Jailhouse blues

The end result of "Nap Strike 2006" was a blissful night of sleep for everyone.

Jack was bathed, fed, swaddled and in his crib by 8:45 p.m. He slept until 1:45 a.m., when he took a bottle from Josh. He went back to sleep immediately, and slept until 5 a.m. The only reason he woke then was that he wet through his diaper. I changed and fed him and he went right back to sleep until 8:45 a.m.

That is 12 hours. Of sleep. In a row. Sweet lord, I am hoping for a repeat tonight.

He also took a three-hour nap in the middle of the day today, so no complaints here whatsoever.

I must confess, I was sad to see him in his crib.

Before I had Jack, I was all "He's staying in our room in the bassinette for a week. Then he's going in his own room."

Fast forward to a six-week-old Jack sleeping in his bassinette every night and between us from 6-9 a.m. every morning. Yes, we could be considered co-sleepers. I told the Sarcastic Journalist I was ashamed of my status.

So last night when Josh put him to bed, I sidled up to him on the couch and asked if maybe, possibly, we should keep Jack in our room? You know, in case he gets scared?

He laughed at me and made me admit it was me who would be scared. I just hated the thought of the little guy being so far away where I could not see him or hear him breathing or look at him to make sure he was not buried in the covers of our bed.

I had a picture of him in my head, with his hands gripping the crib slats like a jailbird looking out at me all forlorn with his harmonica. (Yes, he's playing a harmonica in my made-up world. Shut up.)

The image was quickly replaced by that of my face on a pillow, sleeping uninterrupted with room to stretch out. And I got over my separation anxiety. Of course, not before I peeked in on him a few times. You know, to make sure the harmonica wasn't keeping the neighbors awake.

Naps optional

Welcome to Casa de NoNap.

Apparently, naps are for six-week-olds. Seven-week-olds, they do not take naps. Must be for babies. And since Jack is clearly seven weeks old tomorrow, he felt confident testing the system.

Today, the child refused to take a nap for longer than 10 minutes at a time. He slept a total of two hours between the hours of 8:15 a.m. and 8:15 p.m., when we finally put him down for the night.

He ate every 90 minutes for four hours, and then decided to stretch it out to two hours by bedtime.

Today was the day I planned to get him on a schedule.

Hahahahahahahaha. HA. Schedule. Good one.

He also decided it was a good time to wake up at 5:15 a.m. and then fuss for the next three hours off and on. I was working on five hours sleep during today's Nap Strike 2006, so it was good times.

He wasn't crabby and he wasn't really all that fussy. He just wanted to stay up and hang out. We played and sang songs and read books and all that jazz, so I can see why he thought I might do all these things without him while he was sleeping. He didn't want to miss out on anything.

By 4 p.m., I was sick of playing the "put him down in his crib, respond to wailing 10 minutes later" game. So I called his father.

Amy: "When can I pick you up from work?"
Jack in the background: "WAH"
Josh: "Oh well, uh, I am getting a ride. There's a Happy Hour tonight."
Amy: (Gouging out eyeball with fork) "Oh. OK then. Well, uh, can you not stay long? Your son, he is not about the naps today. In fact, he has not taken one."

He agreed to make it quick.

At 6:45 p.m., another conversation took place.

Amy: "You know, I would really like to drink as well. Unfortunately, I have a CRYING KID ON MY BOOB."
Josh: "I am coming home right now."

When he got home, we gave the child his bath and Josh graciously got him ready for bed. He told me to go take some time for myself. So I ran to Walmart and Bed Bath and Beyond, got gas and then grabbed some food on the way home. Whooo boy, I really know how to tear it up when I have some time to myself.

When I came home, Josh got him to sleep on the second try. Figures. Just call him the "Baby Whisperer."

All clear

Today was the ole' six-week postpartum checkup.

I was harboring some fears of the appointment. What with the speculum insertion and the poking of the cervix and the checking of the stitches and the discussion of the birth control.

But I am happy to report the appointment went well and there were no surprises.

Well, other than seeing how GIGANTIC diaphragms actually are. I mean MY GOD. You could huddle a family of five under one of those things in case of a rainstorm. My OB pulled out the box of them and I think I lost sight of her head behind the largest size. When she reappeared, she said that most women wear the second smallest size.

Of course, my cervix being what it is (the devil), it was not normal. Come on, you knew that had to be the case didn't you? So I was fitted with the smallest size.

Maybe cervix size is like foot size in China and I will now be a highly sought-after women who will be adored by men far and wide?

But I digress.

My doctor pronounced my stitches healed and my cervix closed and I can now commence with the working out and the working (ick) and the sex. She's a little late to the game (shhhhh...) but now we're officially sanctioned. And new for 2006: with birth control!

In light of my new status of a released-from-doctors-care woman, I walked home from the doctor's office with Jack in his stroller. It's about a mile, so I felt very healthy. On the way home, I stopped for a salad for lunch.

The healthiness, it cannot be stopped. Of course, I had to make some reparations for the brunch I consumed yesterday: chicken, waffles, mac-n-cheese, mashed potatoes and cinnamon rolls. There was some fruit in there too. So that was somewhat good for me.

Considering I have 7 pounds left to lose, I shall not be partaking of meals like that one any more. OK, I am lying. Out and out lying. Like I’m turning down chicken and waffles when they’re offered.

Say cheese

I've been too busy to post the last two days because Jack was doing this:


And he also likes to do it with a wink:

Strolling along

Whoops. March Madness hits and I up and disappear for a few days. We're not dead. We were just preparing for a party and getting fillings at the dentist and showing vacant apartments to perspective renters and watching lots of basketball and staring at the child.

I also made a trip to Milwaukee over the weekend to shop with my sister. It was Jack's first outing to the mall. He was non-plussed by the food court and really wanted a Cinnabon, but my God, the calories in those things. His little baby arteries could not take it. Instead I told him he could have crack when we got home.

I was all proud of myself, tooling around the mall with my Bugaboo stroller. Yes, I am "that" mother. I wanted the Bugaboo. Scratch that, I coveted it. I schemed and plotted from the day I got my positive test for a way to get Josh to allow its presence in our life.

He, being like most sane people, said there was no way we were spending that much money on a stroller. I, being unlike most sane people, really wanted this stroller because it looked cool. And it's all about looking cool with a baby.

So I would mention it in passing every once in a while. OK, more than once in a while. I would mention it every time I saw one. Which in our neighborhood, is every 3.4 seconds when someone walks by with a kid.

Then, with the cervix and all, I dropped it for a while. You know, other things were on my mind and it seemed silly to be asking for a stroller when I could not even walk.

I resumed my whining just after Christmas. I even pulled out the "But I have been so good on bedrest and it's not fair and I have not bought anything for the baby since I am stuck in the house" argument and I do believe there may have been some tears. We even went to a store in the neighborhood and got the demonstration and the whole shebang about how it's really so much better than the Peg Perego.

I somehow wore him down and he said I could get it. But we decided to look on eBay, where we could get one for about $100 less than retail.

I found what seemed to be a good price on a "buy it now" and asked Josh if we could buy it. In my defense, I was a little excited about finding one. In his defense, he was in the middle of painting the hallway and gave it a cursory once-over.

So I bought it and as required, paid for it via Paypal from the seller. Please note, the seller's name is Reanna Chevallard and her user name on eBay is bananapants628. That's bananapants628. She lives in Denver, CO. And she? Is an ASSHAT.

The woman took our money. And then promptly did NOT send our stroller.

Oh she tried to tell us she sent it. Paypal generated a tracking number for us. Which would indicate to one that a package was on its way. Except the tracking info was for a 2 inch by 2 inch package that weighed 2 pounds.

My stroller? Bigger than a breadbox, of that I can assure you.

So Josh opens a dialogue with her. She blocks his emails. He sends mail from his other account. She assures us it has been sent, that she has a "friend" who works at UPS and hooked her up with special shipping.

Riiiiight.

So here's me, freaking out that not only do we not have a stroller with the baby due any day, but now we don't have the money either. And here's Josh, pissed that I did not realize this person only had an eBay account for a month and now we don't have the money either.

Not good times.

So we break down and buy ANOTHER Bugaboo. I am not making this up. I could have bought a car with all this wasted cash. This time, no eBay. I learned my lesson.

An investigation is opened with Paypal. They get us one-third of our money back, but regret to inform us the seller's Paypal account is at zero. If she does not use it again, we're shit out of luck.

We were saddened by this news. Dismayed, saddened and PISSED BEYOND BELIEF. Isn’t Paypal supposed to be your insurance in cases like this?

Eventually, we turned to American Express. They were kind enough, just this last week, to refund our charge and start an investigation into the case.

So Reanna Chevallard -- you stealer of stroller money -- I hope you get put in jail for Internet fraud. It's literally stealing money from a baby in this case. You should be ashamed of yourself.

Me? I have learned a valuable lesson. And in the end, we got a stroller. And Jack loves it. And I love pushing him around town in it. Josh, he still rolls his eyes when I fawn all over it.

Oh, and since I didn't blog on St. Patrick's Day, here's what you would have seen had I actually gotten around to posting.


Jack says, "I'm a wee bit Irish!"

Shit happens

When Jack was in the hospital for the whole "he was cold" debacle, he peed on his own face. Yes, I am the bad parent who did not take seriously the stories of little boys peeing all over the place and the need to duck and cover and with a cloth diaper when changing them.

So I whipped off his diaper and watched in horror as he peed in a fountain-like fashion. All over his chest, his face, the isolette, the stuffed animal in the isolette and my hand as I tried to cover him.

Today, we got the second half of that equation.

Jack projectile pooped. He got it on the extra diapers, the basket containing the diapers, the changing table, the changing pad and his sock.

All I could do was laugh. He couldn't even muster a reaction. He was cool as a cucumber.

I realized in that moment that my day now consists of cleaning up poop. Some days I just clean it out of a diaper, some days off of his back and on some special days, off everything in a three-foot radius.

He's a professional

Today I learned about the racket that is better known as "professional baby portraits."

I stopped at the Sears at the mall after lunch and inquired if they had any openings for photos. The woman told me they did not, but that I could have an appointment at 3:30 p.m. So I took it and trudged back home, unsuccessfully tried to get Jack to nap and then headed back.

When we arrived at 3:32 p.m., I expected we would be taken right away. So I got Jack out of his snowsuit and showed him the lights and waited a few minutes. I saw the woman was waiting on another mom, so I was willing to cut some slack.

At 3:45 p.m., with Jack behaving beautifully, I knew no good could come of this. The woman in front of us could not decide on which pose she should get and then she kept changing her mind and I am standing there bouncing Jack around saying, "Noooooo, don't go to sleep. Stay awake! Stay awake!"

"We'll be right with you," was the response to my passive-aggressive techniques.

Of course, the second we get Jack in the room and sit him down in front of the camera, he starts to fuss. Well duh, he was ready to go 20 minutes ago. Of course he's crabby now.

So I ask if there's someplace to nurse him real quick so I can calm him down, which I do. So we try again. And he's still not so into it. So we take a few shots and then have a wardrobe change. And he's still fussing.

I am bouncing him like a crazy woman trying to distract him from the fussiness and every time I sit him down, she tries to get in a good shot. We finally get some of him not crying and we're done.

They take me out to the computer to check out the shots and pick the ones (ha, like there was more than one with this fussy child) we liked. So I decided on the one sheet and then a black and white 8x10 of his face in closeup. We get the smiles card thingy, which basically gives us free sittings for the next two years, and the woman tells me that once I give her the OK, the photos will be sent to the printer so I need to be sure.

Fabulous. We head to the register and I hear another woman speaking to a customer about when her photos will be ready for her to pick up. And then it clicks that I CAN'T TAKE MY PICTURES HOME WITH ME TODAY.

In this day and age of technology and home photo printers and digital cameras, one would think you could just get them and go. Oh but no. I tell the woman that no one told me I would not be getting the pictures then and there and they should really tell people up front.

After they already had my money, they told me my pictures would be ready to pick up, oh, when Jack is 3 years old. Or, March 24. But that surely seems a long time away.

Lessons learned today:
1. One-month-old children will not cooperate for photo sessions.
2. Your husband will inevitably not like the pose you choose to buy.
3. When they say to be patient because they run on baby time, they lie. Not my baby's time. The baby in front of us, however, got great photos on her timeframe.
4. The second your child sees the camera, he will refuse to look pleasant or open both of his eyes at the same time.

So yes, when I look back on this experience, I realize next time I will have to plan a little better. He's just lucky I didn't make him wear the bunny ears they had on the shelf. I threatened him with it, but he was not scared.

Here are some of Jack's shots. Come on, Vogue.

One Month

Dear Jack,

Today you are one month old. I can't believe an entire month has gone by with you in our lives. I can't even remember what it was like before we had you. I know people always say that about their children, and I always thought it was a load of crap, but now I know what they meant.



You have changed my life forever. I am a mom now. I am responsible for you. I am the one who feeds you and clothes you and comforts you and tortures you with baths.

During the last month you have rolled over twice, smiled many times (but always in your sleep) and survived a 48-hour hospital stay because you were cold.

You are still sleeping in a basinette at the foot of our bed and waking up every three hours to take in a little boob. You don't really nap in your basinette, however, as we hold you when you sleep because you're too cute to put down.

You love the "Belly Button Book," "Brown Bear, Brown Bear" and "Danny and the Dinosaur" and we read them to you about 147 times a day. You also love it when we make up words to various childrens songs ("Old MacDonald had a farm, ey eye ey eye o, and on that farm he had an alligator, ey eye ey eye o..."). While I also like to sing you "The Wheels on the Bus" and make up words, Daddy likes to sing you "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" and "Zippity Do Dah." I think you like his songs better, because he has more of a range.

You are not so fond of the baths, as I mentioned before. In fact, you scream bloody murder when we immerse you in the water and act as if we are brandishing a cattle prod on your little butt. We have tried suspending you above the water, placing you in the water, covering you, uncovering you, heating the bathroom and bathing you in the kitchen. But you are having none of it. But you quiet right down once we swaddle you in your little hooded towel and look around as if to say "What was all that fuss about?"



You are beginning to not mind the diaper changes so much. You only cry about 50 percent of the times we change you now. At first, when we brought you home, the mere thought of taking your diaper off would send you into hysterics. But now, there are times you just look at the lights and don't seem to mind at all. Progress!

The nursing is getting better too. At first, you wouldn't latch on or if you did, you would fall asleep without eating. So you had to drink from a cup. You looked so cute when you lapped at the milk Daddy would feed you. Then we got you breastfeeding properly and you got the hang of things. We felt confident introducing you to a bottle during your second week and since then, you've taken pumped milk in a bottle from Daddy every night.



But you still have some issues getting the party started with the boobs. You thrash around, getting your hands in your mouth and turning your face away. Once you figure out that hey! there's a nipple in my mouth!, you make the funniest face where you screw your little features up as if to say "Nooooooooooo" and try to push yourself away, until the milk hits the back of your throat and you immediately calm down. I call it the "Jackie nursing face."

Just this week you have started placing your hands on me when you nurse. You pat me as if to say, "This is nice." I can't tell you at how endearing this little movement is. It's something you share only with me and I am secretly glad no one else will ever have that moment with you.



You have grown a whole pound since you were discharged from the hospital and you look so different in just the last month. You have thinned out in your face since you were born and I think you now look like a mix of your Daddy and me. But I still think you look a little more like me, than Daddy, especially your nose and mouth.

You are so light in my arms when I hold you, and when you are eating, I look down at you and try to burn the image into my mind forever. You will never be this little again and I know I will forget so many of the little things you do or the looks you give us or the even the way you smell right now. I want to keep you this little forever so I can protect you and keep you close to me. I want you to know how much we love you and how much joy and pride this first month has brought us.



I look at the things you do with amazement and pride. I can't even complain when you wake up at 3 a.m. because your little face is just so cute, it melts my heart and I forget how tired I am and how much I do not want to be trekking into another room to change your diaper. You look up at me with your little dark eyes with your head moving back and forth, but I when I kiss you after I pick you up, you settle right down.

Last weekend, you outgrew your green Frog sleepersack. It snapped up the front and you just got too long to snap it up anymore. It won't be the last outfit you outgrow, but it was the first. And I was a little sad when I realized how fast you are growing -- and growing up. You will never be this little again. So I am trying to remember it all. And do a good job of raising you and giving you everything you need.



Love,
Mommy

Helping hands

I wish someone had told me one of the worst things that happened to you after you give birth is that all of the moisture will be sucked out of your hands and they will look like the appendages of a witch.

My hands get washed approximately 4,279 times per day. There is not enough lotion in the world to save them. They are cracked, red, raw and sore. I have a particularily horrid patch on the inside of my middle finger on the right hand that I swear has morphed into sandpaper. I like to show it to Josh by whipping him the finger and saying, "Dude! LOOK AT MY FINGER."

That one never gets old. Am 5 years old. Ha.

I love how "they" -- you know "them," the people on all the pregnancy sites who seem to know everything -- say you should toughen your nipples up to prepare them for breastfeeding. But they should tell you to take your hands and plunge them into cold water until you can no longer feel them and then stick them directly onto a hot iron until they turn bright red and burn.

My nipples? Nowhere near as sore as my hands. And that is saying a lot.

I usually slather on some baby lotion after washing them, since I know Jack won't have any terrible reaction and break out in a hidious rash. But it's not cutting it. I even tried a little A&D diaper rash ointment, hoping that would help. Not so much.

Perhaps bathing my hands in Crisco would help? Or possibly dipping them into the animal fat they use to make McDonalds french fries?

Something has to give, because I am thinking about immersing my digits in cement and calling it a day.

But! Wait! The reason for the sahara dryness! Jack!


Baby prize fighter in training

(Thank you to Josh for fixing the FTP issue finally.)

On the road again

Today was the first day I was alone with Jack. It was also our first day back in Bloomington.

Things went relatively well.

Jack and I felt sleeping until noon every day was giving all the other babies a bad name, so we thought it only prudent to try and set a good example. Josh got up and left for work at 8 a.m. Jack and I got up at 9:15 a.m. and ate and got ready for the day and he was back asleep by 10:45.

After Josh brought the car home at lunch, we drove him to work and then ran a few errands at Target and Walmart and then stopped for a beverage at Starbucks. Thrilling.

And I am here to tell you, it is hard work running errands with a baby in a car. Up until now, I had only taken him out in our neighborhood in the stroller. And it's been super easy. But my god, the car is a whole different story.

First I get him in his snowsuit, then I buckle him in his seat, then I take the blanket and drape it over his seat and then we head to the car. I feel like I've put in a full day and we haven't even left yet.

At both stores, I put him in the big part of the cart in his seat. Which left little room for the items to actually go into the cart. So if you saw a woman at the Bloomington Target, spilling shit all over the place and knocking down displays with a wayward Diaper Genie box, I apologize. Really, I am sure you didn't want to use your left foot anyway. The cart marks on your shoe will buff right out with a little elbow grease.

By the time we got back home, I was exhausted and thinking this was not such a good idea. And then it started all over again when Josh needed to be picked up from work. This sharing a car thing was a lot easier when I could just grab the keys and run out of the house.

But Jack and I got along swimmingly. He slept most of the day, allowing me time to read blogs and drink martinis. Which is exactly how a good little child should behave. I also did laundry and made dinner. Which is exactly how a good little wife should behave.

What's that sound? Oh yeah, it's me retching in the garbage over that load of crap.

I am not sure if it really counts as making dinner anyway if all you do is cut up a rotisserie chicken and heat up some mashed potatoes and corn. But I did put it in the microwave and presented it artfully on a plate. That counts for something

Ginormous

Jack passed his one-month appointment with flying colors. Yeah, yeah -- we know he's not a month old yet, but with the travel schedule and his need for a weight check, we moved it up a little. It's not like I am writing a memoir here, so we can fudge a little on the timing. So let's call it a month, shall we? Sort of like James Frey called it "three months in prison."

Riiiight.

Jack gained a whopping 8 ounces from 10 days ago, now weighing in at a respectable 7 lbs 2 oz. Born at 6 lbs 11 oz, he dropped to 6 lbs 3 oz at his lowest and they were a wee bit concerned he had not gained his birth weight back by his two-week appointment.

So he is in the 5th percentile for weight. This child, he is skinny. But he eats what seems like ALL the time. Today, he decided eating every 90 minutes sounded about right. So instead of his usual every-three-hour routine, I felt like the boobs were on display all day long.

"Oh wait, there's a boob? Well I will have me some of that. No, really, I am full from my last snack, but what's another?"

He also is up to 21 3/4 inches long, so he's grown 1 1/2 inches since birth. That makes him the shit in height, where he ranks in the 75th percentile.

He's tall and skinny. I am worried he will have the Scottie Pippen legs. We must encourage him to work out and do calf presses. Because nothing is nastier than a man in high tops and low socks with his nasty skinny calves sprouting up from his ankles.

Jack also got a vaccination (Hepatitis B) for the first time. We declined the Hepatitis A vaccine at birth, but our pediatrician had him get this one today. Because clearly, Jack is coming into contact with other people's blood and having unsafe sex.

Why they need to vaccinate infants for this is beyond me.

So since we felt comfortable with him not infecting anyone he came into contact with, the three of us went to lunch after the appointment. It was his first outing and it was delightful. Jack behaved beautifully, making not a peep. We ate our lunches in peace while he napped in his carseat.

I will look back on this meal someday and wistfully think about the way it was, won't I?

Dwindling days

Monday, Josh goes back to work.

For the last three weeks, he has been doing a combination of taking some time off and working from home. But Sunday, the three of us head back to Bloomington. I have mixed feelings.

Part of me is a little excited. I have not been to Bloomington since Sept. 29. That's a long time to be away from Monicals. For those of you not in the know, it's just the greatest pizza place ever. I also am excited to go back to my pilates classes and for the spring weather, which is so much better away from Lake Michigan. And that about sums up what is good about Bloomington.

I am not looking forward to driving two hours each way, lugging all of our stuff up the stairs and being away from home. I got used to living in Chicago full-time when I was on bedrest. I have spent 22 weeks in this house. I have seen it go from a place with no walls to a pretty pimp setup. And now I have to leave it every week.

The alternative is staying here by myself. Because that would be fun. Me and a 1-month-old alone 24 hours a day. I think I would rather pull out my fingernails one by one.

But starting Monday, I will be alone with Jack all day. Which is a little scary. What are we possibly going to do all day? It's been nice to have Josh here the last month, because I can just give him Jack and take a shower or run out on an errand or blog uniterrupted. Not to mention, Josh has been staying up late for the 3 a.m. feeding and giving him a bottle so I can sleep.

I imagine that won't be much fun for him when he has to get up early. The last few weeks, we have all slept until noon every day. Jack gets up to eat at 6 and 9 a.m., but he goes right back to sleep. So our dirty little secret is that we get plenty of sleep. I was scared to tell the Internets for fear the sleep-deprived moms would boycott me or steal Jack because he is such a good sleeper. I was shamed.

So we commence with the Bloomington trips again. I sure hope Jack likes the car. Because that is going to be one long trip every week if he screams. It's bad enough we have the cats, who meow plaintively for some of the ride. If I have to listen to that, coupled with a crying baby, I might shoot myself.

I would post a new picture of Jack sleeping, because everyone likes an illustration, but my new laptop won't let me FTP. The hell? I have asked Josh to fix it by working his magic. It just hangs after it connects. Hopefully we can remedy that so people can get them their Jack fix.