does it really matter which one it is? I'd rather it were the pacifier actually. It's easier to carry around then a blanket.
Unsolicited Advice:
Apparently, I don't follow this one well, but here it is. You know your child better than anyone else. Always remember that.
I was three when I gave up my pacifier. Before my third birthday, my mom began psyching me up to lose the pacifier. She told me over and over how when I turned three, I would be a big girl and big girls didn't need pacifiers. On my birthday, the beloved pacifier disappeared and I sadly went to bed that night without it. I remember several weeks or maybe months later, finding my old pacifier in a drawer in the changing table and looking at it with fondness. I wanted desperately to stick it in my mouth for old time's sake, but knew that I was too old for it. So I put it back and never thought about it again. The whole process was relatively painless even though up until that point I had always had my pacifier for bedtime. I thought this might be a good way to get rid of Louise's pacifier as well, but here we are, trying to get rid of the pacifier at 20 months.
Personally, I don't have a problem with Louise using a pacifier for sleep. It's not like she walks around with it in her mouth all day. However, I have fallen prey to mommy guilt. Mommy guilt is not just the guilt a mommy feels when she feels guilty for giving in to her child's demands for jelly on white bread for supper the fourth day in a row. Mommy guilt can also occur when somebody else makes the mommy feel like she's doing a bad job in raising her kids. The second is what happened to me. Hubby's brother and his wife have made no secret of the fact that they strongly disapprove of me letting Louise have her paci. Never mind the fact that their son gave up his pacifier himself when he got his front teeth. Never mind the fact that Louise is not their child and they have no idea what she really needs. I also have gotten several guilt-inducing lectures from co-workers, friends, and relatives. Hubby is of the strong opinion that Louise needs to throw her pacifier in the trash yesterday since he has been listening to all these people as well. Never mind the fact that he doesn't have to sit up half the night when she cries. Parenting is pretty easy for him. He tells me how it should be done and I do all the dirty work. What he doesn't know is that, since he's rarely home, I pretty much do what I want when it comes to parenting. This has worked pretty well for us both. He sees a well-behaved child who adores him and I do things my way. Of course, occasionally a hot-button issue will pop up that requires me to either reach a compromise with him or do it his way completely. The pacifier issue is just that. If it were up to me, I would leave Louise alone until she's old enough to understand that big girls don't suck pacifiers, just like my mom did with me. But because of increasing pressure from so many people, I have begun cutting Louise off her pacifier. Literally.
Rather than go cold turkey which would result in traumatizing sleepless nights and days for both Louise and me, I am cutting the end off her pacifier little by little. The first time I cut a tiny sliver off, it didn't seem to bother Louise much although she immediately became more attached to her baby blanket. The second time, I cut off enough so that the air could get through and Louise...well, she noticed. She has become even more attached to her blanket and is not as thrilled about getting the pacifier as she was before. Every week, I will cut a little more off until she (hopefully) decides that the pacifier is not worth it and gives it up completely.
This whole thing seems ridiculous to me. With Louise's asthma, the paci has been an invaluable tool to calming her down and getting her to breathe again when she's gasping for air. She's also getting very attached to her baby blanket which to me means that no matter what I do, she will need something to sleep with, be it the pacifier or the blanket. Does it really matter which one it is? I'd rather it were the pacifier actually. It's easier to carry around then a blanket.
Unsolicited Advice:
Apparently, I don't follow this one well, but here it is. You know your child better than anyone else. Always remember that.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
If You Don't Go To Sleep Right Now...
Louise decided that she simply did not want to take her nap today. By the time we got home from babysitting and she'd eaten a delicious lunch of pb&j, it was 1pm. Definitely time for a nap, right? So I gave Louise her blanket and pacifier and laid her down in her crib with a good-night kiss. She didn't move at first, but then I left her room and sat down to finish my lunch. A tiny whimper reached my ears, then a louder one. Within a few minutes, she was screaming. Not crying, not yelling, but angry bloodcurdling screaming that came one after the other. After about 10 minutes of this, I marched into her room, checked her gums, her temperature, and everything else I could think of to make sure that there was nothing really wrong and quickly ascertained that she was throwing a major tantrum in an effort to skip her nap. I gave her a little swat on her diapered bottom and sternly told her that it was naptime and it was not negotiable. I tried to lay her back down in her crib, but she spit her pacifier at me rebelliously and tried to climb my arm to get out. I pried my arm out of her grasp and left the room to angry yells that soon turned into screams again. Within a few minutes, Louise was beyond angry. She was hysterical. I went back into her room and picked her up, knowing from experience that the only way to get through a tantrum this bad was to hold her close and tight and "shush" her until she calmed down. I finally managed to get her to stop screaming and tried once again to put her in her crib. She clung desperately to my neck and refused to let go. Finally, I gave in and sat down in the rocker to rock her to sleep. As she played with my hair, her fingers gradually slowed down until her hand hung in mid-air before dropping to her side. I realized then how much I miss being able to rock my baby girl to sleep. One of the great rewards of parenthood to me, is being able to hold your beautiful sleeping child and study all of their tiny perfect features. I thought about how just a few minutes earlier, I had been angry with her for throwing such a massive tantrum. Even though I had given her a spanking and was stern with her, she still wanted only one thing-me. Talk about humbling. I rocked her longer than I needed to, listening to her soft snores and holding her relaxed litle body close to me. And then I thanked God for the opportunity to rock my baby girl to sleep even if it did involve a temper tantrum.
Unsolicited Advice:
From the time Louise was a newborn, making a repeated "shushing" noise has always soothed her. Even now when she's 20 months old, I can still get her to relax by doing it.
Unsolicited Advice:
From the time Louise was a newborn, making a repeated "shushing" noise has always soothed her. Even now when she's 20 months old, I can still get her to relax by doing it.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Raid the Fridge and Talk on the Phone All Night
Today I started my new job. I'm a babysitter. Yeah, I know that makes me sound like a teenager who's trying to make a few extra bucks to go to the prom, but it is actually a steady reliable job.
Let me preface this by explaining how weird my work schedule has been. Before the babysitting gig, I worked about 20 hours a week-10 at one part-time job and 10 at another. The first was two to three mornings a week housekeeping and cooking at a B&B, the other (which I still have) was 2 mornings a week at the public library. My new job babysitting 2 children, ages 1 and 3, four mornings a week basically replaces the B&B job in the winter. The kids' mom is a preschool teacher so I will be able to rejoin the staff at the B&B during the summer months when the mom is on summer vacation. To accomodate the babysitting job, I rearranged my hours at the library so that I work two afternoons a week which is when Louise will go to my sister's house to be watched. I feel bad because by taking the babysitting job, I cut my sister's hours in more than half. However, my main goal as a working mom has been to spend more time with Louise, and I get to take her with me when I babysit.
This morning when I arrived, Louise was apprehensive about her new surroundings for the first few minutes. Then she noticed toys...lots of toys that she had never played with before. She completely forgot I existed, and, because the other kids were still sleeping, she had the toys all to herself for a while. Her joy was made complete when she found out that there were 2 kitties in the house and she immediately forgot about the toys to chase the poor cats around for a while.
All in all, the first day went well. The 1 year old sneaked around the walls of the living room keeping one eye on me, the strange new person, for the first half hour, but after that he realized that I actually wasn't a threat and decided to accept me. The 3 year old had been prepared by her mom for a new babysitter who was going to bring a new friend to play with. She was enthused to meet Louise although she was a bit disappointed when Louise preferred playing with her little brother.
Let me preface this by explaining how weird my work schedule has been. Before the babysitting gig, I worked about 20 hours a week-10 at one part-time job and 10 at another. The first was two to three mornings a week housekeeping and cooking at a B&B, the other (which I still have) was 2 mornings a week at the public library. My new job babysitting 2 children, ages 1 and 3, four mornings a week basically replaces the B&B job in the winter. The kids' mom is a preschool teacher so I will be able to rejoin the staff at the B&B during the summer months when the mom is on summer vacation. To accomodate the babysitting job, I rearranged my hours at the library so that I work two afternoons a week which is when Louise will go to my sister's house to be watched. I feel bad because by taking the babysitting job, I cut my sister's hours in more than half. However, my main goal as a working mom has been to spend more time with Louise, and I get to take her with me when I babysit.
This morning when I arrived, Louise was apprehensive about her new surroundings for the first few minutes. Then she noticed toys...lots of toys that she had never played with before. She completely forgot I existed, and, because the other kids were still sleeping, she had the toys all to herself for a while. Her joy was made complete when she found out that there were 2 kitties in the house and she immediately forgot about the toys to chase the poor cats around for a while.
All in all, the first day went well. The 1 year old sneaked around the walls of the living room keeping one eye on me, the strange new person, for the first half hour, but after that he realized that I actually wasn't a threat and decided to accept me. The 3 year old had been prepared by her mom for a new babysitter who was going to bring a new friend to play with. She was enthused to meet Louise although she was a bit disappointed when Louise preferred playing with her little brother.
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