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Monthly Archives: May 2007
The cookout, featuring Molly’s sunscreen faux-hawk.
I’m settling down, slowly. I just keep freaking out. Molly had her check-up yesterday, and has gained 4 or 5 ounces since her 9 months visit. The RN who weighed her said it’s very common for babies to lose or stop gaining for a bit when they start walking. (She also, incedentally, asked if she was on whole milk or formula, and when I said “Breastmilk and a little whole milk,” I felt crazy proud to be nursing with no plans to stop soon. Of course, I also was flip flopping between that pride and anxiety that my milk’s not doing the job very well. Enter more work guilt for not being able to nurse all day, follow that with confused irritated Bu who takes this as criticism for him not working some mythical full time high pay job.)
Our nurse practitioner/LC was very unconcerned. She’s at the 10% mark, a little lower than last time but, again, she wasn’t walking then. She never sits still now. Anyway, she suggested that we try to get more whole milk and expressed breast milk into her during the day. Her strategy? Add a little natural ice cream to the milk to entice her to the sippy. I think she might be a crackhead, but after literally losing sleep over the ice cream plan, I have decided that 1) a little bit at the grandies’ will not hurt her, and 2) I can load her up with avacado, yoghurt/kefir, flax & olive oil enriched stuff and whatever other tasty plant fats I can think of when she’s at home. And there will of course be continued access to the all night mom buffet.
Why am I constantly losing my shit over this perfectionist crazy mom overdrive stuff? Who cries, not because her baby’s a skinny little bit, but because she’ll have OMG a little ice cream? I just unleashed 1 year+ worth of pent up insanity at Bu about my feeling that my wants for Molly are being blocked by everyone. This was spurred after I shared my sweets anxiety with Papaw, telling him how I’m trying so hard to make over my diet so we can all set a good example. I said, I really, really don’t want her to learn our awful habits and end up fat and tired like all of us are and he offered a sarcastic, “Good luck!” It infuriates me. I feel like he’s saying, “Yeh, about that? I’m not making any effort whatsoever and you have no control over her diet when she’s with me, so whatever. I scoff at you, granola mom.”
Anyway, I’m better at the moment. I need some [
xanax] Tension Tamer tea, like a gallon. The Birdie & I have been invited to a pool playgroup at a new friend’s farm and I’m stoked. Boue got two new bathing suits for her birthday, and a cutie patootie little froggy towel. I’ll have to try out the swim diapers for the first time. I’m so excited to see how she reacts to a big poolful of water. We need an afternoon of relaxation desperately. I’m driving Bu nuts. I’m driving me nuts.
She’s one today. I’m on a seesaw of emotions. I was giddy at 7am when Bu woke us up with off key Happy Birthday. At 9am on the way to work I was a snot & tear covered mess, shocked at the date, how time has been meaningless for a year. Months whirled by with adorable milestones and changes, and at the same time it stood still while I stepped into this new life and it fit me like I’d always been here- been her mother since time began. Since this:
She’s incredible right now: a toddler shrinky dink, this tiny little wind up toy girlbaby bouncing and walking and climbing. She shrieks like a banshee when she’s denied what she wants- an ink pen, a beer bottle or glass of soda. Potato chips. The shelf with the phone and the camera equipment, to be outside or at a window allthetimeeveryminute, and never, ever to nap. Not to be woken up after she finally crashes headfirst from exhaustion. To consume only breastmilk & microscopic nibbles, and always to be in arms or in sight of Mama or Mamaw.
She has a mouthful of precious tiny white shining teeth that sound like laughter to look at them. Lighter than air honey colored hair, the front little tufts in a severe widow’s peak, the back in springy ringlets. Her wardrobe is chiefly sundresses and bloomer sets from older girls, thankfully in brighter color varieties than the pink vomit fest that were her smaller clothes. She babbles Lody, Lody, Lody and randomly mimicks. “Are you my birdy boo girl?” “BIRDY-DUDE!” “Don’t eat that! No-no! Yuk!” “YUK” Peek-A-Boo, a.k.a. Where’s Molly? is still the best game ever. She points, loosely and with varying accuracy, to her nose when asked. She has solid real person poops sometimes.
I’m thinking about this day last year, the whole medical hospital trappings, redoing it to my liking in my head, and the bulk of my wistfulness is never getting a do-over birth. It’s sad not getting to look forward to a new pregnancy and birthing experience. Not pining for a baby nearly so much as wishing for another birth with experience. Daydreaming about constant skin to skin contact in a Moby wrap at the birth center or hospital (since I don’t know how the rebellious cervix would behave a second time) and pumping from day one, as prophylactic against the Reglan prescription and f0rmula bottles. Wearing loose pull-up-able t-shirts instead of tight pull-down tank tops or convoluted hospital gowns. Smoothies to combat the lack of appetite for real food. Making 3 months worth of frozen meals. Actually making & mailing birth announcements.
So it’s not the tiny tiny toes and the sleepy melty baby. It’s the regrets & happy memories blending together and the mystified feeling that this is still a dream, too good to be real. This anniversary of her breathing her first air and seeing her first light, her first kisses and nursing and nap in her mother’s arms, her first portrait in her beaming Daddy’s arms feels like my birthday too. Like I was newly born too-instantly this little beautiful girl’s mama.
Pipeline internet down @ home: repair guy in mortal danger from Bu temper tantrum right this very moment.
Party rocked. Details to follow.
Moving blog. Will post new addy soon. Sick of worrying about stuff.
Drove to work w/ snot/tears streaming down my face: Mother of only child can’t cope with baby’s 1st bday. Crazy lady.
I’ll catch y’allz up later, yo.
The cake is going to be one of those photo cakes from a bakery. I’m all about it- I get to design something- squee! (I’ll still bake the carrot cake for mass consumption by diabetics, babies, and mommies who are suddenly motivated to be less chunkalunk.) Here is the design for the full on sugary yum cake:
In other baby related news, we got a bag full of diaper covers and a couple of pre-folds from a co-worker for Operation Green Soft MollyButt. The plan is to try this out overnights and weekends. I need to grab some fleece to cut up for the overnights. Supposedly this should wick away alot of the moisture so she won’t wake up wet & screaming. Of course, it’s an experiment that may fail. She’s never had cloth on her silky little bum and that makes me feel sad somehow. It has to be more comfy.
I’ll know myself in a couple of days because I’m also going to try a cloth menstrual pad experiment. It’s this hip new technology I read about in the Menstrual Hut community: wash cloth folded up in well fitted panties. Hallelujah. The simplicity baffles. I’d never thought of it. I was longingly looking at this and this and bemoaning my po’ ass’s inability to buy nice cloth pads. The fabulous chica who made my sling makes them too, so when finances allow such frivolties I’ll commission some cushy new comfies that hopefully will ease the LIVING HELL that is my monthly.
I’ve been falling so hard for all those OMGZ!!!!! You don’t HAVE PMS you have PMDD it’s a DISEASE!!! BUY OUR DRUGGGGZ commercials but I’m too poor (recurring theme here) to get on fancy pills anyway, plus there’s the fact that my todddlerette nurses like a newbie still. I really think alot of my hormonal anxiety hell (as well as the good ol’ regular anxiety) will clear up when I make time to work out. When? When? When? Surely not in my precious interweb time;)
A few tweaks:
1. My label cloud is cloudy again, not linear and boring.
2. I added Google Ads. I got a wee knot in my belly about this, but if i make a few cents, it would not suck. I hope y’all don’t think I’m a whorish Googlepimp.
3. I found this
CSS makes me drool. All these amazing little whatsits you can do are making me giddy. Check this out: http://www.flooble.com
which is kickass grooviness which may or may not work in a blogpost. Will try and see.
1. I used to love New Kids on the Block. I’m deeply ashamed of this, even though I was 13.
2. The smell of bacon makes my hungry. I haven’t even told Bu that:)
3. The Grudge scared me so bad I was scared of the dark for weeks. I love horror movies but I’m a wimpy weenie person.
4. I love watching home decorating shows, they are awesome. I have Clean House envy.
5. I love jewelry passionately, but can’t wear earrings anymore without breaking out.
6. I clench but don’t grind my teeth at night. I have to pop my jaw a little in the morning.
7. I’m fascinated with Catholic paraphernalia. I have two rosaries, and I’d like to collect more.
8. I’m a compulsive overeater. All binge, no purge. I am really, really pleased with myself that I’m making better eating decisions lately. You want to amuse a therapist? Tell her you’re a binge eating vegetarian. She will laugh. To your face. She’ll apologize about it, but she’ll laugh. I was tickled that she got a kick out of me. Made me see her as a real person, which is nice. She didn’t help though.