I want a Snickers from the drunk guy....

I will not apologize for my children.

I have read numerous articles, really "heartwarming" articles about stressed out parents that bring little goody bags onto flights to hand out to their neighbors apologizing for flying with their children. Before I had kids, I thought this was so cute.  How sweet of these parents to be so mindful of the people they might be annoying!

Well, this is bullshit.  Now that I have children (The Tot is 2 and The Firefly is almost 2 months), I see how ridiculous this is.  I will not apologize for my children being children.  We are not at a five star restaurant, we are not at the ballet, we are on a plane.... we are in transit somewhere, and I will not apologize for a baby crying or a two year old, being TWO.

Where is my goody bag full of snickers from the drunk guy annoying everyone on the plane?  Where are my twizzlers with an apology note from the smelly person who has apparently forgotten to shower this decade?  Where the heck are my homemade cookies from the woman who wants to talk the entire flight even though I have made it clear with my headphones that I don't want to talk?  Why aren't these people apologizing for their annoying behavior?  They don't exist, because we are ADULTS who realize that sometimes when you are in public, you are going to have to deal with a bit of unpleasantness from the people around you.

I have been looking for flights from NY to CA to visit my family before my maternity leave is over and I am ultra aware of other people on the flight.  I am trying to plan the day being sensitive to other travelers.  I am looking at flights that would be during nap time, I am looking at seats in the back of the plane where it is loud and near the bathroom, I am aware that traveling with two small children and a dog might seem crazy to other travelers, but I am not sorry.  My family lives 3000 miles away, and I pay good money to travel to them via plane!  I paid the same as everyone else, and I will not apologize for a bit of crying.

When did we as a society decide that children were not welcome?  Since becoming a mother, I have realized how unwelcome children are.  When we enter a restaurant (and I'm talkin' diner, not 5 star), the looks we get are amazing.  When I enter a store, try to shop, go anywhere... we are treated like we do not belong.  Is this new?  I think it is... growing up, we went everywhere with our parents.  My parents took us into nice restaurants, and we behaved, and we were always welcome.  When did this change?

Well, I will not be putting together a little note and baggie asking forgiveness from strangers for normal infant and toddler behavior.  I will do my best to keep them in check, I won't let them run rampant on the plane, I will discipline when needed, but I will not apologize to you, a stranger for normal behavior.  Get your own snickers, and bite me.

The Tot, waiting for the plane last summer 

I might be a little emotional

Being pregnant is emotional.  There are a lot of hormones racing through you.  I am finding that I am extra emotional these days.  Not only do I have your normal pregnancy hormones rearing their lovely heads, but for quite a few weeks, I have had an added hormone syringed into me weekly to help keep my "not so perfect" uterus healthy.

I am finding myself focused on my two year olds birth, The Tater Tot.  From my past post, you can see that it was a bit of a traumatic, unexpected birth since he arrived at 33 weeks.  Its funny... when you have a preemie baby, your life shifts in ways you could never anticipate.  I find myself remembering things that I haven't thought of in a while.  What's funny is, we've made it past 33 weeks... this little Firefly is cooking in there, and we are now almost to 36 weeks, so these concerns shouldn't be consuming me, but that just isn't how the brain works I guess. 

I am remembering the NICU vividly.  I remember waking up the morning after he was born and finally being able to see my son and walking through the cold halls of the hospital in socks and multiple hospital gowns to find my son.  I remember the multiple isoletes that held all the little babies and being ushered to mine.  I was able to hold him, I was in shock, I was dazed.  He had wires on him, he was hooked up to things that I didn't understand at the time.  I remember being told I could do kangaroo time right away and having no idea what a blessing this was... I just remember being afraid.  Afraid I was going to hurt him or do something wrong.  All the wires were hard to manage while trying to put him to my chest.

I remember being discharged from the hospital and leaving without my son.   I never want to feel that pain again.  People were cheerful, telling me that he was in the care of professionals, that I should relish the sleep since I could go home and sleep for a whole night.  But I couldn't, they were wrong... I had to pump every 2 or 3 hours, I was worried, I felt a part of me was missing, I didn't sleep while my baby was in the NICU.  In the mornings, I rushed on the subway with the hoards of commuters going to work while I was going to the hospital, anxious to get there during Rounds so I could see the doctor... I rushed to get there before one of the NICU nurses feed my son, since I wanted to do it myself.

I remember arriving at the NICU with my 2 or 3 oz of milk that I had painfully pumped all night only to see other NICU Mom's with multiple 8oz bottles of milk ready for their child. I had to settle for formula, supplemented with my drops of milk.  

I remember walking through the hospital and seeing parents with their plump little babies in cute little outfits milling about the hospital and feeling so mad at them... I don't know why I was mad, but I was and I feel terrible about that.  

I remember my notes... the copious notes I took about The Tots weight, feeding schedule, strange terms that I had to Google when I got home that night.  I still have all of those binders with all of my notes and they seem like they come from a different time, because they do.  

And oh, meeting all of the other parents and their babies all in varying degrees of distress.  Offering advice to the new parents, watching the parents who had been there for months who seemed to know what they were doing.  

And The Husband, forging this path with me and our little boy, also unsure and scared, but positive and strong.  Going back to work so we could "save up" on his paternity leave so he could take it later if we needed it.  Telling me over and over that I was doing a good job and supporting me while I struggled to pump for months and helping me give myself permission to stop.  

As I sit here with 36 weeks within my grasp, I realize that the birth of the Firefly might be uneventful, and I don't even know how to feel about that.  I am thrilled, keeping my fingers crossed that it is a "normal" birth, but quite frankly, all I know is trauma and NICU time, so I am yet again faced with the unknown.  

Writing this out helps... I think.  Being emotional during this time is hard, and normal, so I accept that it is normal, and this is just where I am.  I am here, and my second child is safe for now and I can relax... so I will try. 

Birth Story - the Tater Tot - Sept 30, 2012

I had a traumatic delivery with the Tot.  Whew, I said it.  You may read this and think, what? that's nothing! But for me, it was traumatic.  I like things to go as planned. I love plans.  I love lists, I love to think of the worse case scenario and then plan it out to make sure to avoid it.  I don't like the unknown, and I don't like things to veer off course, unless of course I have planned for it to do so, spontaneously!  haha

I will begin with Friday, September 28th 2012.  I was at work, and The Tater Tot was very active.  So active, that I kept calling over my co-worker to watch my belly... he was moving so much, you could see my whole belly shudder and shake.  It was a fun day and I felt very connected to The Tot. Outside of the movement, nothing strange seemed to be going on.

So, we move to Saturday... again, nothing major most of the day until the late afternoon when something odd did happen.  I had been reading about all of the signs of labor and the week before our Lamaze teacher discussed the mucus plug and bloody show and contractions (sorry TMI, just wait more TMI on the way).  So, when it appeared as if I lost my mucus plug, I was concerned and called my doctor.  I was only 33 weeks, and was pretty sure that loosing the plug that early was not good. When I talked to my doctor, she said not to worry.  I look back now, and I am pretty sure she didn't believe me.  I believe she thought it was just general mucus and not the actual plug. I knew differently, but I listened to her and assumed that it didn't mean anything. 

Sunday, September 30th:  The Husband and I had plans to watch football and baseball downtown with some dear friends that we hadn't seen since the beginning of the summer. We were both excited to get out of the house and be social.  We had a lot of prep work to do for the Tot's arrival, but figured we had a least 5 to 6 more weeks, so there was no worry and no hurry. 

We had a great time... I indulged in fried pickles and a huge brownie sundae for lunch.  We were both tired so we left and headed home. I remember the cab ride being especially uncomfortable and asking repeatedly for the driver to slow down.  

I was still concerned about the mucus plug and became very concerned on Sunday early evening when I was sure I had witnessed a bloody show.  Both The Husband and I thought it would be a much bigger show and as he commented, it was less of a Show and more like community theater.  So, the second call went out to the doctor, who finally took me seriously and said I should head to the hospital.  

After a bit of discussion and a role reversal for my husband and I, we sat down to eat a bit of dinner. We figured it would be a long night at the hospital and in fact, oddly, the husband thought we shouldn't go at all and wait until the morning.  I think he was in shock and couldn't quite comprehend that having blood at 33 weeks was a bad sign, and we had to get to the hospital fast.  But I was hungry, so I ate some soup, and then MY WATER BROKE, and then we started to move fast. That hour was so strange... I knew something was terribly wrong, but I think I was in shock and didn't want to panic my husband.  But we should have moved MUCH quicker than we did.

After my water broke, things obviously got serious!  Again, many of you would say that we had reason to be serious about an hour before, but we were in a bit of a fog I think.  We quickly started to pack bags, we had not yet done that, since we had weeks yet, and quite frankly, that was next weeks Lamaze class agenda, packing the hospital bag.

We were relatively calm as we walked to Broadway to catch a cab.  I didn't want a prospective cab driver to pass us by thinking I was in labor!  We finally got in a cab and that's when the fun began.  A contraction began, and well, it pretty much continued until the baby came 2 hours later.  Again, another bad sign.

Once we got to St Lukes / Roosevelt Hospital, we went up to the Labor and Delivery floor.  Nobody seemed to take me seriously.  I don't think they understood that I was 33 WEEKS and my water broke, even though that was my mantra and all I kept saying to them. They had me fill out paperwork.  Seriously, a lot of paperwork.  Which I did, somehow.  Then they finally took me back and they wouldn't let The Husband come, and the shit hit the fan.  I promised him that he would be back there in two minutes.  It is always strange, but the hospital did this anytime I went there.  They take you back by yourself, ask if you have ever been abused by the man waiting outside and when you say no, they let him back.  Whatever...

So once I was back in the Labor Triage area they hooked me up to monitors and again, seemed very nonplussed.  The Husband and I were completely freaked out by now.  Once the contractions began in the cab, we knew we were in trouble and the fog lifted.  But now everyone else seemed to be in a fog.  My doctor was called, but it would take her a while to arrive, so they decided to give me drugs to slow down labor.  I was only 2 cm dilated, and by now the contraction was excruciating and unlike I had learned in Lamaze class, this was just one big contraction that didn't take a break.

So, by this time, the doctor on call came to see me and basically said that they were going to monitor me and wait for my doctor to arrive.  They had given me drugs to slow down the labor, and they were going to leave me there, with The Husband in the triage area until the doctor arrived.  The look of shock and horror on The Husbands face will always stick with me.  They were just going to leave me like this, screaming in pain? Nothing about this seemed normal.  This was not a normal delivery where I would wander the floors waiting for the baby to come and 22 hours later he would arrive.  He was coming now and we knew it.

The Husband asked the doctor to take one last look before she left AND low and behold, they finally took us seriously.  In the 15 minutes that we had been in triage, I had gone from 2 cm dilated to 10 cm.  IN 15 MINUTES. Thus the screaming and pain.  The look on that doctors face will also stick with me.  Panic.

Within seconds they had lifted up the bars on the bed and were rolling/running me down the hall to a delivery room... totally like the movies.  The pain in my body and my head was like black and red swirls... I was screaming while numerous nurses ran down the hall with me, The Husband holding the side of the bed.  I kept grabbing the side of the bed and reaching for my husband, and the nurses kept yelling to keep my hands in the bed.  So I started yelling back, for unknown reasons to me now... "keep your hands and feet inside the ride, keep your hands and feet inside the ride!" Nuts, I know, but it did feel like I was on some sort of morbid roller-coaster ride.

The Husband always describes once we got into the Labor room, since I don't have clear memories. He says that from the time we left triage to the labor room its like there was a secret code sent out to the hospital. Where once there was a calm Sunday evening staff, now we had 30 nurses, doctors, NICU nurses and everyone magically in surgical attire.  My doctor walked in the room just after the on call doctor was suited up and ready to "catch", so she stood by my side and orchestrated and held my hand.

Apparently we were ready to go, so they asked if I knew how to push.  What?  NO! I had no idea how to push.  We had not gotten to that class yet in Lamaze.  We had discussed it, but we hadn't practiced it yet. So, after a quick instruction they said go.  And oh my god, I thought I was dying.  I turned to my doctor with tears in my eyes and said "no, I didn't want to do this" I told her she had to make it stop. There was something wrong with the baby, and he wasn't supposed to come out yet, I had 6 more weeks and I wasn't ready, and she had to make it stop.  I said all of this while crushing her very small shoulder.  She gave me a weak smile and said I had no choice, I had to help the baby out.

The next few minutes I was inside my head... I didn't feel like I was in the same room, but somewhere inside myself.  I remember being afraid.  Afraid the baby was going to die, afraid I was going to die.  With those thoughts, I pushed.  The Husband says that at one point I got very calm and focused, and then I pushed and our wonderful little Tot entered the world.

I had always pictured this moment, planned it out.  I wanted to hold him immediately, I wanted to bond, I wanted to smile, I wanted to breast-feed, I wanted to share this with The Husband... our little pack growing with this new baby. But that isn't what happened.  The Tot was born at 33 weeks, so they whisked him away to the corner of the room, nurses running, machines beeping, and then I heard The Husband insist that we see him and hold him. My dear sweet traumatized husband.  They all stopped what they were doing, and with caution in their eyes, they held my little spud on my chest so I could see him, then they lifted him up to The Husband and he could touch him, and then they took him away.  

Now, you can stop reading if you want... this may be too much for some, but hell, I'm sharing, so here we go.

So, now, I'm laying on the delivery room bed and we are waiting.  I finally ask... "how long until the placenta comes out" and the doctors tell me... just a few more minutes.  It was quiet... they were quiet... I was exhausted, and we waited, for a LONG TIME, but the placenta didn't come.  Finally I catch the doctors giving each other worried looks and then I know we are in trouble.  They explained that too much time had passed and the placenta wasn't coming out, and they needed to manually extract it.

Stop reading now, seriously.

I'm gonna write this out quickly and will probably not edit... since I don't want to relive it more than once.  So, they give me morphine.  We wait.  And then they tell me that this is going to hurt.  And then the doctor reached inside and manually, with her hand, ripped out my placenta which was stuck to the uterine wall.  I wanted to die.  I wished death.  I never want to feel that again and it makes me cry to remember it.  I bled a lot and then I finally fell asleep, because that is all I remember until I was in a recovery room hours later.  The end to that part....

So, we had to wait until the morphine wore off before I could see my son, who was in an isolete, waiting for me.  When I finally could, I waddled down the hall in a hospital gown and socks until they finally let me and my husband see him.  Luckily they let me pick him up immediately and in my morphine induced state, I cried for my little Tot, I cried for me and then I started the long trek up a hill that I never anticipated.

It was a long climb up.  But we had a beautiful baby, who was healthy and just needed a bit more time to grow.  17 days in the NICU and then he came home.  It was not easy, but he is amazing that little Tot and now he is 2 years old.

I needed to get this story out before the Firefly arrives.  It scares me to write it out, but I needed to... thanks for reading.

Resting....

I am officially on Bed Rest.  My doctor has decided to pull the trigger.... I have been conflicted about the idea of bed rest since it means leaving work early and laying down all day, but now that I am one week into it, I know that this is for the best.  I am 32 weeks pregnant and as each week comes and goes, I get more and more nervous about this little Firefly.  The Tot was born at 33 weeks, and now that I am almost there, it is amazing to me how early that little spud arrived.  So, the goal is to keep this little Firefly in there longer than the Tot was.

We are doing a few things to try to "gestate" longer.  For at least a month now, I have been getting weekly progesterone shots (not fun), I have minimized my activity (hard to do) and now I am on bed rest (so far so good).  In my last pregnancy, we had no complications, that is until the Tot arrived at 33 weeks.  But up until then, my doctor had no concerns at all.  This time around, my doctor (a new specialist) is keeping a much closer eye on me.  We found out post Tot that I had a misshapen uterus and then at 26 weeks, we found out I had placenta previa (awesome), in addition to being AMA... and for those of you who don't know the lingo... that means I'm old! ugh.  

So, here we are on bed rest... and by we, I mean me... since my poor husband has to do double duty since I am not allowed, he is very clearly NOT on bed rest.  The Tot is also not on bed rest and is very confused by the change in daily duties.  Noodles is the only pack member that is thrilled with this new arrangement.  She loves having a companion all day that lounges on the couch/bed.

So, in theory, I have time to blog more... so we shall see if I can finish some of these posts I have in the hopper and finish some other writing.

And we are at 2!

* um, this was written and I forgot to post it... hahaha!

Today is The Tot's birthday.  He is 2 today!  Knock me over, I'm in shock.  It oddly crept up on me, mainly due to my busy work schedule and being about 7 months into a "high risk" pregnancy, which means a lot of doctors appointments and what not.  But here we are, at two years old! 

Our little Spud has really grown leaps and bounds over the past month or so... he is truly a little boy now, and not a baby, even though he will always be my baby.  He talks up a storm, putting together little sentences!  He sings a lot too, although he is not a chorus member and prefers the solo lifestyle.  This morning he was singing Happy Birthday to himself on our walk to daycare, so I joined in, which was met with "NOO", so when I stopped singing, he continued.  Doesn't he know I was once considered a "professional" singer?  hahah, oh well. 

He has been doing swimming lessons all summer and is doing amazing.  He has always loved water, but the lessons were a bit scary at first, but now he loves it.  Still isn't a huge fan of going completely under the water, but every class he gets better and better.  We really enjoy the classes and so does he.

He and Noodles are still getting along.  Noodles is a pretty good judge of when he is "not friendly" and she steers clear.  Otherwise she loves bringing him toys so he can throw them to her... she tolerates his "kisses" and "hugs", which basically means he puts his face on her back and wraps he arms awkwardly around her.  So, she just waits until it is all over with a worried look on her face, but she is good.

He has no idea that a new baby is on the way, although he points at my stomach and questions "belly?" as if he is concerned with the basketball style... We've tried to talk about Mommy having a baby, and him getting a baby brother, but I could tell him we were getting a monkey and it would make about as much sense.  Now, if I told him Mommy was having a helicopter, well then that might be met with excitement!




 

I have her hands

I have my mothers hands, at least the way I remember them. Sometimes when I am doing something mundane, I will look down and see my mother, in my hands.  My sisters and I look like her sometimes... we've all gone through life phases that make me think each of us resembles her, but my hands stay constant.  They always look like hers. 

We are reaching ages, my sisters and I, that will overcome my mothers lifetime.  She passed away at 49 years old.  What seemed old to me then, seems so young to me now.  We're in our mid and early 40's... and it seems so young. 

These days, with a child of my own, I will hear my mothers voice in the things that I say... or I will have thoughts about her that I have never had before.  When I pick up my little Tater Tot, I see my hands and they look like hers and I am stopped for a moment and I sit down my little two year old and tell him what I know of his Grandmother, my mom. 

What fascinates me is the idea that my little boy, and the one on the way, will in some ways resemble me when they are 40.  Maybe their hands, or their feet... smile, laugh?  Who knows... but it is amazing to think that your DNA is passed along and that I treasure my hands because of my mom, and that hopefully my boys will see something in themselves that they know are mine. 

Mommy, the name

As I hit 24 weeks of this pregnancy, I can't help but think of The Tater Tot's birth just under 2 years ago.  I have written out his 'birth story' and plan on posting here soon, but had a few side stories that I thought I would get down on paper, as it were. 

Once I got to the hospital to deliver The Tot, I was amazed at how quickly I morphed into "Mommy".  I was never referred to as Mrs.Whatever, never, at any point.  When we were in triage upon arrival to the hospital the nurses all started calling me "Mommy".  As in.... "ok mommy, how do you feel"  or "ohh that was a contraction, mommy" or "UH, this baby is coming NOW mommy".  I didn't really have a name anymore.  My husband was also simply referred to as Daddy the entire time. 

At first this felt oddly comforting... Wow, I was already a mommy in their eyes, how fun!  But as my time in the hospital continued, it became a bit odd. From my hospital bed, nurses would enter to take my vitals and just ask, "how are you feeling Mommy".  I could have been anyone, did they look at my chart? Did they know which Mommy I was?

The Tot was born at 33 weeks and spent some time in the NICU, so I continued to be called Mommy... by everyone.  It wasn't that I became concerned about some sort of loss of identity, it was more that I wasn't sure they knew who I was and which baby belonged to me... I was just one of the many Mommies.  What started out making me feel special, a new mommy, suddenly made me feel interchangeable.  Like another "Mommy" could walk in and take care of my baby... since we were all just mommies, who cares which one. 

But in those tender hours and days after the Tot was born, I felt damaged.  He came too early, he was in jeopardy, I felt in jeopardy, and I needed to feel taken care of, and that my tiny, tiny boy was also special and being taken care of... instead I was just in the pool of other mommies.  (side note: I have a billion positive things to report about the NICU nurses, and will in another post... this was just an odd, well, side note.)

At times it felt like the old 60's version of a secretarial pool.  I would show up to the NICU early in the morning and deposit any breast milk I was able to produce into the communal refrigerator into a basket with my name on it (thankfully all the baskets didn't just say "MOMMY" on them!).  Then I hit the NICU and found my baby.. sometimes they had moved him to make room for a new baby without my knowledge and I would be frantic to find him... sometimes he would make progress overnight and they would move him into a new room of the NICU, each room taking you closer to going home. 

There was an ever changing chorus line of nurses, who I frantically tried to memorize names... but to them, I was still just Mommy.  I was there a lot and got to know a lot of the nurses, but I guarantee, they couldn't call me by name.  There were other babies there whose Mommies had to go back to work, and would show up during the day sporadically to see their NICU babies, and at least one Mommy who never seemed to leave the hospital.  But we were no different, we were all just pool of Mommies. 

Its so funny that this started to bother me, and I haven't really even thought about it in the years since we left the Hospital... and it is somewhat ironic now as I covet that name, Mommy.  I waited patiently until the Tot finally uttered "mama" and I thought I would die from love.  And now, being Mommy and being called Mommy is the most amazing thing. 

I am so excited to be a Mommy for the second time, and I am keeping my fingers crossed that this little Firefly takes his time and doesn't surprise us with an early arrival... either way, I look forward to being the Mommy again.

Almost 2!

Time Flies

Has it really been since March?  Where does the time go?  This little pack has been busy since then.... March is around the time I found out I was pregnant with a little firefly.  It was a bit of a shock, since we weren't necessarily trying.  It has been a whirlwind of doctors appointments, finding a new doctor, worrying, being joyful and taking care of the Tater Tot who is fully mobile and exciting!

More on the pregnancy later, there is a lot to write about there.  For now, I want to update you on the Tot.  He is about to turn two, which is amazing to me.  He is a little person who has very specific ideas on what he wants.  He talks all the time and learns like 10 new words a day.  It amazes me. 

He has always had a fondness for Noodles, but it has taken on a new intensity.  He wants to feed her kibble, he wants kisses and wants to kiss her, he wants to know where she is 24/7 (especially when she is trying to hide from him and get a quick nap in).  Now he has to make sure to say good-bye to her when we leave the apartment and give her kisses and give her a toy.  "Bye Bye Nue Nue" he says even after we are blocks away.... "See you soon".  Hilarious.

We have not really prepped him for the new baby, since I seriously don't think he would understand, although he likes to point at my growing belly and say "balloon".  I think the next couple of months we need to start to talk about the new baby and help him understand the new changes happening.  He just continues to be such an agreeable little boy that I can't imagine him freaking out too much.  He is so easy with the other kids at day-care, that I just haven't really worried about it.  I know, I am probably naive.

So, I am hoping to stay up to date with this blog more.  I will explain in another post why I have delayed posting much lately.  But I am going to give it a whirl and see what I think! 

You decide...

Welcome to this episode of Creepy or Flattering:

Standing on the street corner with the Tot in the stroller, gentleman is standing next to us.  He waves at the Tot then gives me the once over, if ya know what I mean.

Him: Single Nanny? 

Me: Nope, married Mom....

Him: aww. 

He crosses the street. 

Wait, what??? I have no idea how I am supposed to feel about this. I went from totally creeped out to flattered then back to creeped out in a matter of seconds. 

Welcome to my morning commute in NYC.

The end

Parenting Fail or Just Sleep Deprivation?

Apologies for not writing lately... I've got a few posts coming, but will start with this one!

At the Tot's 15 month appointment, the doctor was concerned that he wasn't yet walking. He is cruising around, and the fastest crawler in the East, but hasn't decided it is worth his time and effort to actually walk. I am actually not that concerned... he seems very steady and I think he is going to walk any day now. The doctor thinks we should start Early Intervention... the Preemie Parents Worst Nightmare. Or Best, depending on how you look at it. But we have not had to do any early intervention yet, since he is tracking pretty normal overall.

So, I make the call, and suffice it to say, there is a lot of bureaucracy in this process. We are going to finally have our first meeting with these folks; they have to come out and do "paperwork" to set up the initial evaluation to see if the Tot qualifies. I finally fit this into my schedule (not easy with a job... ugh). So this lovely lady shows up to our apartment last night. I had treats ready for Noodles so she wouldn't bark, and the house was.... well, it just was. I was going to say clean, but anyway.

Sidetrack.... The Tot has a cold. There is snot everywhere... there has been very little sleep.

OK, so she shows up and The Tot is playing in the family room, and Noodles does her "Welcome Barking" and I lead Her into the family room and shut the kiddie gate behind me.

Her: Ooh, nice gate. Is that for the dog or the baby?
Me: um, the baby... the dog has freedom, the baby doesn't yet. I mean he will... we don't keep him locked up in here, its a pretty small apartment... uh, anyway, have a seat.

So, we start to fill out the paperwork, and I am distracted by shooing Noodles away (who just wants this dang woman to pet her) and trying to keep the baby from eating the batteries in the remote control. Awesome.

She explains this extremely lengthy process and I sign my name on a bunch of papers and then she fills out our Home Report:

Her: So, I am just writing that you have an UN-restrained dog... that is important for the Evaluator to know
Me: Oh, I'm so sorry... well, she can be "restrained" (I did in fact do air quotes).
Her: well, that's nice..... (Noodles is now trying to get inside her purse)

Then she starts writing again and the Tot crawls over to her and pulls himself up to the coffee table, and I smell a whiff of a dirty diaper.

Her: Hello there, big boy! (she turns to me and says in the same sing song voice) Well, these corners are sharp aren't they, huh? (as she rubs the corner of the table)
Me: uh yes they are.... sharpity sharp sharp....(nervous laughter from me)
Her: Oh wow Mom, he has a stuffy nose huh?
Me: Oh yeah, let me get that.... (I reach over to try to wipe the glob coming out of his nose and he collapses and crawls away screaming)

And she continues to write... I assume about my tantrum-throwing-snot-running-out-of-his-nose-baby- about-to-impale-himself-on-the-coffee-table parenting fail. But who knows, maybe she wrote down January 2014.

 Here he is, crawling fast!

Road Trips

We live in NYC, so in order to go visit family on the East Coast, it means renting a car and taking a road trip!  We traveled to Grandma's house this Thanksgiving with the whole pack to Rhode Island.  Both the Tater Tot and Noodles are great car travelers.  Noodles is used to traveling with us and always makes life easy.  The Tot has proven to be a good traveler as well.  He usually sleeps, but when he is awake, he plays and watches the cars out the window, which I guess is mesmerizing.

We enjoyed our three days out of town, since I think we both needed to get out of the city for a few days...Now we are home and prepping for the Christmas holidays.  I can't believe it is already December. Where did November go?

Our little Spud is amazingly 14 months old.  He is a crawling machine and has shown very little interest in walking, I mean, when you are such a fast crawler, why slow it down, am I right?  He is doing amazing and growing so much... He babbles and says a lot of words that mean, well, nothing really.  Noodles is NooDoo or DooDoo.  Dada is Daddy and anything exciting.  And Mama is saved for when we cry.  He was sick a couple of weeks ago, so we kept him out of daycare for a few days and when he returned, he surprised us with knowing his friend Ava's name.  When we arrived in the morning, he heard Ava call to him (she is about 2 months older than the Tot) and he started screaming ABA, ABA!!! It shocked us all and as he squirmed to get down, he raced down the hall to get to his friend while yelling ABA the whole way.  So cute.... My heart was full, but also sad, since my sweet baby didn't even look back to say goodbye.... "ABA".  Another transition huh?

Here we are on our way to Rhode Island!

A year has gone by....

A year has passed... and the past month has flown by.  My little Tater Tot turned a year old.  While I was over the moon excited about his birthday, it oddly brought up a lot of anxiety around his birth.  I haven't posted his "birth story" but plan to do that.  It is a story I want to remember, but it is also a story that I didn't expect, and it you know me, expectations are important.

Here is a picture of my little Spud at a year old.  I love him more than I can express.  He has changed my life.  He has changed the books I read, the TV shows I watch and quite frankly every part of who I am.  I used to LOVE murder mysteries, I used to love true crime novels, I used to love Primetime, to Catch a Predator type shows.  I no longer can read these books or watch these shows... I don't know why.  I don't want to hear about crime, or murder or bad things happening to people.  I scares me.  It doesn't interest me anymore.  Odd huh?  

My life has changed in a way that makes it hard to blog too... I love to blog, I love to write.  I always have a "novel" I am writing on the side... but I don't have time.  I am ok with this.  I only have a small amount of time with the Spud during the week since I work outside the home.  Our mornings are spent eating, playing, getting ready for "school" and work.  We walk to daycare and then off I go to work.  At the end of the day, we walk home, walk Noodles, eat, play, dance and sing, take a bath, read a book and bed.  Once the Tot is in bed, there is only so many more hours of awake time in me, which are spent with the Loving Husband. Then off to bed! No time to write.  

The past year has been crazy.  I am amazed how things can change so drastically, yet we find our way, find new patterns, find new likes and dislikes, all while watching the miracle of a little boy learn and grow.  He does something new to make me laugh every day.  So, in the spirit of new patterns, I am going to try to write more, either on here or offline.  The Tot's birth story is on it way... along with other posts. But for now, Happy Birthday to my little Tater Tot! You are a year old! (or you were, this post is late!)

NYC Living

We live in NYC... with a small dog and a small baby, in a small apartment.  Well, for NYC we actually have a pretty decent size one bedroom, but there are a lot of challenges living in a small space with the growing amount of "stuff" the baby needs.  Here is just a little post on how we do it.

We only purchase what we need.  That doesn't mean the apartment isn't already overrun with baby stuff, but I try not to buy extraneous stuff and really think through what the spud might or might not need.

We have two stroller systems.  We began with the car seat/snap and go stroller.  That was awesome and still is.  We travel with that since we need the car seat and it is easy and light weight.  For day to day stroller needs, we use the City Mini GT.  I love this stroller, but it is big and heavy.  If we are taking the subway, this stroller just won't do since I can't carry it more than 5 or 6 steps.  It is a great stroller for our park walks and in the neighborhood errands.  When we go on the subway, unless the husband is joining, we use our Boba Air Carrier.

The Boba Air Carrier is awesome.  We got a Bjorn from my sister in law, which worked great at first, but the Boba Air is just so light weight, comfortable and easy.  It squishes up into a small bag and weighs about a pound!  So, wherever we go, we toss the Boba Air into the stroller or bag and we always have a second option if the Spud wants to be carried.  It is also great for travel.  We took it to California and hiked Yosemite with it. Can't say enough about how great it is, and it is small, so takes up less space in the apartment! 

The other tip about living in a small space with a child is what I call 5 minutes 5 things.  I have used this theory for most of my marriage... I've just called it different names.  "Twenty Minute Clean Up" is what we did prior to the Spud, and we still use that on occasion.  Let me explain.  The 5 minutes 5 things clean up means, once the baby goes to bed,  I take 5 minutes and I literally do 5 things.  Sometimes it looks like I am the Tasmanian Devil running around the house, but I just don't want to spend my evening cleaning.  So for 5 minutes I pick up all the toys and put them in the big "catch-all" basket.  I put items in the dishwasher, or empty it, depending on need, wipe down the kitchen counters, walk through the apartment and just pick up random crap and put it "away" (loose term).  Now, I will admit that I usually go beyond the 5 minute time frame, but that's OK, since I feel better when things are straitened up, then I can relax for a bit with the husband before I crash and fall asleep.

Anyway, that is just a small list of what we do.  More later I'm sure! Here is a picture of the Spud and I with the Boba Air Carrier.

Dear Hair Dressers of the World, or just mine

Please don't make me tip out the Shampoo Assistant.  I never know how much to give and it is just awkward.  I give you a tip and I want you to tip them out... they work for you.

I don't go into a restaurant and tip my server, then wander the restaurant to tip out the Food Runner and Bus Person.  I expect my server to give them a portion of the tip.  It works out for all of us.

Please, just tip them out.

Actually, while we are at it, can we just dispense with tipping you all together?  Can you just come up with a reasonable price, tip included and I give you that money?  I will pay more in fact if I don't have to do math after my appointment... give yourself a big tip, I'm fine with that, I just don't want to have to decide each time what I think I am supposed to give.

Thanks... rant over.

How Not to Get to Work on Time: The Story of My Morning

My alarm didn't go of this morning, and by that I mean the baby slept in. So we started off late.

Then because our schedule was off, I was dressed for work while feeding the baby, this is mistake number two for the morning. The Tot decided to accessorize my outfit with food. Noodles was more than happy to help clean up, but I still had to change.

The third mistake, which really is no one's fault, is upon leaving the apartment I saw a note on the elevator stating it was "out of service for maintenance". So....back into the apartment to switch out stroller for Boba carrier, then down six flights of stairs.

This is a perfect guide to being late for work. Tomorrow I will go through how to be on time, that is if I ever figure that out.

Sleep

We are blessed with a good sleeper.  Around 3 months old, I put the Tot down at 8:30pm and he slept until 6:00am. These days he is in bed by 7:30pm or so, and up like an alarm clock at 6:00am.  Yes, there are hiccups along the way... when he is teething the sleeping isn't perfect.  Also when he gets sick, sleeping obviously is interrupted. And every so often we will have a week or so of "odd" sleep where he won't want to go to bed and/or will wake up with what I think are nightmares.  But that is rare.

The Tot also wakes up great.  We live in a one bedroom apartment in NYC, so from day one, (or more accurately, day 17 when he came home from the NICU) he has slept in our room.  We had a co-sleeper bed and once he outgrew that, we moved him to the pack-n-play in our bedroom.  So, he is in our bedroom. For those of you that are saying to yourself now "get that kid out of your bedroom", well... we might do that if we could.  But there is no where else to put the little spud.  We also like him in our room. Like I said, he is a good sleeper, so there seems no reason to chance what is working.  Oh, my point... he wakes up so happy!  At 6:00am, I can hear him stir and then he grabs some toys (we always keep toys in the PNP (pack-n-play) and a few binkies.  So when he wakes up, he plays, chats with himself, sometimes he "sings" to himself and generally has a good time.  Once I am fully awake, we get up and start our day, always with smiles.

There are many things to love about this Tot, but that is by far one of my favorite,  He is a good sleeper, and a great waker!

Reading his book in the morning

11 months

As you can see, the process of taking the monthly picture has become... more challenging for me, and more fun for the Tot.

This last month has been pretty amazing.  While we were on vacation in California, the Tot turned 10 months old and did an amazing amount of growing, and since then it has really been, well, amazing.  He is crawling so fast it spins my head.  He is also pretty adept at pulling himself up onto things and tip toeing from couch to table etc.

He continues to adore Noodles.  She is the funniest thing in the world to him.  He has found her pile of toys and will crawl over, grab a toy and then show Noodles he has it.  At this point, it is game on! Noodles, very gently will take the toy and start running.  The Tot follows in hot pursuit, then Noodles will drop the toy, the Tot picks it up and the game begins again. Noodles is so gentle and funny, it is great to watch.  She is wary of him when he isn't holding one of her toys since that means he has free hands and can grab her fur, but as long as he is holding a toy, she is game to play! She also seems to want to share her food with him.  She will bring him kibble and leave it for him, and when he doesn't (thankfully) try to eat it, so chomps it up.

He is babbling a lot, but hasn't yet seemed intentional with his "words".  He will say mama and dada and baba and a bunch of other things that sound like words, but only a couple times have we thought he was actually saying "mama" or "dada"  specifically at us.  We are working on it!

I can't believe he will be a year old in one month.  I have no idea where this last year has gone.  It is a blur of bottles, diapers, sleepless nights, going to work, picking up and dropping off at daycare, trips, blending vegetables, desitin, toys, growing teeth, and lots of hugs and kisses.  As one year approaches, we are so grateful to have this little spud.

Four Years Old

My little girl is four years old.  She has had a rough year, but she is doing great.  She is such an amazing little dog.  It is hard to explain how much I love her... those who don't know me will never understand.  She is my heart.  I love her.  She is four years old and I hope she lives to be 104.... : )

Ten Full Months while in CA!

While we were on vacation in California... the little spud turned 10 months old, and what a change it was! When we left for our trip, we could tell that the spud had been seriously thinking about crawling.  He had taken a few tentative rocks into movement forward, but while we were in California this kid took off!  He also decided that he wanted to stand up, and totally pulled himself up to a fully standing position!  It was so fun to experience that with my whole family.

We all had such an amazing time.  We spend 4 days in Yosemite where we actually hiked with The Tot.  Then we spent time in my hometown in Northern California and had a blast.  Noodles LOVES California.  At my Dad's house, she has access to the backyard 24/7... and since we live in a NYC apartment, she can't get enough of the outdoors.

Here is The Tot on his 10 month old bday!

My Little Spud