While we’re talking about new territory…

… let’s discuss toddlerhood.

Because all of a sudden, Baby O is now a toddler. For example. This past weekend, we must have made the SAME circuit in our house 35 times.

Start in the living room. Crawl into the dining room, and pull up on the windowseat near the umbrella plant.

Look back at mama or dada with a mischievous grin, and despite their shaking head, grab for the plant anyway.

Drop down to knees and crawl away into the kitchen. Make a beeline for the cat food and water dish. When mama or dada blocks the way, roll over and yell and fuss and arch. Then look up at them and smile.

Roll over onto belly and crawl for the safety gate blocking access to the litterpan. Stand up and bounce on toes, shrieking with happiness.

Drop down and crawl into the bathroom. Grab open door and push it shut. Pull it open again. Push it shut. Pull it open.

When bored, crawl back out. Beeline for the cat’s food and water dish. Roll over and arch and scream when mama or dada blocks access.

Crawl through kitchen, dining room, living room and foyer. Beeline for the stairs. Climb the stairs, one at a time. Get to the landing and look back at mama or dada with a mischievous grin. Grab for the cat’s dry food.

Shriek and arch when mama or dada moves back down to the living room.

Rinse, repeat.

When I was pregnant, I worried that I wouldn’t be a very good mom. See, I don’t have what you call patience. J has always been the patient one.

I was surprised to see this weekend, though, that our roles were reversed. While I was content to follow Baby O up and down and around and through the house, J was a lot more impatient with the whole rigamarole.

Thing is, it’s only going to get worse, really, as Baby O gets bigger and taller and wants to explore more. Right now, despite the arching when he’s unhappy with us, he’s pretty quick to be distracted. As he gets older it’s going to be harder to redirect.

I just love watching him learn. Repetition is the hallmark of toddlerhood; Baby O is learning something new every time he makes a circuit around our house. It’s fun to learn with him, even if by 5pm I roll my eyes when he tries for the cat food for the umpteenth time.

But also, it amazes me at how quickly he’s turning into a PERSON. He understands SO much right now. He KNOWS before he does something that he’s not allowed to do it, but he tries it anyway. We are going to have to be consistent about the boundaries we set, no matter if it’s the second or the second hundreth time.

I know I’ve said this before. But I CANNOT believe how quickly this has gone. Last year at Easter he wasn’t even a week old. This year? He’s babbling, he’s crawling, he’s cruising. He’s going to eat ham and scalloped potatoes.

UnFREAKINGbelievable. That’s all.

New territory.

To begin, thank you for all the good wishes for Baby O. He’s doing MUCH better – his breathing improved enough that by Saturday morning he was zooming around the house, babbling the entire way. He’s still pretty stuffy, so his sleep’s been patchy, but we’re getting through it.

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This weekend was my turn to go to church. (J and I alternate most weeks, given that the service is smack dab in the middle of Baby O’s morning nap.)

For the sake of honesty, I’ll tell you something: we started going to church because we sort of felt guilty about being those parents that baptises their child and then disappears. And it’s a good way for us to meet people in our town, since the church is only a couple of doors down.

When we first started going, I joked with J that “except for all the God stuff, the whole church thing is great.” And since I’m being honest, I’ll tell you too – I’ve had J go more often than I do – usually under the guise of “chores” while Baby O naps.

Mostly because for years now, I’ve questioned EVERYTHING. See, I grew up going to church. My grandfather, my favorite person in the whole world, was very involved in his church. He taught me prayers, and stories about Jesus, and took me to his big quiet old church. And I remember it being simple back then – God loved me. End of story.

But then my cousin committed suicide. And someone, of whom I’m SURE meant well, said something at one of her wakes.

“God has a plan for us all.”

And it stuck in my throat. For YEARS.

Because it was bullshit. Amy NEVER should have died. Even to this day, 15 years later, I don’t believe it.

And then my grandfather, my favorite person in the whole world, died not even a year later than Amy did. Apparently that was “God’s plan” too.

Bullshit.

“God’s plan” was a cop out, a way for people to feel better about something shitty that was happening to them. It was an empty phrase.

And it never made me feel better.

So here I am now. I’ve been going to church. And when I go, I’ve found it COMFORTING. It’s something about the church. It’s old, and it smells like my grandfather’s old church. And we say the same prayers my grandpa taught me, and sing the same hyms. And it reminds me of a time where faith came SIMPLY for me. God loves me. End of story.

I’m reminded of this simplicity when I look at Baby O nowadays. He’s fast turning into a toddler. When he’s happy? He nearly glows with it. When he’s not? Tantrum.

With him right now, it’s simple. Block him from doing something he wants to do, like play in the cat’s water dish, and we hear it.

Give him a wooden spoon and plastic bowl to play with? He shines.

There’s no questioning. There’s no agenda. (Not yet anyway.) It’s simple. He’s happy. Or not.

And as I was sitting in church this week, it struck me. Faith is like being Baby O. It’s SIMPLE. It means you have to let go of the questions, of the need to know. That desire to have a crystall ball, the questioning of your choices, the inability to make a choice because you’re not sure what’s best.

And I saw how people find religion a comfort in times of struggle. Because it means you can let go. And trust that someone will take care of you.

I’m not sure I can ever go back to that place, that child-like trust of God.

But I can tell you that the more I go to church, the more I want to believe it IS as simple as that.

God loves me. End of story.

What?

Yesterday morning I dropped Baby O off to daycare as normal.

By the end of the day, he was diagnosed with pneumonia.

Seriously.

Baby O’s been stuffy for WEEKS now. Since his tubes surgery, when he got that nasty cold; he’s never really shaken the congestion.

So when he developed a cough overnight on Tuesday, I didn’t really think much of it. He’s one of those babies that coughs when his postnasal drip gets heavier. I just assumed that was the case again. I told J that we should brace ourselves, because I was pretty sure Baby O was catching a cold. We made plans for splitting the days if he DID get sick.

Daycare called me at 2pm yesterday and said that Baby O was running a slight fever, but he’d been fussy all morning. So I left work and went to go get him.

When I got there, it was clear he was sick. His eyes were glassy. His cheeks were flushed. He just sat in my arms and rested his hot little cheek against mine.

The ONLY reason I called the pediatrician in the first place was because one of his ears was bright red and hot to the touch. I was sort of worried about an ear infection.

So we went to the pediatrician’s. And when we got there, and I realized that his beloved bear blanket was still at daycare, I thought “well, it’ll be quick. Look at the ears, and we’ll be off.”

Two hours, a 102.7 fahrenheit degree temperature, two pulse/oxygen readings, a nebulizer treatment, two chest x-rays, one diagnosis, and one VERY exhausted baby later… we left.

I’m still in shock. He was FINE in the morning. Had a cough, but his temperature was normal. (I took it to make sure that he was okay to go to daycare.) And when his provider called me, she told me that his temp was higher than normal, but it was a low grade fever.

It’s clear this morning that he IS very sick. If I hadn’t taken him yesterday, you bet your bippy I would have taken him first thing this morning. Because today it’s clear he’s having trouble breathing. He can only take rapid, wheezy, shallow breaths.

From the googling I’ve done, apparently bacterial pneumonia CAN come on that quickly. Has an incubation period of 18-72 hours.

Just nuts, that’s all.

And I’ll tell you.

I am tired of sick. I keep hearing that good weather = healthy babies.

Summer cannot come quick enough for me.

And my poor, sweet, sick Baby O.

Wordless Wednesday: First Birthday Party.

Plan.

One of the biggest ways being Baby O’s mom has changed me is in planning.

Before parenthood, I had everything all planned out. We’d get pregnant, we’d have 2 kids, we’d get a dog, we’d live in our house where it would be summer all year long, we’d have plenty of money and time.

And leprechauns would dance on our beds every night, too.

Infertility made me realize that planning was silly. But it didn’t stop me from planning. Researching every contingency, preparing myself for the worst case AND best case scenario. Planning was my coping mechanism for a failed cycle. Well, we’d just try something different.

But then Baby O came. And all of a sudden, I had no control over ANYTHING. When I ate. When I slept. When I showered or used the bathroom, even.

So after a while, planning for much of anything started to seem silly.

But now, see. There are some things we HAVE to plan for. A bit, anyway.

Trying for mythical baby #2 is one of them.

Why?

Right now we’re on J’s insurance. Which has NO fertility coverage, since he works in New Hampshire.

And a couple of weeks ago, it just so happened to be the open enrollment for MY insurance. Which covers fertility treatments, since it’s mandated by the Commonwealth. But it’s more expensive, and would mean more outlay for us. I wasn’t sure if it was a good decision for us to switch if we didn’t plan on using it for treatments again.

So I mentioned to J that perhaps we should discuss when and if we wanted to think about trying again. Because we needed to switch our insurance if we planned on doing anything during this calendar year without paying a lot of money ourselves.

Now, see. I am SO not ready to consider trying again. I have no idea WHEN I’ll be ready to try again. I also don’t know how far I’m willing to go with ART this time either. But it took us two and a half years to get pregnant with Baby O. And, well, given the insurance situation, I thought it was worth a discussion.

I was not prepared for my husband’s lack of interest in discussing it.

Now see, J is different than me. He just doesn’t talk about something in which he’s not decided. He doesn’t find catharsis in going over his options out loud. What he does, instead, is ruminate in his own head until he has a decision.

Which, you know, isn’t the best way for two people to get on the same page. Particularly when one person is like me and WANTS it to be a discussion.

Not to mention that, as soon as we started discussing it, all the emotion from our years of trying (and failing) came back.

Ultimately, the issue caused us so much stress and friction that I made the executive decision that open enrollment be damned, we were NOT switching insurances this calendar year.

And honestly? As soon as the open enrollment deadline passed, so did the issue which had us arguing almost daily.

I will say. Knowing that we don’t have to make any PLANS this calendar year has been SUCH A RELIEF to me.

Because I am NOT ready to try again. I am NOT ready to deal with the blood draws. The doctor visits. The spiral of hope and fear. And all the MANAGING that goes along with it.

Meh.

So no PLANNING. This calendar year, we’re focused on Baby O. Watching him grow and change. Being a family.

We’ll deal with the planning some other time.

First baby-free overnight.

It was last night.

J came and picked me up and work, and we went into Boston.

It was liberating. We went to our favorite sushi place. We got a bottle of wine because we didn’t have to worry about driving home – the inn was right around the corner. After dinner, we took a walk. We went to our favorite independent bookstore. We debated coffee, but ultimately decided that sleep would be better.

Our discussion at dinner touched a little bit on work, a good amount on Baby O… but mostly on vacations. And trips.

And J and I talked about trying to break free of our task list and get out and do SOMETHING each weekend this spring and summer. There’s a ton of state parks near our house. We discussed Saturday morning jaunts in the woods with Baby O.

We also talked about family trips we want to take with Baby O. Where we’d go.

Which led into a discussion of the top ten accomodations we’ve had since we started dating.

Overall it was a nice, relaxed, happy night. Very little discussion of work, or to-dos.

We fell asleep around 9:30, and though I woke a number of times (not my bed!), I was able to go back to sleep pretty easily.

It’s just interesting.

The difference between the people we are now and the people we were the last time we went to this restaurant is astounding. The last time we went, it was early in my pregnancy. We didn’t really talk about the baby all that much; mostly our discussion revolved around work. When we went to the bookstore, I deliberately avoided the kids section – you know, so as not to jinx anything.

This time at the bookstore, I found myself in the kids section, looking for a book to bring home to Baby O. I didn’t find a book for him that called to me.

But what I did find was a parenting book instead. Which was on sale for $3.99.

So I bought it.*

Being parents has fundamentally changed us. It’s part of who we are. And last night, I discovered that my thoughts inevitably ran back to him. The few times I was up overnight, I wondered if he was sleeping well. I wondered if he’d miss us at his morning feeding.

But last night was good for J and I on a lot of levels. We talked about the things we usually DON’T talk about. Like what we want our summer to look like. What sort of parents we’re hoping to be. How lately we feel like we’re slaves to the to do list, and how the only way we can let things go is to get out of the house and get outside.

I think in the past year, both of us have struggled with assimilating all of our new identities into our marriage. Before Baby O, it was just about balancing being a worker bee with being a wife/husband with being an individual.

Now, parenting, which for both of us is all-encompassing, has to exist with being a worker bee. And being a wife/husband. And being an individual. It’s impossible to seamlessly switch between them.

So last night was a good reminder for J and I that we need to keep working on it.

Not just for Baby O, but for the both of us. For our marriage. For our SELVES.

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*I’m not really one to take parenting books as bibles, per se. But the way I look at it, if I can find some nuggets of information which I can use at some future date, then it’s not a waste of time. Or money.

And given that I grew up in a house where conditional love was prevalent, I don’t really know anything else.

Worth a read, at the very least. I’ll let you all know if the 4 bucks I spent on it was worth it.

More on one year. With stats and mad skillz. And okay, some gushing too.

Goodness, this week things have been coming fast and furious. I can’t believe it’s Thursday already – can’t catch my breath!

Baby O had his one year wellbaby appointment today.

His stats:

Weight – 18lbs, 13oz (5th percentile)

Height – 29.5 inches (50th percentile)

So apparently J is right when he calls Baby O his “stringbean.” The doctor didn’t seem worried about the drop in percentiles in weight, given that Baby O continues to be a voracious eater and has been actively crawling and pulling up the past couple of weeks.

His shots went about as well as expected, he cried and cried and clung to me and his blanket when he was done.

But I’ll tell you. My parents are in town this week to visit him, and have been taking care of him during the day while I’m at work.

And really, this week has been HUGE for milestones/skillz for Baby O.

In the past week, Baby O has:

1. Learned how to climb our stairs. Next up is figuring out what sort of gate we’re going to have to get, given that the newel post doesn’t start until the SECOND stair.

Which, as you can imagine, is a disaster waiting to happen. Baby O climbs the first stair, pulls up on the gate, and then goes to sit down and crawl away, not realizing he’s on a STAIR, not the floor. Boom, baby bump head. Bad things happen.

2. Has two new words: Baby and Night-night. Which come out sounding like “bee-bee” and “nai-nai,” and could quite possibly be the CUTEST thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life.

3. Has been so active in crawling and exploring our house during the day that by 6pm he’s exhausted and ready for bed.

4. Has also discovered a whole new world of food. He now likes strawberries, chicken, asparagus, kiwi, madarin oranges, and milk.

In fact, we ran out of formula TODAY. No more formula for us – only cow’s milk. (Yes, we’ve been transitioning him for the past couple of weeks; started with 3/4 formula 1/4 milk and this week have been going 1/4 formula, 3/4 milk bottles.) Which, I confess, made me a little sad. My little baby is a big kid now and can drink big kid milk.

5. Has discovered the value of a good temper tantrum, particularly when we are trying to change his diaper and he’s not happy about it. The good news is that, so far, he just cries and kicks at us, but doesn’t really FIGHT us.

(Yet.)

6. Had his first girl scout cookie. Shortbread. I cannot tell you how much he LOVED that thing. And afterwards, he zoomed around the living room, chattering away. So um. Yeah. We’ll limit the girl scout cookies with the sugar for “special occasions.”

Like whenever grandma and grandpa are there, I suppose.
_____________________

Every day it seems like he picks something new up. He waves at his grandpa. He waves at his grandma. He waves at the cat. (In fact, he waved IN HIS SLEEP the other night, he’s been waving so much.) He claps. He shrieks with happiness when he’s cruising. He has been walking the length of the couch. He will pull up on ANYTHING he possibly can in order to stand.

And man, is he FAST with the crawling. Gone are the days of the army crawl, the slow, deliberate pace. Now if he sees something, he’s there in a heartbeat.

And he tests us. He knows he’s not allowed to play around the big potted plant in the dining room. So he’lll crawl towards it and look over at us to see if we tell him no. And even if we DO tell him no, he smiles all cute, like “who me? I’m not going to touch that plant!” and will continue towards the plant. We have to pick him up and take him away.

My one year old son. Unfreakingbelievable.

There are some mornings where I can barely wrap my head around the fact that I am a mom at all, much less a mom to a one year old.

He’s amazing, and wonderful, and everything I ever hoped for. And more. I never knew I could love like this. And I know it’s only going to get bigger as time goes on.

A Year in Review.

Dear Baby O:

A year ago today, you were born.

When I heard your cry in the operating room, I felt such relief.

You see, we loved you for a long time, your daddy and I. We tried for so long, and went through so many times where we thought we might never be parents.

To have you was like a dream come true.

And you were so perfect. And SO tiny.

And then we brought you home, and watched you grow.

I’ll admit, those first six weeks or so was a little overwhelming. You ate a lot. You slept a lot. We didn’t really know what we were doing as parents. But we did know a few things.

1. You loved your baths. In fact, that’s where we’re pretty sure you smiled you first smile.

2. And even though your daddy and I were tired, and overwhelmed, we knew we needed to keep laughing.
(Granted, it was sometimes at your expense.)

But it was always in good fun.

And as spring came to Massachusetts, in full force, you woke up and started to become curious about everything.

Like the flashy thing I used to take your picture.

Or the pictures in books.

And then? You met your bear blanket. And it was love at first sight.

And then it was summer, and your personality really came out to shine.

And even if you didn’t seem to have MUCH of a sense of humor at that point…

… it didn’t seem to matter, because you loved us anyway.

(Or maybe you just REALLY liked your bath.)

And then it was fall, and we took our first family vacation, and brought you out on your first hike. Which we thought you really enjoyed – until we noticed that you had just fallen asleep.

But during that trip you discovered a love for Dr. Seuss. And we read you “Green Eggs and Ham” over and over and over in the next few months.

And then you started rolling. Everywhere.

In your crib, for example.

We couldn’t put you down on your activity mat and leave you. Because we never knew where you’d end up.

And in the early fall, you started eating real food, like cereal – and thought it was pretty good.

And then, you started being more and more happy, smiling all the time at your daddy and me.

You smiled when your daddy tickled you.

You smiled every time mommy brought out the camera.

And as fall made its way to winter, you started to discover that you had toys. And when you sat up and played with them, they were fun.

Like your toy drum, for example. (Which is STILL your favorite toy, even now that you have a bunch.)

And then it was the Christmas season. And you helped mommy and daddy pick out our tree.

When we came home to decorate it, we did our christmas card shoot, too. You didn’t seem to mind the Santa suit – I think mostly because you were fascinated by the lights.

And it was good that you didn’t mind the santa suit and hat, because by then your hair was out of control.

So our first order of business in the new year was your first haircut. Which you handled with dignity, grace, and bravery.

Ok, well, you cried a lot of tears.

But Mommy was proud of you anyway!

And then you discovered crawling.

And pulling up. And our entertainment center, with all the DVDs. And your new favorite hobby was pulling those out to play with them.

You figured out how to play UNDER the furniture, too…

… and discovered that the remote makes a REALLY neat toy.

And you decided that wearing a hospital johnny wasn’t all that bad, even if you had to wear it because you had to get tubes in your ears.

Through this entire year, your daddy and I have watched you get bigger with such joy. And pride.

And my love for you is deeper and wider and bigger than the entire universe. Every day I wake up feeling lucky to be your mom.

And I am SO looking forward to sharing the next year with you; showing you how awesome the world can be.

I love you more than anything in this world, Baby O. I hope this is the first of many fantastic birthdays in your lifetime.

Love Always,
your mom.

Why my kid might win an Oscar someday.

When Baby O wants to be picked up, he’ll look at us, usually from across the room, and whine a bit. Or fuss.

But in true parenting style, I’ll say something like “but you can crawl now! Come here and I’ll pick you up!”

With a big smile and a sweeping come-hither motion.

And usually he does, fussing and whining all the way, until he’s safely in my arms. And then two seconds later he wants down. And wants to be across the room. Where he fusses yet again that he wants to be picked up.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Now that he’s cruising, though, we’re a little more watchful. Especially when he’s tired and prone to bumping his head and closing his fingers in drawers.

And when he does hurt himself, we’ll scoop him up when he’s crying. And kiss the boo boo for him. And he’ll rest in our arms for a second before he wants down again.

Well.

This weekend he was crawling in the dining room while I was chatting with my mother. I had an eye on him when I saw him seemingly slip to his side, gently bumping his head on the floor. But he cried, so I went over and picked him up, kissed his boo boo, and snuggled with him until he wanted to get back down.

FIVE MINUTES LATER, he did the same.very.thing.

By that point, though, I was watching him a little closer, and I noted that his “slip” from crawling was lowering himself onto his belly, where he then rolled OVER, and LOWERED HIS HEAD TO THE FLOOR. Quickly. But very controlled. And the cry? Sounded a little fake to me.

So instead of getting up immediately, I just watched him. And sure enough, he stopped crying, and looked up at me.

And I looked at my mother and said “did you just see that?”

Sure enough, he did it AGAIN not more than two minutes later. And this time he cried hard. With real tears and everything.

Probably because the first fake tears didn’t move me.

Apparently, almost one is not too young for a little parental manipulation.

Hoo boy.

A shout out.

I don’t do this much at all – mostly because it’s never really my news to tell.

But.

You HAVE to go congratulate my girl Chicklet. She’s the funniest blogger I know (I mean, seriously, her story about having to poo in Cambodia STILL makes me giggle).

And yesterday she truly became legend.

This give me hope that the universe DOES reward people.

Anyway. Go over and give her a huge hug.