Happy 0.5 Birthday!

My baby girl is 6 months old.  Didn't have any clue that it would be so exciting for me (and seriously, look out come July 17!) It sounds so "parent" but this six months has brought so much change. We've come to know so much in this little nugget, yet she is still so much the same as I imagined as she lounged in my belly and kicked back at Mr, P's nudges.  One good aspect of my "all-hands-on-deck, prepare-for-the-worst" outlook is that I am so often pleasantly surprised.  I was hunkered down ready to be overwhelmed with howl-filled, marriage-destructing sleep deprivation.  I was prepared to bear-and-grin-it through caring for a person I was missing the gene to love - and all this after losing all my support and being ejected from the delivery room for crazy poor behavior. I was ready to crumble at illness or injury.  And guess what? None of that happened!
So yes, C has accomplished so much - from following a moving toy with her eyes, to spinning herself around to get to a toy, babbling "dadadad," rolling over, and sitting by herself.  She giggles and babbles and wiggles and smiles.  She smiles a LOT.  But this one is a little more about me, because I'm actually pretty proud of myself and am going to toot my own horn...
I made it through a rough pregnancy (albeit with lots of rants, but that's what this forum was for), I made it through a rough labor, and a c-section, and the recovery of such.  Ok...so I didn't have a choice in any of this, but still...
Mothering has come out of me, sometimes vigorously.  Not that I haven't lost my shit - I have.  I've cried or handed her off so I could take respite in the aisles of Target.  But I have also kept at nursing her, every day now, for 6 months.  I have given up dairy, eggs, soy, and gluten in order to make her more comfortable...and these 5 ingredients are in EVERYTHING.  Birthday parties...sucks.  Holidays...sucks.  Restaurants....sucks.  Grabbing something at the last minute...impossible.  I've gotten up at night, and then STILL gotten up in the morning.
By her 6 month birthday I have lost all the baby weight (although I now need to lose the wedding weight, dating Mr. P weight, and generally disgusting lifestyle through my 20's weight...)  I fit back into my work pants (therefore regretting throwing out 75% of my clothes when they didn't fit at 6 weeks postpartum), can wear my wedding ring again, and am working out regularly.  I went back to work at 8 weeks...and I take the baby with me, which is VERY lucky, but also a major challenge.  I have handled bumped heads, Linda Blair vomiting, medical tests, vaccinations, coughs and runny noses.  I have put her in her own bed, and stopped running to her cries (although I'm not sold on the idea of ever letting her cry it out...especially at this age).  And as much as this is all run of the mill...it comes from someone who took a week to take the baby out of the house and in the car by herself!

So here's to another six months of surviving the new normal.

The God(less) Mother

On Saturday I will become the godmother to my squishy 10.5 month old nephew.  He will be baptized in the Roman Catholic Church, like so many of us before him.  I'm willing to bet it won't mean much more to him than it did us, but that will be for him to decide.
Those who know me well find it funny that I'm his godmother, as I am pretty open about being one of the roughly 2.3% of the world's atheist community.  So how do I justify this endeavor? Welcome to the inner workings of my version of logic....

If he's gonna wear my shoes, I prefer it be these

1. Look at the kid...he's adorable, we share blood, I can't get enough of him, and if something is asked of me that has to do with him, the answer is YES.
2. The promise I'm making is to ensure his spiritual growth if his parents can't.  I know plenty about Catholicism and if that's what they want...I will make sure he becomes the wizard of all Catholics if need be.  However, if he asks what I believe....
3. In the eyes of the church, I'm not really "godparent" material since I live in a marriage unrecognized by the church (thank you for not being in charge of the IRS, the Macy's registry or California's Community Property laws, church!) so if they are overlooking little stuff, so will I.
4. In godparent class, we're told that once you're baptized you can't be UN-baptized.  Meaning, I am forever a Catholic in THEIR eyes, unless I do something to get myself kicked out and internal "failings" (i.e. doubts) are not grounds for excommunication - so I'm covered there. Therefore criteria of confirmed Catholic over the age of 16 is met. Check.

So, in as much as I have no intention of disrespecting the Catholic church or believers of any faith...I am doing this:)
I will follow up with pictures of the little angel and his pagan cousin ASAGP (as soon as godly possible -ok no more jokes).

Masticate, Ingurgitate....Expectorate

We just saw a rather rotund 8 month old at the office next door devouring some yams and coconut and cottage cheese.  C couldn't care less, and mommy looked on with rabid jealousy.  Cousin Aidan has apparently never spit anything out - but if he doesn't like it, he just holds it in his mouth.  (Add this to the list of things we will one day mock).  C's mild mannered, flocculent friend Miles sweetly ate a jar of green somethings the other night without an argument. 
Ahhh, eating.  One of the great joys and sorrows in life.  People will pay dearly and anticipate for weeks when a good meal or treat for the mouth is on its way.  Children will endure punishment to avoid what they hate or to sneak what they like, at the known risk of stomach aches and the such.  Babies, however, will do whatever they damn well please.  And as far as I have figured out, there's not a damn thing anyone can do about it. 
C is defying a somewhat unfortunate gene pool and most of the pounds she adds only seem to serve to make her taller, not much rounder.  The pediatrician (that I'm still considering switching due to her failure to laugh at a very obvious joke I made) expressed mild concern about 5 weeks ago at her 4 month torture session.  Since then we have been supplementing her previous diet of 100% boobie chowder.  Doctor suggested avocado, but failed to mention the .00001% chance that any baby would go along with that as their first food.  Luckily other moms (including my own) gave me some other suggestions - and I've tried most (ok, all EXCEPT the ground up bacon...suggested not once, but twice...once by my bacon loving husband). 

WTF Mom?!

Avocado: Went down like a lead balloon.  As Dr. Seuss would say...
she did not like it in her rice,
she did not like it by the slice.
She did not like it mushed to power,
she did not like it with boobie chowder.
Not in a bottle or off a spoon,
not from my finger by the light of the moon.  (yes I tried this one night when we were both too tired to be trying anything new). 

Playing banana cars

Rice Cereal: the thing about this is you want to make it with breastmilk...like this stuff just falls out of the sky.  When you fail to rouse yourself and hook up to the screamer milk extractor you think, "well, maybe formula will be good...I'll make it with that"...but you don't want to make a full 2 oz which is the minimum the directions give you and your hormone tainted, usually quite sharp math skills can only take you down to 1 oz, which is probably too much too...so you think of water, and then think you are cutting corners with your child and you punish yourself.  Rice Cereal = Guilt.

Banana: Obviously a better taste, but still just sits in her mouth until it's watery enough to run out the side of her mouth.  Slightly more swallowing, but nothing impressive. The best shot was when I handed her a 1/2 peeled banana and she took a bite out of it and that disappeared.  Sorry Beyonce! Didn't know you were Ms. Independent!
Sweet Potatoes: Yes please.  BUT only if daddy is feeding them to me...because why would I reward the person who makes all this food, thinks it all out, and feels defeated at my indifference?!

Baby Weight Gainer 3000: Ok, that's not an official name - this is when we take formula and make it with breastmilk instead of water.  It's double the density and C sucks them down like a rock star.  I credit these with her swift movement through 3-6 month clothing and small sized diapers.

I have to defer to my friend, Mama Malibu (who's son Max was eating peas as we spoke on the phone the other day...he's 3 weeks YOUNGER that C), and remember that she's not going to be a 15 year old spitting out her food at her first dance- this will obviously pass in good time.  Until then, anyone on my speed-dial will probably get at least one exhausted, irrational call needing some talking down when I diagnose C with some tropical "retardation of the swallow" disease.

Happy New Year! (and 10 days)

As I type, 2012 is well upon us...and by upon us, I mean we are back at work, paying bills dated in 2012, and the holiday decorations are put away.  I have quite a few intentions - which I hear pave some pretty heavy paths - but since I don't believe in all that heaven and hell 'ish- these will pave the path to the next year (and set of intentions). 
Most of my intentions are driven by my little nugget - now a babbling, laughing, gene-defyingly slim nugget.  And some by mistakes I've made thus far (yup, already). 
I want to get healthy...duh, who doesn't? But it's not just a weight loss driven intention - although dropping the sexy fanny pack in the area previous referred to as the baby bump, and previous to that as a simple ute puff would add to my health.  No...I wan't to be flexible and have endurance and feel emotionally grounded - not just to fit into jeans (ahhhh, jeans....) but to be able to fully enjoy the nugget, every day with the Mr. and life. 
I want to make more stuff, even the stuff that never turns out right, because it has always been a good outlet for me and 3/10 times we get something  mildly useful out of it.  Plus, I am told again and again to do stuff for me to make me a better parent. 
Along the same lines, I want to work at my relationship with Mr. P.  Not because I feel like it's bad, but because a) I'd like to keep him around- he's pretty fun, and b) I think happy parents are good for a kid too (notice happy comes before TOGETHER in my mind).  I have seen a lot of marriages fall of the cliff and smack their head on rocks to be a bloody mess and wisked out to sea - I don't know how ensure that from happening, but I have some ideas and they are all worth the effort. 
So after a holiday of following, oh ZERO of these intentions...no really, I barely worked out, ate as crapily as is possible when you are avoiding everything yummy so your baby doesn't have questionable dookie, started projects and left them on the table for days, and grouched around in my own entitled stress - it is ON. 

Smiling baby surrounded by her gifs. She lives in a material world and she is a material girl.

Sitting on Booja's lap in their Xmas pajamas...longstanding family tradition. 

This was unplanned, but on a mall trip for Jake's birthday the santa had no line.

C had a wonderful Holiday and was an all around champ for a time when she doesn't get all the magic and excitement, but gets the way effed up schedule and crowds of people regardless.  She put on a smile and did her little jumpy dance for everyone and look as humble as her five months could muster when people gasped at the strength in her little body.  

You Don't Know Jack (er...Charlie)

You know how you can be with a mom and her baby and she says something like, "oh, that sound means he will be ready for a 4 ounce bottle in about 25 minutes," or "she'll go down around 4 and wake up between 5:30 and 5:40." Well, either they are totally full of shit or I am missing something about this parenting thing. There's also a third option, Charlotte is a genius with a great sense of humor (I'm obviously going to assume all three are true and run with that).
 I started trying it early on...I AM her mom, after all! But I quickly learned that I made myself look like a know-it-all, dumb-dumb every single time. If I said nothing, it may or may not be what I thought, but if I say it, she flips it. Now, since no one has mentioned my child being exceptionally odd (exceptionally gifted -yes, exceptionally cute - of course) I can assume she is on the spectrum of normal babies, proving that the other moms are full of shit. Although I have seen other moms (I'm looking at you Auntie G) be correct, even with MY child (now I'm glaring at you), so there's proof that I'm missing something...or I just haven't fully caught on. And finally. there is no other explanation of how things that are damn near guaranteed (even while writing this blog) she will not do if I say they are going to happen...my proof of evil genius-ness. See? I ran with it. My muffin top suggests I do another kind of running, but we'll leave that for another discussion.
 So here are the examples (although these are all within the last week, and this phenomenon has been happening since she was just a second line on a stick:
 1. Me to my mom, after giving her the run down on a gnarly, 4-day-in-the-making dookie from the night before: "no it's not an issue, it's normal for breastfed babies to wait a few days to poop - that is just her schedule now" [cue the runny toot noise from the backseat]
2. Me to my dad, when he suggested maybe the lights in the office wake her up when I negligently allow her to fall asleep and nap on her play mat next to my desk, "no, she's a cat napper, that's just how she naps - in short little bits- plus if I pick her up to put her to bed, she wakes up" [within the hour I take her from the swing to her pack and play, and she proceeds to nap for 2 hours]
3. Me to the stranger in the elevator, when asked if she sleeps well (and why do people ask this? Mean old sadist want to hear my woes?) "She sleeps through the night." [except for the past week, basically since I said that, but considering we're dealing with the end of daylight savings...it doesn't matter, evil genius I tell you!]
4. Me to my dad (again...maybe I just need to stop talking to him), "she is guaranteed to laugh at the clappy game," [clappy game, CLAPPY GAME...stare]

Dr. Evil planning to conquer the planet 

So this all goes to prove...I don't know this little girl at all, but it's SO much fun watching her, and one day I will earn the Rockin' Mommy badge, not by teaching her to tie a bow or how to spell her name (E-V-I-L G-E-N-U-I-S), but by calling her next move.

3 Months and the kick off to Holiday Season

I have very few posts in the last three months, and not from lack of excitement in our world. I won't try to write an excuse...if you have a 3 month old, you probably get why anyways. In fact, just last night I got to the super duper floor cleaning of our bedroom (including under the bed) that I have been WANTING to do since I was pregnant. Stuff just has to take a number now...and only one little nugget pulls #1 every time.

This week C had her first big holiday at 15 weeks. I dig Halloween for a few reasons...first- it kicks off the holidays and all the decorating that ensues. Second, coming up with a good costume is fun - more fun when Auntie G and her husband, Red Fox, have one of their kick-ass parties (ahem...)- last year's resulting in C herself!
Charlotte was a spider - I made the costume a la Martha Stewart, using men's dress socks, some pins and hand stitching, and a bag of fiber fill...the costume came out awkward and big, but she wore it a total of 30 minutes all day anyways. (Side note: why is it impossible to find black clothing for babies?) I was "Charlotte's Web" (get it?!), and if I had thought it out...Jake would have been Wilbur. But I didn't - shoot me.
C started trying to roll to her tummy - a place of disdain up until now - in the morning, and by 5pm had achieved rolling. I was beaming, almost unnaturally with pride...that is until bed time, when she rolled over to her tummy almost immediately. Now, I have even dispensed the advice - "once they can roll over, they are fine to sleep on their tummy" but when you see it, a big, flashing, neon "SIDS" sign appears in your mind. I was afraid to lay her back down (did I mention I swooped her up fast enough to scare the bejesus out of her?) and needed a "let the kid sleep!!" text from Auntie G to loosen my grip. I checked her about 5 times that night and she never rolled over again. I've come to the conclusion that it's going to be rough being a GENIUS's mother...ah, well, that's the price you pay, you know?

Now we are just starting to prepare for J's big 3-0 and the holiday season. I've already had to put a moratorium on grandmas buying anymore Xmas outfits...'Tis the Season!

The End- A Summary (a LONG Summary)

So by now the pregnancy is over and done with...and I am left with a beautiful little girl. The nugget now has a face I can stare at...little gums that I love the shape of...and the bodily functions of a 300 lb trucker on a chili diet. But I'll get to her....
First, the end of my pregnancy...I dropped the blogging, and for the most part any other contact with the outside world. My pregnancy stopped "funny" sucking and starting "real life" sucking. Besides the hot flashes, swelling, breathlessness, and constant nausea, I developed something that the doctors actually consider a problem during pregnancy - gestational hypertension. I was sent to Labor and Delivery numerous times because of High Blood Pressure. Evrytime I went in, they told me that I might be having the baby that day - starting at 32 weeks. However, by the time I was resigned to that fact (anything to get out of the little observation room and into a room with a TV!) they would send me home to continue on my new-found, high-risk pregnancy journey.
I had a daily phone appointment with a nurse who needed to know my blood pressure from the night before and that morning, the reading of a urine protein test, all my symptoms and how long it took for the baby to kick me 10 times. Based on this information, they would say "Have a nice day," or "you're going to need to be on bedrest today," or "head over to Labor and Delivery." I wasn't supposed to exercise or do much of anything...so I did just that. The days that I did go to work I felt horrible and exhausted. The days that I didn't were boring. By 36 weeks I just stopped working instead of being the unpredictable employee...also known as the crying employee, the one who pukes all the time, or the employee that only wears 3 different things because nothing else "touches her."
I also had a weekly non-stress test. This is where you go in and sit in a lounge chair while they monitor the baby's heart rate changes during movement. They also hook you up to a monitor that shows you how many contractions you're NOT having, therefore reminding you that you WILL be back next week. These are where I came to learn the brand of nurses that have horrible beside manner...sharing stories of not finding fetal heart beats while searching for one in you, and making general comments of surprise like you are presenting something that is foreign to modern medicine.
At my 35 week appointment I was also told what I knew for a while...the baby was transverse, i.e. laying as if in a hammock. They don't even TRY to turn a baby in this position...you are instantly scheduled for a c-section. I asked for 7-11 (for obvious slurpee association reasons) but got the 15th of July. However, I wasn't about to give up - I ordered a baby turning meditation, I had Chi Qong done, I did inversion positions that you wouldn't believe, and I hung out in the pool. At 36 weeks she had turned...breech. At 37 weeks I went in and my amniotic fluid was low. My doctor said she was sending me to labor and delivery and if they confirmed it, I was having the baby - so stop drinking water (and don't let the doctor see it). Then she said I should even spit out my gum...so I did. Into my mom's hand - make doctor laugh -Check. No good though...fluid was fine and again I went home- thirsty and starving. I jumped in the pool again and at 38 weeks she was head down. C-section canceled, induction scheduled. I hated the idea of an induction, but my blood pressure dictated the schedule.
OH, and there was a heat wave during this time. I gave in and moved into my mom's house for about 10 days. I sat in the air conditioning by day and got mommied by evening...and at night I didn't have to worry about waking anyone next to me if my images of stabbing his snoring face were so strong as to make noise in my head...sleep was almost non-existent.
The last week I was in my own house once again...starting to contract here and there, getting very excited. My induction was scheduled for Thursday morning (7-14). I spent the time leading up making sure I was well packed, the house was cleaned (hoping this would start labor), and everything was perfect. I plucked and shaved so that Thursday at 8:30 a.m. I would be Heidi Klum giving birth. And at 8:30 am on Thursday I was all ready...and called in. Sorry, full moon, no room at the (Kaiser) Inn, call again. Every two hours. So basically I would call Kaiser...then rent a movie off cable...then call...I would cry to the nurse on the phone, I would curse the other people who dared to go into labor, I would watch the clock. Thursday night I was thinking I might make it in without having to be invited, but FAIL. It took until 7pm on Friday night for them to tell me to come on in. It was like winning an Academy Award (I'm guessing here), and that was the end of the end and the beginning of everything else!