Clare is a breastfed baby. 100%. I am exceedingly proud of this fact.
Grace was a fight from the start. It took weeks of coaxing and effort to get her to breastfeed. At 5 months old she starting refusing to drink again. I have no idea why I didn't just go the route of pumping and then bottle feeding her. I think I tried and just couldn't produce enough. I know I took that as some sort of misguided failure on my part, so when she wouldn't breastfeed I gave her formula. Honestly though, I think she preferred the formula. At 7 months old, she began rejecting me completely so I gave up the fight.
Clare will be 7 months old next week. A 100% breastfed baby. She will drink expressed milk from bottles, but she prefers me. She took to me instinctively after birth and has never looked back.
****
From the stories I have heard, my birth was a traumatic one. My mom started hemorrhaging and was rushed to the hospital 5 weeks before her due date. Her c-section scar isn't the traditional hip bone to hip bone, it is belly button to pelvic bone, preformed without anesthesia.
She was unable to even consider breastfeeding me. It was 1978 anyway, so who's to say she would have even if given the choice. I do not question her decision at all. Formula was what was right for her to feed to both my brother and me. I really do believe that. It was my opinion before I ever had kids too. She, on the other hand, questions my decision to breastfeed at every turn.
****
Tonight, I discovered that Clare has sprouted her first tooth.
(Have I told you what an amazing baby she is? I knew she was teething, I could feel the hard edges behind her gums. But this tooth- I'm not quite sure when exactly it popped though. Not a peep from her, just solid nights of sleep and smiles galore. Business as usual.)
I discovered it because she bit me while nursing. Hard. One little edge of one little tooth, but it did damage. She and I will have to work out a new system. I think it will involve nipple callouses and cold packs on my end, with impish smiles of apology on hers.
When I shared the joyous news of new enamel with my mom though, her response?
...So does this mean you will finally stop breastfeeding or is she going to still be nursing when she is in high school?
****
I am lucky. I have supportive friends. The daycare teachers are beyond supportive, bordering on insistent. I work in a supportive environment. While many are surprised at my ability to keep a full time job and supply enough food for an ever increasing appetite, nobody seems to blink at the notion of my mammary glads fulfilling their intended purpose.
Nobody, except my own mother.
Showing posts with label Holly. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Holly. Show all posts
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Thursday, January 14, 2010
No Grey, Just Black and White
The saga continues…
He is dying. I’m still OK with it. My mom, on the other hand, is falling apart.
On an intellectual level, I understand. The death of a parent must be hard. My mom has a tendency to remember things the way she wishes they happened, so the last 14 years has been filled with wonderful times.
On an emotional level, I just don’t get it. He didn’t just abandon us, he abandoned YOU. His child. He choose a life that didn’t involve you unless you came to him, and then during those visits he still preferred the company of whatever biddy was at his side more than 48 hours with his daughter.
He is old. You got the phone call last week that he wasn’t doing well. You’re an accomplished nurse, you know how these things and the fragile human body work. When you get old, you shut down. When you are dying, sometimes things improve right before they go down hill again. Why are you shocked that a man who has smoked for 75 years is coughing up globs of blood after being told he has blood clots in his lungs?
So a funeral is imminent. Last night’s declaration was hours, maybe a week. You took a late night flight to sit vigil next to him.
Apparently, he has made funeral arrangements in Florida. He has pre-paid for everything and intends to be laid to rest next to the monster. This is his choice, though I doubt he has it spelled out in a will. You are not going to let him choose though, are you? Once he has lost his voice, you will impose your will once last time and have him buried in the cold Chicago air with Grandma.
You are wrong if you do that.
So my choice in the coming days: Do I attend? Do I attend the funeral for a man who died 14 years ago? Do I willingly walk into a room full of tears and mourners when I feel none of these things? Will I be able to hold my tongue if challenged on this lack of sorrow?
I do not know. On any of it.
Will I regret not seeing him again? No. Will I regret the amount of grief my absence will cause my mom? Yes. Will I bend to her wishes on this one last time? I don’t know.
He is dying. I’m still OK with it. My mom, on the other hand, is falling apart.
On an intellectual level, I understand. The death of a parent must be hard. My mom has a tendency to remember things the way she wishes they happened, so the last 14 years has been filled with wonderful times.
On an emotional level, I just don’t get it. He didn’t just abandon us, he abandoned YOU. His child. He choose a life that didn’t involve you unless you came to him, and then during those visits he still preferred the company of whatever biddy was at his side more than 48 hours with his daughter.
He is old. You got the phone call last week that he wasn’t doing well. You’re an accomplished nurse, you know how these things and the fragile human body work. When you get old, you shut down. When you are dying, sometimes things improve right before they go down hill again. Why are you shocked that a man who has smoked for 75 years is coughing up globs of blood after being told he has blood clots in his lungs?
So a funeral is imminent. Last night’s declaration was hours, maybe a week. You took a late night flight to sit vigil next to him.
Apparently, he has made funeral arrangements in Florida. He has pre-paid for everything and intends to be laid to rest next to the monster. This is his choice, though I doubt he has it spelled out in a will. You are not going to let him choose though, are you? Once he has lost his voice, you will impose your will once last time and have him buried in the cold Chicago air with Grandma.
You are wrong if you do that.
So my choice in the coming days: Do I attend? Do I attend the funeral for a man who died 14 years ago? Do I willingly walk into a room full of tears and mourners when I feel none of these things? Will I be able to hold my tongue if challenged on this lack of sorrow?
I do not know. On any of it.
Will I regret not seeing him again? No. Will I regret the amount of grief my absence will cause my mom? Yes. Will I bend to her wishes on this one last time? I don’t know.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
At Least There Was No Poo To Fling
My mom goes hot and cold with buying clothes for Gracie. When she is cold we don't see anything for months. When she is hot we get a box with a $20 shipping sticker on it. Maybe she is just warm to it year round and hoards....
The last box we received had a Halloween costume, necklaces, bracelets, toys and lots and lots of pajamas. This pair was the source of Matt's misery last night and my misery this morning.
For Matt, it is the fact that for whatever reason, the 2T version of Carters footies pajamas don't have the little tab that hides the zipper pull. So instead of Gracie quickly and quietly falling asleep, she played with that zipper for 30 minutes.
For me, it was the print. The monkey print. She didn't want to take the damn thing off. On a weekend, not a problem. On a school day, problem.
Me: Honey, you can't wear your monkey jammas to school, they'll be hot and you can't put on your shoes.
G: My monkeeee! My monkeeee! I wear monkeeee! My monkeeee!
Me: Sorry sweetie, but they have to come off. You can wear them again tonight. (shhh, don't tell Matt I said that). Then I forcibly removed them from her body.
G: Noooooooooo! MY MONKEEEEE! I WEAR! I WEAR!!!
(Please note: this conversation is greatly condensed.)
With Matt's help to quell the demonic kicking, I got her dressed. And then bribed her with milk. And pears. And chocolate chips.
Yes, chocolate chips. This game is about survival. A process that normally takes 5 minutes spun into 20 this morning, all because of some damn monkey pajamas.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Love in Hot Pink
We had a whole light socket die in Gracie's room the other day. There was no sparks or other assorted danger, just the realization that we couldn't turn on her noisy humidifier and the night light was no longer lighting the night.
In the shuffle to find new places to plug things in, we made a discovery. Well, I remembered and Gracie discovered. The wicker hamper that we'd been using as a stand for the humidifier held treasure. It is where I had shoved, and promptly forgotten about, all the pink stuffed animals I'd received as baby shower gifts.
Oh, and the hot pink kitty my mom bought. Let me break off and tell that story.
Like many first time parents, Matt and I went to a lamaze class. Having a birth plan was a necessity, right? I had almost signed up for the super-duper two day class. I was so glad I didn't in the end. Four hours turned out to be more than enough. The most beneficial thing that came out of the class was a clarification of my wants. Beyond the counting and breathing, the instructor kept adamantly insisting we decide on a 'focus point' before labor. Something that calms you, she said, like a photograph of your favorite place or person.
She went around the room surveying all the big bellied people as to what their focus point will be. It was all answers like ‘ my husbands face’ ‘a picture of the beach’ ‘a picture of a flower’. When my turn came around I said – ‘nothing’. That didn’t go over very well. The instructor demanded an explanation. I just want to keep my eyes closed and focus. I don’t want to look around. I don’t want to use a mirror to see the birth process. I just want to keep my eyes shut and push until she pops out.
The instructor shook her head and said she didn’t think that sounded like a very good plan. Matt on the other hand, said that sounded good to him and he should have known that would be my answer. That is how it happened too. I’m sure I opened my eyes in the 40 minutes it took during heavy labor, but I don’t recall looking around very much. Eyes shut and focused.
My mother though, wasn’t in on the plan. To cut her some slack you must know the following:
1) Generally speaking, she doesn’t sleep and had been awake for over 48 hours at that point.
2) I was delivered via a heinous, horribly rushed and therefore horribly cut c-section, which meant Jerry was delivered via a scheduled c-section, so she had no idea how to help me through a birth experience that was completely foreign to her. I don't think she ever even experienced labor, just the gush of a hemorrhaged placenta 3 weeks too early.
3) She had no idea of my wants, other than the fact that she was emphatically not invited to stay in the room during delivery, which I knew made her very sad.
So at some point my mom wandered down to buy vending machine cheetos and coffee. The gift shop must have opened and she heard the siren scream of hot pink fur. She emerged with a plush stuffed cat as her gift to me and the grandchild destined to arrive shortly.
In the throws of growingly intense contractions and shortly before she was asked to leave the room, Mom grabbed that hot pink kitty, stood at the end of my bed waving it back and forth like a flag and started exclaiming “Focus on the kitty, Shan! Focus on the kitty! Focus on the kitty, Shan! Focus on the kitty!”
Matt quickly squashed the enthusiasm, which is one of the million reasons why I love him and ‘focus on the kitty’ is now a frequent call in our house.
So now Gracie has discovered the little hamper filled with random bears and the hot pink kitty. And she is IN LOVE with it. Last night she didn’t want to go to sleep because she wanted to play with the cat. This morning she refused to put it back in her crib, so it wound up in the car with us.
In the shuffle to find new places to plug things in, we made a discovery. Well, I remembered and Gracie discovered. The wicker hamper that we'd been using as a stand for the humidifier held treasure. It is where I had shoved, and promptly forgotten about, all the pink stuffed animals I'd received as baby shower gifts.
Oh, and the hot pink kitty my mom bought. Let me break off and tell that story.
Like many first time parents, Matt and I went to a lamaze class. Having a birth plan was a necessity, right? I had almost signed up for the super-duper two day class. I was so glad I didn't in the end. Four hours turned out to be more than enough. The most beneficial thing that came out of the class was a clarification of my wants. Beyond the counting and breathing, the instructor kept adamantly insisting we decide on a 'focus point' before labor. Something that calms you, she said, like a photograph of your favorite place or person.
She went around the room surveying all the big bellied people as to what their focus point will be. It was all answers like ‘ my husbands face’ ‘a picture of the beach’ ‘a picture of a flower’. When my turn came around I said – ‘nothing’. That didn’t go over very well. The instructor demanded an explanation. I just want to keep my eyes closed and focus. I don’t want to look around. I don’t want to use a mirror to see the birth process. I just want to keep my eyes shut and push until she pops out.
The instructor shook her head and said she didn’t think that sounded like a very good plan. Matt on the other hand, said that sounded good to him and he should have known that would be my answer. That is how it happened too. I’m sure I opened my eyes in the 40 minutes it took during heavy labor, but I don’t recall looking around very much. Eyes shut and focused.
My mother though, wasn’t in on the plan. To cut her some slack you must know the following:
1) Generally speaking, she doesn’t sleep and had been awake for over 48 hours at that point.
2) I was delivered via a heinous, horribly rushed and therefore horribly cut c-section, which meant Jerry was delivered via a scheduled c-section, so she had no idea how to help me through a birth experience that was completely foreign to her. I don't think she ever even experienced labor, just the gush of a hemorrhaged placenta 3 weeks too early.
3) She had no idea of my wants, other than the fact that she was emphatically not invited to stay in the room during delivery, which I knew made her very sad.
So at some point my mom wandered down to buy vending machine cheetos and coffee. The gift shop must have opened and she heard the siren scream of hot pink fur. She emerged with a plush stuffed cat as her gift to me and the grandchild destined to arrive shortly.
In the throws of growingly intense contractions and shortly before she was asked to leave the room, Mom grabbed that hot pink kitty, stood at the end of my bed waving it back and forth like a flag and started exclaiming “Focus on the kitty, Shan! Focus on the kitty! Focus on the kitty, Shan! Focus on the kitty!”
Matt quickly squashed the enthusiasm, which is one of the million reasons why I love him and ‘focus on the kitty’ is now a frequent call in our house.
So now Gracie has discovered the little hamper filled with random bears and the hot pink kitty. And she is IN LOVE with it. Last night she didn’t want to go to sleep because she wanted to play with the cat. This morning she refused to put it back in her crib, so it wound up in the car with us.
Every time I look that the cat I will be reminded of that story. At least it’s funny. Now. And at least Gracie is taking the same amount of joy in the toy that I’m sure my mom intended for it to bring.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Only in New York
It always amazes me how two days can feel like a lifetime and an instant all at once, but I guess that sums up New York. A lifetime and an instant all at once.
We walked neighborhoods, peered into the zoo, shopped and ate. Oh, the eating!
The Fig & Olive is our new 'must go back' obsession. Everything we ordered melted in our mouths and was perfectly finished with a blissful chocolate pot. We followed dinner with music in Bemelman's Bar. It is a beautiful, dark, moody gem that made a killer martini.
The night was cut short though by the fact that Gracie wakes us early (can you say 5am?), we'd walked miles, with Matt adding even more with his trip to the Met during nap time and Sunday was to be filled with brunch at Tavern on the Green traffic filled trip back home.
In Central Park, we took a carriage around the park which made both my mom and Grace insanely happy. Both spent the entire ridge exclaiming, "Look! Horsie!"
Things faded into tears when the ride was over and it was time for brunch. The majesty that is the Tavern on the Green, dripping with crystal, flowers and little girls dreams, was not enough to persuade Grace into behaving though.
We walked neighborhoods, peered into the zoo, shopped and ate. Oh, the eating!
The Fig & Olive is our new 'must go back' obsession. Everything we ordered melted in our mouths and was perfectly finished with a blissful chocolate pot. We followed dinner with music in Bemelman's Bar. It is a beautiful, dark, moody gem that made a killer martini.
The night was cut short though by the fact that Gracie wakes us early (can you say 5am?), we'd walked miles, with Matt adding even more with his trip to the Met during nap time and Sunday was to be filled with brunch at Tavern on the Green traffic filled trip back home.
In Central Park, we took a carriage around the park which made both my mom and Grace insanely happy. Both spent the entire ridge exclaiming, "Look! Horsie!"
Things faded into tears when the ride was over and it was time for brunch. The majesty that is the Tavern on the Green, dripping with crystal, flowers and little girls dreams, was not enough to persuade Grace into behaving though.
Before entering the gates to the wonderland, she began demonstrating her displeasure to the flower pots lining the entry. In her wake she left a trail of petals. Not even the bride and groom waiting to make their entrance for an early morning courtyard wedding would hold her attention. Although I guess the wedding does make the Flower Girl-esque trail slightly more appropriate. Once we were seated in the Terrace Room, the screaming was tempered by a balloon graciously gifted to us by the staff.
We had a few great, crazy Only in New York moments too...
- We got a ticket in a manufactured police sting for 'blocking the box' literally 30 seconds out of the Lincoln Tunnel. $115.00 before we could even get out of the car.
- Due to the wonder that is Travelzoo Top 20 Deals and overbooking we were upgraded to a 2 bedroom 1200+ square foot apartment instead of the two rooms we had booked.
- At Ground Zero I was blown on by a crazy. Picture Vincent Schiavelli a la Ghost zig zagging down a corridor blowing on tourists shoulders like he was trying to put out a fire. I at least saw him coming and veered away as much as possible. Others before me were not so lucky.
- On a very crowded subway car, an above the knee double amputee was dragging himself up and down the car panhandling and looking up dresses. I gathered my hem as he scooted by.
- We all took turns dancing with Gracie on the Big Piano in FAO Schwatz.
When you add in all these highlights and lowlights, I guess we were able to give my mom and Gracie the New York experience we'd hope for.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Baited Breath
We've been holding our breath the last few days.
Waiting.
Waiting for answers. Waiting for good news. Waiting for something.
Leading up to this week, we have been planning a trip to Manhattan. My mom is coming out on Friday and the four of us are supposed to sight see for a few days. This would me my mom's first trip to NYC, something I know she's been looking forward to for ages. Details and reservations are something I've been obsessing over for weeks.
One of the little details was getting the oil changed on my car. It was overdue and starting to run a little funny. The car has been chugging, getting stuck in gears and loosing power. The mechanic couldn't check the transmission fluid in his shop so we took it to the dealership. The dealership said 'their computer couldn't find anything wrong.' We immediately got the car back and took it to the transmission shop 5 minutes from out house.
My car almost didn't make it there. My baby is failing me. Sure, she had over 100,000 miles, but I assumed the car would run forever. FOREVER. This really was my plan. The mechanic said it doesn't look good.
So now how can we justify our weekend of gluttony and expense (because what is the point of NYC if it isn't filled with gluttony?) when we have an impending, absolutely unplanned, expense that will have more zeros attached to it than I care to think about?
So we are holding our breath and waiting. Waiting for things to fall in place. It may take hours, days, weeks, but the answers are there. I just hope they are the ones we want to hear.
Waiting.
Waiting for answers. Waiting for good news. Waiting for something.
Leading up to this week, we have been planning a trip to Manhattan. My mom is coming out on Friday and the four of us are supposed to sight see for a few days. This would me my mom's first trip to NYC, something I know she's been looking forward to for ages. Details and reservations are something I've been obsessing over for weeks.
One of the little details was getting the oil changed on my car. It was overdue and starting to run a little funny. The car has been chugging, getting stuck in gears and loosing power. The mechanic couldn't check the transmission fluid in his shop so we took it to the dealership. The dealership said 'their computer couldn't find anything wrong.' We immediately got the car back and took it to the transmission shop 5 minutes from out house.
My car almost didn't make it there. My baby is failing me. Sure, she had over 100,000 miles, but I assumed the car would run forever. FOREVER. This really was my plan. The mechanic said it doesn't look good.
So now how can we justify our weekend of gluttony and expense (because what is the point of NYC if it isn't filled with gluttony?) when we have an impending, absolutely unplanned, expense that will have more zeros attached to it than I care to think about?
So we are holding our breath and waiting. Waiting for things to fall in place. It may take hours, days, weeks, but the answers are there. I just hope they are the ones we want to hear.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Freedom
My mom called with fabulous news yesterday.
She wants to come out here. (Nice news, but not fabulous.)
To watch Gracie. (Good news, but not fabulous.)
So Matt and I can escape for a weekend without her! (Yes, that is the fabulous part.)
Ahh. Vacation....
But then we started to flip through calender. The soonest this can happen, between her weekends off and Matt's triathlons is the end of June. The weekend after we were already had already made tentative plans to take a quick weekend trip as a family.
Now the conundrum - and what a wonderful one it is to have-
Do we still go on the family trip? (If so, it greatly reduces our ability to spend money the week after.)
Do Matt and I just go on a trip by ourselves? (And will we feel guilty?)
Do we say screw it all and just spend money we don't have like wildfire?? (Tempting, but not practical.)
Hmm. Like I said - what a wonderful problem to have.
She wants to come out here. (Nice news, but not fabulous.)
To watch Gracie. (Good news, but not fabulous.)
So Matt and I can escape for a weekend without her! (Yes, that is the fabulous part.)
Ahh. Vacation....
But then we started to flip through calender. The soonest this can happen, between her weekends off and Matt's triathlons is the end of June. The weekend after we were already had already made tentative plans to take a quick weekend trip as a family.
Now the conundrum - and what a wonderful one it is to have-
Do we still go on the family trip? (If so, it greatly reduces our ability to spend money the week after.)
Do Matt and I just go on a trip by ourselves? (And will we feel guilty?)
Do we say screw it all and just spend money we don't have like wildfire?? (Tempting, but not practical.)
Hmm. Like I said - what a wonderful problem to have.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
We're Wii-ing
So, the story behind the Wii. There is always a story with us, huh? Nothing can ever be simple.
True to form, once we decided we wanted one of the pretties, Matt became obsessed. OBSESSED.
We waited out the delayed holiday season in the hopes that one might be gifted. Nope. We were on our own. Matt pounced. He spent hours stalking retailers for Wii's. Giving how this story ends, I’m not quite sure why we didn’t just buy one off E-Bay, but I guess he wanted the instant gratification of the purchase. I get that.
So Matt called every Target, Walmart, Toys R Us, Game Stop and Best Buy within a 20 mile radius of his work daily for deliveries. After almost a week of this, he found one and sweet talked the electronics lady into holding it for him.
He ran and claimed it. It was his. It is ours. We were now the proud owners of a Wii with the coordinating Fit. I spent almost an hour setting up my character, which he found infuriating. He wanted to play. I wanted to try out hairstyles.
Anywho-
Exactly two weeks later we get an automated phone call from UPS. A package is to be delivered to your home sometime between 9am and 5pm. Someone will need to be home to sign for the package. It cannot be left at the door. A signature is required. Thank you.
Hmmm …. Odd.
Of course we didn’t stay home. Miss a day of work for something that we didn’t order? I don’t think so.
The next night, my mom calls.
Did you guys get a package?
Huh? No. Oh, wait, UPS did try to deliver something today, but it is signature required. What is it?
I can’t tell you. Then it won’t be a surprise.
After about 15 minutes of this she finally spilled. You know what she bought us?
Yep. A Wii with the coordinating Fit.
From a website that overcharged her and had a non-refundable clause in their fine print. Actually, the print wasn’t that fine. It was in bold red letters in their return policy.
After going back and forth for awhile, with mom’s encouragement, we decided to E-Bay it. The night that the package came we pilfered the accessories that came with it that we wanted and put the Wii up. Quick run 24 hour sale. It sold for about what we paid for ours at Walmart, so we are happy. Sucks for my mom, but we are happy.
Now to play. Wii you later alligator.
True to form, once we decided we wanted one of the pretties, Matt became obsessed. OBSESSED.
We waited out the delayed holiday season in the hopes that one might be gifted. Nope. We were on our own. Matt pounced. He spent hours stalking retailers for Wii's. Giving how this story ends, I’m not quite sure why we didn’t just buy one off E-Bay, but I guess he wanted the instant gratification of the purchase. I get that.
So Matt called every Target, Walmart, Toys R Us, Game Stop and Best Buy within a 20 mile radius of his work daily for deliveries. After almost a week of this, he found one and sweet talked the electronics lady into holding it for him.
He ran and claimed it. It was his. It is ours. We were now the proud owners of a Wii with the coordinating Fit. I spent almost an hour setting up my character, which he found infuriating. He wanted to play. I wanted to try out hairstyles.
Anywho-
Exactly two weeks later we get an automated phone call from UPS. A package is to be delivered to your home sometime between 9am and 5pm. Someone will need to be home to sign for the package. It cannot be left at the door. A signature is required. Thank you.
Hmmm …. Odd.
Of course we didn’t stay home. Miss a day of work for something that we didn’t order? I don’t think so.
The next night, my mom calls.
Did you guys get a package?
Huh? No. Oh, wait, UPS did try to deliver something today, but it is signature required. What is it?
I can’t tell you. Then it won’t be a surprise.
After about 15 minutes of this she finally spilled. You know what she bought us?
Yep. A Wii with the coordinating Fit.
From a website that overcharged her and had a non-refundable clause in their fine print. Actually, the print wasn’t that fine. It was in bold red letters in their return policy.
After going back and forth for awhile, with mom’s encouragement, we decided to E-Bay it. The night that the package came we pilfered the accessories that came with it that we wanted and put the Wii up. Quick run 24 hour sale. It sold for about what we paid for ours at Walmart, so we are happy. Sucks for my mom, but we are happy.
Now to play. Wii you later alligator.
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