O has such beautiful blonde locks, with little curlies at the end.
He has his daddy's coloring, but my obstinate hair-temperament. Ha!
I love his hair. Luuuuuuuurvvve.
BUT, it is getting a little long and shaggy.
Daddy says it's time for a hair cut...
Mommy says NOOOOOOO.
When we talked about it, I just burst into tears. Ugly ones.
I thought I was ready, I really did!
But I'm not.
I'm not ready to cut off his baby hair and for him to have a big-boy hair cut.
He's so big already. He's so independent. He wants to do everything himself. People always think he's like 18 months or older.
(He'll be 14 months next Tuesday.)
Half of me is beyond proud, and the other half is kinda heartbroken.
My little tiny baby is growing faster than I imagined. Everyone told me he would, and still, it surprises me DAILY at the speed.
I know it's stupid, but I feel like cutting his hair is like cutting away the last of his babyhood.
I'm sure that's melodramatic, but it's how I feel.
Totally NOT helping the situation is the fact that I'm still feeling the heat-wave of baby fever...
I know that we can't have another baby right now, or any time soon, but my biological clock is thundering loudly.
My husband said that he had thought O would turn the clock off for a while, but apparently, we just hit the snooze button.....sorry, Querido.
Maybe it'll pass????
No. Not with preciousness like this.
I mean, HONESTLY. Honestly.
Maybe a hair cut for New Years...New Year, New Do'?
Sigh.
Maybe.
I make NO promises.
Showing posts with label Mommy Blues. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mommy Blues. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
Yeah, I know. Lots to still be grateful for. Blah, Blah, BLAH.
So this month has been awesome.
In that "what ELSE can go wrong?" kinda way...
It started off on what could be mistaken for a positive trend, because after posting about the crash and burn of relocation, it seemed like we might actually see the sunshiney face of opportunity after all.
Ummm, yeah, we were wrong.
First there were the interviews for Hubs.
3 of them.
They required flying across the states and taking 2 days of of work (unpaid of course).
We'd just spent $800 dollars on much-needed glasses for ourselves (damn our poorly sighted eyeballs), so we couldn't really afford to go, but at the same time we couldn't really afford NOT to go.
Such is the game of Opportunity...
All seemed to be going well, until they moved the interview for the main job that he really wanted, so it became 3 days instead of 2.
But we persevered. Our savings, not so much....
First interview went swimmingly, but they told him upfront that he probably wouldn't be hired for that position because they felt he was a much better fit for the second position...
Peachy! That's the one he really wanted anyhow.
The second interview also went really well (although Husband initially thought he bombed it), and we were getting excited.
Picking-out-paint-colors-discussing-future-renos-on-a-house excited...
(Meanwhile, the third interview never happened, but it was meant to be more of a part-time gig, so we didn't feel too badly.)
A state job WITH Benes?? It was nothing but blues skiiiiiies for us, baby!
(Ohhh, how naive we were then...)
He flies home.
We hear nothing for 3 days. While we'd heard from a little birdie on the inside that they loved him, and were ready to hire him, we were panicking a little.
And with good reason. Despite the glowing reports and rumors of him being hired right away, they didn't hire him.
An eleventh hour interview by a former state employee with 6 years experience in that exact position had to darken our happy little doorstep.
They said all the things that employers say when you're not hired, and our little insider birdie assured us that it was all legit, and they really would keep him in mind for future openings, but told us frankly:
This is state work. Once someone gets in, they don't leave unless forced. We don't have a lot of turnover, so I can't say when/if we'll be hiring again.
Faaaaanfuckingtastic.
I don't want to begrudge anyone a job, especially in this economy, but coooooome ON.
I can't help but be a little bitter.
I can't even begin to explain how much we needed this. For a multitude of reasons.
On top of all of that, we also got denied for health insurance.
AGAIN.
Which is awesome, as I've been really sick, and been told repeatedly that I need to go see a specialist. But adding yet another pre-existing condition to the list of things they can deny me for? Yeah, that sounds terrific.
Don't even get me stared on paying out-of-pocket to just SEE the specialist...
The high-risk pools?
Holy Black Market Pricing, Batman!
You can't even get on the waiting list 'til October.
ANNND, they don't cover preventative care, just major medical. Like a gnarly car accident. Resulting in death.
If that didn't put a spring in our step, then getting our stroller jacked from Cheesecake Factory, did it for SURE.
Now, in all fairness, it was my fault. Sorta.
I'll explain:
O, MIL, her friend, and I all went to the mall. She had errands, I like air conditioning.
After work, Hubs met us for dinner.
Halfway through, O decides he's done for the day.
My spouse, being the gem that he is, offers to take him home and let me eat my dinner in peace.
Now, the CF won't let you bring your stroller into the dining area, so you have to park it in the lobby.
I LOATHE doing that, because I'm always paranoid that someone will jack my shit.
[What? I grew up in some shady neighborhoods...]
But, I soothed myself with the fact that this was South OC. Who'd want my piddly little Graco when Peg Peregos and McClarens abound?
[There's that pesky naivete, again...]
Anyhoo.
Hubs is going to take the baby, but he can't take the stroller because he's already got our little snap 'n go in his trunk, so our big stroller won't fit.
(Damn "compact" Jetta.)
He asks his mom to grab it as we leave and put in her trunk.
(Her Benz has a massive trunk. It's swank.)
Smart? Why, yes! Thanks for noticing!
He also leaves the behemoth piece of luggage I call the "baby bag" with me, because I need to clean up the swath of cheerios, discarded spoons and abandoned binkies that O has left in his wake.
A perfect plan!
That is, until yesterday.
Spouseface and I decide to go strolling around Disneyland with the monkey, but we wanted to swap with my MIL for the big stroller, because it's safer for crowded areas, and lots of walking.
We're already out running errands at Babies R Us, and the ILs are at Costco, so they decide to meet us there for the swap.
I leave to pee....
I come out, and Husband looks like he's gonna vomit.
"The stoller is gone," he says. "It got left."
As soon as the last word starts to come out of his mouth, the previous plan comes flooding back.
So after quite inappropriately yelling FUCK in a baby store, the restaurant is called.
They don't have it.
Still trying to hope, Mall Security is called (this particular CF location is in a large mall).
They don't have it.
Lost and Found?
NOPE.
After double and triple checking in person, our stroller is gone.
I feel like I'm going to cry and throw up. At.the.same.time.
How could I have walked away WITHOUT my child's stroller?! MOM FAIL.
Not to excuse my idiocy, but I'm fairly certain it's because I didn't have O. I never have one without the other.
Yes, I had his bag, but I think my thoughts focused on the fact that Hubben had the actual baby, which meant stroller/carseat combo to my addled brain.
So you may be saying to yourself:
That means you LOST the stroller, not had it STOLEN.
But wait!
Cheesecake said they didn't have the stroller when they closed that night. They closed at 10pm, we left at 8pm. Suspicious...
Also?
I remember thinking to myself (as Hubs was leaving):
It'll be impossible to forget the stroller because we'll have to walk RIGHT BY it to exit the premises. I didn't see a stroller in sight.
[I'm starting to smell a rat...]
If it were just forgotten then it should've still been waiting for me to claim it at CF, or at least in the Mall's Lost and Found.
But you and I both know that someone walked away with it.
It would be super easy to do.
It's not like I thought to install stroller lowjack...Next time, Next TIME.
Yes, I'm the moron (the exhausted, frazzled, Mommy moron) who forgot my stroller. Does that mean that I deserve to have it stolen?
I say NAY, it doth not.
Who the HELL shiests someone's stroller, anyhow?
I'm sorry, but the "Finders-Keepers" brand of property acquisition does not apply here.
I've said it before, and I will say it again-
To Whomever stole my stroller: You are a WHORE.
That sums up the month's top highlights!
Is everyone else as excited for the shenanigans of September as I am?
You'll be missed, little Graco.
In that "what ELSE can go wrong?" kinda way...
It started off on what could be mistaken for a positive trend, because after posting about the crash and burn of relocation, it seemed like we might actually see the sunshiney face of opportunity after all.
Ummm, yeah, we were wrong.
First there were the interviews for Hubs.
3 of them.
They required flying across the states and taking 2 days of of work (unpaid of course).
We'd just spent $800 dollars on much-needed glasses for ourselves (damn our poorly sighted eyeballs), so we couldn't really afford to go, but at the same time we couldn't really afford NOT to go.
Such is the game of Opportunity...
All seemed to be going well, until they moved the interview for the main job that he really wanted, so it became 3 days instead of 2.
But we persevered. Our savings, not so much....
First interview went swimmingly, but they told him upfront that he probably wouldn't be hired for that position because they felt he was a much better fit for the second position...
Peachy! That's the one he really wanted anyhow.
The second interview also went really well (although Husband initially thought he bombed it), and we were getting excited.
Picking-out-paint-colors-discussing-future-renos-on-a-house excited...
(Meanwhile, the third interview never happened, but it was meant to be more of a part-time gig, so we didn't feel too badly.)
A state job WITH Benes?? It was nothing but blues skiiiiiies for us, baby!
(Ohhh, how naive we were then...)
He flies home.
We hear nothing for 3 days. While we'd heard from a little birdie on the inside that they loved him, and were ready to hire him, we were panicking a little.
And with good reason. Despite the glowing reports and rumors of him being hired right away, they didn't hire him.
An eleventh hour interview by a former state employee with 6 years experience in that exact position had to darken our happy little doorstep.
They said all the things that employers say when you're not hired, and our little insider birdie assured us that it was all legit, and they really would keep him in mind for future openings, but told us frankly:
This is state work. Once someone gets in, they don't leave unless forced. We don't have a lot of turnover, so I can't say when/if we'll be hiring again.
Faaaaanfuckingtastic.
I don't want to begrudge anyone a job, especially in this economy, but coooooome ON.
I can't help but be a little bitter.
I can't even begin to explain how much we needed this. For a multitude of reasons.
On top of all of that, we also got denied for health insurance.
AGAIN.
Which is awesome, as I've been really sick, and been told repeatedly that I need to go see a specialist. But adding yet another pre-existing condition to the list of things they can deny me for? Yeah, that sounds terrific.
Don't even get me stared on paying out-of-pocket to just SEE the specialist...
The high-risk pools?
Holy Black Market Pricing, Batman!
You can't even get on the waiting list 'til October.
ANNND, they don't cover preventative care, just major medical. Like a gnarly car accident. Resulting in death.
If that didn't put a spring in our step, then getting our stroller jacked from Cheesecake Factory, did it for SURE.
Now, in all fairness, it was my fault. Sorta.
I'll explain:
O, MIL, her friend, and I all went to the mall. She had errands, I like air conditioning.
After work, Hubs met us for dinner.
Halfway through, O decides he's done for the day.
My spouse, being the gem that he is, offers to take him home and let me eat my dinner in peace.
Now, the CF won't let you bring your stroller into the dining area, so you have to park it in the lobby.
I LOATHE doing that, because I'm always paranoid that someone will jack my shit.
[What? I grew up in some shady neighborhoods...]
But, I soothed myself with the fact that this was South OC. Who'd want my piddly little Graco when Peg Peregos and McClarens abound?
[There's that pesky naivete, again...]
Anyhoo.
Hubs is going to take the baby, but he can't take the stroller because he's already got our little snap 'n go in his trunk, so our big stroller won't fit.
(Damn "compact" Jetta.)
He asks his mom to grab it as we leave and put in her trunk.
(Her Benz has a massive trunk. It's swank.)
Smart? Why, yes! Thanks for noticing!
He also leaves the behemoth piece of luggage I call the "baby bag" with me, because I need to clean up the swath of cheerios, discarded spoons and abandoned binkies that O has left in his wake.
A perfect plan!
That is, until yesterday.
Spouseface and I decide to go strolling around Disneyland with the monkey, but we wanted to swap with my MIL for the big stroller, because it's safer for crowded areas, and lots of walking.
We're already out running errands at Babies R Us, and the ILs are at Costco, so they decide to meet us there for the swap.
I leave to pee....
I come out, and Husband looks like he's gonna vomit.
"The stoller is gone," he says. "It got left."
As soon as the last word starts to come out of his mouth, the previous plan comes flooding back.
So after quite inappropriately yelling FUCK in a baby store, the restaurant is called.
They don't have it.
Still trying to hope, Mall Security is called (this particular CF location is in a large mall).
They don't have it.
Lost and Found?
NOPE.
After double and triple checking in person, our stroller is gone.
I feel like I'm going to cry and throw up. At.the.same.time.
How could I have walked away WITHOUT my child's stroller?! MOM FAIL.
Not to excuse my idiocy, but I'm fairly certain it's because I didn't have O. I never have one without the other.
Yes, I had his bag, but I think my thoughts focused on the fact that Hubben had the actual baby, which meant stroller/carseat combo to my addled brain.
So you may be saying to yourself:
That means you LOST the stroller, not had it STOLEN.
But wait!
Cheesecake said they didn't have the stroller when they closed that night. They closed at 10pm, we left at 8pm. Suspicious...
Also?
I remember thinking to myself (as Hubs was leaving):
It'll be impossible to forget the stroller because we'll have to walk RIGHT BY it to exit the premises. I didn't see a stroller in sight.
[I'm starting to smell a rat...]
If it were just forgotten then it should've still been waiting for me to claim it at CF, or at least in the Mall's Lost and Found.
But you and I both know that someone walked away with it.
It would be super easy to do.
It's not like I thought to install stroller lowjack...Next time, Next TIME.
Yes, I'm the moron (the exhausted, frazzled, Mommy moron) who forgot my stroller. Does that mean that I deserve to have it stolen?
I say NAY, it doth not.
Who the HELL shiests someone's stroller, anyhow?
I'm sorry, but the "Finders-Keepers" brand of property acquisition does not apply here.
I've said it before, and I will say it again-
To Whomever stole my stroller: You are a WHORE.
That sums up the month's top highlights!
Is everyone else as excited for the shenanigans of September as I am?
You'll be missed, little Graco.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
The conclusion of Boob-Gate 09
I have thrown in the towel...erm, pump.
Owen doesn't want my nipples, he wants the silicone ones (that's what I get for having a baby in South County), and nothing I do is going to change that.
Pumping is a done deal as well. He's 3 weeks old today, and the lactation lagoon has dried up.
And nothing makes you feel more womanly than realizing your chest has turned into the Dust Bowl (how will I ever save a starving stranger now?)...
Sadness.
I have to keep reminding myself though, that this isn't about me. It's about the baby; he is perfectly healthy and content with his bottle of formula, and I am not an asshole or unfit mother because I couldn't breastfeed.
I'm working really hard to believe that, and not be negative about it.
(Sometimes however, I do find myself giving the formula can dirty looks...USURPER!)
As much as I hate to admit it, waving the white flag on this whole feeding fiasco has made things a lot easier.
I am less frustrated, the sobbing has all but quit (pregnancy hormones ain't got NOTHING on postpartum ones), and I get to spend more time cuddling Owen.
He's so good. He's waking up about every 2-2.5 hrs at night, but will usually go right back to sleep after a bottle and a dry diaper.
The pediatrician says he looks great, and I swear, he gets bigger each day!
I don't want him to grow up!
And yes, believe it or not, I get super-bummed sometimes that he's no longer in my belly....
But then I remember the constant pain, and I snap out of it pretty quickly.
Oh! Oh! Oh!
I am sleeping in my own bed again!
I'm thinking of burning the Poang chair in effigy.
Owen doesn't want my nipples, he wants the silicone ones (that's what I get for having a baby in South County), and nothing I do is going to change that.
Pumping is a done deal as well. He's 3 weeks old today, and the lactation lagoon has dried up.
And nothing makes you feel more womanly than realizing your chest has turned into the Dust Bowl (how will I ever save a starving stranger now?)...
Sadness.
I have to keep reminding myself though, that this isn't about me. It's about the baby; he is perfectly healthy and content with his bottle of formula, and I am not an asshole or unfit mother because I couldn't breastfeed.
I'm working really hard to believe that, and not be negative about it.
(Sometimes however, I do find myself giving the formula can dirty looks...USURPER!)
As much as I hate to admit it, waving the white flag on this whole feeding fiasco has made things a lot easier.
I am less frustrated, the sobbing has all but quit (pregnancy hormones ain't got NOTHING on postpartum ones), and I get to spend more time cuddling Owen.
He's so good. He's waking up about every 2-2.5 hrs at night, but will usually go right back to sleep after a bottle and a dry diaper.
The pediatrician says he looks great, and I swear, he gets bigger each day!
I don't want him to grow up!
And yes, believe it or not, I get super-bummed sometimes that he's no longer in my belly....
But then I remember the constant pain, and I snap out of it pretty quickly.
Oh! Oh! Oh!
I am sleeping in my own bed again!
I'm thinking of burning the Poang chair in effigy.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Maybe this means he'll be a butt man....
Owen is HERE!
As of Wednesday, October 28th at 1:05pm, my perfect little man made his grand entrance into the world!
8 lbs, 7 oz, 19 inches long.
He is an absolute ANGEL, and I could not ask for a better (or more gorgeous) baby.
{For pics, check out http://lookathowcuteiam.blogspot.com}
Well, except for one thing...he hates my boobs.
I reeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaallllly wanted to breast feed. The bonding, the nutritional benefits, etc. I studied up, armed myself with the right gear, and gathered resources--I was amped.
My son, not so much.
He would not latch on to save his life. Granted, we had some obstacles, like my inverted nipples and his tendency to draw in his lower lip, but I was assured by the lactation consultants (or "Nipple Whisperers" as they were deemed by my hubby) that with persistence and patience, he would be on the boob in no time.
After 4 days of him screaming every time I put him to the nipple and me crying because I felt like a monster of a mother, the NWs changed their tune.
Now, they said—“You can pump and feed. The breast just doesn’t work for everybody”
Great.
So home from the hospital we went, latchless.
I was totally bummed. I felt like a failure. Would I think that any other mother was a failure? No, but this was not someone else, this was me, and the standards are less forgiving…
But, finally after trying to get him to love the boob at home only to more tears from the both of us, I decided to let it go and focus solely on pumping.
Yay Pumping!
Or not.
I had been pumping in the hospital every 3 hours, and continued that trend when I got home…
My milk wasn’t coming in.
More crying and crushing feelings of inadequacy ensued.
So I called the NWs. They assured me that my milk would come in, and that it was common for Cesarean births to sometimes cause a delay in production.
Their official line was basically: “If you Pump it, Milk will come”
Okay, fine.
So every 2-3 hours, I’m pumping, and when I can stand it, I’ll pump every hour and a half.
I feel like a dairy cow.
All of that effort and my production is still super low. We’re having to formula feed him almost exclusively, which again, makes me feel (however irrationally) like LoserMommy.
This Wednesday marks 2 weeks. Unless the Nipple River starts flowing by then, I’m packing away my pump.
I don’t want to be one of those women that gives up too soon, but at the same time, I don’t want to beat a dead mammary either.
I feel like all I do is pump, and it’s not even effective. Kinda like salt in the wounds….
I might as well spend that time enjoying Owen, instead of feeling bad about myself and torturing my nips, because on top of all the boob vs bottle drama—I’m healing from a C-section and as those of you who read this blog regularly know, a pretty physically debilitating pregnancy in the first place, which isn’t going so hot if I’m honest.
My poor husband.
He has been SO incredible in helping me and taking care of Owen, but I know he’s pretty sure I’ve lost my mind, because there has been a massive amount of tears and frustration since our son was born, and I don’t think he expected that.
In his defense, I don’t think I did either.
Neither one of us could have anticipated the feeding problems or how physically wrecked I would STILL be after coming home and how emotionally taxing that would be.
So it’s been tough, but every day gets a little better, so we are hanging in there.
And most importantly, we have Owen…our healthy, sweet, little monkey who makes us both giddy.
I swear, I could just stare at him sleeping all freakin’ day.
That’s not creepy, just maternal, right?
As of Wednesday, October 28th at 1:05pm, my perfect little man made his grand entrance into the world!
8 lbs, 7 oz, 19 inches long.
He is an absolute ANGEL, and I could not ask for a better (or more gorgeous) baby.
{For pics, check out http://lookathowcuteiam.blogspot.com}
Well, except for one thing...he hates my boobs.
I reeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaallllly wanted to breast feed. The bonding, the nutritional benefits, etc. I studied up, armed myself with the right gear, and gathered resources--I was amped.
My son, not so much.
He would not latch on to save his life. Granted, we had some obstacles, like my inverted nipples and his tendency to draw in his lower lip, but I was assured by the lactation consultants (or "Nipple Whisperers" as they were deemed by my hubby) that with persistence and patience, he would be on the boob in no time.
After 4 days of him screaming every time I put him to the nipple and me crying because I felt like a monster of a mother, the NWs changed their tune.
Now, they said—“You can pump and feed. The breast just doesn’t work for everybody”
Great.
So home from the hospital we went, latchless.
I was totally bummed. I felt like a failure. Would I think that any other mother was a failure? No, but this was not someone else, this was me, and the standards are less forgiving…
But, finally after trying to get him to love the boob at home only to more tears from the both of us, I decided to let it go and focus solely on pumping.
Yay Pumping!
Or not.
I had been pumping in the hospital every 3 hours, and continued that trend when I got home…
My milk wasn’t coming in.
More crying and crushing feelings of inadequacy ensued.
So I called the NWs. They assured me that my milk would come in, and that it was common for Cesarean births to sometimes cause a delay in production.
Their official line was basically: “If you Pump it, Milk will come”
Okay, fine.
So every 2-3 hours, I’m pumping, and when I can stand it, I’ll pump every hour and a half.
I feel like a dairy cow.
All of that effort and my production is still super low. We’re having to formula feed him almost exclusively, which again, makes me feel (however irrationally) like LoserMommy.
This Wednesday marks 2 weeks. Unless the Nipple River starts flowing by then, I’m packing away my pump.
I don’t want to be one of those women that gives up too soon, but at the same time, I don’t want to beat a dead mammary either.
I feel like all I do is pump, and it’s not even effective. Kinda like salt in the wounds….
I might as well spend that time enjoying Owen, instead of feeling bad about myself and torturing my nips, because on top of all the boob vs bottle drama—I’m healing from a C-section and as those of you who read this blog regularly know, a pretty physically debilitating pregnancy in the first place, which isn’t going so hot if I’m honest.
My poor husband.
He has been SO incredible in helping me and taking care of Owen, but I know he’s pretty sure I’ve lost my mind, because there has been a massive amount of tears and frustration since our son was born, and I don’t think he expected that.
In his defense, I don’t think I did either.
Neither one of us could have anticipated the feeding problems or how physically wrecked I would STILL be after coming home and how emotionally taxing that would be.
So it’s been tough, but every day gets a little better, so we are hanging in there.
And most importantly, we have Owen…our healthy, sweet, little monkey who makes us both giddy.
I swear, I could just stare at him sleeping all freakin’ day.
That’s not creepy, just maternal, right?
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