Important tips

After reading through a recent "In Style" magazine, I learned that the same lanolin lotion for "nursing mothers" works great for your lips as well. I have had chap free lips since reading this. I thought I would pass it on. Makes sense...if you don't mind shopping for your chapstick in the breast pump aisle.
I also learned that the object used to cover yourself up while breastfeeding in public is more appropriately called the "hooter hider". Definitely better than the "cape thingy" that I have been calling it.
I have seen some great friends recently. Some even from out of town. The outta towner friend has a five-month-old and has been back to work for a few months now. She claims it's not as hard has she thought it would be to return back to work as adults are much easier...I guess that makes sense, but it's still something I am not looking forward to at this point. Not just because I will miss Olivia as she is like an appendage at this point, but because I don't know how I am going to even function during the day on the sleep schedule I have. It's one thing to stay around the house where the only person who you converse with can't tell that you're a bumbling idiot....yet.
Now that Olivia is almost at her two month mark, I am starting to worry if I am "stimulating" her enough with talking and with her movements. She can hold her head up fine when she is on her belly, but I don't really do the toy thing with her just yet. All she's getting so far is a lot of sleep and then yours truly. I hope I am not screwing her up... Part of me thinks it's enough, another part thinks she should be learning Latin...;-)
The good news is John and I have scheduled a vacation shortly. She gets ten days of nothing but mommy and daddy. I am looking forward to the time and think it is important for all of us before I have to go back to work. May will fly by, I just know it. I am going to make every second count.
Olivia is starting to coo and smile a lot now. Mostly smiles come when I am changing her diaper...I wonder why that is...

Clockwork O

I have lost the whites in my eyes. I officially look like I feel (or I have just noticed this and have been for a while...). Olivia has been keeping time better than any watch could. I thought I would try to sneak in an extra hour here and there, but I have not been able to get away with it. She starts to squirm at around 5 or so minutes to the three hour routine and goes from 0 to "I'M STAAAAAARVING!" in thirty seconds. And, to add spice to the mix, she did not sleep much yesterday. I had no chance to do anything outside of entertain her.
The good news is, we're transitioning into crib sleeping and she's doing pretty well with it. At around 9pm John swaddles her and he or I put her in her crib. She has only been trouble once. I feel good about starting that habit so it's not harder for either of us when I "should" be putting her in her crib at around 3 months old. Right now, though, I take her into bed with me after the middle of the night feed. It's not her, it's me. I have found that I love her in bed with me. I love to hear her breathing and hold her. I even love to be there when she starts squirming and the countdown to meltdown begins again.
Part of me, though is concerned that all of this training is for naught. The reason why I can spoil us with sleeping in bed together is that she can't form habits yet...You can't officially spoil a baby until 3-3 1/2 months. Well, it makes me feel like a good parent, but I will have to let you know in a month to a month and a half if it was worth it...
Today, though, she has been the opposite of yesterday as she is sleeping most of the day. She chose the first GORGEOUS day to do this, but I don't feel so bad as I got a walk to the library in with her. I think I actually got a slight sunburn.
Now that I have added to my top five most boring blogs, I gotta go...five minutes to feed...

Is it a burl?

I went for the 6 week post-delivery check up yesterday. I have to say I still feel ambivalent if not slightly depressed about my choice of doctors. I told her about my negative experiences during labor (aside from the things I know every woman endures), like how a doctor who I had never met was to make the decision regarding sending me home because I wasn't dilating. And, well, she was apologetic in the politician sense of (I am sorry for how you feel (not for the cause of your feelings)). She said that they typically inform patients regarding their group practice policies in the literature I receive. Basically, she said I should have known because I didn't read through every word of what I received in their folder of crap.
Look, I considered myself to be well read regarding what information I was given and I seemed to have glossed over the you-may-get-screwed-during-labor paragraph. The more I think about it, the more angry I get.. Not sure at my doc and her practice's completely detached, seemingly inhuman policies toward labor or just why I didn't make different decisions that I would have made had I know what I know now. Like, apparently I was offered to get to know all of the doctors in her practice. NOW I think that I would have accepted the opportunity, but she said that most patients don't opt for that. NOW I think that patients don't opt to meet the other doctors because they are told that most patients don't opt to meet the other doctors. Maybe I am getting too emotionally attached to these thoughts because I am a new mom and these things make one emotional, but right now I feel unhappy with my doctor. This is NOT baby blues. I have baby happies. I love my baby and how amazing she is probably makes me care less about the doctor issues as they are temporary glitches in the world of wonderful. But here's my issue. I am really NOT happy with having a doctor who thinks that it's okay to let a woman fend for herself during the biggest moment of her life in terms of just being totally unprepared for the possibility of long labors and having thousands of people that she has never met "check out" her most private areas and make huge decisions for her. It should not be okay that there was a blurb in the literature. My doctor is a woman, no? Why can't they treat us how she would want her and her friends or her children to be treated? Is this what medicine has become? Is this what the world of lawsuits has brought us? Doctors who are afraid to talk to us and treat us like human beings because if they don't tell you something you can't find on google, then they are open for a law suit? I don't need to be pals with my doctor, but I wish she would talk to me like I was a girlfriend and tell me things she would want her girlfriend to know as far as what to expect during labor. You know, the stuff you can't find in the literature. Oh, I could rant on and on... but I don't want to dwell too much on the negative...just needed to get it out. I am not sure I care enough about this to try to find a new doctor at this point, now I know all of the negatives it's better than the unknown at this point...plus I am lazy about these things. If I can't get a referral, then I don't want to have to do research. Especially when it comes to the "down-there" doctors...It's not like having several people look at my teeth before I decide I like them.
The other fun tidbits about my doctors visit was the nurse (immigrant from somewhere in Africa with an intelligible accent). When I came into the exam room, she looked at Olivia (clearly dressed in florals and girly clothes) and said what sounded like "oh, what a cute baby, is it a burl?" Is that a way to cover all of your bases in one word? An amalgamation of boy-girl so you are at least 50% correct? The irony is that my mom just recently informed me how, because I was lacking in the hair department (as is Olivia) as a baby, most people mistook me for a boy...even with the pink outfits. So, I have passed on my sexually ambiguous baby looks to another generation. FanTASTic. Well, at least there's hope for her in the future...as both of her parents are smokin' hot adults ;-)
Other fun facts from my doctor's visit: I gained two pounds (Although I am convinced it's the heavy sweater and shoes I wore on the scale this time). I "now" have the clearance to work out.

"OOPS"

What have I learned:
There will always be fine print that you will gloss over and it will become important later.
It's great to have a gyno for a dad who can tell you it's okay to work out so you don't have to wait six weeks when you feel up for the challenge earlier.
I need to seriously change the medical world. I wish I was good at documentaries.
Nothing trumps a great baby. All problems seem small when she's in my arms...or sound asleep so I can blog, brush my teeth and hair and face the day.

Yes, boys and girls, up the front

I was just about to secure O in her car seat to go grocery shopping, when I noticed she smelled...a warning sign of a dirty diaper. I was elated because she has not had one in probably over a day and I was beginning to grow concerned that she could be constipated.
Well, she is NOT constipated. When I opened her pajamas, I saw the onesie underneath was stained...in the FRONT.
It boggles the mind how a diaper could get so full that it defies gravity. There was no question about this one, the onesie was going to have to be cut off.
I called John immediately and told him I got another "get-out-of-jail(dirty diaper)-free" card for a week. You know what, I think frontal deserves at least two weeks.
No pictures this time, I had to get rid of the incriminating evidence immediately. I think the mental picture will be just fine for now.

Yes, we can!

Six weeks...
This means so many things in the life of baby.
First, I am at the half way point of my maternity leave. On the glass-half-full point of view, it means whatever I have enjoyed up until now, I get to do it all over again (but different). On the glass-half-empty point of view, I am that much closer to having to return to work and leave my beautiful baby. Already I am not looking forward to it. I will have to force myself not to dwell on it so I may enjoy the precious time I have left.
Six weeks also means, according to the medical literature, I am healed and able to work out again and do other TMI things. I have been working out, as you know, but yesterday (official six weeks marker) I ran. I ran not-so-far away. I took myself to the gym and got back on the treadmill (a machine I have only been looking at since about week 20 of my pregnancy). I got on the treadmill, set it for 15 minutes and went from a brisk walk to a 6mph jog for 15 minutes and it felt pretty good. I probably could have gone for longer, but I didn't want to overdo it the first day out. I am glad that I restrained myself because my legs are pretty sore today from the little that I did. Good thing it's crappy outside. What I want to do is just lie in bed with my baby and veg and I have every excuse to.
Six weeks also means that Olivia is doing things other than feeding, crying and needing diaper changes. She is making "cooing" sounds and laughing and smiling. She seems to be smiling more for daddy, but we won't dwell on that.
This past Friday was gorgeous outside and I took Olivia to the park just by our place and read Harry Potter to her. It was so...well, I felt like I was in a Monet painting or something. My beautiful baby and her bonnet and a book. Nothin' but sunshine.
Yesterday was cloudy, but nice out during the day. John and I took O for a walk to WineStyles as our local one was having a tasting. We swapped baby watching duties while one went in to sample the "old world wines". I really like that place, because, even though it's a chain, the workers all know us there (uh, maybe not a good thing now that I think about it) and they ask about the baby...they joke about my being able to drink again... Good times, you know.
Speaking of drinking, Wendy's birthday was yesterday (Happy Birthday!). Grandma agreed to babysit while we went into the city to join Mrs. Fabulous on her day. Although, now I get to enjoy the stress of timing everything so I can pump before I leave and have some non-tainted boob juice for O upon our return. Then I have to pump again at her middle-of-the night feeding and dump it all down the drain ;-( Like last time, this was a sad moment for me as my production was up. That is an evil joke if I ever saw one. You can't feed the baby the stuff, but alcohol increases your production.
Then, we had to leave early to relieve the babysitter. That's it...I am officially a parent. Everything seems like a dream with your newborn up until the point you have to leave the party to relieve the babysitter. Six weeks, and I finally get it... Now I just have to wait 13 years until I can go back to not worrying about a babysitter. No problem. ;-0

When I say "I am done..."

Last night was a mini melt-down by yours truly. I had a busy day yesterday, visiting the office, making lasagna and apple pie while caring for a baby that won't sleep. The more she went without sleep, the more I couldn't leave her to do other things and the more I worried that she'd be cranky all night. My mom and my sister came over for dinner (after all the men in the family dropped out for various conflicting obligations) and helped try to get O to sleep, but no luck.
When John came home for the evening I told him that he could eat dinner, then he had to take care of Olivia....I am done, I needed a break! So, while he was eating, Olivia started to go to sleep. (of course) And by the time he was done, I had put her in the pack and play to sleep until her next feeding.
A half hour before she was due for a feeding, she woke up and started to cry. But, it was John's turn, so I stayed put, assuming all she needed was to SLEEP. I told him that she probably needed to be swaddled (as this helps her to sleep when her limbs aren't flailing around). So, he took her to be swaddled (John is the expert swaddler...nice and tight little burrito). When her cries only got worse, I took out the breastmilk from the fridge (supply for her nightly feeding with daddy). Unfortunately this was not soon enough.
John came storming downstairs in a panic. "She needs to eat NOW". Everything went into emergency mode. When John is in emergency mode, he runs around like a chicken with his head cut off. If something isn't easily resolved, he gets upset and sometimes does the least logical thing in order to get out of the situation. This time, it was not waiting for the breastmilk to warm to room temperature, as everything you read says it needs to be. He put the cold milk in a bottle and fed it to her. All the while, I was losing my calm. I was too exhausted and started to freak out that I had been dealing with this all day and he gets fifteen minutes of fussiness and all of a sudden the world has to stop. Then he sits down on the couch to feed her and the burp cloth, right in front of him, was too far away. "I need the burp cloth!" He exclaims, in an urgent tone as he reaches out his hand toward the burp cloth right in front of him.
That was the straw that broke the tired-mamma's back! "It's amazing I get anything done during the day!" I exclaimed. I mean, I don't have anyone to get things for me that are just out of reach during the day AND I made it clear that I was exhausted. It does NOT help that I had to worry about him being in full panic mode for what seemed, to me, to be small beans in the grand scheme of things that we will need to panic about as parents.
I will say this, Olivia WAS hungry and the bottle did soothe her. The combo tired-hungry baby did not make for a good evening, but we can't panic every time the baby is upset, what kind of child are we going to raise if everything is an emergency? I wonder. I think about having to deal with a child who can't take the time to stop when things get complicated or don't go according to plan...
It didn't help that the mommy in me was concerned about her getting cold breast milk. Thank goodness for Google! I just typed in "can my baby have cold breastmilk?" and immediately got a list of posts on the same topic (Google helps us all realize we are not alone ;-) ) And, yes, it's fine to have cold breastmilk...if the baby will take it. Since they are used to the stuff served at body temp., they may not (And a tired, hungry baby may get worse.) But, in Olivia's case, she sucked back the cold one. (That is what I love about her, she has, thus far, adapted to all kinds of changes.)
I am sure I am not the first new mom to experience this with her husband..but it just gets to you. Yes, he's at work all day and you're not, but that doesn't mean that your life isn't a daily trial by fire. What would happen to the world if every woman, like their male counterparts, went into panic mode when the baby got upset? I am not pontificating on this to say that I am handling everything perfectly, but one cannot only think about the here and now..but how we react as parents for the long run. Being with Olivia, for 99.9% of the time is pure joy...it brings me peace and love like I have never known...but for that .1% of the time when she is upset, I try to remain calm and figure out what she needs. I am not normally a person who is always calm under pressure, but she brings it out in me. Why can't she do that for daddy?
Anyway, as I was saying, the burp cloth was the last straw... I threw it at him and left the room. I could not handle any more mountains out of molehills, I was going to pump, take a shower and go to sleep. John was on his own.
And, he did a great job. I woke up at around 11pm to find him asleep in the glider next to a swaddled Olivia in her crib. It's amazing how sometimes he is the yin to my yang. Even though "I am done" really didn't communicate to him "I need peace and I need you to deal with the baby.", my mini-meltdown did the trick. I guess sometimes we just need to walk away and the men WILL figure it out. The more I write this, the more I think about the great things John DOES do as a dad and I feel guilty for complaining about the isolated incidents. But, like a woman, I am completely justified in ALL of it. Men are not.
Now that I am done blogging, I will return to my super-mom duties and do laundry and make home-made bread before I have to wake up O to breastfeed. What ho! I hear the babe beckon now! I bid thee adieu!

Am I sore!

I got this notice in the mail the other day that I had 10 yoga sessions in my package due to expire by April 22. I bought the package of 20 thinking I would use them all for prenatal yoga and that, if I didn't, yoga packages don't expire... Now I remember what ASSume-ing does. So, in order to get my money's worth, I made a plan to get my classes in, somehow, between O's feedings and when John is home. Yesterday, I went to Mysore Ashtanga Yoga. The website description says its for ALL levels and that it is "where each student can work at their own appropriate pace because the teacher instructs each student individually." "No prior Ashtanga experience is necessary." All of which sounded good to me, because I wanted to ease into yoga as I am still pretty weak. I get to the class and everyone sets up their mats and starts practicing yoga right away...before the teacher arrives. I think, well, I will get started and I sit in lotus pose and start my warming up breathing. Then, the teacher arrives and immediately notices I am new. "Are you sure you are in the right class?" I reply "from the description on the website, I think so..." Then she give me a list of sun salutation poses to do. Now the pressure is on because I can remember jack these days. So, I fiddle my way through it. (note, I am not new to yoga, but, apparently, I need to be instructed, not left to my own devices). The instructor, who has other students to give individual attention to, seems to be focusing on me. No pressure... Anyway, I am clearly not doing this right and I have done sun salutations plenty of times before. Anyway, now I notice I am the newbie in a room full of pretzels. "ALL levels" my patutie. Clearly, in yoga, "ALL" means, "ADVANCED". Now, I am miserable. Not only do I feel like I don't belong, but now the instructor is pulling my shoulders and hips in directions they can't go, assuming I am one of the pretzels in the class. Needless to say, I left the yoga class feeling like I was in a medieval torture chamber and today I am sore. Now I now why the class was called Mysore. It's literally AM-I-SORE! Of course, I will probably go back. Now I am intrigued and this is my new challenge.

AM-I-GLAD I have a girl. I heard about that need to be clever about changing boys' diapers because you can get sprayed. With my nephew, I always managed to luck into not getting sprayed when I changed his diaper, but I heard my sister was not so lucky (she had better odds). Well, yesterday, when O peed in between diapers, I thought, I am so glad I have a girl. It just goes onto the dirty diaper, instead of on me...

Today is Easter Sunday. Happy Easter! O's first! I could not wait to put her in one of the adorable floral baby dresses! Isn't this what baby girls are for?! But, alas, it is not sun dress weather. So, I compromised and put the dress over her "Easter" jump suit that grandma got for her. She still looks adorable!

Also, being the good Catholic, I took myself to Church. We all know that Easter is one of the two days where all "good Catholics" go to mass. Boy, was it packed! I even went to the downstairs "family" mass just to get a seat. That was a huge mistake! I am going to be a bad Catholic when I say, I had to move around during the mass because everyone I sat next to was coughing or sneezing into their hands. I kept thinking, I cannot be next to this person during offering peace. I can't bring home any germs to O! I am not ready to have a sick baby (knock on wood.) But, literally, I moved like four times and everyone I stood next to coughed or sneezed or wiped their nose (family mass remember) into their hands. This was misery, for a paranoid mom of a newborn! I am going to have to work to bring back the arm length gloves into style so I can make it through mass! Well, anyway. Now I am showered and awaiting Easter dinner with the family. I can't wait to show off my little meringue.

Those 20 pounds I was so excited to have shed, are apparently not enough to let me fit back into any of my non-maternity pants. So those who were ruminating about my immediate weight loss can rejoice that it doesn't make me a slim person. The pooch does not go into regular pants yet. Mommy cannot look as sharp as her daughter...

Should I just cut it off?

I thought that I had already experienced the assplosion. Nope.

While feeding O, this afternoon, I heard some rumbling down below. She also stopped suckling and just looked at me with that "there is something mushy going on" guilty look that she gets. I knew I would have to change her immediately after she finished the boob, but I didn't know...well, words cannot describe:

The question is, can I get this shirt over her head, or should I find a pair of scissors? Well, I folded over the stain and just got it off as quickly as possible.

I know this is just the beginning, but, isn't it too early for her to be producing THIS much?

ALWAYS have a camera

Mark this day, people! Olivia smiled at 4:30pm on Tuesday, April 7th. Not just the "it's gas" curling of the ends of the lips, but a full on, see-my-gums smile. (Like this :-D but not sideways)AND she did it, not once, but twice in a row! Of course, she did it right after enjoying the power-milk, so, I was not prepared with a camera to capture the moment. Therefore, this blog and my memory is the best I can do to document the occasion. I may have to break out the crayons and sketch it, just for posterity.
Oh, my heart is melted!

The Unwanted Visitor

Argh. I almost forgot about Aunt Flo. She came yesterday, one day shy of a month.
On the bright side, the happy dance is back!

If you blog it...

It will come. I almost regret complaining about Olivia sleeping through the night. I think she read this blog when I wasn't looking. No joke, the next DAY she was on schedule like you wouldn't believe. If I wanted to sleep just a few minutes past the three hour mark, she started to cry. I can no longer slack off. This girl's a growin' and she needs to be fed!
I finally got "What to Expect: The First Year". Even though they warn you not to freak out if your baby does not accomplish everything they suggest you to look for in the monthly stages, I just read about the quantity of dirty diapers O should have. Either she is way advanced, or I have another thing to stress out about. It says that at about 6 weeks her dirty diapers should be reduced to one per day or one every other day. At four weeks, she is down to one "monster" poop and then the rest are just wet diapers. Wait a second, now that I think about it, I should stop blogging about this...

Mushy mush

We made it four weeks! To tell you the truth, the time seems to have flown by. It's amazing how quickly your day goes when you are either feeding your baby or about to feed your baby.
I have gotten to hate nighttime feedings. Why? Because there is an alarm clock monster that turns off my alarm and I have been waking up in a panic because Olivia is an hour past her feeding. Olivia does not seem to be too concerned as she is fast asleep (I "should" consider myself lucky), but I freak out that I have deviated from the schedule and my boobs will take notice. It's so great that they (they meaning the evil breastfeeding nazis) put all of this stress on you that you need to either pump or breastfeed at least every 3 hours to keep up your supply. I feel like I am diminishing my supply every minute I miss a feeding. Even though I have nothing to really do lately but be at Olivia's beck and call, it is amazing how hard it is to stay on schedule. But, the nighttime feedings are driving me crazy. Not just because of the alarm clock monster...sometimes the night feedings blur together and I can't even remember if I fed her three hours ago. I try to visualize it in my head...that's like visualizing when you last took a breath or blinked. One does it so often that they all blur into one. I hope I can be as lucky at the next pediatrician visit with her weight gain as I was the last. Until then, I will just stress out.
What can I say about Olivia. She's as cute as ever. She makes a million different facial expressions a minute. Sometimes you could swear she's non-verbally telling you the most FASCinating story. I wish I knew what she was thinking. "I had some FABulous milk today, mommy, and THEN I wet my diaper...that didn't feel too good, but THEN you changed me and I felt all better. You're the BEST mommy EVER!" Something like that...
The other hard thing about being on O's schedule...I can't remember anything. This makes blogging difficult. I can't be my usual witty self when I don't have any poignant stories to tell. I think that's why it is such a blessing that we have digital cameras to document every second of our baby's life. Otherwise, it would be lost in the (to quote Alec Baldwin) "mushy mush" that is our mommy brains. This may also be why maternity leave is so important. I don't want to know what sort of gibberish I would be producing were I back at work. They say that the first six weeks is what counts for maternity leave and the second six is for bonding. (They meaning those who dictate my short-term disability payments). I think that's just their way of allowing the mom to stay home with her baby and not pay for the mushy mush.
Like I mentioned before, I have been feeling pretty good and up to working out again. Yesterday, my mom was generous enough to babysit while I went to yoga. (Remember Madame Mama? Yes, I returned to her class.) First, it is amazing how many yoga classes are at my disposal and how many yoga classes conflict with Olivia's feeding schedule. Second, madame mama's (MM) class was great. I am not as flexible as I had hoped I would be, but I felt great afterward. MM even threw in a position for "those who just gave birth" even though, "those" was obviously only me as every other woman in the class was past her birthin' time. I felt so good it didn't even bother me that a fellow yogi asked me when I was due. (ouch). Actually, that didn't hurt as much as I thought it would. If someone asked me that in a year, then I might have a problem, but now, I am proud of my pooch. It's like a battle scar, and we all know the war that I went through in labor.