Yesterday I ended the day covered in spit up with cheese in my bra. But let me start at the beginning.
Our day began like any other day, full of morning smiles and coos. Actually, it was kind of a big morning for Camden-- he slept in his crib for 5 hours the night before (instead of his bassinet by our bed or actually in our bed). Granted, I slept on his floor on a mattress, but still-- it was progress.
Then came morning nap time. It lasted for 30 minutes. No big deal, I thought. He'll just take a longer nap later. Wrong! Every single nap Camden took yesterday lasted no more than 30 minutes. He was exhausted. His eyes were red-rimmed and he kept rubbing them. He was fussy and frustrated. I was frustrated. And still, he fought sleep all day long.
Around dinner time, I decided to give him a bath. He enjoys baths and I thought it might temporarily stop the fussing. I watched in relief as he started kicking his legs in the water and grinning at me. Then suddenly, he froze.
"What's wrong, budd---" Before I could complete my thought, he spit-up. Not the little, dribble out of the side of the mouth spit-up that I've grown so accustomed to. This was almost projectile and looked like the entire contents of his last meal. I looked down at the bath water and it was almost completely white. My son was bathing in his own vomit.
I really, really wanted to cry. For both of us. Thankfully, the logical side of myself knew that crying would only make me more tired and give me a headache and so I resisted. Instead, I plastered on a smile, filled the tub with new water, and gave Camden a second bath.
When Matt came home, he made tacos for dinner and brought me a plate while I nursed Camden. I felt the sprinkles of cheese falling into my bra while I ate one-handed but I didn't have the energy to care. I also didn't have the energy to care that my hair was pulled sloppily into a bun. Or that I wasn't wearing even a touch of makeup. Or that I was wearing black leggings covered in spit-up and a maternity shirt that's now about 8 sizes too big for me. I was the definition of frumpy.
On a brigher note, I think I may have discovered the reason for Camden's 30 minute naps and subsequent fussiness. Maybe. I don't want to jinx myself by posting about that just yet (what? you didn't know jinxing was real?). And I have to close anyway because Camden is (you guessed it!) fussing right now.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Thursday, January 21, 2010
My heart broke a little bit today
Oh, the dreaded 2 month pediatrician appointment. Camden received his first round of vaccinations today. I started apologizing to him in advance a few days ago, telling him it was for his own good but that I was sorry for the pain he was going to feel. Every time we had one of our little "chats", he looked up at me with those big blue eyes and grinned. Talk about increasing my already present guilt ten-fold with that innocent, trusting smile!
As much as I hated the thought of my son being stuck with a bunch of needles, I hated the thought of him getting diphtheria or pertussis even more. And so off we went to his appointment.
Camden kicked things off by peeing all over the scale as soon as the nurse removed his diaper to check his weight. Just a little payback for what was to come, he probably figured.
And then it was time.
"Just expose his right thigh for me," the nurse requested.
Oh no, I thought. Not his cute little dimpled thigh!
"Okay, Mom, you come and stand over by his head," she instructed me. She probably saw the crazy in my eyes and was worried about me ripping those shots right out of her hand. (And if I'm being honest, the thought did cross my mind a time or two.)
The next thing I knew, Camden was SCREAMING.BLOODY.MURDER. His face was bright red. Real, grown up tears poured from his eyes. He couldn't catch his breath. And then the tears started pouring from my eyes too. Real, grown up ones.
It was all over in less than thirty seconds. I took Camden into an emtpy room to nurse him while Matt gathered our things and checked out at the front desk. We're home now, and I think he has forgiven me. He's even smiled at me a time or two.
But still, when I went to change his diaper a few minutes ago and saw those little Tasmanian Devil band-aids checkering his chubby thighs, I couldn't help but feel my heart break all over again.
As much as I hated the thought of my son being stuck with a bunch of needles, I hated the thought of him getting diphtheria or pertussis even more. And so off we went to his appointment.
Camden kicked things off by peeing all over the scale as soon as the nurse removed his diaper to check his weight. Just a little payback for what was to come, he probably figured.
And then it was time.
"Just expose his right thigh for me," the nurse requested.
Oh no, I thought. Not his cute little dimpled thigh!
"Okay, Mom, you come and stand over by his head," she instructed me. She probably saw the crazy in my eyes and was worried about me ripping those shots right out of her hand. (And if I'm being honest, the thought did cross my mind a time or two.)
The next thing I knew, Camden was SCREAMING.BLOODY.MURDER. His face was bright red. Real, grown up tears poured from his eyes. He couldn't catch his breath. And then the tears started pouring from my eyes too. Real, grown up ones.
It was all over in less than thirty seconds. I took Camden into an emtpy room to nurse him while Matt gathered our things and checked out at the front desk. We're home now, and I think he has forgiven me. He's even smiled at me a time or two.
But still, when I went to change his diaper a few minutes ago and saw those little Tasmanian Devil band-aids checkering his chubby thighs, I couldn't help but feel my heart break all over again.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Without Fail
Camden always starts the night with his head at the top of the bassinet, laying completely straight on his back. And without fail, he always ends up like this. Diagonally across the bassinet, as far down as he can go. I'm convinced that if he wasn't in his straight jacket (otherwise known as his swaddling blanket), he'd be curled in a tiny ball at the end of the bassinet.
And that small stuffed animal you see? Why, that's his Sleep Sheep (AKA my Best Friend). The rain setting ensures that Camden stays asleep during those precarious few moments when his eyelids start fluttering when I first put him down at night. You know those moments when your heart starts racing because you're THIS CLOSE to getting to go to sleep yourself if only your child can survive the transition from Warm Mommy to Cold Bassinet without waking up?? Sleep Sheep helps me make it to my bed (most nights; see post below). I heart you, Sleep Sheep.
And that small stuffed animal you see? Why, that's his Sleep Sheep (AKA my Best Friend). The rain setting ensures that Camden stays asleep during those precarious few moments when his eyelids start fluttering when I first put him down at night. You know those moments when your heart starts racing because you're THIS CLOSE to getting to go to sleep yourself if only your child can survive the transition from Warm Mommy to Cold Bassinet without waking up?? Sleep Sheep helps me make it to my bed (most nights; see post below). I heart you, Sleep Sheep.
Mr. Social
In one of the parenting books I'm reading, it mentions that around the time your child starts to return your social smiles, they'll also start fighting sleep because they're more socially aware and are more interested in spending time with Mommy and Daddy than sleeping. So sweet in theory, right? Not so sweet at 3am.
Camden started sleeping in 5-6 hour stretches at night a couple of weeks ago. Normally, this is from midnight until 5 or 6am. So, this is what I've come to expect and it's been a welcome change from being up to nurse every 2 hours like we did in the first few weeks of his life.
Then came last night. He woke up at 1:30am. I was neither very surprised or bothered by this; I figured I'd nurse him and he'd go right back to sleep. But he had other plans. The next 2 hours went something like this: I'd nurse him, he'd fall asleep while nursing, I'd lay him down, and his eyes would pop back open immediately. Repeat over and over again. By 3am, I was emotionally exhausted. I buried my face in my pillow and just started crying.
At this point, Matt rolled over to see what all the commotion was about. And we both looked into the wide-eyed smiling face of our son.
"Why aren't you feeding him?" Matt asked me.
"Because he's been eating for the past 2 hours!" I said in frustration.
At the sound of our voices, Camden's smile got bigger and he started kicking his little legs.
"Then what's he doing?" Matt wanted to know.
Suddenly, I recalled the chapter in my book about social awareness and it all started to click.
"He wants to hang out with us. That's what he's doing."
Hey, Matt and I can't help it if we're just that cool.
Camden started sleeping in 5-6 hour stretches at night a couple of weeks ago. Normally, this is from midnight until 5 or 6am. So, this is what I've come to expect and it's been a welcome change from being up to nurse every 2 hours like we did in the first few weeks of his life.
Then came last night. He woke up at 1:30am. I was neither very surprised or bothered by this; I figured I'd nurse him and he'd go right back to sleep. But he had other plans. The next 2 hours went something like this: I'd nurse him, he'd fall asleep while nursing, I'd lay him down, and his eyes would pop back open immediately. Repeat over and over again. By 3am, I was emotionally exhausted. I buried my face in my pillow and just started crying.
At this point, Matt rolled over to see what all the commotion was about. And we both looked into the wide-eyed smiling face of our son.
"Why aren't you feeding him?" Matt asked me.
"Because he's been eating for the past 2 hours!" I said in frustration.
At the sound of our voices, Camden's smile got bigger and he started kicking his little legs.
"Then what's he doing?" Matt wanted to know.
Suddenly, I recalled the chapter in my book about social awareness and it all started to click.
"He wants to hang out with us. That's what he's doing."
Hey, Matt and I can't help it if we're just that cool.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Dear Camden
Camden,
Time is flying by. With each passing day, you're becoming more alert and aware. You're growing up! And while I'm ridiculously thrilled and proud every time you reach a new milestone, I'm also acutely aware that each new milestone is one step further away from the newborn phase. And I want to make sure I'm remembering everything-- really soaking it all in-- before I turn around one day and you're heading out the door on your way to kindergarten.
My favorite things about you during these first 7 weeks:
-Your SMILE. I adore it. It doesn't matter what time of day (or night) it is, or what kind of mood I'm in-- just flash me that gummy smile and all is right with the world again.
-Your sounds. You have started to coo, and scream, and make all kinds of other unidentifiable noises just because you like to hear yourself.
-The way you look when you're sleeping. Sometimes your lips are puckered as if you're about to receive a kiss. Sometimes you smile. Sometimes your bottom lip sticks out and you wimper (during those times, I assume you're dreaming about being denied booby). All of the time, you look precious.
-The way your body curls up against mine when you're asleep on my chest.
-Your gas! Not the uncomfortable gas that makes you squirmy and red-faced and grunty. I don't like that much at all. But it's hilarious that when you do pass gas, it sounds like it came out of the body of a 300 pound man instead of a tiny, perfect baby. And you always look so innocent afterwards, like you're thinking that maybe if you just play it cool, your Daddy and I won't know where that explosion came from.
-The way that, when we're napping together and you start to stir, all I have to do is press my lips against your forehead so you can feel my breathing and you immediately relax.
-The way you study my face. Your focus is so intense sometimes that you go cross-eyed.
-Your chubby belly. Your tiny feet with the middle toes that are longer than the rest. The birthmark on your wrist. Your beautiful blue eyes. Your patchy blonde hair. The way your ear folds over just like your Mommy's.
I know eventually 7 weeks will turn into 7 months and then 7 years. And there's so much I'm excited to see you learn and experience as you grow. But for now:
"The cleaning and scrubbing
will wait till tomorrow,
for children grow up,
as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs.
Dust go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep."
I love you,
Mommy
Time is flying by. With each passing day, you're becoming more alert and aware. You're growing up! And while I'm ridiculously thrilled and proud every time you reach a new milestone, I'm also acutely aware that each new milestone is one step further away from the newborn phase. And I want to make sure I'm remembering everything-- really soaking it all in-- before I turn around one day and you're heading out the door on your way to kindergarten.
My favorite things about you during these first 7 weeks:
-Your SMILE. I adore it. It doesn't matter what time of day (or night) it is, or what kind of mood I'm in-- just flash me that gummy smile and all is right with the world again.
-Your sounds. You have started to coo, and scream, and make all kinds of other unidentifiable noises just because you like to hear yourself.
-The way you look when you're sleeping. Sometimes your lips are puckered as if you're about to receive a kiss. Sometimes you smile. Sometimes your bottom lip sticks out and you wimper (during those times, I assume you're dreaming about being denied booby). All of the time, you look precious.
-The way your body curls up against mine when you're asleep on my chest.
-Your gas! Not the uncomfortable gas that makes you squirmy and red-faced and grunty. I don't like that much at all. But it's hilarious that when you do pass gas, it sounds like it came out of the body of a 300 pound man instead of a tiny, perfect baby. And you always look so innocent afterwards, like you're thinking that maybe if you just play it cool, your Daddy and I won't know where that explosion came from.
-The way that, when we're napping together and you start to stir, all I have to do is press my lips against your forehead so you can feel my breathing and you immediately relax.
-The way you study my face. Your focus is so intense sometimes that you go cross-eyed.
-Your chubby belly. Your tiny feet with the middle toes that are longer than the rest. The birthmark on your wrist. Your beautiful blue eyes. Your patchy blonde hair. The way your ear folds over just like your Mommy's.
I know eventually 7 weeks will turn into 7 months and then 7 years. And there's so much I'm excited to see you learn and experience as you grow. But for now:
"The cleaning and scrubbing
will wait till tomorrow,
for children grow up,
as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs.
Dust go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep."
I love you,
Mommy
Friday, January 8, 2010
Nobody said it was glamorous
Most days, I make an effort to shower, get out of my sweats, and put on at least a little bit of make-up. Even if I'm not going to leave the house, I like to avoid feeling totally frumpy.
And then there are days like today, when I wonder why I even bother. I've been spit-up on. Drooled on. I've had a nose wiped on my shirt. And then there was the poop blowout to end all blowouts.
Having heard the sounds that came out of his tiny body, I was anticipating a nasty little surprise when I went to change him, but I wasn't prepared for this. There was poop on his foot. On his thighs. On his arm. Even in his armpit!
And still, I don't miss the high heels and business suits.
And then there are days like today, when I wonder why I even bother. I've been spit-up on. Drooled on. I've had a nose wiped on my shirt. And then there was the poop blowout to end all blowouts.
Having heard the sounds that came out of his tiny body, I was anticipating a nasty little surprise when I went to change him, but I wasn't prepared for this. There was poop on his foot. On his thighs. On his arm. Even in his armpit!
And still, I don't miss the high heels and business suits.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Thankful
Yesterday my mom babysat Camden while I went to the dentist (not exactly my idea of a fun outing, but still, I figured it would be nice to get out of the house for a little while). It was completely ridiculous how much I missed that little boy for the 2 hours I was gone. I wasn't worried about him; my mom is a fantastic mother & I knew she would do just fine with him. I just missed him.
And that got me thinking: had I not quit my job, I would be returning to work very soon. I would spend the entire day away from him, not just a couple of hours at the dentist. I am so thankful that I get to stay home with my little guy (thank you, Matt).
I love our days together. I love that he wakes up sucking his fingers because he has realized he's hungry before he even opens his eyes. I love that he's in his best mood after he's eaten breakfast; this is when we sit and "talk" every morning. He smiles, and studies my face, and kicks his legs, and tries his best to talk back to me. I love that he likes the sound of the shower and (usually) will sit contently in his bouncy seat cooing at the animals that hang overhead while Mommy gets clean. I love that I (usually) know what it means when he gets fussy; sometimes that means it's nap time, sometimes it means he needs a change of scenery, and sometimes it means that he just wants to be held.
I love that I know all of these things because I spend every minute of every day with him. I know that being a stay-at-home mom isn't for everyone. To be honest, when I was pregnant, I often wondered how I was going to handle it. Would I be bored? Feel unchallenged? Miss adult interaction? And you know what? There are some days that I feel like I'm going to go stir-crazy if I don't get out of the house, and there are some days that I miss turning to a co-worker to tell them a quick story I just read. But mostly, I just feel lucky.
And thankful.
And that got me thinking: had I not quit my job, I would be returning to work very soon. I would spend the entire day away from him, not just a couple of hours at the dentist. I am so thankful that I get to stay home with my little guy (thank you, Matt).
I love our days together. I love that he wakes up sucking his fingers because he has realized he's hungry before he even opens his eyes. I love that he's in his best mood after he's eaten breakfast; this is when we sit and "talk" every morning. He smiles, and studies my face, and kicks his legs, and tries his best to talk back to me. I love that he likes the sound of the shower and (usually) will sit contently in his bouncy seat cooing at the animals that hang overhead while Mommy gets clean. I love that I (usually) know what it means when he gets fussy; sometimes that means it's nap time, sometimes it means he needs a change of scenery, and sometimes it means that he just wants to be held.
I love that I know all of these things because I spend every minute of every day with him. I know that being a stay-at-home mom isn't for everyone. To be honest, when I was pregnant, I often wondered how I was going to handle it. Would I be bored? Feel unchallenged? Miss adult interaction? And you know what? There are some days that I feel like I'm going to go stir-crazy if I don't get out of the house, and there are some days that I miss turning to a co-worker to tell them a quick story I just read. But mostly, I just feel lucky.
And thankful.
Monday, January 4, 2010
I hate to say I told you so...
...but I kind of did.
The following conversation took place between Matt and me yesterday evening:
(Side note: We have an entire jumbo sized box of size 1-2 diapers from my mom. As of a week ago, Camden was still wearing newborn diapers so I had to ask Matt to go out and buy some more of those; the size 1-2 were still too big. And then what happened? You guessed it. He outgrew the newborn size within a couple of days.)
(Another side note: My husband is...frugal. He's a planner and a saver. I am not. Balance is good, though, right?)
Okay, back to our convo:
Me: Camden, do you need your diaper changed?
Matt: I'll help! Tag team effort!
Me: Okay, grab me a diaper.
Matt: Here you go. (Hands me a newborn sized diaper)
Me: No, he has outgrown these. He leaks whenever he wears them now. Poop goes all up his back. Grab the bigger size.
Matt: (Takes over and puts the much-too-small diaper on anyway)
Me: Matt, it's too small! He will get poop everywhere.
Matt: I'll change him next time then.
Me: Well...okay.
Alright...I get it. Diapers are expensive. We pretty much wasted an entire box. But such is life with a newborn. They grow and change quickly. It's hard to predict when they'll need to move up a size. But if Matt couldn't stand the idea of not using the newborn sized diapers anymore, I figured a good old fashioned poop blowout might change his mind.
Fast forward a couple of hours and many loud squirts from Camden later...
Me: Okay, you've got this diaper change.
Matt: (Silence from the diaper change table then...) Oh wow. This is a messy one.
Me: And is it all up his back?
Matt: Yeah. And all over his clothes.
Sometimes "I told you so" just isn't necessary, you know? The newborn diapers are now packed away.
The following conversation took place between Matt and me yesterday evening:
(Side note: We have an entire jumbo sized box of size 1-2 diapers from my mom. As of a week ago, Camden was still wearing newborn diapers so I had to ask Matt to go out and buy some more of those; the size 1-2 were still too big. And then what happened? You guessed it. He outgrew the newborn size within a couple of days.)
(Another side note: My husband is...frugal. He's a planner and a saver. I am not. Balance is good, though, right?)
Okay, back to our convo:
Me: Camden, do you need your diaper changed?
Matt: I'll help! Tag team effort!
Me: Okay, grab me a diaper.
Matt: Here you go. (Hands me a newborn sized diaper)
Me: No, he has outgrown these. He leaks whenever he wears them now. Poop goes all up his back. Grab the bigger size.
Matt: (Takes over and puts the much-too-small diaper on anyway)
Me: Matt, it's too small! He will get poop everywhere.
Matt: I'll change him next time then.
Me: Well...okay.
Alright...I get it. Diapers are expensive. We pretty much wasted an entire box. But such is life with a newborn. They grow and change quickly. It's hard to predict when they'll need to move up a size. But if Matt couldn't stand the idea of not using the newborn sized diapers anymore, I figured a good old fashioned poop blowout might change his mind.
Fast forward a couple of hours and many loud squirts from Camden later...
Me: Okay, you've got this diaper change.
Matt: (Silence from the diaper change table then...) Oh wow. This is a messy one.
Me: And is it all up his back?
Matt: Yeah. And all over his clothes.
Sometimes "I told you so" just isn't necessary, you know? The newborn diapers are now packed away.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
6 week growth spurt
As we were leaving the pediatrician a few weeks ago, the nurse was filling me in on a few things I could expect over the coming weeks. One of the things she mentioned was a 6 week growth spurt. "He'll probably be extra fussy that week. And he'll act like he's ravenous and want to nurse constantly."
Today Camden is 6 weeks old. And today I have nursed him approximately 765 times. The only time he has been sans boob was when he was asleep (well, and when I snuck out to Starbucks for a decaf Gingerbread Latte because I'm pretty much addicted to them). Other than that? The child has been attached to my boob. He has even gone as far as to try to nurse through my shirt when I was holding him. Apparently he is convinced that the following things are also milk-producing: my neck, Matt's cheek, my nose, the side of his swing, his own fingers, etc. He has tried to nurse from all of them today.
And if today is any indication, I expect that he'll have packed on some serious pounds once this growth spurt is over.
Today Camden is 6 weeks old. And today I have nursed him approximately 765 times. The only time he has been sans boob was when he was asleep (well, and when I snuck out to Starbucks for a decaf Gingerbread Latte because I'm pretty much addicted to them). Other than that? The child has been attached to my boob. He has even gone as far as to try to nurse through my shirt when I was holding him. Apparently he is convinced that the following things are also milk-producing: my neck, Matt's cheek, my nose, the side of his swing, his own fingers, etc. He has tried to nurse from all of them today.
And if today is any indication, I expect that he'll have packed on some serious pounds once this growth spurt is over.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Goodbye, '09
Oh 2009, how do I describe thee? You were, after all, the most important year of my life so far. Let me try:
Surgery. IUI. Positive pregnancy test. Bleeding. Strange beta numbers. Tears. Ultrasound. Heartbeat. Morning sickness. Disbelief. Amazement. Gratitude. Loss of my grandfather. More tears, of a different kind. It's a boy! Choosing a name. Shopping. Nursery painting. Parenting books. Quitting work. Beach trip. Cervical checks. Labor. Delivery. And then this, the most incredible gift of all:
Parenthood.
Surgery. IUI. Positive pregnancy test. Bleeding. Strange beta numbers. Tears. Ultrasound. Heartbeat. Morning sickness. Disbelief. Amazement. Gratitude. Loss of my grandfather. More tears, of a different kind. It's a boy! Choosing a name. Shopping. Nursery painting. Parenting books. Quitting work. Beach trip. Cervical checks. Labor. Delivery. And then this, the most incredible gift of all:
Parenthood.
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