Friday, January 29, 2010

Gramma's gonna getcha...

for stealin' them baby toes.....



 


 


 

Sunday, January 24, 2010

Skater Chick



In her daddy's old crocheted baby skates.....





It's so frikken precious.

I know.

It almost broke my camera.

<3

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Tip it up...

She's never really taken to the bottle with any consistency.




Two weeks ago, she didn't even have the ability to keep things clenched in her paw.





Every time I take a sip from my drink, she lunges forward to take one too.





Can you skip the bottle and go directly from boobie to sippy?





After drawing the short straw on sleeping and binkies and STUBBORN PERSONALITIES...





Could it really be this easy?




 I think we're on to something here....


Friday, January 22, 2010

Gone, but not missed....

After two longs weeks of waiting and holding our breathe with anticipation, we are hereby pleased to announce the following:



WE ARE BINKY AND SWADDLER FREE!!!

It's a wee bit later than the four months I predicted but at this juncture I think we should just be positive and commence the accolades, k?

How did we do the binky part?  Easy. We (drumroll please....) stopped. giving it. to her. Very simple. I was shaving whole years off my life from all the re-plugging I was doing after these dropped binkies. I finally just gave up and said "it's either me or the binky" and so naturally Stephen chose me because who would match the socks and make his lunch if I weren't around. He's not an idiot...

I stopped giving it to her. I started doing some patting and singing when I laid her down. I also started putting her fist in her mouth when she started squawking. She never really took to the pacifier too well anyway and by this time she was mainly chewing on it during the day (and not sucking on it to comfort to sleep) so I thought if I am working this hard and it's not even helping you fall and/or stay asleep? Pfffft. Kiss that sucker good bye.



The swaddler was also actually pretty easy to break. After a few nights of E wiggling under the velcro tab in the middle (and lifting the whole top up enough to suck her fingers) and then screaming bloody murder to be tucked in again, I said "yeah... no....".

Usually I wait for things to happen in threes before I act. The first could be a fluke and the second is more than likely not a fluke but hey, the third time is for shizzle the real thing. Not this time though. Two strikes and I was convinced.

The first night she got out of the swaddle, I thought maybe we had put it on too loose and she just shimmied out the middle. The second night, at 3 am, when she uttered forth a shriek so blood curdling that I thought for sure there would be blood and/or wild rabid animals in the room, I bolted from my bed, picked up my stomach where it had dropped to the floor, and ran into her room. She looked up at me from the halo glow of her moon and stars lights and gave me this sleepy pleading look: "Oh hai, can you plz tuck meh in again, I wiggled out of mah snugglies :)"




Oh... my... God... Are you shitting me?!? I thought you were dying!

No more Kiddapotumus. No more swaddling. Done. Gone. Finito...

It's been surprisingly smooth. There was some confusion in the beginning, which was to be expected. The first few times I put her down and she blinked open her eyes at the last possible cognizant moment, she realized some shit is not right here. Her eyes went full open and she started flapping her hands all around. "My arms! My arms! I can feel my arms!!!" To which I had to remind her that it was both ok and in some respects, lucky to have arms she could feel and move around. Like, hello, YOUR WELCOME for not tying you up straight-jacket style and leaving you immobile!

E also truly hates tummy time. Not like you or I hate liver and onions or waiting in line at the DMV. She hates it like we hate growing old or social injustice. She must be bribed with constant attention and vicious arm gestures so as not to scream. One might think that being put in this position at night with a full milk belly and two or three pictures books behind her might make for a chaotic night but amazingly, it does not. She sleeps rather well and can suck her hands at will (which is also somewhat of a negative since she gums on them all night and they get all gooey and freezing cold by morning). But hey, everyone wins.




Except for a  few nights (four to be exact) where she rolled over onto her back and assumed the stranded screaming cockroach position. Rolling over onto her back is apparently equivalent to squirming out of the Kiddopotumus because they both elicit the same mind melting screams and cause me to age at an unholy rate. I almost went back to the swaddler because I wasn't discontinuing it for being a detrimental thing or even past it's season. I just want more sleep. There is nothing inherently wrong with keeping a kid bound for as long as they feel comforted by it (some cultures do it for upwards of a year and those babies develop just as others do) but the screaming will kill us all.

I'm willing to do what it takes to keep the memory-erasing, sanity-sucking noises to a minimum. For those four days, I thought I would go insane. But I stuck with it and got up the 19837548 times a night she would flip over, until she (a) stopped doing it or (b) stopped caring. She's doing a little of both right now.


The first time I caught her rolling over from back to belly. If only I could get her to do this at night.

Except this one time, she had fallen asleep upstairs after rolling over for the dozenth time (and it wasn't even 10pm yet!) and the baby monitor started vibrating under the harmonics of her belting one out. I was trekking up the stairs to her room and I was. soooo. angry. I could have chewed glass and I was almost in tears because I'm only human. Have mercy on my soul. I had to wipe my eyes before I opened her door and gather my composure so I could make sure my mommy whispers were lovely and not full of displeasure. When I peeked in, of course, she had rolled over onto her back and she was REALLY pissed off. When I got to her crib, I noticed her arm was stuck THROUGH THE SLATS and out past her elbow.

People.... my heart..... it imploded under the weight of my guilt and all the cracked little pieces were chanting "I told you so" from the hardwood floor. It was horrific. I scooped her up and told her I was sorry and promised her I would buy her a car for her 16th birthday. Not a new Civic or a pimped out SUV but maybe a really really really good used Sunfire or something. And here's another $100 to put into your therapy fund.




The moral of the story, I guess, is that babies haven't read "The Baby that Cried Wolf" or whatever and you have to treat all those screams with the same hop-to and concern every single time because you never know. Maybe they got their appendage stuck out the slats of the baby bed or barfed up snot milk all over themselves or SHIT EVERYWHERE and truly need assistance. 99.99999% of the time, they won't, but that ONE TIME they sincerely need you and you toss their concerns to the side you will regret it. Read my lips: You. Will. Feel. Like. A sack of shit. And you'll never get over the guilt.

And the next thing you know, you're buying them a brand new pimped out Civic because "remember that one time when I almost died and you told me to shut up and deal with it. Yeah, I remember that shit..."




Tuesday, January 19, 2010

These Hands...




At the beginning of the month, E really started mastering this whole hands issue.



She finally figured out that she could hold things.




She could SHAKE them!




And most important of all, she could bang the everlovin' SHIT out of things.

She grabs something, pumps her arms up and down, and works herself up into a frenzy.It is during this frenzy that she also just.... lets go.... of said object. Where ever it lands, so be it. Usually smacked in her face or mine or the dog's. It's dangerous around here. Bring eye protection.

Unless it's out of reach of course, and in that case, you better pick it up and return it to her, like Now.

Can you finish rinsing that dish in your hand?
ummm... No.
Can you eat a few more bites of your breakfast?
Hell No!
Can you finishing typing just ONE whole SENTENCE on the blog?!?
Hold on, be right back
*
*
*
*
GOSHDAMMIT Nooooooo!!!!

Dance Monkey! DANCE!!

For about two days or so, she had me. I was so enthralled that she could grasp things. Which is just a hop and skip away from playing with toys. Perhaps alone even. On the floor, happily rearranging blocks or munching on plastic rings. Without demanding the Mom-Slave entertain her.

It's also refreshing to see her occupied for greater than a nanosecond during her wakeful time. I make sure she always has some colorful doodad or texture-y thingamajig at all times. It is mesmerizing to watch her learn about her ability to interact with the world. You can literally see each individual cog in her smart little baby brain as it turns over, engages, and spins. She is coming to terms with principles and relationships that we take for granted as common sense.

In the past week or so, she has really blossomed though, into a grabbing, tugging, smacking fool.

Before, you had to dangle goodies in front of her face and sorta coax them into her palm. This was entertaining but tiresome. You never knew how long you had before she dropped her shiny and melted down. It was after a few of these meltdowns that I realized I needed to help her help herself. Teach her to fish and all that jazz.

Instead of rescuing her and placing it back in her palm, I would wait and watch her problem solve. Half the time the toy would be somewhere within reach. It would be wedged under her arm or tucked solidly in between her knees. I would nudge it and encourage her to get it herself. I dropped massive hints to her but she just couldn't get it. She gets that from her father. (DIAMOND EARRINGS YOU NUMBNUTZ!)

And oh boy did she get PISSED.
Oh God, so hilariously, ludicrously ticked off.
Screaming and thrashing and putting voodoo hex spells on me.
I laughed so hard.
(((Poor Monkey)))

But it worked. After a few days of making her figure it out, she stopped melting down when she dropped stuff. She would look for it and feel around and be very Sherlock Holmes about it. If she couldn't find it, she'd just stuff her hands in her mouth and look casually over at me, all "I didn't want it anyway"...
(side note: OMG she's going to be just like me. You know, in the bad way...)

I'm so proud of her. She's just growing and discovering things and it's so rewarding to see her learn.



 
 
 

 She's one step closer to world domination...


***************************



I give up Daddy, where's the washrag?




Sunday, January 17, 2010

"Professional" Pics

I've been meaning to put these pics up forever.
Ummmm, since Septemberish?

These are some of the "official" monthly documentation-al pics we are having done "professionally"
Yes, the quotation marks are intentional.
Seriously, Olan Mills, get your shit together. I have been meh-impressed with their level of skill. Half the time I think my photos are better and I just got my first non-point-and-shoot camera a few moths ago. If we didn't have such a killer of a deal with the grow with me plan, I might go elsewhere.

But that's another post another day...

Please ignore the "PRINT ME" crap plastered all over them. It was either that or the gratuitous OLANMILLSOLANMILLSOLANMILLS watermark. I only pick one or two poses to get pics of and the rest they keep online in case you change your mind and want to spend $18374636 on a few more. We get sheets at $4.99 (only the day of the picture snapping so it sux to pick from a tiny screen and all the watchful eyes and the RUSHING!) and also an 8x10 in B&W for her wall.

Enjoy!

***I'm still sick so back to our normal sanity bashing tom foolery soon***

*****************************************


2 MONTHS
Buy Digital Prints


Buy Digital Prints


Buy Digital Prints



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3 MONTHS
Halloween Time

Buy Digital Prints


Buy Digital Prints


Buy Digital Prints


Buy Digital Prints


Buy Digital Prints



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4 MONTHS
Thanksgiving Time

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Buy Digital Prints


Buy Digital Prints


Buy Digital Prints


Buy Digital Prints


Buy Digital Prints


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*******************************************


5 MONTHS
Christmas Time


Buy Digital Prints


Buy Digital Prints


Buy Digital Prints


Buy Digital Prints




Thursday, January 14, 2010

Sick....

I'm sending out this message from the trenches to anyone who may be listening out there. It's real shitty over here. Please send toilet paper, more tissues and hopefully some cough syrup. With codeine.

Monday-ish, E started getting sick. It started with two out-of-the-ordinary two-hour naps. In the same morning. This prompted me to relay this information, for assessment of course, to my generation's version of Dear Abby: Le Fazebook. I updated my status with E's odd napping behavior and remarked: "Ummmm, should I be worried? Or grateful? Cuz I wanna be grateful..." Everyone reassured me to just be grateful for the break, but I wasn't convinced.



Sure enough, my mother's intuition was right. By that afternoon, in the grocery store, she had that "sick" look to her; red swollen eyes, lethargic sleepy disposition, slight whimpering. Less than an hour later, she spiked a temp of 101.6. By bed time she had a half plugged up, half leaking nose and we officially had out first, honest to God, "E is sick" day.


I wasn't too worried. Her temp was less than 102 so I delayed the Motrin until that night. I let the fever do it's job and we did what we could to keep E happy and comfortable. Basically, I let her nurse as often and as long as she wanted. Which, to an addicted comfort-nurser like E, is a huge all-you-can-eat baby crack buffet. She took full advantage of the situation and spent much of the evening latched on.



After her bath, we dosed her little ass up with infant Motrin, and rocked her into a warm, medicated coma. She slept fitfully for a few hours so I brought her into our bed when we went to sleep. It was a rough night. 


When we awoke on Tuesday, I had a sore throat. Stephen tried to say something about it being related to the dry air from the heater but I knew. Mother's intuition again. I told him I was getting sick. By the time he got home from work, it was undeniable. I was officially Sick Mom, caring for Sick Infant. Dun Dun Dun....


Along with a sore throat, I have the itchy, watery eyes. I have the plugged up leaky nose. I have the chiils and the headache and the general uneasy-in-my-own-skin feeling. Last week, Stephen got the H1N1 vaccine from work (required and forced to do, under threat of disciplinary action if refused - go Navy). Maybe we got sick from it?


Which is whack because one of the reasons I breastfeed is to share my antibodies with E if I get sick so she can NOT get sick. Unfortunately, that equation doesn't work in reverse. If she gets sick first, she's just another outbreak monkey, spreading germs and illness with every sneeze and cough. Her infecting power is also greatly increased by the fact that no 5 month old has learned to (a) cover their damn mouth when they cough or sneeze (a fine spray of germ matter all over my face) or (b) wash their hands after touching something everything in sight. 

I'm sure my moment of corruption was either a blast of uninhibited booger spray to the eyes or any one of a countless number of contaminated fingers that she inserted, against my will, into the privacy of my own mouth while nursing. I tell her all the time not to do that shit because I know where her fingers have been.


The past couple of days have been a blur of piled up Klee-nex, impromptu couch naps and generous self-pity. All coated with a proprietary blend of baby-vomitted snot-milk that's sure to invoke the subtle gag reflex of even the most seasoned of crime scene investigators. 

As a side note, it's also EXTREMELY DIFFICULT to get a sick infant lulled to sleep when you can't stop hacking your lungs out. I try to hold it in but the tickle gets unbearable and I have to honk out a few painful, throat clearing coughs. This happens to coincide often with the very last moment before she falls asleep and we have to start the whole calming rocking routine all over again. NOT. FUNNY.


And sometimes there's poop. Poop leaking everywhere and making yellow mustardy looking puddles all over us and the house and the neighborhood. More than once a day, I am running a particular piece of baby clothing to the laundry room to be shot at with spray Shout and tossed into the ever-growing laundry tragedy unfolding on the floor.


Here it is Thursday and even though E looks like she is on the mend, I think I won't feel better until tomorrow. I figure I'm a day behind her, seeing as how she is the host of this illness. Either way, I have to pull it together and shower and dress in appropriate public viewing clothing tomorrow for her doctor's appointment. Hopefully when Stephen gets home I can relax and maybe catch some extra shut eye. 

I should also have some honey and lemon tea and gargle with some hot salt water - which I actually won't really do, even though I know I should, because it's GROSS. I make Stephen gargle with it so I know it works, but I don't make myself do it. He gets upset with me over it. Not because I won't help myself and self-medicate with it but because he's jealous he doesn't get his turn to watch me suffer through it. Haha, it's good to be the wife. 


But all joking aside, seriously... someone send me some damn cough syrup with codeine. I just need to make it through tomorrow and then the weekend is smooth sailing.


*******************************



Slightly annoyed...
She looks like her Daddy here.




Come here and let me breathe on you, Dog.

I must infect you as well....



I have a surprise for you and I'll give you two hints:
1. It's in my diaper and
2. It's not diamond earrings.



I don't know if I forgot to mention this or not, but
I cancelled my nap today.
Is that gonna be a problem?



Nom Nom Nom.
Gotta keep my pandemic paw recharged for the next unsuspecting customer.


  What do you mean, you "think I kicked my socks off again".

I said I didn't....
Is there no TRUST in this house?!