Happy Christmas to one and all.

I’m putting up the out of blog sign, since we’ll be away from tomorrow until New Years’ Day.

So.

To all of my blog friends: Happy Christmas.

May the new year bring much love and light… and hope to your lives.

xxx

Puck update.

Hi.

I didn’t intend to give the impression that I was going to put Puck down in my last post.

I was merely going over my (non) options in this case. Ahead of myself. Because we hadn’t heard from the vet, and we didn’t know if there was a physical issue. And for the past 9 months we’ve been asking around, wondering if a non-baby, non other pet home who doesn’t mind an indoor cat with no claws might take him in. Because clearly – he’s been losing weight. He’s not himself. He’s UNHAPPY.

The physical issue? The bloodwork and urine analysis all came back normal. Puck is healthy. Stressed out? Yes. Pissed off (pardon the pun)? Yes. But healthy.

So what are we going to do? In my vet’s words, we’re going to pull out the big guns. We’re going to increase his dose of kitty prozac. We’re going to add a litterpan to the upstairs bathroom. We’re going to try a new brand of litter. We’re going to continue to use the kitty pheremones. If that fails, we’re going to keep him in the bathroom for a couple of days until he is re-introduced to his litter.

In the meantime, J is going to rip out the carpet on the stairwell landing – the place where he is going the most – replace the sub-floor, and install hardwood.

If all of that doesn’t work? Then we’ll reassess.

We’re working through it.

I really didn’t intend to be controversial when I posted my options as it related to our cat. I was depressed. I still am, actually. I love him, and I’m so fucking sad that our relationship has turned into nothing more than pee management.

And Baby O LOVES him. Every time Puck is turned to him, Baby O smiles and coos, in the hopes that Puck will smile back. And I’m sad that Baby O won’t have the kind of relationship I had with my housecat when I was growing up.

But for now, we’re working through it. And I hope – I really hope – that we’ll all find some neutral ground. Where Puck feels ok. Where he accepts that Baby O is part of our family and can deal with it. Where I’m not stepping in a puddle of pee at 4am because the cat is mad at us.

That’s all.

I have to share because it’s so damn cute.

Baby O has my number. I mean, he has since he was an itty bitty. But even more so now.

On the mend.

Baby O and I are, anyway. J seems to have a more mild version of it, but he’s not well today.

I pretty much can eat anything I want now, thankfully. And Baby O hasn’t had a diarrhea diaper since yesterday morning.

Course, he’s not all that interested in eating or drinking. In fact, I’m having a hard time feeding him much at all. He’ll eat bananas. Nothing much else. He’ll drink straight brea.stmilk. But if you add formula to it? He drinks for an ounce or so, then spits it out.

Which, you know. Is bad timing. Because I’m not pumping. We’ve gone through a full BAG of milk this week while he’s been home.

But I’m trying not to worry too much – hopefully he’ll start drinking formula again. Soon. Because um. We’re going to Florida in less than a week. And I can’t really PACK 5 days worth of milk in our suitcase, really.

*sigh*

The Puck situation? Yeah. It’s rough. We’ve had to take up a good oriental in our dining room before he ruined it. That’s when he found another place to pee instead. His behavior is escalating. He’s literally ruining our house. And I worry almost all the time – will Baby O ROLL one day into a place where we just didn’t KNOW that Puck was going?

We HAVE tried everything, despite the vet’s assertion that we will have to “bring out the big guns.” We’ve tried the feliwag pheremone spray. We’ve tried putting food over the offending areas. We’ve tried the anti-anxiety meds. We’ve tried a new litterpan. We’ve tried keeping his litter super clean. We’ve been trying some combination of the above now for 9 months. To no avail.

From my view, there are three options. We can continue to let him ruin our house, we can try and find another home for him, or we can put him down.

It’s a horrible set of options. J and I haven’t been able to discuss ANY of them at length. Because I can barely speak for the lump in my throat every time I try and figure out what to do.

Puck has been my constant since college. And I love him so much. But I can’t let him ruin my house, and put our family at risk because he’s pissed off that he’s no longer the only cat.

And I can’t even think about trying to find him another home. Because who will take a cat who pees on the rug whenever he’s stressed? I can’t even imagine bringing him to a shelter where he’ll spend the rest of his life in a cage.

And putting him down… g-d. It’s more humane than sentencing him to a shelter for the rest of his life… but I can’t fathom how I’d live with myself if I did that. Because he’s not in PAIN. He just pees on our rug. How can I play G-d and sentence my poor animal to death because he’s stinking up our house? How would I live with myself?

Meh. Every time I spiral down into this thinking, all I want to do is plug my fingers into my ears and sing “La-la-la-la-LA!” at the top of my lungs.

Anyway, so that’s some of what’s been going on at chez Serenity. Not the best stuff lately, sorry to be such a downer. I know – it really could be far worse. We have a wonderful 9 month old son, and it’s Christmas. Trust me when I say that I thank the universe every day for the gift of Baby O.

Man, what a week.

Baby O got sick on Tuesday night.

Early Thursday morning, I discovered yet ANOTHER place where Puck has been peeing. So yesterday I took him to the vet, and they noted that he’s lost 4.5lbs since last November. From what the vet seemed to indicate, the peeing might be part of a thyroid issue.

Note I said part. Because she did tell me that now his peeing IS behavioral as well, so if we want him to stop, we’re going to have to “pull out the big guns.”

Because the kitty prozac, the pheremone spray, the extra litter, the extra food places, the rolling up the carpets where he’s gone allegedly isn’t enough.

*sigh*

So then I got home, and J went into Boston for a hockey game. And I threw up. All night.

At least it happened this week, instead of on Christmas Eve or something.

Oh well.

I got it too.

Awesome.

The Sick.

Last night, there was something WRONG with Baby O. It wasn’t anything I could put my finger on, really. But he fussed through dinner – wasn’t interested in eating anything we fed him. Even sweet potatoes, which are his favorites.

I should have known then. But, see. I wanted him to eat dinner. Because the night before he hadn’t eaten well and was up at 4am for his bottle. And the night before that, too. So I was determined to get enough food into him so that he’d maybe sleep a little later. And I could catch up on my own sleep.

He went down easily enough, and J and I had our dinner and were relaxing on the couch when I heard a noise through the monitor. It sounded like just a cough. But my whole body tensed.

I must have KNOWN.

The next noise was a weak cry. And in a flash I was up the stairs into his room. And I came in, and Baby O was crying. And he was COVERED with his dinner.

Poor baby had thrown it all up.

I went into action – called J up, who started a bath. I turned on the light and stripped my poor baby out of his nasty clothes. And we gave him a bath at 10pm.

Wouldn’t you know it? The kid SMILED when we put him in the bath. Like it was a treat for him to be playing in the tub after his bedtime.

We dressed him in clean clothes and put him back to bed, and he was immediately asleep. But at this point both J and I were on tenterhooks. And sure enough, just as we were getting ready for bed, we heard the sound again. And again when we went in, he was covered.

And this time, mostly asleep.

So I changed him again. And J remade his crib. And in the process, Baby O woke up fully again. And whimpered. And in the next hour and a half, he threw up three more times.

They tell you early on that there’s a difference between spitting and throwing up. I can attest to that. Baby O threw up just like you or I would – a rumble deep inside him. And each time, he cried. And I just held him in my lap, and cleaned his face with a towel and told him that I was here, and I was sorry, and he’d be ok.

And around midnight, he went to sleep in my lap. And I held him another half hour, just in case. And then I went to bed myself.

J and I knew he wouldn’t go to daycare today. But I had no idea what brought it on. Was it the new food I had introduced that night? Bad yogurt for breakfast? Maybe the milk had gone bad? Because this morning he had a NASTY diarrhea diaper. And then another near lunchtime.

So I called daycare to check in and ask whether or not any of the other kids in the infant room were sick. And the director told me that 4 other kids were out with the same thing.

Rotavirus.

AWESOME.

Despite the fact that he’s had two immunizations against it, he’s contagious with every diarrhea diaper he’s got. And. Um. J or I could get it too.

Eep.

The good news is that, really, Baby O is no worse for the wear. He’s not interested in food much today, but otherwise in pretty good spirits.

But man. My poor sick baby.

Ha.

Apparently I can only blog about bad things. Because as soon as I have a post about how happy I am, how well things are going… it all goes downhill.

I mean, in the grand scheme of things we’re doing well.

But good grief Baby O was fussy and whiny this weekend.

You see, he’s trying to crawl.

I mean, his ENTIRE LIFE DEPENDS ON CRAWLING.

And crawling is the BANE of his existence. Because he just can’t figure out how to make his body work the way he wants it to.

Literally he is on his belly more than not. Every time we put him on the floor, he rolls to his belly and swims. And pushes himself backwards. And grunts. And fusses. Sometimes, if it’s within an hour of when he’s last eaten? He spits up, he’s working so hard.

And naptimes? Forget sleeping – he was going to MASTER THIS CRAWLING THING. And he was SO tired, my poor baby. But AS.SOON.AS I put him down to sleep, he’d roll to his belly. And work at crawling. And cry.

I finally had to turn him on his side against me and rock him to get him to sleep. For a full half hour. Wheee.

His single-minded devotion to the pursuit of locomotion is actually pretty cute. And it doesn’t surprise me, given how determined both J and I can be about some things. But it doesn’t really make for a weekend of getting things accomplished. And while I love holding him when he’s all tired and whiny, I DO sort of need some me time too. To wrap presents. To maybe shave my legs. (No. Seriously. I realized this weekend that it has been SIX WEEKS since I shaved them last. Let’s not get into how mannish my legs look right now. Eeek.)

But. I digress.

So in two days, my baby will be 9 months old. NINE MONTHS.

How did THAT happen?

Some milestone things which I want to share about Baby O:

1. He’s starting to self-feed. Which is pretty amazing, given that he still has no teeth. But he likes puffs and manages to get them into his mouth. This weekend we tried cheese, which he seemed to like a lot. And he’s doing ok with the stage three jarred baby foods – the fruits are going better than the vegetables right now. But so far we’ve been lucky in that he’s pretty eager to try any sort of food, and (knock on wood) hasn’t seemed to have any allergy issues with anything yet.

2. He says “mama.” As a word. In fact. He knows I’m mama. I’m still sort of amazed by this, actually.

A few weeks ago, when he was sick and J took him to the pediatrician, J came home and said “I swear, Baby O was calling for you at the doctor’s today.” Apparently when he gets upset and I’m not there, he would cry “ma-ma.”

And sure enough, his daycare teacher told me the same thing too. As did my SIL. When he’s upset, he says “mama.’

But I wasn’t convinced; a pout can make any noise sound like mama. And I’ve never been there to witness it.

Until this weekend.

He was in the exersaucer, and he was starting to get cranky. And he looked at me, put his arms up, and said “mama.”

Which apparently means “up” for him. But dammit if he didn’t communicate that he wanted me to pick him up.

3. We’ve gone a full week without nursing. And today I decided to stop pumping. Because this weekend I only managed 2oz in one session, which isn’t enough to freeze. Because my poor nips are dry enough that I’m bleeding again.

And I miss it. I didn’t expect that I’d have an emotional issue with weaning. But I do.

I miss the ease of being able to feed him in the early morning. I miss feeling that physical bond with him – that my body is providing him with something he needs. For almost 18 months we were connected physically, Baby O and I.

Really I think I just miss when he was little, and helpless, and I was able to provide him with everything he needed.

But anyway. How is it that EVERY post of mine these days comes back to my boo.bs? I mean, really.

That’s all to report for now. Baby O has his 9 month well-baby appointment on Friday morning, where I’ll get a better idea if all the food the kid’s been socking away has helped him maybe gain a percentile or two. I’m hoping for at least 25, instead of the 5-10th he was a month ago.

In the meantime, time keeps marching on.

Nine months old.

I just can’t believe it.

The good.

I’m feeling pretty good these days. About my decision to stop nursing and pumping. About being a working mom.

About our newfound sleep.

I’m having a hard time believing that it’s a coincidence that Baby O is starting to sleep through a FULL night around the same time I stopped nursing him. Because now? Instead of a middle of the night nurse, he gets a 5am bottle. Eight whole ounces, which he sucks down hungrily.

And because he’s sleeping better, he’s generally a happy boy during the day. Smiling, rolling, happy baby.

Sometimes I do feel a pang that he doesn’t seem to miss nursing. Because, well, *I* do. Sort of.

But then we snuggle in for a bottle, and I don’t have to worry he’s not getting enough. And I get to kiss his head. Or ruffle his hair. And often, in the mornings when he’s at the tail end of his bottle, he reaches up, eyes closed, and touches my face softly. As if he’s just checking to make sure I’m still there.

And now that we’ve gotten a handle on his hunger, and he’s sleeping better and longer… we’re having FUN being Baby O’s parents.

Every night, when I walk into the house, and he sees me, I’m rewarded with a big smile. Work just disappears. And we play together, and we read books. And when he needs to go to bed, he buries his face in my shoulder. And I put him down, and within minutes, he’s asleep.

I feel like it’s taken me this long to get comfortable with being Baby O’s mom. Almost nine months.

In a week or so, Baby O will have officially lived outside me longer than he was inside me.

And with each day, my love for him grows deeper and wider and bigger than I ever thought it possible to love anyone in this world.

I am so lucky to have him. To be his mom.

I mean. LOOK at him.

How can this smile NOT melt your heart?

Sad.

I got a call from my MIL yesterday. My SIL lost another pregnancy. Apparently she got pregnant on the first cycle she could try again, and found out when she was almost 8w that the embryo had stopped growing at 6w.

She goes in for another D&E today.

And to add insult to injury, when she does get AF, she has to wait three full cycles before trying again.

I’m so sad for her; I don’t even have the words. Last night when I called her to tell her how fucking sorry I was to hear the news, I couldn’t get past the lump in my throat.

Because about a month ago we had a long conversation about her miscarriage and how worried she was that there was something wrong with her. She told me she was on google too much and was getting scared about all the things which COULD be wrong.

Having researched the causes of our infertility ad nauseum myself, I could relate. But maybe there wasn’t anything wrong. Maybe this was something where she just ended up on the wrong side of the statistics.

Twice now.

*sigh*

It just makes my heart hurt to see people I love go through pain like this. My sister, who’s going on two years of not getting pregnant. Now my SIL, who’s had two losses, one right on top of another. (And to think: I was once jealous of her ability to get pregnant so quickly.)

And this time of year. I know – I KNOW- how hard it is. How hard it is on my sister to hear my mom say so happily to someone: “I’m expecting to have more grandkids, you know!” How hard it will be on my SIL to not be pregnant like she had expected – twice now – over the holidays.

Meanwhile, I hold Baby O close and think.

How much pain and fear went into bringing him home.

He is the light of my life.

So yes, he is worth every second of our two and a half year struggle.

But.

It doesn’t mean I am ok with it.

Not for me.

And not for my sisters.