when you think of me...
So, it seems Christmas is coming in less than six weeks. Last year at this time, we were planning how to make the pregnancy announcement. Two years ago we were planning to do it at Thanksgiving. We did, everyone was happy, excepting my brother, who hates change, and children, but all of them, not just mine. Then everything looked fine at my appointment which was right before Christmas, so I bought a my first Christmas sleeper at the after holiday clearance. Later it all went bad so last year I didn't buy anything until much farther along.

Anyway, I was looking at that sleeper tonight. Audrey will wear it, but it will make me think of her sister (I was convinced she was a girl and to me she is Ella Rose ... that will be awkward in heaven if she was actually a he...)

Then I started thinking about my grandparents, my Grandma Rose who got such a kick out of spoiling her grandkids, who drank diet Coke and ate rainbow chips deluxe and said oh my garsh. My Grandpa Jack, who would've enjoyed Patrick so much, who loved trains and Grandma Rose, who was born on the day after Christmas and maybe could have commiserated with Patrick. My Grandma Laura who was always practical yet told me how our star signs governed our relationships and who loved country music. My Grandpa Ed, who took us fishing and played ball in the side yard and followed the Steelers faithfully.

I miss them. I still have the beaters Grandpa Jack gave me when I graduated from college and the potholders from Grandma Laura. I suspect the sleeper will always be in the keep pile as well.

Holiday Photos

I am doing several holiday photo projects. To make the most of various discounts and coupons, I would like to be done sooner rather than later. The only problem with this is that I cannot get a photo of the children with Santa. So I decided I would try to take a staged holidayish shot. Here's how it went down:

	Setting up
	Patrick had gotten ahold of the camera; I asked him to give it back
	He was not playing nice.
	I finally convinced Patrick to actually consent to pose for a picture by allowing him to skip our walk if he would do so.
	I did not manage to convince him to wear clothes.

doctor

Audrey went to the doctor today for her four-month well baby visit. We have been seeing the same doctor since Patrick was born. James doesn’t necessarily care for her. I don’t think she has the best bedside manner but she has always seemed competent. But I don’t know what to make of today’s visit.

James took Audrey to her first visit, when she was four days old. I think the doctor was surprised that dad was bringing her and not mom, but as I couldn’t drive, we would have had to bring both children, and I … well, I don’t like doctors. The week or so before an appointment is scheduled, I will feel it hanging over my head with a sort of impending doom. This applies to visits for me or, it turns out, for my kids. Baby visits are particularly trying for me, because I don’t keep track of any of the things you’re supposed to. How often does she eat? For how long? How many wet diapers?  The honest answers are: whenever she wants, however long she wants, and I don’t know. I mean, I sort of know, but I also don’t always notice when she just has a wet diaper; it doesn’t really seem to bother her. I don’t really go with the intent to lie to the doctor, but it feels a little dishonest nonetheless.

Anyway, at her first visit, she was fine. Bring her back in two months, they said. At her two-month visit, OMG THE HORROR SHE HAS NOT GAINED WEIGHT APPROPRIATELY. She was fine. The doctor was flipping out. But it could have been worse, I have to give the doctor credit. She didn’t suggest supplementing with formula, she just wanted to see her again in a month. One month later, and three months, Audrey still had not gained weight appropriately. She had only gained a pound. The doctor put her on baby Zantac for acid reflux. She said maybe at her next visit we could discuss starting cereal.

“I’d heard you were supposed to wait until six months,” I said.

“Oh, there’s not any evidence that it matters if you wait until six months,” she said. “You can introduce cereal at four months.”

So today, Audrey has gained … one pound. The doctor is thrilled. “I’m not concerned at all anymore,” she said. “Everything looks perfect.” Um, okay.

I mentioned I gave Audrey some baby oatmeal last night.

“Now, you know, you should wait until six months,” she said. “There is an increased risk of allergies if you give before six months. You need to start with a single grain cereal, like rice.”

The oatmeal said on the package that it was single grain oatmeal. So I said as much.

“Oh but it’s not,” she said. “It’s multi-grain.”

Well, whatever. Then she asked if we’d had flu shots. Audrey is not eligible so the rest of us MUST DO SO IMMEDIATELY.

I told her we haven’t. I have gotten them at a work clinic before, but since I didn’t go back to work … I didn’t get a shot. Patrick’s never had one. I am undecided how I feel about flu shots. But! I had seen a flyer when I checked in that said there was a flu shot clinic tonight. So I asked her about it.

“Oh there might be,” she said. “I’m always the last to know about these things.”

So. I am not exactly overwhelmed by confidence that this woman has any idea what she’s talking about. Argh.

 

I don't know if I have writer's block (never have, before) or if I am just in a Funk. I do know that I am in a Funk. Maybe it is only that, and it unfortunately has conicided with NaBloPoMo. I don't know what has caused said Funk. Everything was fine, I was enjoying my glamourous adventures as a stay-at-home-mom, I had given up dairy in an effort to make Audrey less fussy and as a side benefit had lost weight so I was fitting into my 'goal' jeans -- the ones I had just bought when I met James lo these five years ago.

And then Audrey got baby Zantac and I figured oh what the hell, I miss my damn lattes and baking with butter, so I started easing some dairy back in, stopped with the weight loss and next thing you know ... Funky. Now that I have written that, it would appear that dairy is the culprit, but I don't think it is.

I am in a bit of a conflicted mood about the holidays. I love Christmas. I love buying things for people and I freely admit I love getting gifts. But the problem is, people are HARD to buy for, so then I get stressed, and this year especially, with the glamourous SAHM-ness, we have to budget carefully for the gifts, and Patrick has not yet mastered the art of being grateful and I really am not looking forward to miserable crying Patrick on Christmas morning because we got the wrong train. THEN we are going to Disney World in January, which, YAY!, but then I start to think about flying (which now frightens me) and then Disney with a six-month-old?

And THEN I think, OMG, am I totally screwing this whole childrearing thing up? Patrick watches cartoons all the time because I am forever feeding Audrey, and maybe I should get her on a schedule and she shouldn't need to be touching me all 24 hours of the day to avoid the screaming, right?

So clearly I just need to live in the moment and maybe try my hand at being grateful because we are pretty damn lucky. 

Token Entry

It occurs to me that having two children is exponentially harder on marriage than laundry than one child. It is not like it just doubles. It's like four times worse.

And I have nothing else to say. This NaBloPoMo is not helping me out.

Sigh. 

Snippet

I met my mom at Panera the other day for lunch. It was a brisk 44 degrees (unlike the 74 today), perfect for soup. Apparently everyone within driving distance thought so too because the line was backed up to the door at 11:45 a.m. Now, I do not get out much these days; too much hassle. So Panera is a bit of a treat. I have always loved their orange scones, and their decadent coffee drinks are quite good but oh how I wish they had never started posting calorie content. Anyway, I should have just ordered my scone and coffee when I finally reached the front of the line, but I did not.

Surely the line will die down, I thought. If I order the coffee now, it will be lukewarm when I actually drink it, I thought. In reality, after about an hour when we had finished our lunch, Patrick was whining, Audrey was screaming, and the line was still stretche twice around itself and out the door.

Sigh.

So I went to the McDonald's drive-through for a peppermint mocha. The girl at the window had rather exuberantly applied neon green eye make-up. As I was paying, Patrick piped up helpfully from the backseat: "Mommy! Why does that girl have nail polish on her eyes?!" 

Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah

I think if nothing else NaBloPoMo has showed that when I go for quantity, I sacrifice quality. I like to think I'm a fairly decent writer, and I generally enjoy going back and reading previous posts. But this, this just feels like a chore, which is okay; it doesn't take that long, but it's something to check off. I don't know. I don't think this is super beneficial. I'll keep it up though.

Some people are clearly much better than I. They have a funny story each day. I am not sure I could even spin those, but I generally have no time, as Audrey is High Maintenance. As you may have gathered from my random thoughts yesterday. She's sleeping right now, not on me. I still can't think of anything good to write.

I need to do an update, I guess. I will try to do that next Tuesday, which is her official 4-month doctor's appointment. I seriously have nothing to say right now. My brain is just going 'blah blah blah blah blah.'

Sigh.

Deuces. 

A little while after Audrey was born, I joined a breastfeeding support group on Facebook. People would post questions, not all breastfeeding related. One that kept recurring went something like this: "My child screams whenever I put him down and doesn't sleep. Help." And invariably, the answers would be: (1) babywearing and (2) bed sharing.

I do not think these answers are particularly helpful. I mean they help you get by but they don't provide a solution. I eventually un-joined because you could predict every answer. So, supportive, yes. Helpful? Not really.

Patrick was in his crib starting at 2 months, waking once. He started on formula when I went back to work when he was 13 weeks old. He wore disposable diapers.

Audrey has not spent an entire night in her crib yet. We bed share. She has had maybe 2 oz of formula, ever. She wears cloth diapers.

I don't know where this is going. I think it is that I am wondering if I am doing the right thing. Blah blah blah whine boringcakes. I will try to form cohrerent thoughts later.

 

Picture Page

Totally not feeling it tonight. Here was Halloween:

Here is Patrick getting his tee ball medal:

...

Eek

We have a mouse in our house. Specifically, in Patrick's room. I opened his underwear drawer and it scurried across. I screamed. Then left the room. Saw it again later as it ran across the room when we were playing trains.

We have a cat. Clearly the cat is useless.

Patrick named the mouse Mickey. (We are planning a Disney trip for January.) He determined it was a baby boy mouse and said he didn't mind (well actually he SAYS "I mind if..." but he MEANS "I don't mind if...") if the mouse lived in his bedroom because the woods might be scary and there might be bears and he might miss his family. Then he said the cat could be the mouse's mommy.

So. Adorable.

But. Traps have been purchased and set.