Presents

Helen did not thank me for not eating her, but she did give me a host of lovely gifts that she has been making over the past week. Her plan was to give me a present at various important times throughout the day. At one point, she decided to wait to give me some presents until my birthday, but then decided she just could not wait.

First up, I received a butterfly kite. It is awesome. Helen demonstrated how you can run around the backyard with the kite to play with it.

Then, I received a bouquet of flowers. The last time I received flowers made by a child, I left them on my nightstand. My housecleaner actually removed the tissue paper dirt from the vase and threw that away, but left the flowers. Now that's efficient! Hopefully, these will fare better since there is no pretend dirt. Helen also made me a handmade beeswax candle, which we will certainly use on a special occasion.

Finally, Helen made me a card. She asked her teacher how to spell each word on the card. It's impressive how much lettering she did!

Thank you, Helen.

Love,
Mom

Set the Bar Low - Mother's Day 2014

I have learned that it's extremely important to set the bar low. That way, nobody is ever disappointed. Today, I learned that if you plan things just right, you can seal the deal as being the "best mom in the history of the world" by merely jumping over the extremely low bar that has been set by the local sloth bears.

Nearly every year, some friends of mine go in with Ed and I to bid on a backstage tour of the sloth bears at Zoofari - the annual zoo fundraiser. We've won the prize often enough that Helen and Connor pretty much think a private tour of the sloth bears is just something we do every year as a family. For several boring reasons, we failed to schedule the tour last May when we won. The tour package expires at the end of this month, which was enough to prompt us to get the tour scheduled. Lucky for us, we waited so long, that there's a sloth bear cub to visit. 

The cub is being raised by humans, because it's mother didn't appear to want to take care of it. The mother bear started out with three cubs. Within a few minutes of birth, she ate one of them. Another died while in her care, and the third was abandoned after about a week. At that point, zookeepers stepped in and started caring for the baby 24 hours a day. Only recently have they started leaving it alone at night.

Connor and Helen were more than a little shocked to learn that the mother ate the cub. But let me tell you, this has a huge upside for me. I pretty much come off as the rockingest mom in the universe, merely because I did NOT ingest Connor. Here is the card I received from Connor today.

The cover is a picture of Connor and I jumping on the trampoline. For the record, I hate jumping on the trampoline, but Connor assured me we were having fun jumping together.

The inside has a picture which Connor explains "This picture means no eating me"

And then he wrote this note "Dear Mom, You are the best Mom in the history of the world. I love you. Connor. P.S. Thanks for not eating me"

You're welcome, Connor. I can assure that, even in the worst nights when you were a sleepless baby, I never even considered it.

Elaine

Mother's Day Tea

The neighborhood branch of the library hosted a Mother's Day tea last Saturday. The first day it was announced, Helen signed up. Connor thought about joining, but ditched us at the last moment when a playdate opportunity arose.

Helen insisted that we wear our fanciest, long dresses. She topped off her outfit with her very fancy homemade hat, impressing many. I wore my sparkly gold sandals, which seemed to go unnoticed by all except Helen. We were, by far, the most dressed up of the attendees.

During one of the stories, the daughter is helping the mom out with various tasks, including putting make-up on. During this part of the story, Helen told the entire audience of attendees incredulously - my mom doesn't even wear make-up! But she assured me, should I start, she's ready to help.

Elaine

Mom on Vacation

We're in the middle of vacation (but my home is under the watchful eye of the folks I swapped with), and I'm starting to understand why my mother was the least nuts of all of us about traveling. As it turns out, when you're the mom on vacation, you have to smile - a lot. Because each day offers a new day full of adventure, and unknown food, and u-turns, and at least one child in the backseat falling asleep on her shoulder. This is more tiring than you might imagine.

You have to be the one who keeps it together when everyone else is melting down because they've had too many days of being out of their routine. You have to absorb a lot of negative energy, rather than sending it back out in the universe. This might cause you to snap, once. And if you do, in the morning, you have to pull it back together and rally for a new day.

The mom on the vacation is the one that remembers to put hats on each of her children, grab her own hat, and grab the camera bag. She also carries her water bottle and every time she has access to ice, she pops the top and adds more ice because one of her children prefers ICE COLD WATER!

If you are the mom on vacation, you have to know when to walk slowly, when to race everyone to the next destination, and when to let things slide. You have to figure out when your children should be put into separate bedrooms so bedtime can be salvaged for half the crew.

You have to figure out when to jump out of bed in the morning because the other adults need sleep more than you. And, just like at home, you have to be ready to provide middle-of-the-night assistance.

But when you are the mom on vacation, you must also remember that the reason your children whine to you, at times, is because you're their touchstone. You're the person who rights their ship, as needed.
And even when your hips are hurting so bad you can hardly sit down because the bed you are sleeping on is too soft, you have to figure out a way to right those ships. Because you never know what vacation memory your children will keep with them when they're old, and you really hope it's the one you're smiling in.

Elaine

Mom Power, Inspired by Disney's New Movie - The Help

My friend Ellen and I took a rare Monday evening to head to the movies. We had passes to see "The Help" - and we both loved not only the chance to sit and eat sushi together before the movie, but also the chance to see a flick on the silver screen. Neither of us tend to do this very often.

The movie made me think about the powerful bond between a mother and her child - for better or worse. "The Help" points out that in the Jim Crow South, black Americans loved and raised white babies. Eventually, these babies grew up and would own either them, or the rights to their labor. It drives home the point about just how powerful a lesson is, when it comes from Mom. In many, many cases, a child was raised by a black American and the lesson of treating them as a second class citizen (learned from Mom) was more powerful than the lesson of being loved by the person that took care of them.

In this particular case, it's sad. Really sad. But it's also a refreshing thought for a working mom. That the lessons I try and convey to my children will be the most important ones.

Of course, I'm trying to convey the lessons of treating everyone with dignity and to always work against inequalities. I think that's where peace begins. And despite all the turmoil that surrounds us these days, I look at my children and know that the future can be good, indeed.

Elaine

Disclosure: I received two free passes to see a preview of "The Help". I enjoyed the movie - although any movie about the segregated South makes me cringe inside, and am told I'll enjoy the book even more. My sister saw it today and gave it the thumbs up as well.

A Lesson on Time Management

Randy Pausch has a relatively famous time management lecture.

Finding that lecture and coming to the realization that time was finite (it should be obvious, I know) changed my life. I went from feeling discombobulated much of the time to feeling like I could manage everything I needed to.

You should listen to the lecture, but I'll share with you the point in it that was the most important for me. It's Covey's time management grid.

The grid asks you to divide tasks into four quadrants. First, divide tasks into those that are "IMPORTANT" and those that are "NOT IMPORTANT". Now divide them into "URGENT" and "NOT URGENT". And now use that grid to decide how you're going to spend your time.

Almost everyone would agree that tasks that are both URGENT and IMPORTANT should be done first, and tasks that are NOT URGENT and NOT IMPORTANT would be done last (if you even got to them). But what about the other two groups - do you spend your time on the tasks that are URGENT and NOT IMPORTANT first or on tasks that are NOT URGENT and IMPORTANT first?

The answer? Choose the things that are IMPORTANT and NOT URGENT before those that are not important. In fact, consider crossing everything you have classified as "NOT IMPORTANT" off your "to do" list entirely. That way, everything you spend time doing, you consider important.

I'm not saying I live by this entirely. I get caught in the weeds all the time, but working toward it has improved my ability to focus on work at work and home at home. And most of all, I love my job and my family. The coexist in an acceptable way for me.

The second thing I've had to learn as a mother, is that time is finite, and demands are infinite. And along with this, trying harder doesn't always mean I can accomplish everything I want to. I feel like this is a lesson I learned the hard way. You see, I used to believe that if I just tried hard enough, anything at all was possible. Well, as it turns out, my first defining moment as a mother was learning that indeed, I just could not produce enough milk to feed Connor. I worked really hard, and by the time Helen came around, I could've fed a couple of babies, but with Connor, I just could not do it. At the time, this was devastating to me. But in hindsight, I'm able to look back and say that I gave Connor everything I had. I did the best I could, and I can't imagine a finer kid. We were totally made for each other.

I've grown a lot as a mom since I first took this job. What I know most of all is this. Being a mom is really hard work - and there are lots of right ways to do it. I try to do it in a way that eliminates stress for me, and that means I have to give up on being perfect regularly.
I hope your Mother's Day was as terrific as mine. Helen was so excited, she cried for me at 6:00 AM, gave me a big hug, and then went back to sleep. Ed installed much of our bathroom over the past week and he and the kids greeted me with breakfast in bed. Connor asked me about midway through the day if he could make a candle. When he was finished, he ran into the craft room, created some wrapping paper, taped up the candle, and presented it to me. I love that candle. And for a week now, Helen has been squirreling away random treasures of her and putting them in a big "Mother's Day box". She gave that to me in the morning, and I loved every scrap of paper in it.

Elaine

This post was inspired by the new book "Good Enough is the New Perfect", by Becky Beaupre Gillespie and Hollee Schwartz Temple. I am solidly in the "good enough" camp, rather than the "never enough" camp. I know I've let a million things slide since I had Connor, but I regret few of those things. I received a free copy of the book as a member of the "From Left to Write" book club. If you want the book, let me know and I'll happily pass it along to you.

So Now What?

First, let me point out that we eat a LOT of shellfish in this house. Typical weekly menu is:

Monday: Clams or Mussels
Tuesday: Fresh Fish (Tuna, Salmon, some white fish)
Wednesday: Pasta
Thursday: Shrimp
Friday: Pizza

On Saturday or Sunday, we might have shrimp again. You see, the kids love all these shellfish, and they're a good source of protein. Plus, the clams or mussels are super easy and cook fast, and the shrimp are super flexible, so it takes a little of the boredom factor away.

Last November, Helen was super ill at night, going through almost her entire pajama wardrobe. Although I am super careful with mussels, I figured I must have accidentally served her a bad one. Lesson learned.

Then, at the turn of the year, she ate roughly 25 - 30 clams (ridiculous, I know - she LOVES them), and was a puking machine later that night. I wrote this off as over-eating and rich food. I puke when I overeat, so it didn't seem that strange to me.


In March, Helen ate a ridiculous amount of crab legs loaded with butter, and she had a repeat performance of her previous two illnesses. Notice a pattern here? I didn't.

Finally, this month, Helen ate a ton of mussels (cooked by Ed, this time), and it was a full-on disaster, so I decided Helen had become allergic to shellfish.

A couple of days later, Ed gave Helen shrimp for lunch, and that night, it happened again. On this particular night, I was ill, and went to bed early. Apparently around 11:00 Connor had an itchy leg, and Ed told Connor he could slip with him in the guest room. At midnight, Helen joined their little party. She snuggled up next to Ed, and promptly threw up all over him.

I slept through it. My sister declared that Ed had officially become the mom in this house. For one night, it was awesome.

Now we were totally convinced Helen was allergic to shellfish, and I spent the better part of three days flipping the universe the bird because I have told many, many people, that I cannot parent to an allergy. And, this particular allergy is devastating because when I draw a Venn diagram of the foods Connor likes and the foods Helen can eat with a shellfish allergy, the intersection is salmon and french fries. That does not bode well for this house.

Finally, I took Helen to see the doctor. After relating all of my excellent detective work to the nurse, she said "Dr. B. will be in to talk to you about your shellfish free life" but then Dr. B. came in and reminded me once again why I adore him. His response to all my data? "This could be mere coincidence."

I took Helen down to the lab for a blood test, and we got the results back today.

Negative.

Which means she does not have an allergy to shellfish, but now I want to know - what the heck caused all that puking? And do I really want to test this out by feeding Helen shellfish again?

Elaine

Firsts and Lasts

Capturing firsts can be difficult, but not impossible. After all, it's not like most babies up and crawl with no notice. Instead they rock, they smile at you, they tease, and then eventually, the figure out how to lift that little tushie and then make their move. Other big firsts are similar.

Capturing lasts, on the other hand, can be impossible. Because often it happens without me even knowing it's happening. And sometimes, it can be a few weeks after the event happens that I realize it's probably never going to happen again. As much as I built up to Helen ditching her bottle, it wasn't until I downloaded a photo of her tipping one back on our farm trip with Grandpa Dick that it really hit me that I'm never going to have a child with a bottle again. What was once such a mainstay in our lives, always in our thoughts - because for the last year or so we had exactly one ring for that bottle, so we kept a close eye on it - is now gone. Someday, I'll even remove it from the cabinet.

On our camping trip last Spring, we went hiking, and during the hike, Helen fell asleep in Ed's arms. And it really brought me back to when she was a baby, and Ed carried her all over. Because that's the fate of Helen. Many times when she needed a nap, she just had to catch as catch can because we were busy doing things where no bed existed.

Ed and I were both cognizant of the fact that this might be the last time Helen ever passes out in his arms, both because her endurance increases daily but also because she's getting heavier, and it's hard to imagine him being able to carry her very far in that position for much longer.

Last night, Helen woke up at 11:30 and told me her stomach hurt. I held her for a few minutes, and she just couldn't get comfortable. She told me she needed to sleep in my bed, so back downstairs we went. She had already gone to the bathroom, and she didn't feel warm, so I wasn't sure what was up.

About an hour later, after tossing and turning, she asked Ed to take her upstairs and sleep with her there. They got about 5 steps outside our bedroom when she hurled all over him. Just like old times, it was. We cleaned her up, donned pair of pajamas #2 for the evening, and she told me she needed to sleep on my tummy.

This is only position she could get comfortable in when she was a baby and had terrible reflux. With a baby, it's difficult after a while. With a toddler, it's harder. But I really did love that Helen somehow found this position of comfort, refusing all others. It's not that Ed didn't help out. His role? Every couple of hours, Helen would sit up, cough, he would grab her, and run to the bathroom, and at some point during this run, she'd puke all over him.

And Helen is, by far, the happiest sick person in the world. As soon as she'd puke, she'd remark on how she was feeling better, be surprised that indeed, we had another pair of pajamas for her, and go back to sleeping on my tummy. Four outfits that little lady went through. Four.

But I didn't even mind that much, because even though my body ached in the morning, and I was wasted today when it came to thinking complex thoughts, I had one more memory of my baby sleeping right on top of me through the night. And this time, I'm remembering how comforting it is to see a small child sleep. Because I promised myself that a long time ago.

Elaine

Best we can figure, she ate a bad mussel yesterday. She's been fine since early morning.

Knowing When to Let Things Slide and When to Stick to My Guns

I find the hardest thing about parenting to be figuring out when to let something slide, and when to make a big deal about it. On the one hand, I fully realize that I'm the mom, and that means that it's my job to make rules. And the rules I make, if I do it right, could serve my children well. And I have to admit, when my kids were at the nature center last Friday, and they were offered the opportunity to touch a snake, I beamed with pride when Helen said "No thank you. I don't care to touch the snake." and the naturalist complimented her on being so polite. Because in my world, politeness counts. It's the way we express to every individual we come across that they are a person deserving of basic kindnesses.

On the other hand, life can be short, and when it comes down to it, does it really matter if my kid says thanks?

Part of the answer lies in long-term versus short-term thinking. If I live my life thinking about the long-term, then everything matters. It matters if my children tell the truth, eat their vegetables, and generally know how to live in a world with sometimes arbitrary and capricious rules. If I think only about the short-term, than the only thing that really matters is that my kids feel loved. Every moment of every day, and those vegetables really don't matter a bit.

My friend Benjie boiled his parenting rubric down to four things, when his son turned one.

be gentle

be careful

be patient

good job

And my friend Helen borrowed from Moxie:

be safe

be respectful

be kind

And those both seem like pretty good guidelines.

I think my parenting got a whole lot better when I committed to (1) trying to meet my children where they are and (2) not yelling (and that second one might just have resulted in a good exercise program because now when my kids yell, I don't yell back "STOP YELLING", I walk to wherever they are in the house, let them know that they're using an outside voice, and then proceed with my business). I'm not perfect at either of these, by a long shot.

This job sure would be a lot easier if there was just a set of rules that everyone followed and taught, though life would be awfully boring as well.

May the happy memories be many, and the shortcomings be few.

Tonight, I go to bed remembering Connor's last words to me. As I went up to tend to Helen just one more time, Connor said quietly from his room "I love you, Mom".

"I love you, too."

Elaine

Baseball

After I met Ed, I phoned my sister and told her about him. When I got to the part about him being a Yankees fan, she replied something like "I guess he could be a nice guy".

Like all good Yankee fans, eventually Ed got tired of Steinbrenner (I think it was the ARod deal that did it, but it might have been Giambi) and decided to leave the Yankees in the hands of their other three trillion fans. Since that time, Ed has dabbled in being a Royals' fan (he didn't have the stomach for it) and then become a Nationals' fan, hard as that can be.

I thought I had cleansed my home of the Yankee fan influence before I brought children into it, but obviously I have done something terribly wrong as a parent.

Could we be a little more polite, people?

I arrived early to Helen's appointment with the pediatric gastroenterologist because I did not want to risk being late and missing this appointment. When I arrived, I noticed two lines. The one on the right, which had about 8 people waiting in it, had a sign that said "primary care check-in". The sign on the left said "sub-speciality check-in". There were no people waiting in that line - but there was also no receptionist there.

I figured I might as well try the left-hand line, since it seemed to be where I belonged.

I went to the desk, and immediately, a receptionist that had been on the other side of the counter, working on something else, turned around and greeted me.

[Me] "I'm here to see Dr. R. Is this the right place?"
[Receptionist] "Yes. I presume this is Helen?"
[Me] "Yes."
[R] - woman pulls out folder sitting right in front of her with Helen's info in it - "She's so cute. You can wait in either waiting room and a nurse will call you in a few minutes."
[Mean lady in other line] "Excuse me, ma'am, but are you aware that it is not polite for you to go right up to the counter when there is a long line of people waiting?"
[Me] "Oh, I'm not waiting for primary care" (pointing to sign), "I'm here for a sub-specialty appointment" (pointing to other sign).
[Mean lady in other line with renewed nastiness in tone] "Well you could have asked. We didn't know that."
[Me] pause, staring at her trying to figure out what the heck was happening, finally saying "I think what you meant to say was 'sorry', in which case I will respond 'it's OK'". And I turned around and went to waiting area A.

Helen gets called almost instantly to get measured. The nurse - also named Elaine - and I chat for a bit. Then Helen and I go back to the waiting area. After playing for a few minutes, Helen gets a bit cranky and it's definitely time for her to be fed. So, I do what I always do in this situation, I feed her.

A few minutes later, Nurse Elaine shows up with a blanket. Mind you, I am holding a blanket on my lap. I obviously do not need a blanket. Nurse Elaine tells me I should cover up. I say "Sorry, it won't work, she doesn't like to have her head covered when she eats". Nurse Elaine "Well, you'll need to cover up because this is a pediatric clinic and not everyone here is used to seeing that."

Again, I pause, because the next thing out of my mouth probably would've been "this is a pediatric clinic" - but she clearly knows this. She must see the signs plastered all over reminding women that breastfeeding their baby is the best thing they can do for themselves AND their baby. I know nobody complained because nobody has left the room since I started feeding Helen.

Lucky for me, the very large loud-mouthed lady next to me who I have been chatting it up with ever since I started feeding Helen says to nurse Elaine "well they should be used to it", at which point I very lamely try and cover Helen up. Helen instantly kicks the blanket off, unlatches, and looks around - so now, rather than having an infant sitting in my lap nursing at least somewhat discretely, I have an infant looking all over wondering what the heck is going on and my obviously offensive boob hanging out. Awesome.

I had a moment where I felt like telling the nurse she should seriously reconsider having told me to cover up, and I almost used the bat phone to call my nursing friends to try and organize and impromptu nurse-in, whereby we would all just sit there nursing our babies just to annoy Nurse Elaine.

But...I needed to see Dr. R., so I didn't do any of this.

I have decided though, that if Helen is better by our follow-up in 1 month, I will let Dr. R. know that his nurse treated me wrongly and I will most certainly write the hospital. If she is not better, I will lamely wait until she is so that I don't risk having any personal issues with the Dr.

And for the record, I was not at some rinky-dink operation. I was at Georgetown University Hospital.

I am so winning "mom of the year"

Many years back, my mom started doling out "daughter of the year" awards. They come up in the context of "you know, you could be daughter of the year if you X" - and usually the request is something trivial, and doing it is well worth the glory of having a shot at being "daughter of the year". (For the record, several years ago I wrapped up "daughter of the year" for life by knitting my mom a sweater. She didn't even believe I knit it because I foolishly put fancy buttons on it. So there I was, watching her unwrap the gift and she's all "thanks" and I'm all "thanks?!?" I just spent a year of my life knitting that sweater and "thanks" is all I get? So I blurt out "I knit that thing" and my mom says "oh, you did not" and then my dad pipes up "yes she did. I saw her finishing it up yesterday" - because you see, when my mom and I give gifts we make, an essential ingredient is that pins or knitting needles still be in them when the gift is given because we couldn't possibly finish on time, and this one time, I had managed to finish it a few hours before my mom opened it. Anyway, after I showed her the flaw in the back, she believed me and then I pretty much had "daughter of the year" wrapped up for eternity.) (And, ahem, Helen or Connor, when you read this, feel free to start knitting because I will adore a sweater from my children, much like my mom loved hers.)

Anyway, since I have clinched daughter of the year, I have decided to go for mother of the year. So, a week ago last Monday, Connor is totally fine in the morning, and then when it's naptime, he has a cow and says his ear hurts. I'm thinking to myself that he is faking because he's seen Helen go to the audiologist and Connor would like to have broken ears too. Plus, he would have an addiction to children's Tylenol if he could get the top off the bottle. So, eventually I give in and give him half a dose of Tylenol, he naps, and is completely wound up and happy for the remainder of the day. On Tuesday, the same thing happens. Because he has swim lessons Tuesday evenings, and because he keeps identifying the same ear as hurting (which has not been true in the past when he's told me his ear hurts) I decide to take him to the pediatrician.


And, alas, Connor has a pretty bad infection in the right ear (the one he kept pointing to), and a minor infection in the left ear. Off to the pharmacy to get my mother of the year award kid's prescription.

Within a day, Connor reported that his ear was no longer hurting, but he was incredibly excited that he got to keep taking his medicine for 9 more days. If only Helen would take her reflux meds as easily as Connor takes antibiotics, and if only her ear problems would disappear so quickly.

I guess this is a lesson in believing Connor.

Elaine

Anniversary wrap-up

Today, Ed and I celebrated our 7th anniversary. I wished him "Happy Anniversary" this morning as I gathered up Helen to take her to the audiologist. His response? Total silence. My thought? "This is going to be an AWESOME year."

This sort of exemplifies how communication can be tough when there are two little people needing lots of attention on a regular basis. My mind was half on getting out the door and remembering how to get to the audiologist's office and Ed's mind was racing to figure out what he could offer the little man for breakfast - because, uh, Ed bought the WRONG KIND OF OATMEAL!!! He bought the kind that already has banana in it and that is NOT the kind of oatmeal Connor eats. And Connor is not one to give a person a break on this sort of issue because, really, bananas should be eaten separate from oatmeal because that is how it has always been done in Connor's gastronomie.

Rather than leaving wondering whether Ed heard me and was not equally happy about the day or he simply hadn't noticed I had spoken to him, I went back and asked him - and it turns out the latter was correct. Phew. Because I really, really don't want to do this job alone or with anyone else. I'm simply not up for it.

We celebrated by eating a giant cookie - which was actually purchased for Mother's Day - but Connor was feeling under the weather last night and it wouldn't have been right to cut into it without him.

Happy Anniversary, Ed. Thanks for taking care of Helen last night. She'll learn to sleep again, I just know it.

Elaine

Happy Mother's Day

Connor has always had a penchant for doing something special on Mother's Day. When he was 7 months old, he slept in - for possibly the only time the entire year. I can't remember how late it was, but my best guess is 7AM - and I know that sounds ridiculous that 7AM could possibly be considered sleeping in - but at the time, it most certainly would have been. This year, we celebrated Mother's Day at the Nats game. Connor's gift? He fell asleep on Ed's lap for the first 7 innings of the game, and was happy to sit on Ed's lap for the remainder of the game. I didn't even have to get to the juice box bribe. He was actually feeling a bit under the weather.

Helen had a different take on Mother's Day. She figured she should wake up bright and early (5:30!) to start celebrating. Lucky for me, Helen is quite content to eat and then jabber and play with the 300 toys I keep near my bed for such occasions while Ed and I attempt to get a bit more rest. And wow, we need that rest. I do believe I underestimated how taxing this job could be before I started it.

Elaine

And on the 18th day...

she opened her eyes - and started doping.


Sadly, Helen has developed a bit of reflux, which makes life rather unpleasant for her after she eats - and rather unpleasant for the laundry committee around here who must constantly wash spit-up out of everything Helen comes near. I took her to the pediatrician on the off-chance that they could do something for her. And indeed, we left with a prescription in hand for Zantac which should help her both keep her meals down and make them less painful when they spew out of her body exorcist style. The first dose does not appear to have done anything, but hopefully once we get a few doses in her, life will get better for her.


For my part, I'm giving up chocolate. This is the second time in as many pregnancies that chocolate has been black-listed from my diet. With Connor, I started getting massive heartburn during my third trimester, and had to give up this culinary love of mine. The nurse at the pediatrician's said it was a big culprit in causing intestinal distress in babies, so hopefully Helen will benefit from my loss. I guess this makes Ed the chief raider of Connor's loot on Halloween.


Elaine

I Forgot

During the last few months of my pregnancy, Ed and I often commented that if someone offered to allow us to fast forward through the next six months of our lives, we would both take that deal in a minute. I think we were both caught remembering all the crap that goes with a newborn, and forgot how incredibly cool it is as well. We knew the second time around would be better if only because we now know that in a couple of years, you get something as amazing as Connor - and that makes the early stuff totally worth it.

I remember the sleepless nights.
I remember feeling like a couldn't put a complete sentence together.
I remember looking at the clock at the end of the day and being crushed if Ed came home even a few minutes late because I was exhausted, and overwhelmed, and wasn't sure how much longer I could be alone with a baby.
I remember not being able to take a shower because Connor would cry.
I remember the house being a total disaster and being so grateful when my parents bailed Ed and I out on more than one occasion.
I remember wondering if Ed and I would ever get our groove back.
I remember questioning whether having a baby was a good idea.
I remember my home being taken over by primary colors and plastic.
I remember the crying in the car and my dad and I checking to see if there was a piece of glass stabbing Connor in the back because that's certainly what his cries in the carseat sounded like.
I remember the sage advice of my mother who had watched me spend too much time worrying about Connor. "Just call the pediatrician. That's what they're there for."
I remember eating oatmeal every day for over a year while I nursed Connor because it's supposed to be good for milk-making.
Heck, I remember the hemorrhoids.


But now that I have Helen, I realize I forgot a few things.
I forgot how amazing it is when a 6 pound person looks up at you with wide open eyes.
I forgot how sweet it is when a tiny hand grips your finger and acts as if they're never letting go.
I forgot the little squeaks that escape a newborn's lips.
I forgot the feeling of a little heart beating next to mine.
I forgot all the hours spent wondering what would come of this little person that just entered the world.
I forgot how sweet it is to look over and see a baby asleep a few inches away.
I forgot how precious those early smiles are - even if they're not true signs of happiness.
I forgot about the strong Moro reflexes that come with a baby. The baby will be lying there totally serene, and then all of a sudden all of their limbs shoot out of their body in total surprise - and they look up at you with an expression that says "who the heck just stuck my legs and arms out like that".
I forgot how sweet it is to come home and see your baby sleeping on top of your husband's chest as he catches a snooze.
I'm going to try and remember these things this time around.



Elaine

I wasn't going to cry this time...

At Connor's first visit with his pediatrician, I left the office in tears. In fact, a little girl in the waiting room asked me why I was crying when my baby was not. I told her "because the baby is fine, and I am not". Basically, I was having a whole load of nursing troubles and my hormones were clearly out of whack. This time, though, it was going to be different.

I showered and put on lip gloss. I put on my post-maternity jeans (not the regular size, mind you, but only one size up) rather than wearing sweats. I put on my favorite nursing shirt and I thought I really looked like I had it all together. But I still walked out in tears.

You see, my pediatrician only works on Thursdays and Fridays - which is fine for routine care. But I have to see her partner if I need to bring one of my children in any other day. So on Monday, we went to see her partner. He was concerned about Helen's bilirubin levels (she's certainly on the yellow side) and sent us to the lab. But when he sent us there, he told us to be prepared for a hospital stay. He thought Helen was too yellow, she had lost too much weight since birth, and the only treatment option he offered us was hospitalizing Helen. There are no words that could possibly express how devastating putting my 3 day old daughter into the hospital would be.

Thankfully, my husband got his MD on google Monday afternoon while Connor napped and I was at that lab. Ed learned that there are blankets that can be used to treat jaundiced babies at home. When the news came in that Helen was a 17.9, the pediatrician told me we needed to hospitalize Helen. Ed had learned that while 17.9 is certainly high, it's not so dangerous that it can't be treated at home, so I told the pediatrician I wanted to talk to someone else before I agreed to hospitalize Helen. I called Ed with the news, and luckily Connor had just awakened from his nap so Ed and Connor came to pick me and Helen up. I called my midwife and she said she'd start looking for a blanket. There was apparently a run on "bili blankets" and the first one she could find would be available on Friday - which was too late for us. But...another midwife in the practice knew of another pediatrician who she thought had a blanket - but we'd have to be a client to get it. So, I called there to see if I could get a second opinion. I begged to see the doctor that afternoon, but it just wasn't possible. The best they could do would be Tuesday, late morning. But, I did get to talk to a nurse there and she knew a few more places to try and get a blanket from and she gave me their phone numbers. I passed these along to my midwife and a blanket was located. I called back to order it and learned that we'd need the pediatrician's order to get it. Crap.

The pediatrician was not in favor of any type of treatment other than the hospital, so Ed and I played hardball. And after a serious show-down, he ultimately agreed to give the order, in exchange for us promising to get Helen's bili levels tested this morning and coming back in to get her weighed again. This bought us the time we needed to get into the other office.

This morning, the numbers were worse - 19.5 - but that was to be expected because she should peak this morning. The numbers were actually better than the ped thought they would be, but he said we needed to hospitalize her. So, we told him we were getting a second opinion and the ped actually helped us get in a few hours earlier and was super nice about going over the case history with the doctor. The happy ending is that this doctor took another blood sample, the number was down to 18.3, and he's happy to manage her care at home.

So, at the end of probably the most stressful 24 hours of my life, my baby girl is at home and I have a new pediatrician.


She's eating formula for 24 hours because there is a chemical in breast milk that slows down the process of the liver breaking down excess red blood cells, so we don't want Helen to have any of that. I would've agreed to feed her just about anything to keep her out of the hospital. Connor totally loved helping feed Helen.


If we'd been in the hospital, Connor never could've tortured his sister with a bath tonight!


Helen wears this little light thing on her back which is connected to a machine about the size of a slide projector (and sounds about the same with a fan going) whenever she is not being bathed, so we won't be out and about town for a while. We are so grateful to this new pediatrician. Tomorrow, we're hoping for some lower numbers.

Elaine