Year Two. An Update.

February 2, 2011 at 5:23 pm | Posted in As the Months go by..., Baby Weight (Evan) | Leave a comment

It’s been ages since I have updated this here blog of mine and it has been missed… by me anyway.  I often read back to jog my memories of Evan when he was even more wee than he is now.  My memory is less than stellar.  I’ll record it on here!  You can judge me on my grammar!  Come on, it’ll be fun!

He loves Dora the Explorer.  He calls the show ‘Doda and Boots’ or if he’s asking for it over and over it’s more like, ‘Doda Boooooos, Doda Boooooooos, DODA BOOOOS, MOMMY/DADA!’  He’ll watch the same episodes over and over.  He will use this show as a bargaining tool: ‘Mommy will be in the kitchen, can you be a good boy while Mommy is in the kitchen?’  Him: ‘Doda and Boots.’ (or ‘Fine lady, if you put my stories on’)  At the end of the show, Dora looks at you with her gigantic eyeballs and asks all the slack-jawed children, ‘What was your favorite part?’ Then there is complete silence.  Evan knows he is to fill it.  Every time he says, ‘Ummmmmmmm… bibbit.’  And then Dora says, ‘I liked that too.’ 

Bibbit is his word for frog.  He’ll often point at you and say, ‘Bibbit!’  Sometimes it’s an accusation, sometimes a compliment.  When you call HIM a Bibbit, sometimes he takes it as a compliment and sometimes he spits at you: ‘No, MOMMY bibbit!’  Sometimes it’s like you turned off Dora during the Map’s third repeating of the directions OMG SHUT UP:  he’ll scream and have a tantrum.  Sometimes he will call himself or someone else a ‘Bobot’ (robot), and yes, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have a speech impediment. 

He was never a baby with a blanky or a binky or a stuffed animal that he HAD to have.  I would often throw something fluffy in his face and insist that he extra love it and then get offended when he could take a nap without it.  Now when he lays down he wants his pillow pet, blanket (blay-blet), elephant (eefant), and Elmo (a puppet he got for Christmas).  He doesn’t extra love it necessarily, he just likes the routine of it and watching mommy and dada search for all the items on demand.

Sleep.  Sigh.  So.  Evan sleeps most of the time in our bed.  There was period of time when dada was working weird shifts and only saw Evan around bedtime.  So he would come home and snuggle on the couch with Evan until he fell asleep.  It was so sweet.  Until, of course, it became Evan’s preferred (only) way of going down for the night.  Most nights, once he falls asleep, I lay him down in his crib and I’m lucky to fall asleep before he wakes an hour or so later.  Then I stumble into his room, pick him up and lay him in the bed next to me.  Some nights, I just bring him right to our bed.  Gone are his newborn days of non-picky-sleeping.

Weekday mornings consist of me turning on the bedroom light, changing his diaper and clothes, brushing his hair and teeth and stuffing him into his coat and into the car all in a 10 minute span.  Most weekend mornings start with Evan sitting up in bed, taking a couple seconds to get his bearings, and then reverse army crawling off the bed while suggesting that I get up, turn on the lights he points to and then giving him a Dora fix.  I’m normally still trying to wake up and half-assed forcing him to say please to make it seem a little like I’m sorta in control.  Kinda.

He’s getting a little pickier with his foods.  I could get him to eat just about anything back in the day, but now he’s grown a palette for all of the toddler staples.  He is a fruit eating champ though so he does get his vitamins.   He also gets a gummy vitamin every day.  Right off the bat I handed him a candy-looking sugar-coated vitamin and said, “This is a vitamin, not candy.  You get ONE A DAY.  ONE A DAY, hear me?  No more.  One.”  It sunk in.  I hand him his vitamin and very day he holds it out and says, “One-day, Mommy!  One-day!” 

He is still in diapers.  He views potty time as book reading time.  The same two books.  Once Upon a Potty & Are You My Mommy (Tiger Edition).  We must both take turns reading them.  He knows the ‘sensation’.  He’ll tell me POOPYPOPPYMOMMY and run upstairs and do nothing.  Then I will put a fresh diaper on him which he’ll immediately soil.  Once he insisted that he did indeed go potty and I told him he did not and lying is bad and then I took him off the potty and we both leaned in for a look and there was a tiny pebble down there.  We looked up at each other in surprise and I sang praises and handed out M&Ms and put a new diaper on him.  Which he immediately soiled.

He is now in 3T shirts.  I was in denial about this.  He is 2.  He should be in 2T while he’s 2.  Ya know?  2 = 2T.  Right?  At daycare he walks up to Miss Di and she comments about him getting too big for his shirt.  It instantly and completely confused me.  ‘Noooo, 2T’, my brain told me.  My eyes saw too much of his forearms and a little belly.  My brain was all: 2T!  I said, ‘He’s two! I have until September!’  Di may have looked at me funny.  I may have mumbled it.  However, I stick to my logic: he should not be wearing 3T anything until September 8th, 2011.  I have 2T summer stuff for frigg sake.  He has to wear the 2T jeans with the tabby-dos all cinched up tight.  The jeans will become too short on him before they can be let out at all.  He’s a long skinny guy and his back bone’s connected to his leg bones, ‘cause he doesn’t appear to have a hip bone.

He is still a mommy’s boy.  I can soothe him like nobody’s business.  If he has a bad dream I can pat him on the back and whisper, ‘Mommy’s here’ and he’ll slip back into sleep.  I am fiercely cherishing this before it goes away and I become his lame mom.

He is also very protective of his mommy.  Heaven-for-freaking-bid I hold another baby in his presence.  Holy cow!  ‘No!  MY MOMMY!’ Like he becomes completely negated the moment another child touches me.  We went to visit friends with a cute little girl and I didn’t pick her up for hours so Evan would get used to her first.  His attention was focused on something else when I picked her up.  He saw me and wailed and tried to climb up my legs.  This could be an issue if we add another offspring to the fold. 

He talks like crazy.  He’ll hold entire conversations with me.  He won’t let me off with the fake answers I used to give him or the ‘because I said so’ routine.  He has a good hold on concepts in general and knows most of his letters on sight. (He does, however, refer to letters as E-E-Ohs.)  He used to be really on with his colors and numbers but he has been insisting lately that everything is blue.  We’ll go around the house often and I’ll ask him ‘What color is this?’ and he’ll try to figure it out.  One good lesson is watching Biggest Loser.  There are always bright colors on that show.  He spends it saying ‘Waa Color, Mommy?  Waa Color?’  Instead of saying, ‘Shhhhh! Mommy’s watching her show’, like I should be doing, I say, ‘You tell me.’ Then he’ll say, ‘Ummmmmm, bibbit.’ and laugh.

What’s in a name?

September 10, 2010 at 11:42 am | Posted in Baby Weight (Evan), It's OK to be confused... I am | Leave a comment
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M O M M Y

Oohhh, that double-edged sword of a name.  Cherished and condemned.  A word that lights up your heart and gets of your nerves.

It starts when you’re pregnant.  Someone calls you Mommy.  It made my cheeks burn red and I always felt like an imposter.  I wasn’t doing any… you know, mothering.  I popped a couple of prenatal vitamins here and there.  I made some prenatal appointments.  I wasn’t like wiping poopy butts or losing sleep or checking temperatures analy or what not. 

Then more awkwardness.  My husband and I, chatting away at a baby that can’t speak and has no idea what we’re saying.  He tries to indicate to the child that he needs to look over at me ’cause I’m acting funny or whatever, trying to get him to laugh.  So he says something along the lines of, “Evan!  Look at… umm… her.  Evan, look at Amber!”  I stop and whisper, “Maybe we should call ourselves Mommy and Daddy or something?”  So: “Evan!  Look at… Mommy.”  It was just so WEIRD.  Calling ourselves Mommy and Daddy.  It might be just me… but that was just bizarre.

Then the coveted First Word.  Wayne and I spent months hovering over Evan. 

SAY MAMA!  Sugar, SAY MAMA!!  MAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMA 

No!  DADA.  SAY DADA Evan!  DADA! 

Can you say MAMA? 

DADA? DADA? Da…

dada’s a stupid word Evan, SAY MAMA.  MMMMMmmmmmmm.  Aaaaaahhhhh.

DADA.  Say DADA, Evan! DADADADADADADADADADADADADADADADA!

Like this.  Only with more volume and enthusiasm.  Alas.  Dada was to win.  Although I say it was easier to pronounce and he didn’t realize what he was saying.  Because I’m an asshole.

In April/Mayish of this year I was out-of-town and away from Dada and Evan for a few weeks.  I was aching to see my son.  Dada was doing his best at sending me photos and videos and trying to get him to “talk” to me on the phone.  Then there was this one video of Evan running back and forth in the kitchen.  Then he runs to the steps and Wayne walks up to him and says, “Say MOMMY” and then there is this sweet little sound, barely more than a whisper, “mammee”.  Holy crap y’all, if I had a car I would have driven cross-country to get back home.  Like right then.  Like, ‘fuck packing’ right then.  As it was, I cried myself to sleep while watching the video again and again.  The next day I called to “talk” to Evan while he was at daycare.  He said Mommy again. 

I’ve been Mommy from then on. 

He’ll look at me and smile when I try to get him to laugh and say MOMMY with a little smirk at the end like, OH MOMMY YOU ARE SO SILLY BUT THAT’S WHY I LOVE YOU. 

When he wants my attention: MOMMY

When I arrive at daycare to pick him up:  MOMMY!! as he runs at me at full force.

When he wants me to stop:  MOMMY!  NooooooooOO!

When he want me to come get him from another room:  MOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMEEEEEEEEEEEE

When I’m driving and he wants me to dangerously look back at him: Mommy.  MOMMY.  MOOOOOOOMMEEEEEEE!  So I look back: MOMMY with a smirk like I TOTALLY KNEW I COULD GET YOU TO LOOK BACK HERE.

When Dada puts him in time out: MOMMY. *sniff pout whimper* MOMMY!  MOOOOMMMMEEE! Mommy.  Mommy.  MOMMY.  MOMMY!  MOMMY!  Mommy and etc…

When he does something he’s proud of: MOMMY!

When he wants me to play with him:  MOMMY? with a car or a ball or a book in his out stretched hand. 

When he’s playing evil child and ROWRS and is all: MOMMY with a raspy, scary, bass voice and a children of the corn stare.  Then I’m supposed to hide and pretend I’m scared of the creepy voice, and Evan giggles and MOMMYs again… but really I am creeped out.  *shivers*

When he falls: MOMMY!

When he wants something, anything: MOMMMMMEEE!  Mommy?

When I have to hold him down to do something unpleasant like taking off a band-aid: MOooooooooMmmmmmmMY!!?

When he decides he no longer wants to be held by this other person or I’m trying to put him in another persons arms: MOMMY!

When he wants up:  whine MOMMY whine UP.

When he’s proud of something I’ve done: MOMMY! YAY!  YAY MOMMY!

When we are all sitting down to eat: MOMMY. UP. whine MOMMY!  UP! UUUUUUUP! MOMMY! AWW DUN! MOMMY!

When I’m watching my stories: MOMMY! DODA N BOOTS!

When he’s telling on Dada: MOMMY!?  Dada.

When he’s looking for something: MOMMY?

When I’m reading: Mommy? MOMMY?  Mommmmmmmeeeeeee?

It’s music to my ears sometimes and cridgeworthy sometimes, but it’s my name. 

Evan, don’t wear it out.

The Second

September 8, 2010 at 10:48 am | Posted in As the Months go by..., Baby Weight (Evan), Love and all that other mushy stuff | 1 Comment
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It’s his birthday.  Today my son turned two.  Two.  That’s all.  It’s such a cozy little number.  There’s nothing big about it.  But, of course, it feels huge. 

It’s been longer than two years since I’ve loved him.  I’d spend evenings talking to him while he was inside, still growing.  Sometimes, no doubt, before he even developed ear drums.  I’m sure I looked like a crazy person, chatting to nothing.  Thank goodness no one could see that I was picturing him nodding along with my dialogue in my head.  I do the same now and he does nod along and he does answer me.  It’s normally in his style of gibberish or his fall back answers: Yeah-ess, No, or Whyyy. 

My goodness how he’s grown!  His father and I look at him, astounded.  At the same time we high-five each other for another year of giving him enough nourishment and care that he’s still around.  His life being a round track for us… the finish line marking a milestone in his journey which we celebrate but run right though to continue around the loop.  Dizzy and tired without a longing to rest.  Eager to see his next step.

Also mourning what has now come to pass.  It’s one of those things I hadn’t anticipated as a mother (you know, along with the eleventy thousand other things)… a sadness that we’ve reached another landmark in his life.  You know it from all the mothers crying after leaving their children at the bus stop or the school’s entrance for the first time.  So very freaking proud; so very freaking sad.  It’s my son’s birthday… Imma throw me a pity party now.

This is my favorite time yet.  Although, I said the same thing last year:

This year I told Evan that it’s my favorite time yet and he asked me “Whyyyyyy?”.  I laughed so hard I produced tears.  He looked confused.

We threw a party for Evan Sunday.  He had a good time all day long.  He was a little too eager to blow out his candle on his cake.  He also was very meticulous about gift opening at first.

Soon his friends showed him the real way to tear open presents.  Evan got into the swing of things real quick. 

So there it is.  A two year old.  Flying further away from needing me and growing a little too heavy to carry. 

Even still?  This is going to be the BEST YEAR YET!

On Being an Advocate

August 3, 2010 at 3:16 pm | Posted in Baby Weight (Evan), I have unleashed the crazy, I's for reals, Putting on Baby Weight (Pregnancy) | Leave a comment
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It all starts in utero.  It’s not a conscious decision, but one you ponder endlessly anyway.  That glob of cells… is there a heartbeat?  I’m 16 weeks… why haven’t I felt the baby move?  Is that a Braxton-Hicks contraction or a baby-is-on-its way contraction?  I haven’t felt the baby move.  I can’t hold down water.  For me it was: I have a bad backache and something that feels like heartburn.  It all ends in the same question:

SHOULD I CALL A DOCTOR?

For me, pregnancy was easier.  There wasn’t a helpless child in front of me.  I wasn’t feeling well but I can feel the baby move.  The baby is good.  I didn’t want to be that woman who calls the doctor for every little thing.  I was sustaining life with MY MIND and damnit, that makes me hardcore and if that means dealing with a bit of pain then so fucking be it.  Well, we all know how that turned out.  I didn’t want to be a pest so I suffered in silence without making a phone call.  I figured I’d mention it at the next regularly scheduled OBGYN appointment, if it was still bothering me.  My pride/meekness/laissez-faireness could have killed myself and my baby.  Thank goodness concern rose above my obstinance and I called the doctor about the pain.  Evan was born 6 hours later. 

All bets were completely off when you have a sick baby in front of you.

That newborn with a fever?  Did that: December 1st (Our 1 year wedding anniversary), 2am, ER.  The book from the pediatrician said any baby under 3 months with a fever over 101 needs to be seen immediately.  I called after hours.  I was told to go to the ER.  The ER doctor tried to scare us with a spinal tap “if we really want to find out what’s wrong, but I’m sure it’s just a virus and you don’t want to put your baby through that dooooooooo? yooooooouuuuu??”  I was annoyed; he was making me feel awful for coming in and wanting to know what was wrong and I hadn’t even pressed the question.  It was drowned out by the relief I felt because Evan was OK.  But lemme tell you, if the euphoria high of relief were not coursing through my veins, I would have slapped the bastard.  I’m not a fucking doctor.  He would have been much more annoyed if I acted like I was.   Not only was I worried, but I was directed to go there.  I paid for the service with my cash and some good insurance.  I am Evan’s advocate.  Get irritated the with the parents who refuse to be an advocate for their children.  Treat me with some respect, please.

I am now in toddler illness hell.  For a child that is obsessed with washing his hands and a mother obsessed with Clorox, you’d think we’d have a fairly healthy kid.  But no.  Kids get sick.  And with every. little. cough. you get to feel like a bit more of a failure of a parent.  Woo!  A sniffle! Go me. 

I don’t, I swear I don’t, send my child with the doctor with every little cough he gets.  I don’t call the nurse’s line with each sniffle.  I don’t go to the ER for every fever.  When I feel it’s necessary, I do.  If I’m extra worried and I need reassurances, I do.  (They don’t call it a Mother’s Instinct for nothin’.)  But you know what?  Who cares if someone does go in for every little thing?  I mean, really?  They go to someone, pay for a service… who really cares if it’s not necessary?  Like getting your oil changed every 100 miles.  (Which reminds me…)  Change my oil and take my money… YOU’RE WELCOME

This is not to say you should go to the ER for a splinter because they have to treat you even if you can’t pay.  This isn’t saying you should insist to be seen first by a busy doctor with sicker patients.  But I should feel free to schedule an appointment.  For no reason other that I want a doctor to take a look-see at my child.  I have insurance.  I’m going to pay.  Please provide me service.

Parents don’t want to be that person.  The one always calling the doctor.  Worried about every hangnail.  I know I don’t.  And I know that sometimes I pause before I call the doctor because of it.  I look at my child with a 105 fever and worry that if I call they doctor they might scoff at me because their book SAYS that a 105 fever is nothing to be worried about.  I’ll lose sleep… not because of another $20 co-pay or the fact that I’m out of vacation hours… I’ll lose sleep because I don’t want the doctor to not take me seriously because I bring my child in too much.  I feel stupid typing that.  I am Evan’s advocate.  He can’t roll his eyes at me because I’m being silly and call the doctor himself.  He can’t even tell me what hurts.  I have to be the one that describes the slight change in Evan’s behaviour or sleeping habits.  I have to detail his appetite.  That’s my job.  Being that I’m not a medical expert, I tell the doctor the symptoms.  That’s their job.

My tirade comes from an odd batch of symptoms Evan has been producing lately… fevers, rash, peeling fingertips and toes.  Weird.  I called the nurses line and she tells me it’s no big deal and I’m OK with that answer and I go about my merry way.  The next day there’s more weirdness so I get uncomfortable and call again.  This time I want to see a doctor.  Hi, if you don’t think something is wrong I’d like to just come in… a doctor can take a look and put my mind at ease.  I got sighed at.  I heard the rolling of eyes over the phone.  As in, “I’d like to bring him in for an appointment” then, “*sigh* holdon.”  It infuriates me.  Rudeness.  To a customer.  To a worried mother.  Fuck that.

I’m on the look out for a new doctor.  STAT.

My 22 Month Old…

July 30, 2010 at 3:21 pm | Posted in As the Months go by..., Baby Weight (Evan) | Leave a comment
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… OMG: two more months and he’s 2.  As in “ALIVE FOR TWO YEARS”.  Whoa.  I’m trying to teach him to say and show “2” when I ask him how old he is.  I figure it will take him a couple months to perfect it.

… is about 27lbs now.  And tall.  Really, really tall.  So tall I can’t remember how tall the pediatrician said measure him.  He’s all arms and legs.  And he knows how to kick and hit.  Hard.

… is talking up a storm… in evanspeak.  Somethings I can pick up: mommy, dada, help, ball, hat, eat, baba, caca (color / cracker / Lilah – not that he’s calling his girlfriend a cracker), apple, car, dog, truck, choo-choo, book, baby, Dora, Gaga (Yo Gabba Gabba), bye, coat, shoe, etc… and other stuff I can’t pick up.  He will look at me very serious-like and point at nothing in particular and say, “Ahbe meh saa”.  I’m all: “Wha?”  Evan: “AHBE MEH SAA!” and stab the air with his finger that’s pointing at nothing in particular.  “Speak English, Evan. Show me.”  He’ll run into another room with me not far behind and point at another nothing in particular, “AAHHH. BEE. MEEEEEEH. SAAAA!”  Still at a loss, I distract him with this question, “Want an apple?” “Yes!  App-ah! App-ah! Yes!”  Crisis averted.

understands almost everything you say.  This creeped me out a little.  If I was talking to him, I’d try to stick with words he knew.  I’d use simple phrases and show him a lot of things at the same time.  One day after he spent that last 2 hours whining about BYEBYE I said, “Fine.  Go get mommy’s shoes, purse and keys and we’ll leave.  I don’t know where, but we’ll go.”  Minutes later I look down at my son still screaming BYEBYE only this time he has my purse hanging off his shoulder, there is a pile of 3 pairs of my shoes and my car keys at his feet.  He managed to get his Crocs on too, albeit on the wrong feet. 

… will answer any question you ask him and try to do what you tell him to do.  Most answers to questions and requests to do things are “NO”.  Sigh.

… is just now getting into the picky eater phase.  When he started eating solids he would eat whatever you put in front of him.  Now he won’t even try most things.  You can let him sit in his highchair, you can wave a time-out possibility at him, you can do the flying airplane of food that flys into the mouth thing and nothing works.  HOWEVER.  I while ago I was eating a wonderful raspberry sorbet I wasn’t looking forward to sharing but couldn’t wait until bedtime.  Evan looked at it so I offered him a bite and he said, “NO!” and I said, “GOOD!”

… is kinda potty training.  I gets sat in there sometimes before bathtime and whenever he asks.  He has two books for the potty and I usually have to read them to him twice and then he will “read” them to me.   Then he wants to do Itsy Bitsy Spider and Wheels on the Bus over and over, (the horn part… no others.  Don’t even freaking THINK about talking about the damn wheels.  Beep!  Beep!  Beep!  Only!)  I bought some “big boy” undies with the intention of letting him run around the house in them and doing frequent potty breaks and using any accidents as a learning opportunity.  So I haven’t done that yet, but the intention is there.  That counts. 

… still gets a morning bottle and a bedtime bottle at home.  The morning bottle is going to be a tough one to break.  He’ll say BABA before his eyes are open.  Nothing like being woke up via amplified baby monitor to: “Ehhhhhbaaaabaaaa.  Ehhh… mah ba baaaaaaaaa.”

… has way too many toys.  He has a toy overflow room!  Not to mention his “Playroom” is my living room and my feet haven’t grown used to the legos yet.  Evan will help you pick up his toys… but then he will dump everything out again and put the container on his head and say, “HAT!”

… went raspberry pickin’.  Just me and him, Daddy was working.  It’s hard to pick berries whilst holding on to a toddler you guys.  And then when I told him that he had to pick the RIPE BERRIES?  Pfft!  It went downhill from there.  Luckily, they were serving cider slushies and that got me back into his good graces.

… is still in size 4 diapers and 24 month clothes… he’s getting DANGEROUSLY close to wearing 2T clothes.  He does wear some 2T jammies.  His 24 month pants adorabley fall down his legs all the time.  He’s a skinny guy.

… has a hand washing obsession.  If it’s quiet for too long I know to search the little downstairs half bath that houses his potty seat and booster steps.  He’s normally trying to get the soap to squirt on his hands or running the hot water at full blast with his hands in the flow. (!!!) I believe it’s time to turn down the temperature on the hot water tank.

… is taking showers lately.  With Mommy or Dada of course.  He does pretty good.  If you tell him to wash himself he washes his hands *eyeroll* or rubs his soapy hands on his belly and then attempts to stick his pushed out belly in the water stream.  Why isn’t he using a washcloth, you ask?  Well, I’ll answer.  He doesn’t like them maybe?  I don’t know.  He has no problem with us using it on him, but don’t you dare let it float around in the tub or hand it to him in the shower.  EGADS!  The whines go up about 10 decibel if you do that nonsense.

… has a problem with my singing.  I’m no Beyonce or anything but DAMN!  The minute I bob my head in the car and start mumbling, “Mah telephone… mah, mah, mah telephone”, Evan shouts: “MOMMY!”  I’ll stop and say WHAT and he’ll give me a look like don’t ever do that again. So I do what I’m told not to do (probably not a good example for Evan) and turn up the radio and sing louder: “MAH TELEPHONE… MAH, MAH, MAH TELEPHONE… When I’m out in the club and I’m sippin’ that bub then I’m not gonna reach MAH TELEPHONE!”  Evan screams: “MOOOOMMMMEEEEE!!!! NOOO!!!!  No, Mommy!!!”  The look… the horror.  I’m gonna be a great mom to a teenager.  *rubs hands together in an evil manner*

… had his first carnival ride.  He rode a horse that went up and down on a ferris wheel.  I think he enjoyed it.  I hung onto him for dear life and made all of the “OOOOOoooooOOH!  WHOA!  Cool!  This is fun!” sounds to make sure he didn’t freak the hell out. 

… is growing up just too darn fast.  I say this all the time but it’s true.  I want to make another Evan.  Once this one can change diapers and cook a proper meal of course.

My New Toy

June 21, 2010 at 12:31 pm | Posted in Baby Weight (Evan), In Evan's Words | 1 Comment
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Hi-ee!  Evan here.  This is me and my ball.  Loooove my ball.  I can do anything with it!  I can shoot hoops, knock glasses over and scare the beejesus out of dogs!

Then Dada rolled by with his toy.  Waddup, Dada?  *fist bump*

I wanted to try out his toy so I did what I always do: I took it.  IT. WAS. AWESOME!

Mommy was a little paranoid at first.  “No, MOMMY!  I’m not going to HIT YOUR CAR!  See?  I’m CAREFUL!”

This is very serious work right here. 

What?

This concrete ain’t gonna mow itself, lady!  Outtadaway!

Fine.  One picture.  OKAY?  Can I get on with it now?  SERIOUS WORK GOING ON MOM.

I’m prepared to run you over.

Uh oh.  I’m stuck.  It won’t move anymore.  Make it move, Mommy!

HELP!  MAKE IT MOVE!  For reals!  I wasn’t really going to run you over!  GEESH!  Nooo!  MAKE IT MOVE!!

Stop with the camera already.  This is not a tantrum!  I WASN’T GOING TO RUN YOU OVER REALLY!  HEEEELP!  Waaaaaaaa!

Gosh.  Why do you always distract me with new toys during tantrums calls for help?  This is kinda awesome though.  Can I drive it next?  I could probably use the peddles if I use my tippy toes.

OK.  Enough about me.  Happy Father’s Day, Dada.  I’ll humor you for now and sneak out the keys after you go to bed.

*FIST BUMP*,

Evan

Adventures in Potty Training, Part 1 of 3,673

June 17, 2010 at 10:14 am | Posted in Baby Weight (Evan), I shouldn't have even posted this | Leave a comment
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The scene is Daycare.  Evan stops playing suddenly and makes his “concentrate on pooping” face.  They check his diaper and its empty.  They decide to set him on the toilet.  Then he poops.  He POOPS!

Pooooooooooop!  In the potty!

He spent the rest of the day going to the potty.  He was very successful.  I picked him up and dropped him off at home and raced to the Big-Box Baby store to get him a toilet seat.  I raced home ready to tear it from its packaging and drag it and Evan to the bathroom loudly singing some sort of made up potty song.

I arrived to find my husband and son on the couch, sleeping.  Dang it.  No potty song.

When we get home the next day I get all excited and jump up and down saying, “Wooooo!  Potty time!  YAY!  Evan, let’s go TO THE POTTY!  WOOT!”

“no”

“please?”

“no”

So I unload the dishwasher and then lean down to him and say, “You know what I was thinking Evan?  You should go use the big boy potty!”

“yes”

So we head in and I plop him down and… nothing.  And in the week since… nothing.  He spends a lot of time on the pot… just sitting there.  Normally demanding I sing Itsy Bitsy Spider or Wheels on the bus, (but only the horn part, don’t even THINK about talking about the damn wheels!  Beep! Beep! Beep!  Only!).  We’ve read books.  We’ve colored.  He sits for a while and then whines: “Eh, eh, eh… all done.”

So before bath time the other day we sat on the pot for a while.  After about 5 minutes of nothing, I get him down, wash his hands and go upstairs to get his bath going.  I let him run around the house naked. 

Not even a minute later, Evan walks upstairs and with panic in his eyes proclaims, “Uh oh!”

“What?”

“UH OH!”

“What?  Where uh oh?”

He stabs the air with his finger-pointing downstairs.  “UH OH!  HELP!”

He leads be straight to a wet spot on the carpet.  Shoot.  He did.

He crouched down and pointed it out again in case I missed it. “UH OH!”

“It’s OK.  This is the kind of stuff we do in the potty you were on not 45 seconds ago.  We just need to get it cleaned up now.”

“YES!”

So I tear off a couple of paper towels and Evan snatches them and runs to the accident.  He gets on his knees and starts to wipe it up.  I try to show him how to press down on it to soak it up and the tutorial must have been .23850 seconds too long because he shouted “NO!” and continued to do it on his own.

“Fine.”  I walked back upstairs to finish his bath. 

When it’s time I head back down to get him and he is stuffing the wet paper towels in the trash.

This entire scene boggles my brain.  He recognises an accident, comes to me for help, gets the tools to clean it up, cleans it up and then throws away the trash.  Wow.  He’s not a baby anymore.

My only hope is that he has the same reaction when and if he POOPS on the floor.  I hope he wants to clean THAT up by himself too.

A Quick Note on Marching

April 26, 2010 at 10:49 am | Posted in Baby Weight (Evan), I's for reals, The Others | Leave a comment
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You are now looking at a girl who has walked another 6 miles.

Wait…

You are now reading the words typed by a girl who has walked another 6 miles.

The March of Dimes / March for Babies walk was Sunday.  It was cold and rainy AGAIN, but we made it.  My husband, Evan, myself and the lovely Miss Di that watches Evan while I work… his other mama.  🙂

And oh did we make our goal: $480!  My goal was $400.  As a group “Evan’s Family” (be inspired by my naming abilities, people), we brought in $645!  A-freakin’-mazing!

We arrived and registered and took off. 

Evan’s a “Preemie in Name Only” type of preemie.  Early but healthy.  No NICU time.  We were so lucky.

It was so heart-breaking to hear and see people’s stories of babies that did not make it.  But it made the tales of babies that survived the odds that much more inspiring. 

The trail was treacherous and there were many a pick-up vans along the way to tempt us into giving up but we walked the whole damn way, damnit.  Evan walked for about 10 feet.  (Lucky bastard)  He was walking waaay too slow and had an aversion to walking on the sidewalk.  We need to practice that one I think.

All in all a good day.  I’m working on thank you notes right now.  I would like to get a special little photo like last year but he knows how to run now.  Here was last year’s:

Thank you.  So very, very much. 

Birthday, Doctor, Roseola and LAS VEGAS!

April 14, 2010 at 12:28 pm | Posted in Baby Weight (Evan), I shouldn't have even posted this, It's OK to be confused... I am, Love and all that other mushy stuff, Me myself I and me again, The Others | Leave a comment
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Here is your last few week’s summaries of stuff that has been going on because for once things have been going on and I haven’t been here to tell you and I’ll try not to ramble on and on and on.  (Damnit.  I fail.)

April

1st – The first of the month is a hectic time at work for me.  It’s delicious.  I have a big fat list of things to punch out and I love playing the work horse.  Also the first was Evan’s daycare Easter party and I had a dozen little eggs ready to go.  I should have known the night before that we were in trouble.  Evan was fussy and started getting feverish and Wayne called at about 8 or 9pm to tell me he got a flat tire on the way home from fishing.  So while my husband was on the side of the highway changing his tire in the dark, I was struggling with bedtime and an ill toddler.  The next morning, Evan’s fever was at about 103 so I had to call in ‘Kid Sick’ to work.  I miss the 1st of the month and Evan misses his party.  I did get a lot done around the house.  Eventually however, Evan was getting ultra-cuddley.  Like, I would be standing on a step stool and he would climb up just to wrap his arms around my leg… or I would be washing the baseboard and he would lay his head in my lap.  Finally I took him to cuddle on the couch and he fell asleep.  I went back to cleaning and when he woke he was ON FIRE!  Well, not literally kinda, but his temp was over 105!  Panic Mommy in me wanted to run him to the ER or something but Level-headed Mommy saw that he was not acting sick… just a little uncomfortable.  All night we were dosing him and making him sip water and trying to cool him off. 

2nd – He woke up fever-less.  I took him to daycare and went into work.  Mid-day, I got a call that he was getting the fever back.  Bummer.  Wayne’s sister got in town that day from West Virginia and we were really excited to see her.  I picked Evan up and we went to Wayne’s Grandmother’s house.  He still had a fever and he was cranky, but OK.  Right before we went to leave, he started looking really unwell.  I picked him up and as we were saying our good-byes, Evan became a fountain of vomit.  3 times.  Right after a bottle.  All over himself, me and Grandma’s kitchen.  Wayne changed Evan, I changed me and Grandma & Sister cleaned up the kitchen.  I felt awful for everyone. 

3rd – My birthday.  I turned [inaudible] on this day.  Evan’s fever was down and Sister was still in town, so we went shopping and out to lunch.  I spent the day fearing that Evan would become a fountain again.  He did not. 

4th – Easter Sunday.  Evan’s fever was gone and when he woke up we sent him downstairs to inspect his Easter basket. 

He had a little rash on his neck.  I figured it was from the fever or something along those uneducated lines.  By the time we got to Grandma’s house the rash was really kicking in.  It covered his belly and back.  He didn’t seem bothered by it.  He was still cranky.  A cute little sourpuss.

 

 

5th – Back to daycare, back to work.  Evan still had the rash but Ms Di was OK with him hanging out.  Mid-day she calls and thinks it may be Roseola.  I call the nurse and she says to come in for an appointment.  Sure enough: Roseola.  Too bad it’s one of those ass backwards viruses that are all contagious but completely UNcontagious once any sort of symptom appears. 

6th – The rash is still hanging out.  I’m stressed because we are leaving in 2 days for Vegas.  As in LAS VEGAS but with child.  My bestest fabulous friend Stephanie is getting married on the 9th and we are all flying out to join her.  Packing, or more-to-the-point OVERpacking.

7th – Evan is being a complete asshole  butthead  boogerhead.  A cute asshole  butthead  boogerhead that I adore and love and is my pweashus! wittle! baybee!… but a temper tantrum throwing, inconsolable baybee as well.  Ms Di says the word EAR and I place the word EAR with AIRPLANE THE NEXT DAY and call the nurse AGAIN.  Nurse says EAR and APPOINTMENT and we head to the Doc’s office AGAIN.  Evan’s mood is improving by then and by the time the doctor walks in the room Evan is ready to great him with a full on smile.  “So, what’s up?” Doc says.  (As I’m editing… HAHAHAHHAHAHAAH!!!!1!! ROTFLMAO!!  What’s Up Doc.  I SLAY me)  “I’m here because my kid is super grumpy” I deadpan.  Evan giggles.  My god.  Sure enough his ears might-just-be-looking-a-little-pink so let’s-get-him-on-antibiotics-right-away because of the airplane situation, you know, TOMORROW.  I spend the evening packing up the last of our stuff as my husband is out buying stuff he needs last-minute, which is good because if he didn’t I would wonder what the aliens did with my REAL husband.  Wayne’s last-minute like that. 

8th – I work until noon and head home to load the car and button up the house.  Then I go to daycare to pick up and pajama-clad Evan.  He gets strapped in and we drive the hour and a half to Wayne’s work.  We pick him up and quickly dash to the airport.  And it’s a damn good thing we did because I would hate not to arrive 3 hours before the flight takes off.  SIGH.  Evan runs UP the terminal and BACK to DADA over and over and over. 

The flight goes OK and I have to switch this over to the

9th – because we are landing in Vegas and it’s now the 9th.  Just to sum that up for you.  We get checked in and get up to the hotel room.  And Mandalay Bay has no milk located in the miles and miles of its sin city acreage and I would say that they shouldn’t… they should have vodka and NOT milk because it’s VEGAS and not DISNEYWORLD but you would be SHOCKED at the amount of children I saw there.  Even that late.  Half of them weren’t even drunk.  Wayne ended up walking across the strip to an AM/PM for a gallon of milk and a cooler.  It worked.  We sleep.  We wake. 

We get together with THE BRIDE.  We pool.  Evan hates the pool.  I get ready.  I taxi to THE BRIDE’s hotel.  She get’s ready.

I capture gorgeous bride.

Stranger takes picture of us.

We wait for non-english-speaking limo driver that is lost.  We hop in the limo and head to the LAS VEGAS sign.  Wayne is there with a passed out Evan who is awesomely so cute in a little white shirt and tie.  We push through the masses and I listen and watch as THE BRIDE becomes THE WIFE.  It was beautiful and I know she’s so happy.  Then we are all back in the limo and smushing and drinking champagne (well, except for me cause its icky and Evan because he was asleep.  I’m kidding, he was awake but I didn’t have his sippy cup.  I kidding, I had a sippy cup with me but I was too lazy to take it out, so no champagne for him.  I’m kidding for fuck’s sake.  I’m not lazy.)  We arrive at dinner and are greeted with MEAT on a SWORD.  I casually grab a diaper and some wipes to go change Evan and find no changing table.  Restaurant is attached to hotel/mall – walking everywhere to find restroom with changing table – back in my seat lots of minutes later.  After the noms on a stick, Wayne and I and Evan head out to catch a cab.  Did you know that you can’t catch a cab on the strip unless it’s at a hotel?  We did and yet we started walking anyway.  OMG.  Ouchy-foooty-ouchy.  Hubby crying about shins in his splints or something.  Evan chillin’ in the stroller accepting hooker cards being handed out by non-english-speaking over aggressors.  We walk from the Planet Hollywood hotel to Mandalay Bay.  OMG. 

10th – By today we make it back to our room.  We pass the hell out.  We eat.  We pool.  Evan still does not like the pool.  We meet up with THE WIFE and THE HUSBAND and THE BEST MAN.  We go eat.  (Did I mention that Wayne has a couple in him?)  Wayne is kinda drunk.  We go to a restaurant that has a GINORMOUS BURGER that they will give you for free if you can eat it in 5 minutes and 20 seconds.  Wayne is down for it.  I am mortified.  Evan’s getting cranky.  I leave early to get Evan situated and eating.  Wayne comes back all WHOA BIG BURGER and falls asleep.  I meet THE WIFE for FROYO and wish her a pleasant flight home.  I go to bed at a decent hour.

11th – Our last day in LAS VEGAS.  We eat and do touristy things. 

We head to the airport.  4 hours early this time to shake things up.  Evan falls asleep and

12th – we are mid-flight home.  Wayne is headed right into work so I am on hold EVER HEAVIER baby during flight and don’t let him kick neighbor and baby is only comfy if you are not.  I turn into ZOMBIE.  We land in Metro Detroit and I drive Wayne to work.  I drive Evan to daycare.  I drive my ass home and sleep.  Sleeeeeep.  Opps.  I mean, Bwaaaaaains.  Eh, I’m so confused.

Things are all sorts of normal now.  Getting prepared for the March for Babies walk.  Then 4 days later flying to Arizona and then 4 days after I get home from that flying to Florida.  On Mother’s Day.  Without mah baybee.  Again.  Something to whine about on another day.

Hey there, thanks for reading the whole way through, you one person you!  I have a unicorn for you.

Save Little Lives

March 31, 2010 at 4:00 pm | Posted in Baby Weight (Evan), I's for reals, Love and all that other mushy stuff, Putting on Baby Weight (Pregnancy), The Others | 3 Comments
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“We don’t have time to induce you.  We have to take the baby now.”

Those are the words that I heard 10 minutes before my son was born.  It wasn’t like a hospital drama or my favorite show, House.  They didn’t tell me that “We don’t have time” meant that I didn’t have time and that I might have a seizure and die before the medication to induce labor kicked in.  They didn’t pull Wayne aside to tell him how dire the situation was or how sick and drugged I would be for the next few days.  They didn’t explain what HELLP Syndrome was and they didn’t tell me the risks to our son.  They didn’t talk about the risk of bleeding out during the c-section due to my non-existent platelets nor did they tell us what to expect from our preemie son and how he would be wisked away immediately. 

“We don’t have time to induce you.  We have to take the baby now.”

We nodded while trying to get the million questions we had bombarding our brains in single file.  Before that could happen, Wayne was handed scrubs and told to get them on and I was prepped for surgery. 

Then a little baby was born.  4 lbs, 14 oz.  First apgars were low, the second ones were better.  He got some oxygen, he got an IV, he got a heart monitor.  But he was fine.  He was almost fully cooked.  I got to hold my baby right away even if I couldn’t room with him for four days.  He was well enough to go home before I was.

We were lucky.

Sometimes, a TINY baby is born.  1 lbs, 6 oz. First apgars non-existent, second ones are low.  ventilators and feeding tubes and monitors.  Incubators and unpronounceable drugs.  These babies are not fine.  Not cooked.  They can’t be held.  They can’t come home.  Some don’t ever make it home.

That’s not fair. 

I walk for March of Dimes every year because that thought takes my breath away.  Take a couple weeks of gestation away from Evan and that could have been him.  It could be any of our babies.

What would I do without this in my life?

The March of Dimes looks for ways to make sure all pregnancies are full-term pregnancies.  They support these preemies and their parents.  They research treatments for vision, heart and lung defects.  They support NICUs.  The March of Dimes started back in the day to find a cure for Polio.  Guess what they found?  That’s right, a cure for Polio.  And when that happened they didn’t celebrate and go about their merry ways… they found a new mission.

I found one too.

My family and I walk on April 25th, in Grand Blanc, MI.  Come walk with us!  We have a new person or two (!) walking with us this year and I am so excited!  There are walks all over the nation, go here to find one.

Donate.  Click the button below or click here and sponsor my family and our cause.  Every dollar brings tears to my eyes because I’m so thankful to be surrounded by such wonderful people.  I’ve been tearing up a lot.  I try to act hardcore about it but it’s not working.

Get learnt.  Be a voice.  Mention HELLP Syndrome to your pregnant friends and family.  Know for your wife or for yourself.  We all know of at least 3 pregnant people at a time.  It’s not as uncommon as you might think.  I know of two dear woman personally that had HELLP as well.

H (Hemolytic anemia) EL (Elevated Liver enzymes) LP (Low Platelet count).  Basically means your red blood cells are being destroyed and not regenerating, your liver is failing and the goop in your blood that clots your wounds is low.  All of this eventually shuts down your liver and kidneys.  Seizure.  Coma.  Death.  It can be related to pre-eclampsia but there is some debate on that.  Personally, I didn’t present with pre-eclampsia symptoms (high blood pressure, protein in urine) but most women do.  I was also much sicker after Evan was born.  The fact that I didn’t “look” like a “normal” HELLP patient makes me appreciate my doctors even more.

My symptoms were a pain above my pregnant belly which I associated with heartburn and a backache.  (It was my liver and kidneys).  I felt nauseous and had a headache.  Some women also have blurred vision and tingling in their hands and feet.

Walking. Donating. Being a little HELLP expert.  You’re saving lives.  THANK YOU SO MUCH.

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