Category Archives: Motherhood

What A Difference A Day Makes

On Friday, we “graduated” Claire up to the bottle nipples for 3-6 months of age. We had tried them a couple weeks back, but the flow was too much for her to handle. Then, a few days before she reached 12 weeks, she seemed increasingly frustrated with her meals, sucking really hard and getting mad. So, even though she was not officially three months old (but she will be this Saturday), we switched nipples.

Formerly Claire consumed 18-21 ounces a day. Since last Friday, her intake has increased to 24-28 (!!!) daily. She pounds the milk down in 10 to 15 minutes (startling to observe, actually) and hasn’t got many burps at all. There’s been a little more spitting-up, but on the whole all is fine.

Well, it’s like watching a plant grow from slo-mo to sped-up film. And more amazing is…

Saturday night she ate three ounces at 8 p.m., five ounces just before midnight, and then did not wake for a feeding until 5:20 a.m. That meant Husband did not have to wake for a 2/3/4 a.m. meal.

The heavens rejoiced! But wait, was that an anomaly?

It happened again Sunday night: meal at 12:30 a.m., up at 5:30 a.m. However, yesterday she didn’t nap much in the afternoon — was tired but just would not. Finally around 6:30 p.m. she was whiny and exhausted; I rocked her for about three minutes and she was practically out cold. I put her in her crib and there was no fussing. A minute later she was solidly sleeping. We kept waiting for her to wake at 8ish, but no. We resigned ourselves to the fact she’d wake at 10:00, eat a little, then wake again at 2 a.m. Ah well, it was nice while it lasted. I went to bed. Husband came to bed later and I woke. I asked if she’d eaten. Yes, at 10:30 p.m.

Oh. She’ll probably wake at 2 a.m. then. Husband said: Guess how much she ate?

Seven ounces

What?! Seven whole, count ’em, honest-to-goodness ounces? Wow. Double-wow!

She slept until 4:50 a.m. and woke ravenous. We had a lovely morning meal (4.5 ounces) and a little bit of play, and by 5:50 were sleepy and at 5:55 unconscious in the swing.

And I don’t know if I can pinpoint what it is, but there is a different quality in her in the past few days. She is more… present. Oh my goodness, what pleasure she takes in existing! Wave a toy in front of her and she wiggles and grins with delight even more than she did before. She’s more coordinated now; she can grasp toys, and with purpose she brings them toward her mouth. They don’t always go in the first time, but she manages to get her mouth on them. I sing to her, tell her nursery rhymes, over-exaggerate words, and she writhes in spasms of joy.

Previously I just read books (Boynton’s Moo, Baa, LaLaLa, etc.) and didn’t bother to show her the pictures. But now I lie next to her and turn the pages, and she looks at them while I read. I know she doesn’t understand what they are or what is read, but she connects the act of hearing and looking; she is engaged. It’s the same with a picture book of farm animals. She really looks at them while I point and say what they are. Her communication is more intentional too. She studies my face while eating and breaks into a grin and coo spontaneously. Being adored, basking in someone’s adoration, is an amazing experience. The feeling is mutual.

Her laugh is still developing. I call it the Beavis and Butthead laugh. However, she laughs more readily for her father. I get a Beavis laugh (one heh). He gets the whole shebang (hehheh. hehhehhehheh.) The arpeggio of silly giggles is still in the works.

What everyone kept promising seems to be coming true: Everything settles out at around three months, as if by magic. It’s a good thing this is happening. I was prepared to make some heads roll if your predictions failed.

A Little Merry & Bright

It’s the dark season. I need light.

Two strands of garland: $1.98
One string of mini-lights: $2.00
Pleasure derived and sanity maintained: Priceless

christmas 2007 window

I also strung one set of lights (minus the garland) in the office room window. Heck, when Stella goes to use the catbox, doesn’t she deserve a little beauty too? šŸ˜‰

This was easy and stress-free to do. Someone reminded me that small is beautiful and wished me to have myself a Merry LITTLE Christmas. Ahhh, permission. (I may, I might, still put up the tree. But only if the idea of it provides joy to me and triggers a sense of relaxation. Husband is waiting while I mull it over until next weekend. Well, he told me to wait, and since he’s the one who knows where the stuff is stored and has the strength to pull it out, I’m compelled to oblige.)

Wish List For Christmahanakwanzayule

For Christmahanakwanzayule, I want:

  • to be freed of fear;
  • to be freed of limitation;
  • to be freed of doubt;
  • to be freed of denial;
  • to be freed of loneliness;
  • to be freed of anger;
  • to be freed of pain;
  • to be freed of suffering;

in other words, not to be bound by my ego anymore. And:

  • I want to take the love that comes my way, even if it comes from people I don’t relate to very well, whose values and choices I cannot fathom and don’t agree with.

I don’t think Santa can deliver these. They are gifts only I can give myself.

Failing that, I would like a massage and a new digital camera.

This Is the Time of Day

…when I wish my husband would come striding through the door. Claire is tired, grumpy, sick of sleeping (in her swing, crib, wherever). She’s not hungry. Her “bedtime” is around 6:30-7:00, but until then she fusses. The volume isn’t at the top yet (yes, she does go to 11) — right now it’s grousing and whining sounds. But soon enough, it might end up breaking the eardrums.

Well, she napped until 3:30. My god but babies need a lot of sleep.

From the book I just started referring to (for ideas for play):

Children use 48% of their calorie intake to fuel their brain. Adults use 20%. A child’s brain is 2.5 times more active than an adult’s brain.

Ninety-five percent of the information our brains process come from our senses. Eighty-five percent comes from our vision, touch, and hearing.

–Pam Schiller, The Complete Resource Book for Infants: Over 700 Experiences for Children from Birth to 18 Months

Change Of Plans

Due to a family emergency (that I’m not at liberty to provide the details of, since it’s extended family), my mother-in-law is unable to come as planned tomorrow. Other family members need her support right now. She still intends to come help out here in December (though I feel for her, as she will have traveled many thousands of miles by that time).

We’re doing all right, although I’ve been carrying my tension in my face such that it feels as though I have lock jaw. Claire awoke at 4:30 a.m. today. She had been starting to consolidate her sleep sessions and become more regular (awaking at 5:45-6:00 a.m.), but aims to keep life interesting instead.

And We All Had Fun

Well, Claire wound up sleeping until 12:15 p.m. today, woke to eat, then fell back asleep until 1:30, when we so rudely awoke her to depart for our dinner. We arrived, the food was assembled, we ate (the food was delicious). Claire remained awake and chipper in her bouncer until 3 p.m.; while I ate, I’d jiggle her rattles and play with her. We just finished eating when she became hungry. After she ate she was very tired; she began to fuss. Husband took her to a quiet room where she cried until she fell asleep on him around 4:15. We had dessert (apple pie, chocolate pecan bourbon pie, and fudge) and departed around 5:15. We were all relaxed; even the toddlers were well-behaved. And Stella had a good day:

bliss

Now it’s almost 8 p.m. and I’m tired. Husband put Claire to bed about an hour ago; I heard brief crying, then silence. (He’s sleeping on the floor of her room. It’s just easier to do that than climb up and down stairs constantly.) I should get some Zzzzzzs too. I’m so glad we went.

New photos of Claire are up at Flickr for friends and family! She’s getting all growed up — she’ll be 11 weeks old as of Saturday.

Be Vewy Vewy Quiet

Last night was hard on everyone. We are trying to help Claire learn to fall asleep in the crib. Hours of crying later, she’s either starting to understand or she was simply too exhausted not to sleep.

This morning she woke at 6 a.m., ate, played briefly, and fell asleep in the swing around 7:15. As of 11:15 she remains asleep, though she is stirring slowly awake.

All morning I tippy-toed around the living/dining/kitchen area, because the longer she sleeps, the better off we’ll be this afternoon. I make it a kind of game: how quietly can I open the refrigerator and extract the milk? Can I retrieve a knife to spread peanut butter without clinking other cutlery? Claire is such a light sleeper. My joints creak and crack (always have). Sometimes when I move and one cracks, it startles her in her sleep. Yet the hum of the dishwasher doesn’t. It’s the sudden abrupt sounds, even small ones, that penetrate her sleep.

We’re headed to M&K’s home for dinner. (They are the Emergency Backup Parents.) We’re bringing apple pie and pork-sage sausage stuffing. M&K are cooking the turkey and other goodies, and another family will be there with yummy food too. In all there will be six adults, two toddlers, and a baby in a small two-bedroom condo. Since Claire is good for about two hours of contented wakefulness upon awakening, this means that if she sleeps until 11:30, then wakes to eat, when we show up at 1:30 (when dinner will be served), she will be at the point of needing to nap. But she’ll be in a strange place with lots of stimulation, so either she’ll cry there, or she’ll be so stimulated that she’ll be awake for hours and then she, Husband, and I will pay with hours of crying later. I have struggled with wanting to stay home, to hide in my protected little bubble of familiar space and routine. But one must rise to the challenge, eh?

That’s the way of life with babies. It’s survivable. And dammit, I want some turkey!

Happy Thanksgiving!

If I Bring It

Long ago when I started baking, I decided to make it a point of pride to learn how to make pie crust from scratch. My crusts never come out perfectly, but they do the job well enough. However, I have never had a massive failure — that is to say, I’ve never had dough that was too flaky, gooey, or dry to handle. I’ve always managed to get it rolled out large enough to cover the pan and topping (if it’s a two-crust pie) with enough to crimp the edges. You know, a proper pie crust.

Today I experienced pie crust structural failure. I made the dough last night and refrigerated it. Perhaps I measured the ingredients incorrectly. (Although how can you mess up something that’s made from flour, salt, shortening, and water?) I rolled out the bottom and barely got it into the pan. I patched the broken spaces. Then I tried to roll the top. Ugh. Flakes everywhere. It fell apart under pressure. I tried briefly warming the dough in the microwave, thinking the shortening might soften up. It actually started to cook the dough. In the end, I decided to stop fiddling and just deal with what was in front of me. I didn’t have the energy or heart to make more dough. I still have stuffing to make.

So I decided to plop the partial top crust onto the apples and call it avante garde apple pie. My friend (who’s hosting a bunch of us) had stopped by to watch Claire while I prepped, and he said it’ll taste good anyway. Apples and sugar and spice. What’s not to like? He made me promise to bring it. Do you think if I bring it, they will eat?

avant garde apple pie

[cross-posted at Knit Together]

Two Steps Forward, One Back

We had several good days and nights in the past week. Then yesterday at 10 a.m., Claire began to cry loudly and angrily. I knew why. She was working on a Superpoop. She screamed and sobbed for an hour, then fell asleep in my friend’s arms (who happened to arrive just as it started, so we took turns holding her). Then at 11:30 a.m., just as I was about to run errands, she woke up and let out the loudest series of farts, followed by the sound of poop production. Ick, I know, but it was hilarious, actually. Especially when I said to my friend, “Well, I’m off now, have fun!” (Then I offered to take care of the diaper anyway, but my friend shooed me off.)

Claire has been increasing her intake from an average of 18 ounces a day to about 21 ounces, and it stresses her digestion, so we have episodes of this. Lots of times while she’s eating, she has to pause to attend to business on the other end, and sometimes she pulls off the bottle entirely, wanting to eat still but unable to continue (pain? strain?) and angry that she can’t. The vibrating bouncer seat usually shakes her loose. Problem is, crying episodes sometimes happen in the wee hours of the 2/3/4 a.m. feeding. She was up at 2 a.m. this time; husband came to bed at 5:45 a.m. saying it was my turn (I wish he’d gotten me at 5 a.m.) and that she’d been screaming for an hour and that, though exhausted, she wouldn’t stay asleep. He could barely string words together to make the sentences, and yet he has to go to work too.

By the time I got to her, she was hungry again. I fed her and cuddled, then put her in the swing pleading with her to sleep. She was awake for half an hour, but quiet, then dozed for half an hour, and now she’s awake again. Oy. She will be 11 weeks old on Saturday. I’m beginning to suspect that the magical change at three months that everyone promises is not going to happen for us. Yesterday at the grocery store a couple in line had a cute baby, and I asked how old. They said she was four weeks old, and then proudly shared that she’d started sleeping through the night. I turned green with envy.

I’m really glad my mother-in-law is coming.

Roll On Over

When Claire was 10 days old, I put her on her belly for tummy time. Grandma was there in the room, so I left for a moment. Upon returning, Grandma said Claire rolled herself onto her back. I was amazed. I didn’t disbelieve my mother-in-law, but I’d missed out on it.

A few days later, Claire did it again, in front of me this time. She hated being on her stomach so much! Since the colic was beginning, I decided to hold off on tummy time for awhile. No need to add more crying to the mix. We shared this news with the doctor, who was astonished.

Yesterday, again during tummy time, Claire rolled over. What she does is manage to get her left arm close to her body under her and lean to the left while pushing with her right arm and leg. Her head, since it’s so heavy, then topples her over. She looked surprised and relieved. Then she cried.

Crossing The Rubicon

I faced a fear today.

About half a mile from my home is a large urban park with fountains, trees, green spaces, populated by geese and ducks, pigeons and seagulls. It’s close to a first-class public library. It’s a walkable distance to get there and would make a great daily walk destination. Except… to get there requires crossing a not-quite highway called an expressway. These are six-lanes (both ways) with extra lanes at intersections for turning, and with no-stop right-turn merge curves that many people hardly slow down while taking. Oh, there are crosswalks and pedestrian lights. However, the stated speed limit is 45 miles per hour, and I know people easily drive 20 miles per hour over the speed limit. I’ve crossed the road on my bike, but until today I was terrified to walk with Claire in the stroller (or even by myself). Well, terror might be an exaggeration; let’s just say prospect made me very uneasy. I mean, would you feel comfortable crossing this?

san tomas rubicon

When I started the walk I didn’t plan to go. My feet just took over. Except for the right-turn curves — where I made sure to look thrice and wait for oncoming drivers to slow down, see me, and wave me across — it was easily done. I will never attempt this at dusk, dark, or dawn, but I could see us taking walks there more frequently. I suppose I could load the stroller in the car and drive to the park, and save all the walking for the many paths, but a) it seems like a lot more effort and b) it kind of galls me to drive half a mile to take a walk. If you were me, what would you do?