I keep reading lovely blog posts by pregnant women about how glad they are when their families come to help out ...
Through a long series of mishaps we landed up with no air mattress for visitors and due to the snowstorm and last minute rush, I just decided to borrow one off a friend and replace ours in the future. Which was fine and all because I am superwoman and carried a queen-sized air mattress home through the snowstorm on Monday ... except the jerk who last borrowed this particular mattress from my friend seems to have "misplaced" the cord. The power cord. The one that's pretty necessary to transform it from useless, heavy piece of plastic to mattress.
So naturally not only did I run out at 9:15 pm to buy a new one, but when I got home I not only:
a. apologized to said houseguests for "keeping them up late"
b. got to bleach the floor/highchair because the pee that would have normally been easy to wipe up immediately post-accident had already started to dry during my late-night shopping excursion (yes, I understand that the fusspot is quite ready to toilet train but the next person who facilitates her de-diapering without subsequently offering to clean up the inevitable mess is in serious trouble ... unless she is in a onesie with snaps she will take off her clothes and cloth diaper and use the potty which is lovely and all, except she then subsequently forgets that this is not a once-a-day adventure and I am in no mood for extra cleaning at the moment)
c. started a load of laundry to wash her 2 pee-soaked outfits from today because my guests were "too tired" to do so in my absence
Yeah, something tells me that paid help is the way of the future. Now, how much trouble do you think I'd get in if I suggest that what we'd really like in the way of gifts from families is cash for professional childcare?
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
A little less rosy
I am trying really hard to stay positive and to focus on all of the wonderful things in my life at the moment, but it's getting a bit harder. To start with, I feel awful. Nothing specific, just exhausted. So exhausted that I barely got out of bed long enough this morning to see the fusspot and JD off before going back to sleep for 2 hours. My strong suspicion is that I am yet again severely anemic, but since I am this close to getting kicked out of the much-coveted birthing center (even though nothing would change about my delivery in the same hospital's L and D floor except no access to food, the baby being removed for weighing, shots, etc. and JD being kicked out of the hospital overnight) my current strategy is simply to avoid any further blood draws this pregnancy.
I am however seriously worried about being put on modified bed rest and thus trying to get everything possible done now. Even JD was a bit puzzled to come home and find me in the midst of washing newborn clothes a full 2 months before my due date, but I'm just worried that I won't be able to do these things later.
And it has become completely apparent that I do not have a support network. There was a good deal of drama at my in-laws over Christmas, and I was initially blamed for being "overly critical," although apparently when the fight developed that wasn't really at the core of the issues anyway. And it certainly is a fair criticism, but I had already endured a full 2 days of being told to relax about the fusspot's bedtime yet equally criticized for her "terrible twos" (yes, if you keep a toddler up until 11 pm 3 nights in a row her behavior deteriorates rapidly), I was yet again criticized for not feeding my baby enough salt (seriously, folks. And intriguingly even on Wednesday afternoon when my two year old had just had her very first McDonalds lunch thanks to a daycare outing) and told that hopefully I wouldn't have any breastfeeding issues this time or would at least turn to formula because the fusspot's speech delay was probably a result of my breastfeeding (yup. true. little known fact that breastfeeding a newborn promotes speech delays ...). And as ever I blame JD because he is the one who needs to mediate between my in-laws and me, to chose what to strategically translate and how, etc. Even he threatened to leave after the fusspot yet again climbed out of her toddler bed and I quietly suggested we just resurrect the crib (I won't even go into the details of my discovery that the fusspot could reach 2 uncovered outlets from her toddler bed for the whole week of Thanksgiving ...)
And of course, after everything was calmed down I made the mistake of mentioning to my in-laws that we'd love them to come into the city and take care of the fusspot overnight when I go into labor. The short and completely unexpected answer from them: no way. Apparently they feel very strongly that the best thing is for them to collect the fusspot from NYC and take her out to their house (about 2 hours away) for at least a week when I deliver. I know that they mean the very best for me, but not only do I hope to feel well enough to care for the fusspot post-partum (and certainly have plenty of paid babysitters on call to help that week plus her regular daycare, 3 sets of friendly neighbors, my own mother planning to fly in), I just think that it would be awful for the fusspot's transition to big sister to be sent out with no notice (at least for Thanksgiving we could spend weeks talking about her big trip and getting her ready) and then return to a new sibling firmly ensconced in the apartment, plus I am bound to be hormonal and will certainly want my little girl around. So needless to say calling 24-hour babysitting agencies has been added to the "to do pre-baby" list. I understand that their stance comes from wanting the best for me (and honestly from a completely different concept of the parent-child bond. JD was raised mostly by his grandparents, after all) but you'd just think that in this situation you would smile and nod and agree to whatever crazy scheme your one and only daughter-in-law has in her head.
Which is also how I feel about my family. They are being absurd. Yes, our thank you notes for the fusspot's birthday presents are late. No, I don't need a reminder. No, I don't need a reminder to e-mail out photos. I will do it when I have time. It is as if all of them have collectively forgotten that:
a. I have feelings
b. I am tired and busy and working full-time while caring for a toddler alone every weekday
Just a little example, but one that I am still pissed about. Some of our relatives came to visit 2 weeks ago and of course the conversation turned to the dreaded bris. I did not actually expect either of these relatives to show up (even though they both live quite close to the city) and so to try and be nice I said something like "We'll of course be busy that day so I understand if you'd rather come meet the baby another day." And the one turns to me and says "Oh, I've seen plenty of circumcisions when I worked in the hospital and wouldn't dream of wasting my time commuting to come to your sons'." Which does make it clear that she won't be here and all, but seriously? This is a ceremony that holds a lot of meaning for us, the bargain baby's parents, and you'd think that there would be the slightest attempt to be respectful of that. It's not about a minor medical procedure. It is about our sharing our religious intentions for the baby with friends, welcoming the baby into a particular community, honoring a recently deceased relative (with the name). Since this is a relative who is a good deal older, she certainly grew up with the same stories I did of relatives lost in the Shoa, of the importance to holding onto a few key traditions, of the importance of community and I just find the attitude so completely disrespectful. How hard would it be to say "Yeah, I'd prefer to come someday I can be the only visitor than when you have a lot of friends over" or "Probably can't get off from work last minute, even for an hour"?
And then there's the whole mentally preparing for the post-partum time, and I just have to remember: paid help is always better. I don't really know why, but I don't have the type of friends in the city who would offer to bring over a meal or call and ask if I need anything. And our synagogue is way too disorganized for that. JD and I found it rather funny that despite a million admonitions to never visit a post-partum woman sans food, the only item of food which was brought by any of our many, many visitors in the 2 weeks post-partum with the fusspot (and remember not only did JD go back to work less than 24 hours after her birth but I was a first-time mom) was a bottle of pomegranate juice brought by a delightfully clueless single male friend. I have also grown apart from many of my close friends since we are by far the first in our crowd to have kids. In fact, of my 4 bridesmaids, I only told 3 of them I was pregnant in their Christmas cards (and the 4th was my sister). Honestly because it's awkward and I don't think they'll have much to say (and they haven't). Long-time readers may recall that our wedding was a short 2.5 years ago, so it's not like we've grown apart naturally over the years ...
I guess part of me wonders exactly what I did wrong. Certainly one easy thing to fix is to move to another synagogue, one that is more organized, has better toddler activities. And part of it can easily be blamed on NYC: JD's two good high school friends both live 1.5 hours away in the city, so I hardly expect them to e-mail and offer to come over with dinner. I have 2 good friends with children who live in Queens so it's not exactly feasible for them to hop on the subway for an hour and drop by to visit. But having a newborn in the city was so isolating last time, and I expect it to be even more so this time given the hassle of getting anywhere, probably not wanting to take the subway or a bus for the first 2 or 3 weeks, etc. And then a part of me thinks that it must just be me: I must be doing something wrong to not build the type of friendships where someone would offer to watch my baby when I go into labor, where a single IRL friend would write and ask how I'm doing with this pregnancy, where anyone would share the excitement. I do have 4 very close friends (3 with families, one very much hoping to have a family soon), but none of them even live in the United States and it's so hard to find time to communicate across different time zones, etc.
And of course, all of that makes me even more worried about PPD and such.
Needless to say, not such a rosy blog post today.
I am however seriously worried about being put on modified bed rest and thus trying to get everything possible done now. Even JD was a bit puzzled to come home and find me in the midst of washing newborn clothes a full 2 months before my due date, but I'm just worried that I won't be able to do these things later.
And it has become completely apparent that I do not have a support network. There was a good deal of drama at my in-laws over Christmas, and I was initially blamed for being "overly critical," although apparently when the fight developed that wasn't really at the core of the issues anyway. And it certainly is a fair criticism, but I had already endured a full 2 days of being told to relax about the fusspot's bedtime yet equally criticized for her "terrible twos" (yes, if you keep a toddler up until 11 pm 3 nights in a row her behavior deteriorates rapidly), I was yet again criticized for not feeding my baby enough salt (seriously, folks. And intriguingly even on Wednesday afternoon when my two year old had just had her very first McDonalds lunch thanks to a daycare outing) and told that hopefully I wouldn't have any breastfeeding issues this time or would at least turn to formula because the fusspot's speech delay was probably a result of my breastfeeding (yup. true. little known fact that breastfeeding a newborn promotes speech delays ...). And as ever I blame JD because he is the one who needs to mediate between my in-laws and me, to chose what to strategically translate and how, etc. Even he threatened to leave after the fusspot yet again climbed out of her toddler bed and I quietly suggested we just resurrect the crib (I won't even go into the details of my discovery that the fusspot could reach 2 uncovered outlets from her toddler bed for the whole week of Thanksgiving ...)
And of course, after everything was calmed down I made the mistake of mentioning to my in-laws that we'd love them to come into the city and take care of the fusspot overnight when I go into labor. The short and completely unexpected answer from them: no way. Apparently they feel very strongly that the best thing is for them to collect the fusspot from NYC and take her out to their house (about 2 hours away) for at least a week when I deliver. I know that they mean the very best for me, but not only do I hope to feel well enough to care for the fusspot post-partum (and certainly have plenty of paid babysitters on call to help that week plus her regular daycare, 3 sets of friendly neighbors, my own mother planning to fly in), I just think that it would be awful for the fusspot's transition to big sister to be sent out with no notice (at least for Thanksgiving we could spend weeks talking about her big trip and getting her ready) and then return to a new sibling firmly ensconced in the apartment, plus I am bound to be hormonal and will certainly want my little girl around. So needless to say calling 24-hour babysitting agencies has been added to the "to do pre-baby" list. I understand that their stance comes from wanting the best for me (and honestly from a completely different concept of the parent-child bond. JD was raised mostly by his grandparents, after all) but you'd just think that in this situation you would smile and nod and agree to whatever crazy scheme your one and only daughter-in-law has in her head.
Which is also how I feel about my family. They are being absurd. Yes, our thank you notes for the fusspot's birthday presents are late. No, I don't need a reminder. No, I don't need a reminder to e-mail out photos. I will do it when I have time. It is as if all of them have collectively forgotten that:
a. I have feelings
b. I am tired and busy and working full-time while caring for a toddler alone every weekday
Just a little example, but one that I am still pissed about. Some of our relatives came to visit 2 weeks ago and of course the conversation turned to the dreaded bris. I did not actually expect either of these relatives to show up (even though they both live quite close to the city) and so to try and be nice I said something like "We'll of course be busy that day so I understand if you'd rather come meet the baby another day." And the one turns to me and says "Oh, I've seen plenty of circumcisions when I worked in the hospital and wouldn't dream of wasting my time commuting to come to your sons'." Which does make it clear that she won't be here and all, but seriously? This is a ceremony that holds a lot of meaning for us, the bargain baby's parents, and you'd think that there would be the slightest attempt to be respectful of that. It's not about a minor medical procedure. It is about our sharing our religious intentions for the baby with friends, welcoming the baby into a particular community, honoring a recently deceased relative (with the name). Since this is a relative who is a good deal older, she certainly grew up with the same stories I did of relatives lost in the Shoa, of the importance to holding onto a few key traditions, of the importance of community and I just find the attitude so completely disrespectful. How hard would it be to say "Yeah, I'd prefer to come someday I can be the only visitor than when you have a lot of friends over" or "Probably can't get off from work last minute, even for an hour"?
And then there's the whole mentally preparing for the post-partum time, and I just have to remember: paid help is always better. I don't really know why, but I don't have the type of friends in the city who would offer to bring over a meal or call and ask if I need anything. And our synagogue is way too disorganized for that. JD and I found it rather funny that despite a million admonitions to never visit a post-partum woman sans food, the only item of food which was brought by any of our many, many visitors in the 2 weeks post-partum with the fusspot (and remember not only did JD go back to work less than 24 hours after her birth but I was a first-time mom) was a bottle of pomegranate juice brought by a delightfully clueless single male friend. I have also grown apart from many of my close friends since we are by far the first in our crowd to have kids. In fact, of my 4 bridesmaids, I only told 3 of them I was pregnant in their Christmas cards (and the 4th was my sister). Honestly because it's awkward and I don't think they'll have much to say (and they haven't). Long-time readers may recall that our wedding was a short 2.5 years ago, so it's not like we've grown apart naturally over the years ...
I guess part of me wonders exactly what I did wrong. Certainly one easy thing to fix is to move to another synagogue, one that is more organized, has better toddler activities. And part of it can easily be blamed on NYC: JD's two good high school friends both live 1.5 hours away in the city, so I hardly expect them to e-mail and offer to come over with dinner. I have 2 good friends with children who live in Queens so it's not exactly feasible for them to hop on the subway for an hour and drop by to visit. But having a newborn in the city was so isolating last time, and I expect it to be even more so this time given the hassle of getting anywhere, probably not wanting to take the subway or a bus for the first 2 or 3 weeks, etc. And then a part of me thinks that it must just be me: I must be doing something wrong to not build the type of friendships where someone would offer to watch my baby when I go into labor, where a single IRL friend would write and ask how I'm doing with this pregnancy, where anyone would share the excitement. I do have 4 very close friends (3 with families, one very much hoping to have a family soon), but none of them even live in the United States and it's so hard to find time to communicate across different time zones, etc.
And of course, all of that makes me even more worried about PPD and such.
Needless to say, not such a rosy blog post today.
Monday, December 27, 2010
A most lovely snowstorm
At long, long last it snowed yesterday. And it was lovely.
We cut short our time with the in-laws to head back into the city, arriving shortly after the snow started gusting via a very crowded train. I was a bit worried about taking public transport home alone with the fusspot and suitcase, but JD wanted to head straight in to work so I braved the crowds and was rewarded by finding our very own building superintendent in our subway car. He not only carried the sleeping fusspot up 3 flights of stairs and out of the subway but insisted on walking me all the way to the door of our building through the gusting snow with his own two adorable children in tow.
And then the fusspot napped (ok, fussed. But seriously, she had been kept up well past 10 pm by her grandparents every night of our visit so I was hardly expecting perfect behavior ...) while I sat on the couch and ate (the final leftovers of a very, very small) box of chocolates while watching the snow and hand quilting a rather doomed baby blanket (Note to self: consider either a. measuring correctly b. ironing or c. pinning the project if you want straight lines. Needless to say the final product will definitely look "homemade.")
When the fusspot had finally fussed her way back to sleep and woken up, we delved into our pile of seasonal books. Starting with the classics of course:
1. The Snowy Day by Ezra Jack Keats
2. Snow by Uri Shulevitz
3. Tracks in the Snow by Wong Yee
and then a bit further into the pile with:
1. Beady Bear by Don Freeman (did this book used to be better?)
2. Too Many Mittens by Florence Slobodkin
3. Happy Birthday Moon by Frank Ash
We rode the elevator in our building for a good half hour, stood in the lobby and admired the mud, and I pretty much thought that I wouldn't really get to go play in the snow until tomorrow because of the gusting wind and grumpy fusspot until JD walked in the door at 7 pm (the Sunday after Christmas, need I add?) and at 8:05 two single (guy) friends called to say they were in the neighborhood and going out for a drink, should they walk by and pick me up? And so instead of being the poor, housebound dutiful housewife I threw on sweatpants over my pajamas and my favorite $10 imitation uggs and was very cautiously escorted out into the gusting wind for a hot chocolate (JD's parting words being "Just to warn you I won't be able to come rescue you if you get stuck in the snow" combined with "Definitely bring the big camera and tripod. It's gorgeous")
Of course, it helps that our daycare never closes (being a home daycare and all) and that I can work at home tomorrow, so thus far this storm is turning out to be perfectly lovely. Here's to hoping you enjoy it too.
We cut short our time with the in-laws to head back into the city, arriving shortly after the snow started gusting via a very crowded train. I was a bit worried about taking public transport home alone with the fusspot and suitcase, but JD wanted to head straight in to work so I braved the crowds and was rewarded by finding our very own building superintendent in our subway car. He not only carried the sleeping fusspot up 3 flights of stairs and out of the subway but insisted on walking me all the way to the door of our building through the gusting snow with his own two adorable children in tow.
And then the fusspot napped (ok, fussed. But seriously, she had been kept up well past 10 pm by her grandparents every night of our visit so I was hardly expecting perfect behavior ...) while I sat on the couch and ate (the final leftovers of a very, very small) box of chocolates while watching the snow and hand quilting a rather doomed baby blanket (Note to self: consider either a. measuring correctly b. ironing or c. pinning the project if you want straight lines. Needless to say the final product will definitely look "homemade.")
When the fusspot had finally fussed her way back to sleep and woken up, we delved into our pile of seasonal books. Starting with the classics of course:
1. The Snowy Day by Ezra Jack Keats
2. Snow by Uri Shulevitz
3. Tracks in the Snow by Wong Yee
and then a bit further into the pile with:
1. Beady Bear by Don Freeman (did this book used to be better?)
2. Too Many Mittens by Florence Slobodkin
3. Happy Birthday Moon by Frank Ash
We rode the elevator in our building for a good half hour, stood in the lobby and admired the mud, and I pretty much thought that I wouldn't really get to go play in the snow until tomorrow because of the gusting wind and grumpy fusspot until JD walked in the door at 7 pm (the Sunday after Christmas, need I add?) and at 8:05 two single (guy) friends called to say they were in the neighborhood and going out for a drink, should they walk by and pick me up? And so instead of being the poor, housebound dutiful housewife I threw on sweatpants over my pajamas and my favorite $10 imitation uggs and was very cautiously escorted out into the gusting wind for a hot chocolate (JD's parting words being "Just to warn you I won't be able to come rescue you if you get stuck in the snow" combined with "Definitely bring the big camera and tripod. It's gorgeous")
Of course, it helps that our daycare never closes (being a home daycare and all) and that I can work at home tomorrow, so thus far this storm is turning out to be perfectly lovely. Here's to hoping you enjoy it too.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Slowing down but still with moments of super-human strength
In an entirely unplanned excursion yesterday afternoon, just as the sun was setting and all responsible parents were at home cooking delicious vegetable-filled dinners, I took the fusspot to one of the busiest streets in NYC. To go shopping. The week before Christmas. And it was a total success.
We were on a craigslist-sponsored adventure to pick up some practically new newborn cloth diapers when I realized both that we were near Harold Square and that I had an item to return in my bag. Fine, one return 5 days before Christmas shouldn't be all that crazy. But then we walked by GAP and they were having a huge sale and I really had to pee and the fusspot had announced that she was poopies and ... obviously we had to go shop. And while I certainly didn't get much time to try things on or browse casually, I picked up a number of delightful clearance items for her and the bargain baby and 3 much-needed shirts for me also from the clearance rack (more on that later) and we both stood and danced in the 2nd floor windows overlooking Harold Square and took time to watch for buses and sing the wheels on the bus and even to dismember an ill-fated mannequin, and it was all fine.
Twenty minute check-out lines, 9 flights of stairs to get in and out of the subway, running out of snacks, poopie diapers ... we can still handle it, and have a good time. But oh my, I have no idea how I am going to make it out of our neighborhood with the bargain baby in tow. Even if I just commit to carrying the bargain baby for the entire day, I cannot both carry a newborn in a sling and carry the fusspot up and down the 3 flights of stairs at our subway stop. And no, she cannot walk those stairs because they are gross and she puts her hands on every step, sits down, licks her hands ... I just can't handle it at this point (seriously folks, one of our favorite games while waiting for the train is to point out the rats in our subway stop. No way I am going to let the fusspot play all over that floor). So I figure we might as well take advantage of our relative freedom, huge bump and all, this holiday season.
As for clothes, we seem to have a rather large and prominent problem. See, I'm carrying straight out this time. Meaning that at 6.5 months pregnant I still have no ass, my rings are loose, etc. but there is a good 12 inches of basketball-style bump sticking straight out. And the result is that my pants keep falling off. Especially when the fusspot gives them a good tug. I have both under the belly elastic and over-the-belly spandex and neither stays on. At the moment my only defense is granny panties. I took 2 pairs of pants to the tailor yesterday to see if he could tighten the elastic, but any advice? I really feel like I need under-my-clothes suspenders at this point. The only pants which comfortably stay on are my yoga pants which sit entirely under my belly (they're not even maternity pants) but they are certainly not work-appropriate. And while I remember wearing a lot of dresses last time around, it's been rather cold in the big city this winter and tights just aren't cutting it. And I would love to go for long walks, but I inevitably end up using one hand to hold up my pants while I push the stroller with the other hand. There must be a better solution, right?
We were on a craigslist-sponsored adventure to pick up some practically new newborn cloth diapers when I realized both that we were near Harold Square and that I had an item to return in my bag. Fine, one return 5 days before Christmas shouldn't be all that crazy. But then we walked by GAP and they were having a huge sale and I really had to pee and the fusspot had announced that she was poopies and ... obviously we had to go shop. And while I certainly didn't get much time to try things on or browse casually, I picked up a number of delightful clearance items for her and the bargain baby and 3 much-needed shirts for me also from the clearance rack (more on that later) and we both stood and danced in the 2nd floor windows overlooking Harold Square and took time to watch for buses and sing the wheels on the bus and even to dismember an ill-fated mannequin, and it was all fine.
Twenty minute check-out lines, 9 flights of stairs to get in and out of the subway, running out of snacks, poopie diapers ... we can still handle it, and have a good time. But oh my, I have no idea how I am going to make it out of our neighborhood with the bargain baby in tow. Even if I just commit to carrying the bargain baby for the entire day, I cannot both carry a newborn in a sling and carry the fusspot up and down the 3 flights of stairs at our subway stop. And no, she cannot walk those stairs because they are gross and she puts her hands on every step, sits down, licks her hands ... I just can't handle it at this point (seriously folks, one of our favorite games while waiting for the train is to point out the rats in our subway stop. No way I am going to let the fusspot play all over that floor). So I figure we might as well take advantage of our relative freedom, huge bump and all, this holiday season.
As for clothes, we seem to have a rather large and prominent problem. See, I'm carrying straight out this time. Meaning that at 6.5 months pregnant I still have no ass, my rings are loose, etc. but there is a good 12 inches of basketball-style bump sticking straight out. And the result is that my pants keep falling off. Especially when the fusspot gives them a good tug. I have both under the belly elastic and over-the-belly spandex and neither stays on. At the moment my only defense is granny panties. I took 2 pairs of pants to the tailor yesterday to see if he could tighten the elastic, but any advice? I really feel like I need under-my-clothes suspenders at this point. The only pants which comfortably stay on are my yoga pants which sit entirely under my belly (they're not even maternity pants) but they are certainly not work-appropriate. And while I remember wearing a lot of dresses last time around, it's been rather cold in the big city this winter and tights just aren't cutting it. And I would love to go for long walks, but I inevitably end up using one hand to hold up my pants while I push the stroller with the other hand. There must be a better solution, right?
Monday, December 20, 2010
and she talks
Ok, so it's hardly Shakespeare yet but the fusspot can carry on a conversation. A fully almost-age appropriate conversation. With herself.
Dialogue in her crib on Saturday night:
"Fusspot a go-go?"
"No."
"Cookies?"
"No."
"Cookies?"
"No, no" (the second no being slightly more emphatic than the first).
Needless to say, we are thrilled.
Dialogue in her crib on Saturday night:
"Fusspot a go-go?"
"No."
"Cookies?"
"No."
"Cookies?"
"No, no" (the second no being slightly more emphatic than the first).
Needless to say, we are thrilled.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
So many lovely things today and one little nagging problem ...
To be a bit pollyann-ish, it was quite nice that the fusspot acquired her first true black and blue bruise and partially swollen shut eye-wound at a doctor's office. Well, to be precise at my midwives' office. I felt much reassured that all of the midwives assembled to assess the wound and were in unison that it needed no ER/doctor's visit.
I used the bruise as an excuse to play hooky and spend the entire day (well, until dinnertime) with the fusspot. Including a lovely playdate and even some Old Navy clearance shopping for me (yet again I was that lovely infertile friend who dragged another infertile to the maternity section ... )
I love that our regular daycare provider doesn't charge us when I don't bring the fusspot, so I don't feel guilty about keeping her home.
I love that our evening babysitting sent the fusspot home with Christmas bread. In the same tupperware that I used to move the extra cupcakes from her birthday party out of our kitchen and into theirs. It is really nice to be on friendly terms with her daycare providers.
I love that I still went out from 6 to 9 pm and thus got to do something work-related and sans fusspot today.
I am deeply relieved that I only gained 4 lbs in my post-discovering-that-the-bargain-baby-and-I-do-not-have-gestational-diabetes-binge (note: slightly under a week). Really, not bad all considering.
So the only annoying thing is that the 5 midwives are having a group meeting next week and they're going to talk about ... me. And my complete and utter inability to do kick counts. I just don't feel kicks on the inside. I never did with the fusspot, and I still am not. Occasionally I can feel the bargain baby roll over or even see part of a limb sticking out of my stomach. Occasionally as in every 2 or 3 days. So yeah, no kick counts. And today's midwife quietly suggested we add in NSTs since I wouldn't be able to sense if something was wrong. Except that I did that last time and they are such a huge time-consuming hassle and not all that accurate, nor do the nurses understand why you are there. Of course if it's necessary I'm happy to spend 1.5-2 hours 3 times a week trudging to and fro the hospital, but I'd really rather not. I quietly suggested that I could acquire a home doppler if necessary, and the midwife agreed that that would be every bit quite as effective as a NST at alerting us to a massive problem. The only thing is that if consensus in the practice is that we need to do that, they need to agree to see me immediately if I can't get a reading because there's no way I'm going to wait for an appointment if I think something is wrong. Any chance anyone has a home doppler that they want to loan me for the next 2-3 months? Any advice on renting one?
I used the bruise as an excuse to play hooky and spend the entire day (well, until dinnertime) with the fusspot. Including a lovely playdate and even some Old Navy clearance shopping for me (yet again I was that lovely infertile friend who dragged another infertile to the maternity section ... )
I love that our regular daycare provider doesn't charge us when I don't bring the fusspot, so I don't feel guilty about keeping her home.
I love that our evening babysitting sent the fusspot home with Christmas bread. In the same tupperware that I used to move the extra cupcakes from her birthday party out of our kitchen and into theirs. It is really nice to be on friendly terms with her daycare providers.
I love that I still went out from 6 to 9 pm and thus got to do something work-related and sans fusspot today.
I am deeply relieved that I only gained 4 lbs in my post-discovering-that-the-bargain-baby-and-I-do-not-have-gestational-diabetes-binge (note: slightly under a week). Really, not bad all considering.
So the only annoying thing is that the 5 midwives are having a group meeting next week and they're going to talk about ... me. And my complete and utter inability to do kick counts. I just don't feel kicks on the inside. I never did with the fusspot, and I still am not. Occasionally I can feel the bargain baby roll over or even see part of a limb sticking out of my stomach. Occasionally as in every 2 or 3 days. So yeah, no kick counts. And today's midwife quietly suggested we add in NSTs since I wouldn't be able to sense if something was wrong. Except that I did that last time and they are such a huge time-consuming hassle and not all that accurate, nor do the nurses understand why you are there. Of course if it's necessary I'm happy to spend 1.5-2 hours 3 times a week trudging to and fro the hospital, but I'd really rather not. I quietly suggested that I could acquire a home doppler if necessary, and the midwife agreed that that would be every bit quite as effective as a NST at alerting us to a massive problem. The only thing is that if consensus in the practice is that we need to do that, they need to agree to see me immediately if I can't get a reading because there's no way I'm going to wait for an appointment if I think something is wrong. Any chance anyone has a home doppler that they want to loan me for the next 2-3 months? Any advice on renting one?
Monday, December 13, 2010
a little Christmas spirit
even from an avowed anti-Christmas misanthrope (just to clarify I very much enjoy Christmas lights/songs/food/festivities as long as they happen outside of my own apartment. I think it's a reasonable and quite bright line to draw as someone parenting a child of a minority religion, but it somehow still offends many).
Last night we went out to a friend's for dinner (ok, fine. We invited ourselves over in order to scout out a potential location for the baby naming for Project 2.0, aka the bargain baby and it is lovely, folks). The fusspot was a bit tired and soggy on the way home (it poured in NYC) but there was a man playing guitar on the subway. He came over and stood right in front of her and played Christmas carols and she was completely and totally enraptured. After he'd stop each song she'd sit there wide-eyed for a few seconds and then loudly break into cries of "More! More!" He stayed and played for most of our 20 minute subway ride home, and every time he tried to leave the fusspot would entice him back. Totally adorable.
In other news, one of my most favoritest relatives was laid off and despite aforementioned misanthropic nature, I decided not to spend all of our disposable income on myself but to send my relative money for gifts. So the hideous electric tea kettle is apparently here to stay for a while. As is the formerly-white-now-grime-covered toddler coat. Oh well.
And in other random tidbits, I love NYC craigslist. Only here can you find a woman selling baby clothing for $10 a large shopping bag, with such delightful tidbits as our new favorite most pretentious newborn-sized onesie (use google translate if your French fails you):
Last night we went out to a friend's for dinner (ok, fine. We invited ourselves over in order to scout out a potential location for the baby naming for Project 2.0, aka the bargain baby and it is lovely, folks). The fusspot was a bit tired and soggy on the way home (it poured in NYC) but there was a man playing guitar on the subway. He came over and stood right in front of her and played Christmas carols and she was completely and totally enraptured. After he'd stop each song she'd sit there wide-eyed for a few seconds and then loudly break into cries of "More! More!" He stayed and played for most of our 20 minute subway ride home, and every time he tried to leave the fusspot would entice him back. Totally adorable.
In other news, one of my most favoritest relatives was laid off and despite aforementioned misanthropic nature, I decided not to spend all of our disposable income on myself but to send my relative money for gifts. So the hideous electric tea kettle is apparently here to stay for a while. As is the formerly-white-now-grime-covered toddler coat. Oh well.
And in other random tidbits, I love NYC craigslist. Only here can you find a woman selling baby clothing for $10 a large shopping bag, with such delightful tidbits as our new favorite most pretentious newborn-sized onesie (use google translate if your French fails you):
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