I don't know why the "terrible twos" got such a bad reputation. Allie's second birthday came and went without consequence. We spent the last 11 months, for the most part, doing fun things and enjoying one another's company. Just as I was patting myself on the back for surviving this notorious age something happened that rocked my world - she turned three. Well, not exactly three yet - she'll be 3 in a month, but I started noticing, as we edged further from 2 and closer to 3, that certain undesirable behavioral traits began to surface and I grew troubled. The "I have limited communication skills" tantrums that typify 2 year olds never seemed to bother me - it made perfect sense - they have wants and needs and limited skills to make those needs known. The threes, though....that's a whole different beast. Here's a little example from our morning today:
Allie announces she's hungry for breakfast. I ask her what food she'd like. "I want something REALLY special from the cabinets." she replies. This is a new phrase she's been testing out - she has trouble identifying what exactly she'd like to eat but assumes that our pantry is a magical Narnia of unlimited food options and if she is simply allowed to dig through it she will find the elusive food of her choice. Needless to say, we stopped letting her dig in the cabinets and are asking her to use words to tell us what she needs. "Okay." I say. "Your choices are eggs, strawberries or yogurt." She thinks for a minute. "NO. SOMETHING SPECIAL." she implores. "But I don't know what that is, honey. These are your choices." I state them again. After much whining she decides on eggs "with a side of grapes in a PURPLE bowl with a SPOON." "You know what, I think a fork would work better" I tell her and helpfully offer a fork. She shoves the fork in the bowl of grapes and heartlessly sprays them all over the kitchen as if to demonstrate that a fork is NOT the proper grape-eating instrument.
So now she's eaten her eggs and it's time to clean up. I wash the dishes and start to put them away. Inexplicably, as I'm putting the food and dishes away, Allie starts shoving her fingers dangerously inside the cabinet doors. "No, Allie, that's dangerous. You could hurt your fingers! Please don't do that again." I tell her. She does it again, just to see what will happen and - unsurprisingly - gets her fingers pinched in the door. MUCH crying ensues. "PICK ME UPPPPPP" she screams and I hug her tightly to me. "Your hurt me" she says and hugs my neck tightly. Then leans into my ear and whispers, tearlessly, "I got hurt. Now I need something REALLY special from the cabinets."
So, friends, I propose we do away with the Terrible Twos and introduce a new label for the REAL hell-age. The Therapy Threes...'cause I might need therapy to survive this!
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Friday, February 1, 2013
Sophie Elizabeth
Sophie's birth story actually began on September 11th 2012. I was at work, doing an assessment at the juvenile detention center when I became distracted by black floaty dots in my vision. I pressed on and finished my day at work, the whole time plagued by a nagging fear. I rushed home and dug out the old blood pressure monitor I had used when I was pregnant and preeclamptic with Allie. I sat down, put it on and closed my eyes as it ran. Please no please please please not again.....
My blood pressure was sky high. 140/90. Shaking I called Matt. "I think I have preeclampsia. Again." After my first pregnancy ended with a premature emergency delivery due to preeclamspia we had been told that subsequent pregnancies ran a 20% risk of reoccurrence What luck. The next few hours were a blur of tears and panic. I called my OB who told me she wanted to meet me at labor and delivery. "So, should I...pack a bag?" I asked, fearing the answer. I was 30 weeks pregnant. "I can't say for sure whether you'll be admitted. You might want to, just in case. Right now it's probably 50/50."
I was wheeled into the OR where I was greeted by an anesthesiologist who looked suspiciously like Leslie Neelson who then attempted to place my epidural for about half an hour. The procedure, which had taken mere minutes when Allie was born, dragged on in an endless series of painful needle jabs. *Stab* "OUCH!" Do you feel that? "yes" .....removes needle....starts again. By the time he was finished I was relieved but extremely nauseous and dizzy from all the pain and anxiety. As they lowered me onto the operating table I threw up dramatically all over the nurse. "Do you feel better? You didn't look so good" she joked. I looked at the white board on the wall. It had my name, age, birthdate and time. There were blank spaces for the baby's stats when she was born. One of the lines caught my eye: "NICU (yes/no)".....Yes was circled.
The rest of the procedure was uneventful and all the nurses were very kind. My OB whistled and joked as he worked, trying to put us at ease. Matt sat beside me as we waited for them to take her out. Suddenly we heard "HERE SHE IS!!" and the loudest cry (seriously, this kid is so loud!) from behind the curtain. She was here!! October 15th at 9:54pm. I told Matt to follow the nurses to see her as they cleaned her up. Shortly, the neonatologist from the NICU came in to assess her. I still hadn't seen her yet but I knew the drill - she would be brought out for me to look at briefly then put in the incubator and taken away. I wasn't holding my breath. The neonatologist came back out. "She looks great" he said "she'll be in your room when you get out of recovery." Wait. IN MY ROOM?!! and just then Matt came out in a flurry of excitement and with him was a nurse carrying Sophie all wrapped up with a little hat on. She was adorable - wrinkly and looking perturbed to have been through such an ordeal. "she's almost 5 pounds" he whispered as they walked out.
The doctors finished up and I was wheeled into recovery where I waited for Matt. I waited and waited. It was hard not to get worried that something had occurred with the baby - did she have trouble breathing? Something they hadn't noticed before? Finally he arrived and I was taken back to my room....and there she was. Sophie Elizabeth - with a shock of dark brown hair in a perfectly formed mohawk. Small yet mighty. Perfect and healthy. Requiring no intensive care."The nurses wanted you to see her before she got her first bath but then she pooped all over herself and they couldn't wait" Matt said. HAH! That was the reason for the delay.
My blood pressure was sky high. 140/90. Shaking I called Matt. "I think I have preeclampsia. Again." After my first pregnancy ended with a premature emergency delivery due to preeclamspia we had been told that subsequent pregnancies ran a 20% risk of reoccurrence What luck. The next few hours were a blur of tears and panic. I called my OB who told me she wanted to meet me at labor and delivery. "So, should I...pack a bag?" I asked, fearing the answer. I was 30 weeks pregnant. "I can't say for sure whether you'll be admitted. You might want to, just in case. Right now it's probably 50/50."
Matt stayed home with Allie while I tearfully drove myself to the hospital. It was packed that night and triage was in overflow. I was put into a shared room with two other women. One in active labor, the other about to be discharged with her newborn son. As I lay there waiting for blood test results and my OB to show up I couldn't do anything but cry. In that moment I hated those two other women - they didn't know how lucky they were. Lucky to have sustained pregnancies to full term. To be going HOME with their babies instead of leaving them in incubators in the NICU. We had been down this road before with Allie and it was pure hell. I couldn't believe it was happening again. My OB showed up, greeted me warmly and gently explained that I was developing preeclampsia again. "Our hope is to get you to 32, maybe 34 weeks" she said. It felt like a death sentence.
My OB put me on strict bedrest for the remainder of my pregnancy - for as long as I could make it. I was only allowed to get up to shower and use the rest room. I had to quit my job. I had to enroll Allie in full-time daycare because I couldn't be alone to care for her. My only outings were twice-weekly trips to my maternal/fetal medicine specialist who was closely monitoring Sophie's growth which had slowed down due to my preeclampsia. She was becoming growth restricted but luckily not severely so. Before every appointment I had to pack my hospital bag because we truly didn't know if it would be THE appointment where they told us we we going to the hospital instead of at home. Miraculously 34 weeks came and went. I couldn't believe it. Then 35 weeks! We were in the home stretch!! Then it happened. At one of my routine monitoring appointments the sonographer detected decelerations in Sophie's heart rhythm that indicated she might be going into distress. A look at my placenta on the ultrasound showed what we feared - the same thing that happened with Allie - a big infarct. A dead spot that was no longer living and was restricting nutrients and blood flow to the baby. I was 35 weeks and 5 days and the ultrasound showed Sophie would only be a mere 3lbs 14 ounces, the exact same size Allie was at birth. The irony was not lost. After all that work - the bedrest, all those appointments and an extra week and a half gestation and we had gotten....nothing but a repeat of the same nightmare. I could feel my emotions shutting down as we dropped Allie off with my parents and drove solemnly to the hospital. Another 3 pound baby. Another NICU stay.
We got to the hospital and underwent all the perfunctory monitoring. At some point a very sweet but young looking nurse attempted to put an IV in me three times, finally succeeding on her last attempt which, inexplicably, was in a vein in the crook of my elbow, requiring that I keep my arm straight or any beding would cut off the flow. "That might make it a little tricky when you're holding your baby!" she joked. I knew, though, it would be days before I held the baby - just as it had been with Allie when she was born. I smiled courteously.
I was wheeled into the OR where I was greeted by an anesthesiologist who looked suspiciously like Leslie Neelson who then attempted to place my epidural for about half an hour. The procedure, which had taken mere minutes when Allie was born, dragged on in an endless series of painful needle jabs. *Stab* "OUCH!" Do you feel that? "yes" .....removes needle....starts again. By the time he was finished I was relieved but extremely nauseous and dizzy from all the pain and anxiety. As they lowered me onto the operating table I threw up dramatically all over the nurse. "Do you feel better? You didn't look so good" she joked. I looked at the white board on the wall. It had my name, age, birthdate and time. There were blank spaces for the baby's stats when she was born. One of the lines caught my eye: "NICU (yes/no)".....Yes was circled.
The rest of the procedure was uneventful and all the nurses were very kind. My OB whistled and joked as he worked, trying to put us at ease. Matt sat beside me as we waited for them to take her out. Suddenly we heard "HERE SHE IS!!" and the loudest cry (seriously, this kid is so loud!) from behind the curtain. She was here!! October 15th at 9:54pm. I told Matt to follow the nurses to see her as they cleaned her up. Shortly, the neonatologist from the NICU came in to assess her. I still hadn't seen her yet but I knew the drill - she would be brought out for me to look at briefly then put in the incubator and taken away. I wasn't holding my breath. The neonatologist came back out. "She looks great" he said "she'll be in your room when you get out of recovery." Wait. IN MY ROOM?!! and just then Matt came out in a flurry of excitement and with him was a nurse carrying Sophie all wrapped up with a little hat on. She was adorable - wrinkly and looking perturbed to have been through such an ordeal. "she's almost 5 pounds" he whispered as they walked out.
The doctors finished up and I was wheeled into recovery where I waited for Matt. I waited and waited. It was hard not to get worried that something had occurred with the baby - did she have trouble breathing? Something they hadn't noticed before? Finally he arrived and I was taken back to my room....and there she was. Sophie Elizabeth - with a shock of dark brown hair in a perfectly formed mohawk. Small yet mighty. Perfect and healthy. Requiring no intensive care."The nurses wanted you to see her before she got her first bath but then she pooped all over herself and they couldn't wait" Matt said. HAH! That was the reason for the delay.
2 days later we were all discharged together and I got to walk out of the hospital holding my newborn for the first time. We drove her home to meet her grandparents and big sister Allie.
And life has been pretty good since then.
Monday, January 28, 2013
Verrry Pinteresting
Because I'm bored and a little bit crazy, I sent my husband out to the store with our 3 month old and a list of very strange ingredients.
"You had 'cheese' listed three times" Matt complained. "I don't know what this means. Also, you just wrote 'assorted puddings'....?"
The reason behind this madness is my desire to bring to life some of the too-good-to-be-true recipes I'd pinned on Pinterest, knowing full well that there was a roughly 2% chance I'd actually ever create any of them. But, because the baby has started napping on a schedule and (remember the 'little bit crazy' part) I now have some free time during the day, I figured I would give it a go.
On tonight's menu were Caprese Lasagna Roll-Ups. (Link to recipe can be found here: :http://www.cookingclassy.com/2012/10/caprese-lasagna-roll-ups/)
Seemed simple enough, I thought. My previous attempts at lasagna had been a beleaguered and half-hearted process of boiling, stuffing, layering, and then some crying because I'd gotten tomato sauce in my eyes (shut up, it happens!). I was attracted to this recipe because there was no layering involved. Boil noodles, pile on some cheese, sliced tomatoes, fresh basil and roll into a tube. Easy.
So, about 10 minutes into the cooking and prep process I began to realize that there were just as many annoying steps to constructing this dish as there are to making a traditional lasagna. Instead of layering, you're rolling. I would say that the entire prep process including boiling the noodles, adding the toppings and arranging them in the dish for baking took about 30 minutes, in addition to the actual 30 minute baking time (that part was easy. I drank coffee.) I should also note that after I began boiling the noodles I realized we didn't have any actual whole tomatoes so I substituted with tomato sauce and added portabello mushroom chunks instead.
After they're all rolled up, top with tomato sauce to prevent drying-out in the oven and bake!
Overall difficulty: Medium. Easy ingredients to work with, however the prep time and number of steps in the prep (as well as the number of dishes/pots this will dirty as you're working!) made it seem tedious instead of enjoyable.
Overall taste: Excellent! Everyone loved it, including the picky 2.5 year old which, really, should count for double-points in this round.
I'm not sure whether I'll repeat this recipe again, but it was fun to try and delicious to eat.
P.S. this is what Sophie did the entire time I was cooking:
"You had 'cheese' listed three times" Matt complained. "I don't know what this means. Also, you just wrote 'assorted puddings'....?"
The reason behind this madness is my desire to bring to life some of the too-good-to-be-true recipes I'd pinned on Pinterest, knowing full well that there was a roughly 2% chance I'd actually ever create any of them. But, because the baby has started napping on a schedule and (remember the 'little bit crazy' part) I now have some free time during the day, I figured I would give it a go.
On tonight's menu were Caprese Lasagna Roll-Ups. (Link to recipe can be found here: :http://www.cookingclassy.com/2012/10/caprese-lasagna-roll-ups/)
Seemed simple enough, I thought. My previous attempts at lasagna had been a beleaguered and half-hearted process of boiling, stuffing, layering, and then some crying because I'd gotten tomato sauce in my eyes (shut up, it happens!). I was attracted to this recipe because there was no layering involved. Boil noodles, pile on some cheese, sliced tomatoes, fresh basil and roll into a tube. Easy.
So, about 10 minutes into the cooking and prep process I began to realize that there were just as many annoying steps to constructing this dish as there are to making a traditional lasagna. Instead of layering, you're rolling. I would say that the entire prep process including boiling the noodles, adding the toppings and arranging them in the dish for baking took about 30 minutes, in addition to the actual 30 minute baking time (that part was easy. I drank coffee.) I should also note that after I began boiling the noodles I realized we didn't have any actual whole tomatoes so I substituted with tomato sauce and added portabello mushroom chunks instead.
The ingredients
The individual "rolls" deconstructed. Layers of ricotta cheese, tomato sauce, mushrooms and fresh basil
After they're all rolled up, top with tomato sauce to prevent drying-out in the oven and bake!
Overall difficulty: Medium. Easy ingredients to work with, however the prep time and number of steps in the prep (as well as the number of dishes/pots this will dirty as you're working!) made it seem tedious instead of enjoyable.
Overall taste: Excellent! Everyone loved it, including the picky 2.5 year old which, really, should count for double-points in this round.
I'm not sure whether I'll repeat this recipe again, but it was fun to try and delicious to eat.
P.S. this is what Sophie did the entire time I was cooking:
Saturday, January 12, 2013
Privacy: Parenthood Edition
Ever have one of those existential moments where you sit back and *really* think about life? About how, since the beginning of your lifetime, a complex series of imperceptible strings in the universe were all pulling you toward this very moment in time? And you wonder to yourself - how did I get here?
I felt that way this morning.
Me: Allie, I have to go to the bathroom.
Allie: Ok. I'm gonna come! And I'm bringing popcorn.
I felt that way this morning.
Me: Allie, I have to go to the bathroom.
Allie: Ok. I'm gonna come! And I'm bringing popcorn.
Of course you are.
And bring the dog too.
And bring the dog too.
And she did.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Anatomy of a Sunday Morning
7:00am: Using advanced parenting/bargaining skills, convinced Allie to put her special yellow blankie in the wash. "There's yellow blankie!" she said. She watched it going around and around in the washer for about 10 minutes.
Sundays are laundry day
Of course, coffee. This mug was a party favor from my freshman year formal dance in college. It's now over 12 years old. Matt was my date.
Potty training. "Sometimes I get to wear big-girl underwear" says Allie.
And Logan.
Trying to make breakfast fun for Allie in the hopes she might actually eat it. Star-shaped pancake was a big hit.
I've been teaching Allie about sorting by having her help me empty the dishwasher. She can put spoons, forks and knives (butter knives!) away in their respective places.
I love quiet Sunday mornings - these are the little snapshots in time that make up my mundane yet extraordinary days.
Friday, January 4, 2013
My Pocket Friends and Me!
Wherein Jamie worries about her dogs, everyone tweets a lot about food and Nick's word-make-uppery reaches epic levels of epicsauce.
If Facebook had an eyeroll button, I'd be its most prolific user.
Wow, people actually iron stuff? I thought that was a myth.
Hanging in the pocket! Tight end sacks! Slot penetration! Drilled in the endzone! Coming from behind! Sunday Night EUPHEMISMBALL!
Isobel: "I am going to sing my scream-song!" - Sorry, guests!
Looks to be nearly 3 inches of snow out there. That’s about 5 in penis inches. How jolly festive.
Santa keeps checking in on Foursquare, and millions will wake up to find he's mayor of everything.
Please dear lord tell me that lady did not just call her kid Panther
Holy shit, the pope is a dick.
I'm rubber and you're glue. HOW DID WE GAIN SENTIENCE????
I think my favorite part of the Christmas party is when Louis panicked when he thought I was nursing someone else's kid.
Raccoons are NOT to be trusted. Ever. They practically have human hands AND are wearing masks!!!
there needs to be a service called Emergency Mom where if you call 8008 (boob.. HA HA) you get a replacement mom for a day.
The biggest problem with the Internet is there's no food.
Dear Crate &; Barrel: A way to grate cheese directly into my mouth.
Maple fudge can die in a tire fire. Y U SO GRODY, MAPLE FUDGE?!
And lo, I opened the 7th seal and did read that Facebook was down, and blood did pour out upon the earth. #facebookdown#endtimes
I’m willing to look past him putting on a hat and tying his own shoelaces, but how the actual FUCK is Lowly Worm flying a helicopter?
I'm sorry, I'm reserving my enthusiasm for feta cheese.
It's a marshmallow world in the winter/everything's covered in ants.
Bitches love scarves.
Famous last words by my husband: "Here's a fight-starter...." I'm waiting for him to finish that sentence as he watches me type this.....
My friend was drawing snowmen with her kids today and one boy gave the snowman a penis. This is why I don't do crafts with my kid.
I just used my dog as a napkin.
Remember when I got bangs last week because you assholes didn't stop me?
Once home it might be Weekend-at-Bernie's parenting style today. Which is to say I will need sunglasses and to be propped up regularly.
How do I stop one dog from pathologically suffocating the other dog?
there's a hole in these socks and i'm still wearing them. cold floor on just 1/10th of my sole but it's affecting my entire soul.
Temporarily store 9 bags of yardening detritus in shed. Return the next day to find shed floor crawling with maggots. Experience 80 squeams.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Nourish
"WHY WON'T YOU JUST DO IT - JUST NURSE GODDAMN IT" I screamed into my empty living room, to nobody in particular. My infant daughter's wide blue eyes stared up at me quizzically. I leaned down and held her soft, warm body to mine as deep sobs wracked through me. It's been twelve weeks of this - twelve weeks of holding her to my breast as she screamed and arched away from me. 840 feedings just like this since the day she was born. Lactation consultants (two of them), exclusive pumping 14 times a day, nipple shields an SNS system, teas, supplements, herbs and prescription medications all failed me. I failed. "This is what formula was made for, honey" my husband whispered to me one evening - a scene just like today where I was sobbing over the drone of the breast pump after another unsuccessful breastfeeding attempt. "This is why people had wet nurses. Not everyone can do it. It's okay."
So I went to the supermarket and picked out some friendly looking bottles of "liquid poison, "baby's first fast food" and other terms of endearment I had heard come out of the mouths of those same 'lactivists' who were so devoted to giving moms "like me" support. I took off my sweater and hid the formula underneath it in my cart. I could swear everyone in the store was staring at me, silently assessing just how inadequate I was. I just must not love her 'enough,' I must not be trying hard enough. Have I tried the tea? Am I pumping a lot? Only fourteen times a day? Did you talk to the la leche league? They're SO nice over there. Did you try the tea? ARE YOU DRINKING ENOUGH TEA???
It shouldn't be like this, to justify my love for my daughter, the sacrifies I make - large and small - for her well being with every breath of my body and every single day of her life. But 'breast is best.' So I took my formula and put my daughter into our not-top-of-the-line car, into her probably-not-the-safest-ever-made carseat and drove her (30% chance of being involved in a serious automobile accident in your lifetime!) back to our mostly-baby-proofed house with a staircase and a dog and a million other sub-best things in it and gave her some sub-best milk. We take calculated risks every day of our lives. Parenthood is a balance of doing what is best, doing what is possible, doing what works at the moment, doing what makes sense for your particular family. And this? Is SO. NOT. WORKING.
There is so much more to nourishing a tiny life than what you feed her. The millions of kisses, whispered I love you's. Tummy time, regular doctor's visits, hugs from her older sister, belly raspberries, toe-nibbling, conversations in baby talk, the way her eyes, the same shape as mine, narrow and sparkle when I kiss her and she lights up with a big, beaming smile.
I'm sure there are people who would consider this entire post a 'justification' of my 'decision' to stop breastfeeding. I disagree. And moreover, I've stopped caring. This is a happy family. These are happy children. Happy, formula fed children. And I won't be ashamed of something so beautiful.
So I went to the supermarket and picked out some friendly looking bottles of "liquid poison, "baby's first fast food" and other terms of endearment I had heard come out of the mouths of those same 'lactivists' who were so devoted to giving moms "like me" support. I took off my sweater and hid the formula underneath it in my cart. I could swear everyone in the store was staring at me, silently assessing just how inadequate I was. I just must not love her 'enough,' I must not be trying hard enough. Have I tried the tea? Am I pumping a lot? Only fourteen times a day? Did you talk to the la leche league? They're SO nice over there. Did you try the tea? ARE YOU DRINKING ENOUGH TEA???
It shouldn't be like this, to justify my love for my daughter, the sacrifies I make - large and small - for her well being with every breath of my body and every single day of her life. But 'breast is best.' So I took my formula and put my daughter into our not-top-of-the-line car, into her probably-not-the-safest-ever-made carseat and drove her (30% chance of being involved in a serious automobile accident in your lifetime!) back to our mostly-baby-proofed house with a staircase and a dog and a million other sub-best things in it and gave her some sub-best milk. We take calculated risks every day of our lives. Parenthood is a balance of doing what is best, doing what is possible, doing what works at the moment, doing what makes sense for your particular family. And this? Is SO. NOT. WORKING.
There is so much more to nourishing a tiny life than what you feed her. The millions of kisses, whispered I love you's. Tummy time, regular doctor's visits, hugs from her older sister, belly raspberries, toe-nibbling, conversations in baby talk, the way her eyes, the same shape as mine, narrow and sparkle when I kiss her and she lights up with a big, beaming smile.
I'm sure there are people who would consider this entire post a 'justification' of my 'decision' to stop breastfeeding. I disagree. And moreover, I've stopped caring. This is a happy family. These are happy children. Happy, formula fed children. And I won't be ashamed of something so beautiful.
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