a little bit of news...
>> Tuesday, September 21, 2010
pay attention to the shirt....
it's important...
Showing posts with label baby. Show all posts
Showing posts with label baby. Show all posts
it's ok, I can take my brand loyalty elsewhere!
>> Sunday, March 21, 2010
Calling all church architects, restaurant owners and store managers:
You really have no excuse for failing to put changing tables into your women's bathrooms unless you want poopy diapers to be changed on your pews, booth seats and display tables.
For that matter, men's restrooms should have changing tables too. It's a new century. Men change diapers now. Except of course when they are somewhere that the only changing table is in the ladies room. (Then I'd hate to be a single father stuck in your place of business or worship!)
It's time to end this blatant inattentiveness to the needs of young families. Unless, of course, you're subtly implying that we are not welcome in your establishment. In which case we are happy to take our children elsewhere to experience their childhood memories and develop their earliest brand loyalties.
Which means that, without the interest of the next generation, your establishment is ultimately doomed to die a lonely death - whether you are a store, a restaurant or even a church.
We who have small children WILL find a place that welcomes us.
But hey, it's totally your choice whether that place is yours!
i never had a clue...
>> Wednesday, January 13, 2010
...how ridiculously difficult it is to go shopping with a little baby.
Several days ago (before this nonsense cold snap arrived that's been blowing across the South), I went shopping.
I intended to go early so I could get stuff done around the house afterward.
Nice fantasy.
Little Man eats at 6 AM. After he's squared away, I grab some breakfast, throw in a load of laundry, shower, dress and fix my face - in between soothing him and putting him down for a nap. By the time I'm ready to leave, it's 10 AM and he needs to eat again. Warm a bottle of Mommy's milk.
He's a slow eater, so that took until 11. Then a diaper change, dress him in day clothes, and pack a diaper bag. Take 10 minutes at the breast pump. Dismiss sci-fi-style mental images of living in a warehouse filled with human women lined up at milking machines like so many dairy cows.
By now it's nearing noon. I'm hungry for lunch, so I grab a piece of fruit and then load the car.
But then Little Man fills his diaper. Run upstairs to change him quickly before leaving.
Pause at the laundry room to toss the wash into the dryer.
12:30 PM
Drive 30 minutes to find the stores I need in this new town. Get completely turned around. Find myself on the wrong freeway and try to GPS myself back on track without endangering myself and the baby.
Baby falls asleep in the car.
Arrive at the stores. Find a cart. Haul monster munchkin (he's super heavy) out of the backseat. Accidentally bump the side of the car, jarring and waking him.
Walk lopsided to compensate for heavy baby (WHY DID I TRY TO LOOK CUTE AND WEAR HIGH HEELS?) into store and grab teeny tiny undersized shopping cart. Baby seat doesn't fit properly into the front, so Little Man is practically standing up because it tilts so far forward.
Push cart with screaming baby around store. Try soothing him with one hand while steering the cart (WHY DO I ALWAYS GET THE CART WITH THE BAD WHEEL??!?!??) with the other.
Scan merchandise with my eyes, since both hands are busy. Find a dress to try on and maneuver cart and baby and dress and purse into fitting room area. Strip. Dress fits - yay! So what if it's two sizes bigger than I'd have worn this time last year.
Will not dwell on unprofitable trains of thought such as weight and size.
Little Man is now expressing distress at a decibel level guaranteed to be ticking off every other woman in the fitting rooms. Decide to nurse him in the fitting room - I'm already undressed anyway!
Little Man fills diaper again.
Change him on the narrow bench in the fitting room. Try to let him touch as little of the surrounding area as possible. Give up trying.
3:00 PM
Little Man falls contentedly asleep in his carseat as I push the cart to find the rest of the things I need. Go through checkout. Psyche myself up to get everything out to the car without waking baby.
Store doesn't have automatic doors, so I load up the cart and shove the door open with my butt. Fail to notice that the cart has a tall pole on it to prevent removal from the store, and so yank with all my strength to pull heavy cart through non-automatic door.
BAM!! I succeed only in ramming tall cart-pole into top of door, again jarring Little Man out of a sound sleep. Just fabulous.
Three judgmental heads swivel my way as every cashier hears the ramming sound. "Lady, you cain't take them carts out inta tha parkin' lot!"
You don't say.
So ummm, how exactly am I supposed to lug my purse, a 14-pound baby in a 10-pound car seat, and all my shopping bags out to my car? HUH?
I will never come back here again. I will never come back here again. It's a mantra in my head. Over and over and over, like a clacking train.
But I know I will come back here again. It's ROSS, after all. And it's right beside Marshall's and TJ Maxx. I will definitely be here again. Whether I LIKE IT OR NOT!
My feet are aching. My back is killing me. All I want to do is curl up in a fetal position and trade places with my kid who was moments ago sleeping innocently in his car seat.
But instead I leave my purchases with a (slightly) sympathetic cashier, haul Little Man out to the car, drive to the curb to load the rest. And try not to get lost on the way home.
I think I might run a hot bath when I get back.
By the time we arrive, it's almost 5 PM. I take Little Man inside out of the cold and go back for all the loot. If I hurry I can check my Facebook before he needs to eat.
But no. Two very nice young Mormon missionaries pick RIGHT NOW to talk to me. They shake my hand and introduce themselves. "I'm Elder blah blah blah..." I see their spiffy name tags and all I can think is Elder? You're kidding. I'm almost twice as old as you, and I'M NOT THAT OLD! They ask if I've ever met missionaries before.
I tell them that I worked my way through college doing exactly what they're doing. So yes, I know all about it. Be nice, they don't know what kind of day you've had.
"Could we come back after the holidays and visit with your family?"
Right now I need to nurse so badly I'll agree to almost anything. "Tell you what, my husband is a Seventh-day Adventist minister. You wanna visit? Feel free to come back and meet with him any time. Now I've got a 9-week old baby inside that needs to eat, so it was nice to meet you!" I lug the last bags inside.
Once everything is unloaded I have about 5 minutes to spare before Little Man is starving and thinks his world is going to end immediately. Despite feeling like my milk machine is going to hit my chin, I warm a bottle, because it's faster.
Then another urgent diaper change. Then 15 minutes at the breast pump. I am not a dairy cow. I am not a dairy cow.
Grab a bite of supper. Say two quick words to the Hubby. Sort through the shopping bags in a rush.
7:00 PM
Bath time for Little Man. Knees yell at me for crouching beside the bathtub on tile floor.
7:30 PM
Little Man is in pj's. And he's hungry again. This child could drink me out of house and home. I jiggle the bottle in his mouth because he keeps nodding off. Sleepy wide eyes drop closed, heavy and slow.
8:30 PM
Little Man is down for the count. I need to put him down but he smells so sweet and feels snuggly in my arms, so I sit there rocking him in the dark for a few minutes more. I wonder what it must like to exist in such total trust and innocence.
9 PM
Change into pj's. Another 10 minutes at the breast pump. I am sooooo totally a human dairy cow.
Fall into bed. 5:30 AM is hurtling toward me already.
Oh crud. The clothes are still in the dryer. Sigh. So much for getting lots done around the house after going shopping.
Maybe tomorrow I can manage to get them out and fold them. That'll be my goal for the day. If I can get that done, I will have accomplished much.
Zzzzzzzzzzz.
good. better. best?
>> Monday, January 4, 2010
Every parent wants to give their kid good things. Sometimes we want good things for them so badly that we jeopardize their chances for anything better.
Like the parents who lift themselves up from poverty into wealth and then hand their children everything they demand. Sure, their kids are getting good things: toys, cars, designer clothes. But they're also getting an attitude of entitlement right along with it.
And too often, they're not getting any character at all. Good things, at the expense of better things.
Or what about the music, recreation and entertainment we provide our kids? Lots of things are "okay". They aren't harmful or damaging. But why settle for "okay"?
Why not stick with top quality only? There's going to be plenty of time later for them to acquaint themselves with the mediocre.
If we can play either pop or classical on the radio, why go for pop? If we can watch tv or play a game together, why not go for the game?
It takes no more energy to say "yes ma'am" than it does to mumble "uh huh". So why not teach our kids to be courteous?
I'm not advocating Nazi parenting. I'm not saying kids should never have fun and just be children. But when we have options on what to provide them, I can't see any reason why mediocre should be acceptable.
It takes so very little to be above average in today's world of anything-goes. Why not at least give it a shot?
(Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone.)
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video updates (2)...
>> Sunday, January 3, 2010
video updates (1)...
...for grandmommy and granddaddy.
Because they aren't next door anymore. And we don't want them to miss out on all the wiggles and giggles.
These are from this afternoon. He's been staring at his fists and turning them back and forth intently today.
"STARING AT MY HANDS"
"LAUGHING AT MOMMY"
chunkopotamus...
>> Wednesday, December 2, 2009
So the day before yesterday we visited the doctor to see just how far we've come.
Little Man was born 7lbs 12oz. Dropped to 6lbs 15oz at two weeks. Didn't start gaining back until 3 weeks. Had us all worried to bits.
And he was really the tiniest, skinniest baby I'd ever seen. People wondered if he was preemie.
Hmmmmm... Not anymore!
This particular chunkopotamus (as christened by Auntie Chacho) now weighs in at 10 pounds, 6.5 ounces.
He also grew another 1.25 inches in length, and a full inch in head circumference - catapulting him from the 19th percentile in weight to the 59th.
As the other lady in the newborn waiting room said, "He's giNORmous!" I guess in comparison to her 3-week old, he was.
Just wait a couple more weeks, lady. It's amazing what 14 days can bring!!
(Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone.)
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baby, you SUCK! (and that's an order)
If you read this blog regularly, you'll have picked up on the fact that when Little Man arrived we had major feeding issues.
I desperately wanted to breastfeed and Little Man would have none of it. We had one complication after another, until (when he'd lost MORE weight at 2 weeks even with 10 feedings a day) the doctor ordered supplementation with bottles.
I still wanted to avoid formula, so we got orthotic bottle nipples (thanks for the hint on that Lisa!!), and an electric double-sided pump.
Not to replace breast feeding mind you, just to add to it.
Until he got an incredibly nasty case of thrush. And passed it over to me.
With both of us on antifungals, the bottle just worked better. Safer. Quicker. Less painful. You get the idea.
So I worried that after 2 weeks of exclusive bottle feeding, he'd never go back. Until two days ago...
I figured it couldn't hurt to experiment right? Just see if he'd go back? Maybe even like it?
He latched like he'd never left. And like he'd actually been good at breastfeeding in the first place!
Now you'd think those early days of stressing never even happened.
(Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone.)
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on schedules and routines...
>> Wednesday, November 11, 2009
So far we know the Little Man likes a routine, since he responded well to me having one even before he was born. For the first couple weeks I've just monitored his natural rhythms.
Now I'm basing a parent-directed routine on those rhythms, and hoping I can stick to it. It's posted on the frig, loaded into my iPhone's daily calendar and everything. Of course that doesn't mean we won't ever deviate, but it gives us a general guideline.
Most of all, I want to make sure that he gets enough feedings a day, with enough time between eating for adequate waketime and naptime. And that he gets a chance to naturally regulate his metabolism by having a daily rhythm where things happen generally at the same time every day.
Yup, it's extra work right now, but I think it'll pay off. Will have to let you know in a few weeks on that!
(Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone.)
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the difference between mommies and daddies... (1)
This was the Mommy's profile photo on Facebook last week:
You know, all sweet and sappy and mother-son mushy.
This was the Hubby's profile photo at the same time:
All warrior-fighter son and father-pride.
And that pretty much says everything you need to know about the difference between mommies and daddies.
for Spartaaaaaa!
>> Tuesday, November 10, 2009
In my hospital bag, I packed a length of black velvet, so we could take photos of Little Man's very first days.
You have to understand - both the Hubby and I are pretty nuts about photography. (In case you're not a friend on Facebook and haven't been subjected to our hundreds of baby pics already...) So we didn't want to let the early days go undocumented.
The other prop I brought to the hospital was this massive green stuffed frog. It belonged to the Hubby back in high school. I first met the Green Frog during Men's Dorm Open House, back in college. So the Green Frog has been around for a while.
And since frogs and monkeys (green and brown) are the animals of choice for Little Man's nursery, we necessarily needed to have a newborn photograph with the Green Frog.
I was planning something innocent, sleepy and sweet. The kind of photo that makes you go "awwww!" Maybe with Little Man draped over Green Frog's back, all limp and adorable.
You know, something kind of like this:
But it didn't quite work out that way. Instead, we got this:
And this:
Slightly more 4-day-old impersonation of Gerard Butler's Spartan warrior character in "The 300" than innocent sleepy baby.
Hmmm... wonder what this portends?
champ sleeper, bum feeder
>> Monday, November 2, 2009
When it comes to sleeping, I'd say we're blessed. Little Man will sleep for 6 or 7 hours at a time if I left him to his own devices. When he's knocked out, you can dress and undress him, carry him around, play music and talk - and he'll never make a peep.
Sometimes he sleeps so long and so soundly that I check him repeatedly just to make sure he's alive and breathing! The second night, in the hospital, I jerked awake in the middle of the night just because things were so quiet. Hauled myself out of bed, C-section and all, to hobble over and make sure he was okay.
And he barks in his sleep. Like a little doggy.
After he yaps, he's quiet for a moment, and then he'll make this sucking noise and breathe normally again. I find myself waking up to his little yips and then waiting all stiff and anxious until he smacks his lips and breathes again.
Feeding on the other hand, has been a challenge. He's a lazy little bum. At first it was tough to get him to latch at all. After we got the latch down, he would only eat from the right side.
Left boob? NO WAY, MOMMY!
So after a couple days we worked through that. Now he takes both sides fine. But he's still lazy to latch. He'll just sit there with these big beautiful eyes, locked on but not sucking.
So tomorrow we have an appointment with the lactation consultant at our pediatrician's clinic. Maybe we can figure some things out....
really can't wait...
>> Monday, October 19, 2009
So lately I haven't exactly been overwhelmed with things to do every day. Which is good given the fact that I waddle and haven't been getting an ideal ration of sleep. It's definitely a departure from my "normal" daily routine when doing dishes, folding a little laundry, taking a walk, and getting a shower feels like a productive day!
But I really can't wait for this little guy to get here. Can't wait to see what he looks like, get to know his personality, take care of him.
Sometimes I sit and wonder what he'll be like. Will he have hair? Will his eyes be green like my dad's? Who will he look like?
Just a few more days....
the pediatrician hunt...
>> Wednesday, October 14, 2009
... has been frustrating.
Just like I'm hoping to avoid being shot up with too many drugs myself, we'd like to avoid packing lots and lots of shots into our baby all at once.
I'm not being unreasonable radical here regarding vaccinations, but given our family history of allergic reactions - I think it's smart to not load up an infant with so many shots at once that there's no way to tell what caused an allergy. Should there be one, of course. But let's stay on the safe side, shall we?
Annoyingly, Georgia pediatricians don't seem to be very flexible on these kinds of things. I've been interviewing several pediatricians for weeks now, and getting that same glazed response that I feel from my own doctors.
I finally found a midwife office and called to see if they had any recommendations. Per usual, they still haven't called me back.
sprucing up Munchkin's room...
>> Wednesday, August 26, 2009
The Hubby has been hard at work (under excellent supervision) adding final touches to Munchkin's room. Here's a peek of his/our handiwork:
this is the chair i was rocked in as a baby, recovered to keep it updated, but love the family heirloom!
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