Lame-O

I wish I were a little less lame. If I were a little less lame I would have posted something in the last few months. Where am I at? Who knows. The Hellkat is easier to pinpoint. She's 11 months old today and I'm more than a little freaked that she's only 1 month away from the big UNO. She's such a big kid these days. She says "shoe" and possibly "George" and the usual Mama and Dada. She can woof woof and meow better than me. She gives big open mouthed kisses to the characters in her books, to the dog, sometimes to her parents. She's crawling and standing. She can tell me where my nose is. She's not sure about walking yet but we think it's coming soon. She dances like a rock star and responds to songs like "If You're Happy" at the right times with the right tricks. She throws her food and wrestles us when we want her to snuggle. She sleeps pretty well but wakes up a wee bit too early. She's a picky eater already, preferring pasta and cheese over everything else. She's still damn cute and yummy. We laugh a lot and hug a lot. She adores her dad.

Motherhood rocks. I wish I could do it a little more than I do. Soon we'll be switching daycare facilities and M. and I will each get a day at home with her during the week. I'm pretty excited to have a day alone with my little love. We'll do errands and go to the park. But, I'm supposed to be working from home that day and I'm not sure how that will work when all I want to do is hang with the kiddo. We'll see how it goes. It's much easier on our bottom line and I think the new daycare will be great. I'm going to try to do this more often and hopefully it'll be less dull.

Craptastica

It's been quite a week. It's not my intention to make this blog a bitchfest but I'm going through a rough patch so I don't really give a damn right now. Hellkat had a lovely little stomach virus last weekend that she, being the sweet little devil she is, passed along to her adoring mother. So, after spending one whole night awake and worrying about my projectile vomiting, dehydrating, sad sack of a daughter I got to spend one whole night awake projectile vomiting and dehydrating myself! We're recovered.

Also in the last week we tried giving the kidlet a little formula, which she sucked down so readily I thought she may never go back to the breast again. That Monday I sent some formula to school and dropped a pumping session at work, which was absolutely fan-fucking-tastic. When I pick her up at daycare I learn that not only did she refuse the formula but she held a grudge against the woman that tried to feed it to her for the rest of the day. Back to the pump I go. We're sneaking small amounts of formula in but it'll be a much slower process than I thought.

Then we had a bunch of issues with our pediatrician's office. Many different doctors all on different pages. We've been happy until recently and maybe I'm overreacting but I'm pretty annoyed and don't think I'll be able to trust them again so I'm starting a search for a new pediatrician, which I really don't have much time for right now.

Now's the part where I promise that my next post will be more positive in tone.

Quitter Wanna Be

I have obsessive tendencies. Lots of them. One is an unhealthy affection for not stopping until I reach some sort of conclusion often coupled with an unhealthy affection for measuring my progress. For example, I rode a bicycle across the country and spent way too much time calculating the distance to and from home or whatever our destination was that day or estimate how much time it would take to get to the next pit stop if I maintained my speed. Thankfully, most activities have a natural conclusion. I couldn't ride a bike across the Atlantic. I can only get the toilet so clean. There are only so many episodes of Quantum Leap. You get what I mean.

So, here I am, 247 days from The Hellkat's birth and approximately 240 from my first pumping session. 240 days? I've probably averaged about 3 pumping sessions per day at about 20-25 minutes per session. That's 240-300 hours with my poor boobies attached to a milker. 10+ entire days of my life. I hate pumping. I hate that I know how many days I've spent pumping. I'd happily nurse my kid until college if I had to, but pumping is seriously getting me down. The problem: there's no natural conclusion. I keep make plans daily to start weaning myself from the pump and get the kid hooked on formula but I keep putting it off another day. I'm not even planning on quitting nursing mornings and nights. I even have a few weeks worth of boobcicle pops in the freezer. I don't think I'll be able to stop unless something happens to make me stop (drop in supply, loss of interest from Hellkat, broken pump).

I guess it's not such a terrible thing to keep pumping while I work this out in my head because my babe sure does appreciate it. But, if I'm still pumping in 4 months I seriously hope someone throws me an intervention. I'll bring the booze.

Here's The Hellkat telling the pump who's boss.

The New Year

Recent milestones: "So Big," wet sloppy kisses, more waving, more dancing, making "bldbldbldbld" noises with her tongue, smacking her lips when hungry, eating cheerios and bananas with her hands, yelling when she's annoyed, getting on hands and knees and rocking back-and-forth, pulling up a bit

I haven't written since the morning after our emergency room visit. It turns out that The Hellkat has a UTI and possibly pneumonia. The antibiotics clicked in and got rid of the fever by the following morning. Though I still question our decision to go to the emergency room, our pediatrician says they would have given her all the same tests and may have sent her to the hospital for some of the tests anyway. And, if we had waited, she would only have gotten sicker. So, though it may have been better to wait until the doctor's office opened, it probably wouldn't have been much better. Whatever! She's better and it was a good learning experience for all of us. Poor kid. Here's a video of her in sicky mode....



Anyway, here we are on the eve of the New Year and I have a lot on my mind. It's been an incredible year and though I've been tired and crappy lately, I am pretty happy about a lot of stuff. Most importantly, I have a happy, easy, sweet daughter that gives me an endless amount of joy. I have a delicious husband who is involved and loving and patient and kind. I'm a challenge so that's saying quite a bit! I need him more than let on and I'm lucky to have a partner who gives a shit. I also have a sweet, old dog that loves his new baby and isn't taking her arrival out on his parents. Thanks, G.!

Resolutions? I don't believe in them but, I do have some stuff I want to do this year. I want to get some of the weight off, of course. I want to figure out a way to work part-time. I want to get a few more credits under my belt. I want to be a better, happier wife. I want to teach my daughter a few tricks. Laugh more, play more, resent less, pout less, etc... Wish me luck!

Our Very First Visit to the Emergency Room

I'm one of those people that has knock-down drag-out internal debates about the true essence of "emergency" when considering a visit to the emergency room or calling 911. Calling the doctor during office hours makes me feel like a whiny pain in the ass. However, when The Hellkat's first real illness presented itself with a 105 degree fever and projectile vomiting it all went out the window.

H. was a little cranky at bedtime last night and didn't seem to have much of an appetite. It was M.'s night to take care of the kid and he's always really sweet about trying to get her back to sleep without waking me but last night he came in and apologetically asked me to check her temp because she felt warm. Her temp was 103.5 so I nursed her and we gave her some Tylenol and put her back to bed. When she woke up again at 6:30, her fever had spiked to 104.8. Between calls to the pediatrician's answering service (they didn't call back for over an hour) H. became more and more listless and when we tried to give her another dose of Tylenol, she vomited all over me multiple times in quick suggestion. When M. suggested taking her to the emergency room, I didn't think twice.

When we arrived at 8:00ish, we were pleased to find no line and an empty pediatric emergency room. They took some vitals, gave her some Motrin and ordered a chest x-ray, which all happened pretty quickly and efficiently. Then they decided to take blood and urine samples and everything went down the crapper. They stuck this bag to her crotch to collect pee and prepped her to take some blood from vein in her arm. The first two attempts at taking blood failed so the doctor said he'd try taking it from an artery and we waited for another doctor who would assist him. Two more sticks and the attending shows up to give it a try. At that point I got pretty pissed and told them to stop. They had been pinning down and poking The Hellkat for almost 45 minutes. Then they came back and say they really need the blood sample and because the bag wasn't working, they needed to take a urine sample using a catheter. Ugh! So we cause a stink and call our pediatrician and speak to the Chief Something-or-other they called in to get us from causing an even bigger stink and decide to let them go ahead. The catheter was another disaster but they got "enough" after about 20 minutes of poking and prodding. Then we wait about an hour to get the Chief Something-or-other to come down and draw the blood personally. About the same time she arrives, we are told that they didn't get enough urine and they need to stick another bag on our poor girl's crotch. Argh! Luckily, the chief knew what she was doing and got the blood. Then it was another hour waiting for test results and another hour waiting for an antibiotic shot and then an hour waiting for the kid to pee, get test results, and get discharge papers.

All the while, we've got a sad, abused, chilly, sick baby in our arms wondering why the fuck we'd come to the hospital when we could be at home making her feel better instead of worse. Of course, after 9 hours we have no diagnosis and got antibiotics anyway. I'm sorry, Hellkat.

The Christmas Grind

On Sunday night we decorated Hellkat’s first Christmas tree with a few friends, too much wine, and a lot of really rich food. We’ve gone treeless for the past few years largely because the act of digging our accumulated decorations out of our crammed-with-crap storage space is daunting but also because I’ve come to loathe the holiday season and all of its attendant obligations, expenses, and out-of-control consumerism. Thankfully, M. allowed me to badger him into disassembling and reassembling the intricately piled and useless garbage we save in our basement storage unit for future use and our friends let us. it this year and we coerced our friends into helping us decorate it. I am officially grateful, y'all. It's just as sparklelicious and bubbly as I remember it!

I know she doesn’t really give a shit but I can't shake the feeling that it's important to make H.’s first Christmas as festive as possible even though our sleep deprived souls can barely muster enough energy to face the day. So, in honor of The Hellkat I've been listening to all of the holiday tunes we had hidden under the bed, strapping H. into her sling and shopping my ass off. Of course, she’s been cheerful throughout and in the face of her chipper little spirit, I think the spirit of Christmas may be starting to eke its way back into my scroogey heart.

Here We Go

It's been 230 days since The Hellkat sprang forth from my loins and I'm finally getting around to writing about it. If you're stuck in a room with me for more than five minutes you'll wonder why I need another outlet for my adoration of this little kid but I figure that getting it out here will get it out of my system. It also kinda makes up for the baby journals I never managed to put together. Hellkat, this is your legacy.

At some point I'll go backward and write about what's happened up to now but for now I think I'll describe what our life is like right now. I live in a small New York apartment with The Father, The Dog, and The Hellkat. We don't have quite enough room, money, or time, but we love each other and are happy. The Hellkat is, of course, growing up way too fast. She's 7.5 months and is suddenly hitting more milestones than I can keep track of. The best -- clapping, dancing, waving, and eating Cheerios without gagging. The worst -- teething. She's not a biter but my nips still suffer.

I'm working full-time, the kid's in daycare, and I'm still pumping 3x a day and nursing. When I'm not doing one of the above I'm struggling with thoughts of weaning and fantasies about winning the lottery or the spontaneous offer of a high paying 3-day-a-week job so that I can work part-time and hang out with my most excellent child more.