I am in the process of night weaning Gwen. Again. I night weaned her in January and it went swimmingly. She was sleeping better and longer at night. But it all changed at the end of February when Gwen was admitted to the hospital for a week. She exited the hospital physically healthy, but as a paranoid, emotional wreck. It was an understandable change in disposition. All she knew was that people randomly came into her room and hurt her (starting IVs, giving injections,etc). So when she came home she decided to sleep with one eye open. And every 30-60 minutes she would open both eyes and cry just in case someone was trying to sneak in and do a procedure. I did what I had to do to get us through that time, and I started feeding her at night again.
After a few weeks, her sleep stretches started lengthening once again. We moved her from her crib (which we were never able to get her to sleep in after her hospitalization) to a queen sized mattress on the floor of her room. She can sleep by herself without fear of harm from falling from a bed, or one of us can sleep with her. As it is, I have been sleeping with her. I began night weaning yet again and would not feed her before 5 am. We were doing well with this, until she ended up in the emergency room last Wednesday night for dehydration secondary to vomiting and diarrhea. The ER docs put her on zofran and we took her home with instructions to get her to drink as much as possible. Since she refused all fluids but breast milk this meant that I was once again feeding her at all hours if the night.
By the weekend she seemed rehydrated, so on Saturday night I decided that it was time, yet again, to night wean her. Things were going great until 1 am at which point she woke up crying and signing for milk (Gwen does baby signs and her favorite sign, that she does most often and that even appears now to be a nervous tick, is milk). In the past when I have night weaned her I would either pretend to be asleep or would rub her back until she would fall back asleep. This, historically, has only taken about 5 minutes each waking. Little did I know that miss Gwen was getting her molars and with that had developed a new level of determination in regards to getting her milk. So for the next 4 hours she tried everything her 16 month old mind could think of to get milk. She first laid next to me and cried. Then she signed for milk. Then she tried sitting up and screaming while continuing to sign for milk. When that didn't work, she crawled over top of my body and cried on my other side because maybe I would hear better from my other ear. Still, no response. I had tried between 1 and 2 am to rub her back, but it seemed to anger her more, so I decided it was best to keep my eyes shut and pretend to sleep. When all other attempts to receive milk had failed, Gwen came up with a brilliant way to communicate to mommy, who of course couldn't see her signing for milk as mommy had her eyes closed, that she absolutely positively needed milk at that moment. She took a page out of the Anne Sullivan/Helen Keller play book and did the sign for milk on my cheek because she thought that it wasn't that I was ignoring her plea for milk, but that I couldn't see that she wanted milk and if she did her sign against my skin and I could feel that she wanted milk then she would finally reach her goal. While she demonstrated great ingenuity, she did not get milk until 5 am.
Last night she was awake for 2 hours, once again signing for milk against my cheek, and did not get milk until 6 am. Keith will be taking over the night weaning shift on Wednesday night and I wonder if she will try her new trick of signing on his cheek that she needs mommy for milk.
Monday, April 15, 2013
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Gwen and the gate
I had a bad morning. When I woke up I thought it was going to be a good morning. Gwen had slept in until 6:15. Simba didn't stir until Gwen woke. So I got to "sleep in." But that was the high point.
I decided to check my email a little while after waking and found a cell phone bill. I just got my own cell phone, separate from my dad's plan, last month. After quite a bit of shopping I bought an iPhone 4 for $0.99, and chose a plan with 1 GB of data for $85 a month. I wasn't sure if 1 GB would be adequate for my needs, but I was hesitant to purchase a more expensive plan. When I signed in to my account I found a bill for $212. Yikes. I knew there was an overage charge of $15 per GB, but I didn't think I could have possibly used an extra 8GB of data. I called AT&T and spoke with a helpful customer service representative. The good news was that I had only used 445 megabytes of data. Way to go, me!!! The bad news was that my bill was, in fact, $212. Apparently cell phone plans are more complicated than I originally anticipated. I had an activation fee, a prorated bill for October, a bill for November, taxes, fees from the FCC, and a $1 911 fee. While my bills will be higher than I thought, when I subtract the extra month and activation fee, it will only be $105 a month. *sigh of relief*
As I was making this panicked phone call, I was on Keith's computer in his office and Gwen was playing on the floor next to me. I was trying to entertain her as well as possible given the brain power I was directing towards my phone bill and customer service. Gwen was pulling her toys off of the bookcase shelves and using her newly acquired toddling skills. As I was finishing my phone call, Gwen was playing in the doorway. She took a right down the hall. The only thing to the right was the staircase.
The stairs are about 6 inches from the doorway of Keith's office. I have a system to ensure that I close the gate and remembered closing it (I do a mental check each time we are upstairs and she wanders out of my line of sight) so I wasn't worried about finishing what I was doing before retrieving her. About 20 seconds after she left the office I followed her. My heart stopped. She had opened the gate and had one leg swung over the edge to go down the steps (note: she doesn't know how to go down steps without falling). When I swooped down to pick her up she was working on swinging her second leg over the edge.
When she was safely in my arms I closed the gate. Then I nearly vomited. Then I cried. Then I thought about what would have happened had I waited 5 more seconds to get her. Then I wanted to vomit again. She doesn't know how to go down the steps and was wearing her most slippery pair of footed pajamas on hardwood.
How did Gwen, an 11 month old, open the gate? While I, like all moms, believe my child is smart, I believe that opening gates is beyond her current abilities. She has been working diligently for the last few weeks on trying to figure the gate out, however. She stands at the gate and tries shaking each bar. With this method she determined which part of the gate is mobile and which part is immobile based on sound she is able to make at certain bars. Even with that knowledge I didn't think she could open it. After I calmed down and made a freaked out phone call to one of my friends to decompress a bit I got onto the floor to investigate the conditions that Gwen faced. Within a few seconds I figured out how she had accomplished this dangerous feat.
When Keith and his dad installed the gate, his dad commented that it was a piece of junk. I had done my research for weeks and knew it was one of the best gates on the market, so I brushed his comment aside. The reason he believed the gate to be junk is that it comes out of the box with a gap between the side of the gate and the door in the gate. If you install it correctly the gap disappears and all of the safety features are active. Keith and his dad installed the gate, but given the fact that our home is 70 years old and that the walls are nowhere near to being square, one of the safety features was not engaged. When the gate works properly, you have to slide a switch back with your thumb while lifting and pulling back. I have seen many adults struggle with coordinating these movements, so I was pretty confident that infants and toddlers would not be able to open it. However, the thumb latch was not blocking the gate from opening due to our non-square walls. All you had to do was lift and pull. You still had to put forth a decent amount of effort so I still believed it to be safe. I even called my friend Jessica after this incident and discovered that they have the same gate with the same fit problem and she had made the same assumptions about her daughter's abilities. (She is going to fiddle with their gate when she gets home tonight). When I got on the floor and pretended to be a determined, curious 11 month old, I was able to open the gate way too easily.
In all fairness to my parenting safety, I keep a close eye on Gwen. But when you are with a child that much you sometimes do things that take your eyes off of them for a few seconds at a time. And it seems it is those few seconds that children decide to get into shenanigans. Dangerous situations happen much more often when Gwen is under my watch than Keith's, but then again I am responsible for watching her 95% of the time and Keith watches her 5% of the time (because he is usually being a wonderful breadwinner which allows me to stay home with our daughter and put her in dangerous situations...in case my sense of humor is currently a bit too dark, that was a joke). Plus, I read an article last week that 50% of moms lie about how many sweets their child eats and how much screen time they get. I doubt these mothers would admit what I admitted in such a public way in this post. So while I sometimes worry that I practice irresponsible parenting, I know these things happen to everyone.
This whole experience changed my day in a few ways. First, I have been shopping both in stores and online all day to purchase a new gate, carpeting for the stairs, and other child safety items. Second, I have been evaluating my child's problem solving capabilities realizing that I have, perhaps, underestimated her. Third, I have been contemplating how precious and precarious life can be, how much I love my daughter, and how devestated I would be if anything ever happened to her. I will be spending the rest of my day giving her extra cuddles and hugging her extra tight.
I decided to check my email a little while after waking and found a cell phone bill. I just got my own cell phone, separate from my dad's plan, last month. After quite a bit of shopping I bought an iPhone 4 for $0.99, and chose a plan with 1 GB of data for $85 a month. I wasn't sure if 1 GB would be adequate for my needs, but I was hesitant to purchase a more expensive plan. When I signed in to my account I found a bill for $212. Yikes. I knew there was an overage charge of $15 per GB, but I didn't think I could have possibly used an extra 8GB of data. I called AT&T and spoke with a helpful customer service representative. The good news was that I had only used 445 megabytes of data. Way to go, me!!! The bad news was that my bill was, in fact, $212. Apparently cell phone plans are more complicated than I originally anticipated. I had an activation fee, a prorated bill for October, a bill for November, taxes, fees from the FCC, and a $1 911 fee. While my bills will be higher than I thought, when I subtract the extra month and activation fee, it will only be $105 a month. *sigh of relief*
As I was making this panicked phone call, I was on Keith's computer in his office and Gwen was playing on the floor next to me. I was trying to entertain her as well as possible given the brain power I was directing towards my phone bill and customer service. Gwen was pulling her toys off of the bookcase shelves and using her newly acquired toddling skills. As I was finishing my phone call, Gwen was playing in the doorway. She took a right down the hall. The only thing to the right was the staircase.
The stairs are about 6 inches from the doorway of Keith's office. I have a system to ensure that I close the gate and remembered closing it (I do a mental check each time we are upstairs and she wanders out of my line of sight) so I wasn't worried about finishing what I was doing before retrieving her. About 20 seconds after she left the office I followed her. My heart stopped. She had opened the gate and had one leg swung over the edge to go down the steps (note: she doesn't know how to go down steps without falling). When I swooped down to pick her up she was working on swinging her second leg over the edge.
When she was safely in my arms I closed the gate. Then I nearly vomited. Then I cried. Then I thought about what would have happened had I waited 5 more seconds to get her. Then I wanted to vomit again. She doesn't know how to go down the steps and was wearing her most slippery pair of footed pajamas on hardwood.
How did Gwen, an 11 month old, open the gate? While I, like all moms, believe my child is smart, I believe that opening gates is beyond her current abilities. She has been working diligently for the last few weeks on trying to figure the gate out, however. She stands at the gate and tries shaking each bar. With this method she determined which part of the gate is mobile and which part is immobile based on sound she is able to make at certain bars. Even with that knowledge I didn't think she could open it. After I calmed down and made a freaked out phone call to one of my friends to decompress a bit I got onto the floor to investigate the conditions that Gwen faced. Within a few seconds I figured out how she had accomplished this dangerous feat.
When Keith and his dad installed the gate, his dad commented that it was a piece of junk. I had done my research for weeks and knew it was one of the best gates on the market, so I brushed his comment aside. The reason he believed the gate to be junk is that it comes out of the box with a gap between the side of the gate and the door in the gate. If you install it correctly the gap disappears and all of the safety features are active. Keith and his dad installed the gate, but given the fact that our home is 70 years old and that the walls are nowhere near to being square, one of the safety features was not engaged. When the gate works properly, you have to slide a switch back with your thumb while lifting and pulling back. I have seen many adults struggle with coordinating these movements, so I was pretty confident that infants and toddlers would not be able to open it. However, the thumb latch was not blocking the gate from opening due to our non-square walls. All you had to do was lift and pull. You still had to put forth a decent amount of effort so I still believed it to be safe. I even called my friend Jessica after this incident and discovered that they have the same gate with the same fit problem and she had made the same assumptions about her daughter's abilities. (She is going to fiddle with their gate when she gets home tonight). When I got on the floor and pretended to be a determined, curious 11 month old, I was able to open the gate way too easily.
In all fairness to my parenting safety, I keep a close eye on Gwen. But when you are with a child that much you sometimes do things that take your eyes off of them for a few seconds at a time. And it seems it is those few seconds that children decide to get into shenanigans. Dangerous situations happen much more often when Gwen is under my watch than Keith's, but then again I am responsible for watching her 95% of the time and Keith watches her 5% of the time (because he is usually being a wonderful breadwinner which allows me to stay home with our daughter and put her in dangerous situations...in case my sense of humor is currently a bit too dark, that was a joke). Plus, I read an article last week that 50% of moms lie about how many sweets their child eats and how much screen time they get. I doubt these mothers would admit what I admitted in such a public way in this post. So while I sometimes worry that I practice irresponsible parenting, I know these things happen to everyone.
This whole experience changed my day in a few ways. First, I have been shopping both in stores and online all day to purchase a new gate, carpeting for the stairs, and other child safety items. Second, I have been evaluating my child's problem solving capabilities realizing that I have, perhaps, underestimated her. Third, I have been contemplating how precious and precarious life can be, how much I love my daughter, and how devestated I would be if anything ever happened to her. I will be spending the rest of my day giving her extra cuddles and hugging her extra tight.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Pumping problems
When Gwen was first born and until she was 5 months old, I had an over active milk letdown. While this meant that she would often choke once every 30-60 seconds each time she ate and she learned to gulp her milk to keep up with the flow, it also meant that I was able to fill a bottle when pumping in 3 minutes flat. Sometimes I would fill a bottle before the letdown phase on my pump ended (2 minutes). I called a lactation consultant for solutions to Gwen choking while eating. She asked me how quickly the milk came out when I pumped. When I told her that I was able to get 5 ounces in about 2 minutes and she responded with "whoa!" I knew I had a bit of a feeding problem.
Right around the time that Gwen turned 6 months old my letdown slowed down. Thankfully my little monster stopped choking while eating. Unfortunately, she had grown accustomed to the quick speed of milk consumption and had partially corrected for it. When the milk slowed, Gwen was not a happy camper. She wanted her milk and she wanted it NOW!!!! My once frantic eater now had to wait patiently, a fact that did not make her happy. With each feeding, she would turn into a grunting, growling milk-eating monster until her thirst was slated. My mother-in-law, a former pediatric nurse, said she had never heard any baby react that way to breast feeding.
When my milk slowed I also noticed drastic changes in pumping. What once took 2 minutes was now taking 20. But Gwen didn't need bottles as much anymore so I eventually took a 3 month break from pumping, hoping that I wouldn't have to return to it until baby number 2.
After a few months, we had to put Gwen back on Zantac. This meant two bottles a day. I also was giving her Tylenol and Motrin with increased frequency due to pain from teething and diaper rash. Around the same time, Gwen also suffered from 2 ear infections requiring 2 antibiotics. The antibiotics gave her diarrhea, resulting in a need for her to take probiotics. All this meant that she needed quite a bit of expressed milk since she spits out medicine that we give her by syringe or dropper.
I am very thrifty with milk in bottles. I don't want to put her medicine in several ounces of milk because then you run into the problem of baby not finishing her dose of medicine. So I put all of her milk in 2 ounce portions to freeze and thaw one bag a day. Each time I give her a dose of medicine I give it in one ounce (about 30 ml) of milk. On a regular basis this results in a 32 ml bottle: 30 ml of milk and 2 ml of Zantac. This week she has been receiving a cocktail of medications: 3.5 ml augmentin, 4.25 ml Tylenol, 4.25 ml Motrin (note: if your baby is in serious pain, as Gwen currently is with her diaper rash, you can give both Tylenol and Motrin. Tylenol is metabolized by the liver and Motrin is metabolized by the kidneys. I only do this occasionally as I try to avoid giving Gwen unneeded medication. However, when she is suffering as she has been this week, I will give both at the same time), 2 ml Zantac, and 1 packet (250 mg) of Florastor Kids probiotics. If you do the math you will see that she is taking 15 ml of medication in 30 ml of milk. She has not been happy about the taste of her last few bottles. She will drink them, but it usually takes some coaxing, especially since florastor is yeast and so her bottle smells liked warm yeast.
Even though I am thrifty with my milk, I would go through it all in about 2 months if I stopped pumping completely. Gwen might need to be on Zantac for several more months, and I want to keep a small stockpile in case of babysitters, so I continue pumping.
Gwen, always the one with a strong opinion that she makes known, has taken to standing next to my chair, clawing at my leg, and crying bitterly each time I pump. She can be the happiest baby in the world, playing nicely on the floor just after eating, and she will abandon everything in order to protest my pumping. I've calmly explained that this is where all that milk comes from that she eats in her bottles, but this logic does not appease her. While Keith was home on vacation last week, I would have him play with her while I pumped. But she managed to weasel out of whatever game they were playing, crawl to mommy, and sob as her precious was pumped into a bottle. I don't know if she hates the fact that I am unable to play with her at that moment (a fact that was not important to her mere moments before as she played alone or with daddy) or if she is upset that I am stealing her milk. Since she was not daunted in her mission to complain by Keith's distractions, I am going to assume it is the latter. As you can imagine this is a little stressful, thus slowing milk collection even more.
Despite all of these problems, there is something that is addicting to me with pumping. It is a bit of a game: how much more milk can I pump each day than I use? How much can I stockpile? I just feel so accomplished each time that I am able to fill a bottle. I guess this is a better addiction than betting on the ponies.
Right around the time that Gwen turned 6 months old my letdown slowed down. Thankfully my little monster stopped choking while eating. Unfortunately, she had grown accustomed to the quick speed of milk consumption and had partially corrected for it. When the milk slowed, Gwen was not a happy camper. She wanted her milk and she wanted it NOW!!!! My once frantic eater now had to wait patiently, a fact that did not make her happy. With each feeding, she would turn into a grunting, growling milk-eating monster until her thirst was slated. My mother-in-law, a former pediatric nurse, said she had never heard any baby react that way to breast feeding.
When my milk slowed I also noticed drastic changes in pumping. What once took 2 minutes was now taking 20. But Gwen didn't need bottles as much anymore so I eventually took a 3 month break from pumping, hoping that I wouldn't have to return to it until baby number 2.
After a few months, we had to put Gwen back on Zantac. This meant two bottles a day. I also was giving her Tylenol and Motrin with increased frequency due to pain from teething and diaper rash. Around the same time, Gwen also suffered from 2 ear infections requiring 2 antibiotics. The antibiotics gave her diarrhea, resulting in a need for her to take probiotics. All this meant that she needed quite a bit of expressed milk since she spits out medicine that we give her by syringe or dropper.
I am very thrifty with milk in bottles. I don't want to put her medicine in several ounces of milk because then you run into the problem of baby not finishing her dose of medicine. So I put all of her milk in 2 ounce portions to freeze and thaw one bag a day. Each time I give her a dose of medicine I give it in one ounce (about 30 ml) of milk. On a regular basis this results in a 32 ml bottle: 30 ml of milk and 2 ml of Zantac. This week she has been receiving a cocktail of medications: 3.5 ml augmentin, 4.25 ml Tylenol, 4.25 ml Motrin (note: if your baby is in serious pain, as Gwen currently is with her diaper rash, you can give both Tylenol and Motrin. Tylenol is metabolized by the liver and Motrin is metabolized by the kidneys. I only do this occasionally as I try to avoid giving Gwen unneeded medication. However, when she is suffering as she has been this week, I will give both at the same time), 2 ml Zantac, and 1 packet (250 mg) of Florastor Kids probiotics. If you do the math you will see that she is taking 15 ml of medication in 30 ml of milk. She has not been happy about the taste of her last few bottles. She will drink them, but it usually takes some coaxing, especially since florastor is yeast and so her bottle smells liked warm yeast.
Even though I am thrifty with my milk, I would go through it all in about 2 months if I stopped pumping completely. Gwen might need to be on Zantac for several more months, and I want to keep a small stockpile in case of babysitters, so I continue pumping.
Gwen, always the one with a strong opinion that she makes known, has taken to standing next to my chair, clawing at my leg, and crying bitterly each time I pump. She can be the happiest baby in the world, playing nicely on the floor just after eating, and she will abandon everything in order to protest my pumping. I've calmly explained that this is where all that milk comes from that she eats in her bottles, but this logic does not appease her. While Keith was home on vacation last week, I would have him play with her while I pumped. But she managed to weasel out of whatever game they were playing, crawl to mommy, and sob as her precious was pumped into a bottle. I don't know if she hates the fact that I am unable to play with her at that moment (a fact that was not important to her mere moments before as she played alone or with daddy) or if she is upset that I am stealing her milk. Since she was not daunted in her mission to complain by Keith's distractions, I am going to assume it is the latter. As you can imagine this is a little stressful, thus slowing milk collection even more.
Despite all of these problems, there is something that is addicting to me with pumping. It is a bit of a game: how much more milk can I pump each day than I use? How much can I stockpile? I just feel so accomplished each time that I am able to fill a bottle. I guess this is a better addiction than betting on the ponies.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
The Babe Who Cried Wolf (or just plain cried)
Once upon a time, there was a little baby girl named Gwen. She would cry day and night. If she bumped her head, she cried. If she was hungry, she cried. If she had a dirty diaper, she cried. And these reasons for crying were all well and good. But sometimes she would cry for lesser reasons. In fact, she would cry about things that were not worthy of being cried over. She would cry if she wanted to play in the refrigerator and mommy closed the refrigerator door. She would cry if her poodle licked her in the face, even if it had made her laugh just seconds before. She would cry if her mommy set her down so she could use the bathroom. She would cry all of the time. And little Gwen wanted to make sure that all the people around her knew just how upset she was. So she would cry loudly. And she would cry long. Tears would stream down her face. And she would get laryngitis. She was driving her mommy crazy.
Gwen's mommy had taken her to see the doctor many times. She would have felt absolutely awful if Gwen's crying were due to an unnoticed sickness, so on days where Gwen seemed especially crabby, mommy would call up the doctor for a sick appointment. The doctor started to think Gwen's mom was absolutely crazy. Gwen's mommy even took her to the urgent care twice because she was worried about undiagnosed ear infections and UTIs. But the tests always came back negative and Gwen and her mommy were always sent home with the same message: "Sometimes babies are just extra cranky." And boy, was Gwen cranky.
Right before Gwen got her first tooth, Gwen's mommy took her to the doctor again. She was pretty sure that this was teething crankiness, but the only way to be sure was with a trip to the pediatrician. The doctor did a full examination to discover that there was absolutely nothing wrong with little Gwen. She didn't even have any teeth that were ready to pop through. 9 days later, however, she did get her first tooth, so her mommy gave her the benefit of the doubt.
Over the next 7 days she stayed as cranky and irritable as ever. She woke her mommy up at least 5 times a night and woke her up to start the day at 4:30 every day. Gwen's mommy was used to this behavior, however, and took things in stride. But then Gwen had her regular check-up at the doctor's office. When the doctor looked in her ear she said, "Oh! She has an ear infection! Has she been pulling on her ears or crankier than usual?" The answer was no. She had been her usual level of crankiness.
So what is the moral of the story? If you are always cranky and show no other symptoms of illness, mommy has no way to know if you are sick.
Gwen's mommy had taken her to see the doctor many times. She would have felt absolutely awful if Gwen's crying were due to an unnoticed sickness, so on days where Gwen seemed especially crabby, mommy would call up the doctor for a sick appointment. The doctor started to think Gwen's mom was absolutely crazy. Gwen's mommy even took her to the urgent care twice because she was worried about undiagnosed ear infections and UTIs. But the tests always came back negative and Gwen and her mommy were always sent home with the same message: "Sometimes babies are just extra cranky." And boy, was Gwen cranky.
Right before Gwen got her first tooth, Gwen's mommy took her to the doctor again. She was pretty sure that this was teething crankiness, but the only way to be sure was with a trip to the pediatrician. The doctor did a full examination to discover that there was absolutely nothing wrong with little Gwen. She didn't even have any teeth that were ready to pop through. 9 days later, however, she did get her first tooth, so her mommy gave her the benefit of the doubt.
Over the next 7 days she stayed as cranky and irritable as ever. She woke her mommy up at least 5 times a night and woke her up to start the day at 4:30 every day. Gwen's mommy was used to this behavior, however, and took things in stride. But then Gwen had her regular check-up at the doctor's office. When the doctor looked in her ear she said, "Oh! She has an ear infection! Has she been pulling on her ears or crankier than usual?" The answer was no. She had been her usual level of crankiness.
So what is the moral of the story? If you are always cranky and show no other symptoms of illness, mommy has no way to know if you are sick.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Sleeping With The Enemy
Okay, so Gwen is not exactly my enemy. But she is an enemy to sleep. I don't know why she hates sleep so much. She tends to be a much happier baby when she gets adequate sleep. But she fights it with all her might.
An example: She was sick on Saturday night. She rolled back and forth crying almost the entire night. I gave her Tylenol because she had a fever, and we were able to grab a few hours of sleep. But most of the night was spent in misery. But on Sunday something magical happened. First, Gwen took a 3 hour nap. Then, later in the day, Gwen took a 2 hour nap. That's 5 hours of naps (Note: it's not as simple as it sounds. The only way she was willing to nap was if I laid down with her and fed her every 45 minutes while she slept; otherwise she would only sleep about 30-45 minutes total and would wake up from her nap a little monster). It was amazing. But she didn't wake up from her last nap until 5:30 and she generally melts down if we try to put her to bed 1 minute past 7. So I had planned on putting her to bed at her normal bedtime (she has, in the past, woken up from her second nap at 6 and gone to bed at 7). But she seemed happy, and she wasn't rubbing her eyes, so I thought I would just wait it out. She didn't start giving tired signals until 7:30 and didn't fall asleep until 8. I was hoping this would translate into a wake-up time of 5:30 or 6, since she had gone to sleep an hour later (normal wake-up is at about 4:30), but she woke up at 5. After about 40 minutes of continual nursing and laying her back down every time she tried to stand up I got her to go back to sleep...for 35 minutes. Not exactly a victory. 3 hours later she took an hour and fifteen minute nap. I thought I would try for nap 2 at 3pm, but she wasn't tired yet. I knew she needed another nap if she was going to make it until 8 pm again, but I don't think she had any intention of making it until 8. At 5pm she decided it was time for what I thought was nap number 2. But, alas, it was not. Apparently Gwen was under the impression that she was going to bed for the night. She is only 10 months old but is determined to drop her second nap and to only take 1 nap a day. Most babies don't do this until about 15 months. I think she just wants to knock her sleep out in as few sittings as possible. I thought she was taking her second nap, so after 2 hours I woke her up. It was 7pm. She screamed the rest of the evening until I put her in bed at 8:30. And then she was awake at 5:00. And then she spent the entire morning in a horrible mood. So maybe I should have let her sleep straight through from 5 pm. My only fear is that our new wake-up time will be 2am instead of 4:30, but if she tries that tonight I am going to risk it because it can't go much worse than it did this morning (and Keith will be home from his conference tonight and has agreed to wake up when she does tomorrow, so I get to sleep in anyway).
All this to say, I'm tired. So if I drop the ball on something, please forgive me. If I seem cranky or cynical or like I am complaining quite a bit in this little online world or in person, I probably am. I know that all babies are enemies of sleep (with a few notable exceptions, and if you have been blessed with one of those exceptions be thankful, but understand that while I am happy for you I am also secretly a little jealous), and I don't want to diminish anyone else's experience (I am aware that I have a healthy baby and some people don't, and for her health I am thankful, and that is not what I am talking about here). But, from what I understand, Gwen is a baby in her own stratosphere. My mother-in-law, a former pediatric nurse, told me she has never met such a cranky baby who hates sleep quite this much. I'm glad that I get this feedback from time to time because, Gwen being our first, we don't know if this is what people meant when they said, "babies are hard," or if Gwen really is harder than most babies. Because if all babies are this hard, maybe we don't want to have any more (maybe this is Gwen's master plan to be an only child so she never has to share her toys or her ice cream).
I will close with a recent conversation that we had with a soon-to-be father. People were telling him what to expect when the baby was born. As we had the youngest baby of anyone at the table, naturally, he turned to us for the most recent experience with an infant. We told him about Gwen's sleep and crying habits, and he appeared to pale and break out in a cold sweat. Keith backtracked, so as not to panic the father-to-be, and said, "But don't worry too much. Gwen is pretty much the worst example of a baby, ever." That seemed to make him feel better. And while I wish she were easier, we manage. I think any parent rises to whatever challenges their baby presents them.
An example: She was sick on Saturday night. She rolled back and forth crying almost the entire night. I gave her Tylenol because she had a fever, and we were able to grab a few hours of sleep. But most of the night was spent in misery. But on Sunday something magical happened. First, Gwen took a 3 hour nap. Then, later in the day, Gwen took a 2 hour nap. That's 5 hours of naps (Note: it's not as simple as it sounds. The only way she was willing to nap was if I laid down with her and fed her every 45 minutes while she slept; otherwise she would only sleep about 30-45 minutes total and would wake up from her nap a little monster). It was amazing. But she didn't wake up from her last nap until 5:30 and she generally melts down if we try to put her to bed 1 minute past 7. So I had planned on putting her to bed at her normal bedtime (she has, in the past, woken up from her second nap at 6 and gone to bed at 7). But she seemed happy, and she wasn't rubbing her eyes, so I thought I would just wait it out. She didn't start giving tired signals until 7:30 and didn't fall asleep until 8. I was hoping this would translate into a wake-up time of 5:30 or 6, since she had gone to sleep an hour later (normal wake-up is at about 4:30), but she woke up at 5. After about 40 minutes of continual nursing and laying her back down every time she tried to stand up I got her to go back to sleep...for 35 minutes. Not exactly a victory. 3 hours later she took an hour and fifteen minute nap. I thought I would try for nap 2 at 3pm, but she wasn't tired yet. I knew she needed another nap if she was going to make it until 8 pm again, but I don't think she had any intention of making it until 8. At 5pm she decided it was time for what I thought was nap number 2. But, alas, it was not. Apparently Gwen was under the impression that she was going to bed for the night. She is only 10 months old but is determined to drop her second nap and to only take 1 nap a day. Most babies don't do this until about 15 months. I think she just wants to knock her sleep out in as few sittings as possible. I thought she was taking her second nap, so after 2 hours I woke her up. It was 7pm. She screamed the rest of the evening until I put her in bed at 8:30. And then she was awake at 5:00. And then she spent the entire morning in a horrible mood. So maybe I should have let her sleep straight through from 5 pm. My only fear is that our new wake-up time will be 2am instead of 4:30, but if she tries that tonight I am going to risk it because it can't go much worse than it did this morning (and Keith will be home from his conference tonight and has agreed to wake up when she does tomorrow, so I get to sleep in anyway).
All this to say, I'm tired. So if I drop the ball on something, please forgive me. If I seem cranky or cynical or like I am complaining quite a bit in this little online world or in person, I probably am. I know that all babies are enemies of sleep (with a few notable exceptions, and if you have been blessed with one of those exceptions be thankful, but understand that while I am happy for you I am also secretly a little jealous), and I don't want to diminish anyone else's experience (I am aware that I have a healthy baby and some people don't, and for her health I am thankful, and that is not what I am talking about here). But, from what I understand, Gwen is a baby in her own stratosphere. My mother-in-law, a former pediatric nurse, told me she has never met such a cranky baby who hates sleep quite this much. I'm glad that I get this feedback from time to time because, Gwen being our first, we don't know if this is what people meant when they said, "babies are hard," or if Gwen really is harder than most babies. Because if all babies are this hard, maybe we don't want to have any more (maybe this is Gwen's master plan to be an only child so she never has to share her toys or her ice cream).
I will close with a recent conversation that we had with a soon-to-be father. People were telling him what to expect when the baby was born. As we had the youngest baby of anyone at the table, naturally, he turned to us for the most recent experience with an infant. We told him about Gwen's sleep and crying habits, and he appeared to pale and break out in a cold sweat. Keith backtracked, so as not to panic the father-to-be, and said, "But don't worry too much. Gwen is pretty much the worst example of a baby, ever." That seemed to make him feel better. And while I wish she were easier, we manage. I think any parent rises to whatever challenges their baby presents them.
Friday, October 12, 2012
TV for Toddlers: To Watch or Not To Watch
If you have been following my blog for a long time, you might remember during my pregnancy that I wrote a post questioning if we would watch TV in our household after our baby was born. I didn't want to expose Gwen to the constantly degrading quality of television that is being broadcast. I seem, however, to have changed my tune in the last couple of months. No - I don't want her to watch questionable television, but I no longer have a problem with her watching television.
Gwen is horrendously difficult to entertain. I have had several people tell me that she requires much more attention and entertainment than most babies. She is unhappy playing by herself unless you are watching her play by herself. Usually she won't play by herself at all. So it created problems in the mornings when I would have to do things like take Simba out so he could pee. While I will usually put Gwen before Simba, I think it is cruel to refuse him the chance to pee. Here's how our mornings would go. Gwen would wake up entirely too early. I would get up and change her diaper. I would take her with me and set her on the floor of the bathroom to play while I peed. Then we would go downstairs. I would put her in the middle of the living room surrounded by dozens of toys. I would take Simba outside. Gwen would hold onto the child gate that blocks her from the foyer, screaming at the top of her lungs for the entire duration of Simba's potty break. Gwen would be emotionally destroyed for the rest of the morning.
This repeated daily until a new friend told us about the show Yo Gabba Gabba. Frankly, I have a love-hate relationship with Yo Gabba Gabba. It looks like the writers take a hit of acid (do you take acid in hits? I don't really know drug lingo) before each writing session. But I love it for it's magical ability to entertain Gwen. I now place her in the living room in the morning and turn on an episode of Yo Gabba Gabba. As soon as the music starts, she is mesmerized. I take Simba out without incident, and we all have a much happier morning.
I have tried showing Gwen other kids' TV shows, and they apparently all pale in comparison to Yo Gabba Gabba (of course, I think anything would pale in comparison to Yo Gabba Gabba). I don't know what magical combination they have created in this show, but it keeps her happy so it keeps me happy.
I was talking to several moms at a play date on Thursday. They all willingly use their TVs as babysitters, albeit in small quantities. One mom said, "I know the AAP (American Academy of Pediatrics) recommends against kids watching any TV, but that's not really realistic for us." Most of these moms would put their babies in front of the TV for one episode in order to be able to cook dinner during a normal melt down time of day. It was their saving grace during a usually volatile time. And this got me thinking that TV isn't necessarily a bad thing.
I'm not under the delusion that Gwen will watch these TV shows and be smarter for it. I have seen the articles about how babies who watch Baby Einstein DVDs are behind their peers who watch no TV. I don't expect her to learn from TV. I expect her to be entertained so I can get a few things done without a baby holding onto my pant leg and crying. Because let's face it - constant learning all day long is not everything. I think that Gwen and I both will be better served with her taking 23 minutes hanging out with DJ Lance Rock (the host of Yo Gabba Gabba) so I can prepare a meal that will fill our bellies with healthy food rather than processed junk than we would be if I spent that time sitting with her and her shape sorter naming colors and shapes.
So I'm going to stop putting so much pressure on myself to try to teach her all the time. Sometimes we will be tired, and then it is okay to rest even in front of the TV. And sometimes it is okay to just play and be entertained with no ulterior educational motive.
Gwen is horrendously difficult to entertain. I have had several people tell me that she requires much more attention and entertainment than most babies. She is unhappy playing by herself unless you are watching her play by herself. Usually she won't play by herself at all. So it created problems in the mornings when I would have to do things like take Simba out so he could pee. While I will usually put Gwen before Simba, I think it is cruel to refuse him the chance to pee. Here's how our mornings would go. Gwen would wake up entirely too early. I would get up and change her diaper. I would take her with me and set her on the floor of the bathroom to play while I peed. Then we would go downstairs. I would put her in the middle of the living room surrounded by dozens of toys. I would take Simba outside. Gwen would hold onto the child gate that blocks her from the foyer, screaming at the top of her lungs for the entire duration of Simba's potty break. Gwen would be emotionally destroyed for the rest of the morning.
This repeated daily until a new friend told us about the show Yo Gabba Gabba. Frankly, I have a love-hate relationship with Yo Gabba Gabba. It looks like the writers take a hit of acid (do you take acid in hits? I don't really know drug lingo) before each writing session. But I love it for it's magical ability to entertain Gwen. I now place her in the living room in the morning and turn on an episode of Yo Gabba Gabba. As soon as the music starts, she is mesmerized. I take Simba out without incident, and we all have a much happier morning.
I have tried showing Gwen other kids' TV shows, and they apparently all pale in comparison to Yo Gabba Gabba (of course, I think anything would pale in comparison to Yo Gabba Gabba). I don't know what magical combination they have created in this show, but it keeps her happy so it keeps me happy.
I was talking to several moms at a play date on Thursday. They all willingly use their TVs as babysitters, albeit in small quantities. One mom said, "I know the AAP (American Academy of Pediatrics) recommends against kids watching any TV, but that's not really realistic for us." Most of these moms would put their babies in front of the TV for one episode in order to be able to cook dinner during a normal melt down time of day. It was their saving grace during a usually volatile time. And this got me thinking that TV isn't necessarily a bad thing.
I'm not under the delusion that Gwen will watch these TV shows and be smarter for it. I have seen the articles about how babies who watch Baby Einstein DVDs are behind their peers who watch no TV. I don't expect her to learn from TV. I expect her to be entertained so I can get a few things done without a baby holding onto my pant leg and crying. Because let's face it - constant learning all day long is not everything. I think that Gwen and I both will be better served with her taking 23 minutes hanging out with DJ Lance Rock (the host of Yo Gabba Gabba) so I can prepare a meal that will fill our bellies with healthy food rather than processed junk than we would be if I spent that time sitting with her and her shape sorter naming colors and shapes.
So I'm going to stop putting so much pressure on myself to try to teach her all the time. Sometimes we will be tired, and then it is okay to rest even in front of the TV. And sometimes it is okay to just play and be entertained with no ulterior educational motive.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
When the Poop Hits the Fan (or Exits the Diaper)
We had quite the day today. It all started when Gwen woke up at 4:30. I thought this was entirely too early. She thought it was just right. She won. So a groggy mommy, and a happy, babbling baby got up and went downstairs. I should have known that the early wake-up was a sign of things to come.
I figured I should at least make my morning productive, so I found the Little Green Machine furniture and carpet cleaner and went to work at removing several food finger prints that Gwen has worked on depositing over the last several weeks. Sara and Jason - thank you for having the foresight to buy us a Little Green Machine. Our furniture thanks you, as we did not have the foresight to scotch guard.
I was not going to let our early wake-up get me down. I took a nap with Gwen, and then I decided I was going to dress her in an adorable outfit. I put her in a onesie that has a ghost on the front and says, "It's not easy being this..." on the front and "boo-ty-ful" on the bottom. I put her in purple and green striped halloween shorts to complete the ensemble - I didn't want to put pants on her and ruin the punch line of her onesie. I felt pretty confident that she was going to be one of the best dressed babies at story hour at the library.
Gwen was super fussy, so I figured we would go to the library 30 minutes early and wander the stacks until it was time for Book Babies. On the way to the library she was screaming (when we got to the library, I discovered that the tooth that has been on the verge of emerging victoriously from her gums since Sunday had finally popped through).
When we got to the library I figured I should check her diaper - she has had quite the habit lately of pooping every time we get into the car. I did a quick sniff of her bottom, didn't smell anything, and slipped Gwen between the baby sling and my body when...squish! I felt something warm and wet against the front of my body.
I asked the librarian for the closest bathroom and discovered there was no changing table. I was not going to change her on the bathroom floor, so I decided, since there was no changing table, that it was socially acceptable to change her diaper just outside of the bathroom door in the stacks. It wasn't a busy part of the library, so I figured I would disturb anyone.
Gwen, however, has developed a nasty habit recently of screaming every time I change her diaper. I set her down on the changing pad, and not wanting to disappoint, she started screaming immediately. I assessed the damage of her diaper blow-out and realized it has squished through her tights and onto her onesie. I stripped off her tights and realized things were much worse than I had originally thought and that the poop had traveled out of her diaper and had been contained by her tights and gone down her legs. We were in the stacks and she was screaming and covered in poop.
After about 5 minutes I had managed to clean up all of the poo, put a new diaper on her, and dress her in her emergency clothes. Unfortunately, when she got bigger, I didn't swap out her emergency clothes and her pants only went halfway up her bottom. But she was clean and clothed and I was happy. I packed up her diaper bag, removed a book from her mouth that she had obtained while I was packing her diaper bag and went into the bathroom to wash my hands when...
...I looked in the mirror and discovered I had poop juice down the front of my shirt (poop juice is the non-solid poop that leaks out of diaper and onto onesies, thus leaving stains that can last forever). Apparently it had transferred to me when I was carrying her into the library. After all of this, I was going to have to go home. No!!! I had come to far!!! I came up with a plan. I turned my t-shirt around backwards (the front and the back were, thankfully, the same) and put a cardigan on over my t-shirt (I did all of this change one-armed since I was holding Gwen with my other arm). Poop covered, check.
We went to Book Babies, and after all of my desperate attempts to get her there for a fun hour, she fussed and squirmed to escape from my grasp and had almost no fun, for I was too worried that I would have to retrieve her, my cardigan would ride up, and the jig would be up.
I figured I should at least make my morning productive, so I found the Little Green Machine furniture and carpet cleaner and went to work at removing several food finger prints that Gwen has worked on depositing over the last several weeks. Sara and Jason - thank you for having the foresight to buy us a Little Green Machine. Our furniture thanks you, as we did not have the foresight to scotch guard.
I was not going to let our early wake-up get me down. I took a nap with Gwen, and then I decided I was going to dress her in an adorable outfit. I put her in a onesie that has a ghost on the front and says, "It's not easy being this..." on the front and "boo-ty-ful" on the bottom. I put her in purple and green striped halloween shorts to complete the ensemble - I didn't want to put pants on her and ruin the punch line of her onesie. I felt pretty confident that she was going to be one of the best dressed babies at story hour at the library.
Gwen was super fussy, so I figured we would go to the library 30 minutes early and wander the stacks until it was time for Book Babies. On the way to the library she was screaming (when we got to the library, I discovered that the tooth that has been on the verge of emerging victoriously from her gums since Sunday had finally popped through).
When we got to the library I figured I should check her diaper - she has had quite the habit lately of pooping every time we get into the car. I did a quick sniff of her bottom, didn't smell anything, and slipped Gwen between the baby sling and my body when...squish! I felt something warm and wet against the front of my body.
I asked the librarian for the closest bathroom and discovered there was no changing table. I was not going to change her on the bathroom floor, so I decided, since there was no changing table, that it was socially acceptable to change her diaper just outside of the bathroom door in the stacks. It wasn't a busy part of the library, so I figured I would disturb anyone.
Gwen, however, has developed a nasty habit recently of screaming every time I change her diaper. I set her down on the changing pad, and not wanting to disappoint, she started screaming immediately. I assessed the damage of her diaper blow-out and realized it has squished through her tights and onto her onesie. I stripped off her tights and realized things were much worse than I had originally thought and that the poop had traveled out of her diaper and had been contained by her tights and gone down her legs. We were in the stacks and she was screaming and covered in poop.
After about 5 minutes I had managed to clean up all of the poo, put a new diaper on her, and dress her in her emergency clothes. Unfortunately, when she got bigger, I didn't swap out her emergency clothes and her pants only went halfway up her bottom. But she was clean and clothed and I was happy. I packed up her diaper bag, removed a book from her mouth that she had obtained while I was packing her diaper bag and went into the bathroom to wash my hands when...
...I looked in the mirror and discovered I had poop juice down the front of my shirt (poop juice is the non-solid poop that leaks out of diaper and onto onesies, thus leaving stains that can last forever). Apparently it had transferred to me when I was carrying her into the library. After all of this, I was going to have to go home. No!!! I had come to far!!! I came up with a plan. I turned my t-shirt around backwards (the front and the back were, thankfully, the same) and put a cardigan on over my t-shirt (I did all of this change one-armed since I was holding Gwen with my other arm). Poop covered, check.
We went to Book Babies, and after all of my desperate attempts to get her there for a fun hour, she fussed and squirmed to escape from my grasp and had almost no fun, for I was too worried that I would have to retrieve her, my cardigan would ride up, and the jig would be up.
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