Happy Quinhora Sombus!
June 28th shall hereafter be celebrated as Quinhora Sombus, or, Five hours Sleep. That’s right, we got five Blessed, Holy, So Say We All, Amen, hours of uninterrupted sleep last night.
I don’t think one solitary dose of Zantac could really help so quickly, but I really don’t care what made him sleep that much. It could even be some weird sleep-inducing fungus growing in his brain, considering all the rain we’ve had. Again- don’t care! Ian nursed, he burped, he didn't scream. He snuggled into the side of his swing seat and slept. He slept for so long I woke up in a panic. He slept so long that Mark suggested waking him up to feed him. (Mark received a few choice words for that suggestion). When he woke up he nursed again, sighed a great big sigh, then yawned and looked at me all bleary eyed. And then he went back to sleep.
Quinhora Sombus, sponsored by the makers of Zantac and the letter ZZZZzzzzzzzz.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Friday, June 23, 2006
Suck it
I’m a bit late to this party: http://www.4woman.gov/breastfeeding/adcouncil/CNBA4230-E01NY.mpg
I hope everyone will forgive me, since I have the –fitting- excuse that I’m breastfeeding a colicky, possibly refluxing, 6 week old infant.
This ad is a disgrace and I’m outraged that my tax dollars went, in any small part, to fund it. The amount of money spent on this ad and its distribution could have printed pamphlets about proper pre-natal care or ads warning women of the dangers of post-partum depression. Instead we have this trite hyperbole that helps no one and angers many.
“Babies are born to be breastfed” claims the ad. Yes, well babies are also “born” to keep their food down without suffering from acid reflux. They are “born” to have tongues that can push a nipple against the tops of their mouths. Babies are “born” to be full term and healthy.
Women, by extension of this reasoning, are “born” to be able to breastfeed. They are “born” to have escaped breast cancer surgery. They are “born” to have normal blood pressure and thus avoid pregnancy-induced hypertension leading to severe prematurity of their children and life threatening seizures for themselves. Women are “born” to have normal blood chemistry and not need the miracles of modern medicine to regulate their self-destructive urges to harm themselves and their infants.
Is breastfeeding good for babies? In most cases, undoubtedly. But generalizations are dangerous things. Babies born to mothers who are addicted to drugs, for example, shouldn’t be breastfed. In that case, and many others like it, breastfeeding is not “best”. Even more destructive is the generalization that so called “normal” women should be able and willing to breastfeed.
I’m breastfeeding my second child. My first came home from the hospital with thrush. He was three weeks early and very sleepy. He didn’t “latch” well and breastfeeding was a tear inducing emotional hell for the first 5 weeks. Even after that it was by no means “easy” and the things I had to go through to continue breastfeeding cannot be considered “natural”. I went back to work full time when he was three months old. Ask any mother who has closeted herself in a bathroom stall 2-4 times a day to pump breast milk whether she’s doing something “natural”. There’s nothing natural about sticking a suction device to your breast and praying you can extract enough milk to feed your child for another day. There’s certainly nothing “easy” about explaining to single, unmarried, male coworkers why there are bags of breast milk chilling in the office fridge.
There are very few black and white truths to parenthood and, in that way, parenthood is a microcosm of society at large. Parents have to do the best they can to raise a healthy and happy child. Sometimes that means formula feeding. Sometimes doing what is best for your baby is making sure you are doing what works for you- whether that be breastfeeding, pumping milk to feed through bottles, or using formula.
The ad text mentions “exclusively breastfeeding for 6 months”. Well I guess you can sacrifice me on the altar of bad parenthood. This baby isn’t exclusively breastfed. He was born 4 weeks early and spent 6 hours in the NICU after a very stressful birth. In order to stabilize his plummeting blood sugar and body temperature he was given 20 ccs of formula. After discharge from the hospital we supplemented with formula in order to fight a nasty case of jaundice. So this child will never be “exclusively” breastfed. I seriously doubt I’ve ruined his fragile life. In fact, since I was following medical advice, I was probably saving his life.
I wish the Ad Council and HHS would take the money, and passion, they dedicated to this idiotic public service message and use it to find out why babies are born prematurely, why they are born with tongue-tie, why they develop life-threatening jaundice, why mother’s develop post-partum depression, and why people have to be so callously self-righteous about parenting choices.
Then, maybe, we will be able to ensure that all babies are “born” to be breastfed. Until then, the makers of this ad can, quite literally, SUCK IT.
I hope everyone will forgive me, since I have the –fitting- excuse that I’m breastfeeding a colicky, possibly refluxing, 6 week old infant.
This ad is a disgrace and I’m outraged that my tax dollars went, in any small part, to fund it. The amount of money spent on this ad and its distribution could have printed pamphlets about proper pre-natal care or ads warning women of the dangers of post-partum depression. Instead we have this trite hyperbole that helps no one and angers many.
“Babies are born to be breastfed” claims the ad. Yes, well babies are also “born” to keep their food down without suffering from acid reflux. They are “born” to have tongues that can push a nipple against the tops of their mouths. Babies are “born” to be full term and healthy.
Women, by extension of this reasoning, are “born” to be able to breastfeed. They are “born” to have escaped breast cancer surgery. They are “born” to have normal blood pressure and thus avoid pregnancy-induced hypertension leading to severe prematurity of their children and life threatening seizures for themselves. Women are “born” to have normal blood chemistry and not need the miracles of modern medicine to regulate their self-destructive urges to harm themselves and their infants.
Is breastfeeding good for babies? In most cases, undoubtedly. But generalizations are dangerous things. Babies born to mothers who are addicted to drugs, for example, shouldn’t be breastfed. In that case, and many others like it, breastfeeding is not “best”. Even more destructive is the generalization that so called “normal” women should be able and willing to breastfeed.
I’m breastfeeding my second child. My first came home from the hospital with thrush. He was three weeks early and very sleepy. He didn’t “latch” well and breastfeeding was a tear inducing emotional hell for the first 5 weeks. Even after that it was by no means “easy” and the things I had to go through to continue breastfeeding cannot be considered “natural”. I went back to work full time when he was three months old. Ask any mother who has closeted herself in a bathroom stall 2-4 times a day to pump breast milk whether she’s doing something “natural”. There’s nothing natural about sticking a suction device to your breast and praying you can extract enough milk to feed your child for another day. There’s certainly nothing “easy” about explaining to single, unmarried, male coworkers why there are bags of breast milk chilling in the office fridge.
There are very few black and white truths to parenthood and, in that way, parenthood is a microcosm of society at large. Parents have to do the best they can to raise a healthy and happy child. Sometimes that means formula feeding. Sometimes doing what is best for your baby is making sure you are doing what works for you- whether that be breastfeeding, pumping milk to feed through bottles, or using formula.
The ad text mentions “exclusively breastfeeding for 6 months”. Well I guess you can sacrifice me on the altar of bad parenthood. This baby isn’t exclusively breastfed. He was born 4 weeks early and spent 6 hours in the NICU after a very stressful birth. In order to stabilize his plummeting blood sugar and body temperature he was given 20 ccs of formula. After discharge from the hospital we supplemented with formula in order to fight a nasty case of jaundice. So this child will never be “exclusively” breastfed. I seriously doubt I’ve ruined his fragile life. In fact, since I was following medical advice, I was probably saving his life.
I wish the Ad Council and HHS would take the money, and passion, they dedicated to this idiotic public service message and use it to find out why babies are born prematurely, why they are born with tongue-tie, why they develop life-threatening jaundice, why mother’s develop post-partum depression, and why people have to be so callously self-righteous about parenting choices.
Then, maybe, we will be able to ensure that all babies are “born” to be breastfed. Until then, the makers of this ad can, quite literally, SUCK IT.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Baby Jag-water
Ethan loves "Dora the Explorer" but he is absolutely entranced by "Go Diego, Go". I think it is the animals.
Diego rescued a baby jaguar this morning. Now Ethan has launched on a massive safari of his own. He's grabbed the glasses from Mr. Potato Head ( because Mommy and Daddy can't leave the house without glasses, so obviously he can't either.), an old piece of string is a rope, the ladder off his fire truck might come in handy so that's getting carted along and he's turned into MacGyver by using a discarded underwire from one of my bras (don't ask) as a "screwdwiver".
Now he's off to save baby "Jag -Water". I probably should correct his pronunciation, and maybe even take the bra underwire away before my mother-in-law gets here, but he's having so much fun it's hard to stifle him.
Diego rescued a baby jaguar this morning. Now Ethan has launched on a massive safari of his own. He's grabbed the glasses from Mr. Potato Head ( because Mommy and Daddy can't leave the house without glasses, so obviously he can't either.), an old piece of string is a rope, the ladder off his fire truck might come in handy so that's getting carted along and he's turned into MacGyver by using a discarded underwire from one of my bras (don't ask) as a "screwdwiver".
Now he's off to save baby "Jag -Water". I probably should correct his pronunciation, and maybe even take the bra underwire away before my mother-in-law gets here, but he's having so much fun it's hard to stifle him.
Friday, June 16, 2006
1 month ( and some days)
Ian is now over 1 month old. You'll please forgive my tardiness in posting his one month update- its rather hard to type while holding the constantly fussy boy.
Ian Kenneth now weighs 8.5lbs, so he has gained an entire pound since birth. He is nursing well- too well sometimes. He still likes to eat every 2 hours.
We've found that he has sensitive skin and a very sensitive tummy. We still haven't worked ou thte tummy issues, but everyday is a little bit better.
He likes to sleep, but only while being held by someone, preferably Mommy. This picture is photographic proof that he slept for a whole 15 minutes in his bassinet. Last night he slept two whole HOURS in his swing seat.
He's much more alert now and his jaundice is all gone. We're still debating what color his eyes will end up being. Some days they are as blue as Ethan's and some days they look cloudy with a touch of hazel. Only time will tell.
Have to go now, he just realized he isn't being held.
Ian Kenneth now weighs 8.5lbs, so he has gained an entire pound since birth. He is nursing well- too well sometimes. He still likes to eat every 2 hours.
We've found that he has sensitive skin and a very sensitive tummy. We still haven't worked ou thte tummy issues, but everyday is a little bit better.
He likes to sleep, but only while being held by someone, preferably Mommy. This picture is photographic proof that he slept for a whole 15 minutes in his bassinet. Last night he slept two whole HOURS in his swing seat.
He's much more alert now and his jaundice is all gone. We're still debating what color his eyes will end up being. Some days they are as blue as Ethan's and some days they look cloudy with a touch of hazel. Only time will tell.
Have to go now, he just realized he isn't being held.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
What's in a name
Everyone always asks the reason behind a baby’s name. With Ethan we didn’t really have a “reason” we just liked the names Ethan and Harrison. With Ian we do have a reason. Ian, according to the baby name dictionary means “gracious gift of God.” While we certainly agree that is the case, we picked the name Ian because it went well with Kenneth.
My maternal grandfather was named Thomas Kenneth Aldridge. Some knew him as T.K., some of his co-workers called him Tom, his wife always referred to him- in my hearing- as Kenneth, but to me he will always be Pappa.
When I was in grade school and high school my parents would send my younger brother and I to spend a week or two with my mother’s parents. Gramma would sew clothes for us, feed us, entertain us and handle all the necessary (and it was often necessary) discipline. Pappa offered quieter companionship. He showed us how to do basic woodworking and took us fishing. He loaned me books, for he was a great devotee of the written word. He didn’t seem to have a favorite genre but he was partial to mysteries and histories. We did crossword puzzles together. We were both atrocious spellers so Gramma and Adrian would always laugh and correct our mistakes.
My fondest memories of Pappa come from sitting on the couch or lying stretched out on the floor watching baseball. Pappa was religious in his devotion to UK basketball and his acerbic comments didn’t invite much participation from us grandkids while the game was on. In fact, we were often actively discouraged from making a sound while the game was being played. Baseball, though, was different. We would watch afternoon Reds games or stay up late to watch the Dodgers play. My brother didn’t like baseball too much so it was often just Pappa and I. We would sit in silence and watch the game. We could go whole innings without either of us uttering a word, but there was something companionable in that silence. Pappa taught me the solace of silence enjoyed in company of loved ones. With Pappa you didn’t have to talk while together. It was enough to just.. be.
Pappa loved us, but he wasn’t openly affectionate. We’d hug in greeting or to say goodbye, but we didn’t constantly vocalize our feelings. He knew and we knew. When I was a teenager I came downstairs one afternoon to find him quietly standing over the sleeping form of my infant cousin Lena. He wasn’t touching her or saying a word. The look on his face is something I will never forget. He looked up and saw me standing there. He left the room without saying a word, but I knew in my soul that he loved that little baby girl lying on the bed.
My Pappa died in December 2002 just 5 weeks after Ethan was born. I know he was very worried about Mark and I “having a child up there all alone in the big city with no family around”. It is one of my biggest regrets that he died never having seen or held his great grandson. I try very hard to be the best parent I can and maybe part of that is the subconscious urge to make Pappa proud of me.
I’d like to think that if Pappa were here with us today I would come downstairs to find him relaxing in his comfy over-sized chair with Ethan settled in the crook of his arm. They’d be watching baseball, trading quiet comments about the color of the grass in the outfield, a particularly wild pitch, or how silly that first baseman looks with his socks pulled up high. Maybe I’d turn a corner and find Pappa staring down at Ian’s sleeping form with that same look of loving awe.
Kenneth, in the baby name dictionary, means handsome one.
For me it will always mean love.
My maternal grandfather was named Thomas Kenneth Aldridge. Some knew him as T.K., some of his co-workers called him Tom, his wife always referred to him- in my hearing- as Kenneth, but to me he will always be Pappa.
When I was in grade school and high school my parents would send my younger brother and I to spend a week or two with my mother’s parents. Gramma would sew clothes for us, feed us, entertain us and handle all the necessary (and it was often necessary) discipline. Pappa offered quieter companionship. He showed us how to do basic woodworking and took us fishing. He loaned me books, for he was a great devotee of the written word. He didn’t seem to have a favorite genre but he was partial to mysteries and histories. We did crossword puzzles together. We were both atrocious spellers so Gramma and Adrian would always laugh and correct our mistakes.
My fondest memories of Pappa come from sitting on the couch or lying stretched out on the floor watching baseball. Pappa was religious in his devotion to UK basketball and his acerbic comments didn’t invite much participation from us grandkids while the game was on. In fact, we were often actively discouraged from making a sound while the game was being played. Baseball, though, was different. We would watch afternoon Reds games or stay up late to watch the Dodgers play. My brother didn’t like baseball too much so it was often just Pappa and I. We would sit in silence and watch the game. We could go whole innings without either of us uttering a word, but there was something companionable in that silence. Pappa taught me the solace of silence enjoyed in company of loved ones. With Pappa you didn’t have to talk while together. It was enough to just.. be.
Pappa loved us, but he wasn’t openly affectionate. We’d hug in greeting or to say goodbye, but we didn’t constantly vocalize our feelings. He knew and we knew. When I was a teenager I came downstairs one afternoon to find him quietly standing over the sleeping form of my infant cousin Lena. He wasn’t touching her or saying a word. The look on his face is something I will never forget. He looked up and saw me standing there. He left the room without saying a word, but I knew in my soul that he loved that little baby girl lying on the bed.
My Pappa died in December 2002 just 5 weeks after Ethan was born. I know he was very worried about Mark and I “having a child up there all alone in the big city with no family around”. It is one of my biggest regrets that he died never having seen or held his great grandson. I try very hard to be the best parent I can and maybe part of that is the subconscious urge to make Pappa proud of me.
I’d like to think that if Pappa were here with us today I would come downstairs to find him relaxing in his comfy over-sized chair with Ethan settled in the crook of his arm. They’d be watching baseball, trading quiet comments about the color of the grass in the outfield, a particularly wild pitch, or how silly that first baseman looks with his socks pulled up high. Maybe I’d turn a corner and find Pappa staring down at Ian’s sleeping form with that same look of loving awe.
Kenneth, in the baby name dictionary, means handsome one.
For me it will always mean love.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Baby Blackmail
Words I've actually muttered in the past 24 hours:
"Keep fussing kid and I'll go eat a great big hunk of cheese with a chaser of chocolate milk."
It should be noted that Ian is incorruptable and thus ignored my threats and bribery attempts. Also, this entry was typed one handed.
"Keep fussing kid and I'll go eat a great big hunk of cheese with a chaser of chocolate milk."
It should be noted that Ian is incorruptable and thus ignored my threats and bribery attempts. Also, this entry was typed one handed.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Overheard from the living room
Recently overheard conversation between Ethan and Katya:
"Come on Doggy lets play. You play this game?"
"Simon says touch your nose."
(long pause)
"Oh MAMMA, Doggy won't touch her nose."
"Doggy wag your tale. OHHH Simon didn't say!"
"Come on Doggy lets play. You play this game?"
"Simon says touch your nose."
(long pause)
"Oh MAMMA, Doggy won't touch her nose."
"Doggy wag your tale. OHHH Simon didn't say!"
Monday, June 05, 2006
Colic Chronicles: Act 1
First I’d like to say that we are assuming Ian has colic based on the assumptions of friends, family and doctors. I was, until last night, happy that he showed no signs of the reflux disease his big brother had. After the screaming and puking of last night, I’m not so sure.
10pm: After being pestered awake by Daddy for several hours, Ian falls into a peaceful sleep in his swing. I put him down in his crib and crawl into my own bed.
Midnight: Ian wakes up hungry. I wake up actually grateful for a mere two hours of uninterrupted sleep in my own bed.
12:30am: Put Ian in his swing to keep him upright a bit longer.
12:45am: He very noisily fills his diaper. In the process of changing his diaper he spits up all over his sleeper. Changing his sleeper wakes him up fully
1:30am: He’s finally back asleep in his crib
1:45am: He’s screaming and grunting in pain
2am: try feeding him again
2am-4am: Long vicious cycle of painful cries, puking, passing gas, filling diapers and generally being miserable (for both of us)
4am: In a fit of severe irritation, I take him into our bedroom and semi-wake up Mark so he gets the joy of hearing the baby gag and cough and puke. Ian rewards me by falling blissfully asleep with barely a belch.
5am: Should have made him burp more. He’s awake, screaming, and VERY unhappy.
5am- 7am: this is all a bit hazy. At some point I gave up the fight and fell asleep in a most uncomfortable position with Ian on my chest whimpering.
For those of you keeping score at home that adds up to: 4 dirty diapers, 2 changes of clothing (and 2 for me), 4 blankets/burp cloths and about 4 hours of sleep ( not consecutive).
10pm: After being pestered awake by Daddy for several hours, Ian falls into a peaceful sleep in his swing. I put him down in his crib and crawl into my own bed.
Midnight: Ian wakes up hungry. I wake up actually grateful for a mere two hours of uninterrupted sleep in my own bed.
12:30am: Put Ian in his swing to keep him upright a bit longer.
12:45am: He very noisily fills his diaper. In the process of changing his diaper he spits up all over his sleeper. Changing his sleeper wakes him up fully
1:30am: He’s finally back asleep in his crib
1:45am: He’s screaming and grunting in pain
2am: try feeding him again
2am-4am: Long vicious cycle of painful cries, puking, passing gas, filling diapers and generally being miserable (for both of us)
4am: In a fit of severe irritation, I take him into our bedroom and semi-wake up Mark so he gets the joy of hearing the baby gag and cough and puke. Ian rewards me by falling blissfully asleep with barely a belch.
5am: Should have made him burp more. He’s awake, screaming, and VERY unhappy.
5am- 7am: this is all a bit hazy. At some point I gave up the fight and fell asleep in a most uncomfortable position with Ian on my chest whimpering.
For those of you keeping score at home that adds up to: 4 dirty diapers, 2 changes of clothing (and 2 for me), 4 blankets/burp cloths and about 4 hours of sleep ( not consecutive).
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