I could use some more coffee right now.

Before I had even turned on the car to take my littles to preschool this morning, I had screamed, and I mean screamed, at my kids twice, taken away Jamie’s toys for the rest of the day, soothed a devastated Charles after Jamie soaked his favorite shirt in an unauthorized (of course) water fight, mopped the bathroom after said water fight, and given Freddie his first taste of chocolate chips in an attempt to distract him from the horrifying contusion on his hand after Jamie shut it in the car console.  It was a shitty morning, made more so by an intense, although abbreviated due to child-minding, self-hatred session in front of my mirror.  All of my sweaters and leggings are still on my bed, the bedding from both bunks and the dog bed are strewn around the house, and the sink is piled high with dishes.

 

Jamie is just so four years old and I am running low on patience.  When Tony is there, we balance each other – I can see him getting stressed and impatient, so it keeps my own frustration in check.  Likewise, when I am at the end of my rope, Tony calms me and steps in to keep the kids on track.  Those days are few and far between; we are in the midst of the busy season of life, marked by long and stressful hours at work and multiple family demands.  Stress takes its toll, and more often than not, we have to captain this ship of fools alone.  I feel like I’m holding a bag of rabid, screeching, flapping bats closed and losing my grip.

 

The negative self-talk doesn’t help, but it’s absurdly difficult to stop.  Sometimes, I feel decent-looking.  Yesterday, even though my skin is more awful than usual and trending toward the most awful skin time of the month, I felt pretty.  Today, when I looked in the mirror, I felt haggard and old, droopy and saggy.  I want to be fashionable, but my body type is not fashionable; ten years ago, my silhouette worked well with midi-hem skirts and boot-cut jeans, but in the modern era of skinny jeans and maxi- or mini- skirts, my pear-shaped form simply looks ridiculous.  Shopping for clothing that is both fashionable and not cringe-worthy on my form takes time and money that I don’t have.  I am getting old, and my skin, breasts, and belly show it.  I exercise all the time for minimal results, and I bear the consequences of each missed workout or run in the fit of my jeans the very next day.  If only I could reconcile the instant gratification of chocolate and alcohol with the self-deprivation truism, “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.”

 

I wish I didn’t blow up so often, but it happens.  And then I apologize.  And then the kids apologize.  Then we talk about why I got frustrated and what we can all do better tomorrow.  Then I feel terrible, the pit in my stomach growing with each daily confirmation that I am a despicable parent.  I kiss and hug and reassure them of my love, berating myself in my internal monologue.  Wash, rinse, repeat.  I’m hopeful for a better day tomorrow, and the crazy thing is that somewhere in the deep recesses of my soul, I actually believe it could happen.  Like, one magical day, my clothes will all look good and my kids will do what they’re told and we’ll have a totally harmonious morning and I’ll think, “Ahhhh… this is the life!”  Dreams: they keep me going almost as much as caffeine.

Hacking the Strider “Bike”

You’ve seen them on Pinterest, the news, at the park.  They’re bicycles, but they have no pedals.  Balance bikes or Striders were created to transition kids from tricycles to bicycles without training wheels.  And you know what?  They totally work!  Kids learn balance just scooting along without pedals.  It’s fantastic to see.

 

But they’re so expensive: $100+ for a pedal-less bike you will have to replace with a real bicycle fairly quickly.  But lo, a new, regular 12-inch bicycle is less than $50 at Wal-Mart, and next to free on craigslist or at a garage sale near you.  What to do, what to do?

 

When Charles was two-and-a-half years old, we bought him a bicycle as an incentive to potty train.  In retrospect, he was totally ready for the bicycle and not so much ready to potty train.  But I digress.  A year later, he still hadn’t given up the training wheels and he was frustrated and wanted to go faster.  Enter my genius husband, who turned our regular, old, cheap 12-inch bicycle into a strider bike by simply removing the pedals and lowering the seat all the way down (and removing the training wheels, obviously).  Charles scooted that thing around like crazy for two weeks.  Then we put the pedals back on and he was off!  No training wheels, no balancing woes, just riding like a bat out of hell.

 

August 2012

 

So here’s my parent hack of the day: don’t buy a strider bike.  Buy a cheap, little bike and remove the pedals for awhile.  Your kid will be doing wheelies in no time.

 

 

This is Charles, the day we put the pedals back on.  I’ve been yelling at him to slow down ever since.

 

True story

Charlie is undeniably the cutest kid ever. Evidence:

No baby laughter yet, but lots of big smiles and coos> Oh, and by the way, I am just a terribke writer, not depressed and bored. Sure, I miss the ability to run an errand without a half-hour of preparaion coupled with the fear of erupting screams at ANY MOMENT (seriously, babies are ticking time bombs of cranky), but I also am enjoying my time loving Charles each and every day. But, I don't have a happy, funny writing style, just a factual, academic style. Plus, I'm kinda guessing that you all find hearing about our days incredibly boring- I could tell you about Charles poopy diapers and his bathing schedule, but really, it's nothing when I can't accurately describe the shock and awe that spreads across my son's face when he pushes out a giant poo or the glee he registers when I tickle him in the bathtub. Do I want to go back to work? Yes, but only because I want to contribute to our family and learn to speak like an adult again. I have lost a good part of my vocabulary conversing solely in "baby" for most of each day. Otherwise, I am content to spend my days playing with the light of my life :-) Come visit us, you won't be disappointed at the level of cuteness in person.

Squish Face!

Hmm, what's this?

NOM NOM NOM... Hands taste good.

Let's see if I can get that whole thing in here...

These wiggly things make this an interesting dish

Wait! Where did that hand go?

Is it over there?

DID YOU TAKE IT?

.

.

.

Conserving energy for another day of hand-chomping.

Will you look at those cheeks?! It's a wonder I don't fall over dead from their cuteness.

The Tale of the Boy Who Wouldn't Sleep

Charles slept for most of yesterday, and didn't eat very much (compared to the near-continual chomping on my boob he has done for the past 9 weeks). I thought maybe he had decided to spend a day growing and would sleep all night, too. But no.

I tried to wake him during the day and keep him active, I really did. But have you ever tried to keep a sleepy infant awake? It really isn't too possible. You end up with one of two outcomes: crying or sleeping. You start to play with them, you put them in the crib they hate, and they wake up crying. You walk around with them in what must be uncomfortable positions for their little bodies, and they still sleep. Fruitless.

Charles woke up around 8 pm and decided to stay up until midnight. But at midnight, he would not really sleep.

Not in his crib.

Not on Tony's chest.

Not in our bed.

Not on my chest (can't be that comfortable, what with the jutty collarbone and the mountainous breasts).

Not in the rocker.

Not curled up with me on the couch.

Where would he sleep?

Over my shoulder, as I bounced and walked up and down the stairs. You try keeping that up all night.

On top of which, Buster scared the bejesus out of himself and us at around 4 am, when he knocked over the Christmas tree that we hadn't yet gotten around to taking down. Fortunately, I had stripped it of its ornaments a week ago.

This morning, an angel in disguise, my friend Rachael, brought us a motorized swing, once rejected by her own son. Charlie loves it.

I think we might get some sleep tonight, if only because he will sleep in this swing.

I started writing this at 5 am...

We finally left the house yesterday... the snow here is downright nuts! But then, prompted by a question from my dad, we got to thinkin' (a dangerous game around here). We have had a pretty major snowstorm up here 4 out of the last five years. At this point, I am thinking we should buy a snow shovel and some sleds so that next year, when Charles is a bit older and bigger, we can really enjoy it! Which is really not to say that we haven't enjoyed the snow - watching Buster tear through it is pure mirth. Also, we made cookies! What has made being cooped up most bearable, though, is that Charles has really changed lately. For one thing, we are about to get off of the Diaper Rash Party Bus. Plus, he is more alert when he is awake, and has been sleeping A LOT during his most recent growth spurt (still up every two hours to eat, and he ABHORS a wet or dirty diaper, but nonetheless, it means lots of precious cuddle time with mommy and less overall sleep deprivation), which makes it easy for me to get things done. He has done this funny thing where he chubs up real good for a few days and then grows, getting all skinny (relatively) again. His feet are now reaching the bottoms of his 3-6 month pyjamas! I wonder if early growth is any indicator of later height? It would be fun to have a tall son. Oh, yeah, and Charles is holding his head up and I even got a real smile this morning! Only one, but still, it was sooo amazing!

The reason we left the house yesterday? A friend of ours is on bedrest at 33 weeks. It reminds me how extremely fortunate I was in my pregnancy - all gigantor-ness aside, I was happy to make it to full term and not have to deal with any problems.

Here are some recent photos:

Snow Day

Here I am, typing with a baby sleeping on my chest. He didn't sleep last night, so he is making up for it now, and I am sitting in a very awkward position. Oh, well. At least he's quiet.

Anyhow, I am writing to tell you all, "Holy Crap! It's really snowing!" AGAIN. Like, a lot. It is just coming down now, has been off and on all day long, so we are up to about a foot of accumulation. My dear neighbors came and shoveled our walk this morning without telling us (so sweet, I am baking them cookies... which I shove in the oven every time I have a free hand), but it is all covered with snow yet again. I haven't been out of the house today, but really, where would I go? Baby, it's cold outside. However, this means that Christmas shopping is postponed once again. Should have done it online.

Buster is our constant source of entertainment in this weather - now he has to search for his toys under a fresh layer of snow and it is pretty funny! Okay, so I am not sure anymore what I was going to post about, and I am sure it was awesome, but now Charlie is awake and we are going to have playtime, during which I will try to coax that ever elusive smile from him. Happy white Christmas, everyone!

New Pro Photos

We had another set of photos done the other day... check them out!

www.millersalbums.com
event code: 67150P5weeks

Charles is one cute kid!

Update

My goodness, I sounded pretty pathetic, didn't I? I had a rough day on Monday, and I am really thankful for all of you who wrote or called with your good wishes and advice. This IS the hardest thing I have ever done, being a mom, and I do sometimes feel like I just plain suck at it. But I do love Charlie, and hopefully that will be enough to carry us through. I worry sometimes that I am missing the wonderful parts about him being a baby because he has been so uncomfortable lately.

The good news is that his poor, sore bottom is improving... the rash is not gone, but somewhat diminished. I hope that he will sleep well again when his butt is totally better - after that one night of great sleep, he has been consistent with the waking every two hours thing.

Oh, but he is still mega cute, and today he spent most of the day awake! It is awesome to see his little eyes taking in anything that is six or ten inches in front of his face. He got a good look at Grandpa Roger while he was here for the past couple of days, and had fun over at Uncle Leland's tonight looking at his goofy mug, too. The Holeman men make such weird faces at babies!

So, in all, we are doing a bit better and I am hopeful for tomorrow. Perhaps it was all your prayers and well wishes that helped us to turn the corner. Thank you.

FAIL!

From the moment we walked out of the hospital, poor Charles has been besieged by pain and suffering: gas, blisters on his newly-exposed winkie (post c-i-r-c), and horrible, horrifying diaper rash. I am now convinced that if there were tests or certification courses to determine eligibility for parenthood, I would not have made the cut. Disregarding my ridiculous weight gain (still can't wear my wedding rings) and stress during pregnancy, my overall performance as Mom has been abysmal. And truly, I have been afforded every luxury: a husband and extended family to care for me and Charlie, friends to bring us dinner (I haven't cooked a meal since delivery... how's that for useless around the house? Don't even get me started on the sad state of laundry and other chores), and enough money to buy what we need. All signs point to "Should Be Able to Effing Do This." But I can't, apparently. Instead, my baby cries because he's hurting and I can't do anything about it, other than offer him a bloody, blistered breast and hope that causing myself boob pain will somehow take his pain away. Except that it doesn't, because the more he eats, the more he dirties his diapers, and the more his butt hurts.

So I called his doctor today and we have yet another prescription paste to put on his rash, with instructions that if things aren't drastically better by Wednesday, we are to go in so I can be chastised by the nursing staff for DOING IT ALL WRONG.

So why have I painstakingly typed this post out with one hand while holding a dozing infant (he hasn't napped more than 20 minutes at a time today)? To implore you to pray, wish upon a star, or hope that Charles will get some relief from his suffering and there will be less crying in this household (by the both of us). Because I can't fix it, even though I would gladly suffer through cracked nipples and thirty extra pounds for THE REST OF MY LIFE if he would just be okay. And I suppose that I might have just cursed myself there, so, in the future, if Charles does get better and I complain about my fat ass, will someone please remind me that I traded looks for the health of my baby? Totally worth it, but I might never leave the house again. Oh, and if you're looking for a cute wardrobe, size 6, cheap, just let me know.

It's a good thing the doctor put me back on birth control, because I can't fathom subjecting another child to my ineptitude.

Hallelujah!

Charlie slept last night. From 2 am until 6:30 am. FOUR AND A HALF HOURS. Then, he ate for an hour and went back to sleep for another THREE HOURS. I cannot begin to explain what a difference this makes in the attitudes of the adults in this house. As I said to Tony this morning, even if he doesn't sleep like that again tonight, at least I know he CAN and that someday, he WILL. For parents of a newborn, the promise of four hours of uninterrupted sleep at some point in the future is a revelation.

We continue to get used to life with a baby 'round here. Charles and Buster and I take at least one walk every day (this has done nothing, so far, for my poochy tummy, but I am hopeful). I think Buster enjoys this the most, since we usually meet up with my friend, Deanna, and her dog, Lucy, to play in the park. The Baby Bjorn frontpack has become our favorite baby item (thanks, Mer!), since Charles instantly falls asleep in it and it allows me both hands free to do WHATEVER I WANT. Including eat, which seems to be the thing I forget to do most often. The weekends have been great because Tony is here, and I get to do a few more personal things, like do the dishes, take a longer shower, do laundry... okay, so those aren't really personal and they don't sound like much fun, but when you have an infant, a leisurely shower is like Christmas.

Charles still fusses a fair amount, especially between 11 pm and 2 am. He isn't really colicky- that is to say, he is not inconsolable when he is fussy, he just doesn't want to sleep. So, I feed him, change him, bounce him, rock him, shush him (we have been reading The Happiest Baby on the Block - the advice about calming a baby is awesome. We have discovered that Charles likes REALLY LOUD white noise, such as the vacuum, the stove fan, or the hair dryer), and then repeat the process until he falls asleep. He is still sleeping with us. Every time we put him in his bassinet, he wakes up. We think the mattress is just too hard. We should receive his new crib this week (it was back ordered) and we hope that will work out better for him.

I am still totally in love with this squishy little guy (not that I expect that to ever change). And by little, I mean big. He is already in 3-6 month clothes... the 0-3 month outfits won't even zip up now. Sigh...

Photo Extravagaza!

We have a friend/business associate who is a stellar photographer and who cut us a great deal on baby photos to expand his "family" portfolio (our photos are even in his brochure!), and we wanted to share the first couple rounds with you. We will have photos taken all year of our little dude, so we'll let you know when to check back at this link. The event code is 67150PCharlie08. You will be asked to give an email address, go ahead and use captcook at hotmail dot com to save yourself the spam.

Note to grandparents: these photos have not been retouched and we would prefer that you order prints from Larry, if you so desire. His info is on the welcome screen.

big baby boy

11 pounds, 10 ounces at 3.5 weeks... if Charlie continues at this rate, he'll weigh over 50 pounds by his first birthday!

I suppose this explains why my boobs constantly hurt: it's tough to keep up with the feeding demands of such a large child.

Our screamer is healthy, except for some troublesome diaper rash and a belly button that is bordering on herniated. Mom and dad, however, are exhausted.

And then all hell broke loose...

Who needs an oven and a washer anyhow?

Two or three days ago (time having become relative to the last feeding), the washer broke. Just great when you have an infant in the house and laundry coming out your ears. Every time we set it to wash warm or hot, it would just turn off. Now, our washer is new, a ginormous gift from my parents when we moved into this house, broke after plunking our savings and graduation gifts and grandma gifts into a down payment. Seriously, thing should not break. And, in fact, it didn't, the washer repair guy was just here, flipped a few switches back and forth (just turn it off and on real fast!) and it is fixed. But that's a different story that didn't end in tears, only extreme frustration and, oh, okay, a few tears at having to shell out 80 bucks for something we'd TRIED doing ourselves multiple times. Gar.

So, anyhow, at first I called Sears, since that's where it came from, and even though I have my mom's receipts for the dang thing, Sears has NO RECORD OF IT EVER BEING PURCHASED. Which translates to: We can't help you. No, seriously. I finally, after speaking to three people and crying, literally, on the phone to the third, got a service appointment set, when they hit me with the payment options. Minimum $109 charge just to have the repairman come out, on top of any fees s/he might charge for a service call, plus parts and labor. I guess this is Sears' fee for the "service" they render over the phone. Some service. I cried again. Then, they offered me a DEAL, the bastards: Pay $214 now and we'll cover all service for the next year. What a deal, especially considering that, as I said before, the washer is new as of 18 months ago. Likely, we won't need any service on it for another ten years. So I did what any woman with crazy just-pushed-a-nine-pound-baby-out-her-you-know-what would do. I cried and passed the decision to Tony. He wisely said "up yours, Sears" and made a service appointment with the local appliance company that outfitted our entire kitchen.

Then the oven broke. Only the oven is really broken, not just flip-switches-back-and-forth-to-miraculously-fix-it broken. All those meals I prepared and froze for "when the baby comes"? Useless to me now. The repairman comes for that on Tuesday. At least it is solidly under warranty. There were tears involved in the discovery that we had no working oven, as well.

Then, on Thursday, we took Charles to his c-i-r-c-you-fill-in-the-rest appointment (there are crazies out there who have that term on permanent Google Search just so they can leave blog comments about how hundreds of American men - is that even statistically relevant? - try to reverse theirs every year with disgusting weights and tape. My thought is that they obviously need something to blame for their stupid lives, and looking to their actions or morals just seems too difficult, so they focus on some physical ridiculous-ness that all men I have talked to, Tony included, say isn't even a choice. It's just what you do with sons). I didn't stay in the room for the procedure, I made Tony do it, but I was thoroughly traumatized by the bloody aftermath. I now understand, I think, what it is to be a mother: wanting, wishing, praying to do anything to take away all suffering of your child. That and a bunch of other stuff. Anyhow, that whole thing ended in tears for me as well. Aren't hormones awesome?

My folks are here this weekend, which has helped me to be a bit more sane today (funny what taking a shower and brushing your teeth will do for a girl... now if only I could find time to eat) and my mother-in-law comes on Monday to help out. Such a blessing. In the immortal words of Britney Spears, "Parenting is hard, y'all." It has taken me hours just to finish this post.

The little chomper is doing well and eating lots (my porn-star-sized breasts are sore as all get-out), mostly sleeping well, too. I am so in love, I can't even describe it. Here are some of the latest photos:

That's a big yawn for such a little face :-)