They Know Me So Well

Sabrina: Jamie! Mommy just has to finish her refried bean burrito and then we can go open our Lemonade Stand.

Jamie: Oh no. That's terrible.

Sabrina: Why? She's almost done.

Jamie: Because then she'll fart and chase all our customers away.

Eight

We had a rocky start you and I.

Of all the life changing events that have happened to me; death of a loved one, moving, changing jobs, divorce - none of them altered me so thoroughly as the birth of my first child.

I once described the way I felt after having a baby as feeling like I was in one of those fun houses with all the crazy mirrors everywhere and I wasn't sure which one was actually me. In one fell swoop I went from being a person who identified herself by her mate, her job, her age, to being utterly rudderless in an unfamiliar sea of emotions and responsibilities and (literally) constant wakefulness. I was no longer sure who I was.

I tried reaching out to a few people who might be able to help me and felt even further isolated because it seemed the way I felt wasn't the experience they had. Some women seem to take to motherhood like ducks to water. I was sure I was one of those women. I had been waiting for this baby most of my life. So the fact that I didn't only added to my feelings of desperation.

I know now that my experience was not all that uncommon.

But just like forging metal, our trial by fire made our bond that much stronger.


Happy Birthday Sabrina Beena!

There's Always Another Poop Story

I will admit this story was inspired - or rather I should say the memory was triggered - by my friend Jackie at The Other Side of the Fence. She's got a toddler and an infant right now so she's knee deep in it right now. So to speak.

We used to have "Poop Day". Sabrina has always had problems with pooping regularly even though she was a completely breastfed baby. For those of you that find that remark puzzling, breast milk has a natural laxative effect. Breastfed babies usually poop often. VERY often. As in after every feeding. Considering a breastfed newborn will generally eat approximately twelve times a day, that's a lotta poop.

But Sabrina's usual schedule was to poop every third day.

As in, "Is today Poop Day?"

"No, she's not due until tomorrow."

Every now and then she would stretch it to four, and once it was five days. Talk about your mudslide! Once she literally had poop from her neck to her toes. The sheer volume of poop was astounding for a roughly 7 to 8 pound baby. I was seriously beginning to wonder if she didn't store that stuff down a hollow leg.

She also liked to do it in her car seat for some unknown reason. So "poop day" inevitably also meant "disassemble car seat and excavate poop from molded plastic crevices day" as well. Since the cloth cover to her car seat was listed as hand wash (which I promptly ignored) and line dry (which I didn't since I once shrunk a sweater literally down to doll size) that also meant we were grounded for one day in between while we waited for her seat to dry.

I hereby declare it mandatory that all baby accessories should be machine wash and tumble dry. Up to and possibly including the baby.

Another myth those baby books imprinted on my brain was that breastfed baby poop didn't stink. While it is true that breastfed baby poop does not smell like formula fed baby poop (that stuff can clear a room faster than a Tarantula at an Arachnophobe Convention) it is not the rose petal scented stuff I must have been imagining. In fact it was one of the many things I had on my "Mama List" to discuss with the pediatrician at an early appointment. When I worriedly told him that her poop smells bad, he looked at me perplexedly, blinked a few times, and probably thinking this was the punch line to the other 35 odd questions I had just asked him, he chuckled and said, "Well that's because it's POOP."

Enjoy your Cocoa Puffs for breakfast.

I'm "It"

I've been "tagged" by my friend Angela at "Thatch" the Journey...Now in Progress. I "met" Angela online while we were pregnant with our soon to be two year old babies (again with the "babies" thing - I'm pretty sure it's going to annoy Meredith when she's 32 and I still insist on calling her the baby). She's a Texas gal, but I don't hold that against her. We have a good time ribbing each other. For example I almost peed (almost? who am I kidding? Bring on the Depends) myself laughing when she saw a photo of a snow blower and had no clue what it was. And upon seeing a photo of one of her very young relatives successfully hunting an armadillo I asked if you could eat them. She found that an equally hilarious question from a Yankee.

Anyway, on to the tag. I'm to go into my Pictures folder and find the fourth picture in my fourth file.This was taken on April 1st, 2005, which means Jamie had just had his first birthday 5 days earlier and Sabrina was still only three. This was Jamie's first experience on a swing and surprisingly he did not like it. This surprised me because things like climbing shelves and swinging from ceiling fans were all on his list of amusing activities at the time.

Moments after this photo was taken Sabrina would get a large splinter in her finger from the mulch on the ground in the other area of the playground. Removing that splinter proved to be one of the most challenging things I've ever done. She screamed as though I were planning on performing brain surgery without benefit of anesthetic.

Eventually she did allow me to remove it. And by "allow" I mean she only kicked me twice while Dave pinned her down and I pulled the splinter out.

I tag Hot Belly Mama, Laura at With Love From Pittsburgh, Eileen at Anger Management, and most especially my friend Kelly at A Goddess Rising because she loves photos.

Skeletons Out Of The Closet

Sabrina had a terrible earache yesterday that caused her at least some discomfort, but she pulled out her best drama queen skills anyway to be sure I knew it hurt. Once I told her she was in the clear, I was letting her stay home from school, she resumed her normal programming.

But this required a trip to the pediatrician, which meant I had to drag the entire troop with me since CYS frowns on the crate training method for children.

When we arrived and the doctor came in, he made small talk with all the children. Jamie, being the boy that begins talking in the morning even before his eyes open, was sure to inform the good Doctor of all Sabrina's complaints relating to her ear and even some that weren't.

And then he suddenly, inexplicably adopted a tone of voice usually reserved for sad orphans, or boys who have just lost their puppy, and said, "We ALL had to come with Mama because Daddy isn't at home."

The Doctor, hearing this tone of voice, turned toward me with a concerned look in his eyes and asked, "Is everything okay at home?"

When I informed him that, yes, Daddy was just at work today like he is every day, he chuckled and said, "No secrets in your house with that one around eh?"

I have no idea where the boy gets it. Nobody else in our family puts all our secrets out there for the whole world to hear.

Or read.

Auditory Incontinence

This weekend I sat next to another Mom while our daughters played together at a birthday party. She's a stay-at-home-mom just like me. She is also one of Sabrina's Girl Scout Troop Leaders, coaches softball and basketball, active in the school's PTA, volunteers for several other school related functions, as well as our church. She made me tired just talking to her. Did I mention she has 4 kids? She's one of those Moms that you just want to hate, but she's so unbelievably sweet and kind on top of it all, you can't help but like her despite the fact that she'll volunteer for almost anything.

I, on the other hand, will never inspire that kind of hatred. Unless someone envies my lack of organizational skills and devil may care attitude toward housecleaning.

My one concession to volunteerism, is the school's emergency phone tree. I sign up for it every year. I've only been required to make phone calls twice now; once last year when the school district called a late 2 hour delay, when every other school district in the area was capable of detecting the 11 inches of snow at 5:00 a.m., and today when the school district decided to dismiss early for bad weather that apparently only they are aware of since my roads are dry as a bone and every other school district has completed a full school day.

I have been given an envelope containing a note card for each child in Sabrina's class. Each card is meant to have a list of 4 phone numbers and/or contacts for each child that can be reached in just such an emergency. It's not unusual that I have to call all 4 (or more) numbers in order to reach someone. Sometimes it is a someone that had no idea they were listed on this card, and have no idea why I am calling them. So while this particular act of volunteering occurs rarely, it takes up a significant amount of time and usually gives me a thundering headache when it does.

I had a simple message to deliver. "Hi, this is [-------------], I'm calling to let you know that [----- ------] Elementary is dismissing children at 2:55 p.m. today so [your child] will be home approximately a half-hour early."

This message is met with confusion (as it was by me, since there is no snow anywhere to be seen), annoyance, questions, and sometimes outright hostility. I guess they've never heard the saying "Don't shoot the messenger."

But the most annoying thing my call was met with today was......

.....music.

I may be about to display the fact that I am incredibly un-hip (not that this was EVER a secret), and quite possibly this practice has been around for some time.

But who came up with the brilliant idea to provide a service where people can force you to listen to a song of their choice while you wait for your call to be connected to their phone?

I do not want to wait three minutes just to be told you are not there anyway and leave a message and by the way "If you're a private caller or blocked your number, then un-block it cuz I ain't answering." This was an honest to goodness classy greeting I was met with. But I especially don't want to wait for that greeting while listening to rap for 2 minutes.

This happened three more times. I have nothing personal against rap musicians, or the other artists I was subjected to against my will. It's just not what I personally enjoy listening to.

Don't get me wrong. I love music. I have very eclectic tastes in music and there is very little that I won't listen to. But the point is, I like what I want to listen to not necessarily what you want to listen to. This is equally annoying as music blaring at me from a playlist when I open someone's facebook page or a blog where their playlist is set to auto-play. I appreciate everyone's right to their own musical tastes, but at 1:00 a.m. when Marilyn Manson blares through my speakers unexpectedly, well it's enough to make me pee my pants.

Sneezing makes me pee my pants, but at least that's self inflicted.

Do You Think This Was How It All Began For Ralph Lauren?

Jamie is a pretty normal four year old boy. He likes to play rough. He leaps and climbs and rolls and jumps and he seems to have a knack for getting dirty. But he does it all while impeccably dressed.

Don't get me wrong. He's not one of those foppish young boys that wears suits and little ties. But he does appreciate a nice pair of dress shoes. Or any shoes for that matter. He flatly refuses to be without shoes and socks at all times that he is not actually in bed. Sandals are even beneath him. And he will sometimes refuse to wear shoes that he deems too dirty or old looking.

His favorite thing to wear is one of his "handsome shirts." Handsome shirts are generally short sleeve polos or collared rugby shirts. He would wear one every day if I allowed it.
And for the most part I allow it. What my children wear is mostly up to the them as long as it is temperature appropriate. I learned early to pick my battles and clothing choice was one I was willing to forfeit.

But he also appreciates girls' clothing. No, no, no, he doesn't WEAR it. Dave's pretty tolerant, but I think even he might be bothered if I sent Jamie to school in a dress. But he's always ready with a compliment - or critique - of what I or his sisters are wearing. And it's genuinely insightful and accurate.

The day last year when his older sister came home from school and Jamie earnestly asked, "Sabrina did your friends like your new capri pants?" I thought this really isn't normal three year old boy behavior.

My girls on the other hand?

Well they inherited the "What Not To Wear" gene directly from their mother.

I Don't Think Betty Ford Can Help Us

My cousin Colleen recently blogged about her son's......appreciation...for Tylenol in this entry. I'm so relieved to find that my Aunt, the retired nurse, believes that children should get Tylenol on "General Principle". I've subscribed to this school of thought since Sabrina was born.

We have our own dirty little Tylenol addiction around here. Sabrina, AKA The Sleepless Wonder, was the original 'Nol addict.

Put yourself in my shoes. Very little sleeping was going on, and we knew teething was happening (she started popping those little suckers at 3 months). And you just never know when a cold might be coming on. And what if something hurts and she can't tell us? Maybe that fall on her well-padded butt did sting a bit. And surely when she banged her noggin into the table for the umpteenth time it must leave her with a bit of a headache. And hey, maybe Tylenol can PREVENT fevers.

Well I personally wasn't taking any chances that a little discomfort would keep her awake just in case she was inclined to sleep.

But we knew it was time to enroll her in a 12 step program when she was 2 years old and before bed one night she said in her most dramatic breathy can-barely-stand-it voice, "Mama I think I feel a little fever coming on. I think I might need a little Tylenol."

She has been in recovery ever since but just the other day as I changed Meredith's diaper and commented her little bit of diaper rash looked a little sore, she perked up and smiled at me and chirped "Ty-nol!"

They do say these things run in families don't they?

Coffee And Vomit. Hopefully Not At The Same Time.

Why does sick always happen at night?

What started with two whiny children yesterday, culminated in up-all-night-cleaning-up-bodily-fluids-of-the-disgusting-smelly-variety. Seriously, my house smells like we had a Bulimic Convention last night and someone passed out complimentary Ex-Lax and tongue depressors.

It doesn't help that when Sabrina needs to puke she simply stops in her tracks, wherever she is, and lets fly. She sees no reason to even attempt to reach a toilet or garbage can. My mother delights in telling me repeatedly that I was the same way as a child. I suppose this means someday I will laugh as I watch Sabrina scrub her child's vomit from the couch.

I am now the proud owner of two children that resemble wet noodles draped over my couch. If noodles could whine, that would be my kids. Wet washrags have more oomph than these two.

I'm surviving on caffeine and the hope that they will be done before tonight.

You may have noticed that's two children I mentioned being sick. I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Apparently I have three feet these days.

Unfortunately I still only have two hands. And one of them is firmly wrapped around a coffee mug.

Sleep Saga - Part One

Sabrina was not a good sleeper when she was a baby.

Let me clarify that understatement. I didn't sleep for two years after she was born.

As a newborn she wanted to nurse every two hours. For approximately an hour each time. And because she would projectile vomit otherwise, she had to be held upright for 30 minutes after each feeding.

Thus leaving me 30 minutes to sleep in between feedings. This is assuming she actually slept in those 30 minutes.

Sabrina was like those dolls you used to play with as a kid. Remember the ones whose eyelids moved? When you would lay them flat the eyelids would close and when you lifted them up they popped open.

She was just like that. Except in reverse.

I read somewhere in those early days, that babies and toddlers do most of their growing while they sleep. Since Sabrina managed to grow from 6 pounds 15 ounces and 20 1/4 inches to 27 1/2 pounds and 34 1/4 inches in those two years with no discernible sleeping, I can assure you this is not true.

In an effort to comfort me someone told me that highly intelligent children require less sleep. This may be true. Sabrina is very smart. But still, in those first two years I would have happily traded a few I.Q. points for a little sleep.

Long after the days of round the clock nursing, Sabrina still required elaborate rituals to fall asleep and stay asleep. I actually had a small nest set up next to her crib composed of a large feather duvet and a sleeping bag so I could be somewhat comfortable while I would lie on the floor next to her, holding her hand and pretending to sleep in a desperate bid to entice her to do the same. Many nights it worked well. On me. And I would wake an hour or two later to find her peering through the bars at me with very open eyes attempting to see if her fingers would fit into my ears or nose.

Even after successfully ushering her into the Land of Nod, usually at some point in the night (assuming I wasn't still asleep on her floor in a sleeping bag) I would simply bring her to bed with me so that I could at least cope with her wakefulness in my own bed. I didn't view this as wrong, or a bad habit, it simply wasn't all that effective.

She Just. Didn't. Sleep.

When she turned two and I became pregnant with Jamie shortly thereafter, I found myself one night lying on her floor imagining myself 6 months from then hauling my extremely large pregnant self up from her floor. This filled me with such despair that I turned to her one night and said, "Sabrina, Mama can't keep sleeping on the floor like this with you. When Mama puts you to bed, you're going to have to just go to sleep."

And she said "Okay." And she has done so every night since.

As if she had simply been waiting for the "How To Sleep" instruction manual all that time.