Bring on the Joy

This year, I am welcoming Christmas (as early as retailers, neighbors, friends, and radio stations want to bring it) with open arms.

I understand why people get upset when Christmas music starts and wreaths are hung the day after Halloween, sometimes even earlier.  It already feels like we rush home from work, just in time to throw together a semi-nutritious meal, bathe our kids, and get ready for the next day... to do it all. over. again.  Why rush the holidays too?  I really do get it.  Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday too!  Could there really be a better day than to eat to our hearts' content with the people who mean the most to us without pretense of gifts and price tags?  To find happiness in what we have and what we've been through?  Certainly not.

I was one of those people who absolutely despised hearing or seeing anything Christmas-related before Thanksgiving was officially over, and even preferred it to wait until December came around.  But then, I had a child.  I found out I was pregnant less than two weeks before Thanksgiving in 2009.  I spent the holidays exhausted beyond comprehension, and more joyful than my wildest dreams.  I was amazed at what my body was finally doing, and I spent every waking moment planning and being grateful for that baby.  (You may think I'm exaggerating.  If you do, then you never knew me while I was pregnant.)  He's changed me in a thousand small ways, and a million big ones too.

One of the big ways is that I get to see the holidays through his excited eyes.  And Christmas?  That's just one giant joy-fest to him.  It's not even about the gifts to him.  He's too little to even understand that.  It's the lights, the people, the decorations, the parties, the parades, the Santas, the nativity under the tree!  Last year, "Santa" brought him one thing: an $83 PowerWheel.  Mommy & Daddy got him a pair of shoes (that he desperately needed).  The grandparents even managed to keep it toned down last year.  You know what he thought was the most fun part of Christmas last year?  Staying home all day, eating cinnamon rolls out of a can for breakfast, not changing out of our PJs, and watching Christmas movies.  All Christmas Day means to Dane is being allowed to stay home and play with Mommy & Daddy all day without interruption.

So you know what?  There will come a day when my son doesn't believe in the magic of Christmas.  He'll tell me he wants a gift card so he can "pick out his own clothes" when I ask him what he wants.  And he'll probably tire of hearing Christmas music on November 1.  But for now, he's amazed, and I'm along for the ride.  Let me rephrase:  I get the absolute joy of being along for the ride!  So, yeah, we'll probably put our tree up before Thanksgiving.  We'll probably listen to Christmas music during the Thanksgiving meal.  Does that make Thanksgiving any less special?  Nope.  And I for one hardly think Thanksgiving is offended.  I'm just squeezing every possible moment of joy out of each season.

PS - This does not mean that I have lost my mind enough to join in the Black Friday crowd that starts the evening of Thanksgiving!  :)

Allergic to Vacation

We just booked our family vacation!  I should be excited.... right?

I'll be honest: as much as we need a vacation, it makes me incredibly anxious to think about the actual trip.  Sure, I'd be crazy not to look forward to sleeping past 4:30am and soaking up some vitamin D while reading some trashy fiction.  But the truth is that Dane seems to be allergic to vacations and holidays.

It all started with our first family vacation in 2011.  Dane developed a 103.7 fever on our third night.  We rushed him to the ER where he promptly vomited all over me at the check-in window.  The doctor ordered a chest x-ray.  He asked again and again if Dane had asthma (because he was on all the breathing treatments and medications any kid with asthma would be) and we replied over and over "he's too young to be diagnosed with asthma; he has allergies."  He had just turned 10 months old the day before.  I wasn't ready for asthma.  I also wasn't ready for pneumonia.  On vacation.  But that's what he had, along with an ear infection and eye infection.  He promised us that Dane would be fine.  They pumped him full of antibiotics, oral steroids, and albuterol.  They sent us "home" with instructions to finish our vacation and come back if his fever returned or his breathing worsened.  They also gave us the name of a local pediatrician we could check in with in a couple days to make sure his lungs sounded alright.  The experience was a pleasant as could be for rushing to the ER with your 10-month old at midnight on vacation.

We tried to hang in there for a day, but being on vacation made things seem worse.  I guess it was like going on a Ben & Jerry's tour if you're lactose intolerant.  He was miserable, we were as exhausted as we had been when he was a newborn, and we were at the beach.  After a day of tears, I told Jonathan I wanted to go home.  We packed up our car and headed for our real home at 10pm.  It was a miserable trip home.  Dane couldn't breathe well in his car seat, Jonathan snored, and I almost hit two deer standing in the road.  I was heartbroken that the family vacation I had dreamed about for years had hit such a wall.  Even so, we were happy to be home.

Here's a few of the other reasons I tend to flip out a little over planning a vacation, or any celebration for that matter:

• November 2010 (Nana & Papa's first visit) - rotavirus
• Thanksgiving weekend 2011 - ear infection and asthma trouble that required oral steroids
• Christmas Day 2011 (2am)- ruptured ear drum/ear infection
• February 2012 (BFF Owen's first birthday party) - pink eye and ear infection
• Thanksgiving weekend 2012 - asthma trouble that required oral steroids
• Christmas 2012 - on antibiotics for ear infection
• Disney trip 2012 - the norovirus "Sydney" that's hit so much of the nation this winter

I'm a little skittish about vacations and holidays, as you can see.  Thankfully, this year, we are going into it knowing a few things that we didn't when we embarked on our first family vacation:

• Dane's does have asthma, so we come prepared.  That means nebulizer, nebulizer meds, and oral steroids.  A little breathing trouble no longer scares us as badly because we know what to do now.
• Our relationship with our beautiful, fantastic, intelligent, selfless pediatrician (can you tell we're smitten?) has grown to the point where we have her cell number for the really scary situations.
• We know that the hospital at our fave vacation location is top-notch and we wouldn't hesitate to make a visit if it was necessary.

Even so, do us a favor and send happy vibes and prayers our way in May!

"That" Mom

It's official.  I'm that annoying mom.  I probably have been for a while, but a recent online purchase that was delivered to the house today confirms it (for me at least).





I ordered a pediatric otoscope.  That's right, a device to look in my kid's ear when I think he might have an ear infection.  Let's face it, I dropped the ball bigtime last month and I don't want it to happen again.  One of the pediatricians in the practice suggested a handy little thing called a "middle ear monitor."  While I could certainly see the usefulness of something like this, it's big claim is that it can give you an idea of the likelihood of there being fluid in your child's ear.  Well, Dane practically always has fluid in his ear because he has allergies.  What I really need to know is if I need to take him to the doctor to get a round of antibiotics.  I certainly don't want to take him if he's not in need of antibiotics, because all parents know that even if your child doesn't need them, he probably will after a visit there!  Exposing an asthmatic little one to more plague than absolutely necessary isn't on the top of my list.  And because he never runs a fever, acts strangely, or has a change in appetite when he gets an ear infection, someone has got to look in those ears!

Enter the "pocket" otoscope.  (I find the term "pocket" hilarious because as crazy as I might be, I am not toting that around in my pocket all day.)  I've debated the purchase for quite some time, but the recent congestion in our household finally sealed the deal.  We'll see how it goes.  I figure for the cost of one co-pay to the pediatrician, it's worth a little peace of mind.  And most of you know I love disgusting medical stuff anyway so it's right up my alley.

All You Need Is Love

Last night when I was bathing Dane, he decided to "swim" in the tub.  It was pretty darn cute, but I'm certainly biased.  Here was our conversation:

Dane:  "I'm swimming, Mommy!"
Me:  "Wow!  Where did you learn to swim like that?!"
Dane:  "Because I just am.  Because you love me, Mommy."

Woah.  Talk about a feel good moment.  Now, this isn't supposed to be a look-what-an-awesome-mom-I-am story.  I do the best I can, but there are moments when I feel like packing him up and sending him to Gramma's house.  Like tonight, when we were eating broccoli cheese soup (recipe here) and he tells me "I don't like broccoli.  I love broccoli.  Mommy, you made yummy soup.  Mommy, I don't like soup.  I only want bread."  It's just that I had this realization that if our kids know that we love them because we tell them a million times a day in words and gestures, then they can do anything.  And that makes you remember that yes, there are ten times minimum in day when you're frustrated to the point of tears, but your job is so worthwhile.  Your job is so important, the most important. And if your kids know you love them, you're doing it right regardless of the hundreds of things you've done wrong since the day of their birth.

The Things We Say

We've all heard the line "kids say the darndest things."  It's true.  My sweet nephew once told his Gramma he couldn't possibly go to sleep because his eyes were too big.  Smart, huh?  My friend Mary's children really say hilarious things.  She blogs here to document all the fun.  (**side note: You must check this out.  Even if you don't have kids, it's funny.  And if you know Mary, well, it just makes it that much more fun!)

As funny as little people can be, I am most amazed at the change in myself.  It's true, parenting makes you sound like, well, your parents.  *Shudder*  Once in a while, I catch myself saying something absolutely and truly ridiculous and I feel the need to share.  Here are a couple of my awesome mom moments:

"Dane, give the booger to Daddy."  This one is self-explanatory.  I mean, what the heck do I want with Dane's booger?

"Dane, eat your marshmallow."  Stupid, stupid, stupid.  Honestly, I was just trying to have an adult conversation with my BFF after dinner one night.  She had served s'mores for dessert so we gave the boys marshmallows.  Dane said "want down, go play" about 80 times before I could get him out of his high chair, and "eat your marshmallow" was my response.  Mom of the Year.  Right here.

"Oh, wow.  I put his poop-stain undies on him for his 2-year well check."  I said this right in front of our pediatrician.  I guess I wanted her to know that I noticed and he doesn't always wear poop-stain undies, but the minute it came out, I felt even more embarrassed.  

"Please get your hand out of your butt crack."  Ever since we potty trained Dane, he has an obsession with his crack.  I have no idea why.  There is no rash.  As far as I can tell, it doesn't itch.  He just has better access to it now I guess.  I don't expect I'll stop saying this one anytime soon.

What are some goofy things you've noticed yourself saying to your kid(s)?

What I Learned at CPST Training

Last week, I spent three days taking a course to become a Child Passenger Safety Technician (CPST).  I know, I know.  How could it possibly take three days to learn how to install and check a car seat?  I thought that too.

I had all my dress clothes packed and ready to go.  (My company paid for this training because one of my "hats" at work is Health and Safety Officer.)  I'm expected to represent the company in a professional manner, and had packed clothing appropriate for a business function.  A day or so before I left for the training, I got an email from the instructor advising attendees to dress in "workout type clothing."  Um, what? Well, thank goodness I listened!  For three days, we went back and forth from the classroom to the field, taking three written tests and three skills tests.  Other than lunch, we really didn't have a break, and sometimes class ran late.

I couldn't believe how much information there was!  I guess when you look at the fact that every vehicle is different, every child restraint is different, every child is different, and then throw family dynamics into the mix, there are endless possibilities.  My brain is still buzzing with all the things I *thought* I already knew.  I even found two things that we were doing wrong in our own car seat installations.

Since I cannot possibly check each and every one of my friends and family members' car seats, and I'm sure many of you don't want me to, I thought I'd just hit a couple of high points.

1.  After-market products:  I never ever realized how dangerous these could be.  I mean, I know not to put my child in a snow suit and then strap him into the car seat, but items like this are essentially doing the same thing!

Anyway, if it did not come with your car seat, or didn't say specifically that it could be used with your model of car seat, do NOT use it.  There are other, safer ways to support a newborn.  (And they're free!)

One big culprit that Jonathan and I are actually guilty of is this little contraption.

I won't lie.  It's amazing.  It lets you get the seat belt super duper tight in seconds.  But you can actually get your seat belt too tight.  Sounds crazy, right?  But it's true.  These belt tighteners have been known to put too much pre-crash tension on the retractors of the seat belt and cause the retractor to fail in a crash.

2.  Switchable retractors that aren't locked:  Most newer cars have seat belts that are on a switchable retractor.  This means you have to pull it all the way out to lock it before strapping the car seat in.  We came across several car seats at our inspection station that weren't actually locked in the car.

3.  Not rear-facing long enough:  I knew that rear-facing as long as possible was the safest option, but I wasn't sure exactly why.  Well, the "why" in this equation happens to be a horrible thing called "internal decapitation."  It's where the skin and muscle is still connected, but the spinal cord is not.  Keep your children rear facing as long as they still fit the height and weight requirements of the seat.  This video does a great job of showing why it's important to keep children rear facing as long as possible without being graphic.  If you'd like more information on why it's important, there is a ton of information that can by found by searching Google and/or YouTube.

Lastly, I encourage you to find a CPST or seat check event near you.  You can search by county, zip code, or city on this link.

I Love Two-Year Olds

In all seriousness, I really LOVE two-year olds.

A couple of things seem to happening very quickly since Dane's second birthday a few weeks ago.  The first is that he has suddenly become very verbal.  He's always been chatty, but he's stringing together thoughts into sentences that *almost* make sense.  For instance, this weekend, I overheard him tell Jonathan (over and OVER again), "Read that one book, Daddy.  Read that one book, Daddy.  Read that one book, Daddy."  It's becoming very clear exactly what he wants from us.  The other night, he was crying in his crib and I couldn't quite make out what he was saying over the monitor.  When I walked into his bedroom, he was pointing at a corner of his blanket that was hung on a crib rail saying "Need help, Mama!"  Wow, this parenting thing sure is getting a lot easier when I don't have a guess what the heck is wrong with you, Dane!

He's also begun to have an understanding outside of what is immediately happening to him.  A week and a half ago, he was whining to go outside and get in the car before we were ready to leave.  He had seen us take his DVD player (which only goes with us on long trips) out to the car and wanted to watch "animal movie" right away.  He kept whining every time we passed by him as we rushed to get the car packed for an overnight stay at my parents' house.  I finally told him to go to his room until he was finished whining.  Not only did this keep him out of harm's way as we packed up, it removed the offending whiny child from our paths and reinforced for him that whining was not going to speed up the process.  This is my new favorite parenting technique.

When he's whining, I tell him he can either stop whining or take it to his room.  Everyone needs their own space.  Two-year olds are no different.  A little space can change a bad attitude in a hurry.  Monday night, I told him that it was time to clean up some toys.  He said no.  I said "Dane, you can either help me clean up your toys or you can go to your room while I clean up toys."  "Clean toys, Mama," he said and quickly began helping tote the mess back into the playroom.  He's such a sociable little guy that the threat of spending a couple of minutes alone, away from all the fun, are enough to get him to reconsider his actions.

This I can handle!  Now when he hits the teenage years, I probably won't be able to smoke him out of there.

Just Rip It Off

Jonathan and I are firm believers in "rip the band-aid off" parenting.  I first heard this phrase from my friend Tera.  She was referring to having kids close in age rather than spacing them out (you know, to just "get it over with" as far as the difficult baby stage), but it also describes our parenting style quite well. 

The last day I made bottles for Dane, he was 364 days old.  His first birthday present to me was not having to make bottles anymore.  No, he was not a fan of this.  The first day he cried for about two hours in the afternoon.  We didn't even realize that's what he was crying about at first since he had taken the first sippy cup of milk without even a strange look.  The next day, he fussed for about 45 minutes and it was very obvious that the reason he wasn't happy had everything to do with the offending sippy cup.  But I didn't give in.  On day three, it was as if he'd never remembered how awesome bottles were.  Sippy cups were now officially "in" in Dane's book.

We did the same thing with the pacifier.  I had heard some pretty awesome ideas about cutting the pacifier so that the suction would be lost and the child would no longer be interested in it.  I was worried that he'd choke on a piece of it since half the time it was used as a chew toy.  I had also heard variations of "giving the pacifiers away" (to baby angels, baby ducks, the paci fairy, etc) but I wanted the thing gone shortly after his first birthday and he didn't have the reasoning skills to understand something like that at a year old.  We did not make our goal of losing the pacifier before he was 13 months old, but one Saturday, when Dane was 15 months old, we decided it was time.  We had stalled for long enough.  We had a rare gap in teething, he wasn't sick or having any asthma episodes, and we didn't have anything pressing that particular weekend.  So we raided the house and packed them all up.  That night, he fell asleep without even noticing that anything was missing.  It was almost too good to be true.  And it was. Two hours later, he woke up in a rage because there weren't the typical 4 to 6 pacifiers in his crib.  He eventually fell asleep again, but not before I almost threw in the towel.  Thankfully, Jonathan convinced me it really was time and the three of us made it through the next two weeks of poor sleep with nothing more than dark circles under our eyes. 

Car trips without the pacifier were a little different.  It took him three full months to learn not to freak out in the car without his pacifier.  A few weeks into pacifier-free living, we were on the way to the zoo with family.  Dane screamed like he was being subjected to some rare form of torture; I laughed because crying wasn't working; and Jonathan chanted this mantra:  "I will not feed my baby to a lion.  I will not feed my baby to a bear.  I will not feed my baby to an alligator."  This only served to make Dane more angry and my laugh more sinister.  In typical Dane style, he fell asleep just as we found a parking spot.

Last month, over Memorial Day Weekend, Jonathan and I decided it was time to lose the diapers.  Dane has had one diaper rash after another since he was four days old and we decided that even if it meant chasing after Dane and cleaning up a constant stream of pee until he was 5, we were ready to make this work.  And for three days, we holed up in our 1200 square foot home and cleaned up puddle after puddle after puddle.  And it really wasn't that awful.  Amazingly enough, we had fun together.  By no means is he 100% potty trained.  He has the occasional day without an accident, but that usually means we're in for quite the mess the following morning.  We're no experts at potty training, but I know this:  Dane hasn't had the first problem with diaper rash and we sure are spending less at Target these days... well, on diapers at least :)

He's the Only One for Me

We worked hard for Dane, no question about it.  From the day we found out we were officially classified as infertile, it was exactly 3 years, 6 months, and 8 days until we got to meet the cute little guy.  Then there was the three surgeries (between Jonathan and I), hundreds of medications, insane stress, and... oh yeah... $55,000.  One day when Dane asks why we won't buy him a car, I'll bring this up.

So naturally, people are shocked when they learn that we are doing everything in our power to prevent another pregnancy.  I mean, what are the odds?  Well, even with IVF, it was only 50/50 -- which works out about right, since we got pregnant on our second IVF attempt.

People ask me all the time if finding out I was pregnant was one of the happiest days of my life, wouldn't I love to be pregnant again?  The answer to that is yes, I would love to be pregnant again - with someone else's child.  I would be a gestational surrogate in a heartbeat, even for a stranger.  But I don't want to be anyone else's mother.  Dane is enough.  He's been enough since the moment we found out we were pregnant.  You see, Jonathan and I had always dreamed that if we ever did get lucky enough to get pregnant, wouldn't it be amazing if we had twins?  However, the very day we learned we were pregnant, and remembered those two embryos that had been transferred just 9 days earlier, the reality of all of that hit us.  I am positive that if we had twins, we would have been overjoyed and as absolutely in love with our life as we are now.  But I would be lying if I said we didn't breathe a small sigh of relief when we saw one precious heartbeat.  I have plenty of friends who have twins from fertility treatments and I can honestly say that they handle everything so very well.  I think it was certainly meant to be that those couples had twins and we got one perfect Dane.

There's also the absolute raging postpartum depression I experienced.  I kept thinking that I wasn't supposed to be feeling this way.  I had literally begged God for this child and poured every part of my self into him.  What I didn't realize then is that women who undergo fertility treatments are actually more likely to develop PPD than other mothers.  We have years to fantasize about motherhood and babies and pregnancy and how perfect it will all be.  This doesn't mean we're stupid or irrational about parenthood.  I fully expected to be up all night, peed on, pooped on, all of the stuff that comes with newborns.  What I did not expect was an infant that could not be soothed.  By anyone.  He was like the perfect storm of babies.  He liked being swaddled, but hated being hot.  He was born in July, so this was not easy.  One time, I put him swaddled, in a swing, on top of an ice pack.  He also liked to breastfeed and was a great latcher, but I had nada to give him.  I would rock and sing to him for hours.  He was miserable.  So I made myself miserable.  I felt like I needed punishment for not being able to be a good enough mother to make him feel better.  After 6 weeks at home with him on maternity leave, I couldn't wait to go back to work.  I was terrified of him and how inadequate I felt.  Once I did go back to work, he got kicked out of home daycare  after a week because he cried too much.  We had to find a new daycare in just a few days.  Months later, after I got better and forgave myself, a daycare worker from the room he was in from 7 weeks old - 11 months old told me, "you know, I've worked here for several years and taken care of hundreds of babies.  Your's is the first I have ever seen that truly has colic.  I had no idea how to deal with him.  I just thought other babies were difficult."  This sounds awful, but I felt validated.  All those months of feeling clueless, and a woman who takes care of babies for a living couldn't calm my child.  On a side note, I highly recommend the book The Ghost in the House by Tracy Thompson.  I cannot begin to tell you how much it impacted my recovery.  It was like looking in a mirror.  (Note to readers:  I have debated "publicly" sharing the fact that I had PPD for many months.  I finally decided to for the same reason I decided to share our infertility struggles: so that someone else would know they are not alone.  Please respect this.)

The final reason we're 99.99% sure we're done with one?  Pretty simple, really.  We like our family dynamic.  Mom and Dad will be there for each and every performance, graduation, and baseball game - no splitting up and "you take Jill to soccer practice and I'll take Jim to the band concert."  We like the "tag team" style of parenting.  It works for us.

I jokingly told two of my sweetest friends a couple weekends ago that "if I could birth a 15-month old, I'd consider having another child."  But since I don't see medical advancements catching up to that point before I'm well past my child-bearing years, I think we'll just stick with Dane.

To all you non-believers who tell me "you'll change your mind" - well maybe.  But I'm pretty confident that when you and I run into one another at Target in ten years and you ask me how many kids I have, the answer will still be "one!"

I got this. Oh, never mind.

Jamie and I got the rare opportunity to spend two hours on Sunday doing girl stuff.  She picked me up for a our date and I helped her pick out "real" makeup (as in, department store counter stuff).  We managed to hardly talk about our children at all, which is quite an accomplishment for mothers of toddlers.  But we did talk about how hard it is not to have control over your own life like before parenthood, even as your child gets easier.  I mean, Dane's pretty predictable now.  He eats really well and sleeps 11 hours straight every night.  Oh, wait.  That was last week.  Damn.

I mean, really, Dane?  I swear it's like he bugs our room and when he hears us say how well the new parenting trick we tried worked out and all the wonderful reasons (that we attribute to ourselves, of course) why our child eats such a well-rounded diet, he laughs (muahahaha) and plots to bring us down from our high horse.  It's been three days since Dane ate dinner.  It's also been three days since he slept for more than two hours at a time.  Is there a newborn in my house?  Because I can't remember feeling like I knew less about parenting since there was a three-week old living in the pack-n-play in my room.  I don't know whether to start from the basics and sleep train his grumpy little butt again or if there's a more concerning issue at the root and I need to take him to the pediatrician.  There really is nothing like having a child to remind you how little you know.