I always held it together fairly well, even during life’s crises. I stay on top of things. I organize. I prioritize. I remember. I’m punctual. I do what needs to be done. I keep my head above water. I rule my world with a level head and plans out the ying-yang.
Insert baby here.
I have the occasional breakdown. I’ve slid down a few rungs from the top. I live with clutter. My prioritizing always starts with baby…and ends with myself. I forget. A lot. I never get anywhere on time. What “needs to be done” has been redefined. I’ve swallowed a few mouthfuls of water. Punky rules my world; trying to plan is a waste of the little energy I have.
This morning, as I stared at the dried toothpaste that‘s been on the counter for weeks, I vowed to take ten minutes this weekend and clean the bathroom. But, it’s probably too far down the “needs to be done” list and will inevitably be bumped by something a bit more urgent. Let’s face it, that toothpaste isn’t really hurting anyone so screw it. Yeah, it won’t get done, I can bet a pinky on it.
Then I wandered out to the living room and saw the toys scattered all over. Looks like a toy store exploded and the debris landed in my house. How did this happen? She is only seven months old. What the hell is her room going to look like when she’s a teenager?
My eyes jumped over to the stack of mail…okay, bills…desperately needing my attention. I can almost hear my wonderful credit score falling down the ladder in the distance. It’s not the money. It’s the time. I need to make time to take care of this stuff. Hell, maybe it is the money. I have no clue. It’s been too long since I sat down and did the math.
A kitchen sink full of baby bottles. A dryer full of wrinkled clothes. A half-eaten banana on the counter. My god, did I finish one thing I set out to do before going to bed last night?
This evening after work I will start again at the top of the “to do” list. The three short hours I have with Punky before she goes to bed pass quickly. During that time, I am all hers. It’s all the time I can give her during the week so I make every minute count. Once she’s asleep, I’ll tackle that list with a vengeance…
Friday, August 21, 2009
Thursday, August 13, 2009
The War Continues
I could’ve gotten killed this morning. How, you ask? One dirty word… Minivan.
There I was, minding my own business, cruising at a comfortable 50ish as I approached the first light in the city. The speed limit is 55 along that stretch, so I was well within the law. I had the green light as I approached the intersection, and since it had just changed to green, I knew I had plenty of time to make it through.
I swear, as my front tires entered the intersection, some moron in a white minivan decides to make a right on red and pulls out right in front of me! How the hell could he not have seen me? I was right there! I mean, I could have spit and hit him…I was that freakin' close.
Needless to say, I had to slam on my brakes and swerve into the passing lane to avoid crashing into him. Thankfully, there were no cars along side of me. If there were, I would’ve hit the van plus a car in the passing lane. With luck on my side, I made it safely around him.
As my heart threatened to beat through my chest, and my brain sent every signal it could to make me take a breath, I glanced the moron’s way. There he was, calm as can be, chatting away on his cell phone, completely oblivious to the fact that he almost made Punky grow up without her mama. My blood started to boil! I called him every name in the book, cut in front of him, and flipped him off repeatedly. I couldn’t control myself…you know how I feel about minivans to begin with…and my road rage came on full force.
As we sat at the next red light, the idiot behind me still yapping away on his phone, it took every ounce of strength for me to resist getting out of my car, storming to his, kicking the shit out of the front of it, and then…when he would naturally roll down the window to yell at me…grabbing that damn cell phone out of his stupid fingers and throwing it under the next passing car. Grrrr…
Get… off… the… damn… phone! There is a reason it’s illegal, moron. Tell your homely, chubby, curler-wearing, soccer-mom wife that you love her before you leave in the morning. Get up five minutes earlier so you have time to answer whatever dumb questions your dumb offspring (no doubt a chip off the old moron) need to ask you. Tell the boss at your dead-end job not to call you on the way in…you’ll be there in ten freakin’ minutes. And I’m sure you’re no rocket scientist or neurosurgeon, so whatever it is can wait.
Yeah, that was mean. I'm not proud of myself, but I feel much better now.
There I was, minding my own business, cruising at a comfortable 50ish as I approached the first light in the city. The speed limit is 55 along that stretch, so I was well within the law. I had the green light as I approached the intersection, and since it had just changed to green, I knew I had plenty of time to make it through.
I swear, as my front tires entered the intersection, some moron in a white minivan decides to make a right on red and pulls out right in front of me! How the hell could he not have seen me? I was right there! I mean, I could have spit and hit him…I was that freakin' close.
Needless to say, I had to slam on my brakes and swerve into the passing lane to avoid crashing into him. Thankfully, there were no cars along side of me. If there were, I would’ve hit the van plus a car in the passing lane. With luck on my side, I made it safely around him.
As my heart threatened to beat through my chest, and my brain sent every signal it could to make me take a breath, I glanced the moron’s way. There he was, calm as can be, chatting away on his cell phone, completely oblivious to the fact that he almost made Punky grow up without her mama. My blood started to boil! I called him every name in the book, cut in front of him, and flipped him off repeatedly. I couldn’t control myself…you know how I feel about minivans to begin with…and my road rage came on full force.
As we sat at the next red light, the idiot behind me still yapping away on his phone, it took every ounce of strength for me to resist getting out of my car, storming to his, kicking the shit out of the front of it, and then…when he would naturally roll down the window to yell at me…grabbing that damn cell phone out of his stupid fingers and throwing it under the next passing car. Grrrr…
Get… off… the… damn… phone! There is a reason it’s illegal, moron. Tell your homely, chubby, curler-wearing, soccer-mom wife that you love her before you leave in the morning. Get up five minutes earlier so you have time to answer whatever dumb questions your dumb offspring (no doubt a chip off the old moron) need to ask you. Tell the boss at your dead-end job not to call you on the way in…you’ll be there in ten freakin’ minutes. And I’m sure you’re no rocket scientist or neurosurgeon, so whatever it is can wait.
Yeah, that was mean. I'm not proud of myself, but I feel much better now.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Chalk it up to Laziness, I Guess
Okay, so this is way overdue. What’s my excuse? Well, I can list a whole bunch of crap, but suffice it to say there isn’t a good one. Life’s been happening and I’ve been slacking. I suck.
First off, he is back to work. No more SAHD. He’s thrilled, and I guess I am, too. We definitely needed it financially. He was only off for about 6 weeks and, even with the unemployment compensation, we were right at the point where we would’ve begun falling behind on bills. He got called back just in time. It may not be permanent, a lot is still riding on the economy, but they have to keep him working at least six months before he can be laid off again.
I thought I might get a crack at SAHM myself. I’ve been having this feeling that I am soon to lose my job for almost two weeks now. Then, yesterday, we found out we lost a huge account, so my gut intuition was correct as usual. I was told it will not impact my job, but that remains to be seen. Part of me was disappointed to hear that. Losing my job would definitely land us right back in the financial hot seat, but at the same time, I would love to spend more home time with Punky, and getting paid while doing it would be great. We wouldn't have money for much, but I'm sure we wouldn't starve.
I had to take Punky back to the doctor on July 30th. I was convinced she had thrush. I kept seeing white on the inside of her mouth, and it wasn’t wiping off… Apparently it was all my imagination. The doctor saw nothing and gave me that look that oozed “crazy, paranoid, over-protective, hypochondriac, first-time mom.” Ah, bite me. I am new at this, and if I think something is wrong, I want a doctor to see her. It’s times like these I am happy to be wrong. Better to look like an idiot than have them find something horribly wrong with my sweet baby girl. Besides, I rarely get to be wrong, so it’s a good opportunity to see life on the other side of the fence. Boy, that was sure smug…all in fun though.
The doctor appointment wasn’t a total waste. They checked her ears to see if she still had the fluid they saw a few weeks ago and nope, it has all disappeared. Great news. So, I was able to cancel the follow-up appointment she was supposed to have next Monday, August 17th. Her weight was a whopping 14 lbs, 3 ozs., which was actually a rather large jump in the short time between visits, but it was a different exam room, different scale, and when you are talking ounces there is a lot of room to be off a bit. The doctor said her 9-month appointment will be a breeze because she could tell Punky already hit all of her nine-month milestones and she had just turned seven months old two days earlier. My little over-achiever...
Good grief, she has been wearing us out and there is no end in sight. I fully expected this stage, but I thought she would reach it more around the ten month point. It’s exhausting. She has been crawling well over a month now. She pulls herself to standing with anything she can grab…footstools, dining room chairs, her high chair, swing, jumper, other toys…anything she can get those little patties around and push with those strong little legs. She is starting to cruise a bit on her own while standing, and she loves when you hold her hands and let her walk. It is back-breaking though. I still think she may take her first steps on her own before eight months. She’s got 17 days left; we’ll see if she makes it.
She really plays with her toys. It’s amazing to watch. We picked up an activity table at a yard sale for seven dollars. It has all kinds of buttons and levers. It plays music and also does numbers, letters, simple commands, colors, etc. in both English and Spanish. She stands up at it all on her own and plays forever. She knows how to make all the gadgets move to make sounds. And when she’s done, she learned how to gently get back to her butt instead of just falling over. She’ll crawl away and get into trouble for a few minutes or play with another toy, but then it’s back to the table for another round. She loves it. Seven dollars well spent (and a hell of a deal…sells for $40 new in the stores). Yay mama.
Her innocent little raspberries have become loud, forceful sessions lasting minutes at a time. Her whole face turns red and she spits over everything. I think the vibrations from it help to numb her gums. She is still struggling with the teething thing; her gums are all bumpy and you can feel the teeth, but none have actually broken through yet. Sometimes she gets really cranky and I feel so bad for her. Anyway, I noticed when I give raspberries back to her, I get a numbing sensation in my mouth so I imagine she does, too. It’s a wet and sloppy past-time, but adorable none the less.
We are still dealing with the eczema issue, but it has gotten better. Every time I see a flare up, I rub on some Cortaid and it helps control it. I am really starting to think that it is connected to what she eats, and it’s looking like carrots are a definite trigger. I will be able to confirm that later this week. She really loves carrots, so I hope I’m wrong. But, as mentioned above, that rarely happens...
So, the class reunion I blew off was this past Saturday. I was a bit sad that I didn’t go, but from what I can see on FB, hardly anyone attended. All of the pictures posted are of the same people over and over again. It doesn’t appear they had a very good turnout. I guess in the end I’m glad I saved the money and skipped the drama. Maybe I’ll go to the next one. If there is another one. If I am skinny...
A memory just flashed in my head: I remember when my parents attended their 20th reunion. I was around thirteen, and damn, my parents seemed so old to me then. Out of school for twenty years. Two whole decades. Ancient. Now it’s me…out over eighteen years…close enough to twenty. I am about the age that they were then. And I thought they were old. How old will I seem to Punky by the time she is thirteen? Shit. Getting closer to the box.
First off, he is back to work. No more SAHD. He’s thrilled, and I guess I am, too. We definitely needed it financially. He was only off for about 6 weeks and, even with the unemployment compensation, we were right at the point where we would’ve begun falling behind on bills. He got called back just in time. It may not be permanent, a lot is still riding on the economy, but they have to keep him working at least six months before he can be laid off again.
I thought I might get a crack at SAHM myself. I’ve been having this feeling that I am soon to lose my job for almost two weeks now. Then, yesterday, we found out we lost a huge account, so my gut intuition was correct as usual. I was told it will not impact my job, but that remains to be seen. Part of me was disappointed to hear that. Losing my job would definitely land us right back in the financial hot seat, but at the same time, I would love to spend more home time with Punky, and getting paid while doing it would be great. We wouldn't have money for much, but I'm sure we wouldn't starve.
I had to take Punky back to the doctor on July 30th. I was convinced she had thrush. I kept seeing white on the inside of her mouth, and it wasn’t wiping off… Apparently it was all my imagination. The doctor saw nothing and gave me that look that oozed “crazy, paranoid, over-protective, hypochondriac, first-time mom.” Ah, bite me. I am new at this, and if I think something is wrong, I want a doctor to see her. It’s times like these I am happy to be wrong. Better to look like an idiot than have them find something horribly wrong with my sweet baby girl. Besides, I rarely get to be wrong, so it’s a good opportunity to see life on the other side of the fence. Boy, that was sure smug…all in fun though.
The doctor appointment wasn’t a total waste. They checked her ears to see if she still had the fluid they saw a few weeks ago and nope, it has all disappeared. Great news. So, I was able to cancel the follow-up appointment she was supposed to have next Monday, August 17th. Her weight was a whopping 14 lbs, 3 ozs., which was actually a rather large jump in the short time between visits, but it was a different exam room, different scale, and when you are talking ounces there is a lot of room to be off a bit. The doctor said her 9-month appointment will be a breeze because she could tell Punky already hit all of her nine-month milestones and she had just turned seven months old two days earlier. My little over-achiever...
Good grief, she has been wearing us out and there is no end in sight. I fully expected this stage, but I thought she would reach it more around the ten month point. It’s exhausting. She has been crawling well over a month now. She pulls herself to standing with anything she can grab…footstools, dining room chairs, her high chair, swing, jumper, other toys…anything she can get those little patties around and push with those strong little legs. She is starting to cruise a bit on her own while standing, and she loves when you hold her hands and let her walk. It is back-breaking though. I still think she may take her first steps on her own before eight months. She’s got 17 days left; we’ll see if she makes it.
She really plays with her toys. It’s amazing to watch. We picked up an activity table at a yard sale for seven dollars. It has all kinds of buttons and levers. It plays music and also does numbers, letters, simple commands, colors, etc. in both English and Spanish. She stands up at it all on her own and plays forever. She knows how to make all the gadgets move to make sounds. And when she’s done, she learned how to gently get back to her butt instead of just falling over. She’ll crawl away and get into trouble for a few minutes or play with another toy, but then it’s back to the table for another round. She loves it. Seven dollars well spent (and a hell of a deal…sells for $40 new in the stores). Yay mama.
Her innocent little raspberries have become loud, forceful sessions lasting minutes at a time. Her whole face turns red and she spits over everything. I think the vibrations from it help to numb her gums. She is still struggling with the teething thing; her gums are all bumpy and you can feel the teeth, but none have actually broken through yet. Sometimes she gets really cranky and I feel so bad for her. Anyway, I noticed when I give raspberries back to her, I get a numbing sensation in my mouth so I imagine she does, too. It’s a wet and sloppy past-time, but adorable none the less.
We are still dealing with the eczema issue, but it has gotten better. Every time I see a flare up, I rub on some Cortaid and it helps control it. I am really starting to think that it is connected to what she eats, and it’s looking like carrots are a definite trigger. I will be able to confirm that later this week. She really loves carrots, so I hope I’m wrong. But, as mentioned above, that rarely happens...
So, the class reunion I blew off was this past Saturday. I was a bit sad that I didn’t go, but from what I can see on FB, hardly anyone attended. All of the pictures posted are of the same people over and over again. It doesn’t appear they had a very good turnout. I guess in the end I’m glad I saved the money and skipped the drama. Maybe I’ll go to the next one. If there is another one. If I am skinny...
A memory just flashed in my head: I remember when my parents attended their 20th reunion. I was around thirteen, and damn, my parents seemed so old to me then. Out of school for twenty years. Two whole decades. Ancient. Now it’s me…out over eighteen years…close enough to twenty. I am about the age that they were then. And I thought they were old. How old will I seem to Punky by the time she is thirteen? Shit. Getting closer to the box.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
The Official Term is Peanut
That's what you call a six and a half month old baby who is still nowhere near doubling her birth weight. My little Punky Peanut.
She had her six month checkup (a little late) this past Thursday. She is a whopping thirteen pounds, ten ounces. She is still almost a pound shy of doubling her birth weight, and dropped to the fifth percentile. She did grow two and a half inches in two months though, and is now twenty six inches long.
For the first time, she cried with the vaccinations. She even cried with the oral one, so I think it was more her new found fear of strangers than the fact that it hurt. The doctor looked at the rash behind her knees. We didn't know if it was heat rash or eczema. I was hoping for heat rash; doc thinks it is eczema. She also found some fluid in her ears, so she said there is a chance she has allergies. Great. So much for nursing. The main thing it is supposed to help prevent is the development of allergies. Now I really wish my body wouldn't have let me down so soon; I really wish she could've nursed longer.
Other than that, the doc was impressed with her development. She was pleased with her balance while sitting, and was surprised to hear she is crawling. And the fact that she has been pulling herself up to standing for months already really blows her mind. What a little go-getter I have. Doc wants to see her again in a month to check the fluid in her ears to make sure no ear infection develops. Then she'll see her again at nine months.
I saw her run in her walker today. And she's trying to pull herself up on the furniture. I held her hands and let her walk all over the house today. All she needs is a bit more balance and she's going to take off. At this rate, she may walk before eight months.
I can't believe how fast the time is flying. Six short months ago I had this tiny newborn baby in my arms. I can't believe how quickly they learn and develop. It just amazes me every day I see her do something new.
All in the last week, she mastered sitting, crawling, and holding her bottle all by herself for more than just a minute or two at a time. She crawls over to me when I lay on the floor with her, and she puts her hands on top of me and pushes herself to standing.
When I get home from work these days, I can really see the excitement on her face when she sees me come in the door...eyes so wide and bright, smiling ear to ear, giggling, even jumping up and down sometimes. It brings a tear to my eye every day. And when I pick her up, she grabs my shirt and pulls herself in close and gives me a big hug. She loves her mama.
I hope I never forget the little things, all those special tiny moments she was able to melt my heart. When we would nurse, she would take her little hand and hold my thumb. The night she learned to give raspberries and had me laughing so hard I almost tinkled. The way she insists on stuffing her hand in her mouth after almost every bite of food. As soon as I move the spoon, the hand goes in, and if not she just licks the side of the highchair instead. Strange kid sometimes.
Then there is also the way she would snuggle up to me at night, and the way she falls asleep on me in the rocker before bedtime. I love those moments when she just dozed off and I quietly rock and cuddle her. Her beautiful little head is just close enough for me to kiss it and smell that wonderful baby bath stuff. Sometimes it's a struggle to make myself get up to put her in bed, especially now that she has been sleeping in the crib. I just want to sit and rock her all night long.
And then there's the smiles she gives as soon as she wakes up, either from a nap or in the morning. What a pleasant baby. I know how lucky I am.
She had her six month checkup (a little late) this past Thursday. She is a whopping thirteen pounds, ten ounces. She is still almost a pound shy of doubling her birth weight, and dropped to the fifth percentile. She did grow two and a half inches in two months though, and is now twenty six inches long.
For the first time, she cried with the vaccinations. She even cried with the oral one, so I think it was more her new found fear of strangers than the fact that it hurt. The doctor looked at the rash behind her knees. We didn't know if it was heat rash or eczema. I was hoping for heat rash; doc thinks it is eczema. She also found some fluid in her ears, so she said there is a chance she has allergies. Great. So much for nursing. The main thing it is supposed to help prevent is the development of allergies. Now I really wish my body wouldn't have let me down so soon; I really wish she could've nursed longer.
Other than that, the doc was impressed with her development. She was pleased with her balance while sitting, and was surprised to hear she is crawling. And the fact that she has been pulling herself up to standing for months already really blows her mind. What a little go-getter I have. Doc wants to see her again in a month to check the fluid in her ears to make sure no ear infection develops. Then she'll see her again at nine months.
I saw her run in her walker today. And she's trying to pull herself up on the furniture. I held her hands and let her walk all over the house today. All she needs is a bit more balance and she's going to take off. At this rate, she may walk before eight months.
I can't believe how fast the time is flying. Six short months ago I had this tiny newborn baby in my arms. I can't believe how quickly they learn and develop. It just amazes me every day I see her do something new.
All in the last week, she mastered sitting, crawling, and holding her bottle all by herself for more than just a minute or two at a time. She crawls over to me when I lay on the floor with her, and she puts her hands on top of me and pushes herself to standing.
When I get home from work these days, I can really see the excitement on her face when she sees me come in the door...eyes so wide and bright, smiling ear to ear, giggling, even jumping up and down sometimes. It brings a tear to my eye every day. And when I pick her up, she grabs my shirt and pulls herself in close and gives me a big hug. She loves her mama.
I hope I never forget the little things, all those special tiny moments she was able to melt my heart. When we would nurse, she would take her little hand and hold my thumb. The night she learned to give raspberries and had me laughing so hard I almost tinkled. The way she insists on stuffing her hand in her mouth after almost every bite of food. As soon as I move the spoon, the hand goes in, and if not she just licks the side of the highchair instead. Strange kid sometimes.
Then there is also the way she would snuggle up to me at night, and the way she falls asleep on me in the rocker before bedtime. I love those moments when she just dozed off and I quietly rock and cuddle her. Her beautiful little head is just close enough for me to kiss it and smell that wonderful baby bath stuff. Sometimes it's a struggle to make myself get up to put her in bed, especially now that she has been sleeping in the crib. I just want to sit and rock her all night long.
And then there's the smiles she gives as soon as she wakes up, either from a nap or in the morning. What a pleasant baby. I know how lucky I am.
Monday, July 13, 2009
While She Lays Sleeping
I stay out late at night and play my songs…
Naw…I just lie next to her and stare in amazement. That beautiful little face, adorable smile, cute ears, and strong little body. She’s perfect. An absolutely perfect, happy, healthy, precious little baby girl. And she’s mine.
My mind drifts to the past. I see images from my pregnancy, reliving the fears and the joys in my head. I remember the instant the stick flashed “pregnant.” I remember the ambulance ride to the hospital after my fall. I remember the ultrasounds that offered a sneak peek at our little Punky. I remember when my labor began. I remember them saying “she’ll be born any minute.” The memories stream like a movie, and I can’t help but smile.
Even with the worries, I really had a great pregnancy and I loved every minute of it. I think about life the past six months, how much she’s grown and changed already, how I may finally be starting to feel like a mom, how she developed her own distinct personality now, how I still may want another one…
Then my mind jumps to the future. What will she look like ten years from now? Will she do well in school? Will she be a girl scout, a soccer player, a gymnast, a pianist, or maybe a dancer? Maybe none of the above. Maybe all. What will she be when she grows up? Will she be successful? Will she be a responsible adult, a contributing member of society? How do I ensure I don’t screw her life up for her? I mean, shrinks always blame the mother, right?
Anyway, I love to just watch her sleep. Whether I am holding her, lying next to her, or watching her nap in her crib, I enjoy getting lost in my thoughts as I watch my little angel. With co-sleeping, I am able to end every day like this and drift off happy once I know she is settled and in a good sleep.
Then came Friday.
I woke up sick. Sinuses draining, sore throat, aching body, low fever. By Friday night, I felt like I was hit by a bus. I loaded up on cold meds, which made my head all fuzzy, and in turn made me second guess co-sleeping with Punky that night. I was worried I would go into a deep sleep and not hear her, or feel her, and that’s not a good thing when co-sleeping. You need to be alert, sleep lightly, just be in tune overall with your baby to keep her safe. I didn’t feel like I could function that way Friday night.
I put her in her crib to sleep.
Talk about mixed emotions. I felt like I was abandoning her, even though I slept on a cot in her room. Yet, I also knew I was doing the best thing for her given the circumstances. She naps in her crib all the time, so it’s not totally foreign to her, but she’s never spent the night in it and I expected her to wake up crying for me. I assumed I would end up taking her into bed with me after I had a few hours sleep.
Nope. She slept all night. No crying. No fussing. I woke up many times to check on her, since she loves to bury her face in the bumper and scare me half to death. Twice I had to grab her by the hips and drag her back into the center of the crib. That didn’t even wake her up.
One time I heard her awake and rolling around for a few minutes. When co-sleeping, I just pull her close to me and snuggle her and she falls back to sleep. I laid there waiting for the cry. It never came. She put herself back to sleep.
My baby doesn’t need me anymore. More mixed emotions. I know it’s a moment many parents dream of…baby sleeping all night and being able to self-soothe if awakened. It’s a hard thing to accomplish for some. Maybe I can’t fully appreciate it because she has slept really well for a long time now, or maybe part of me is just being selfish. I’m not ready. I don’t want to stop co-sleeping.
I only get to see Punky about 4 hours a day during the week. Sleeping with her, watching her sleep, cuddling her, soothing her, and making sure she’s safe, are all ways I can have bonding time with her since we don’t get much during the day. I don’t want to give that up; I don’t want to lose the bond we’ve developed.
In a way I wasn’t surprised she did so well that night. With all of the traveling and changing routines she’s experienced these six months, she’s developed into a very adaptable baby. She’s always pleasant and seems to have a “go with the flow” attitude. I guess I’ve done a good job with her so far since she’s a confident, independent, well adjusted baby. But I want her to still need her mama, too. She’s only six months old.
Still feeling a bit crappy, I decided to attempt it again on Saturday night. This time she did wake up crying. Yes! (I know, that’s terrible of me). But I resisted the urge to pick her up and attempted to just soothe her by rubbing her back like I do when we co-sleep. It worked. She was out again in no time. Sigh.
Sunday night, Grammy came up and was obviously thrilled at this news. She never supported me on the whole co-sleeping thing. Anyway, Punky spent yet another night in her crib with Grammy on the cot in her room. She was still breathing in the morning so all went well.
I can’t say this is how it will be from now on; I’m not ready for it to be a permanent arrangement. But it’s good to know it’s an option when we can’t co-sleep for whatever reason. Maybe I’ll try to co-sleep during the week, but keep her used to the crib on the weekends when I get to spend much more time with her during the day. I don’t know. This “mom” stuff is hard sometimes.
Naw…I just lie next to her and stare in amazement. That beautiful little face, adorable smile, cute ears, and strong little body. She’s perfect. An absolutely perfect, happy, healthy, precious little baby girl. And she’s mine.
My mind drifts to the past. I see images from my pregnancy, reliving the fears and the joys in my head. I remember the instant the stick flashed “pregnant.” I remember the ambulance ride to the hospital after my fall. I remember the ultrasounds that offered a sneak peek at our little Punky. I remember when my labor began. I remember them saying “she’ll be born any minute.” The memories stream like a movie, and I can’t help but smile.
Even with the worries, I really had a great pregnancy and I loved every minute of it. I think about life the past six months, how much she’s grown and changed already, how I may finally be starting to feel like a mom, how she developed her own distinct personality now, how I still may want another one…
Then my mind jumps to the future. What will she look like ten years from now? Will she do well in school? Will she be a girl scout, a soccer player, a gymnast, a pianist, or maybe a dancer? Maybe none of the above. Maybe all. What will she be when she grows up? Will she be successful? Will she be a responsible adult, a contributing member of society? How do I ensure I don’t screw her life up for her? I mean, shrinks always blame the mother, right?
Anyway, I love to just watch her sleep. Whether I am holding her, lying next to her, or watching her nap in her crib, I enjoy getting lost in my thoughts as I watch my little angel. With co-sleeping, I am able to end every day like this and drift off happy once I know she is settled and in a good sleep.
Then came Friday.
I woke up sick. Sinuses draining, sore throat, aching body, low fever. By Friday night, I felt like I was hit by a bus. I loaded up on cold meds, which made my head all fuzzy, and in turn made me second guess co-sleeping with Punky that night. I was worried I would go into a deep sleep and not hear her, or feel her, and that’s not a good thing when co-sleeping. You need to be alert, sleep lightly, just be in tune overall with your baby to keep her safe. I didn’t feel like I could function that way Friday night.
I put her in her crib to sleep.
Talk about mixed emotions. I felt like I was abandoning her, even though I slept on a cot in her room. Yet, I also knew I was doing the best thing for her given the circumstances. She naps in her crib all the time, so it’s not totally foreign to her, but she’s never spent the night in it and I expected her to wake up crying for me. I assumed I would end up taking her into bed with me after I had a few hours sleep.
Nope. She slept all night. No crying. No fussing. I woke up many times to check on her, since she loves to bury her face in the bumper and scare me half to death. Twice I had to grab her by the hips and drag her back into the center of the crib. That didn’t even wake her up.
One time I heard her awake and rolling around for a few minutes. When co-sleeping, I just pull her close to me and snuggle her and she falls back to sleep. I laid there waiting for the cry. It never came. She put herself back to sleep.
My baby doesn’t need me anymore. More mixed emotions. I know it’s a moment many parents dream of…baby sleeping all night and being able to self-soothe if awakened. It’s a hard thing to accomplish for some. Maybe I can’t fully appreciate it because she has slept really well for a long time now, or maybe part of me is just being selfish. I’m not ready. I don’t want to stop co-sleeping.
I only get to see Punky about 4 hours a day during the week. Sleeping with her, watching her sleep, cuddling her, soothing her, and making sure she’s safe, are all ways I can have bonding time with her since we don’t get much during the day. I don’t want to give that up; I don’t want to lose the bond we’ve developed.
In a way I wasn’t surprised she did so well that night. With all of the traveling and changing routines she’s experienced these six months, she’s developed into a very adaptable baby. She’s always pleasant and seems to have a “go with the flow” attitude. I guess I’ve done a good job with her so far since she’s a confident, independent, well adjusted baby. But I want her to still need her mama, too. She’s only six months old.
Still feeling a bit crappy, I decided to attempt it again on Saturday night. This time she did wake up crying. Yes! (I know, that’s terrible of me). But I resisted the urge to pick her up and attempted to just soothe her by rubbing her back like I do when we co-sleep. It worked. She was out again in no time. Sigh.
Sunday night, Grammy came up and was obviously thrilled at this news. She never supported me on the whole co-sleeping thing. Anyway, Punky spent yet another night in her crib with Grammy on the cot in her room. She was still breathing in the morning so all went well.
I can’t say this is how it will be from now on; I’m not ready for it to be a permanent arrangement. But it’s good to know it’s an option when we can’t co-sleep for whatever reason. Maybe I’ll try to co-sleep during the week, but keep her used to the crib on the weekends when I get to spend much more time with her during the day. I don’t know. This “mom” stuff is hard sometimes.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
People Don't Change
I have decided not to attend my high school class reunion.
Eighteen years. Why eighteen? We didn’t have a five, ten, or fifteen year reunion, so I don’t think it would have been a problem to wait two more years for twenty. But the who’s-who apparently decided on eighteen.
When I first received the invitation, my gut response was not to go. Then I debated a bit, but landed back at no.
For one thing, it’s falls on a weekend that’s not particularly good for making the trip home. We will be there weekend before, and to go back down the very next weekend is a lot of travel and hassle with the baby.
Second, it’s expensive. They are having it where we had our prom. It’s a fairly nice place, but there are definitely better options in the area that would be much more affordable. This place is just way overpriced, and with his recent job loss, I have better ways to spend my money.
Third, there are really only a few people I care to see again, and it would be my luck that those people wouldn’t come. With a class size near four hundred, I never knew at least half of them. Of the remaining two hundred, I would probably only remember half. Of that hundred, I probably never really liked at least a quarter of them, and don’t care to ever see them again. Of the remaining seventy five, at least a third were solely casual acquaintances. We were never really close to begin with, so why bother catching up? Of the last fifty, I’m sure at least half won’t come. So that leaves maybe twenty-five people I may enjoy seeing again, and with all of the socializing going on, I’d be lucky to sneak in a five-minute conversation with half of them. Hardly seems worth it for 12 and a half people.
Fourth, I’m fat. Yeah, I know no one has their eighteen year-old bodies anymore, and I’m sure there are many people in much worse shape than I am, but still. I can use the “I just had a baby” excuse, but with her now over six months, I think I’m pushing the limits on that one. I really don’t think I look all that bad now, but I know going to the reunion would bring out the same self-esteem issues and insecurities I had in high school.
Through social networking sites, I have already “caught up” a bit with many people from high school. From what I’ve seen thus far, the old adage is true. People don’t change. The funny ones are still funny, the smart ones are still smart, the snobby ones are still snobby, the nice ones are still nice, etc… But, I’m not the same person I was in high school. I’ve changed.
Well, nope. I guess not really when I stop to think about it. I was shy in school and I still am. I was studious and serious when it came to schoolwork, and I am still that way with work in the adult world. I had many acquaintances in high school, but only a handful of close friends…still that way today. I still love to do the things I did growing up over the years. Essentially, I guess my true personality is exactly the same as it was back then. I haven’t changed.
Wait a minute, I’m a mom now. And that changed everything, remember? My view of the world is entirely different now. I’ve posted about this before. I’m still struggling to figure out who I am six months later. Or am I? On one hand, it appears I truly haven’t changed a bit…yet on the other hand I feel like I’ve changed so much with Punky that I don’t exactly know who I am at times. Hmmm…
Suddenly I feel like I’m on an episode of The Twilight Zone. Which is it? Have I changed or haven’t I? If people don’t change, I must still be the same. Maybe the core is the same, but the outer layers are different. I mean, you change your clothes over and over again, but underneath is still the same naked person. You carry the scars from the past with you, and deep inside you store your hopes for the future. Wearing a pink shirt one day doesn’t change the fact that you never really cared for pink. You know where I’m going with this so I will stop myself before the rambling gets worse.
My hasty conclusion? People don’t change. Except for me. I’m special. And even if they have changed, it’s not worth paying $65 a person to attend the reunion to see it. Seriously, I’m way too cheap for that. I may have been persuaded for $25.
Eighteen years. Why eighteen? We didn’t have a five, ten, or fifteen year reunion, so I don’t think it would have been a problem to wait two more years for twenty. But the who’s-who apparently decided on eighteen.
When I first received the invitation, my gut response was not to go. Then I debated a bit, but landed back at no.
For one thing, it’s falls on a weekend that’s not particularly good for making the trip home. We will be there weekend before, and to go back down the very next weekend is a lot of travel and hassle with the baby.
Second, it’s expensive. They are having it where we had our prom. It’s a fairly nice place, but there are definitely better options in the area that would be much more affordable. This place is just way overpriced, and with his recent job loss, I have better ways to spend my money.
Third, there are really only a few people I care to see again, and it would be my luck that those people wouldn’t come. With a class size near four hundred, I never knew at least half of them. Of the remaining two hundred, I would probably only remember half. Of that hundred, I probably never really liked at least a quarter of them, and don’t care to ever see them again. Of the remaining seventy five, at least a third were solely casual acquaintances. We were never really close to begin with, so why bother catching up? Of the last fifty, I’m sure at least half won’t come. So that leaves maybe twenty-five people I may enjoy seeing again, and with all of the socializing going on, I’d be lucky to sneak in a five-minute conversation with half of them. Hardly seems worth it for 12 and a half people.
Fourth, I’m fat. Yeah, I know no one has their eighteen year-old bodies anymore, and I’m sure there are many people in much worse shape than I am, but still. I can use the “I just had a baby” excuse, but with her now over six months, I think I’m pushing the limits on that one. I really don’t think I look all that bad now, but I know going to the reunion would bring out the same self-esteem issues and insecurities I had in high school.
Through social networking sites, I have already “caught up” a bit with many people from high school. From what I’ve seen thus far, the old adage is true. People don’t change. The funny ones are still funny, the smart ones are still smart, the snobby ones are still snobby, the nice ones are still nice, etc… But, I’m not the same person I was in high school. I’ve changed.
Well, nope. I guess not really when I stop to think about it. I was shy in school and I still am. I was studious and serious when it came to schoolwork, and I am still that way with work in the adult world. I had many acquaintances in high school, but only a handful of close friends…still that way today. I still love to do the things I did growing up over the years. Essentially, I guess my true personality is exactly the same as it was back then. I haven’t changed.
Wait a minute, I’m a mom now. And that changed everything, remember? My view of the world is entirely different now. I’ve posted about this before. I’m still struggling to figure out who I am six months later. Or am I? On one hand, it appears I truly haven’t changed a bit…yet on the other hand I feel like I’ve changed so much with Punky that I don’t exactly know who I am at times. Hmmm…
Suddenly I feel like I’m on an episode of The Twilight Zone. Which is it? Have I changed or haven’t I? If people don’t change, I must still be the same. Maybe the core is the same, but the outer layers are different. I mean, you change your clothes over and over again, but underneath is still the same naked person. You carry the scars from the past with you, and deep inside you store your hopes for the future. Wearing a pink shirt one day doesn’t change the fact that you never really cared for pink. You know where I’m going with this so I will stop myself before the rambling gets worse.
My hasty conclusion? People don’t change. Except for me. I’m special. And even if they have changed, it’s not worth paying $65 a person to attend the reunion to see it. Seriously, I’m way too cheap for that. I may have been persuaded for $25.
Monday, July 6, 2009
The Great Outdoors
We went camping Thursday through Sunday. Well, sort of anyhow. We had a cabin at a campground. With electricity. Twenty feet from a bathroom. Punky and I came home every night to sleep because it was too cold for her at night. Not exactly roughing it, but it was camping nonetheless.
All in all it was a nice trip, just absolutely exhausting. Between caring for the baby and amusing the three and a half year old nephew, sitting for more than five minutes was impossible. Even though I took the baby home at night, we were still out late (after midnight two of three nights), and up early to head back to the campground. Not to mention all of the walking we did. And swimming. I am tired today, even a bit happy to be back at work where I can sit down and relax. I think I may be getting sick. My sister developed a cold during the camping trip and I think I may have picked it up. Great.
Punky had some firsts this weekend. Of course it was her first time camping, but she also had her first ride on a carousel (she wasn’t impressed), her first ride on a train (she wasn’t impressed), her first ride on a real swing (a big boat swing and she really, really wasn’t impressed). She has never gotten carsick, but she hates her swing at home, and it was almost as though she was getting sick on the rides this weekend. I know she’s only a 6-month old baby, and she was probably scared on all of them, but her dad gets bad motion sickness and I really hope she doesn’t take after him. Only time will tell I guess.
She also saw her first fireworks display and…you guessed it…she wasn’t impressed with that either. She actually did well at first. She would jump with some of the loud bangs, but she was looking up at the sky and watching the colors. She seemed content while her aunt held her, then with Daddy as well. But then Mommy held her and the tears started and wouldn’t stop.
I know she was absolutely exhausted by that point and once she saw me she cried so that I would get her a bottle and comfort her to sleep. And of course I left the fireworks and walked back to do exactly that. Now some may have stayed and let her cry herself to sleep, but I do not believe in the “cry it out” method. To me it is cruel. My baby needs something, I do it. I comfort her. I take care of her. It is not spoiling her; it is loving her. And I don’t care what anyone else has to say about it.
I wanted her to have her first experience swimming this weekend, but the water was too cold. I jumped in the pool and it took my breath away for a few minutes until I swam a few laps and warmed up a bit. I didn’t want her to scream at the cold water and make her afraid of it in the future. She loves water, she loves her baths, and I know she would’ve expected the water to be nice and warm. I decided not to shock her. There will be other pools. Hopefully, we’ll get to take her swimming yet this summer.
As a kid, my family camped often. My parents had a small pop-up camper, and we went all over the place. My aunt and uncle had one as well, and we would go together much of the time. I have some fond memories of those days long ago, and this trip helped bring them to the forefront of my mind.
As I watched his thirteen year old son making new friends and crushing on a girl, I drifted back to a campground in New Jersey…I was twelve. My cousin and I spent our days following a boy with blond hair and blue eyes. Although I can no longer remember his name, I can still see his face. He was a cutie. I wonder if she would remember his name…
That was also the trip when Granny threw my blanket in the fire and burned it. On purpose. I used to sleep with it tucked up under my chin. She thought I was too old to have it, so she burned it. And to think I would go on to name my child after her.
Anyway, things were different at a campground. It was safe. Back then, there really weren’t any fears about child abduction and such. We could stay out late and wander around in the dark with flashlights. Our parents didn’t need to know exactly where we were every second. As long as we stayed in the campground, nothing was off limits. And we really had fun. Chasing boys, going to the camp dances, meeting new people...it was almost like being an adult. We were able to roam free, as long as we checked in from time to time.
And then there's the marshmallows and pizzas done over the fire. Yummy. It's been years and years since I've had those treats, and each bite reminded me of camping trips from years past. Don't even get me started on the coffee. There is no better coffee in the world than camping coffee, freshly perked in the early morning hours while the smell of smoke still lingers in the air from the previous night's campfires.
As much as I don't want Punky to grow up, I think camping will be easier as she gets older. This weekend was a lot of work, and frankly, I am exhausted. It was worth it though.
All in all it was a nice trip, just absolutely exhausting. Between caring for the baby and amusing the three and a half year old nephew, sitting for more than five minutes was impossible. Even though I took the baby home at night, we were still out late (after midnight two of three nights), and up early to head back to the campground. Not to mention all of the walking we did. And swimming. I am tired today, even a bit happy to be back at work where I can sit down and relax. I think I may be getting sick. My sister developed a cold during the camping trip and I think I may have picked it up. Great.
Punky had some firsts this weekend. Of course it was her first time camping, but she also had her first ride on a carousel (she wasn’t impressed), her first ride on a train (she wasn’t impressed), her first ride on a real swing (a big boat swing and she really, really wasn’t impressed). She has never gotten carsick, but she hates her swing at home, and it was almost as though she was getting sick on the rides this weekend. I know she’s only a 6-month old baby, and she was probably scared on all of them, but her dad gets bad motion sickness and I really hope she doesn’t take after him. Only time will tell I guess.
She also saw her first fireworks display and…you guessed it…she wasn’t impressed with that either. She actually did well at first. She would jump with some of the loud bangs, but she was looking up at the sky and watching the colors. She seemed content while her aunt held her, then with Daddy as well. But then Mommy held her and the tears started and wouldn’t stop.
I know she was absolutely exhausted by that point and once she saw me she cried so that I would get her a bottle and comfort her to sleep. And of course I left the fireworks and walked back to do exactly that. Now some may have stayed and let her cry herself to sleep, but I do not believe in the “cry it out” method. To me it is cruel. My baby needs something, I do it. I comfort her. I take care of her. It is not spoiling her; it is loving her. And I don’t care what anyone else has to say about it.
I wanted her to have her first experience swimming this weekend, but the water was too cold. I jumped in the pool and it took my breath away for a few minutes until I swam a few laps and warmed up a bit. I didn’t want her to scream at the cold water and make her afraid of it in the future. She loves water, she loves her baths, and I know she would’ve expected the water to be nice and warm. I decided not to shock her. There will be other pools. Hopefully, we’ll get to take her swimming yet this summer.
As a kid, my family camped often. My parents had a small pop-up camper, and we went all over the place. My aunt and uncle had one as well, and we would go together much of the time. I have some fond memories of those days long ago, and this trip helped bring them to the forefront of my mind.
As I watched his thirteen year old son making new friends and crushing on a girl, I drifted back to a campground in New Jersey…I was twelve. My cousin and I spent our days following a boy with blond hair and blue eyes. Although I can no longer remember his name, I can still see his face. He was a cutie. I wonder if she would remember his name…
That was also the trip when Granny threw my blanket in the fire and burned it. On purpose. I used to sleep with it tucked up under my chin. She thought I was too old to have it, so she burned it. And to think I would go on to name my child after her.
Anyway, things were different at a campground. It was safe. Back then, there really weren’t any fears about child abduction and such. We could stay out late and wander around in the dark with flashlights. Our parents didn’t need to know exactly where we were every second. As long as we stayed in the campground, nothing was off limits. And we really had fun. Chasing boys, going to the camp dances, meeting new people...it was almost like being an adult. We were able to roam free, as long as we checked in from time to time.
And then there's the marshmallows and pizzas done over the fire. Yummy. It's been years and years since I've had those treats, and each bite reminded me of camping trips from years past. Don't even get me started on the coffee. There is no better coffee in the world than camping coffee, freshly perked in the early morning hours while the smell of smoke still lingers in the air from the previous night's campfires.
As much as I don't want Punky to grow up, I think camping will be easier as she gets older. This weekend was a lot of work, and frankly, I am exhausted. It was worth it though.
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