and other random thoughts for today.
1. I don't have diabetes...yet. But I've convinced myself that that is where I'm heading. Somewhere between not wanting to eat anything (aka pregnancy) and having a six month old, my eating habits have DRASTICALLY changed. I think, on the whole, I ate very healthily when I was pregnant, thanks mostly to Dustin who pretty much force fed me things like spinach and other equally healthy/gross foods. Then, when Kiz arrived, it all went to shit. A kid occupies ALL your time at this age. Every second is spent catering to the whim of a tiny tyrant who looks an awful lot like you. So you really kinda put yourself on hold for a while. (I'm assuming you regain yourself somewhere between potty training and college.)
I went from really taking care of myself to sometimes legitimately forgetting how long it's been since I washed my hair. On the rare instance I do put on makeup, I half ass it because it's been so long since I've done it I don't have the patience to do it right. I barely wear real clothes any more...right now I have on a winter themed, flannel, button down MEN's pajama top, a maternity tee shirt, American Eagle sweatpants from 1998, one ankle sock and one fuzzy sock. And I have already deemed this outfit acceptable as I took Kiz for a walk around the neighborhood yesterday wearing the SAME DAMN SHIT.
But for all the suffering of my outside appearance, I think my diet has suffered the worst. I was already not so great about good eating habits...but now it's just horrible. First of all, I never eat breakfast. The first thing I put into my body is Red Bull. Usually I'm washing down some benadryl with that because I have chronic hives. Through my day with the baby, I am just grabbing something that's already made and that I can eat with one hand. Usually a donut, a roll, a hostess snack, a piece of bread...anything that's quick and easy. Then we often skip dinner because by the time Dust gets home from work, the baby is already spiraling into her bedtime cranky party and by the time THAT show is over we are exhausted and go to sleep.
And that's it. VERY rarely, I get ambitious and make a decent dinner, but I often regret it due to the amount of dishes I have to do afterwards (usually the next morning) while the baby cries at something random, like the fridge.
So since all I eat is sugar and liquid sugar, I'm definitely going to get diabetes.
2. I'm starting to think that being a parent is the same thing as the entire world gathering on your front lawn to give you the finger. It's like, you're happy everyone showed up, but sad because everyone hates you. Every single effing time I think I'm doing a good job and have this parenting thing down pat, something really awesome happens to ruin it all...like teething. This is just re-God-Damn-diculous at this point. We had finally established a good routine: sleeping for a long time at night, eating different foods, taking scheduled naps...and then BAM...it's all gone because of two teeny tiny teeth.
Kiz has decided that she fucking hates her new teeth. If she had the mobile dexterity, I'm absolutely postive she would have ripped them out of her jaw bone by now. In addition to hating her teeth, she also now hates sleeping, eating, burping without spitting up and anyone who gets in her dance space.
I know the lack of sleep and fussy eating is because her mouth feels like shit, and I know the extra vomiting is a result of all the mucus and drool from her new mouth residents...but the being scared of everyone is a new development that I'm pretty sure isn't related to teeth.
Kiz has come to believe that everyone who isn't me or Dustin is trying to kill her. Grandparents wanna snuggle? Nope, Kiz is gonna cry and make them feel like garbage. Little kid wants to say hi? Nope, Kiz is gonna scream until the other kid is crying too. Cashier at K-Mart wants to look over at you and tell you you're cute? Nope...too much eye contact. Total meltdown.
So yeah. All that is awesome.
3. My 32nd birthday is tomorrow. Earlier this week I spent a good 20 minutes legitimately trying to figure out how old I was gonna be this year. I had to do math and shit. I imagine that the panic and anxiety that I felt in those 20 minutes is akin to the beginning stages of "old person crazy." Something to look forward to, I suppose.
4. We now have so much baby crap in our house, it looks like the playroom at McDonald's. All this colorful stuff that looks like fun but is probably covered in spit up. Since Kiz doesn't get much interaction with the outside world or people besides her parents, I worry about her development and make it a point to be sure she's interacting with age appropriate toys and bouncers and all that shit. I've never been overly organized or good with a schedule, but ever since the kid arrived, that's changed. I find myself being rather rigid with her schedule, especially during the week when I'm alone. But anyhow, every few weeks I'll panic that she's not getting the proper interactions/physical challenges and we end up buying her a new something colorful that promises to make your baby awesome. Kiz doesn't much care for anything we've purchased, rather she likes to play a game called "let's see how long it takes them to come rescue me from this contraption if I scream as if I'm being eaten by sharks."
5. Sometimes the cat looks over at me and I know that she's thinking she hates me and new, louder, tinier me.
6. The other day, I was playing on the floor with Kiz when out of the corner of my eye, I saw what looked like a thick shoelace. Then it started crawling. It was the hugest centipede I've ever seen. I think it was in training to be a snake. Dustin was at work so I had to get rid of it. I scooped it on a huge folder and threw it outside. The only time I put an insect outside is if I surmise that killing it would result in more guts than can be cleaned in one grab and a loud crunching or squishing noise as accompaniment.
7. I think it's time someone invented either the flying car or smell-o-vision. I'd be equally happy with either.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Little Human
Man, it's tough to find the time to do this. My life has gone from a year of whirlwind firsts to a never ending Groundhog Day style existence.
Kismet Ivy is rapidly approaching the half year mark and honestly I can't believe how much time has passed since her birth. I felt like it was an enormous struggle to get to the point where I could actually take a brief second to enjoy my daughter. Mostly that was because of the colic.
Ahh, the colic. It's sort of become a curse word in our house. Amazingly, THANKFULLY, the horrendous experience that was colic ended as abruptly and mysteriously as it began, pretty much exactly three months after Kiz was born. Everything we had read about the subject had promised that this would be the case, but it was hard to imagine when you're in the midst of a screaming, miserable state of affairs. The most reasonable explaination I've unearthed on the topic states that there is a missing "fourth trimester" in pregnancy; that babies actually need to gestate for 12 months rather than nine, but due to the fact that their heads would be too large to pass through mama...and let's face it, it's already a nightmare situation as far as those measurements are concerned...they have to come out at the nine month mark. Some babies deal with their early eviction well and some, like Kiz, scream and cry for three months, demanding to be put back in.
Through the colic experience, I was convinced that something was wrong with Kizzy. Autism, brain defect, sociopath...I had labeled her in so many ways that I was starting to consider filming my own version of Girl, Interupted. But amazingly, once the colic ebbed, a kid who was on a pretty good routine emerged.
The colic used to start at about 6pm. She still gets a little crabby at that time, but it's due to the fact that she's tired and bedtime arrives between 7 and 8 every night. And...holy crap...she sleeps through the night. We still have the random night where she'll wake up at 2am and want to eat, but for the most part we're getting 10 to 12 hours from her. And it keeps getting better. It seems each day she's waking up a bit later...last week she was up at five, this week it's six. I'd love it if we could make it to 7; I feel like that's an acceptable time to get up. At least daylight savings has made the sun rise a bit earlier so I don't feel like a Zombie for the first hour of my day.
As it turns out, Kizzy is a pretty happy kid. She has learned, unfortunately, and unavoidably, that yelling gets her what she wants, but we rarely have a full blown cry. The only time we get tears is when she's in pain and thankfully that's not too often, especially now that we have discovered constipation can be cured by prunes.
Her newest bad trait isn't really all that bad...stranger anxiety. Any unfamiliar person to come close to her is treated to a loud wail for a few minutes. Thankfully, she gets over that pretty quickly. Secretly, I sort of enjoy this behavior because she settles down once Dustin or I get her in our arms. We like that she loves us best.
We started "solid" foods, and so far the only thing that isn't a hit is peas. I can't say I blame her...they aren't very tasty. Bananas are the favorite, but sadly she only gets those once in a blue moon as they contribute to the dreaded constipation.
On her own, Kizzy decided she loves water. Usually water isn't started until six months or so, but we indulge her. At first because it was funny to watch her reach for the water bottle (the very first thing she reached for) and now because it helps with...you guessed it...constipation.
She's starting to be a little human...she grabs for things, pushes things away, yells in frustration, hugs her stuffed animals, imitates things and is so much more alert than she was just a month or two ago. The first time I saw something really humanesque was this past weekend. My littlest brother, Devin, likes to blow raspberries at Kiz when he sees her. He had done this approximately 100 times on Saturday. Then on Sunday morning, when Kiz saw Dev, she blew a raspberry at him and smiled. It's the little things.
The only thing I have to complain about is my own selfish need to be a big human. As much as I love Kizzy and am beyond thrilled to be a mom, it's still a tough adjustment. You always hear that being a parent is a full time job, but it's more than that. It's non stop. Every minute of my day is filled with her. She is an intense person, not really ever content to just sit and chill. Besides the never ending parade of bottles, spit up, diapers and other baby needs, Kiz needs constant entertainment. From the moment I wake up it's a race to bedtime. On the rare moment that she naps, I'm trying to keep my house from developing into an episode of hoarders. The most relaxation I get is the brief hour that falls after her bedtime and before mine. It's this hour that I treasure. Dustin and I can sit back and watch a little tv...quietly. Then before I know it I'm falling alseep on the couch and Dustin is gently waking me up to go to bed for real. Then before I know it, it's morning and it starts all over again.
Of all the things I miss before my parenthood days, I think I miss the freedom to do whatever I want on a whim. Instead of taking 45 minutes to prepare to leave the house, I fondly think of the days where Dustin and I could sleep in, go get some coffee whenever we roused, and pretty much just do whatever our hearts desired.
All that has been replaced by a higher calling...and I'm happy to do it...but if you're without kids, savor the moments you have to yourself. You'll never know how much you loved them until you're pooping and an infant is at your feet in her excersaucer, watching you and laughing.
The weather is getting warmer and my eyes are set on the prize that is Summer. Kiz should be crawling by then...and we live in a community that rests on a lake...with a private beach...and at least then I can just bring her there every day for a swim and some sun.
So there's a little glimpse into our lives at the moment. I'm off to pull the ice cream cone cupcakes I'm making out of the oven and get ready for the best hour of the day.
Kismet Ivy is rapidly approaching the half year mark and honestly I can't believe how much time has passed since her birth. I felt like it was an enormous struggle to get to the point where I could actually take a brief second to enjoy my daughter. Mostly that was because of the colic.
Ahh, the colic. It's sort of become a curse word in our house. Amazingly, THANKFULLY, the horrendous experience that was colic ended as abruptly and mysteriously as it began, pretty much exactly three months after Kiz was born. Everything we had read about the subject had promised that this would be the case, but it was hard to imagine when you're in the midst of a screaming, miserable state of affairs. The most reasonable explaination I've unearthed on the topic states that there is a missing "fourth trimester" in pregnancy; that babies actually need to gestate for 12 months rather than nine, but due to the fact that their heads would be too large to pass through mama...and let's face it, it's already a nightmare situation as far as those measurements are concerned...they have to come out at the nine month mark. Some babies deal with their early eviction well and some, like Kiz, scream and cry for three months, demanding to be put back in.
Through the colic experience, I was convinced that something was wrong with Kizzy. Autism, brain defect, sociopath...I had labeled her in so many ways that I was starting to consider filming my own version of Girl, Interupted. But amazingly, once the colic ebbed, a kid who was on a pretty good routine emerged.
The colic used to start at about 6pm. She still gets a little crabby at that time, but it's due to the fact that she's tired and bedtime arrives between 7 and 8 every night. And...holy crap...she sleeps through the night. We still have the random night where she'll wake up at 2am and want to eat, but for the most part we're getting 10 to 12 hours from her. And it keeps getting better. It seems each day she's waking up a bit later...last week she was up at five, this week it's six. I'd love it if we could make it to 7; I feel like that's an acceptable time to get up. At least daylight savings has made the sun rise a bit earlier so I don't feel like a Zombie for the first hour of my day.
As it turns out, Kizzy is a pretty happy kid. She has learned, unfortunately, and unavoidably, that yelling gets her what she wants, but we rarely have a full blown cry. The only time we get tears is when she's in pain and thankfully that's not too often, especially now that we have discovered constipation can be cured by prunes.
Her newest bad trait isn't really all that bad...stranger anxiety. Any unfamiliar person to come close to her is treated to a loud wail for a few minutes. Thankfully, she gets over that pretty quickly. Secretly, I sort of enjoy this behavior because she settles down once Dustin or I get her in our arms. We like that she loves us best.
We started "solid" foods, and so far the only thing that isn't a hit is peas. I can't say I blame her...they aren't very tasty. Bananas are the favorite, but sadly she only gets those once in a blue moon as they contribute to the dreaded constipation.
On her own, Kizzy decided she loves water. Usually water isn't started until six months or so, but we indulge her. At first because it was funny to watch her reach for the water bottle (the very first thing she reached for) and now because it helps with...you guessed it...constipation.
She's starting to be a little human...she grabs for things, pushes things away, yells in frustration, hugs her stuffed animals, imitates things and is so much more alert than she was just a month or two ago. The first time I saw something really humanesque was this past weekend. My littlest brother, Devin, likes to blow raspberries at Kiz when he sees her. He had done this approximately 100 times on Saturday. Then on Sunday morning, when Kiz saw Dev, she blew a raspberry at him and smiled. It's the little things.
The only thing I have to complain about is my own selfish need to be a big human. As much as I love Kizzy and am beyond thrilled to be a mom, it's still a tough adjustment. You always hear that being a parent is a full time job, but it's more than that. It's non stop. Every minute of my day is filled with her. She is an intense person, not really ever content to just sit and chill. Besides the never ending parade of bottles, spit up, diapers and other baby needs, Kiz needs constant entertainment. From the moment I wake up it's a race to bedtime. On the rare moment that she naps, I'm trying to keep my house from developing into an episode of hoarders. The most relaxation I get is the brief hour that falls after her bedtime and before mine. It's this hour that I treasure. Dustin and I can sit back and watch a little tv...quietly. Then before I know it I'm falling alseep on the couch and Dustin is gently waking me up to go to bed for real. Then before I know it, it's morning and it starts all over again.
Of all the things I miss before my parenthood days, I think I miss the freedom to do whatever I want on a whim. Instead of taking 45 minutes to prepare to leave the house, I fondly think of the days where Dustin and I could sleep in, go get some coffee whenever we roused, and pretty much just do whatever our hearts desired.
All that has been replaced by a higher calling...and I'm happy to do it...but if you're without kids, savor the moments you have to yourself. You'll never know how much you loved them until you're pooping and an infant is at your feet in her excersaucer, watching you and laughing.
The weather is getting warmer and my eyes are set on the prize that is Summer. Kiz should be crawling by then...and we live in a community that rests on a lake...with a private beach...and at least then I can just bring her there every day for a swim and some sun.
So there's a little glimpse into our lives at the moment. I'm off to pull the ice cream cone cupcakes I'm making out of the oven and get ready for the best hour of the day.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
The Time That Was and The Time That Is
(Title stolen from How Green Was My Valley by Richard Llewellyn)
I have to say, this is the first time that a New Year has meant something for me. Up until now, I was sort of just rolling through life, accepting the tiny changes that come along with barely a batting of the eye. It wasn't until my life was completely upheaved that I realised how quickly everything can be different. Sure, I've had my share of life changing events...parents divorcing, going far away to school, moving in with someone, etc...but that lame ass song "A Baby Changes Everything" is really the most understated sentiment ever uttered.
As everyone continually promised me would eventually happen, Dustin and I seem to be on the verge of getting used to our new lives. We spent so much of 2011 in a sort of dryer cycle...constantly getting flipped upside down and sort of bashing into life blindly. When you're in the middle of turmoil and stress, you don't ever really see your life outside of it. When you're on the other side, and you have a moment to breathe, you're almost thankful for it. It's kind of like if you never felt sad, you'd never experience happiness because there would be no peaks and valleys. When Kizzy is older, I'm looking forward to using the story of how she got her against her when she's bad. I also take comfort in the fact that if my relationship with Dustin could survive the very worst of times then we're in for a long and happy life together.
If we didn't already have the proof that our lives were completely different from where they were a year ago, our Christmas adventures solidified it. Last year Dustin and I had our first Christmas as a living together couple. It was quiet. We visited bars with our friends, shopped for presents casually, slept in on our days off. Christmas last year fell right before we were about to find ourselves unemployed as the radio stations we worked for were about to switch ownership. Last Christmas we were a month away from being pregnant...and about five years away from even thinking about being pregnant. We were talking about all the things we were going to do with our free time. We had each gotten some severance and talks of taking a trip were in the works.
We were also moving out of our apartment and into the bad decision known as the cottage on my mother's property. The last week we were in the apartment, we conceived our little monster. Of course we didn't know about it until the end of February, and I still chuckle to myself thinking about how I moved couches and painted our new place not knowing I was pregnant.
As this blog has detailed, the year that followed was by far the craziest year of my life. When I think of what was important then compared to what is important now, it blows my mind. Here are just a few things that now occupy my thoughts instead of which bar we were going to have a drink at after work.
Germs: I seriously never thought about germs before Kiz arrived. Even when I was pregnant I didn't really worry too much about getting sick, other than the morning sickness that never really presented itself. Now, my world revolves around keeping this kid healthy. Every sneeze, hiccup or hard fart is a concern for me. We just experienced the two month vaccinations and it was the first time we saw our Kiz a little bit sick. She ended up running a fever and had some diarrhea. Watching your little 10 week old baby suffer is seriously torture. It was bad enough watching the nurses hurt her and not being able to explain that it was for her own good, but in the days that followed, I've given myself an ulcer worrying about how she is fairing. To make matters worse, she was SUPPOSED to get her shots BEFORE we brought her on our first trip to LI to be exposed to all of our family's germs. The morning of her appointment, the battery died in our car and we had to reschedule for AFTER the trip. Bringing her around all those people sans vaccinations was enough to make me feel sicker and sicker with every doorbell we rang. We instituted a "look but don't touch" policy at certain family member's houses. That went over like a fart in church. Certain people took it very personally. Oh well. I made her, I make the rules.
Poops: Never in my life have I spent so much time analyzing human excriment. When I poop, it's lucky if it gets a quick glance, and that's only because of the fact that corn doesn't digest and we've been eating a lot of crock pot beef stew. From frequency to consistency to smell to how Kiz looks when she's struggling with a dook, all I do is worry about her poop. The two worst poop days included the day Kiz went without pooping (she had a massive crap the next morning) and last night when she had di dis. At some point along the way I read something about how quickly a baby can dehydrate and knowing how much I hate IV's on MYSELF, I woke myself up every hour last night to force feed my kid. Then I wondered why she was pretty much gagging on her breakfast bottle. Poor kid. (For the record, she had a normal poop today. YAY!)
Temperature: I am a sweaty person. Even when I was much thinner, I ran a little hot. It's a trait everyone on my mother's side shares. We joke about it. If my mother and I attend anything in the summertime that takes place outside, we look like drowned rats. It's something we all hate but live with. Dustin is the opposite. He's very chilly all the time. Sometimes when he's getting undressed for bed at night I am shocked to see that not only was he wearing his flannel-lined jeans and two pairs of socks, but also a pair of pajama pants. I would literally die if I dressed like that. I'm a shorts and tank top girl, even in the middle of winter. As it turns out, Kiz takes after me. She hates being swaddled, will kick off any blanket draped over her and wakes up ridiculously sweaty in the middle of the night. For whatever reason, every single house we visited this Christmas was like being inside of an oven. I would be sweating within seconds. Then I'd look down at my little bundle, all dressed cute in her Christmas attire, and realize she was miserably hot too. She'd whine and cry until we peeled off layer after layer until by the end of our visit she was in her diaper...and ONLY her diaper. Only one distant aunt of Dustin's commented on it...saying something along the lines of "put a blanket on that baby!" This comment came at the end of our Christmas visits when I had already lost about a gallon of water due to sweat and I think I replied "I KNOW MY KID AND SHE IS SWEATY. I WILL NOT BE PUTTING A BLANKET ON HER." There were no more comments after that.
Bathing: Getting clean has suddenly become very unimportant for me and very important for Kiz. As Dustin joked when we were in the hospital "This family needs lotion." We all suffer from very dry skin, even Kizzy at like a day old. Every time we go to the doctor they comment on her little dry patches. Aside from slathering her with A and D ointment, which gets greasy and messy, there's nothing we can really do about it other than limit the amount of baths she gets. This is a shame because A.) she loves the bath and B.) there is nothing grosser than "milk neck." As previously described, "milk neck" is the term I've coined for the cheese that grows in the folds of a baby's neck from milk trickling down her chin and into her fat folds. I don't care how dilligent you are about your baby's cleanliness, this happens to all babies. Mostly because when you feed a baby in the middle of the night you aren't really awake and trickling is bound to happen. We give Kiz frequent "whore baths" where we just wipe her down as best we can. And it's usually as I'm obsessing over HER state of cleanliness that I realize it's been DAYS since I cleaned myself. Days. Prior to Kiz I showered every day, sometimes twice a day because my office was sweaty. Now taking a shower is like an epic event in this household. Side note: Kizzy gets dirt under her fingernails. WTF? Is she digging ditches outside while I'm asleep? As far as I know all this kid does is loaf around. If she's holding out on me and is actually able to be more productive then I'm not wiping her ass ANY MORE.
Sleep: Before the kid, sleep was something that just happened. I don't really ever remember looking at a clock and being like "oh, I have to go to sleep." Dust and I would just sort of end up asleep in bed somehow, as if by some sort of coma magic. Now my life revolves around how much sleep everyone in this house gets. Dust and I constantly quiz each other on how much sleep we think we got the night before. Sometimes I think the baby sleeps too much, sometimes too little. We watch the clock and get anxiety over her naps or the lack there of. Yesterday she slept all day and I worried she wouldn't sleep at night (she did.) A week ago she was up all day and I worried she would sleep too much that night (she didn't sleep at all.) I panic when Dustin doesn't get enough sleep because that means he won't be able to help me with the baby. He panics when I don't get enough sleep because that means I'm going to be a crazy sobbing mess. They need to invent something that is safe and keeps you awake. Red bull isn't cutting it and I think they'd take the baby away if I started doing meth. Everyone told me to get as much sleep as I could before the baby got here. I should have really listened.
As much as I worry and panic and act like a lunatic, I really do feel lucky. I am looking forward to 2012. I am looking forward to settling into some sort of routine. I'm excited to watch Kizzy grow. I'm happy to have an amazing, infinitely patient husband who loves me even when I'm being ridiculous. I'm happy we have a house and a yard and a large supply of caffinated beverages at our disposal.
So bring it, 2012. After 2011, I'm ready for anything.
I have to say, this is the first time that a New Year has meant something for me. Up until now, I was sort of just rolling through life, accepting the tiny changes that come along with barely a batting of the eye. It wasn't until my life was completely upheaved that I realised how quickly everything can be different. Sure, I've had my share of life changing events...parents divorcing, going far away to school, moving in with someone, etc...but that lame ass song "A Baby Changes Everything" is really the most understated sentiment ever uttered.
As everyone continually promised me would eventually happen, Dustin and I seem to be on the verge of getting used to our new lives. We spent so much of 2011 in a sort of dryer cycle...constantly getting flipped upside down and sort of bashing into life blindly. When you're in the middle of turmoil and stress, you don't ever really see your life outside of it. When you're on the other side, and you have a moment to breathe, you're almost thankful for it. It's kind of like if you never felt sad, you'd never experience happiness because there would be no peaks and valleys. When Kizzy is older, I'm looking forward to using the story of how she got her against her when she's bad. I also take comfort in the fact that if my relationship with Dustin could survive the very worst of times then we're in for a long and happy life together.
If we didn't already have the proof that our lives were completely different from where they were a year ago, our Christmas adventures solidified it. Last year Dustin and I had our first Christmas as a living together couple. It was quiet. We visited bars with our friends, shopped for presents casually, slept in on our days off. Christmas last year fell right before we were about to find ourselves unemployed as the radio stations we worked for were about to switch ownership. Last Christmas we were a month away from being pregnant...and about five years away from even thinking about being pregnant. We were talking about all the things we were going to do with our free time. We had each gotten some severance and talks of taking a trip were in the works.
We were also moving out of our apartment and into the bad decision known as the cottage on my mother's property. The last week we were in the apartment, we conceived our little monster. Of course we didn't know about it until the end of February, and I still chuckle to myself thinking about how I moved couches and painted our new place not knowing I was pregnant.
As this blog has detailed, the year that followed was by far the craziest year of my life. When I think of what was important then compared to what is important now, it blows my mind. Here are just a few things that now occupy my thoughts instead of which bar we were going to have a drink at after work.
Germs: I seriously never thought about germs before Kiz arrived. Even when I was pregnant I didn't really worry too much about getting sick, other than the morning sickness that never really presented itself. Now, my world revolves around keeping this kid healthy. Every sneeze, hiccup or hard fart is a concern for me. We just experienced the two month vaccinations and it was the first time we saw our Kiz a little bit sick. She ended up running a fever and had some diarrhea. Watching your little 10 week old baby suffer is seriously torture. It was bad enough watching the nurses hurt her and not being able to explain that it was for her own good, but in the days that followed, I've given myself an ulcer worrying about how she is fairing. To make matters worse, she was SUPPOSED to get her shots BEFORE we brought her on our first trip to LI to be exposed to all of our family's germs. The morning of her appointment, the battery died in our car and we had to reschedule for AFTER the trip. Bringing her around all those people sans vaccinations was enough to make me feel sicker and sicker with every doorbell we rang. We instituted a "look but don't touch" policy at certain family member's houses. That went over like a fart in church. Certain people took it very personally. Oh well. I made her, I make the rules.
Poops: Never in my life have I spent so much time analyzing human excriment. When I poop, it's lucky if it gets a quick glance, and that's only because of the fact that corn doesn't digest and we've been eating a lot of crock pot beef stew. From frequency to consistency to smell to how Kiz looks when she's struggling with a dook, all I do is worry about her poop. The two worst poop days included the day Kiz went without pooping (she had a massive crap the next morning) and last night when she had di dis. At some point along the way I read something about how quickly a baby can dehydrate and knowing how much I hate IV's on MYSELF, I woke myself up every hour last night to force feed my kid. Then I wondered why she was pretty much gagging on her breakfast bottle. Poor kid. (For the record, she had a normal poop today. YAY!)
Temperature: I am a sweaty person. Even when I was much thinner, I ran a little hot. It's a trait everyone on my mother's side shares. We joke about it. If my mother and I attend anything in the summertime that takes place outside, we look like drowned rats. It's something we all hate but live with. Dustin is the opposite. He's very chilly all the time. Sometimes when he's getting undressed for bed at night I am shocked to see that not only was he wearing his flannel-lined jeans and two pairs of socks, but also a pair of pajama pants. I would literally die if I dressed like that. I'm a shorts and tank top girl, even in the middle of winter. As it turns out, Kiz takes after me. She hates being swaddled, will kick off any blanket draped over her and wakes up ridiculously sweaty in the middle of the night. For whatever reason, every single house we visited this Christmas was like being inside of an oven. I would be sweating within seconds. Then I'd look down at my little bundle, all dressed cute in her Christmas attire, and realize she was miserably hot too. She'd whine and cry until we peeled off layer after layer until by the end of our visit she was in her diaper...and ONLY her diaper. Only one distant aunt of Dustin's commented on it...saying something along the lines of "put a blanket on that baby!" This comment came at the end of our Christmas visits when I had already lost about a gallon of water due to sweat and I think I replied "I KNOW MY KID AND SHE IS SWEATY. I WILL NOT BE PUTTING A BLANKET ON HER." There were no more comments after that.
Bathing: Getting clean has suddenly become very unimportant for me and very important for Kiz. As Dustin joked when we were in the hospital "This family needs lotion." We all suffer from very dry skin, even Kizzy at like a day old. Every time we go to the doctor they comment on her little dry patches. Aside from slathering her with A and D ointment, which gets greasy and messy, there's nothing we can really do about it other than limit the amount of baths she gets. This is a shame because A.) she loves the bath and B.) there is nothing grosser than "milk neck." As previously described, "milk neck" is the term I've coined for the cheese that grows in the folds of a baby's neck from milk trickling down her chin and into her fat folds. I don't care how dilligent you are about your baby's cleanliness, this happens to all babies. Mostly because when you feed a baby in the middle of the night you aren't really awake and trickling is bound to happen. We give Kiz frequent "whore baths" where we just wipe her down as best we can. And it's usually as I'm obsessing over HER state of cleanliness that I realize it's been DAYS since I cleaned myself. Days. Prior to Kiz I showered every day, sometimes twice a day because my office was sweaty. Now taking a shower is like an epic event in this household. Side note: Kizzy gets dirt under her fingernails. WTF? Is she digging ditches outside while I'm asleep? As far as I know all this kid does is loaf around. If she's holding out on me and is actually able to be more productive then I'm not wiping her ass ANY MORE.
Sleep: Before the kid, sleep was something that just happened. I don't really ever remember looking at a clock and being like "oh, I have to go to sleep." Dust and I would just sort of end up asleep in bed somehow, as if by some sort of coma magic. Now my life revolves around how much sleep everyone in this house gets. Dust and I constantly quiz each other on how much sleep we think we got the night before. Sometimes I think the baby sleeps too much, sometimes too little. We watch the clock and get anxiety over her naps or the lack there of. Yesterday she slept all day and I worried she wouldn't sleep at night (she did.) A week ago she was up all day and I worried she would sleep too much that night (she didn't sleep at all.) I panic when Dustin doesn't get enough sleep because that means he won't be able to help me with the baby. He panics when I don't get enough sleep because that means I'm going to be a crazy sobbing mess. They need to invent something that is safe and keeps you awake. Red bull isn't cutting it and I think they'd take the baby away if I started doing meth. Everyone told me to get as much sleep as I could before the baby got here. I should have really listened.
As much as I worry and panic and act like a lunatic, I really do feel lucky. I am looking forward to 2012. I am looking forward to settling into some sort of routine. I'm excited to watch Kizzy grow. I'm happy to have an amazing, infinitely patient husband who loves me even when I'm being ridiculous. I'm happy we have a house and a yard and a large supply of caffinated beverages at our disposal.
So bring it, 2012. After 2011, I'm ready for anything.
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