Punky and I made the long drive home Thursday night to spend a four-day holiday weekend with family. I considered waiting till Friday morning because I also had to travel for work on Thursday, but I had a dentist appointment scheduled in the morning, plus a hair appointment in the afternoon, so I made the trip at night. It added up to over ten hours of driving...one hell of a long day.
We spent much of the weekend with my sister, of course. I have a brand new neice to snuggle and spoil after all. Just why is it that babies' heads always smell so damn incredible? Seriously. They oughta bottle that scent. I want one of those silly car air-freshener tree things in that scent. New car smell has nothing on new baby head smell.
During our first visit, Punky seemed to care less that I was holding and coddling another baby, but she developed a touch of jealousy as the weekend progressed. It was so hard to imagine that she was once even smaller than her new cousin. Holding my neice made me really miss those teeny-tiny baby days, but it also made me remember the stress and worry and sleepless nights. To my sister's dismay, it didn't make me want another baby. It actually reinforced the argument to not have more.
I don't know if I want to go through it all again. Punky is seventeen months now, and although she's been sleeping through the night for about fourteen of them, I still don't. I'm up at least once, if not two or three times, to check on her through the night. Even though the risk of SIDS barely exists at her age, I still put my hand on her chest to make sure she's breathing. I worry about choking with every bite she takes. I worry about the falls, the head bangs, the illnesses...all of the dangers lurking in her world. It's getting a bit easier as she gets older. I don't know if I could handle going back to square one and starting all over.
Anyway, Punky had some fun playing with my nephew this weekend. He found it absolutely hysterical that almost everything he did made Punky absolutely hysterical. They ran around in circles, chasing each other from room to room and giggling non-stop. Until he showed her Batman. The giggles turned to cries and my child was terrified.
Since his new sister got the baby animal lamp that was previously in his room, they bought him a new big boy lamp. Batman. A caped figurine posed in front of the Gotham city skyline. When the lamp is first turned on, a fan blows the cape around and loud Batman music blares. The effects last only about thirty seconds, but that was thirty seconds too long for Punky.
Aside from her previous fear of grass, she's never been afraid of any object...no matter how loud. The louder, the better. Moving parts? All the more interesting. I have no clue why this silly lamp scared the crap out of her, but she made it very clear that she did not like it. Not one bit.
My nephew used to be afraid of a silly singing flower. I had to hide it in the closet whenever he would visit. I guess this is Punky's equivalent. Holy scary lamp, Batman!
The most noticeable event this month has been an unbelievable growth spurt. I swear Punky grew an inch!
For about a two week stretch, there was absolutely no satisfying her appetite. She ate constantly, morning till bedtime. We were starting to wonder if she had a tapeworm or something. Seriously, it was that ridiculous. We had no clue where she was putting it.
One day, just after her appetite returned to normal, I reached down to touch her hair while she was standing beside me. Her head was higher then I had remembered. I stepped back and took a good look at her suddenly longer legs. It all instantly made sense. Too bad all the growing was only in length; her twelve-month pants still fall off her butt. She could really use about an inch or so around her mid-section.
We've still been taking the swim classes on Saturdays. We've gone four times thus far and I think she enjoys it more and more each time. It's had some side effects though...it's nearly impossible to get her out of the bathtub. She always loved bath time, but now she learned how to really play in the water. Along with the most effective way to splash and soak her mama. It has also made her more comfortable taking big girl baths (showers) with me. She loves letting the water run right down her face. She pulls her head out of the stream just long enough to giggle and catch her breath. I'm so glad I decided to take her to the classes, even though it's created more work for me in many respects. It's definitely been worth it and the bonding time is priceless.
I've already written about her recent language boom, but I sat with a scratchpad on lunch the other day and jotted down all the words she says just to quantify it for myself. The count is around fifty. I think that's mighty impressive for her age. Everything I've read says about twenty words is average for eighteen months.
In the food department I'd say she's eating about 75% real stuff, meaning non-jarred baby mush. She still hasn't gotten any more teeth, but she is finally mastering the art of using the ones she has. I no longer break crackers into small pieces; she's learned to take little bites. She likes feeding herself, especially when she gets to eat with us and have what we're eating. Almost like some social pressure influences her to conform. She's more consistent with trying to use a fork if we are. If she's eating alone, she's more likely to toss the fork on the tray and use her fingers. Strange but true.
The war continues between Punky's noggin and all the other objects in the house. Now, thanks to that growth spurt, she easily bangs her head on the dining room table. She can't seem to grasp that she can no longer walk underneath the edge.
Her constant climbing is quickly making me gray. I forgot to push a chair in after dinner one night and found her standing on the table a minute later. She climbs up and sits on the back of the couch...and smiles at her accomplishment while someone darts over to get her down and tell her no for the hundredth time. Sometimes she has so many black and blue marks that I lose track of where they came from...and it makes me question my mom-abilities...but then I realize if I watched her any more closely I'd need to physically strap her to my hip. Boo-boos happen, I know. She seems to get over it much more quickly than her mama does.
Summer weather has finally arrived and Punky's been enjoying outside playtime. Sidewalk chalk, bubbles, rocks, and sticks can keep her busy for hours. Sometimes it's hard getting her back in the house but the promise of an apple is one trick that works nicely when all else fails. She still loves apples; they are definitely her favorite snack. I hope it lasts a long, long time.
...or at least that's what I think she said while we were eating dinner tonight. It went right over my head for a minute, but it clicked when I noticed her staring out the window behind me. A four word sentence. I can't believe how big she's getting!
Punky seems to have had a real language explosion in the last few weeks. I've lost count of all the words she can say. Not everything is crystal clear, of course, but I can usually get the gist of it in context. And she's starting to repeat. Uh-oh.
Her dad and I both have a habit of letting some undesirable words slip from time to time. Okay...me more so than him. It is really going to take a conscious effort on my part to curb my casual use of less-than-appropriate terminology. Not to give the impression that I walk around all day effing things...that's surely not the case. But things like shit, dammit, and jackass flow freely around these parts. And I don't need her saying them at the most inopportune time. Like in front of my boss and co-workers at a company outing in a few weeks.
Note to self: Shit no longer happens; only crap does. Stinking is the new effing. Jackasses can no longer piss me off; donkeys can only irritate me. Things will suck and blow no more; they will only stink and be yucky. Hell is now heck. Screw you is now forget you. And bite me will become...
Ah, forget it. I need to at least keep that one for when crap happens and a stinking donkey irritates me. It will totally be yucky if I don't have a heck of a thing to say when he wants to forget me. So bite me, dammit. Er... I mean... dang it.
I left the house at 5:45 this morning for roughly a two hour drive to the tiniest hospital I have ever seen. Ever. So small I drove right past it and ended up circling a mountaintop somewhere. Eventually I arrived and headed inside for one hell of a ride.
My neice was born at 11:17. Seven pounds, four ounces, twenty-one inches long. Healthy. Perfect. Absolutely adorable.
I missed my nephew's birth almost five years ago because my sister was living across the country at the time. And Punky came via C-section with me behind a sheet, drugged and exhausted after nineteen hours of labor, so I virtually missed the whole thing. They say childbirth is a miracle worth witnessing. I made damn sure I didn't miss this one.
My sister arrived at the hospital at 4:30 a.m. for a planned induction due to a blood disorder. She had the same issue with my nephew. Once they broke her water, she progressed super fast and he was born fifty minutes later. I made sure I got on the road early in case history repeated itself.
And it did.
When I arrived, she was having some mild contractions and things weren't progressing much at all. In about an hour, they intensified a tad and unfortunately hit her in the lower back. I had all back labor with Punky and I remember it all too well. I felt her pain.
About another hour later, the doctor finally arrived and checked her cervix. Four centimeters. She decided it was time to break her water and see what developed. The roller coaster left the station and started its clinky-clanky assent to the top.
Ten minutes later, my sister was yelling. Crying. Begging for drugs. And fast. While the hospital staff debated on whether or not it was safe for her to have an epidural due to the heparin injections she was taking, a transformation occured and my sister morphed into something hardly recognizable. And she was threatening to push.
To the absolute astonishment of the nurses and doctor, in a matter of minutes she went from four to nine centimeters and the baby was coming. Even though she warned them about her last experience, they weren't ready. Not even close. At any rate, this development ended the epidural debate. It was too late now. All bets were off. She was on her own.
The next ten minutes lasted forever. With every contraction, her face went from light carnation pink to rosey red in three seconds flat. Her mouth opened one hundred and eighty degrees as she let out screams capable of raising the dead. The nurse literally held her legs closed and begged her not to push. By this point, I couldn't help but cry. It was awful to see her in so much pain.
Seemed like a lifetime till they were finally ready to catch the baby.
Once set up, it only took two pushes for her tiny head to emerge. I almost fainted. The doctor pulled for all she was worth but finally reached for the scissors and I heard a snip. I almost fainted again. One more push and gush and out she came. This time I think I may have blacked out for a few seconds but thankfully regained my composure without hitting the floor.
And I was still crying, but now it was tears of relief and joy. I was at a loss for words over everything I had witnessed. Talk about a whirlwind of emotions. I couldn't take my eyes off the beautiful little girl experiencing her world for the very first time. It took my breath away.
Welcome to the world, Emersyn Grace. I'm so happy I was able to be there for your grand entrance. And I will always remember the twenty-minute wild ride leading up to it. That I can guarantee.
I survived my first full week in my new position at work. Sigh.
Not much training...more of a "here you go, sink or swim" transition. It wasn't exactly a beautiful butterfly stoke, but I managed to tread water nonetheless. I think. If I royally screwed something up, it hasn't yet come back to bite me in the ass.
This position is the exact opposite of my last one. I worked solo on about ninety percent of my work. I worked on specific projects at a time, lasting days or weeks depending on what was involved. I had little direct contact with my boss who was based in another state. I didn't have to attend many meetings or interact with many people inside or outside the company. I was able to totally lose myself in data for hours on end with little interruption from anyone. Occasionally I was faced with a stressful deadline, but could usually work at a calm, steady pace on most things. I was even bored at times.
I don't see much boredom in my future in this new position. There is always something to deal with from the minute I get in till the minute I leave. The phone rings...constantly. People are in and out of my office...constantly. I already have more meetings scheduled in the next couple weeks than I had in the entire last year. I'm faced with paper after paper that require immediate attention. My new boss is right around the corner and pops in often. At the end of the day, I'm tired.
Years ago I had a similar position but I'm out of practice. I used to thrive in a fast-paced environment. I was a hard core multi-tasker. I didn't need to write stuff down. I remembered everything. Soaked it in like a great big sponge and never missed a beat. I was in control. I had my act together. I was great at my job. I was tired at the end of the day, but not like I am now. Things were different then. I wasn't a mom. My day ended when I left the office.
I'm having a hard time functioning on the level I need to for this position. My mind is on overload, and for the first time in my life I need to write everything down to stay on track. I know, it's only been a week. It's an unrealistic expectation to have it all figured out in only five days...right?
Despite popular opinion, I think I may actually enjoy this job once the dust settles. It will take some time, but hopefully I'll re-learn how to cope in this type of position. Until then, I'm afraid, blogging is one thing that will suffer due to my complete exhaustion by Punky's bedtime. I just didn't have the energy to stay awake and write this past week. I hope that changes quickly. I really need the outlet.
"Stuck" is Punky's new favorite word.
It all started one night when I put her in her crib at bedtime. On her back with her legs straight up in the air, she struggled to get her feet out from under the blankie. "Are you stuck?" I casually asked as I helped her get free. When the scenario repeated itself the very next night, she told me, "Mama... Stuck..." before I even had a chance to ask. It has since become part of our night time routine.
Around the same time, she began climbing into her toy box. Sometimes she gets a leg down deep between the toys and needs help getting out of it. Again, one time I asked her, "Are you stuck?" as I rescued her from the toy quicksand. Now she tells me she's stuck every time she gets in it...whether she needs help getting out or not.
That made me wonder if she really understood the meaning of the word, or if she was simply repeating what she heard me say in the prior identical situation. I've gotten my answer many times over this week.
Like when I shut her little finger in the refrigerator door...
I didn't even realize she was actually stuck. She was standing by me while I opened and closed the door, and I didn't think a thing about it when I walked away and she remained by the fridge. I thought she was trying to get the door open. She knows apples are in there and she gives the handle a daily tug in the hope of it opening so she can grab one.
About thirty seconds later, I heard a pitiful, "Mama... Stuck..."
"You're not stuck, baby," I said in that reassuring mama tone as I continued making her dinner.
Another half minute went by and I heard an even more pitiful, "Mama... Stuck..." which was immediately followed by a, "Stuck! Mama!"
So I went over to the fridge and sure enough, one finger was stuck behind the magnetic strip that holds the door closed. Her tiny little finger was no match for the powerful magnet and she couldn't pull her finger out without opening the door.
My next clue came a night or so later when I was distracted right after dinner. I unbuckled only one side of her highchair belt and attempted to lift her out of the seat. Only half her body moved and she quickly told me "Stuck!" before I even fully realized it myself.
And, as if I needed further evidence, tonight she walked into the bathroom to brush her teeth before bed. The light switch is on the opposite wall so she is used to it being dark in there for a few seconds until I can get around her to turn it on. I forgot I left two garbage bags of clothes in there earlier today and she got her leg all tangled up one of the drawstrings. I hit the lights just as she let out a loud, panicked "Stuck! Stuck! Stuck!" and proceeded to shake her leg violently to escape the tiny strap of plastic around her ankle. I knelt down to help free and calm her.
Yep. Stuck. She gets it.
One plain, pink Hanes t-shirt...a couple dollars. Some acrylic paint...a couple more dollars. That same t-shirt covered in acrylic paint...hand, finger, and foot prints...absolutely priceless.
That was my Mother's Day gift from Punky. Her aunt got creative while watching her one day last week. On the front of the shirt, she put her hand prints around in a circle to look like blue flower petals. The center of the flower is filled with bright yellow finger prints. And red footprints walk diagonally up the back of the shirt. Yesterday morning Punky proudly got it from its hiding place and grinned ear to ear as she carried it through the house to hand it to me. My heart melted.
I noticed something blue on Punky's arm while giving her a bath one night. It wiped right off so I didn't give it too much thought. At least now I know the source of the blue hue. I imagine she had so much fun making it. What a clever idea! I'll cherish it forever. It is more valuable than any famous work of art.
The rest of Mother's Day was quiet around here...and that was fantastic. Punky's dad made me a nice breakfast and I had a few hours of play time with my favorite little girl. Then she treated me to a full three-hour nap so I had plenty of "me" time while she slept. And when she woke, her dad took her to visit her grandmother for a couple more hours which gave me even more time to relax and enjoy my day. Don't get me wrong, I love every minute I spend with her and would've been just as happy playing with her all day, but once in a while I cherish some old-fashioned alone time and I don't get the opportunity very often.
Aside from her previous fear of grass, she's never been afraid of any object...no matter how loud. The louder, the better. Moving parts? All the more interesting. I have no clue why this silly lamp scared the crap out of her, but she made it very clear that she did not like it. Not one bit.
