Lost in Place

For one of my baby showers, Dan’s cousin gave me the most precious, teeny, tiny baby’s ring. I immediately fell in love with it and knew it would be something that would become a treasured keepsake. So treasured I think she’s only worn it a handful of times. I know, what’s the point of her not getting to enjoy it? Well, her not swallowing it would be that point. Nonetheless, it was something special. So it deserved a special place to be kept, right? I have spent ages looking for the perfect little girl’s jewelry box. I cannot find it. I don’t want it “cutesy” or “frilly” or “princessy” or too girly. I want it simple, elegant, charming and classic. One that is as special as the tiny things it will hold. Sure, when she gets older and gets “play” jewelry, we can get one of the cutesy, frilly, princessy or too girly boxes for her dress-up stuff. But for the special items, I want something special in which to store them. (If you have any suggestions, by all means, share! My search is not over!)

After months of looking and finding nothing that even came close to fitting the bill and the jewelry adding up and really needing a home, I caved. I made her one. It is by no means the perfect “special” box but it will do for now.

Posted by Kim at 10:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Let me first say, I have the most caring, loving, takes such good care of her mommy baby in all the world. It's true. And soon, you'll see why.

So Friday night was great. I got to go out with some friends, have some wine, an amazingly yummy dinner, and a fabulous time. I came home to Dan and the baby both having survived each other while I was gone. It was all perfect.

Sadly, the good fortune was short-lived. I woke up Saturday morning with a migraine so bad I had to keep my eyes closed going downstairs to get a pill. It was 4:30 in the morning. It's still dark at 4:30 in the morning! I should have crawled under a rock right then.

But I didn't. Instead, I decided to take the day head-on. That afternoon, I gave in and finally decided to get Madeleine's room out from under the chaos of stuffed animals, books, and toys that were strewn about everywhere. As I was finishing, I told her to go find her dad so I could put the last few things away that she kept pulling out right behind me and then I was going to vacuum. So, like the good little, listening daughter that she is, out she went. To go find her dad, right? A few seconds later, I hear a CLUNK CLUNK and as I stand up screaming and running for the door, I hear a few more CLUNK CLUNKS and then a THUD. It took me maybe 5 seconds to get from her room down the huge flight of stairs and it still wasn't fast enough to see her before she hit the bottom, she fell that quickly.

(As a side note: I HATE these stairs. I knew this was going to happen eventually. We can't install a safe gate because it requires actually installing hardware and since we're trying to sell the place, huge holes in the dry wall and wood - probably not such a great idea. Anything else is unsafe and probably would have landed on top of her from her pushing through it with our luck. I hate this house. We need to move. Someone buy this house NOW please. Thanks.)

So I fly to the bottom of the stairs and look her over - no bleeding, no visibly broken anythings, grab her and hold her and let her scream. Dan came running down just as quickly so she spends a few seconds with me then screams for "Dada!" then after a few seconds with him, "Mama!" and proceeds doing the back and forth comforting for a few minutes. I think I was shaking harder and more of a wreck than she was. Dan asked where it hurt and she looked at him and patted her head. After a few minutes of the back and forthing, she stood up, grabbed her bottle, and walked away. Then right back to the stairs. Okay. So she's fine. Whew.

(The guilt? "Hi, get out, go away, go see your dad, I'm cleaning your room, shoo, be gone." Woosh! Fall! ... I don't plan on getting Mother of the Year this year. I kinda suck.)

She and I hang out on the couch, watching Elmo (surprise!) and taking it easy so I can keep an eye on her since maybe she really did hit her head hard. As time goes on I realize, "hmmm... I'm kinda feeling like crap. I think I kinda wanna puke."

You guessed it. Little, walking plague-transporters. I caught the stomach flu from hell from my child having it on Wednesday. I haven't had the stomach flu since ... I dunno.... GRADE SCHOOL!?! I haven't thrown up in THIRTEEN YEARS. There is nothing in the world I hate doing more than throwing up. (Okay, I'm sure someone could come up with something but that's not the point.)

I spent Saturday night feeling like I was going to die. And you know what? Madeleine spent it right there next to me. Every time I came out of the bathroom, she was there lying on the floor waiting for me. At first, she really wanted to go downstairs, "Elmo! Elmo! Elmo!" I felt so bad, I could hardly move let alone go down the stairs or get her down the stairs. So I sat on the floor outside the bathroom and tried to play with her a little. We ended up both laying on the floor hanging out while I moaned and groaned and wanted to poke my eyes out with hot pokers (hey - at least it might make part of my body warm, you know?). She hung out with her bottle, went and got her blanket and stayed there keeping me company. I dosed off for a few seconds to wake up to her passed out on the floor next to me. Is this not the cutest thing you've ever seen?

Like I said, the most loving, caring, wonderful baby around. She spent Sunday lounging around with me too. I didn't start feeling better until Sunday night and while she did take one nap with me, she was able to entertain herself while I rested. Granted, she made a complete disaster of the whole house but it was so worth it.

The next time she gets sick? I'm wearing one of these!

Posted by Kim at 10:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Dan picked me up with a bouquet of daisies and a card waiting in the seat for me. (Dan doesn’t get me flowers. Dan certainly doesn’t give me cards. ???) He had told me to pick where we would go to dinner so I chose the Red Canyon Lodge. I love that place. It was fall, it had likely snowed up on the mountain so I was sure it would be really pretty up there and the food was pretty good so it was what I’d wanted.

We left for dinner and the weather was fine. About half-way up the mountain, we hit the snow. There was quite a bit of it on the ground and it was coming down pretty heavy. We were in his absolutely-not-made-for-driving-in-the-snow sports car so that was tons o’ fun. But we kept going.

We got to the lodge and had dinner. I don’t even have a clue what either of us ate, though I am sure it was chicken something or other. For me, anyway. So we talked and ate and and talked and talked. Then we probably got dessert and talked some more. It went on and on and on and was really nice. (But seriously – we don’t talk this much. ????) We finished up and took the leftovers with us. When we walked outside, everything was covered over a foot of snow. I love snow. Nothing makes me feel more calm and at peace with existence than freshly fallen snow. It was beautiful. It was dark so we couldn’t see too far but Dan paused on the large deck of the restaurant and just looked around. (Huh? He doesn’t care about this stuff? What is he doing? ???) We talked for a few minutes while we looked out over the snow-covered cabins and freezing lake and then we went to the car.

After he started the car, I remember him saying, “You know, we have a lot of problems in our relationship… And this is our biggest one.” (??????!!!) Pitch dark in the car, I have no idea what he’s doing or even talking about! What? What is the biggest problem in our relationship? What did I do NOW? And as I am attempting to ask those very questions, he holds his hand out and puts something small in mine.

Now let me tell you something about my kind, loving, honest, friendly husband. He used to take things and hide them from me just to see how long it would take me to notice. Seriously.

So when I realized the small thing in my hand wasn’t a quarter like I had thought and couldn’t figure out how the hell *that* would be our biggest problem, my next thought was, “Oh! Shit! How long has it been gone this time?!” He had given me a ring a few years back and it was the one thing that he LOVED to hide from me. I didn’t always wear it and it was his way of telling me that maybe I should wear it more often and at least act like I appreciated it.

But wait. I just saw that ring the other day. And this? This is not a pearl. This… This is sharp. And pointy. And BIG! What the ???? Which is exactly what I believe I said at that point. Followed with, “What is this? Are you serious? Is this for real?”

(As a side note, he conveniently didn’t hear the “for” in that last sentence so insists I was asking if the ring was real. I hadn’t even seen the thing yet. Why would I be questioning that? Like I said, he had given me a ring before that wasn’t an engagement ring. Is this one? Really? Seriously? Holy crap!)

Something very important to know about his damn car at the time is that it was an old highway patrol car. An old ’89 mustang that had a few tweaks normal cars didn’t. Like the gun bag thingy in the back seat. And a stinking piece of crap FLASHLIGHT in place of the dome light. Now this "flashlight" was the most uncooperative hunk o’ junk in the world. Not too mention SMALL and DIM. It would only work when you pulled it out of it’s holder on the 8th second of the forth hour with a crescent moon while standing on your head in fuschia pajamas. Seriously. It was never reliable.

So as I am jumping up and down in my seat, screaming 8 million questions at once, all I want to do is see this little thing in my hand. So I am beating on the damn light to please, please, please turn on and it’s not and I’m all sorts of excited and frustrated and why the hell did he wait until we were in the pitch dark of the car?? (Because he was so nervous he was afraid he’d drop the ring in the snow while holding the box of leftovers but didn't want to deal with the leftovers to set me off thinking something was afoot. I found out later. Well, I can live with that.) Once I got the light on, I finally got to see the exact ring I had harassed him about probably just days prior knowing we would never, ever, ever end up getting married. (Come on, it’d been seven years already!) Apparently he’d had this ring for a number of weeks at that point before even seeing the one I had sent him. (Pretty darn cool, huh?) I hadn’t a clue. Not one single, itty-bitty, iota of any idea. None. He hadn't told anyone except his parents so no one would ruin the surprise. Well it was a good plan. I hate surprises but this one? This one I could totally live with. And happily.

So yeah, I was proposed to sitting in a car, in the pitch dark, outside a restaurant, in tons and tons of snow. And you know what? It was perfect. I was proposed to in the snow. It’s all I ever wanted. (Ok, that and to get married in the snow. Which we did. Four months later.)

That was seven years ago today. Being where we are today is better than anything I ever could have wanted - then and now. Don’t get me wrong, it’s been a hell of a seven years. But isn’t that what makes us who we are? I am thrilled that those two, young kids, sitting in a car, in the freezing cold night have turned out the way they did. I’m sure many people wouldn’t see it as much of an accomplishment or in any way noteworthy – but the things we’ve been through, and put each other through, the things we’ve seen happen to so many people around us – I realize it is an accomplishment and it is noteworthy. And I plan to be saying the exact same things in another seven years, by golly.

Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say. Seven years ago I was asked the biggest question of my life so far and I don’t regret my answer one bit. Of course there are days I’d like t… But that’s not the point! No, the point is, my ring is still big and shiny and sparkly and perfect and oh? Oh, that’s not the point either? Well, then I guess it’s just simply that I really believe it’s important to let people know how we feel. And to be appreciative and acknowledging. And oh good grief, she says it so much better.

Posted by Kim at 1:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

When I get really tired, I get really loopy. When I have a migraine on top of that, I just get plain dumb.

Let's go through my yesterday so I can illustrate it for you...

It started with making a piece of toast for Madeleine's lunch. I buttered the bread and out of habit, put the knife straight in the sink. Then I realized I had to cut the toast. So I washed the knife and put it... straight... in the... dishwasher. You think that's bad? You should have seen me searching every where for the knife I had just barely washed.

Not two minutes later I was cleaning up the rubber spatula, wooden spoon mess she had made and instead of trying to put them in the cupboard where they belonged... I tried putting them in the fridge. !!??

A bit later, I got in the shower and shampooed my hair, not once, but twice! Yes, I just love wasting shampoo.

While we waited for Dan to shower, I read Madeleine her Zoophabet ABC book. I've read this book 8 million times and have it completely committed to memory. And yet, not two pages into it, instead of Alligators eating Apples, it was the other way around. It was just down hill from there. This was not the only set to be confidently flip-flopped. (I seem to recall something about Nectarines being fond of Nightingales.)

And this was all before lunch! It feels like a piece of my brain just goes missing when exhausted and migraine combine. While I am sure it gives my family a big laugh, it drives me right up the wall.

Had any good "duh" moments lately? Or did I use up everyone else's, all by myself, in one day?

Posted by Kim at 10:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Tomorrow my little demon baby turns nine months old. This is of note for reasons other than the obvious (like the one that holy crap! she’s freakin’ old! how’d this happen????) which I will get to later.

When I was pregnant, like anyone, I had a million fears. #3 on that list of fears was breastfeeding. Some days when I was semi-comfortable with numbers 1 and 2, it would take front seat and send me into states of panic like I had never known before. What if I couldn’t do it? What if it hurt so bad like other people had said? Or as hard as people make it sound? What if there were problems? How do I feed her in public? Why does everyone have to judge so harshly either way? What if people judged me? What if I did have to give her formula? What if I had to only give her formula? Am I a bad mother if I can’t do this?

Now that I look back, I think I was probably more afraid of breastfeeding than I was of labor and delivery. There is just such a divide between breastfeeding and formula feeding and people are so passionate about it they forget it’s not really their business and don’t care how much they hurt others with their overzealous opinions. It’s bad enough that a mother doesn’t know what she’s doing, but when another mother – who should understand and support through the battle – starts attacking? How is that a good thing? So yeah, I was terrified for a billion reasons.

Before Dan and I had ever even thought about possibly, maybe, someday trying to think about having kids we would have the breastfeeding fight. He would say I had no say in the matter, I was doing it. I would say, “hello! My boobs! My body! My time! Ultimately MY choice. And, besides, doofus, what if I can’t???” To have a MAN make you feel like less of a woman or mother by telling you that you HAVE to breastfeed their child, I’ll kick his ass myself. I get that they are entitled to their opinion, they’re the dad, they’re certainly involved and expressing their point of view is certainly welcome. But to feel like he will see you as less of a mother, less of a woman if you can’t breastfeed, or even choose not to. I don’t even have words for the lack of support, tyrant ass that man would be. Anyway… So we had that fight for years. Then it went away for years and was never discussed again until we found out I was pregnant. During a conversation very early on, it somehow came up and I made some comment about breastfeeding. About absolutely wanting to do it – to try. (Mind you, the fights before were never because I didn’t want to, they were because I felt like it should ultimately be my choice since I was the one who was going to have to do it. It wasn’t his boobs that were potentially not going to be able to feed the baby. He will never know that fear.) He was taken aback thinking that I wasn’t going to even bother. So then started the conversations of how terrified of: what if I couldn’t it? People are so mean about it. People will be mean to me and make me feel more incompetent than I know I already would anyway.

Good thing my husband rocks. He was nothing but supportive in my decisions with all this. He still is.

So now…. I know…. Four hours later… I’m wordy, what can I say…. My point….

It has been hard. It’s been so fulfilling and wonderful and great and bonding and really kind of easy but it has been so. very. very. hard. I have had to supplement with formula already and I thought I was a terrible mother who was going to breastfeeding hell the first few times. But it’s that or my child starved. I have had a hell of a time with having a significantly low milk supply the entire time I’ve been nursing. It’s not been fun. It’s not been easy. We’re at the point now that she has to be supplemented at day care so she can get enough. Her entire life, whenever she’s with me, she’s eating constantly because there just isn’t enough. I read books, I consulted with lactation consultants, I tried old wives tales and supplements, I’ve done everything I can come up with and still never have enough.

In my head, I knew I wanted to go a year. But what if I couldn’t even get started? Or what if there were problems along the way (which, for the record, I never once even considered the problem I would actually be having. Just my luck.)? So I decided to be a little more realistic and actually set goals that I knew I could reach and break it down a bit. So my goals were like this: Goal 1 – Be able to do it. At all. Establish a successful latch and see how it goes. Goal 2 – At least the first month. Do NOT give up. Make it at least one month. Goal 3 – Get through the first three months. Goal 4 – Go to six months. Anything beyond that is gravy. Just get to six months. Easy. You can do it. Goal 5 – Nine months. Anything beyond this and you rock. Goal 6 – A year. Nice goal. If you can get there, by all means, have at it.

So I’m at goal 5 (phew! 20 paragraphs later and I am finally to my point). We’ve made it nine months. I know that so many people would have given up by now, would have realized it wasn’t worth the hassle or the stress and just gone to formula. And that it would be okay if I did. I hit six months and even the pediatrician said anything beyond that was just icing on the cake. But in my head, there are still those people out there (sadly, some in my life which I think is why it bothers me so much) that will think I’m less of a woman and less of a mother if I don’t make it the full year. But I’m drying up. I don’t get nearly enough for the next day when I pump anymore and it’s driving me crazy. I tell myself it would be so much easier if I would just let her go to straight formula and not have the stress of not having enough, of having to pump freaking constantly. But it’s also something I really value with my baby. So do I let day care feed her straight formula and when she’s with me nurse? I have no idea. Three more months. That’s it. That’s all it takes to reach my ultimate goal. Even if I only half-nurse her that far, it’s more than I ever really thought I could do, so is that good? I know so many mothers, mothers whom I admire and respect much more than anyone I know who preaches ONLY BREAST, who supplemented long before now if not went solely to formula long before now. So why can’t I just get over it and do it? In my head I feel like I will see myself as failing if I give up before June. I’ve made it this far – I have NOT failed. So what’s up with this?

Posted by Kim at 12:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)