We Have a Winner

Brian's company provides rewards for meeting certain sales goals, and this fall they were offering a long weekend for both of us at an all-inclusive resort in the Dominican Republic.  In June, Brian had done the math after having an exceptional couple of weeks, and he was already halfway there.  He really wanted to go on this trip, and he vowed to make it happen for us.

At the time, I was pregnant.  I thought, hey, we'll have a very little baby then!  Won't that be a problem?  Brian assured me that the company would let us take a baby if I was nursing.  I knew Brian would work very hard to get there, but my thought was, let's worry about that when he meets the goal.

Brian kept selling all summer.  He was racking up the deals.  I was thrilled for him but waited to make any plans.

And then I went through labor and delivery and maternity leave, which was sort of distracting.  Just as I headed back to work, Brian hit the last week of the program and learned he had qualified.  We had a trip to the Dominican to book on the 4th weekend of October.

So, now it was time to worry about what to do.  I knew Helen would have a ball with her grandparents, but I went back and forth on what to do with Alice.  Four whole days away from an 11-week old baby is rough on both mom and baby.  I could take my breast pump with me, and Alice is used to getting bottles at daycare, but the connection is not the same.  She recognizes my voice now, and god, that smile!  She really is a happy baby, and I would just miss her.  I didn't want to ruin the progress we were making together, and I couldn't imagine leaving her behind.

And then I thought, Dominican Republic.  I don't know if you are catching the news on this place lately, but it's in a bit of political unrest right now, and that's putting it mildly.  Also, the middle of the Carribbean at the end of hurricane season could be dangerous.  On top of that, they tell you not to drink the water.  And it's hot and humid and there's sand everywhere.  So maybe not the best place to bring a new infant.  

So, in the end, I told Brian to book it for just the two of us, and we made plans for Helen and Alice to stay with her grandparents.  I spent weeks pumping and freezing extra milk for the baby.  And then the day finally came - we got up at the crack of dawn last Friday, drove to the airport in the pouring rain, boarded a plane and headed due south.

Of course, it was an incredible trip.  We never left the resort to do any sightseeing around town, but instead spent the entire time relaxing, sleeping, and enjoying the beautiful beach.  Oh, and eating and drinking.  The food was fantastic, and the drinks were amazing.  

Coming back home, we discovered the temperatures hit freezing.  Helen had so much fun with her grandparents, now she actually cries at night and tells me how much she misses them.  And the baby didn't seem any worse for the absence.   Alice spent her time hitting them up for more bottles, and when I took her to daycare, they mentioned she suddenly wanted to be held all the time.

Hmm.  I wonder why.

Below are some pictures of the resort.   Just plain awesome doesn't begin to describe it.

Our rooms were surrounded by gorgeous lush Carribbean landscaping - lots of flowers and palm trees everywhere.

Of course, the beach was a big favorite.  The sun was a bit strong, so I stayed under those huts all weekend.  It was either that or look for SPF 480.  
They had these beds by the pool area for lounging and snoozing. 
And here's the pool area.  Not too shabby.
Wait, how'd that get in there?!  That is a Mai Tai of extraordinary goodness.  In fact, they were so delicious, I ordered two at a time.

And there is Brian's favorite, the Bloody Mary.  Secret ingredient:  soy sauce. 

All in all, it was a fantastic four days.  Very relaxing to get a bunch of hours of sleep in a row and have a little bit of peaceful quiet and ocean waves to enjoy.  I'd recommend the place to anyone looking for a nice vacation spot, and I wouldn't mind going back there again.  

But it sure was nice to hug the girls when we got home.

The Solution

We all have those mornings where we wake up in the wrong mood, or we don't like any of our clothes, or breakfast just doesn't sit right. Everyone you see crosses you the wrong way or says the wrong thing to you, and life is just monumentally unfair from the moment your eyes open.

Brian is saying to himself, "This is what Jennie is like after 8:30 at night!"

Hmm. Anyway.

Last week, Helen had that morning. We got to daycare, and she just wasn't ready for it. She knew the drill with the transition - get out of the car, get Alice to her room, give her hugs & kisses, and then head to her room - but as soon as I was shutting the door to the infant room, Helen went into full-on whine mode. As in, I don't want to go to daycare, I don't want you to leave, I don't know what else I want but right now YOU'RE NOT DOING ANYTHING RIGHT WHINE WHINE WHINE.

When you're three years old, life is hard. You think you can do it all by yourself, and you definitely want to, but you don't have any marketable skills to put on your resume except "makes messes" or "screws up a perfectly good schedule." If you can paddle your canoe upstream, just because you can, you do. Even if that's not what your parents want you to do.

From the moment she was able to speak, I have taught her Mommy's Rules, which are as follows:

1. No whining.
2. No crying.
3. Do what Mommy says.
4. See Rule #3.

These rules cover a wealth of mistakes and potential problems. If she's in timeout, she knows why. Not doing what Mommy said is usually the biggest offense. But the whining gets me mad in a hurry, and I've tried my best to get her to stop doing it. She's okay about it most days, depending on how much she wants to watch Little Mermaid.

Last week marked her second week in a new daycare, and she had been doing stellar up to that point. I wanted her to do well, and I wanted her to like the new place. But that morning she kept telling me she wanted to go back to the old daycare, that she didn't want to be in the new daycare. And she really didn't want me to leave. She just wanted to bury her head in my neck, wrap her arms around me and never let go. Oh yeah - and the whining.

And instead of being mad, for once I was really, really sorry for her. I understood. Everything was still so new for her. Having one day in the past two weeks as Whiny Kid at dropoff time - well, that earned a free pass. Sympathy kicked in. So instead of getting mad at her about missing my bus or needing to hurry or being late for work, I took a deep breath and tried to talk her through it. I gave her all the reasons why the new daycare was better (she gets to see her sister, she gets to make new friends, she gets to learn new things, her teachers love her, etc.). She wasn't buying any of it. Her grip kept getting tighter, and I could not put her down at all.

This is exactly why they tell you not to reason with toddlers. I mean, she understands it, but that doesn't mean she has to agree with it. "Because I said so" is a perfectly legitimate response from a mom. But today, I knew I couldn't use it. I wanted her to be happy when I left, so that the next day and the day after that and every day would be easier for her. Forcing the issue today would only make it harder for everyone tomorrow.

Finally, I called her teacher over and explained that we were having a hard time this morning, and that Helen really wanted to go to her old daycare. Her teacher was not the least bit offended, and in fact was very sweet and gentle with Helen. Telling her that she had a toy she wanted Helen to come over and play with didn't work. Tack #2 was the trick, though. She said, "Helen, you know what, let's go over here and play with this, and then, after snack, I'll let you go see your sister, and you can give her a bottle. Okay?"

Helen's head popped up immediately. She looked at me, smiled, kissed me goodbye, and leaned over to her teacher. I mean, she changed in a SNAP.

Bribery will get you everywhere with a three-year old.

Alice has nursed since the day she was born. For the entire maternity leave, I nursed her. I pump at work so she gets bottles at daycare. No one else has fed this baby except her daycare teachers. Not even Brian has given her a bottle. Helen hasn't even asked to feed the baby - I don't think it occurred to her to ask, since she knows Alice gets her milk from Mommy. So this was a VERY. BIG. DEAL.

The teacher took a picture of them together at that feeding.

She hasn't made a peep about going back to the old daycare.

Wait, WHAT did you say that was called?

So Alice is now the proud owner of one of the hottest baby items: a Bumbo seat.

I don't think they were selling these seats when Helen was a baby, and walking around Toys'R'Us last weekend, I decided Alice needed one. She's not quite holding her head up by herself, but she definitely lifts it for long periods of time, so I thought it would be good for her.

Turns out I was right.



Oh, and Helen likes it, too.

Wedding Day

One of Helen's daycare teachers and sometime babysitter got married, and invited us to the wedding.   Brian had to attend a football cookout at his boss's house, so it was just us.   A girls' night out! 

Okay, so not really.  And you might ask what would possess a woman with a 3-year old and a 2-month old to pack up the kids and drive 45 minutes across town to a wedding that takes place an hour before dinner time.

You can ask. You won't get a response that makes any sense, other than "I hadn't worn my favorite little black dress in a *really* long time, okay?"

I spent the day thinking about timing and what I would need while I was away from the house.  When you nurse a baby, everything you do in a day comes down to a simple equation:  

Travel time (A) + last feeding time (B) = when is the next feeding? (C)  

where A = 45 and B = ...

oh, screw it, we all know C = NOW

So traveling that far with a baby who could be hungry upon arrival meant "BE PREPARED" or possibly "DANGER WILL ROBINSON."  Factoring in Helen's naptime prior to leaving and preparing everyone to get out of the house in wedding finery - well, I'm sure it didn't take this much work to get to troops to Iraq. 

The wedding itself was picture perfect. The bridesmaids were dressed in black satin strapless sheaths, with a fushia sash around their waists. They carried gorgeous white rose bouquets, and all of them looked like a million bucks. The bride wore a bright white strapless dress with plenty of tulle and sparkling sequins, and carried a bright pink bouquet of roses. The groom and his groomsmen wore black suits with black shirts. The groom's tie was white, and the groomsmen wore fuschia ties. Sort of a late 70's mafia look, which I'll admit is difficult for guys from the deep South to pull off with any degree of success.

The bride had not been over to babysit for us in quite some time, but Helen remembered her right away. She was the model child during the wedding - finding a pencil and something to write on, she busied herself with scribbling a few things for me. Fortunately, Alice took a short nap with a good pacifier, so we didn't have a single squawk out of either of them. And it was one of those quick Protestant ceremonies - no sermon, even - so we were out in about 12 minutes.

I should have known that would be the easy part.

The reception was at a nearby country club, which had a back patio set up on a hillside that overlooked a gorgeous mountain scene. The sun was about an 30 minutes away from setting when I got this great picture of Helen.


Shortly after this was taken, Alice decided to scream in agony about gas pains for nearly 30 minutes. This has happened before, and there's nothing I can do except give her a little bit of gas medicine and pat her back. Eventually she burps, but it can take a while. I felt horrible after about 2 minutes on the patio with all the wedding guests trying to enjoy the gorgeous view, and here was a screaming baby out there with them, so we ended up in the parking lot, with me in the car trying to soothe her and Helen running around picking flowers. I was inches away from giving up and going home when Alice finally burped. So we settled down, and I gave her a little dinner bottle, and that's when the bride & groom pulled up in their getaway vehicle.

Oh, how I wanted to get in behind the driver's seat and take off.  

Helen was all about the dancing at the reception. In fact, she was the only one who danced most of the evening. She also spent quite a bit of time chatting up the DJ.  I believe at one point she mentioned that her daddy knows all of the songs to the Lion King.  To his credit, he was the soul of patience and acted interested in everything she wanted to tell him.  He did, however, ask me to let him know when I was ready for the Chicken Dance.  I'm not sure if that was an insult or if he was serious, but I told him that I would NEVER be ready for the Chicken Dance.  Hopefully he got the message and sent it to other wedding DJs.  I'm here for you, people.  

Here, Helen shakes her groove thang.

I don't know where they got their cake, but it was amazing. Very heavy and moist.  Here, Helen contemplates the mystery of delicious, sugary frosting.

I didn't get any pictures of me in that little black dress, though.  Probably a good thing.

Bed Time! I mean it! Lights out, now!

Ah, who's kidding who here.  Those two won't ever get to sleep.

Six unremarkable things about me

My cousin tagged me, which I have figured out means I need to do a blog entry with this theme.  Since the purpose of this blog is to catalog many of the unremarkable things that happen to me every day, I'll just have to come up with some things you haven't heard before.  Wish me luck.

1.  My Wii fitness age is currently 75.  That Wii is just damn lucky to be alive right now.  

2.  I have a black cat named Max who turned 13 this week.  I can remember the day I got him so well.  He's been with me through some big changes in my adult life, and he's the biggest bundle of unconditional love.  I don't appreciate him nearly enough, and it's getting harder to pay attention to him with 2 kids running our lives these days.  Through it all, I know he's just secretly wishing he could live with my parents again, out on their screened-in porch.

3.  I have several seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on DVD, and I watch the musical episode from Season 6 about once a month.   I treated myself to a viewing before heading back to work.  Now I can't get Xander & Anya's tune out of my head.  

4.  I love love love the "In Memorium" segments on the Oscars and the Emmys, as they recall who died the previous year.  Yes, I'm a morbid award show watcher.  It always strikes me as a little wierd when people clap for the more famous people, like "Oh, he died!"  (clap, clap, clap)  Anyway, sometimes I get a little choked up and teary at the loss of so many talented people.  I'm already a little sad just thinking about seeing Paul Newman's name up there next spring.  

5.  I do not know how to use a lawn mower.  Or, as my husband would put it, I have refused to learn how to use a lawn mower.  Yard work is not something I have tried to learn.  I'm much more of a laundry person.  This might explain why our bushes are completely overgrown, but right now the kids' clothes are clean, folded, and put away.

6.  I got new contacts last week.  Helen immediately noticed the glasses were gone, and she asked me if I had my contacts.  She even said it correctly!

General News

Item 1
I tried 2 crockpot recipes last week, and both were a big hit. The meatloaf was especially tasty - very moist & juicy, not the least bit dry. The other meal was a chicken cooked in wine that was so tender, it fell off the bone when I tried to take it out. I think it was a bit tipsy. Even the carrots were singing Irish drinking songs. 

Thanks to everyone for all the recipes!  I look forward to trying them all as the weather gets chilly.  (And I should have known my aunts would have plenty of them to share.)

Item 2
Both girls are at a new daycare this week. I was sad to leave the old one, where Helen was such a Big Girl on Campus. Sometimes it feels like I'm raising the popular kid, because when we arrive, all the kids rush to her yelling "Helen!" And the teachers give her big hugs when she leaves each day. 

It's taken 3 years for me to finally notice that not every kid gets this kind of treatment. So taking her out of her element that she's known for her whole life - well, understandably I was nervous. Helen started with the 3-year olds in May, and had a great teacher for exactly one month. And then, that teacher moved to a different room. Instead of hiring someone permanent, they shoved a new floater into it every month. After 3 months, I knew I had to find something else.

And I was lucky enough to find a great spot. It's a smaller daycare, where the owner teaches Helen's class. I visited with Helen about a week before she started, so we could ease into The Big Change, and it would give us something to talk about at home when I mentioned "new daycare" to her.   

The teacher was very high energy and held those kids' attention extremely well. It reminded me how much I was not called to teach young kids.  Being "on" that many hours a day?  EXHAUSTING!!  But they're clearly focused on learning good stuff. The room also has 4-year olds in it, so Helen will be challenged - which is good.  She's eager for it. 

Alice's class has 2 teachers that are there for the long haul, and they really love the babies. Consistency and reliability at daycare is important to me, so I knew I'd found a great place when I saw it.

On Friday, when I picked up Helen, Alice's teacher remarked that Helen seemed to have made a lot of friends in her class already. She said that when Helen came by to peek at her sister, some of her classmates were heading for the playground, and they all said, "Come on, Helen! Let's go play!" The teacher said it normally takes a while for new kids to adjust, and for the others to reach out and be friendly. And here she was seeing that kind of behavior already. She was telling me this little story, I think, to reassure me that Helen is settling in nicely and I didn't need to worry about her.

The high school geek in me is cringing. I probably would have taken WEEKS to make one friend.

Item 3
There was an anonymous commenter in the last post who kindly suggested that I turn this blog into a book. I will point that person to THIS ENTRY where my sister did just that for me almost 2 years ago, as one very special Christmas present that made me weepy.  In that entry is a link to buy the book online. If you want to buy the book, I can assure you no one (me or my sister) makes any profits whatsoever - just watching the sales counter tick in an upward direction is reward aplenty.

Whatcha Got Cookin'?

So, I can feel the last few hours of my maternity leave ebbing away.  I head back to work on Wednesday, and I've spent days thinking of how in the world I can get up, get ready, and get an infant and a toddler to daycare, while trying to catch a bus to work before 7:15 a.m.

Pregnancy, childbirth and now sleep deprivation have done something crazy to my brain this time around.  I forget things at the grocery store, lose track of time, have trouble recalling names of people or places, or derail my train of thought in the middle of a story I'm telling.  So I've made lists of everything I need to get done at night and in the morning.  Between pumping at work for an infant that's still nursing, getting the kids' stuff ready to go each day, finding my way to a brand new bus route, and taking care of the house, I haven't even given a moment's thought to actual work once I get back.  

(I do have the baby brag book ready to go, though, chock full of pictures.  I already feel sorry for people who make the mistake of asking me about Alice & Helen this week.  "Here are 25 pictures of my baby!  Please fawn profusely over all of them.")

Honestly, what worries me more is getting home in the evening.  After a full day at daycare, Helen is a HUNGRY HUNGRY HIPPO and if I don't have dinner on the table within 20 seconds of the front door opening, I have to throw snacks at her for about 30 minutes straight while we hurry around putting a meal together.  (Yes, they feed my daughter at daycare.  But animal crackers and juice at 4 pm doesn't cut it.  And then snacks right before dinner - well, you know what your mother always told you.  Turns out it's true!  So we're stuck between a rock and that other inflexibly rigid spot known as Terrible Threes.)  

We have tried getting her to help us cook.  That hasn't stopped the whining, but only serves to distract her for a few minutes until she remembers she's hungry again.

Before I went on maternity leave, Brian & I had a system.  Without a lot of room for food storage at our place, we maintain a "just in time" inventory of food.  I'm not one of those people who could cook dinner with just anything in my pantry.  Most of that stuff is there for show, to cover a one-time use, or to help with the baking every year at Thanksgiving.  So each night, via cell phone, Brian & I hammered out a dinner plan on our way home from work.  

This meant when I picked up Helen at daycare, I already knew what I needed to get from the store.  Our grocery store is great at handing out samples, and one little thing would usually tide Helen over until I could get her meal ready, instead of the 3 things she wanted at home.  As long as I explained the plan to Helen ("We're going to the store, and Daddy is going to cook burgers on the grill, and then we'll eat dinner"), she could generally manage the "long" wait with just a cup of milk.

With 2 kids, one of which is still nursing like a champion, I don't think I'll be able to have this little luxury of stopping at the store each night.  Maybe the baby will have a bottle just before I pick her up.  But she's not on that schedule yet, and knowing my luck, they'll hand her over and she'll need one as I'm getting home.

So I've decided to become one of those mothers who plans menus and cooks ahead and freezes things.  I might even spend the weekend baking goodies, too.  Who knows?  This could be a good thing for our family, even if I don't do it all the time.  

My first foray into this experimental lifestyle is crockpot cooking.  So rather than collapsing in front of the TV at night, I'll cut up some things, throw the mess into a crockpot, turn it on in the morning and come home at night to the aroma of dinner, completed.  It sounds like the most perfect thing in the world.

Tonight we're trying a meatloaf.  In the crockpot, you ask?  Yep!  I found a recipe online.  Prep the loaf of beef, line your pot in foil, put the loaf in it and pour the sauce on top.  Set to high or low, depending on when you want it to be done, and wow, does your house smell good in a few hours flat.  

I'm adding green beans and sourdough bread on the side.  That should be enough to tame even the hungriest of toddlers.

Tomorrow, I'm trying a whole chicken.  Wish me luck.

And feel free to share your own time-saving tips for meals in the comments.  I have a feeling I'm gonna need it.

Wii are not happy.

So last weekend, Brian surprised me with a present - a new Wii.  This game console is designed with a remote that helps you play games by mimicking the movements you make in an actual game.  So for example, in tennis you would swing a racket, or in bowling you would roll a ball.  Mimic these same movements while holding the remote, and you're on your way to becoming a pro at Wii games.

I am not that good at video games.  Brian loves them, and can play them for hours.  I, on the other hand, am very picky about the games that appeal to me, and can't seem to get the hang of a PlayStation controller.  Brian has worked hard for years to find something that we can play together but hasn't had much luck in piquing my interest.  His thought was that a Wii would be good for me to play on maternity leave, while he works - that way I can spend the time to get good at it and play with him.  

The first real test of the console came later that night.  We had company visiting from out of town.  I put Alice to bed after her last feeding of the night and found Brian and his two friends in a hotly contested tennis match.  By all accounts, it was a good time for everyone.

This week, Brian spent some time poking around all the features, and discovered a fitness test.  The Wii randomly selects 3 training tests for you - for example, returning tennis serves, finishing spares in bowling, or hitting homeruns.  Based on the results, Wii calculates a "fitness age" for you. 

Brian took the test - keep in mind he had spent the prior evening playing all of these games with his friends - and Wii told him his fitness age is 37.  He's actually 35, so he didn't take the news well, and it didn't help that I laughed at him.  And pointed.  And laughed some more.  I told him he better not spend the next day taking the test over and over again, trying to turn into a 19-year old Wii stud.

Well, he tried, but it turns out Wii lets you take the test only once per day.  So the next night, he dutifully took the test again, and discovered he'd aged 2 more years.

Frustrated, he handed me the remote and made me take the test, whereupon he discovered he's married to a 62-year old woman.

I was so mad, I promptly sent him down the street to get me ice cream.

And yesterday, when I was allowed to take the test again (and did much better, I thought), I had aged 7 more years.

This has not been the best present so far.

Rubber Duckie, you're the one.

Alice spent the first 5 baths wailing like a banshee.  Now she cries when I get her out of the tub.

For the curious, here's a comparison shot of Helen at the same age as Alice:

Sisterly Love

Many of you have been kind enough to ask how Helen is taking the transition from "only child" to "shackled to a life with a sibling."  As an older sister myself, whose younger sister arrived on Christmas Day when I was 2 (and ruined most every day the next 16 years after that by making THAT NOISE WITH HER TONGUE), I can sympathize.  Let's just say that a few years from now, I wouldn't be surprised to find Alice on eBay, courtesy of seller "NoMoreSharing."

But right now, this little girl LOVES her sister.  Every morning, Helen arrives at my bedside to whisper:  "Mommy, can I see my sister?"  The first time I took Alice with me to daycare to drop off Helen, one little girl came over to see the baby.  This classmate had a trail of snot dangling from one nostril, and I recoiled in horror, stammering, "No, no sweetie - Helen's the only one who can touch the baby."  And in one fell swoop, I created a possessive little child.  Today, Helen is overly proud of the fact that she's the only one who can touch the baby.  She tells everyone - her friends, teachers, and even other parents.  

I have spent a lot of time feeding this baby since her first day home, and Helen is always asking to see her.  Sometimes that means she wants to touch her or kiss on her.  Of course, when the baby is attached to me, that kind of downward pressure on the chest area can be a little painful for me.  As a concession, I'll tell Helen that she can hold her after I'm done feeding her.  Helen holding Alice can last anywhere from 5 seconds to whenever Alice starts crying.  Here was a particularly cute session that lasted longer than I expected, but still ended in crying:

Please note Helen continued to smile for the camera.  We have our priorities straight.

Soothing Update

Alice has found her thumb!

And she enjoys a good pacifier, too.

Secret

About 6 months ago I taught Helen how to whisper secrets to her Mommy and Daddy.  Once in a while, she will tell me she has a secret, and I lean forward to let her whisper it in my ear.  Usually it's something like, "I love you."   Recently it's changed to "I love my sister."  Very sweet stuff, but generally not an actual secret.

Yesterday, when Brian was getting ready to take her to daycare, she announced that she had a secret.  When Brian leaned toward her, she whispered in his ear, "I'm going to get ice cream after daycare."

I couldn't be prouder of that girl.

Confessions

Those of you who have raised a child to the tender age of about 30 to 40-something may have been told by a pediatrician to put your baby on her stomach to sleep. This was to avoid any possibility of the baby choking on spit-up.

Recent studies however, have shifted that line of thought to putting babies on their backs to sleep. Studies have shown this will reduce the incidence of crib death by 50%, and all doctors will mention this to new parents.  Ours did.  Pretty sternly, as I recall.

With Helen, I tried. I honestly did. But I learned very quickly that with a preemie, Helen slept best perched on either my chest or her daddy's, and shifting her to her back in her bassinet just meant she startled herself awake in about 10 minutes at most. So after about 2 weeks of getting very little sleep, I put her on her tummy.

She slept for 2 hours straight. I knew I had hit upon something.

At her 2-month appointment for shots, I threatened Brian within an inch of his life if he told the pediatrician about the tummy sleeper I was raising. I think she must have known, given how round the back of her head still appeared to be, but I just kept smiling and nodding and saying, "Sure, she's on her back to sleep at night."  I felt like an awful parent, especially with all of the data out there proving I was doing something wrong, but knowing how important a few hours of sleep in a row would be for BOTH of us, I thought I was doing the right thing.

Fortunately, it turned out just fine.  And now Helen ALWAYS sleeps on her tummy. I have a strong memory of her in the crib with those little chubby legs tucked up underneath her, head turned to the side, mouth slightly open, sound asleep. I have gone to pick her up at daycare during naptime - she's always under her blanket on her mat, sleeping on her tummy. I have gone in to wake her up in the mornings for school - she's lying in her bed on her tummy. She curls up on her daddy sometimes at night while we watch TV - resting with her cheek on his chest puts her right to sleep.

After 3 weeks with Alice, I've discovered that I've given birth to another tummy sleeper. She slept so well on her back at the hospital that I tried for a while to put her on her side or her back to sleep. At first, it was fine, but gradually it has stopped working. She sleeps on me just fine (cradled in my arms or resting on my chest), but now startles awake very quickly if I put her on her back. I've tried propping her on her side with blankets around her, and I've tried swaddling, but it doesn't last long. Finally, I tried putting her on her tummy, and sure enough, she slept for hours like that.

At her 2-week appointment with the pediatrician, the doctor was checking her out, and put Alice on her tummy on the examining table to see if she could lift her head. Instead, Alice turned her head to the side, found her thumb, jammed it in her mouth and sucked it. Eyes closed, legs curled up behind her, sucking away - the doctor was in awe. "Now THAT'S a picture," she exclaimed.

I smiled, weakly. "That's amazing," I said. "She never finds her thumb at home."

Another Birth Story

It's important to emphasize in the tale of Alice's birth that I was a very whiny pregnant woman in that last month.  I had never been that pregnant before, and as I approached month #8, all signs that I looked for were beginning to point to another early delivery.  Little did I know how wrong I was, and if I had only known, I could have been more resigned to being that big and pregnant.  There was a moment when August 6 looked like miles away, and then again, as we raced toward that morning, there was so much to do and so little time to get it done.  

But then I realized that we had Helen so unexpectedly early, and it all worked out just fine.  To know how prepared we were this time was much more comforting.

I had been getting up in the middle of the night for weeks.  That Wednesday, our induction day, was no exception, and it started off much like the morning that I had Helen.  I had some strong contractions, and my stomach felt the effects of all that cramping.  Was I starting labor?  Would I need the pitocin?

Brian & I dropped off Helen at daycare, and she was excited to know that her Amazing Babysitter would be coming by to pick her up when the baby was born.  I gave her a big hug and got back in the car to head to the hospital.  We had a duffel bag packed to the brim with technology - laptop, camera, iPod, and cellphones.  Very little in the bag had to do with an overnight stay away from home. 

We got to the hospital and went through paperwork.  I had preregistered on the phone, but a lot of the consent forms needed my signature.   A nurse came by to take me to the delivery room, and I got changed into a hospital gown.  By 8:45, they had checked me (still at 3cm) and broke my water.  I had my pitocin IV inserted, and they told me I could have the epidural anytime.  I wanted to wait a bit, to see how long it would take for labor to progress first.  I didn't want to risk that epidural wearing off at the most important moment!

The baby monitor and the contraction monitor were strapped to my belly, and I learned I wasn't really having any contractions that morning - just more of that fake labor.  In about 30 minutes, all of that changed.  Lots of strong pains hit, and a few doozies in a row prompted Brian to suggest that maybe I should ask for the epidural.  So by 9:45, I had my pain shot.  

A word to note:  my favorite man in the delivery room last time around was the nurse anesthetist named Fred.  I asked my doctor at the last appointment about him, and she smiled and said they all loved Fred, and were so sad that he had retired last month.  I literally had a panic attack.  Who would handle my epidural?  

On my induction date, I found out that Fred made all the difference in the world.  The nurse anesthetist who inserted it this time took a span of about 4 contractions to set up and make it happen.  In fact, I had a contraction in the middle of all that, where the delivery nurse talked me through "not moving" while the man worked on putting in the needle.  My memory is hazy on a lot of what happened the first time, but this time it seemed a lot more painful and a lot more difficult.  Plus, the whole "taking too long" part.  Too bad Fred didn't pull a Brett Favre and come out of retirement for me.  

Don't get me wrong - it was still totally worth it.  After a couple of contractions that eased up gradually to slight pressure, all the pain went away and I dozed a little.  Neither Brian nor I had slept well the night before, so it was good to get a chance to close my eyes.  

The nurse came back about an hour later, and checked me.  She said I was definitely progressing - in fact, I was at 7cm.   Hearing that, I was stunned.  Here I was on pitocin, with an epidural, napping, expecting everything to slow down considerably, and instead I had progressed from 3cm to 7cm.  Keep in mind I'd been at the same 3cm since 37 weeks.  So I was surprised.

The nurse said she'd come back in about 30 minutes and check me again.  Sure enough, I was at 9.5cm at that point.  She rounded up all the personnel to set up for our baby's arrival.  Fifteen minutes later, I started pushing.

This time around was a lot easier, since I sort of knew what I needed to do.  Even with the epidural, I could feel pressure that let me know where the baby was.  At the end, I could feel her coming through the birth canal.  It wasn't painful, but it was a strange sensation, and I know I didn't miss out on a thing by having that epidural.

The nurse asked me if I wanted her on my chest right away, or if I wanted her wiped down first.  She was spreading a towel on my chest as she asked, but the look on my face must have said it all, because she quickly whipped the towel off and said, "Okay, we'll bathe her."  When the baby came out, I heard the doctor ask Brian if he wanted to cut the cord, and he said, "Sure!"  Brian went over with the nurses to see her and take some pictures while the doctor finished up with me.  Total time from pitocin to delivery:  4 hours.

Everyone was very complimentary of my pushing skills.  It seems like one of those things that is perfectly useless to be good at.  And it turns out I was a little too good at it.  Because Alice didn't spend a lot of time in the birth canal, she came out with a tiny bit of fluid still in the lungs.  Normally that all gets squeezed out.  So it meant that first day was spent with a very close eye on her, because she would choke and spit it up.  

Other than that, she was absolutely perfect at 8 pounds, 2 ounces, 20.5 inches long.  Healthy, beautiful, and really ticked off at being pushed out of a nice, comfy womb.  About an hour later, she was totally over it and thrilled to have her mama holding her.  

We were just as thrilled.

To read Helen's birth story, click here.

Photo Session

I took some pictures last night and today. I don't think I can express just how much Helen loves to play with her sister.

Enjoy.

Just think - she's only 3 years old.

This past weekend, at Helen's request, I made her a peanut butter & jelly sandwich for lunch.  I cut off the crusts (she doesn't like the "crunchy" part) and made 4 little triangles for her to enjoy.  She ate one of them, but then she told me she was done.  

Brian had bought a candy bar at the store earlier and she was promised part of it for after lunch.  Since she was "done" with her lunch, she asked me for the candy bar.  I told her no, she had to eat the rest of her sandwich, and then she could have the candy bar.  She put up a minimal protest but I held my ground.  She could be done with her sandwich now, and no candy bar, or she could finish it and enjoy the chocolatey goodness.

At that point Alice tuned up with her own request for lunch, so I went to sit on the sofa in the living room and nursed her.  Occasionally I would see Helen at the kitchen door and reminded her to finish her sandwich.  Helen would head back to her seat at the table and I had assumed she was eating the sandwich, slowly but surely.

Eventually Helen told me she was done.  I asked her if she had eaten all of her sandwich, and she said yes.  I asked her if I came in there, would I see any more sandwich on her plate?  She said no.  I got up, and walked into the kitchen.  On the counter next to the sink was her empty plate, and Helen was standing in front of the trash can with the biggest smile on her face.  

At that point, Dear Readers, I couldn't help but laugh.  I asked her if she threw her sandwich in the trash can, and she said no.  I made a move toward the trash can and she yelled, "Nooo!"  I finally moved her out of the way and opened the lid.  Sure enough, there were all 3 sandwich triangles, sitting in the trash can.

I told Brian what happened, and he started laughing, too.  I mean, our child flat out lied, but being a 3-year old, she couldn't even try to be sneaky about it.  Seeing her in front of that trash can was pretty funny.  So it must have really confused her when I took her into the living room, explained to her that she had not told me the truth, and put her in timeout.  And it must have been really hard for her to sit in timeout while both of us chuckled.

Something tells me it won't be so funny the next time.

Haunt me? No, thank you.

Maternity leave has been an eye-opening experience.  For example, did you know that daytime television sucks?  Yeah, I thought we had it rough with prime-time TV.  Trust me - it's like watching Shakespeare compared to the crap they shove out between 10 am and 5 pm.

Anyway, that should help explain why Brian came home late yesterday afternoon to put together an order for work, and discovered I was watching John Edwards on "Crossing Over."  This show, for those of you who aren't familiar with it, is sort of like a televised seance.  He has a studio audience, and he spends the hour "reading" ghosts who want to connect with audience members.  It could be family, or it could be friends, and he manages to come up with some spooky connections (i.e., nicknames, weird family secrets, occupations, how they died, etc.) to validate their identities.

I'm not a true believer, but sometimes this show is just enough to make me wonder.  (Plus, have I mentioned that there's really not much to watch on TV?)  Brian, however, scoffed out loud.  

(To understand the following conversation, please keep in mind that we joke about the payoff on our life insurance policies, like, A LOT.)

Brian:  You're watching THAT?

Jennie: What?  Really, sometimes it's interesting.

Brian:  You better not go to one of those shows if I die, because I will mess with him.  (imitating John Edwards) "I don't know if this means anything to you, but I'm seeing rat poison."

Jennie:  (laughing)  Yeah, you'd be all, "Why you'd spend all the insurance money so fast?"

Brian:  And you'd be sitting there in the audience, laughing.  It wouldn't look so good on TV.

The thought of Brian reaching out from beyond the grave, just to mess with the life insurance proceeds - well, if you don't know him very well, it sounds EXACTLY like something he'd do.

My Nursing Degree

So the first latch after the birth went smoothly.  The next half dozen, not so good.  I actually checked Alice for teeth.  I could have sworn she was nibbling on my nipples with her molars!  By the time the lactation consultant arrived at the hospital room to give me some guidance, the baby had already done some pretty significant damage.

I realize I don't talk about my nipples very often on this blog (okay - never) but it's such an important part of the experience of having a baby.  And I have to say that my increasing disappointment with the experience thus far was crushing.  Helen's first 6 weeks were a disaster.  Every time I fed her, I cringed from the pain.  Often it would take my breath away.  Pumping was no better.  I was so tense and worked up over trying to feed her through the agony, I cried at the slightest thing.  I finally weaned her when I went back to work, and it was the best decision I ever made.  I could actually relax and be happy with giving her a bottle.  

This time, I really wanted to nurse for two reasons:  formula is expensive, and breastmilk is best for the baby.  I know that every baby is different, and I wanted to see if this time might be better.  Last time, I was too proud to call the hospital for help.  This time, I was more than willing to make sure I had every resource to make it work.

Plus, it really blows Helen's mind, that the baby gets her milk from me.  So, an added bonus there.

I got home from the hospital on Friday around lunchtime, and spent the weekend trying not to cry every time Alice nursed.  I had a product called Soothies that I wore between feedings, and I cannot recommend these things highly enough.  They'll be in every single baby shower gift from now on.

But despite all of this protection and care and continual checking that Alice had the right latch (she did), I had a scab across each nipple from significant cracking from those early feedings.  Once the engorgement hit on Sunday, it became even more difficult to get her to latch (imagine trying to nurse on a large boulder) and created more damage.  One side was significantly worse than the other.  And nursing on that scab 10-12 times a day didn't do much to heal it quickly.   In fact, it just made it worse.  So on Tuesday, I broke down and called the lactation consultant back.

Best thing I ever did. I sobbed on the phone with a complete stranger for about 20 minutes, and she had some great tips.  She suggested that I pump for about a day on the one side that was in worse shape, and then try again with Alice.  That first week of breastfeeding is crucial for establishing milk supply, and my pump wasn't strong enough to make that happen.  She said it's fine for maintaining supply only.  If I didn't get better in a day, I would have to rent a hospital-grade pump to help establish the milk supply.

So after a day of trying to find time to both nurse and pump, I cautiously entered the fray again.  To my great delight, it worked.  I spent the next two days nursing her from that breast first, in order to create more demand and get the supply going again.  I have to say, that last bit was my own instinct (not the lactation consultant's advice) and it worked like a charm.

A week later, we are rolling along at full speed.  Many times I have to wake her up to feed her, because she has a tendency to sleep about 4 hours.  Now that I'm over the engorgement period, it's much easier, but I still need to establish a good schedule with her.  Other times she will go for more cluster feedings, which can be frustrating if she wants to eat continually, and I need to cook dinner.  But if the only thing I'm dreading these days about breastfeeding is timing, then we are definitely doing well.

Parenthood 2.0

Meet Alice Suzanne, who weighs 8 lbs, 2 ounces, and measures 20.5 inches long.

The induction went very smoothly.  I'll roll out the birth story after I get home and get a chance to compose it, but for now I'll tell you she's an amazing sleeper and her big sister couldn't be happier to have her here, finally.

Play through the pain

Do they give you a medal for going to work on your due date? It feels like this is the modern equivalent of women who used to give birth in the fields - only now we're sitting behind desks in air-conditioned offices.  Okay, so not exactly the same thing.  But anyway.

Yes, I am STILL here, as apparently everyone I see has to emphasize. If every person who asked me, "You're STILL here?" or "You haven't had that baby YET?" had to give me a dollar, I could have paid for Helen's college tuition by now.  From the daycare to the bus to work and back home to the grocery store, I hear it a LOT.

Like I have anything to do with the process of making this happen. It's all up to the baby. But you wouldn't know it from the advice I keep getting. The old wives' tales are pouring out of the woodwork at this point.

"Try salsa." Oooh, the heartburn - it burns! No, thanks.

"Try sex." That gem came from a neighbor. Ha. Try, indeed! Yes, at this point I'm too sexy for this website.

"Try walking." This is by far the most popular advice. I'll just go ahead and mention that it is by no means comfortable to walk any distance at 40 weeks pregnant. Also, it was approximately 105 degrees with the heat index last week. YOU try walking around the block with an extra 30 pounds wrapped around your waist and report back to me. Be sure to indicate at what point in the first 100 feet you had to call 911.

Believe it or not, all 3 are urban legends. Apparently if you tried one of the three, or all three, or something other than these three, and then you went into labor, it was just a coincidence. The leading scientific theory is that the baby's adrenal gland releases a hormone that says, "I'm ready" and the contractions begin. So you can bet my lazy butt is on the sofa. And I will continue to enjoy the air-conditioned comfort while I wait out the last remaining hours of pregnancy.

Update from the Waiting Room

For those who are checking relentlessly - still no baby.  Induction is scheduled for August 6, so the light is shining brightly at the end of the tunnel.  After having some relentless contractions start up for a few hours on Thursday morning, I learned at my doctor appointment that I'm no further along than last week (still 3cm, 70%).  Now, even the fake labor pains have gone away, and I think this means baby is getting as much rest as she can before taking over our lives.

The good news is that if all goes according to schedule, I'll be home in time to see the Opening Ceremonies for the Olympics.  That's how I plan to spend some of my hard-earned maternity leave - watching people race for the medals while sports announcers tug at my heartstrings.  One article I read recently said that NBC is broadcasting 3600 hours of coverage, and depending on how things go with the baby, I should be awake for about 1-2% of that.  Go USA!