Speak Mom

Liquid Gold.

I don’t normally post in a reactionary manner. I usually contemplate before spewing my words on the blog. This is not the case today…

I JUST SPILLED 3 OZ. OF BREAST MILK AND I WANT TO CRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OH MY GOSH, I CANNOT BELIEVE I JUST DID THAT!

I have been having SO many issues stocking up on my breast milk and I finally, FINALLY got ahead a bit. I pumped 5 extra oz. this morning - I was on top of the breast milk world! There would be extra milk in the freezer for once. AND THEN, I did something so lazy it would end up costing me those precious 3 oz.; I stood the bottle up ON THE BED (why?!), left the room to get a cap and when I came back in, I found the bottle flopped over on it’s side.

At first, I could not look. I didn’t want to know what damage was done. Then, the lighting played some tricks on me and it seemed as if I was in the clear. As I got closer, I noticed a dark shadow around the bottle and that’s when I knew. I snatched up the bottle and that’s when I counted OUT LOUD… “1, 2… OH MY GOD!!!! NOOOOOO!!!!!!!!”

I pumped 5 OUNCES and I am now left with TWO. T-W-O. I am practically in tears as I write this. Go ahead - you can think it- that cliche line my mother always used to say to me as a child, “No use crying over spilled milk”. But then you wouldn’t understand. Breast milk is an exception. Extra breast milk is rare. Extra breast milk is like liquid gold.

So, I will go ahead and mourn this loss with a box of tissues and some espresso.

Tumblr Tuesday.

As much as I’d love to get my blog out there, I’d rather not have to shamelessly recommend myself.

With that being said, I am going to shamelessly ask you to recommend me instead.

http://www.tumblr.com/directory/parenting

If you don’t feel like recommending me, I will cry…uh… I mean, you should really recommend one of the other fabulous parenting blogs!

Hello, I’m Creepy. Nice To Meet You?

Ok, so I’m not really creepy… but I do worry I come off that way when I am trying to meet other parents.

I’m a young mom (I’m 25) and I look much younger than I actually am (say, 18ish?). People are already confused enough when they see me out in public with my daughter. They tend to look at me, look at the ring finger (which I only have one small band on because my engagement ring still does not fit, which then causes further confusion), look at the baby and then turn away. I assume it’s because they assume that I am a teen mom. Obviously, not the case. Let’s see if I am right. Born in 1985, this is 2011 and not yet my birth month. Yep. Just as I suspected. I’m still 25.

Anyway, I am Mommy-Friendless in my current residence. All of my Mommy-Friends (and some of my very best friends) live 2+ hours away. I see them every month, usually, but I have no steady group to hang out with where I live on an every day basis. This is proving to be quite an issue. I’m lonely, I’m bored, my daughter has no playmates and did I mention that I’m lonely?

I have some really great friends around the area, but really none that are in the same “place” as me. As much as I love those friends - and there is no easy way of putting this - they just don’t get it. How could they? Their lives are not consumed by the same matters as mine anymore. I don’t - I CAN’T - care about some of the things that they still care about (ie: drinking, going out on weekends, traveling, etc.).

Then, there are the weekends that we are invited to friends’ houses for dinner or just to hang out… so nice of them to invite us, but that requires driving 30+ minutes (no friends live closer than that), schleping all of our baby entertainment, making sure there’s a place for E to sleep/nap, and throwing her already-nonexistent-schedule off, well, schedule. Then, when we get there, our focus is on the baby: conversations get interrupted, dinner consists of ten breaks for feeding and changing and we have to leave at a decent time to get back before little miss wants to go to bed. HOLY EXHAUSTION BATMAN!

This all being said… I AM DESPERATE FOR MOMMY-FRIENDS. I try to talk to some parents while dropping off or picking up at the daycare, but again - I get these looks like “Aww how sad, she’s such a young mom - I’ll just say hello and get the hell out of here before she sucks me into a conversation” or “Ok, creeper, stop asking me about my kid because I have no idea who you are and don’t care to get to know you”. So far, I have a zero success rate with this approach.

I try striking up conversation in line at the grocery store or Target (aka: home away from home) but again, I’m met with such awkward looks or abrupt conversation. I can’t tell if it’s because they think I’m the babysitter - so why on Earth would I want to have a conversation about spit up, ear infections or the best highchair toys on the market? -or if they are just so taken aback that a stranger would want to have a conversation these days. Regardless, zero success rate with this, as well.

If I don’t find someone soon that lives close, fully understands my crazy, baby-consumed life, could genuinely care less if I had to whip out a boob and nurse on the spot and is willing to hang out in sweatpants and carry around a diaper bag instead of a purse, I may go crazy. This is worse than what I imagine dating to be like…

*Sigh*

Ears For Fears.

Chronic ear infections + Developmental/Anatomical issue = Baby needs tubes put in.

Welcome to a first-time mom’s hell.

A lot of parents I know have already reassured me (several times) that the surgery is quick, easy and a no-brainer. I get that, I really do. BUT I would be lying if I said the thought of my little girl “going under” and having surgery at 7 months doesn’t scare the ever-livin-shit out of me. 

Obviously, my husband and I have decided to go ahead with the surgery because the benefits -by far- outweigh the risks. There was no question there. Our daughter has been in constant pain and has begun to show signs of minor hearing impairment. Her relief and developmental needs are #1 priority.

It tears me up every time I see her tug at her beautiful little ears. I feel so incredibly helpless and I desperately wish I could take that pain away for her. Unfortunately, I cannot -which- brings us to the surgery…

Something you should know about me… I am extremely paranoid about anesthesia. And I do mean extremely. I had to have ACL repair done a few years ago and I threw up before my surgery because of my fear. I mean stomach-emptying/wretch-ing type of throwing up. No one knows this (feel special you are the first) because I was petrified that if I spoke my fear aloud, it would cause something bad to happen. I know, I know. Psychoanalyze me if you wish, but don’t bother trying to play Freud with me. It would be a waste of time - for you and me, both. 

The doctor said the surgery will only be 10-15 minutes, but I can assure you that those 10-15 minutes will be the longest of my life. Yes, I may be coming off a bit dramatic, but I really can’t stomach the thought of my 7 month old going in for surgery. Yes, it’s a short surgery. Yes, it is an outpatient surgery. Yes, it’s a common surgery. None of these points ease my mind in the least. I will be a wreck that day. I will be frazzled.  I will carry my rosary beads with me like some religious fanatic on their way to having an audience with the Pope. I will clutch my husband’s hand in an alarmingly strong, vice-like grip. 

I can only hope that all of these things plus an ungodly amount of coffee can get me through… 

Public Pumpin’.

So I have just noticed - 6 months later - that my breastpump has a battery option and does not need to be plugged into the wall.

All those times that I had to pump in public restrooms and public places… I had plugged into the wall for ALL to see.

GO ME. 

Doctor’s Office and Diarrhea.

Ahhh, the doctor’s office… We have only been there, ohhh, 5 or 6 times in the last month between well visits and sick visits (boo).

Tuesday was a well-turned-sick visit. Our dear babe has been battling a double ear infection since Thanksgiving and had finished her 4th round of antibiotics, which did absolutely nothing for her. She also managed to pick up a lovely respiratory virus from daycare. In all of our misery, Mommy and baby up and went to the doctor’s office to discuss all of these issues.

It was quite the circus trying to get her ready to go. She was tired, cranky and not feeling well - as was I. It was freezing and flurrying outside and I spent the first hours of my morning cursing my husband for never having to go to the pediatrician with her. She screamed most of the ride down and, despite all of my pacifier gymnastics, she spit each one out after I was able to reach back and get her to take it. (Side note: I keep a plethora of pacifiers in the front seat with me in case she spits the first one out.)

We arrived at the doctor’s office a wee bit early and after coming inside from a 20 degree parking lot, the office -which is always heated to sauna status- felt like it was 1,000 degrees. There was virtually no one in the office however, and I figured we should just keep our coats and covers on because we would more-than-likely be called in right away. HA HA! Twenty minutes passed and it seemed that everyone who walked in after us was getting called in before us. E was becoming extremely fussy and I was practically melting. I figured it was time for me to give in and take her out of the car seat. There were moms and dads all over the office now looking at me as if I had nineteen heads. I felt their wide-eyed-but-blank expressions burning a hole through my forehead. Was I really torturing her by keeping her in her seat? Don’t they remember what a pain in the ass it is to take her out in the waiting room? I mean, C’mon! Your kid is sneezing all over the place and chucking his dinosaurs at the little girl coloring at the table, but you’re looking at me as if my parenting choices are out of whack?!

Anyway, I unbuckled my crying daughter and lifted her oh-so-gently out of her car seat and proceeded to give her a giant hug and that’s when I felt it - POOP! ALL over her clothes, the Bundle Me and now my arm and leg. I could have died of embarrassment and sheer terror. I just knew that as soon as we got into the bathroom to change her (and luckily, I had an extra change of clothes), the nurse would come looking for us.

Sure enough, as I was changing her in the bathroom (which never, ever seems to be big enough) the nurse came-a-knockin’. I needed a few more minutes, of course, so I politely let her know that we would “be a few”. Naturally, E was not too thrilled about anything that day so she was kicking and screaming her way through the change, which made it uber difficult to complete the task. It also seemed as if the bathroom was perfect for heightening her wails to “stereo” proportions.

THEN the nurse knocked on the door -not once, but TWICE- to see if we “were ok”! What did she think? -I was changing her out of an entire pooped-up outfit, with little room to work in and my coat still on! Of course we were ok, I just needed her to leave me the hell alone so I could finish cleaning up. I mean, it wouldn’t have happened in the first place if we were just called back when we were supposed to be. I would have had her undressed and been able to hear the first signs of her explosion before it got out of hand.

In the end, E cried her way through the appointment and after finally arriving back to the car, I realized that on top of everything else, we had no gas…

Three’s Company, Too.

Just when we thought our little darling was getting the hang of sleeping in her crib - KAZAM! (don’t you just love onomatopoeia’s?!?!) - no more crib sleep! As soon as we lay her down, no matter how deep of a sleep - BAM! (see, there I go again!) - she’s wide awake and screaming. 

For now, I am chalking it up to the fact that she has a double ear infection (on-going since Thanksgiving) AND a respiratory virus. She will not sleep in her crib, only in her Mommy’s arms. Of course, I love my daughter. I love cuddling with her and looking at her peaceful, beautiful face when she sleeps - but I have to admit, I am really tired of being tired.

I look like the Bride of Frankenstein. I don’t remember what being intimate with my husband is like. I probably walk around like I am channeling the Hunchback of Notre Dame (I dare not look in a mirror as I walk by). It is becoming increasingly more difficult to function without coffee. When my friends talk about their sleeping-through-the-night babes, it makes me want to punch them in the face (and that is putting it kindly). There are a slew of reasons that get me praying every. single. day. that she will just succumb to the ways of the crib already! 

What to do when three’s company, too?! 

Long Overdue Gooey-ness!

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