Regression and Progression

It happened again last night. I was pumping my usual before-bed pumping to prevent getting too uncomfortable overnight, and Patrick woke up in the middle of the pumping. He was clearly hungry. Obviously feeding him the normal way wouldn't work since I had just emptied my boobs, so I prepared a bottle for him. He absolutely refused to take it, screaming every time we tried to feed him, and quieting down but staring at my boobs any time we stopped trying. He was hungry but would only consider eating one way, and it wasn't with a bottle.

If you remember, he used to eat a bottle every day. Even when we stopped needing to feed him a vitamin bottle daily, he would still take a bottle when it was necessary, like when grandmas watched him or if we needed to feed him in the car. Now he acts like we're trying to poison him with that bottle. I don't understand it. It feels like he's regressing in the area of eating; babies are supposed to graduate to a bottle, not graduate from the bottle to the breast.

I think the most irritating part of all of this, though, is that I am now bound to Patrick. I can't escape for a day without him around because I know he won't eat any milk while I'm gone. That whole idea of leaving Patrick with Matt for an extended period of time so I could get out of the house alone is gone. I like being around Patrick, but sometimes I just need alone time. Now I can't get it, not for longer than a couple of hours. Are the next three or four months until he weans going to be like this, with me unable to leave Patrick's side so he won't starve? I'm sure I'm overreacting, but the whole situation frustrates me. I expected Patrick to progress in the whole area of eating, and now I find out that instead he's moving backwards. And no, I'm not giving up trying a bottle, but I don't have a lot of hope that I'll find something to trick him into taking a bottle again.

On the other hand, he is definitely progressing in other areas. Yesterday I forced more tummy time on him and attempted to ignore the hysterical screams. I was glad I did because it turns out he is this close (imagine me holding up my thumb and forefinger really close together) to creeping. He can move his arms and kick his legs in unison so that he squirms around. In the fifteen minutes he was on his belly, he managed to pull himself almost all the way around in a circle. That's the funny part; his right arm and left leg have the strength and unison thing down better than the other side, so he pulls himself much better to the right. That means he can squirm for hours and only pull himself in a clockwise circle. He's definitely getting to real creeping, though. I'm guessing a few more good tummy times and he'll be mobile. I wonder if when he discovers he can move himself if he'll stop screaming every second he's on his belly. I can just imagine Patrick crawling all over the house in another month or so, screaming the whole way. What fun that would be!
I have too many cute pictures to share today. Sorry for the onslaught. Here's one of my favorite pictures from him playing in his ExerSaucer yesterday. It looks like he needs a haircut already, doesn't it? By the way, if you enlarge the picture by clicking on it, you should be able to clearly see both of his teeth.
Yup, he still has those tonsils! I love this picture. It's just too funny.
This is another of Patrick's favorite toys right now, his teething wing. It's somewhat ironic how much he used to shun these teething toys, and now he's obsessed with them. He can get really lost in playing with this toy and forget anything else going on. He did try to "share" the teething wing with me earlier today by sticking it up next to my mouth. How sweet is he to think of sharing his favorite toy with Mommy already?
I mentioned Patrick's growing fascination with his hair several days ago. Here he is scratching his head or pulling his hair or whatever he's doing while Daddy goes in for a boop on the nose.

And I love, love, love this picture. Look at how they gaze at each other! It makes my heart ache in a good way every time I see this. I'm so lucky to have both of them.

By the way, happy birthday Mom. You're what...29 again? I hope you have a great birthday. You still look pretty close to that 29 anyway!

More Farts and Demons

Two quick funny stories for today:

Yesterday after Matt got home from work, Patrick and I were hanging out with him in the study while he worked on the computer. Patrick was sitting on my lap, starting to get bored but not fussing yet. Suddenly, in the silence, out of nowhere, Matt and I hear the rip of a huge fart. It had most definitely come out of Patrick, judging by the rattling I felt on my leg at the same time. Immediately after, before Matt or I could even register what had happened, Patrick laughed loudly. Yes, he laughed at his own fart--proof that he is definitely a boy. He even claims his own farts. That also proves his mature sense of humor. I didn't think little boys understood potty humor for another couple of years!
The other story happened while I was preparing dinner (Yes, again! For those of you keeping track, that makes three days in a row!). Matt had taken over Patrick duty since he was starting to get fussy, and had taken him out in the backyard. The living room was quiet, with just Patrick's gym in it, where he had been playing before Daddy rescued him. The singing star was on motion-activated mode, where we usually keep it while Patrick's playing. That way he can control when the star sings on his own by yanking on one of the hanging toys or kicking one of the arms holding the star. Let me preface the story by mentioning how motion-sensitive this star is; normal swinging of the toys will not start the music. It takes a good hit right at one of the arms or a hefty yank on a toy to start the music--at least it used to. Lately I'd noticed every so often the music seem to start without seeing any huge movement from Patrick. I assumed I'd just missed the movement.

Yesterday, though, was another story altogether. In the complete stillness of that living room, I heard the singing star start singing to what could only have been a little ghost baby. There was nobody else around to hear. Could it be the carseat demon got frustrated that we hadn't let him torment us for a few days and moved to the gym? Or do the toy demons breed when we're not around?
(By the way, I don't think it's the batteries. We just replaced the batteries in the star, and we've heard what it sounds like when the batteries in the star run down. It's more like a sick cat, crying desperately for attention. The star still sounded healthy, just singing to the air.)
By the way, the toy in the pictures is Patrick's new favorite toy. It's a new-fangled rattle-type toy. It twists at every joint so that it can be shaped into all different shapes. Patrick loves the rattle sounds and the fact that he can chew on the ends of it. I think that's the primary indicator of a good toy these days: that it can be chewed on. Well, that and that it doesn't have any electronic parts that can be possessed by demons.

Contrary to Popular Belief...

I am capable of operating a vacuum cleaner and cooking dinner--two days in a row. It's like ever since we got that mattress, I've been motivated to turn into the perfect housewife and mom. I've spent a considerable time cleaning the house and even cooking for Matt two days in a row. That has to be a record of some sort.

After Matt and I got married, we split up the household chores, with the bulk of them going to him. He's always been more concerned with keeping things cleaner than I have, so he would clean first, just because things bothered him before they bothered me. Then the nausea from being pregnant got so bad that any cleaning could send me to pray to the porcelain god. Even the smell of the laundry soap made me sick. There were several months that we were lucky if I even cleaned myself during the day, much less the house. Matt would work all day, only to come home and take care of me and the house (have I mentioned he's my hero?).

After Patrick was born and I could stand the smells of things again, I took over the majority of the laundry and dishes. Those were my two chores, and I did them promptly and well--but you couldn't make me do anything other than that. I was overwhelmed with taking care of Patrick, and it was tough enough balancing his care and laundry.

Now that we have a routine, though, I find myself with more extra time during the day than I ever thought I'd have. I'm not the type of person to get bored easily, so I always find fun things to do, but I hadn't felt compelled to do anything productive with my extra time. Then the productive spurt from the weekend got me moving, and now I can't seem to stop. I feel like I really can do this whole housewife thing, and not only can I, but I want to as well. I may not be setting up playgroups yet or making my own baby food, but until then at least Matt can come home to a clean house, a clean baby, and a clean wife.
In Patrick news, his new thing is squealing. He uses super high-pitched squeals to replace some of the whining. It's a much happier sound, so Matt and I are thrilled with it. It's so cute to hear too. I think he's excited to realize he can make those neat sounds, which is why he keeps repeating it. I don't mind--anything he can do to entertain himself!
I'm noticing now how entirely mediocre these pictures are compared to yesterday's. Patrick looked so cute while I was taking pictures, sliding down until he was on his back and scratching his round belly, part of which was exposed under the too-short shirt, and grabbing at his crotch (I think the shorts were annoying him). I had all sorts of redneck jokes ready to go. Then none of the cutest pictures turned out. I was trying some without a flash, but they were so blurry you couldn't tell I'd been photographing a baby. And naturally, all the cute poses happened while that flash was turned off. Oh, well, at least I caught him smiling.

I Think It Worked

Remember a few days ago when Patrick got his hands on my phone and "coincidentally" dialed the number 666-6666? I'm beginning to wonder if he knew what he was doing. If that number reached who we would all expect it to reach, then he answered. He has recently taken up residence in one of Patrick's newer toys.

Yes, that's right. I believe we have a demon-possessed toy. When we were in Dallas last time, my mom bought Patrick a carseat toy. It is built around a car theme, and it plays music and flashes lights, just like Patrick likes. It has been a great distraction for him several times when he's started to get bored in the car. The reason we bought it, though, is a special feature: a remote control. The driver can turn the toy on and off at will from the driver's seat. If "Wheels on the Bus" gets too annoying, the driver can shut it off to save sanity. If Patrick starts fussing, the driver can turn the toy on to distract him.

Since I usually ride in the back next to Patrick when Matt is driving, the remote control hasn't been that useful yet. I just operate it from the backseat. The toy will only turn on or off with the remote control, so sitting next to Patrick is not usually an advantage as far as the toy is concerned. Today, though, I wished that someone was sitting in the backseat next to him to flip the master switch on the back of that cursed toy.

Matt wasn't going to be able to take a long enough lunch today to come home, so he asked me to meet him for lunch, which I gladly did. The whole drive that stupid toy started and stopped singing at random times. The remote control's button was not being pushed; I checked repeatedly. I would push the button to turn the toy back off when it got too annoying, but within seconds I'd hear the opening notes to "Wheels on the Bus" drift back up to the front seat, mocking me and my misplaced sense of control. The worst part is that sometimes the series of songs begins with the sound of a car honking. When I'm deliberately turning the toy on, I know to ignore any honks because they're coming from the toy. When the demon takes over control, however, I never know when to expect those honks. It also started the sequence repeatedly, just "honk, honk" after "honk, honk" to the point of insanity. The honks caught me off guard the first few times, and I was searching everywhere for the car that had honked at me. After those first few honks, though, I started ignoring it altogether. I could have had cars honking at me the whole way home, and I would have never known.

I am afraid that this toy will permanently remain in the manual "off" position any time there isn't someone in the backseat who can turn it off if it when it flips out like it did today. I'm thinking about that hour-long drive to the airport next week to pick up my mom. I'm afraid I'll lose my mind if I'm exposed to that many honks and renditions of "Wheels on the Bus" for a full hour without the ability to put an end to it. I'm afraid I'll end up on the side of the road flinging the cursed toy on the ground so I can roll back and forth over it until it will never sing again.

On a better note, Patrick was particularly photogenic yesterday. His hair decided not to cooperate for once (it's been much drier than normal here, and his hair doesn't know how to react apparently), but it turned out to be really cute.

If you look carefully at this picture--try clicking on it to enlarge it--you can see one of Patrick's teeth sticking up past his lip. It may not be the most clear picture in the world, but it's worth ignoring the slight blurriness to see that tooth.
And this picture just completely cracked me up. He kept tucking his head behind the front of his overalls to chew on them. That's actually his tongue in the middle there, licking at the overalls. He doesn't seem to care that he was caught in the act, does he?

Productive Weekend

Matt and I ended up having an incredibly productive weekend. We didn't really plan any of it, though; we just got in a groove of getting stuff done and felt motivated to take care of a lot of things we'd been putting off for a while.

It all started when we decided to start looking for a mattress for our guest room. We'd had the bed all along (it was mine before we got married), but the mattress got thrown out when we moved it to our apartment and we hadn't gotten around to replacing it yet. With expected company at the beginning of July, we decided we'd put it off long enough. I fully anticipated going to several mattress stores where pushy salesmen would show us all the pricy mattresses and then refuse to sell us just a mattress since we already had a box spring. When at the first store the salesmen immediately showed us exactly what we were looking for and at a great sale price and lowered it when we said we only needed a mattress, we were so impressed that we took the offer. Our mattress was delivered that night.

The missing mattress had lulled us into ignoring that the rest of the room was messy because we'd convinced ourselves it just wasn't done and wouldn't be until we had a mattress. Once we got the mattress in it, though, our excuse was gone. So we spent a few hours cleaning the room, emptying it of anything that didn't belong there and putting artwork on the walls. The only thing missing for the room to be at least temporarily done was a curtain.

The search for a curtain sent us to Target (twice actually). We had good luck there, finding the perfect curtain and rod for the guest room as well as curtains for our breakfast area and study. As soon as we got home, we started installing the curtain rods and putting up the curtains. Considering we left unprepared without samples of the colors already in the rooms or measurements of the windows, we did great. Everything matches perfectly. The only problem is that the valance we chose for the guest room wasn't really a valance; someone had put a full curtain panel in the valance package. That's what sent us back to Target to exchange it for what we really wanted. Of course, on the way home I realized the packaging was misleading and we really needed two valances. That last valance is the only thing keeping that room from being done now.

We'd had a lot of boxes from the move that weren't crucial temporarily stored in that closet, so we emptied the closet, and I went through the boxes, throwing away lots of unnecessary stuff and preparing everything else to be put in the attic. The moment I had everything ready to go in the attic, Matt and I got it up there. Usually that's a task we delay as long as possible, so I'm proud of us for doing it right away, even if it was already 10:00 at night.

The only problem with finally accomplishing several projects like that is that you discover more projects you want to get done. We now want to repaint the furniture in the guest room; it's supposed to be white but looks much closer to yellow right now. We're also working on moving a lot of books and shelves to new areas in the house so that we can transform our children's play area into a place for Patrick to play by the time he will be able to. Right now it's just storage for anything that doesn't have another designated place yet. Once we have that room mostly done, I think the house itself will be. From there it will just be maintaining the house and occasional redecorations.

Sorry I rambled so long about our weekend accomplishments. I hate to make you read much longer today, but I have a crazy story that I have to tell. When Matt and I got home from our second trip to Target yesterday, as we passed our house, we saw someone opening the gate to our backyard and walking in. Of course Matt hurriedly parked and jumped out of the car to chase the guy and chew him out for being in our yard without permission. He'd disappeared before Matt got there. The neighbor's gate that had been closed when we drove by was now open. We suspect it was a guest from the party they'd been having. We have no idea why he decided to go snooping in our backyard. We're just glad we didn't have anything there he could steal and that the back door was locked and that we got there before he could do anything. We usually keep the gates into our backyard locked, and this is exactly why. The one time Matt forgets to lock it back after doing yardwork, and we have a stranger boldly open our gate and walk into our yard. I'm a little paranoid now. I actually had a dream last night where a stranger jumped our back fence and started running for the house before we intercepted him and threatened to call the police. You can bet that every door, window, and gate is securely locked now!

Patrick Found a New Toy

Technically, the toy itself isn't new; Patrick just hasn't played with it as a toy before. Are you ready to see this novel new toy?








Here it is!

I love how the most entertaining toys are usually the simplest--and often the cheapest. Who would have expected Mommy's fingers to be more fun than the Exersaucer, or the spoon more fun than his gym? The only problem with the spoon is that it can cause bigger messes. Perhaps that's why it's so entertaining. Just look at that face after he got his hand on the spoon.
He managed to get oatmeal everywhere from his leg to his eyelid. At least he missed his hair this time.

I also got some video of him playing with the spoon. It looks at first as though he is demanding more food (not that he would have eaten the oatmeal if I'd tried to feed him), and then he finally gives up and tries feeding himself. He didn't get much, but it wasn't for lack of trying!

I forgot to tell one other interesting story from the other day. Patrick bit Matt on the finger--and hard. He actually drew blood (and they say once they've tasted blood...). I feel kind of guilty about the whole thing because I had unintentionally set him up for the pain. I'd asked Matt to check Patrick's gums because he'd been showing signs of teething (by the way, the results were inconclusive). Then when Matt screamed and yanked his finger out of Patrick's mouth, I actually laughed. It's like I couldn't control it. I knew it hurt; I've been bitten before too, and in a much more sensitive spot. I felt guilty about laughing even before I knew he'd drawn blood. It's a little humorous now, but not so much when Matt was in a lot of pain. I don't know what got into me. I got paid back for my lack of compassion today, though. While we were at Target picking out more curtains for our house, Patrick bit the fire out of my finger too. He may not have drawn blood, but I understand better now how Matt felt the other day. We seem to have spawned a vampire who knows all too well how to use those fangs to the greatest effect.

Nobody Ever Told Us That...

Sometimes it completely catches me off guard how much I love Patrick. I mean, of course I love him, but I don't expect that wave of uncontrolled emotion to wash over me when I peek in on him late at night. Nobody ever told me that just watching him sleep could bring a lump to my throat...

Matt and I have actually had to stop talking about Patrick after he's gone to bed because we're afraid we'll be unable to control ourselves and go wake him up just to hold him. It's not that we're afraid something is wrong; we just want to hold him that one last time for the day. I fully didn't expect such an adorable accident to win over my heart this completely.

Also, nobody ever told us that babies were fully capable of putting others' feelings before their own by the time they get to be Patrick's age. I don't understand how Patrick can cry in his crib for that long before I wake up enough to feed him, yet he holds no grudge against me. When I stumble into his room, half-asleep and grumpy, his first reaction is to smile up at me. He spends diaper-changing time doing his best to get me to smile. It's amazing how by the time his diaper is changed, I'm already in a good mood because Patrick is perceptive enough of my moods that he wants to cheer me up.

And how many babies do you know who will be perfectly content being woken up just an hour or so after going to bed for the night just to be thrown in the car and dragged on errands? Patrick never once whined and stayed awake the whole time, even playing happily while Matt and I ate the late dinner we brought home with us. It's like he understood something different was happening, and he was thrilled with the opportunity to stay up late, even when he should have been sleepy. It astounds me how good of a kid Patrick can be.

To turn to a less serious note, here is a promised picture of Patrick sitting on his own. He wasn't particularly eager to show off his sitting skills yesterday, so I had very few pictures to choose from, and most of those were of a less-than-happy Patrick. Still, you can clearly see him sitting all on his own.
I also got a video of Patrick practicing his tummy time yesterday afternoon. You can see how strong he is. I also feel the need to mention that this was a good day of tummy time. He is relatively happy on his tummy in this video.

Independent Sitter

It's finally happened. I think we can now officially call Patrick an independent sitter. He is able to sit completely on his own for reasonably long periods of time. He still can't pull himself to that sitting position or sit up indefinitely, but he is sitting. If I help him into a sitting position and help him get balanced, he can stay that way for several minutes. Sometimes if he moves too much, he will fall over to one side or backwards, but I stay pretty close to him to catch him if that happens. More often, he will slowly start leaning forward. I think that position hurts his tummy because the farther forward he leans, the more upset he gets. Eventually, he leans over far enough that his oversized head just can't stay upright any longer, and he falls over onto his belly. Of course, this makes him cry even more; he still absolutely hates being on his belly. If I can't stand the crying, which is usually the case, I'll rescue him and put him back in a sitting position. He seems much happier that way. It's like he sees the whole world from a different perspective, and he's thrilled with seeing everything a new way.

Anyway, sorry this post is short today. I'm not in a really talkative mood. Maybe later I'll catch some pictures or video of Patrick sitting and post them for everyone to see. I've just been kind of afraid to get very far from him while he's sitting because he's still a bit unstable. We'll have to see how well he sits this afternoon.

More Randomness

Thanks to all of you who bothered to read my rambling post from three this morning. Yes, I did fall asleep, and not long after that post. I didn't sleep nearly long enough, but I'm going to do everything in my power to not take a nap today so that I can sleep more easily tonight. You'll be glad to know that I woke up this morning cramp-free. Unfortunately my tummy was very unhappy instead. I hope you are all right when you say that the first period after such a long break is usually rough but that things settle down again afterwards. I have never felt this gross with a period before. It appears that I am just too much of a baby to handle it.

Also, for the record, I really hate taking medication. I know based on my repeated references to Midol yesterday and early this morning, it doesn't sound that way. I do my best to use it as a last resort, though. I absolutely detest being dependent on pills to feel better, and as many of you have noticed, I don't always react well to their side effects. It's bothered me in the last week that I've had to take so much medicine, even if it is all over-the-counter. I'm hoping that now that the cramps are gone I can go back to taking nothing more than the usual birth control pill and vitamin every day. That's plenty for me!

Ok, enough about me. Let's talk about the much more interesting member of the family, Patrick. I think most of you remember how much he loves playing with my hair. Well, recently he discovered that he too has hair. The first time I saw him reach up to his head, it looked like he was just scratching his head, like he had an itch or something. In the past few days, this action has become quite common. The scratching is looking less and less like scratching and more like he is playing with his hair. It's also interesting to note that he reaches up to play with his hair most often while he is playing with my hair too. I think he's made the connection that they are both hair. Maybe he'll leave mine alone more now that he's found the same stuff on his own head.

I am also astounded at how well Patrick's sense of humor is developing. He can't even sit completely on his own yet (for longer than a few seconds anyway), but he instinctively knows when things are funny. He laughs when I sing him the song that starts out, "If all the raindrops were lemondrops and gumdrops," (Mom knows what I'm talking about), and I get to the silly part where I sing while sticking out my tongue. He laughs at that part every time. I'm obviously not laughing, since I'm already trying to both sing and stick my tongue out, but Patrick knows it's funny anyway. He's also started playing games of his own with me that he knows will make me laugh. For example, this morning after he had finished eating but was still lying in my lap, he would look up at me to make sure I was watching, smile big, then suddenly twist his body and dive his head into my boob, hiding his face there--except for the corner of one eye that was still watching me. He was trying to hide it, but he was smiling and laughing the whole time. He repeated the game over and over when he realized how much it was making me laugh. He thought it would be a funny game, and I verified that for him. I'm not sure how he ended up with such a great sense of humor; Matt and I both have kind of a cheesy, punny sense of humor. Maybe this means Patrick will grow up to be a comedian. That's better than our initial guess of an interior decorator!

Oh, I can't believe I almost forgot to brag about my awesome husband! Yesterday when he got home from work, I was half-asleep from the Midol and having some awful cramps. Even though he had just gotten home from a tiresome day at work, he immediately and willingly took over Patrick's care so I could go try to get a nap. Patrick got fussy, and Matt didn't bother me but dealt with it himself. He even waited until I woke up to discuss dinner, and I know he was hungry much earlier than that. I felt much better when I got up, so that extra nap was very much appreciated. I'm starting to wonder if I should have done more for him for Father's Day. I couldn't possibly have shown him just how much I appreciate him on Sunday.

Bonus 3 AM Post

At long last, they uploaded...

And since I happen to be up at three in the morning anyway without a prayer for sleep in my near future, why don't I tell you how I happen to be wide awake at such an ungodly hour?

Ok, so I mentioned at the more godly hour of noon--yesterday, I guess it is now--that I'd taken Midol early in the morning and that it sent me immediately into a blissful medicinal coma. About the time the drowsy effects of it finally wore off after lunch, the cramps returned. That's a first for me. Before Patrick, all I had to do was find the right combination of medicine to kill the cramps once and they would willingly retreat until the next month. Having to take a second dose of anything for cramps was unheard of until yesterday.

I knew to expect some changes with all my feminine parts post-Patrick, and I can easily justify the dreaded return of the cramps. I've apparently had fibroids all along, which most likely caused the long, heavy periods with bad cramps that I've always experienced. When my ob discovered the fibroids, she also discovered they were growing along with Patrick. By some miracle they didn't grow enough to cause any problems with the pregnancy, but I'm going to take a wild guess and say they grew enough to cause worse cramps each month. I'm crossing my fingers that the other problems are suddenly better, though. I don't know that I could logically explain those changes, but I wouldn't need to if they were changes for the better, would I?

Anyway, back to the story. I took a second dose of Midol about an hour before Matt got home. The drowsy effect took over almost right away, sending me into a half-asleep state by the time Matt got there, but the painkiller took its time working. Two hours after taking the medicine I was still ready to cry from the cramps (and probably the hormones too). Three hours later, I was finally feeling better...only to feel the cramps return yet again just as I was ready to go to sleep for the night. After two Midol-induced naps during the day, I was already not exactly feeling sleepy. The cramps didn't help anything. So I resorted to medicine yet again. I was hoping the Midol would put me back to sleep so that I at least wouldn't feel the cramps. This time, though, the painkiller went right to work, and I'm still waiting on that drowsiness.

Yep, that was over an hour and a half ago that I gave up and took more medicine. And I'm still awake. I also just now realized that I have no real point to this post. It's my way of venting to anybody out there listening that I hate being up in the middle of the night. I'm killing time, hoping giving up on trying to sleep for a few minutes will somehow trick my subconscious (and that Midol) into finally sending me to dreamland. It's about time to give it another shot; if I can't get to sleep soon, I'll end up too exhausted tomorrow to function.

Apathy Reigns

TMI Disclaimer: This post contains information that is somewhat personal in nature, and those individuals who would rather not know anything that might be considered TMI would be better off skipping it.

Now that I have your attention...

So last night I was stricken with insomnia. I've had crazy sleep patterns for the last week because of a killer knot in my shoulder (that's a completely different story for another day), and after a good night's sleep Monday night thanks to Tylenol PM, last night had to be the exact opposite. I refuse to take anything to help me sleep two days in a row, so I forced myself to stick it out. I don't think the caffeine for dinner helped anything. I haven't had caffeine at all in well over a week, and it was surely contributing to the insomnia.

When I found myself still staring at the ceiling wide awake at 2:00 this morning, I decided to get up and write a blog for today. I'd had ideas chasing themselves around in my head for hours, so why not? I could have it all ready to go and then just post it today, saving myself a few minutes of free time during Patrick's nap today. I carefully deliberated every word and was quite satisfied with myself when I finally finished. Then I woke up this morning hating what I had written. I feel like I completely did not articulate the thoughts and feelings going through my mind. Instead of frustrating myself by starting over, only to likely still be unsatisfied, I'm just avoiding it altogether by rambling on about my insomnia.

Tonya mentioned in her blog yesterday that she'd been feeling unmotivated to keep up with her blog lately, and suddenly I'm feeling that same apathy. There must be a wave of that apathy traveling through blogworld like a virus. I at least discovered the reason for that apathy this morning. I woke up with killer cramps, and sure enough, I had started. I know, it's super personal, but it's kind of a momentous occasion for me, as it's the first time since having Patrick. I really can't tell if these cramps are worse than what used to be normal, even though they feel like it, because it's been well over a year since I've felt anything like this. Anyway, after getting up at the crack of dawn to feed Patrick, I took some Midol, and they really put me out. The best sleep I got was in those two hours of Midol-induced napping before Patrick woke me up for more food. (Weird dreams, though.) Now I'm still drowsy from the Midol, which is doubling the apathy the hormones are creating. I may not even shower today. I have nowhere to go, and if I don't shower, I can maybe sneak in a twenty-minute nap. I think that's incentive enough to end this boring, rambling post here. Enjoy these cute pictures of Patrick while I go sleep.

Ok, they're not uploading...stupid blogger. I may try again later...maybe...we'll see if I feel like it.

We Knew This Day Would Come

I finally got around to taking and posting Father's Day pictures of Matt and Patrick. Aren't my boys adorable?

In reference to the title, it has finally happened. What, you ask? What has happened that is as gloomy as the title suggests? Patrick figured out what those painful little white things on his gums are for. Yep, he bit me. He's bit my fingers numerous times, yet somehow never associated my immediate yelp and the subsequent removal of my finger from his mouth with the sharp, pointy things in his mouth that he had embedded in said finger.

Yesterday he was almost done eating when my mom called. I picked up the phone, and Patrick immediately smiled as though he knew it was Nana on the other end. Then to make sure I was still paying attention to him, he chomped down hard--while he was still smiling, no less. The action was most certainly deliberate. My conversation with my mom went like this:

Me: Hi, Mom!

Mom: Hi! How are you?

Me: I'm fine. OOWWWWWW!!! No, Patrick, don't bite Mommy!

Mom: (suppressing laughter) He finally bit you, did he?

Me: (suppressing tears of pain) (through clenched teeth) Yes.

Mom: (suppressing more laughter) What goes around comes around! (or something to that effect)

Ok, my mom wasn't really that rude about it. She was really quite supportive, because, you see, she knows exactly what I'm going through. Apparently I was a biter too. Could that be genetic?

By the way, he did bite me again the next time he ate, and on the same side too (is it possible he holds a grudge against that boob for some reason?), but I firmly told him no that time and gave him a little swat on the diaper. He hasn't bit me since. Let's hope that lesson made it into his long-term memory. I'm not in the mood to repeat it any time soon.

Patrick is almost out of one of his acid reflux medicines. I just got online to refill it, but it said that it was too soon to get it refilled. I guess when the pediatrician called in refills last time, they did not inform the pharmacist that they've upped his dosage on it to more than twice what it says on the label. That means he goes through it twice as fast, which would explain why they won't let us refill it yet--they think he should have another few weeks' worth left. I guess a call to the pediatrician is in order again. This really shouldn't even be an issue. How hard is it to keep the pharmacist informed about how much medicine Patrick should be taking? Shouldn't that be in his records or something? It's so frustrating to me when lapses in communication happen that are entirely out of my control, yet I'm the one who ends up going out of my way to fix the problem. So I'd better end the rant and get to it now. This issue won't clear itself up.

Tidbits

I have lots of little things I feel like mentioning today, so excuse the randomness please.

I just put Patrick down for his nap after watching him play very contentedly in his gym for a long time. He was perfectly happy there even when he was alone in the room playing. Every once in a while he will throw himself into his playtime so fully that it doesn't even matter to him whether Matt or I is around. Today was apparently a day to play hard. He was grabbing any toy hanging within sight and flinging it at the other hanging toys. He would grab his cube and swing it around to hit the other toys. Most of the time the gym just looked like a mess of swinging toys. The funniest is when he grabs his foot. He was using the hand-foot combination to grab and hit the toys too. (He's actually done this with my hair a few times; those toes are as good for grabbing as his fingers.) If I'd been thinking I would have gotten some pictures of the playstravaganza, or better yet, some video. He is definitely a boy the way he plays so violently with his toys.

It has been raining in Houston all morning. A lot of places south of here have flooded, but thankfully the rain here has been much more moderate. Either way, it's one of those lazy days that makes me want to just lie in bed and read a book until the rain lulls me to sleep. I doubt I'll get that opportunity, but it's nice to dream about anyway.

I never did get out of the house on my own this weekend. I had a few ideas of things I might do, but the circumstances just didn't work out for it. Instead Matt took over Patrick's care a few times while I went and took a long shower or got a nap or something. That way, I wasn't around Patrick, so he doesn't think I always have to be there, and Matt and Patrick got some daddy-boy time. I also wasn't far away if Matt felt like he needed me (you'll be glad to know he didn't). Maybe sometime in the next few weeks I'll feel up to actually leaving the house without Patrick.

Matt and I went to Target twice this weekend. Our main goal there was to find an inexpensive TV stand to put in our bedroom that would be black to match the rest of our furniture. We accidentally underestimated the size of the TV in there the first time and got one that wouldn't support the TV, so we went back yesterday to exchange it. We ended up with one that was half the price of the first but still large enough to support that big TV. It is one more thing to cross off our endless list of things we want for the house. We have such big plans for the house but have to work so slowly on getting things done that it feels sometimes like we'll never finish. I think our next priority, though, is a mattress for our guest room. We have and have had everything else for the guest room for ages and just haven't gotten around to spending the money on a mattress. That means the room has been useless since we moved in. I think we're going to concentrate on that room now until it's finished the way we want it. That way at least one room in the house will be done. I will feel like we've actually accomplished something if we can call even one room done.

I think that's all the mundane randomness I'll submit all of you to today. I hate when I don't really have a point to a post, but every so often this happens. Stay tuned tomorrow for possibly a post with a point.

Happy Father's Day

I want to take a minute today to wish a happy Father's Day to all the fathers that have made an impact on my life.

To my dad: I am so lucky that God chose to give me you as my dad. You have always been such a kind and caring dad who instilled me with a good set of values and a faith in God. I look up to your and mom's example as I raise Patrick because you guys did a great job on all of us kids. I am proud to have inherited your sense of humor (most of the time anyway) as well as your left-brained mind. From the time I was a little girl, I always looked up to you, and I still do. You are still a role model for me. Thank you for being the man that you are and for always loving me even when I disappoint you.

To my father-in-law:

You may be a fairly new addition to my life, but you have accepted me as a daughter from the start. I remember the first time I met you and Tricia, when I had just started dating your darling baby boy. You welcomed me into the family with open arms even then. You have obviously done a fine job raising your boys, based on the man my husband is. I regret that it took this long for you to come into my life, but I am proud now to call you my father-in-law. I didn't know what I was missing by not having a second father around. I know I married well because of how accepted I am as part of your family. Thank you for so willingly being a second father to me and a wonderful grandfather to Patrick.

To my husband:

Matt, you are a wonderful man, husband, and father. When I first met you, I could already tell that you were the man for me and that you would make a great father for our future children. Having Patrick has only proved my intuitions right. I love watching you with him. It is clear from the expression on your face when you see him and hold him close that he is your world. I can tell he feels the same way from the adoration in his eyes when he looks into yours. You are already a role model for him, someone for him to look up to, and I know you will only grow more important to him as the years go by. I can't wait until the day he starts following you around everywhere, wanting to imitate everything you do. I am so lucky to not only have you in my life but also a tiny version of you who I know wants nothing more than to grow up just like you. I love you, and I want you to know today how wonderful a father you are to Patrick.

All three of you fathers in my life are special to me, and I hope you all have a good Father's Day.

Almost There

Finally Patrick is showing an interest in sitting up. Yesterday evening Matt was working on the back lawn and wanted company, so Patrick and I sat outside with him. Patrick scooted himself forward on my lap and started leaning forward, to the point where I had to hold him carefully so he wouldn't fall off onto the concrete of the patio. He balanced himself, though, before I needed to catch him, and he sat there completely balanced and happy for a long time.

Thinking maybe he could sit up because of the way he was balanced on my leg, I moved him to a blanket on the ground to test the theory. He didn't immediately sit up like a pro, but when I had his current favorite toy (the colorful cube) in front of him, he would get distracted by playing with it. He would suddenly realize after a few seconds that he was sitting up without any help from me and fall over on his side or back. I think that he is now capable of sitting, and even wants to, but is afraid when he discovers that he can. It really won't be long now, though, before he is sitting like a pro.
We had one of those glorious Saturday morning storms today, with all the loud thunder and bright lightning and torrential rain. They are wonderful to sleep in to. Unfortunately for the first time this morning, Patrick didn't sleep better with the rain but instead showed a little fear at the noise of the thunder. He didn't cry at least, but he was moaning and looking uncomfortable when Matt rescued him from his crib. It's interesting to see that part of his personality developing. Up until today, he'd mostly shown what made him happy and what appealed to his sense of humor. This is the first time I've seen him appear to be afraid of anything.

To update what I blogged about yesterday, I haven't snuck out of the house yet today. With all the nasty weather, it hasn't really been appealing to leave. Matt has been good about taking over a lot of Patrick's care today already, though, while I did something else in another room. Patrick should be starting to get used to having Daddy take care of him and not having Mommy around every second. Matt is such a good daddy, isn't he? I may still go do something on my own later today or tomorrow when the weather clears up. I'm still taking suggestions too. Right now the idea of getting a pedicure tops the list. Any other ideas?

A Sticky Situation

Patrick has been showing me his best imitation of glue lately. He wants to stick close to me all the time. Since I am almost always there with him, it hasn't been a problem. Last night, though, Matt and I realized how bad this problem has gotten. I had to leave Patrick in his infant chair with the toy bar, which he usually likes, in the living room with Matt for a minute while I did something in the kitchen. The moment I got out of sight, happy Patrick transformed into I'm-going-to-scream-loudly-enough-to-get-CPS-called-on-you Patrick. Remember, this was with his beloved daddy in the room attempting to comfort him. As soon as I re-entered his line of sight, he let the happy Patrick personality take over again.

In a way, I love this. I cherish the thought that I mean so much to him that I am his world. He wants me there with him all the time (something I know won't happen when he is, say, a teenager), and there are no substitutes for Mommy.

I also know that this can turn into a real problem. I can't spend every second of his life right next to him or holding him, even if this stage doesn't last long. There will be moments when I need to run to the bathroom or get something from the kitchen or, God forbid, even leave him with Daddy or a sitter for longer than ten seconds. I can't have the neighbors wondering what on earth I'm doing to my kid to make him scream like that just because I went to go move laundry.

Because of that, Matt has suggested I actually leave the house this weekend--without Patrick. Yes, we have done this before, leaving Patrick, but usually Matt and I leave together and let a grandmother watch Patrick. I've only left the house completely alone once since Patrick got home from the hospital, and that was for a ten or fifteen minute trip to the grocery store. The thought of leaving for any longer than that freaks me out a little. I don't have a clue what I would even go do that will take longer than fifteen minutes but is still close enough to be in my comfort zone. I'll have to keep you posted about what I decide to do with this forced free time.

I also wonder if part of Patrick's sudden clinginess to me has to do with the fact that he still isn't feeling up to par. I can tell his cough medicine is working because he isn't coughing or sneezing much at all anymore, but his nose still itches from time to time. That was pretty funny when he tried to wipe at it during lunch today when he already had banana around his lips. He's somewhat imprecise at hitting his nose when he has that sudden extreme urge to scratch his nose, so he hit his lips first, causing banana to smear onto his nose and somehow up to his forehead and hair too. He definitely needs a bath now. He's also super tired still. He used to stay up for about two hours at a time before getting sleepy, but yesterday and today he's been staying up no more than an hour and a half, and then just not sleeping as long at a time. He still acts like he feels okay when he's awake, until he gets sleepy anyway, so I guess it's just an effect of either the medicine or getting over the cold.

One funny story in lieu of pictures today--he was too fussy yesterday to try posing for pictures. Earlier when he was playing on the floor in his gym, I was lying next to him and had my phone nearby because I had just been chatting with my brother. Patrick saw my phone and showed interest in it as usual (it has a picture of him as the background, and I think it fascinates him). I didn't see any reason he couldn't play with it, so I handed it over to him. That may have been a mistake because it might just be his new favorite toy. The phone apparently didn't have the keyguard lock on, though. When Patrick finally tired of playing with it and dropped it in front of me, I could see he had typed in numbers (fortunately without hitting send). What exactly did my angelic little boy type? 666-6666. I just have to wonder who exactly he thinks he was going to reach with that number.

Patrick's New "Things"

I haven't done a post recently about the new fun things that Patrick has started doing, so I think it's high time for one. Besides, I know most of you are a lot more interested in Patrick's cuteness than my complaining.
Patrick really enjoys leaning when he is sitting in chairs or against me. I have to fight to fasten him in his high chair as he leans dangerously far forward over edge. I'm finally beginning to understand why all those straps are there! I'm wondering if the leaning indicates that he's about to try sitting up on his own more. He is still showing no interest in that yet, but I'll be less concerned about it if leaning is typically a precursor to sitting. Can anybody else out there with experience in this area tell me if my guess is right?
In answer to Melanie's question in her comment yesterday, yes, Patrick is starting to take a real interest in toys, especially the ones he can play with while lying on his back. He likes grabbing them tightly and swinging them around, and of course sticking them in his mouth to chew on them. He has a lot of toys that are best experienced sitting up, and I think he wants to play with them too--just not enough to figure out how to sit up. I'll lean him against me so he can sort of play with these, and he acts interested in what I do with them but won't do much on his own. All in time, I know.
Oh, yes, I can't forget to update on his fascination with his feet. Clearly, by this picture, you can tell that fascination still exists. He usually only grabs his left foot with his left hand, though. I think that's kind of funny because my left leg is much more flexible than my right too; I could probably still bring it to my mouth if I wanted to (I haven't actually tried in ages). And now Patrick can bring his left foot to his mouth too, at least when his diaper isn't on to get in the way. I think the leg gets a little more flexible every day too, and I doubt it will be long before that foot is in his mouth all the time, diaper or not.
Patrick is getting good about understanding Matt's and my emotions and catering his actions to them. For example, Matt came home from work yesterday frustrated. I'd been doing my best to keep Patrick happy and entertained by walking circles around the house with him so that he might be awake when Matt got home. My theory was that seeing Patrick might cheer him up. Sure enough, as Matt was talking to me just after getting home, Patrick was watching him intently. Matt glanced down at him, and Patrick laughed loudly and turned his head away and pushed it into my shoulder like he was shy. He was definitely flirting with Matt to get his attention. I think he could tell Daddy was somewhat upset, and he was going to do whatever he could to cheer him up. It's also nice knowing that he still loves his daddy that much even when he's upset.
My favorite "new thing" is his increased interest in talking that started up in the last two days. Most of what he says is along the lines of "ba," "bo," "boo," and "eth" (with spit usually). The way he combines these with his usual "ah" or "a" sounds can make some phrases that almost resemble words, though. The other day, Matt will swear Patrick said, "I love you, Daddy," all run together. Yesterday when I was changing his diaper, it sounded like Patrick told me, "Thank you, Mommy." We both know we're hearing what we want to hear, but it makes us feel better to think Patrick might be saying something even close to what we want to hear.

And I have an update on his cold or allergies or whatever it is he's had. I called the doctor this morning, and the nurse agreed with me that it didn't sound serious since he hasn't had a fever or been pulling on his ears or anything worse than sneezing and a cough. She gave me suggestions for some over-the-counter medications to help make him more comfortable until the cold goes away on its own. She also suggested using a humidifier in his room. I felt good at that one because we've already been using our humidifier. Anyway, it's comforting to know I was right in my assumption that this is no big deal and that I now have ideas for medicine to make him feel better. This first cold should be nipped in the bud before it gets any worse--and both Patrick and I should survive it easily.

More Ranting

I hate to do this again this week, but I apparently really need to vent. You may remember a few days ago I blogged about how I hate having people come over to do work on the house. I mentioned that I had to be up early today so somebody could come work on the doors. Well, the guy never showed. I was smart enough to not just get up and stay up until the guy showed, so I got enough sleep. But I'm irritated. I'm quickly losing confidence in the guy who takes care of the warranty stuff because he and his team of workers are never where they say they'll be when they say they'll be there. I'll probably go shower in a minute (I didn't even get a chance to do that this morning because I expected him to be here any moment), and that's when he'll decide it's time to work on our house. Then the warranty guy will call us again complaining that we weren't there when they showed up.

I've also been debating for days whether to take Patrick to the doctor. He's been sneezing and coughing more than normal, and I'm concerned he has a cold. He typically doesn't act like he feels bad, though, until his nose starts itching or he starts sneezing a lot, and he hasn't had a fever at all. I'm guessing this is probably just allergies or a minor cold and will run its course, but I hate to see my baby suffering. I'm trying to decide whether it's serious enough to have the doctor check it out. I was about to call yesterday when I remembered this previous appointment today. I knew if the doctor wanted him to come in, it would be today, and since we've already had problems with not being here when we were expected to (not that we knew), I figured it was best to wait a day to call for an appointment. Now it turns out I could have taken him today after all. So frustrating!

And there's more. A few days ago I mentioned my friend was looking for an apartment and that she would probably end up at the apartment complex where I lived when I still lived on that end of town. They had one apartment that fit her specifications perfectly that would be available to walk through and reserve this week. The lady who was talking with us promised she would call Cathy the second that happened. There was also another apartment available right away that was a little bigger than she wanted and on the floor she didn't want. When Cathy hadn't gotten a call by today, she took the initiative and called to ask about it. Apparently someone was grossly misinformed. The person she talked to today said the larger apartment wouldn't be available until July (if it's even the same one) and the perfect apartment was being moved into at the exact time she called. They wouldn't have any more of those available for a long time either. Now Cathy is pretty much back at square one on the apartment search. I can tell she's super frustrated. She has to move in this month too, and it is already half over. She thought she had the perfect apartment last week, and since then it seems everything has changed. I think I'm just as frustrated about the whole situation as she is.

Okay, now that I'm done complaining (at least I think I am...for now), here are some cute pictures of Patrick playing with one of his favorite toys yesterday afternoon.

Time for a Reminder

Every so often I forget that Patrick is just a baby. When he looks at me with those big blue eyes that look like he understands every word I say, I expect him to answer right back. I find myself expecting him to act and behave like an adult, or at least a kid in elementary school. I get frustrated at him for crying or whining over silly things, like being bored or tired. I do recognize he's a baby, but I'm afraid I expect too much out of him sometimes. That's why I need to do a reality check every so often and remind myself that he is just a baby and that he's a darn good baby at that.
I'm so lucky to have such a cute baby. I'm beginning to realize that maybe he is extraordinarily cute (although probably not as much so as I'd like to think). Just look at those huge blue eyes!
And Patrick is remarkably well-behaved. I can be proud to take him out in public because he doesn't embarrass me (even if I embarrass him by putting half-naked pictures of him on the Internet). Once or twice when he was younger, he would insist on crying the whole time we were out, but he hasn't done that in a long time. He only cries now when he has specific needs, like hunger or sleep.
He's also very predictable about when he must have those needs taken care of. I can tell by a quick glance at my watch whether he is hungry or tired, or on the rare occasion just bored. I'm lucky to have a kid who is as content having his life dictated by a schedule as I am.
I'm incredibly lucky with Patrick's sleeping patterns. Since he was a few months old, he has slept through the night almost every night. I can only recall about two nights when he's woken up crying without a specific need. The few times he wakes up hungry after he's been put to bed officially have all been before Matt and I have gone to bed, and he always goes right back to sleep after eating. For the past few months, Patrick has consistently slept about twelve hours a night. He also still takes a reasonable morning nap and a long afternoon nap, and sometimes even a short evening nap. I am proud to have such a good sleeper. I know how rarely that happens and I consider myself blessed that Patrick is so cooperative with sleeping.
And not only is Patrick himself quite well-behaved, but his hair is too. It naturally falls into that classic big boy haircut. I don't have to brush it that way; it dries like that no matter how it was left after his bath. It's so hard to imagine him having rebellious teenage years seeing him always look so prim and proper with that hair.
And I'm most lucky because Patrick is definitely a happy kid. He smiles for me regularly and will get into giggly moods where anything I say or do sets him off into a fit of laughter. I'm so lucky to get to hear big belly laughs and little giggles daily. There is nothing quite like that gorgeous smile to remind me how lucky I am.

In the Mood for a Rant

I know I've mentioned this before, but I hate when people need to come over during the day to work on stuff in the house. We bought a new house last fall, and almost everything is still under warranty. A month or so ago we contacted our warranty guy to start getting some of our problems worked on. Finally now all of a sudden he wants to take care of everything.

Last Monday, I think it was, he came by early in the morning to check on something in the backyard. He rang the doorbell several times and then knocked loudly when I didn't open the door in the first few seconds. I was completely asleep when he got there (it couldn't have been later than 8:00), so I was very upset that he woke me up, and so abruptly, that early in the morning. I was also worried Patrick would wake up. By the time I got to the door, he had gone around to the side of the house to see if he could hop the fence to get in our backyard. The Hispanic worker he had brought with him tried to explain in halting English what they were there for. I finally understood enough to go get the key for our backyard gate. While I was back in the house searching for the key, the warranty guy came back and pounded on the door again. I'd only been back inside a minute. I couldn't believe how rude he was! It was particularly frustrating because he had promised to call before coming over. He knew we had a baby, and he should know that we can't always be there every second of every day.

Then today I got a call from Matt at 8:30 to tell me the warranty guy was sending more people over, this time to actually fix the problem in the backyard. He was apparently irritated that we weren't home on Saturday when he'd supposedly told me they were going to come fix it. It sounds like Matt and the guy even got into something of an argument over whether he had actually told me he was coming on Saturday (he most certainly had not). He made it sound like he was going way out of his way to send his guys over again today, and I needed to go out right away and make sure they had access to the backyard. Matt told them they would as long as they wouldn't knock on the door and wake me up again. That meant I was out traipsing through our yard again early this morning to open the gate. As soon as I'd collapsed back in bed and started to doze off again, the doorbell rang. Of course, it was another Hispanic worker who didn't know enough English to explain why he was there or understand me when I told him the gate was already open for him. Once again, though, I was lucky that Patrick slept through it all. After that, I couldn't fall back asleep well because they were working loudly in the yard right behind our bedroom window. I am so far behind on sleep right now after getting up early all weekend and then again this morning unexpectedly.

As if that weren't enough, Matt called me on his way back to work after lunch today to inform me that the warranty guy had called again. This time he wanted to make absolutely sure that I knew he would be sending some guys over to look at the doors on Wednesday morning. That means I need to be up and dressed by some undefined time in the morning. Once again I will not be sleeping in at all. This is getting frustrating. I guess it's good that I at least know they're coming this time, but I still hate having to get up early and deal with people, men no less, that I don't know and who often don't speak English. I'm uncomfortable enough with people I don't know that dealing on my own with workers, especially ones who don't really understand me, can be overwhelming. I know it's part of the life of a stay-at-home mom, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.

Weird

When Patrick was in the NICU, he was only allowed to eat with a bottle at first. Once he had gotten really used to eating with the bottle, he would be allowed to try breastfeeding. Because he had gotten so used to eating from a bottle, he did not take to breastfeeding well. I could get him to latch on for a few seconds at a time but not long enough to actually eat anything. I was growing increasingly frustrated each time we tried. Finally another mom in the NICU who had had similar problems with her other children suggested we try using a nipple shield. We were wary at first, but eventually tried one and sure enough, it worked. I'm guessing the plastic of the nipple shield more closely resembled the texture of a bottle's nipple, and its shape was more similar too. From that point on, we were dependent on that nipple shield to feed him.

We were also glad to have it because it made it easier to switch back and forth to the bottle, as he was required to eat one bottle with vitamins in it each day. When that bottle was no longer necessary, though, that changed. If I remember right, it was about a month or so ago when we stopped the vitamin bottles. Shortly after that, while we were on vacation, Patrick suddenly decided he didn't want the nipple shield anymore. I'd tried weaning him several times in the first few months after he came home, but he couldn't or wouldn't eat without it. I'd given up hope that he would ever eat without it. That explains the surprise I had the day he reached up while eating, yanked the nipple shield off, and started eating the "normal" way as though he'd been doing it all along. We haven't used the nipple shield since. He also hasn't used a bottle since that night late in our vacation when Matt and I went to the bed and breakfast, leaving him with his nana.

It didn't dawn on me until this morning that Patrick has eaten one way and one way only in weeks. At church this morning, we left him in the nursery from the start of the service. I expected him to need to eat part of the way through the service, so I'd left several bottles of thawed breastmilk in his diaper bag for the nursery workers to feed him. One of the women from the nursery came and found us after a little while to inform us that Patrick was fussy. I checked my watch, and it was the exact moment I expected him to want to eat again. Apparently they tried feeding him after that, but it wasn't long before the lady was back to let us know that he wasn't eating his bottle. Sure enough, he was screaming when I got there. I calmed him down some and tried feeding him his bottle myself. He refused to take it at all. Fortunately they had a quiet place where I could breastfeed him, and that did calm him down. He fell asleep on one of the nursery workers after that.

So of course I started wondering why he refused a bottle. At first I thought it might just be the start of the stranger anxiety kicking in; he didn't want to eat because he didn't know the person feeding him. When he refused it when I fed him, though, that killed that theory. I wonder if it's more that he's forgetting to eat out of a bottle now that he doesn't need to any longer. Also now that he doesn't eat with a nipple shield, he doesn't even practice with anything at all resembling a bottle. Could it be he's regressing now that he's finally figured out this whole breastfeeding thing? The other idea we've had that's really probably more likely is that he hasn't had a bottle since getting teeth. I'm sure it feels much different to eat from a bottle with teeth. Add the fact that it felt different to the pain he was probably feeling in his gums from his teeth, and it certainly could cause an aversion to eating from a bottle right now. I may have to try again with a bottle soon, sometime when he's not at all upset.

By the way, I think I can upload pictures again now. I just don't have any new ones to post at the moment. I guess it's time to get back in the habit of snapping pictures all the time, now that blogger is finally once again cooperating.

Back to Our Regularly Scheduled Programming...

Now that I took a three-day time-out from the typical daily blogs, I thought it was about time to get back to what everyone expects. By the way, thanks for all the comments on the past few posts, particularly the last one. It's kind of a big deal for me to put that much of myself out there; I'd been hiding that inner torment for months, so I felt kind of exposed and vulnerable in announcing my weaknesses to the world. It means a lot that I have good friends and family to support me through everything.

So the big event from the last few days happened today. Matt, Patrick, and I spent the day across town with one of my best friends. She is currently apartment shopping and wanted company as she visited several different complexes. I was a little nervous having to get up early today and then break Patrick's entire routine. Fortunately everything worked out well. Patrick caught a few short naps while we were driving from place to place and was perfectly charming while he was awake. He's a little upset now as a result of the different feeding and sleeping schedule, but after a more normal evening, he should go back to being happy Patrick again.

Funny enough, I think my friend Cathy is going to end up with an apartment in the same complex where I used to live across town, where I was living when I met Matt. It was actually creepy visiting the old complex and seeing their model apartment, set up exactly as mine was. It felt almost eerily familiar. While it would be neat for her to end up with my exact apartment, I'm kind of glad that one's not available. It would be too weird to walk into my old apartment and see someone else living there, even my best friend.

The funniest story from the day is when we stopped for ice cream. Cathy had found a new ice cream place in the area that served gelato (sp?) ice cream. She wanted us to try it (by the way, we loved it). Patrick was the cutest he had been all day. When Daddy sat him on his lap while he ate his ice cream cone, Patrick watched that cone carefully. He watched as Matt took each bite. After a minute, he started reaching for it. I got one good picture on my phone (too bad I don't know how to download it) and wished desperately for my camera. It was too funny. He really thought he was going to get ice cream. I did relent and give him the tiniest bite of my fruity ice cream, but that only made him want Daddy's ice cream more. I think we're creating a sugar addict already. And could it be instinctive in young children to want junk food like ice cream?

By the way, is anybody else having issues uploading pictures? I've tried repeatedly over the last few days to add pictures to the NICU post and can't get it actually on the blog, although it keeps saying it's uploaded. I tried on a blank blog too and had the same problems. It's not just my computer, is it?

Part III--The Aftermath

This is the part three of a longer story. I suggest you go back two days and catch up before reading this one if you haven't already. Also, I'd really like to include some pictures for everyone, but apparently some of blogger's recent problems have affected the picture uploads. Has anybody else had the same problem? I may try again later to add pictures to this post and yesterday's, so you might want to check back just to look at the pictures.

Yesterday I talked about Patrick's journey through the NICU, but mentioned very little of my own. It appears as though, I too had to go through a journey both before and after he came home. If you remember, I noted yesterday that I felt incredibly numb just after Patrick was born. Really that feeling lasted for several days. I look back now and realize the severity of my detachment. I understood in my mind exactly what I should be feeling and forced myself to act as though I felt that way. I doubt now my act fooled anyone, but I still gave it my best shot. I squeezed out a few tears when I saw him in the NICU and when I had to leave him at the hospital, but there was very little emotion behind those tears.

Even after getting home, I didn't feel much. I was very distracted for about a week with having my parents visiting and Matt home from work and then moving the next weekend. It wasn't until we were settled in our new house that everything began to sink in. Suddenly I was left all alone as company went home and Matt went back to work, and we didn't have any cable or Internet to distract me. All I had was box after box to unpack. That left me way too much time with my thoughts. I started having frequent episodes of the baby blues, as I'd heard them called. They weren't fun, but as long as that's all they were, I knew I could cope with them.

The longer Patrick was in the hospital, though, the worse the episodes got, and more frequent. I spent most days sleeping until noon when Matt would come home for lunch and physically drag me out of bed. I moped around during the afternoons until it got close to time to go to the hospital. Then I would start perking up and getting excited, although a bit anxious too. I had hope that things would go well at the hospital. Much of my emotions for the night and next morning had to do with what happened at the hospital. If Patrick had done well and had his feedings upped, and especially if we got to give him a bottle or change his diaper, I was in great spirits, elated even, sometimes into the next morning. If he hadn't progressed and we only got to hold him a few minutes and he slept the whole time, I would get depressed again. I can remember crying on the long drive home numerous times because things didn't go as well as I'd hoped at the hospital. It was during this time that Matt and I began to suspect I was a victim of post-partum depression. I was too embarrassed about it to ask for help, though, so I suffered (and made Matt suffer) alone.

I was sure everything would be better when Patrick came home. And it was somewhat better. The depression started hitting me less often, but it didn't go away completely. I thought it was the lack of sleep and assumed once Patrick slept through the night, I would be better. I wasn't. By the time Patrick was six months old, Matt and I were stunned that I was in such a statistically impossible minority to still be suffering from post-partum depression. That's when I began to search for another possible cause of the depression.

In the last few weeks I have started realizing that it probably isn't depression in the traditional sense, but really more related to grief. I'd never thought of grief as the cause because Patrick hadn't died. Yet I still believe that parents of preemies grieve for their little ones. We grieve that our babies are sick and we're helpless to fix things. We grieve that we didn't get to experience the last few months of pregnancy or our perfect deliveries. We grieve that we can't even care for our own babies, and the first parents they know are the string of nurses and doctors who change their diapers and feed them. We grieve when we go out in public and see other new parents with their babies and feel jealous that we're parents too and nobody knows it. We grieve that our preemies have the very real possibility of not making it or having long-term complications, even when they're healthy all along. We grieve that our bodies failed us and our babies. We grieve that we can't even hold our own children without express permission from a doctor.

I wish I could say that recognizing I'm grieving has made everything better, but it hasn't. I understand why I still get depressed some days, but that doesn't prevent the depressed days from coming. I know that I'm still working through those stages of grief, and until I've reached that acceptance stage, the depression won't just disappear. I think that's part of the reason I continue to try to figure this whole thing out and work through my feelings about it. I'm hoping that by analyzing it from every angle, I will suddenly find acceptance about his prematurity. I know it doesn't really work that way, but ignoring it isn't going to help me work through my feelings either. Because of that, I can't promise like I have in the past that this will be my last post about Patrick's prematurity. The blog is a good outlet for me to work through my feelings, and maybe some of my insight will also somehow help some of you other preemie moms who are going through the same thing. Maybe I will write something that you can identify with and help me through as well. So I'm sorry to those of you who are sick of hearing about this, but it's too much a part of my life right now to ignore.

Part II--The NICU Journey

This is a continuation of yesterday's post. I recommend going back and reading that one before picking up with this one; it will make more sense that way.

Matt and I were finally left alone once they had verified I was recovering fine. That's when the phone chaos began: we had to call all the family to tell the good news. Because we didn't find out I was in labor until a short time before he was born, most of the family was very surprised to hear Patrick was already born. They weren't expecting any calls about it at all for two more months. I remember those first few hours after the birth being joyous, despite not having Patrick with us. I was finally able to eat dinner too, my first meal of the day. Hospital food never tasted so good!

The NICU's nurse practitioner on duty came to chat with us after Patrick had had his official NICU check-up. She had only good news for us. Patrick's official weight was 3 lbs 3 oz and he was 16.5 inches long. He was in great health for the moment, breathing room air and not needing any oxygen to help get his lungs working. She was very cautious in warning us that his health could decline at any moment, especially when he tired of breathing after a few hours. We were also warned about how long to expect him to stay in the NICU, when he might be able to start eating breast milk and how he would be fed, all the typical stuff they tell every parent of a child admitted. We didn't realize at the time, but the spiel we were given was quite rote as the doctors were rigid on the timeline for a healthy baby in the NICU. They absolutely would not try feeding a baby with a bottle before 34 weeks' gestation (they still calculated a baby's age in the NICU on its gestation, even though it was through gestating), even if the baby showed signs of being ready for it much earlier. That became quite a point of contention for Matt and me over the following weeks.

The rest of the evening and following days in the hospital were mostly taken up with visiting with family and friends. I went to visit Patrick three times while I stayed in the hospital. The first time was by myself, early in the morning before anyone had come to the hospital, even Matt. I truly hadn't felt prepared to see him before then and had only seen pictures Matt took when he visited the evening before. That experience was quite a reality check. Patrick looked so small curled up on his belly in the warmer. The diaper, the smallest size they make, was much too big for his little bottom. I wanted to touch him so badly but was afraid to. Finally the nurse caring for him (Joanie, the giraffe's namesake) came over and talked with me about him. She also offered to let me hold him. I honestly didn't think I'd get that privilege for several days, so I was surprised. Of course I accepted. She was caring enough to leave me alone with him for a few minutes to bond. I don't remember much about what I thought or said to him, but I remember being in awe that I was holding my son. Matt joined me a few minutes later, about the time I needed to put him back in the warmer, and we marveled together at our tiny infant son for the first time.

I only stayed in the hospital for two nights. By the end of that second night, I was more than ready to leave. I had gotten very little sleep while I was there. I was also in very little pain and feeling too well to be stuck in a hospital. I hated going home to where I'd be an hour away from Patrick, but I knew it was bound to happen eventually. I was quite numb after we left the hospital. I knew we were leaving without part of the family, but I couldn't quite wrap my fragile emotional state around that idea until we were long gone.

Patrick was always a healthy baby, despite taking up residence in the NICU for over a month. The extra rooms of the NICU, what they called the annex, had been closed down when they started evacuating the hospital for Hurricane Rita a few weeks earlier. The day after we left the hospital, they re-opened the first of those annex rooms and chose the four healthiest babies to move into it. Patrick was one of the first they chose, even though he was one of the youngest in the unit. He never needed oxygen or any help breathing at all and was able to handle breastmilk the day after he was born.

Over the next five weeks, Matt and I rearranged all our schedules to be across town at the hospital every evening. Sometimes I would also go visit during the day. I turned into a milk hoarder, mourning the loss of even one drop of breastmilk. When my production far outpaced his intake, we started storing extra at home. Soon our freezer was almost exclusively milk storage. Then we had to start throwing some away. We still took several bottles of milk to the hospital every few days. Patrick was allowed more and more milk almost every day. Almost as soon as he hit the 34-week mark, he started bottle-feeding. That was a monumental day for Matt and me. Based on our observations of him over the past few weeks, he was more than ready for it. He proved us right, drinking his first bottle like a pro in about ten minutes. That started him on the fast track to coming home.

About the time the feeding tube came out of Patrick's nose because he was eating solely with bottles and was able to start trying to breastfeed, we expected to hear talk of his homecoming. When we didn't, we started to wonder what was going on. What happened over the next week or so was a comedy of errors. There were several other milestones Patrick had to reach in order to be considered healthy enough to be discharged. Every time he would appear to be taking a step in the right direction, the nursing staff would change shifts and the new nurse would take him back a step again. Finally it looked like he was ready to leave, and then he suddenly started having apnea attacks again (although we'd never heard of him having apnea attacks before this time). The doctors were sure it was acid reflux but had to run tests to make sure. They said that based on the results of the tests, they would either send Patrick home with medicine for acid reflux (they did), send him home on an apnea monitor (they did), OR keep him another week to make sure the apnea attacks weren't a problem (they did that too). I think it goes without saying that Matt and I were a bit upset with the news, especially when they did all three things, not the one we had been told they would do. We think the whole thing was a big conspiracy and unnecessary, but we can't prove it. Probably all he ever needed was the acid reflux medicine.

Then the day came, quite suddenly it seemed, that we were told we were rooming in with him for the night and taking him home the next day. There was a last-minute problem that he hadn't been circumcised when we were told he would be, but somehow miraculously that happened and he recovered from it in enough time that we were still able to bring him home on November 14, a month and a week after his birth. That was at least as joyous as the day he was born, even though we knew it was also the start of sleepless nights and even more worrying than we'd already been doing. Since that day, we haven't had any other health problems with him, not even a cold. He may have decided he was going to come early, but at least he knew he was ready to come that early.

Yes, I have more to say about the matter. Stay tuned tomorrow for part three, what I hope to be the final part of this story.

Eight Months

Today Patrick turns eight months old. I was trying to figure out how to celebrate this milestone on the blog when Matt remarked to me the other day that Patrick has now been out of my belly longer than he was in it. The day when that happened passed several weeks ago without notice. I thought as a good way to celebrate both his eighth month and that he's been alive longer outside of me than in, I would take the time to write down his birth story. I've been meaning to for some time and just hadn't found the time to be right yet. Now it is.
The pregnancy itself was rough. I had horrible "morning" sickness that lasted all day every day. It forced me to quit teaching a month before school ended. I also had several bleeding episodes when I thought I'd lost Patrick. Several weeks after the one that sent me to the emergency room, I was finally diagnosed with a sub-corionic hematoma. I was put on a semi-bedrest that was silly compared to the one I had been on for months that somewhat controlled the nausea. Finally around the fourth of July last year, the nausea started to let up and the bleeding had mostly stopped, so I started living an almost normal life again. I still wonder if that nausea-induced bedrest may have kept the bleeding to a minimum and saved Patrick's life.

I had relatively few problems from then until the week of Patrick's birth. I'd had a lot of Braxton-Hicks contractions that Monday and some back pain on Wednesday, but neither was serious or continued long enough to suspect a problem. When the back pain returned on Thursday night, I thought it would once again go away after a little while like it had on Wednesday. I also thought the pains were typical third-trimester pains.

After several hours of back pains that started to emanate to the front too, I began to wonder if something was wrong. I checked in my faithful What to Expect When You're Expecting book, looking at pre-term labor, early signs of labor, and kidney infections to determine if one of those would explain the pains I was having. None of them did, so I continued to suffer.

I remember trying all sorts of things to help ease the pains: a hot shower, pacing across our apartment, even Tylenol (I laugh at myself now for taking Tylenol for contractions). Toward morning as the pains got worse and closer together, I found myself leaning over our bathroom counter and swaying back and forth, a position I'd only seen pregnant women in labor take. I remember thinking how funny it was then and still not suspecting I was in labor.

Matt and I were supposed to get up early to go close on our house, and we were both relieved when morning came and we found out the house wasn't ready to be closed on yet. (By the way, we did close on it the week later.) We called my parents to tell them not to come to Houston to help us move over the weekend. It turned out to be a good thing they were already packed and ready to leave Dallas, though.

Finally around 11:00 in the morning, Matt convinced me I should probably call the doctor about the pain. The office closed in an hour as it was a Friday, so it was a good thing I called when I did. They told me if I had six of those pains in an hour to head to the hospital. When I'd had four in twenty minutes, we started preparing ourselves to leave. I still thought it was silly to go, though; I fully expected to be told I had a kidney infection, given a prescription for antibiotics, and sent home. Because of that, we packed no clothes or anything for an overnight stay, just the bare essentials to be gone a few hours.

My mom called me on the hour-long drive to the hospital (we'd moved and not changed doctors, so the doctor and the hospital where she delivered was still where we used to live). As we were talking, I had another pain. She told me later that from how I sounded, she could tell I was having contractions. I'm quite glad she didn't tell me that then. I was scared enough as it was.

We got to the hospital about 12:30 or 1:00 and parked. I walked in on my own, stopping every so often with a pain. It took us some time to find the right place in the hospital, since we hadn't gotten a chance to tour the hospital and maternity ward with a class. I was one day short of 32 weeks, much earlier than I anticipated needing to take a class.

I got situated in the admittance room of the ante-partum ward and got hooked up to the monitors and IV. Sure enough, I was having contractions, as the monitor was quick to show us. I still find it odd how quickly I accepted that fact without any fear; I wonder if I'd known in the back of my mind what they were all along. The nurse asked the barrage of questions while I suffered through several more contractions and then went to check me. She didn't even get the speculum all the way in before dropping it in panic and racing for the phone. She managed to quickly inform us on her way there that all she saw was my bag of water and she was calling for the doctor. I knew that meant I was in labor and they would not be stopping it; I would be a mother within a few hours most likely. Still I wasn't scared. I think I was numb by this point (and I hadn't even had the epidural yet!).

The nurse came back with another nurse a few minutes later. My doctor was otherwise occupied and wouldn't be able to come in to deliver Patrick, but she was sending another doctor in the practice in her place (I found out later it was also her own personal ob/gyn). The nurses immediately got me flat on my back in the bed and wheeled me to a labor and delivery room. I was very carefully moved to the bed there and situated in that bed with my head down. The thought was that gravity would possibly help keep the baby inside until the doctor could get there. It was lots of fun trying to sign all that admittance paperwork while on my head. It didn't help matters that the nurses were doing all sorts of tests to me, like a sonogram and other things I can't remember, and I was also still suffering with contractions every few minutes.

This is where everything gets blurry. I can only remember a few snapshots of the next hour or so, and I don't really remember what order they come in. I know the doctor got there, checked me, and broke my water. I remember telling Matt not to watch but that it wouldn't hurt me. I remember the gush as it came out of me--gross! I was already 9 1/2 centimeters dilated after my water was broken. I know the anesthesiologist came some time later and asked Matt to leave the room while he gave me the epidural. Matt doesn't like needles, so I was glad the doctor asked him to leave. I was fine because I didn't have to see that nasty needle. I remember the nurse inserting the catheter, and I was nervous it would hurt even though I already had the epidural. I'm pretty sure I peed on her before she could get it all the way in. Also during this time, Matt started calling family. His parents and mine left right away. They weren't given enough notice to make it in time for the birth, but both were there that evening. (By the way, have I mentioned it was Matt's dad's birthday? Patrick was the best present he got last year, he claims.)

It wasn't long after that that I needed to push. I could feel it despite the epidural. It only took a few pushes. Between pushes, though, I was calm enough to joke and laugh with the nurses and Matt. I'm still amazed at myself that despite all the circumstances I could still joke and laugh. A few pushes later at 4:17 pm, Patrick came out. According to Matt, he slid out so fast that the doctor barely caught him. She was also not used to such a little guy, so his light weight caught her off guard and she almost dropped him.

Patrick immediately started screaming. The doctor held him up so I could see him briefly and then handed him over to the nurses and pediatric team for him to be checked out. Not once during this whole time had I doubted the health of Patrick. I knew what to expect for him after he was born, with the whole NICU experience, but I knew somehow that even if he went to the NICU, he would be healthy. My suspicions were confirmed when he was handed to me just minutes after he was born to hold him for a moment before being whisked off to NICU. The nurse who put him in my arms told me his apgar scores were 8 and 9 1/2. The way she said it made her sound impressed. I was simply proud of him for doing so well.

I remember looking down at him numbly for the few moments he was in my arms, thinking he didn't look that small really. I noticed his beautiful face with perfect features and realized he was mine, my own son. That thought didn't really sink in for some time, though. I remember feeling somewhat detached about the whole situation the entire time I held him. Then he was torn from my arms and taken to NICU where I didn't see him again until the next morning.

I'll continue with the story of the happenings after his birth tomorrow. Obviously when you have a baby in the NICU, the story doesn't end there. I may be kind and shorten the next few weeks for you, though. Then again, maybe not...