The Choice to Fail.

Sometimes we set goals and fail to reach them, then with defeated yet defiant fists raised heavenward, we curse our obstacles and vow to overcome them in the future.

This is not that time.

This time I have made a choice to fail at a goal I set for myself, because it is the right thing to do. You see, it is November, and I set out to pwn NaNoWriMo like I do every time I set out to start. I have never begun without finishing.

On November 21st, with over 20,000 words written and a good pace established in a story I love, I made the choice to stop.

Right?

I know.

At the same time, I made the commitment to spend the time my son needs me to spend, in order to help him transition from nursing to not nursing at all any more, with him.

It sounds like a small thing. A few extra hugs, a few extra kisses. It shouldn't be a big deal, but it turns out, it is. He wakes in a panic when I shift away from him in bed at night, he can not sleep unless I am beside him. While he grows ever more independent, he also demands more immediacy of my presence when he wants me. He worries that if I am not nursing him any more, that maybe more than just that aspect of our relationship is changing.

Of course, it is, and it scares us both, but I can not press reset and let us all go back to when he was a baby, and even if I could, the past is a lovely place to visit, but we don't really want to live there.

So I will not be reaching 50,000 words. I know, even now with only six days left, I could pull the nearly 30,000 words out of thin air and make this story come together if I really wanted to. If I was willing to prioritize my novel, I have that in me. But I don't want to. I don't want to snuggle up next to my boy and continuously be testing how deeply he is sleeping in the hopes that at any moment I can pull my arm away and go write. I do not want to be counting the seconds until I can sneak off to write. I want to enjoy the cuddles and be present for him. I want to be available when he needs me.

I have chosen to fail this time, and it's okay. Just this once, I will not finish NaNoWriMo. It really is okay, no, it's better than okay, it's good.

A different story.

Once upon a time there was a baby, sometimes he was called Snapdragon. Snapdragon loved to nurse from the minute he was born. He would get so excited about nursing, that he'd snap his mouth closed and make his mommy wince, because he was so eager to nurse. That is why she called him Snapdragon.

Snapdragon quickly learned to nurse without snapping, but he never lost the eagerness. He would nurse in the morning when he woke, and after his diaper was changed. He would nurse before his nap and then halfway through his nap time he would wake for his elevensies nursing. He would nurse as many as ten times a day. He would nurse at bedtime and when he woke in the night, he would nurse again once or twice before morning light. Snapdragon loved to nurse.

When he got older and bigger, he became curious about the food his mommy, daddy, and sister were eating. It looked so yummy, Snapdragon began to think he might like it too, so long as he could still nurse. When he first tasted food, he found that he did, in fact, like it, but only after he had nursed.  He would nurse at home, he would nurse at the park, he would nurse at the library, he would nurse at the store. Everywhere he went, he still wanted to nurse.

As Snapdragon got older, he turned into a Jabber-Walky who would go about his day, toddling around and talking. One of his favorite things to request by name, once his mouth knew how to form the sounds that made the words that gave him the power of request, was boo-boo. Mommy tried to get Jabber-Walky to say nurse instead, and with time, he even learned to say "Mommy, may I please nurse?"

By the time Jabber-Walky learned to speak so well, many days he would want to eat food and drink from a cup before he nursed, but he still wanted to nurse, especially before bed, and when he woke in the night, and before his naps, and on long car trips.

By the time Jabber-Walky was running and jumping and hopping and playing, he mostly nursed at home. Sometimes, if he was away from home for a long time, he would nurse somewhere else, but mostly, he just nursed at home. He would play and sing, build and paint during the day, and then when he was sleepy, he would nurse.  He loved nursing. He loved cuddling with his mommy and the way she would kiss his head and tell him that she loved him. He loved resting his head on her arm and the way her arm was squishy and warm. He loved holding her hand while he nursed too.

His mommy loved their cuddle time too. He loved holding him and smelling his hair and having the special quiet together time when it was just the two of them. Mommy even loved the way Jabber-Walky would stop nursing and say "Is empty. Roll over," and then she would roll him over her tummy to the right side so he could keep nursing, and then he'd say "Now upside down." You see, Jabber-Walky had decided that to switch to the right side was called roll over, and switching to the left was upside down, and he never failed to correct mommy when she confused the two.

Sometimes mommy would say "but we just rolled over because upside down is empty," and Jabber-Walky would say "but now it's filled again," and Jabber-Walky was always right.

But sometime, when Jabber-Walky was nearly three and a half, something changed. Nursing, which had been, ever since he had learned to latch-on more gently, an easy thing for mommy and her boy, nursing became hard for mommy. Suddenly, it started to make mommy wince again when her Jabber-Walky would latch on. Jabber-Walky was worried that he had hurt mommy by biting, which he always tried not to do, but sometimes it happened on accident when he was falling asleep.

Mommy hugged Jabber-Walky and told him that the hurting was not his fault, but that something had changed inside her, with the way her body made his milk. Jabber-Walky did not like talk of changes with milk, but because he didn't want his mommy to hurt, he nursed less and less. He still wanted to nurse at nap time, and he still wanted to nurse at bedtime, and when he woke in the night, but he wouldn't nurse very long. Jabber-Walky would nurse a moment on roll over, then another on upside down.

This arrangement went on fairly happily for quite a while. Jabber-Walky was happy because he still got to nurse and he got to enjoy lots and lots of mommy cuddles. Mommy was happy because she still got to enjoy lots and lots of Jabber-Walky snuggles, but she wasn't happy that it was hurting more and more every time her sweet little boy nursed.

Then one day it had to be the end, because Jabber-Walky didn't want to hurt mommy, and mommy couldn't nurse Jabber-Walky any more. It was very sad for both of them. Jabber-Walky would beg his mommy to nurse him, and he begged to turn into a baby again so he could nurse, and mommy wished she could make things the way they used to be, but even good things, even sweet things, have an ending.

For mommy, nursing Jabber-Walky, that end came when he was three years, six months, and fourteen days old.

Now mommy cuddles Jabber-Walky and tells him stories, like this one, and hugs him tight when it is bedtime. Now Jabber-Walky tells stories to mommy and snuggles up when he's sleepy, and even though he misses nursing sometimes, he knows that his mommy loves him, and that he is going to be okay.

Nursing can not go on forever, mommies aren't built that way- but the lingering warmth the special bond between mommy and nursling.does.



*a huge thanks to Mendylady for inspiring this post by trying to help me through the heart-crushing early days of weaning. We are three nights without nursing now. There have been many tears shed on both parts, but it is time.

UFOs

Just before my son was born, I was working on a quilt for my daughter.
Here I had it all laid out on the bed, trying to decide just which colors would flow nicely into the others.

Sadly, I was placed on bedrest and I put it away.

Then, when my son was born, I became bizarrely paranoid about ironing with him in the room. What if there was a freak accident with the iron and he got burned? Well, certainly I can only quilt while he's sleeping then, right?

But laying out a whole quilt takes up a lot of space, and what if I accidentally make a mess? What if I loose a piece?

Well, maybe if I just work on it in parts while he's napping.

But he sleeps so much better if I nurse him down.... and then I want to lay there and cuddle.

You get the idea. The reasons compound.

Since then I've made more than 20 sock monkeys,

 bunnies, 

bears, 

elephants, 

and other creatures,

 upwards of 15 dolls,

 at least 2 purses, 

one complicated hexagon quilt, 

eight blankets, 

three slings,

one pillowcase, 

and a couple hats, 

And some other odd projects of which I seem to lack photographs...

but I still have this UFO staring me down.

What sorts of projects do you have on hold, and what *really good reasons* are you using to convince yourself not to finish?

Conversations

Me: Do you want to watch a Movie?
Toddler: Yes! Mowee!
Me: Which movie would you like to watch?
Toddler: Docda Who! Mowee Docda Who pleeez."

Yeah, my geekling mama heart just melted.

Two

Two years ago I woke up early and put on my bright orange paisley sundress and waddled out of the house.  The contractions were about 10 minutes apart, but they'd been between two and fifteen minutes apart for months.  After weeks of bedrest, the fact was, this kid probably wasn't coming on a convenient schedule for my OB, and she played the "your last baby was very large, and I'm afraid he seems to be bigger," card, and I was looking for an end to the pelvic pain, and agreed that Cinco de Mayo would be a grand birthday for a boy, and so it was that morning I went in to have my labor started for me.

I was in a wretched mood, griping at spouse because we got there two minutes after we were supposed to already be checking in, and I was terrified that after all the preparations I'd put into being psychologically ready to have this baby, and into making sure my parents could take off work to pick my older child up from school, that I'd be sent home because they were too busy for me.  

This wasn't an unfounded fear, as when my daughter was born I had gone in more than once to be induced and been sent home because there were too many other people having children that day, and in her case, the pre-eclampsia was killing her placenta, and she really did need to come out.

I was also terrified because my daughter had been a pitocin induction, and pitocin induced contractions hurt, a lot. 

I was also afraid because parts of my right leg never felt quite right following the epidural.  (Hm, pitocin leading to an epidural, who'd have guessed?)

So it was with trepidation, fear, and irritation that I checked in on the verge of tears.

Upstairs they hooked me up to this machine and that one, asked a plethora of questions, ran an IV of precautionary antibiotics, checked under the hood, and brought out the prostinaglandin of choice along with a breakfast menu.  

I ordered a cheddar cheese omelet with hashbrowns and cranberry juice.  There may have been toast.

Within minutes of the little pill being placed at my cervix, the contractions seemed to get stronger and more regular.  I ate breakfast and live tweeted how I felt about the whole experience.  I was touched by the outpouring of attention, even though the hashtag #twitterbirth hadn't yet been stumbled upon.  

Spouse plugged in his laptop and continued to do work and take business calls as the contractions built.  

As the contractions got harder I did a lot of walking, up and down the hall, turn around and back again.  It occurred to me that they would do well to have a round walking track with interesting things to look at for laboring mothers.  I was told that the lobby preferred if we didn't go downstairs, but I didn't ask if I could go out on the terrace. In retrospect I should have, it would have made walking a lot more interesting.

Around three or so, my OB breezed in to break my water since I wasn't dialating as quickly as she had hoped.  After the first gush it was perhaps five minutes before the intensity of contractions started to grow exponentially and it must have shown in my face, since the nurse started insisting that I wanted an epidural, or would want one.  Spouse was in her court, because it seemed the thing to do.  I figured that if they were going to hurt like last time, I'd be begging for one eventually and I might as well get it sooner than later.  What sense is there in suffering longer than you have to if you're going to make that choice anyway?  Right?

Well, of course, fate had a lesson to teach me.  It was that I need to just give up on the silly notion of epidurals.

The anesthesiologist, Mo, came up and got to work at about four, and it felt very different than the last time. There were tendons I remember feeling pop last time, but I thought, "since last time was problematic, perhaps this is right." That said, the needle going in hurt many times worse than the last time and was ultimately worse than any of the contractions going on at the time.

The doctor told me I'd need to lay on my back for an hour while the meds got to work.  You know, because that's a great laboring position.

Yeah. Great.

Well, the contractions still hurt, and the nurse checked back every so often with an ice pack to see when the numbness had set in.  Ultimately, on my right thigh, where I already had some longterm numbness, the icepack felt only a little cool.  Everwhere else it was still nice and icy, and the contractions felt just like the always did.

At about four thirty, in all of this, Spouse decided he was very hungry and went to grab a burger.  He came back and asked me if I'd like some, and I decided that since my OB had said I could eat, maybe half a cheeseburger was a great idea, despite the pain.  I figured, all this work is making me hungry, and dang it, I'm going to eat.  So at about four forty-five, I ate half a cheeseburger shortly after an internal check and frown that made it look like perhaps I wasn't progressing well.  

Interestingly, the eating of the cheeseburger made the contractions hurt worse, a lot worse, and so the nurse went off to call Mo back to see if a different placement would work.  When the nurse came back in she helped me roll onto my side as the contractions were coming very close together and I was in a lot of pain.

At this point, in my head, I was a fox.  I'd given up on being me and decided that this must be what a fox felt like when it was giving birth, and I embraced that, clutching the side of the bed and choking back the yelps and screams I didn't have any desire to make. 

The nurse came back in and glanced at me, cancelled the call to Mo and called my OB back in, sounding panicked, then she said, "try not to push. I mean, if you have to push, push, but try not to push."

The OB was only two or three contractions away, and she arrived just in time for my three push boy to come, screaming and crying while half out, into the world.

They handed him directly to me so I could introduce him to the breast and get to know him before daddy cut the cord.

Soon they'd be gently washing him while the doctor yelled for a shot of pitocin because I was bleeding too much while a nurse massaged my belly. 

The nurses giggled that he was definitely a boy since he had some pretty severe hydrocele.  In retrospect, it was fairly comedic.

Then he was swaddled and brought back to me where he nursed and blinked at me, and I was completely in love with this little nameless boy covered in soft fur, white pimply dots, and some notable stork bite.  

It wasn't until the next morning that we named him, until then he was my surprisingly red haired little 

sweeting.

I can hardly believe how much he's grown.

He's been nursing for a full two years now.  Hard to believe, two great big years. 

Pink Saturday:Breakfast

Mongoosine hates eating breakfast.
Don't let her sitting near food confuse you, she's rather stare at a newspaper than eat. Most mornings, she's got one thing on her mind, and that's "how long can I lay in bed before I absolutely have to get up" and breakfast comes between her and that plan.

What do you do to encourage your kids to eat before they leave for school in the morning?
For more Pink Saturday, check out How Sweet the Sound.

Craft Around the Clock

HELP!
I am having trouble finding the space in my schedule to accomplish the things which I need to accomplish, let alone get any sewing done.
So tell me, you time management gurus out there, how do you balance life in order to find the time to get your sewing/knitting/painting/underwater basket weaving done?

I've already relegated blogging to the middle of the night.

Sippy Sip

If you are a parent, you know how hard it can be to placate a toddler. If you're a nursing mom, you may have experienced how hard it is to convince a toddler that sometimes, when he thinks he wants nursing, what he really wants is a cup of something else.  Something that doesn't involve mommy's chest.
Let's face it, sometimes there is something trying in being the solitary provider for all comfort, as well as the preferred provider of warm liquid nourishment.
As the JabberWalky approaches two, more and more often I find myself asking him if he wants a Sippy when he says he wants "boo boo boo BEE."
Sadly, more often than not, unless I'm seducing him with juice, he will just crinkle his nose and demand "BOOBEE!" even more loudly.
Perhaps it is my own fault in that his cup usually only has boring water in it.
We haven't started doing milk in a cup yet, mostly because I'm paranoid that the cup will roll under the chair and be disgusting when I finally find it to wash it.  As a result, it's water or juice, and watered down juice at that.
It's not a perfect plan, but I've decided I'm going to offer him a cup with all his meals so that he gets used to drinking like a big boy at the table, instead of demanding nursing while I'm trying to eat.
I'm not sure if this is in line with baby led weaning, because I'm offering with the hopes of finishing a meal with both breasts safely in my shirt, but I am sure that it's an important step in eating in a calm manner.
That said, I'm not handing him a sippy at bed or naptime, those are still stricktly mommy cuddles times. Besides, it's way easier to appease a tired toddler with exactly what has always done the trick.

Any advice for convincing a toddler that drinking from a cup at mealtime is a great idea?

Zippity Doo's Review & Giveaway

Funny story. Well, not that funny, but I'm going to pretend it is.
Early last fall, watching my sweet smiley toddler wake up from his restful, cuddling, sweet dreams (in my bed, because we co-sleep), I noticed that he scratched his head.  For a moment, I didn't think anything of it.  I've had a sensitive itchy scalp my whole life, so it only made sense that he would too. No big deal.  But he kept scratching, and scratching like he meant it. I thought back about how we'd been out playing in a field with tall grass pretty much every day for the last two weeks, and that spouse had even noticed that he'd tracked in a flea or two from said prairie.  I thought, "oh no- my baby has fleas!"
Well, I was almost right. They looked like light colored fleas, but didn't jump and were a touch flatter. After googling what lice looks like, I found out that lice look just like flatter fleas. Great.  Having never run into the creepy crawlers before, I was at a loss as to how to proceed. So then I started searching Dr. Google's archives for how to treat lice on a baby.  He wasn't yet 18 months, so he was, to my thinking, still a baby.  It turns out, most of the pesticides (and who wants to put a pesticide on their offspring?) aren't for babies, and did you know that you have to bag up all the soft toys, treat your kid every week until there's been no sign of anything in their hair for WEEKS, frequently check the heads of everyone else who lives in the house, including your MIL, wash everything (bedding, sweaters, slipcovers on couches) on hot and dry on hot, boil your hair brushes, and um... treat your furniture (seats of your car and anything else you can't wash) with a nasty spray?  It's horrible to try to get rid of.   And then, when your *other* kid gets it, you get to start over.

Did I mention that we cosleep? Meaning this infestation is going on on the head of the kid who SLEEPS IN MY BED!

And don't even get me started on the loooong list of "where" the toddler might have picked it up to start with. Daycare? Rolling around on a couch after a girl had her hair fine tooth combed? Trying on every hat he sees? All the sudden, the whole world was a potential infestation threat.

Just thought I should make sure you get my panic when faced with this situation.

I admit it, I'm a paranoid type. I probably didn't need to stop making dolls and toys until I knew it was gone, but I did anyway, because I'm paranoid.  I probably treated my children's heads 5 weeks longer than I needed to, and in the case of the toddler, whose non-pesticide treatment took hours each time, so that was a lot of work. I can probably stop nit checking the whole house on a weekly basis.  I can probably relax a bit about things like movie theater seats, guests sitting on high backed chairs or riding in my car, and my toddler's fascination with putting on hats, irrespective of whose hats they are.  Well, maybe that last one is worth continuing to be nervous about.  That said, when things were gone, I picked up a spray at the drug store that is supposed to repel lice.  The problem was, it smelled so strongly of citronella, it repelled me too.

Long story short, when I came across the opportunity to review Zippity Doo's Head Lice Prevention products, I was like "head lice prevention, [hot potentially mythological place] yes, please!" Then I realized I'd have to admit that my kids got lice. For some reason, that's got a huge stigma associated with it in the back of my head.  That's silly.  If anything, lice is a social disease because the more people you are around, the more likely you are to get it. Lice prefer clean hair, it's easier for them to hold on to and lay their eggs on. It's not a hygiene issue.

So here's what I can tell you about Zippity Doo's Head Lice Prevention products.

The smiley:
I started trying it on myself. I have a lot of allergies and sensitivities, and it didn't bother my skin.
The toddler's skin was also not bothered. Win!
Shiny hair.

Shiny

Note, I only used the shampoo on him, but it's dang shiny.

He hates having conditioner rinsed out.

In the end, you don't smell like you're going camping. Even if you just use the shampoo.
Styling gel reminds me of the 80s, which was, for me, well gelled.
I prefer the smell of the styling gel to that of a lot of other styling gels.
The detangler- I can't STAND the regular Johnson & Johnson detangler's scent, so this, which doesn't smell too campy, is a win for me, since the tween needs to use a detangler.


The frowny:
The shampoo smells a little like you're going camping, and doesn't lather as well as I'd like. The smell is counterbalanced by the conditioner, but my first reaction was sort of "wow, outdoorsy much?"

PLEASE NOTE- because this product is a preventative product, I can't tell you if it actually works. I can tell you that since we started trying it out, we have not become aware of a new infestation, and yes, I have checked.  I can only say that I have no reason to dispute the claim.

Also, as of the writing of this blog review, Zippity Doo's is not listed on Skin Deep's Cosmeticdatabase.com .

Zippity Doo's wants you to know that they're lab tested, pediatrician approved (grain of salt here), SLS free, paraben free, and designed to repel insects and give your kids (and you) shiny hair and a healthy scalp, while being safe for every day use, with formulations which avoid harmful chemicals and use natural extracts.  Zippity Doo's  is made in the USA, does not test on animals, and their bottles are BPA free.

As always, I strongly suggest reading all the ingredients before purchasing, as everyone has different ingredients they avoid.

Zippity Doo's has generously offered to give one lucky Paisley & Pretties reader their own set of lice prevention products.

Want to win?
Mandatory Entry:
Swing by the Zippity Doo's website and tell me something you learned.  Please leave your email address in your comment so that I can contact you if you win, if it is not clearly visible in your blogger profile.

Want more chances to win?
1. Follow Paisley & Pretties on facebook and comment on this blog post letting me know that you do.

2. Spread the word via facebook, twitter, or your blog, linking back here to this post. Leave a comment with the  permalink to your word-spreading post/status. I'm not going to police how often you do this, but don't irritate your follower. K?

Winner will be selected February 21st via Random.org and notified by email. Winner will have 48 hours to respond to said notification, or an alternate winner will be selected via some bizarre or whimsical method which will defy all logic but make at least one person snort giggle.

Sponsored by Tomoson.com

I received one or more of the products mentioned above for free using Tomoson.com. Regardless, I only recommend products or services I use personally and believe will be good for my readers. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commissions 16 CFR, Part 255 Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising. Tomoson Product review & giveaway Disclosure.

Puppy Love

When I was seven, my mom and dad decided that we needed a second dog.  After some deliberation, and dragging the whole family around from pound to petstore and puppy seller to formal breeder, they finally settled on a bulldog.   

Her name was Delila. She was tiny, black and white, and you could hardly tell her backside from her face.  Well, Delila grew pretty quickly into a hefty stinky "so ugly she's cute" kind of dog, and as far as my mom was concerned, the sun rose and set around this dog. She called her "the beloved," and pretty much, she meant it.

When Delila was a few years old, my mom even painted a little ceramic dog to look like Delila. Yes, this puppy love was the kind which begins to border on Idolatry. 

Many years after the passing of the beloved, and some three dogs later, my mother gave the Delila statuette to my brother, for his apartment. You know, because every eligible bachelor needs a ceramic bulldog lovingly painted by his mommy.  

*sarcasm here*

While staying with my brother recently, Jabberwalky found Delila and decided he was in love.

Jabberwalky kissing 'lila. I did mention it is hard to tell the face from the hiney, right? 

 (He can't quite say Delila yet, so he just calls her 'lila.)

 He carried her around with him pretty much the entire time we were there.  We were there 15 days.
He hugged 'lila, he kissed 'lila, he pet 'lila. She taught him what "gentle" was, and when he couldn't be gentle, he learned that breakable ceramic bulldogs sleep on top of the big tall chest of drawers, well out of toddler reach, but still where he could see her and know she was sleeping "happy."

He'd wake up and ask for her, grab her up for smooches, make mom and dad smooch her. Then he'd giggle when dad mistakenly smooched her backside. It is hard to tell, you know.

A week later, when we were swinging back through at my brother's, as soon as we were in the door, he was looking for 'lila again.  I was impressed with his memory and one other thing- the boy clearly had a case of "puppy love."

Solutions

Remember that window I blogged about yesterday?
The one I was just sure the kidlet was going to break in a moment of Hulk-like fury?

Sorry, for the lighting issues, but TAKE THAT, child proofing.
That's a half inch of air space, steel cross bars, a compressed layer of foam insulation fitted to the window, held in place by another layer of foam insulation, screwed into place with washers of not-popping-out-ness.

Yep, Houston, we have hope of this window surviving past tis week, because as things stood last night, there was pretty much no hope, considering that I have to sleep sometime.

Window Trouble

We have this pretty picture window at the head of our ed. I love it. It lets in lots of light and heat in the winter, and in the winter,I need lots of sunlight.

But there's a problem.
I have a toddler.
My toddler likes to climb up into the deep windowsill and pound on the window.
He's a strong little hulk of a toddler.
I'm terrified he's going to pound right through the glass, hurt himself, possibly badly, and create an expensive problem.

On Dolls and Joy

I love doll making.out of
I truly do, but every so  often I am making a doll with every intent to list it in my Etsy shop, and my son gets a hold of it, hugging it with warmth and glee.

(bizarre sidewaysness compliments of Blogger, who uploaded it that way even though the file itself is the proper orientation...)

Then I am faced with a decision. Let him play with it, which means it's his doll, or take it away (and he's gotten good at saying "bye bye, nigh nigh" to the dolls who have to go into the drawer of "for listing") and put it out of sight, on the notion that some other small child will love it as vehemently as my little toddler boy.

Have you ever run into this problem? What do you do?

Sharp as Nails

Oh my goodness.
Some JabberWalky has some SHARP nails.

He's been on a napping strike. Lately he only wants to nap in his carseat or laying on the floor, with his hands tucked safely under himself.  Yes, the floor. The hardwood floor.  He's a weirdling.

I usually try to clip his fingernails when he's asleep so that he can't jerk his hands away making it take too long and risking cutting is sweet little bitty fingers.  With Mongoosine, I had to trim her nails in the car while someone else drove so that she'd be thoroughly lulled into that bizarre sleepy car trance.  With JabberWalky, calmly dozing does the trick.  That said, I realized today it had been weeks since his nails had been trimmed and he was packin' ten razor sharp little fingers, proportionately as long as what some women pay money to have glued onto their bodies.

So today I told him, "I'm sorry, but we have to clip your fingernails, or we're not going to be able to nursey anymore." (He has a habit of tweaking and pinching things, which, as physics and physiognomy would have it, hurts when the little digits involved are sporting half inch nails. You should see my chest... well, scratch that, oh wait he already did.  Let's just say that it's been thoroughly scratched.

I was surprised that after I explained that it had to be done, he just sat there and let me clip his fingernails. He didn't fuss, squirm, attempt to evade. The only issue we ran into was when he was trying to help me get his right thumbnail and was turning his hand into what would have been a better position, if the thumb had another joint.  I was very proud of my little boy, but it got me wondering- other than letting your kid's nails get so long that even they know they need trimmed, what do you do to make toddler manicure sessions tolerable for both of you?

Doctor's Visit: Follow-Up

Remember Mr. Didn't Want To Go To The Doctor Pants?

The fussy whiny one?
The almost 30 word speaking, even though they only cared if he had 5 words one?
Mr. walks forwards and backwards, goes up and down stairs, runs, climbs, recognizes pictures of things like balls, tries to help mommy pants, otherwise known as Mr. Developmentally Spot On Pants?
Yeah, well, he went to the doctor and started screaming the moment I started undressing him.
He didn't stop except for when I was nursing him.
He tried four times to climb off the scale and the nurse just wrote down what it looked like.
The problem with that was, it was grossly inaccurate, such that the doctor came in all panicked that my 18 month old light weight had allegedly lost four pounds.  You know, when they're supposed to be gaining?
So after a much screaming, crying, trying to get away filled nightmare of a time, we determined that mommy could get weighed, then pick up the boy boy, so we could do some math and derive his weight.
Yes, he's on track, but he was not a happy camper.
At all.
At all, at all.
He was so upset that the doctor was surprised and said that if he wasn't feeling his regular happy self in two or three days, to bring him back.
Well, since then he's had a little diarrhea and has barely eaten. All he wants to do is nurse, and I'm okay with that, other than his new penchant for giving me a TSA pat down while he's nursing. That has made me say that I'm very glad that we didn't wean him early like so many people have pressured us to do.  I don't know what we'd do if he was feeling sickly and didn't have his favorite means of nourishing and comforting.
In any case, he slept most of yesterday and today seems to be just chipper. He has a bit of a runny nose, but when do teething toddler babies not have runny noses?  So I'm not too worried about that.
My biggest concern is how much he hates going to the doctor.  A friend recommended that I procure a toy doctor's kit so he can get used to the idea of the various equipment, like stethoscopes and the ear scopes.
Any other advice on making the trip to the doctor's office less traumatic?
Or, do you have a doctor's kit you love and want me to know about before I start seriously looking for one?

Surviving the ER with a Baby

Let me begin by saying, you don't want to be in the ER with a baby. Not for the baby, not for you, not for your other kids, not for your spouse.
Generally speaking, you don't want to be in the ER, and you certainly don't want to take anyone extra with you if you can avoid it.
So first, I suggest keeping the number of someone who can watch your offspring, in case of emergency, handy.
Next, you're going to need to remember that even though the beds get clean sheets and pillow cases, the visitor chairs and floors do not get cleaned between patients and have all the germs of all the people who have used them. The nurses can't wash the soles of their shoes between patients, so the germs from the floor of the room with the coughing up blood patient get tracked onto the floor of the patient with the broken wrist. Therefore- KEEP BABY OFF THE FLOOR.
Does your kidlet like a stroller? Bring the stroller.  But also bring your most comfortable sling.  If you don't have time to grab it, call someone to have them bring it to you.  You're going to be tired as is, you certainly don't need to wear your arms out when babywearing is so much easier.

Don't put off nursing the baby because you're in a strange place.  If your wee one is nursing, take advantage of the fact that you can help calm and soothe your baby, and boost his/her immune system by nursing him.  The nurses and doctors aren't going to forget how to do their job if you're nursing, but if your wee one is hungry and screaming, they might just get distracted.
Toys.  If at all possible, only hand baby toys which can be sterilized before you leave, and if a toy hits the floor, it needs to go in a plastic bag and not be handed back to baby. Remember that bit about the floor? Nothing that touches the floor gets handed to baby. Ever.
Sippy cup hits the floor?  Bag it. Pacifier? Bag it.
Now here's where you get a break.  Most hospitals no longer have rules against cell phones in the ER.  If you've got a smart phone and an unlimited data plan, you can go to youtube.com and find great content like Celebrity Lullabies with Ricky Gervais

Don't have a smart phone with a data plan?  Do you have a MP3 player?  Baby just might be okay with listening to one of your earbuds, just remember to keep the volume down.

You can survive the ER with a baby in tow, just remember to keep baby off the floor and be prepared to be there for quite a while.
Goodluck, and may you never need this advice.

Baby enjoying the same rules applying to inpatient care rooms.

Do you have any tips on surviving the ER with a youngling?

Wordless Wednesday: World Breastfeeding Week

Wordless Wednesday

Sitting in Judgement.

I don't agree with the choices all of my friends make.
I don't agree with all of the choices my family members make.
My friends and family don't agree with all the choices I make.

I do, however, respect that we all make the best choices we can for our families with the information, limitations, and past experiences we have.

Sometimes the choices are trivial things.  Like choosing whether to put shoes on your crawler or not.  Sometimes they're silly, like whether it's okay to dress your children one way or another. Perhaps I like a mohawk on a baby, perhaps, that offends you.  Perhaps you like pink on girls, perhaps I like it on boys.  My sister-in-law disapproves of baby leggings.

Sometimes the choices are less trivial. Where your children sleep. What kind of diapers they wear, whether or not your ten year old can have a cell phone.  Sometimes they're where your child is allowed to play and with how much supervision.  Maybe I helicopter and you free range.  Perhaps we both doubt the longterm safety of each option.

Perhaps we disagree on bigger issues.  Sometimes the choices are between things like breastfeeding or formula feeding. Whether or not to circumcise.  The sorts of things we might feel deeply and passionately about.  Spanking or redirecting.

It's okay for us to debate these things.  Having thoughtful discourse about our differences is something we should welcome.  We should embrace the chance to better explain why we feel the way we do, and still feel comfortable agreeing or disagreeing with our friends.

We don't have to agree on everything to be friends or to be friendly.

Sometimes we disagree on issues so big we don't like to talk about them.  Issues like termination.  I might feel one way, you might feel another.  I like to think that we all agree that every termination is a tragedy, but maybe we don't.

Again, I hope that we are all capable of having our opinions, having our reasons, voicing them and discussing them rationally without damaging our friendships. However, no matter what our opinions are, there is no excuse, in any disagreement, particularly in the most extreme of choices, to shame a woman for making a choice with which you disagree.

Using the tragedies of others to highlight your own politics or religion, at their expense, is not being a friend, even if you dress it up like "compassionate advice."   We can support each other, even if we don't agree, because we are friends, because we are women, because we are human.

Before you find yourself sitting in judgement from the comfort of your desk chair over the choices with which you disagree, take a moment to remember that we should all treat each other with compassion.  I'm not perfect, you're not perfect, and maybe if we all are a little kinder to one another we can keep being friends, even when we disagree.

Survival

That's what we've been focusing on lately. Survival.
It started with a sweet baby who had a cold, and fussed night and day, stubbornly repudiating sleep.  Although that was energy consuming, it was survivable.  I felt mostly peachy, and armed with about 150 mg of caffeine a day, I was good to go. Sleep was for wimps.
You see where this is going, right?
Well, in my foolishness I forgot that I can only survive so long on caffeine and no sleep.  The result, now I've caught a different cold, which I've passed on to Mr. Teething with a Cold.  That's right.  A whole new round of fevers, running noses, coughs and misery for the baby, coupled with mom who feels like she has snot for blood.


So, since someone should benefit, my Top 10 Sickness Survival Tips.


1. Cancel, cancel, cancel.  If it's not absolutely necessary, cancel it.  Appointments, blog memes, whatever. Call, email, txt whomever you need to so you can focus on recovering.
2. Love the environment later.  I am all about the hankie for blowing your nose, but frankly, I only have so many, and doing laundry when I'm really sick isn't helping anyone out.  So yep, if I'm really sick and running out of cloth nosesipes?  Toilet paper works.  So do tissues, but really?  Buying paper specifically for nose blowing? No thank you.
3. Accept help.  It's harder than it sounds, but being the Allmother and doing all things by yourself all the time is just going to leave you more tired and more sick.  Let your spouse/partner/older kids help out by cooking for you- even if it's gross macaroni and cheese.  Starving doesn't actually help anyone heal.  When they ask "can I get you anything," don't sigh "no," because the directions you'd need to give them are more than two sentences.  Take a deep breath, make eye contact, and tell them what you need.
4. Got water?  Keep a glass or BPA free reusasable water bottle by your bed or by the couch where you're laying trying not to die.  Fluids are your friends.
5. Have someone help you kidlet proof your bedroom and any other room you might lose consciousness in, and then keep the door closed so that if your baby gets loose while you're busy not dying, you don't have to freak out that they're going to eat your tax records, get tangled in computer cords, or find the power drill.
6. This one involves prep.  Sick toys.  You're sick, your kidlet is probably sick too.  Keep a box of EASILY WASHABLE toys that baby only plays with when sick.  Then have someone HELP you put away the regular toys and get these out when you're sick.  Whether they're hard toys that are easy to scrub down or soft toys that wash up well, be sure to wash them and put them away when everyone's recovered.  These are extra fun for the wee one, and more apt to capture baby's attention longer because they're a special treat.  
7.  Use the phone.  Remember that whole starvation sucks thing?  Well it does. Sucks the life right out of you.  So if it comes down to it, and you can afford it, don't be afraid to order in.  You're not going to snog the pizza gal, so you're probably not going to get her sick.  And even if the food isn't the wonderfully nutrient packed goodness you'd have cooked if you were feeling 100%, again, starvation bad.
8. DVDs.  You're not going to get anything done.  Don't try to pretend you're going to use this down time to catch up on the family tree, or knit that baby blanket for your best friend's sister's shower. No one wants a plague blanket.  Veg out already and get better.
9.  Accept that some days you just don't have 9 in you and roll on.
10. Keep your phone handy so you can text, IM, tweet, and FB your way through.  To those of you who can't do these things on your phone... well, I'm sorry, but after last year's bedrest episode, I can't imagine not having any means of contacting the outside world and my best suggestion is to bring your laptop to bed with you.


Note- I never assume anyone is going to be so helpful as to take the baby for most of the day. Besides, if you're breastfeeding, that wouldn't help at all anyway.  

Wordless Wednesday: This Mother's Day

Wordless Wednesday