Sweating

Most likely due to a combination of postpartum hormones, my impending return to work, and the fact that I have almost no milk saved up.

Am I a procrastinator? Yes. But this problem isn't my fault, I swear. So Baby Deuce is a rock star nurser. Like, nursing him is a joy. You know that awesome oxytocin high that you experience when you nurse? Well, for The Barracuda, I felt like that didn't occur until like month 4 or 5 with her. I swear, I had that at like week 6 for this kiddo. Nursing him is awesome. And it's so easy, just whip out a tata and you're good to go.

All this being said, I was very diligent about pumping almost once a day. We were working on a bottle twice a week starting at about 4 weeks old and he was of course a champ at that, too. Then I noticed his poops started getting this funky green. I figured, "He's breastfed, any type of poop is normal." Then his baby acne started looking weird and gross, too. He was all bumpy and red--on his trunk and thighs, too. Again, I was like, "Well, he doesn't have a fever, he's totally happy and cooing, we're going to the doc in a couple of days...I'll just wait until then to bring it up." So we go for our two month appointment and sure enough our pedi is like "Eczema! Slather him up all day long!" Other than that, he's a very happy, growing baby boy.

Then literally THREE days later, I notice blood in Baby Boy's poopy diaper. I'm not gonna lie, my heart kinda skipped a beat when I saw that. Now, I forgot to mention that at about 5 1/2 weeks there was a TEENY TINY smudge of mucousy blood in his diaper. I called the nurse, she said as long as he was acting normal to just watch it. She felt it was most likely due to a tear--very common. Fast forward to now, and there was a lot more blood. Then he had about 3 bloody poops in a 24 hour period. So we go to the doctor's office. After a lot of butt cheek spreading, no tear was visualized. The plan was to watch him for two days and if the blood continued, a tear was not a likely diagnosis and then I should make some diet modifications. AKA: go milk product free.

So basically because a rectal tear was ruled out, the next likely diagnosis was a cow's milk protein allergy. Boo. And right around the holidays. Double boo. But anything for my little boy, so here I am cow's milk product free for five days! I'd also like to give a little shout out to my mom for making me delicious vegan cookies. They were AMAZING. Honestly, I only really miss my cafe mocha's from Starbucks and my Oikos Vanilla Greek Yogurt. And aside from looking at labels to check for milk, it's really not that bad of a diet. I think it's just going to people's houses or out for dinner where it's going to be a problem--mainly avoiding butter. I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that he doesn't also have an intolerance to soy, because Dr. Google tells me that those two muthas go hand in hand. And soy is in EVERYTHING.

So all that beautiful milk I had saved up? I can't really use it. I've put it in our deep freezer until I figure out if I can use it or hopefully donate it. Because what's a better gift than pumped human breastmilk? So I'm just trying to pump when I can and hoping I have enough for a couple of shifts. Luckily I am only part time and I'm hoping to not work back to back shifts so I can nurse Baby 2 like crazy and pump and stock up.

And if that doesn't work, then I will suck it up and buy Alimentum and pray that he tolerates that. Which I heard that not only does it smell and taste nasty but that he might not even tolerate that. So then it's on to even more expensive formula. Sigh. I just keep telling myself, there are worse problems. Besides, he is seriously a very happy baby despite going through all of this.

Short but Sweet

This post will have to be short and sweet because in about 2-3 hours I will be up feeding my little milk monster. October 5th came and went without a contraction, which was good because my brother in law was getting married October 6th and both me, The Bear, and The Barracuda were standing up in the wedding. Have you ever seen 40 week 1 day preggo lady in a bridesmaid dress? At least my ankles were still thin. And people were there to groom me in my beached whale state. I pulled it together and even managed to do the Cupid Shuffle on the dance floor--much to The Bear's dismay, "I don't think fast dancing is a very good idea right now, Allison," He said with a serious look on his face like I was suggesting we go sky diving.

Anyways, we decided to be induced this time and the earliest date was October 12th. I called ahead and sure enough L & D was too busy for our 5 AM time so I went back to bed on the couch where I finally had some contractions and I eventually lost my mucus plug (shudder). We went in at 8 AM I gave birth to a healthy, 8 lb 6 oz baby BOY. He was all wrapped up in his cord (which had a true knot) and he sort of tumbled out and both The Bear and I saw at the same moment that we had a boy and we were just in such shock and awe. Milk Monster was placed right on my chest and tummy which was sweet, smelly and a little gross and we were able to nuzzle before he was weighed.

I'm still a little shell shocked that I gave birth to a boy. And kind of a large boy. I'm not exactly a wide hipped amazonian lady and this kiddo decided to come out with his hang by his face so let's just say that I'm still REALLY EFFING SORE south of the border. Sigh. At least nursing is going well and he currently appears to be a textbook child. The Barracuda loves him and there is really no adjustment to be had. It's like he was always with us.

Two Weeks

Is the amount of time it took for me to notice that I had not purchased shampoo and conditioner but had in fact purchased two different types of shampoo. Sigh. What else have I done that has been scatterbrained and outrageous...let's see. I can't count how many times I've caught myself trying to put dirty dishes or flatware in the pantry. I backed into my mom's car when I was leaving for work while she was babysitting The Barracuda. I often have to make a trip back in to the house to retrieve my phone or keys. Thank God I haven't left The Barracuda in house or car. I feel like I'm going off of the deep end.

I love this new baby so so much, but OMG have I become DUMB. I was so smart the first time around. Really and truly sharp. People even remarked, "Wow, Allison is still so sharp even though she's pregnant." Now my brain is completely atrophied. I actually imagine that all of the ridges (I think they're called sulcci? Sulchi? Whatevs) have completely smoothed out. This new kid is making me stupid. One of the intensivists (a female, mind you) at work assures me that this will all be resolved once the fetus has left the womb. I'm not so sure. I feel like I'm going to be stuck this way permanently. I'll let you know how it turns out sometime around October 5th.

Because You Know Me SO Well...

We were aggressively Team Green for The Barracuda. We just felt like it was one of life's last surprises to wait until the baby was born to find out the gender. I also secretly feel like I would be one of those people who fell into the 2% (or whatever it is) of an incorrect anatomy scan. And then I would wind up having a boy and I would be stuck with a girly nursery and all of the tiny pink clothes that people bought me just because they couldn't resist. No thank you. It's not my style.

That's just it. It's not my style and it's my freakin' uterus. Choose to do what you want with your own baby making parts for all I care. I can certainly see the advantages to finding out, and I often say that when people say they know the gender of their unborn child. I would never say to anyone, "That's so stupid that you're finding out." Yet, people are SO QUICK to judge when I say that I don't know the gender of my unborn child.

Someone once said that the reason they wanted to find out was to bond with the baby more. Right, I'm not bonding with my baby at all. THE CHILD IS INSIDE OF ME PEOPLE, I don't think we could be more bonded. Sigh. And the list of mind-numbingly dumb comments just continues each day.

I just love it when people ask me how I am possibly planning for this child. Or they say, "I could never wait. I am a planner, I like to have things all planned out. That's all I do is plan for everything." I hate that remark for various reasons. First, are you insinuating that I'm not planning for this child at all because I don't know what type of organ does or does not exist between their spindly little legs? Second, you must know me so well to make that comment. Eff off, I have the nursery painted (complete with chevron stripe accent wall), the crib is on it's way, and I just have to organize some baby clothes. I'm 30 weeks, I think I have a lot of stuff figured out already. These are all of the comments that I have wanted to yell at people after they say these things to me. The Bear just thinks I have a touch of the pregnancy hormones. But I am fed up. I assure you, people have said these things to me. Good friends, family members, random strangers, patients at work-you name it. It's like once you become pregnant and your belly starts protruding, you suddenly become public property to just bash.

For the record, I'm a great planner. Let's call a spade a spade: You are impatient and you want to find out what you're having. THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT. Like I stated earlier in this post, it's your body, you and your partner should choose to either wait or find out. It truly is a surprise either way. It's just whether or not the surprise is somewhere around 20 weeks gestation or after the baby has left your body. Either way, you get to take a baby home with you. A sweet, perfect, little human...that will spew poo and breastmilk (or formula...don't get me started) at you for months...AROUND THE CLOCK.

Lately those gender reveal parties are becoming all the rage. Some people think it's attention whore-ish. I actually hope I get invited to one of those soon. I would absolutely love a blue/pink filled cupcake right about now.

Inadequacy served with a side of guilt

Or the darker side of motherhood. Honestly, being a mom is such a joy. I don't think that I could have ever prepared myself for the amount of love and joy I feel when I look at The Barracuda. But there is certainly no way in hell I could have ever been prepared for the amount of guilt I feel. For instance, I feel guilty that I work part time. The thing is, I would feel guilty if I was a stay at home mom and I would feel even more guilty if I worked full time. My point it, there is nothing, NOTHING, I could possibly do to alleviate the guilt that I feel regarding how I parent The Barracuda, working 20 hours a week, etc. The list is endless.

My new goal is to just try to love being a mommy. I'm really doing the best possible job that I can. My kiddo is strong, healthy, hilarious, and wickedly smart. I have the same hopes for this next one.

Revival

Well, what can I say? It's been months. I've been chasing after a very active little girl and I've been working 20 hours a week and trying to frantically make our house a home. In a couple of months we will have been here one year and I feel like there is still so much to do. I will say that it does feel like home here. The house and yard are amazing. Our neighbors are warm, friendly, and quick to offer advice regarding the neighborhood and city (no one is screaming F*&$ at the top of their lungs at 8 am on a Saturday morning), and the community (library, rec programs, school district, etc.) are phenomenal.

I guess the biggest shocker, and there is really no way to sugar coat this, is that I am pregnant. We found out at the end of January when I realized that it had been awhile since I had a period. I had worked all weekend and I was trying to sleep during the day while The Bear was watching The Barracuda and I suddenly realized that I was late. I thought, what the heck, I'll pee on a stick and I honestly did not think I was pregnant when I took that pregnancy test. And there was the word PREGNANT looming up at me on the digital pregnancy test. I was in shock and then I promptly bought old fashioned pregnancy tests, peep on those and was still in denial. And I was probably in denial for a good 3 months. The nurse practitioner at my first OB visit asked me if this pregnancy was planned. When I responded, "No," she said, "But you weren't on birth control?!" Well, its not like it was super easy the first time. I couldn't do anything but shrug.

We are obviously thrilled and excited and a little cautious. The kind of cautious that you are after you already have a child. A child that wasn't the greatest eater or sleeper as a baby but who has evolved into a smart, funny, and gorgeous toddler. I'm also a little embarrassed this time around. I'm not quite sure why. Is it because my kiddos will be 21 months apart? Is it because I wasn't expecting this? Yet I wasn't on birth control? Maybe embarrassed is the wrong word. Shy would be better.

So here I sit at just about 26 weeks pregnant. And it still hasn't quite sunk in. But I'm no longer in denial. I did, after all, paint the nursery already.

Walking Wounded

Seriously. Twenty-Twelve has been a little rough. The Barracuda got the flu a couple weeks into January. It's my fault. I admitted a patient that was basically peeing out of his butt and a poop germ wound up in my system. I came down with the flu about 36 hours after my shift was done. Thirty-six hours after I was laying in bed with severe abdominal cramping, my daughter had it. First the squirts, then vomiting, then an ungodly high temperature. Luckily she likes her milk and water and stayed hydrated. Unfortunately with the diarrhea came the worlds worst diaper rash. We have often joked about The Barracuda's "Buns of Steel." We could seriously keep her in a wet diaper all day and her bottom wouldn't even be the slightest hint of pink. Six hours of diarrhea and her bottom was torn to shreds. Like the mere sight of her girly bits reduced me to tears. Ugh. Terrible. Do you know how horrified I was to transmit this to my daughter??? That I was responsible for her pristine system being invaded and violated?

Then The Bear had a head cold during his vacation time. Not horrible, but he was a little whiny and I was far from sympathetic.

Then our beloved dog had a little accident at the groomer. His toenail was ripped off in a grate. He was taken to an emergency vet and given pain medication and sedation and then his little digit was treated. They were very nice and thorough, blah blah blah, but they have him 4 effing milligrams of dilaudid. He only weighs 85 lbs. The poor guy was like a drunken sailor for the rest of the night. The Bear had to carry him from the car and up the stairs.

THEN last week The Barracuda started having a runny nose. At the time I thought it might be teething. Then it turns into a full blown cold this weekend. With a low grade fever starting yesterday morning. She's miserable. She no longer lets me suction out her boogers and freaks out anytime I go near her nose. I even tried the NoseFrida (which I'm secretly jealous I didn't invent) and she is PISSED. I have never felt so helpless in my life trying to make her feel better. And I secretly think if I hadn't weaned her she never would have gotten any of these ailments.

Oh, and our puppington? He had his teeth cleaned last Friday, which resulted in having a cracked and rotten tooth extracted. He also had 3 moles/skin tags removed (2 of which were new that had gotten bigger in the last 2 months). Now I'm anxiously awaiting the pathology report.

And I'm sick too. End of story. End of whining.

Keep on keepin' on

Exhausted. The Barracuda's sleep schedule was all jacked up from the flu a couple of weeks ago. January was a rough month. I think things are getting a little bit better. She sort of slept through the night last night, although at times it was a fitful sleep.

She also has a diaper rash that just won't disappear. Things will be all good and then her little bottom will be pink again. I just feel bad for her. She already hates diaper changes, a sore bottom isn't helping the situation.

Other than that, life continues to go on. My apologies for the lame post.

The Big Wean

I had a lot of mixed feelings about weaning The Barracuda. I still do. For instance, the morning that I tried to shove a boob in her mouth and she bit me so hard I thought (just for the briefest of moments, and I would NEVER do this) that I might punch her. Six teeth left an interesting impression on my right nipple. Let's face it, after one year of breastfeeding, my nips weren't exactly the hottest on the planet. I guess the teeth marks really elevated them to deafcon 7. Flash forward to evening/bedtime nursing, and I would have the sweet girl who delicately nursed while clutching her lovey, only occasionally letting go to shove a pudgy hand in my mouth or up my left nostril.

I remember, towards the end, when I tried to nurse her one morning (the day after I had just skipped an early morning feed) she hungrily nursed only to be met with...NOTHING. Oh, did she pull back with a lock of shock and anger. She immediately started to cry. The kind of cry reserved for scary strangers and vaccinations. And while she stared at me with her beet red face, the tears streaming, she pointed at me. ACCUSINGLY. Oofta. That image will guilt me into something later in life.

Biting and finger pointing aside, I think the main reason I stopped was that I just couldn't do it anymore. I could not haul my ta-tas out one more time. On top of it, I started getting my period back in October. Do you know how freakin' taxing it is to nurse and menstruate? I assure you, it sucks. I was WIPED.

Ultimately I am happy that I did finally wean her. And a happy mom leads to a happy baby/toddler. And I'm damn proud of myself that I did make it to my goal of a year for breastfeeding.