Here we go again

Here we go again. We're going to try sleep training.

I know this is going to be hard and probably as much fun as pulling teeth.

But it has to happen.

Connor has not been sleeping while he's in the bed with us. He's been up and about, hitting, pulling hair, screaming and everything in between. Something has to give, so we put the crib up again tonight.

The look on his face when he saw the crib go up was that of pure dismay. He looked like a man betrayed. It was sad and hilarious.

I did the bath thing and I read to him before I put him in the crib. I let him play for a bit while I sat on my bed (his crib is right next to our bed), and now I am sitting in the dark listening to lullabies while he stands up in his crib totally pissed off.

I have read and read and reread articles on the internet about sleep training and none of them sound particularly appealing. Like I don't want him to just scream and have psychological problems and trust issues, because he's probably going to have those regardless. But I don't want to sit here in the dark either. I really just want him to chill out while I go eat ice cream.

I just don't see this going well at all.

The song "Here I Go Again" by Whitesnake keeps playing in my head.

He's screaming while I'm in here so what's he going to do when I leave? He's definitely not going to just lay down. I am never going to make it through this.

I am inserting my head through the dry wall right now. That's happening.

Oh, yes, how could I forget? Apollo will also begin sleeping in his crate now. I am so tired of my rug smelling like pee. Seriously, we have ceramic tile all over this apartment and you have to piss on the one square of carpet? Thanks, Apollo.

So he will start sleeping in his crate, Connor in his bed, and Josh and I will have the bed to ourselves. I can't even imagine the luxury that's sure to accompany this. I will be able to sleep in more than just one position. I will have covers. I will not be on the edge of the bed. I can sleep without my shirt up to my chin!

Is Connor sucking his thumb right now? He hasn't done that in at least a month. I've made him regress to sucking his thumb again.

I have got to be the worst mother in the world.

Makin' it through

Wow. We made it through the first fever of Connor's life.

I like to think that the reason he has gone almost an entire year without getting sick is because I have all powerful breast milk, full of antioxidants and anti-sick germs. Whatever the reason, it all came to an end Tuesday afternoon.

Tuesday began like every other morning. C woke up in a great mood, rambling and tapping me on the face. We got up, he played, I did laundry. Then when Josh got home that evening, I was hugging C up next to me and felt that he was warm. OK so I'm not the "natural mother" who can feel when her child has a fever. I'm more of the "wing it" type.

Anyway, the kid's head was hot.

He had a 100 fever, so I did what most mothers do: I Facebook-d it so I didn't have to make phone call after phone call to our thousand relatives.

As the night and Connor's Tylenol intake progressed, so did his fever. I called the answering service at the doctor's office and was told to try giving him Ibuprofen. So Mom watched Connor while Josh and I loaded up in the mini. We get back, I take Connor's temp and it's 104 under his arm.

I'm freaking out.

Mom said to put him in a cool bath. After arguing with my husband (who insists on taking C to the hospital), I get Connor stripped down and into the bath. The fever went down (yay Mom!)

We made it through that night with no sleep and moderate fever, went to the doctor the next day, found out it was a virus and continued to stay up all night with a screaming baby for the next three nights.

Last night was the first time since LAST WEEK that C slept without waking up screaming.

...here is where my husband and I have got to be the worst parents ever.

For a week or so, C has been waking up in the middle of the night screaming. This whole time we thought it was his teeth, but no. It was the multiple blisters that had accumulated on the roof of his mouth and the back of his throat. Big. White. Blisters.

These last few days have been awful. They have been full of screaming and empty of sleep.

But we made it.

I didn't think I would. I didn't know how I would. How could I get through another day with no sleep? How could I get through another hour of not putting this child down unless I wanted to him to scream? How could I deal with my child being so sick and feverish and looking so pitiful?

I just did.

I got through it just like I got through the three months of colic.

So I to thinking. Is this life? Is this what we do on a daily basis and never really think about it? You know, like horrible stuff happens and we just deal with it. We just get through it.

Those awful days come and we have heartbreaks and mistakes and we have nothing to do except for make it through.

And then we're surprised when we do make it.

Am I late on this epiphany? Probably.

I'm late for everything.

Which reminds me that I think I may be late for my period.

Oh no.

No, no no.

99.9 percent better be spot on Paraguard. That's a threat.

Is it guilty in here or is it just me?

I read a blog post today on "mommy guilt" and it rang so true to me. As I type this, C is laying in his crib screaming because he's pissed off. We do this every night, and every night he sleeps about an hour before I cave and just stick him in the bed with us.

The thing is, I know there's nothing wrong with him even though he's screaming bloody murder, but I still have this gnawing feeling that I'm a horrible mother.

This isn't the first time I've felt that way...today.

For instance, our day started off like normal. I went outside to take Apollo out and raised the blinds on the door so I could see in. Connor was sitting by the door looking out at me and laughing, playing with his toys, etc.

Then he was gone.

But I still saw him.

Over by the dog bowl.

The kid knows not to eat dog food, but he still does. So I got in the house just in time to see a piece laying on the floor beside him while he chewed vigorously on a chicken-based pellet meant for my canine. I shoved my finger in his mouth and felt the about-to-be-soggy morsel, and I tried to dig it out. The thing is, he kept moving his tongue around and chewing on my finger.

So then I was like, "Well this is great. I don't want him to choke on it."

Thank goodness I was on the phone with my mother through this whole ordeal, otherwise I would have been freaking out. Because just as I thought, he started choking.

It was pretty standard. He first made a gagging sound, then he coughed, then gagged, coughed and stuck his thumb in his mouth until everything was right with the world again.

Here was my reaction. Gag (me pushing on the part between his rib cage, trying to remember anything about the baby Heimlich Remover). Cough (OK I know if he's coughing, he's breathing. Don't pat his back, that might lodge it further). Gag (Oh shit, the kid is choking. *Mother in the background- "Hold his arm up!"*). Cough (He's breathing. Still pushing on his stomach with one hand, holding an arm up with the other). Thumb in mouth (Put my ear as close to his face as possible until I hear a steady breath).

I feel like I handled it well.

Then at my mother's later on, he wanted to play. But I didn't. I wanted to take a nap.

Guilty moment #2.

Annnd here we are, it's bed time and he's stopped screaming temporarily. It's because I sent my husband in to rock him. I know that when he gets back in his bed, the screaming will continue. I know that I will end up putting him in bed with me.

What is this vicious cycle?

For now though, this minute, it's quiet time and I plan on enjoying it to the fullest.

I've got cellulite in my cellulite

"When did I get so damn old?" I thought to myself just now when I looked in the mirror.

I think this a lot, actually. At least whenever I have the guts to look in the mirror. It's depressing, really. What used to be a small, flat stomach where the skin was mildly firm, now is a wider, rounder stomach where skin sort of "hangs" from when I was pregnant. Where I once had an adorable belly button ring is now just a small hole above some stretch marks that, as much lotion as I used during those 10 months, I couldn't prevent.

I look at my hair, hanging in no particular style on my shoulders and think about how I need SOMETHING done to it. I think about how it used to look good, or at least decent, and now it's just there, usually pulled up in a pony tail.

Then there's my face.

Ugh.

My pores have expanded to the size of potholes in Elgin Crossroads on that street between Subway and Big D's Burger House. I have acne on my forehead and chin that I can't resist the urge from picking at. I have splotches. I have red marks. I have those delightfully dark circles and bags under my eyes that would put Coach to shame. 

When and how and WHY did I let this happen to myself? Was it during those nights that Connor didn't want to sleep? Was it the days after when I was so tired that all I wanted to do was lay around? Was it during those last semesters of college when I was trying to work and be a mother and a student? Was it just last week when I looked at our bank account and automatically got a headache?

I look at my pictures on social media and try to figure out just when this devastation occurred. 

Listen to me whine. How terrible do I sound?

There is an Ebola epidemic in Africa, wars in the Middle East, the U.S. with it's own share of problems, and here I am complaining about the drab mess that has become my exterior. 

As terrible as that is, I can't help myself. 

Oh please. Don't give me that look of disappointment as you stare at your computer screen while the 10:00 news is on. 

Because, let's face it. When the news goes off and you go into your bathroom and look in the mirror, you will sigh too, whether it's voluntary or involuntary.

It's not like people don't tell me I'm pretty. My husband does (and he's really all that counts, right?). He tells me I'm beautiful and he loves me. But I wouldn't blame him at all if sometimes he wished I was still a size two, with semi-great boobs (as great as they can be naturally) and nice skin. 

Once upon a time, I had thought, "I won't want aging cream when I'm old. I will embrace my aging and be thankful that I have been able to live a long life. The wrinkles and laugh lines will just be part of my story, a part that people can see." 

I'm not even old yet. 

I am blessed that I carried a child for 10 months and that I have stretch marks to show where my son grew and developed inside me. I am blessed that my hair is messy because I don't have time to do anything to it since I'm running after this amazing little person who entered my life.

I know that.

No, there is no way that I would take back any of the wrinkles, breakouts, bad hair or big belly for him. He's totally worth it. 

But I'm selfish. 

...and maybe a little self absorbed.

Whatever.

One thing I promised myself and my husband before C was born, and I am trying to keep that promise, is that I would not criticize myself in front of my son. I don't want him to grow up with ideas that women aren't beautiful as themselves. I don't want him to grow up with the notion that a girl has to wear make-up to be pretty. I don't want him to grow up with the thought that a girl has to be a size two in order to be attractive. 

I want him to see women for who they are, for their personalities and sense of humor. I want him to see a girl and his breath be taken away by her kindness and morality. I want him to realize that what he's looking at is only a plus.

I could blame the media and society and a ton of other people for my poor self image. But what's the point in that? 

The only person I have to blame is myself. I am the one who looks in the mirror and can't see what my son sees when he looks at me. I can't see the Mommy, I can only see the "Mommy." I can't see what my husband sees when he looks at me, I can only see what he once saw. 

I can ask you to start trying to think of something positive about yourself when you look in the mirror, and tell you I'll do the same, but come on, neither of us is really going to do that. 

So what is the bright side to this post?

We can all be completely ugly and tired and stressed out and completely normal together. 

After all, that's how norms come about anyway, right?

Just a typical Wednesday

The challenges I've faced since becoming a mother are endless, just in my eight and a half months experience.

For example, before I was a mother, I had never peed or pooped while holding another human being in my lap.

I've never had to lift 20 pounds with one arm.

And I've certainly never had to say, "Please get out from under the recliner."

But this morning was a doozy.

Last night we tried to get C to sleep in his crib so we could have some mommy/daddy time. After screaming for an hour and throwing up twice, C finally realized that we were still in the house and he was still going to sleep in his crib (so we thought). After about two hours of being in his crib, I finally just put him in the bed with us again. I mean he slept for two hours, waking up once each hour, so I gave him some credit and thought a little progress was better than no progress.

But this morning we woke up much earlier than we normally do, and it was because one of us was a little bit poopy. Thankfully, this time, it was not me. I got up to pee and while I was in the bathroom I hear this screaming. So of course I just thought he was mad that I left him in the bed by himself.

Oh no.

It was much worse than that.

I walk out of the bathroom and ask him what in the world was wrong with him, and I see two legs (and eight rolls) flailing in the air. What I didn't see what my son's torso or his face.

Fantastic.

I did what any caring mother would do. I stood there with my hand on my hip and asked my eight-month-old, "What are you doing?"

Apollo, the dog, was lying contently under the covers as well trying to ignore the noise that was interrupting his slumber. He still has not figured out why we won't take the thing back where we got it. He also has been exhibiting suicidal behavior so we have to watch him closely.

After getting my fill of entertainment for the morning, I pulled the covers off of my son's head and got the giant turd out of his diaper.

Needless to say he felt like a new man, ready to suck a tit and watch the Today show.

Sex. What's that?

In the last eight months I have become unfamiliar with a three-letter-word.

Sex.

I don't even know what it is anymore, let alone how to actually do it.

C has been sleeping between the hubs and me for about three or four months now and he's really cramping our style. I mean who wants to have sex when the baby is in the bed?

For example, my husband and I tried to "do it" but I could feel Connor's feet on my leg and I had to call it quits. Like, that's just not a turn-on, you know?

We tried to get dirty on the floor beside the bed, but it's ceramic tile throughout our house so that was entirely too painful (and let's face it, I'm pretty lazy as it is).

Another obstacle we face in trying to "get down" is that we have to sneak out of our bed. Our own bed.

Are you with me here?

My husband and I have to sneak out of our own bed in order to have sex. What is wrong with this?!

The more I think about it, the more I realize that this is simply a (successful) plot by Connor to stop us from reproducing. He knows that if we have another baby, he will have to share...everything, so he nips it in the bud (excuse the cliche).

Geeze Louise, Connor, I don't WANT another baby right now. I just WANT MOMMY-DADDY TIME!

Is it really too much to ask to just want to lay there on my bed and do it?

Why yes, Mommy, it is.

We have tried to put him in his crib, but just the site of it sends him into a screaming fit, and then I get worried because what if I am screwing him up psychologically because I'm letting him scream. Life has a way of screwing you up anyway, not even considering the fact that I'm his mother which is a problem enough, but what if he sits there and screams and feels like no one loves him and it's all because I want to get down and dirty with his dad?

Gah, I have problems.

If you've read any previous posts, you'll notice that there was a time when he slept in his crib, but during my last semester of college (and especially after Josh's wreck) we put him in the bed with us. It was so much easier because I could turn over and pop the tit in his mouth and we could sleep. We do sleep. That's amazing in itself and I'm thankful that we're finally getting to that point. Plus, I just needed to know that both he and his dad were in the bed beside me, and we were all OK.

Of course I think about these times and then I think about the three months we dealt with colic. Those days seemed like they would never end, the sleepless nights, the tears and begging him to just sleep. But now, those days seem like forever ago, and I don't really know where they went.

I feel like this stage is exactly the same. So even though I miss snuggling next to my husband and having intimate time with him, I think about how sweet it is when C snuggles up to me and throws his other arm over to touch his dad too. He loves us and he loves being in the bed with us and one day, he won't. He won't want to snuggle with me. He won't want to hold on to me as he sleeps. He won't wake up looking for me. And when that time comes, I'm going to miss these sex deprived nights. And I'm going to cry. A lot.

So if you're in the same bed as me, don't worry too much about it. These days are going to pass way too fast. Cherish that goofy, needy, sweaty, adorable baby.

You smell that?

Sometimes we're all a little stinky. Sometimes, being stinky is normal. I'll even say that being stinky is a part of life.

But the stench that comes from my child is not a little stinky. The stench that comes from my child is not normal. The stench that comes from my child is bad enough to end someone's life.

Oh. My. Goodness. I smell the same way.

Am I the stench?

No. I take showers. I have a pretty regular showering routine. That can't be me, can it?

OK, I took a shower. I still smell it. WHY does my son smell like this?!

After much bathing and investigating, I found out the culprit to the gut-wrenching scent is my sheets. So now I'm freaking out because we've been sleeping on what could possibly be a dead body.

I am aware that it's a terrible habit to start your child sleeping with you. I know that. But I also know that we sleep SO much better since we've started co-sleeping. C gets an all-you-can-eat buffet, and I get ten times more sleep than I was when we were trying to get him to sleep in his crib, or when I had to get up in the middle of the night to feed him. I mean, the crib turns into a full bed, so it's not like he's never going to use it. It's not like he's going to sleep with us forever.

...right? No way. He's not going to sleep with us forever.

For now, he sleeps in the bed with us. So picture this: a queen size bed. A queen size bed with my husband in it. A queen size bed with my husband and my dog in it. A queen size bed with my husband, my dog and my son in it. A queen size bed with my husband, my dog, my son and me in it.

Now think of it this way: A queen size bed with three people and a dog, in the Alabama summer heat. For anyone who has ever even thought about Alabama, you know that just because you have air conditioning, it doesn't kill the sky high temps and the wet that just hangs out in the air.

All of this put together creates some sweaty (Apollo is a heater by himself) individuals. We're all under the cover, we're all sweating and we all stink in our own special way. The stink travels to the sheet and just stays there, getting worse with each passing night until it gets so bad that it marches into my nose and triggers my gag reflex.

No one else in my house can smell the stench, and if they can, it doesn't bother them. I think it does bother Apollo, but he's way too polite to say anything.

Well Lauren, what is the point of this post?

That's a great question and I plan to provide you with an even greater answer! If you want to co-sleep and you know you have a severe sweating/stinking disorder, then you need to change your sheets every night. If you choose not to change your sheets every night, eventually the stench will get so bad that it will take on a life of it's own and eat you.

Good luck explaining that one.

The two types of mothers

I have come to the conclusion that there are two types of mothers:
1) The kind who wonders when it's OK to give their child Benedryl
2) The kind who lies when she says she doesn't think about giving her child Benedryl.

This thing called parenthood is hard. It's even harder when the child (like mine) thinks sleep is for the weak.

You hear people tell you, "Sleep when your baby sleeps" as if that's going to solve all your problems. If you're like me, our invisible maid is really slacking on her job. The dishes are still in the sink, the laundry is still dirty, the house is still a mess and dinner is still frozen.

Then if you're really like me, your school work has taken a big step to the back burner. This adventure to the back burner wouldn't be such a big deal if it wasn't my LAST SEMESTER.

With all that being said, it's no surprise I am the type 1 mother. I'll admit, shamefully, that I get upset with my son at night when he doesn't want to sleep. It makes me mad. I just want to get warm and get some sleep. Why doesn't he understand?!

Because he's five-months old, that's why. He doesn't do it to hurt me, in fact I think that's the last thing he wants. I feel like he loves me so much that he just wants to be with me (even if this is only to make me feel somewhat better). It's these times that I regret breastfeeding.

If I had never breastfed, he would never be so attached to me. He would be more independent. He wouldn't want me so much.

But then those are exactly the reasons I love breastfeeding. I love that he knows me. I love that he wants me. I love that HE LOVES ME.

I don't think the lack of sleep has anything to do with me breastfeeding. Even when he's in the bed with my husband and I, he still wakes up. Sure, I could give him supplements and make him sleep longer, but I enjoy giving him strictly breast milk.

I enjoy the closeness we have together. It's not that I get angry at night because I have to get up. I get angry at night because I have to get up every hour (so it feels).

I don't know what the point of this post is, other than that parenthood is hard. As if we didn't know, right?

Maybe this is just my way of asking you guys to try not to be so harsh on other parents. The things we criticize each other for are things that we've all probably at least considered in our lives.

We've all thought about Benedryl. We've all thought about formula. We've all thought about early weaning. We've all wondered just how much it would screw our child up if we just let them cry because we can't take it anymore. All of these things and more.

So. Stop being so judgmental. Stop being so mean. You're not the baby guru, and if you are, it's because you don't have a baby.

To all my breastfeeding ladies: Don't give up.

Sleep it off

I haven't posted in a few weeks because we have been in the middle of moving. We stayed at my daddy's house for about three weeks and during that time, we let C sleep with us. Doesn't sound like a big deal, right? Well it is.

My husband and I decided that we wanted our bed back, but that was kind of hard since we were sharing it with both C and our dog, Apollo. There was no more snuggling for Mommy and Daddy.

Don't get me wrong, I loved snuggling next to my Sweet C. Plus, feeding was SO much easier. All I had to do was flop my boob out, turn over, and C ate while I slept. It was a magical thing. Really.

We tried putting him in his crib, but that didn't work. It didn't matter if C was asleep when we put him in there, the second he felt himself on the mattress, he woke up. So when we went for his four-month check-up, I asked the doctor what we could do, and if co-sleeping was as bad as I had heard.

The doctor told us that the majority of babies he had seen from SIDS were co-sleepers. So that scared me to death. He told us to do the "cry it out" method where we would check on C every 10 minutes until he realized that we were still there with him. It was hard. It took a few nights, but eventually C got it. He now sleeps in his crib (yayyy!!!).

As grateful as I am that we have returned to normalcy, I am still unsatisfied. C still wakes up anywhere from two to four hours to eat. This means that rather than pop a boob in his mouth, I have to physically get out of bed, put my feet on the cold tile, and walk into his room. Then I have to get him out of his crib, walk over to the rocking chair, and feed him. When he's done eating, I have to get back up, walk to his bed, put him in the bed, and walk back to my bedroom. THEN I have to fight not only my dog, but my husband as well, to get the covers back and get into a comfortable position to go back to sleep, only to get back up and do it all over again in a matter of short hours.

It's a workout.

Before we all judge the ped, he did tell me that based on C's growth, I should EXCLUSIVELY BREASTFEED for at least two more months.

This was a relief to me since I had been hearing from different people that C may need to go on cereal, formula, or even solids. I'm not ready for that. I enjoy our feeding time, even when I'm a zombie.

During this moving thing, my supply had dipped in a bad way. Stress combined with Dr. Pepper and coffee, combined with everything else going on in my life, my body just had too much going on. I started taking Fenugreek, two capsules, three times a day, and upped my water intake. It helped. I realized I had quit taking my prenatals too, so when I started that back, it really helped.

Now my supply is back to where it needs to be.

SO. My point of this post is the same as all the other posts: Don't give up.

Life has a way of throwing everything at you at once, and that can affect you mentally and physically. But breastfeeding is one thing that you're doing right for yourself and your baby, so while you may be giving up on other things, don't let this be one of them. It's hard, I know, but you can do it.

I'm not going to tell you to get rest and drink water, because sometimes you can't rest and you just want a damn Dr. Pepper. But I will tell you to keep feeding, keep pumping, and keep reminding yourself that you're doing the right thing.

Another word of advice: If your ped is not supporting you in breastfeeding, FIND ANOTHER ONE. If C's doctor hadn't been so supportive, it would have been much easier for me to quit. As mothers we trust our children's doctors, so it's imperative that they support us.

Conclusion: Don't give up. Drink the soda. Enjoy the milky way life.