Our baby boy has graduated into toddlerhood. Elijah had his first birthday last Friday. Brian went to work for the first time that week, since we had been iced in. Most places were closed. People were ice skating and skiing on the streets of downtown Atlanta. The Tuesday before was supposed to have been Elijah's last chemo treatment, but the weather chose differently. It would have been an easy-to-remember 1/11/11 at 11:00 appointment. Oh well. Next Friday it is!
We "celebrated" with a birthday dinner at a diner down the street, that was short-staffed and out of dessert. We then looped around town, snubbing "cool treats" for something warmer. We ended up at Dunkin Donuts, also nearly out of sweets, where we impaled a powdered munchkin with a stir stick and sang "Happy Birthday" to Elijah. We tossed Elijah a large $3.99 Blue ball, because (apparently) him enjoying his present is more important than me feeling good about it. (:grin: I love you, Brian!)
While we're on the subject, my brain is still whirring - disoriented and perplexed. We (i.e. Brian) went birthday shopping at Target and spent $8, and half of that was the birthday present. H-how did he get out of Target for $8? Th-there were $4 boys' shirts..a-and half-price Geotrax, and...sales! Glorious sales! I sit here trying to make sense of it all, wondering what I will say to my Am-Ex, still quivering in my pocket.
Well, Elijah likes the ball. Over Christmas vacation, he transitioned from mostly crawling to mostly walking, so chasing a belly-high ball is right up his alley. Besides, he had a proper party in Florida.
I'm still amazed by the things he's already figured out. The other day, I tried to zip through a shower, while Elijah banged at the shower door, sobbing on his waffle. I quickly dried off, calmed him and handed him back his soggy waffle. He mouthed it, decided he didn't care for it anymore, and waddled over to the trash and dumped the waffle. That would be handy if I didn't keep finding perfectly good sippy cups and books in the trash too.
Today, at breakfast, Brian began to say the blessing and Elijah babbled something and put his hands together in "prayer." I've also seen him signing "change," "up," "open," "book," "more," "eat," and playing along with "pat-a-cake." As far as actual words go, he says our names fairly clearly, but most everything else is a repetition of sounds and cadence. He's pretty adept at sound effects. He even does an unfortunately good representation of a scolding expression and voice, before giggling at himself. He has a great sense of humor.
He knows all about doors, socks, shirts and cars and concentrates quite hard on making them do their respective "things." He entertains himself "solving" boxes with lids and shape-sorting toys. His frustratingly solid object permanence abilities make him very hard to distract. This is all typical, but it never ceases to amaze me how quickly a baby can figure out his world.
He's an agile climber too. He zips up steps and onto riding toys, which he frequently tries to use like a scooter. When he doesn't want to be held, he's very hard to restrain. He's one determined boy.
I feel so blessed watching him grow, and seeing how unaffected he is, considering all he's been through. I remember all the prayers, meals, visits, donations, calls, cards and more from hundreds of friends, acquaintances and even strangers, that gave us the strength and comfort to endure Elijah's trials. God is so good and has held our sweet boy tightly in His hands, and has brought so many great people into our lives. I can't wait to see what He has in store for our little one as he grows!
Showing posts with label bed sharing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bed sharing. Show all posts
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Even The Calgon Ran For Cover
Yes, last week was just that scary. If stars could've had a role, they would have completely un-aligned. Murphy's Law nearly bore my namesake. I completely blame the Chiclets - the ones Elijah is pushing through his gums. I'm still waiting to see if the bottom tooth is a new tooth or a piece of a tooth he lost in the hospital. He nursed so much I'm surprised an adhesion didn't form between his lips and my breast. I got this [ ] much sleep and, boy, was I grrrrr-umpy! The grumpier and/or busier I am, the more destruction the older boys bring down on the house and each other.
I went to bed moping with guilt each night for me beastly behavior, hoping the day wasn't burned in their little sponge brains, forever to damage their self-esteem. Isaac woke up crying a couple nights. One night I heard him crying (and I think clicking his ruby slippers), You're a nice mommy. You're a nice mommy. Ow! He just stuck a spoon in my heart! I made a sniffly, dribbly vow to myself to restrain my delirious grumpies.
The poor boys were scraping and bruising just about every inch of knee and brain case real estate. It didn't help that the floors were thick with a lava of playthings from the daily toy box eruptions. Even Elijah took his first spill. I watch him like a hawk, but this one happened so quickly that if I were able to shake the guilt off of any particular baby bump incident, this would be the one. The boys were hovering around the tub, awaiting a bath. I set Elijah in a swing, close enough that I could turn my body and bend over to scoop up a handful of toys from the tub. In that moment, Isaac gave the swing a hefty push, which I realized only after I heard the scream from the Elijah-sized heap on the tile floor. I dropped the handful of toys back in the tub and offspring-preserving part of my brain sent me dashing out of the bathroom with Elijah to inspect the damage and be out of thwack's reach of Isaac. Surprisingly, it was just a red mark, hardly raised at all. At first, I was relieved, then I recalled a conversation with a nurse, back when Isaac got his infant head bump from Ian, that a bump going out is much better than a bump going inward. That raced around my mind for a minute, then I reasoned out that the swing hovered not even 6 inches off the ground and he probably didn't hit very hard.
I survived that week, and we had a very nice weekend. I can't seem to bring to mind what it was we did, but a certain pleasantness lingers about it. Monday started off nicely, I had almost finished reading the Abs Diet for Women and semi-started compliant eating habits. I was feeling pretty good about what I could do for myself. The day was just starting to fall apart (i.e. the kids were tired of me trying to clean the house) and Brian's dad showed up just as I was about to roll out the door to go grocery shopping. Yay! Here comes the cavalry! That turned out to be one of the smoother shopping trips I'd had in a while and I hardly knew what to do with all the grown-up conversation.
Today....I'm hungry. I'm not supposed to be hungry. I just haven't figured out how to eat. I blew one of my snacks by being awakened at 0530 by a little munchkin who still seems fixated on his teeth. I was ravenous so I ate. So far, using the provided recipes, I've been hungry an hour after eating. That tells me just how much I would have been eating, say, last week. I'll have to find that page where it tells me what the "free" things are so I can stuff my face some more. I've worked through the hunger, though, and tried to drink water instead, and clean the house. And re-clean the house. Why is it still messy?
I feel like I've been playing nap Whac A Mole with the boys. One is down, two are up. Two go down, one gets up. I noticed it was raining, so while the bulldozers sleep, instead of taking sweet advantage of a great opportunity to repair the house, I sat on the porch with Elijah. Ooh. Sitting is nice. I listened to the soft whisper of the gentle rain and cool breeze. I admired the curious tweets of the birds. I picked at some flaky cradle cap. Thinking, Hey, a quiet moment to blog, I deposited Elijah in his cradle and took his Kickin' Coaster out to the porch (Hey, did I ever mention what a cool seat that is?) . I put Elijah in his seat, grabbed my laptop, and plopped down in a plastic chair. As if on cue, the rain stopped, the breeze stopped and the sun banished its cloud cover. Humph.
whac a mole
i want to use my apologize
I went to bed moping with guilt each night for me beastly behavior, hoping the day wasn't burned in their little sponge brains, forever to damage their self-esteem. Isaac woke up crying a couple nights. One night I heard him crying (and I think clicking his ruby slippers), You're a nice mommy. You're a nice mommy. Ow! He just stuck a spoon in my heart! I made a sniffly, dribbly vow to myself to restrain my delirious grumpies.
The poor boys were scraping and bruising just about every inch of knee and brain case real estate. It didn't help that the floors were thick with a lava of playthings from the daily toy box eruptions. Even Elijah took his first spill. I watch him like a hawk, but this one happened so quickly that if I were able to shake the guilt off of any particular baby bump incident, this would be the one. The boys were hovering around the tub, awaiting a bath. I set Elijah in a swing, close enough that I could turn my body and bend over to scoop up a handful of toys from the tub. In that moment, Isaac gave the swing a hefty push, which I realized only after I heard the scream from the Elijah-sized heap on the tile floor. I dropped the handful of toys back in the tub and offspring-preserving part of my brain sent me dashing out of the bathroom with Elijah to inspect the damage and be out of thwack's reach of Isaac. Surprisingly, it was just a red mark, hardly raised at all. At first, I was relieved, then I recalled a conversation with a nurse, back when Isaac got his infant head bump from Ian, that a bump going out is much better than a bump going inward. That raced around my mind for a minute, then I reasoned out that the swing hovered not even 6 inches off the ground and he probably didn't hit very hard.
I survived that week, and we had a very nice weekend. I can't seem to bring to mind what it was we did, but a certain pleasantness lingers about it. Monday started off nicely, I had almost finished reading the Abs Diet for Women and semi-started compliant eating habits. I was feeling pretty good about what I could do for myself. The day was just starting to fall apart (i.e. the kids were tired of me trying to clean the house) and Brian's dad showed up just as I was about to roll out the door to go grocery shopping. Yay! Here comes the cavalry! That turned out to be one of the smoother shopping trips I'd had in a while and I hardly knew what to do with all the grown-up conversation.
Today....I'm hungry. I'm not supposed to be hungry. I just haven't figured out how to eat. I blew one of my snacks by being awakened at 0530 by a little munchkin who still seems fixated on his teeth. I was ravenous so I ate. So far, using the provided recipes, I've been hungry an hour after eating. That tells me just how much I would have been eating, say, last week. I'll have to find that page where it tells me what the "free" things are so I can stuff my face some more. I've worked through the hunger, though, and tried to drink water instead, and clean the house. And re-clean the house. Why is it still messy?
I feel like I've been playing nap Whac A Mole with the boys. One is down, two are up. Two go down, one gets up. I noticed it was raining, so while the bulldozers sleep, instead of taking sweet advantage of a great opportunity to repair the house, I sat on the porch with Elijah. Ooh. Sitting is nice. I listened to the soft whisper of the gentle rain and cool breeze. I admired the curious tweets of the birds. I picked at some flaky cradle cap. Thinking, Hey, a quiet moment to blog, I deposited Elijah in his cradle and took his Kickin' Coaster out to the porch (Hey, did I ever mention what a cool seat that is?) . I put Elijah in his seat, grabbed my laptop, and plopped down in a plastic chair. As if on cue, the rain stopped, the breeze stopped and the sun banished its cloud cover. Humph.
whac a mole
i want to use my apologize
Monday, April 12, 2010
Three For Me
Wowee Kazowee, I think I've nearly survived my first day solo with my three munchkins. To go back a bit, we brought Elijah home on Friday, March 26, with his NG tube, his apnea monitor and an overwhelming list of care-taking instructions. A home health nurse met us that evening to set us up with our tube-feeding pump and to make sure we were comfortable with flushing his CVL and changing his dressing and fortifying breast milk and giving his meds. What a strange first night.
It was our intention to actually use the apnea monitor - not as frequently as suggested, but maybe for some peace of mind at night. Well, we never left a tube feeding unsupervised, so we didn't use it then. We thought he might sleep well, since he was used to crib sleeping in the hospital, but he was apparently done with that, and with the amount of breast feeding that he and I both wanted to do, I ended up leaving him at my breast all night, just as I had done with my first two. Even two feet away in the cradle, I couldn't hear him breathe (yes, yes, that's what the monitor was for), so I had much more peace of mind with him snuggled up close.
As I had hoped, within a week, my milk supply was up 'n at 'em and we decided to "risk" removing the NG tube. It would be time to change it out soon anyway. He did fine with exclusively breast feeding. He had no spit ups and seemed to only need the tummy medicine during and shortly after his chemo medicine days.
It was SUCH a lifesaver having Brian's mom here. She provided the stability for the boys that we couldn't have given them, and she kept the house together too - and she made it all look so easy! She even graciously stayed an extra "extra" week so we could feel more comfortable that Elijah was going to do well. Sadly, but understandably, she drove home today with Brian's dad.
The first thing the older boys did this morning was try to run upstairs to see Grandma, even after I reminded them that she had gone home. Later, Ian heard a noise and asked who made that noise and said, "Maybe it was Grandma." Maybe it'll sink in after a couple days.
The boys were used to Grandma's tasty Jiffy pancakes and wanted them again this morning. I got them going on my new 20" cast iron early birthday present. With impeccable timing, Elijah decided to need an immediate diaper change. I don't know if I felt relief or dismay when Ian requested more "black pancakes."
While nearing the end of the drive home, Grandma called and talked on the answering machine for Ian and Isaac. Ian picked up the phone and started trying to talk to her, so I helped him turn the phone on and he took off on quite a conversation. I'm not sure what all was said on the other side but I was hearing something like, "Oh! Did you call me one the phone? Oh! I'm doing fine. I'm not crying. I played with Miss Emily and Luke [yeah right], two cars over here, 6 cars over 'ere and all 'ese fings. Elijah is good. Igick is good. Are you 'ere, Gramma? Oh. Elijah is drinking mommy's milk. Mommy is a fweet girl. She is feeding Elijah. He is so hungry and so firsty. [picks up toy phone] I can talk with two phones. Laaaaaa la laaaaaaaaaa laaaaaaaaa laaaaaaaaaaaaa. [forgets about real phone and starts playing with toy phone]" "Ian, is Grandma still talking to you?" "Hello are you there, Gramma? She's not there." I take the phone and say hi. Grandpa answers. O.K., I guess technically Grandma wasn't there.
Speaking of Grandpa, the other night Ian was enjoying a Juicy Juice soda. He took it around to everyone to offer a sip. When he got to Grandpa, Grandpa politely declined, saying it had too much sugar and he can't drink sugar. Ian slurps a sip of soda and hands the can back saying, "Here you go. I drank off the sugar for you." I'd say that's a very marketable talent he has.
So, congrats to me. I actually managed to feed my older boys twice today, and the youngest multiple times, and it all happened without anyone screaming or wounding themselves. I even got the two youngest to sleep at the same time, thanks to my use of Grandma's jaw-dropping method of simply telling Isaac to go take his nap (who woulda' thunk that would actually work?!). I never feel great about the quality of time I spend with the walking, talking children until the baby can at least sit or crawl or otherwise become less time and effort intensive. My tactic for now was corralling everyone in a room with strategic use of the television when I had to tend to baby. I'm sure in no time I'll be back to my old self, storming the town with my barely-controlled posse of pre-schoolers...and their new "Baby 'Liijah."
It was our intention to actually use the apnea monitor - not as frequently as suggested, but maybe for some peace of mind at night. Well, we never left a tube feeding unsupervised, so we didn't use it then. We thought he might sleep well, since he was used to crib sleeping in the hospital, but he was apparently done with that, and with the amount of breast feeding that he and I both wanted to do, I ended up leaving him at my breast all night, just as I had done with my first two. Even two feet away in the cradle, I couldn't hear him breathe (yes, yes, that's what the monitor was for), so I had much more peace of mind with him snuggled up close.
As I had hoped, within a week, my milk supply was up 'n at 'em and we decided to "risk" removing the NG tube. It would be time to change it out soon anyway. He did fine with exclusively breast feeding. He had no spit ups and seemed to only need the tummy medicine during and shortly after his chemo medicine days.
It was SUCH a lifesaver having Brian's mom here. She provided the stability for the boys that we couldn't have given them, and she kept the house together too - and she made it all look so easy! She even graciously stayed an extra "extra" week so we could feel more comfortable that Elijah was going to do well. Sadly, but understandably, she drove home today with Brian's dad.
The first thing the older boys did this morning was try to run upstairs to see Grandma, even after I reminded them that she had gone home. Later, Ian heard a noise and asked who made that noise and said, "Maybe it was Grandma." Maybe it'll sink in after a couple days.
The boys were used to Grandma's tasty Jiffy pancakes and wanted them again this morning. I got them going on my new 20" cast iron early birthday present. With impeccable timing, Elijah decided to need an immediate diaper change. I don't know if I felt relief or dismay when Ian requested more "black pancakes."
While nearing the end of the drive home, Grandma called and talked on the answering machine for Ian and Isaac. Ian picked up the phone and started trying to talk to her, so I helped him turn the phone on and he took off on quite a conversation. I'm not sure what all was said on the other side but I was hearing something like, "Oh! Did you call me one the phone? Oh! I'm doing fine. I'm not crying. I played with Miss Emily and Luke [yeah right], two cars over here, 6 cars over 'ere and all 'ese fings. Elijah is good. Igick is good. Are you 'ere, Gramma? Oh. Elijah is drinking mommy's milk. Mommy is a fweet girl. She is feeding Elijah. He is so hungry and so firsty. [picks up toy phone] I can talk with two phones. Laaaaaa la laaaaaaaaaa laaaaaaaaa laaaaaaaaaaaaa. [forgets about real phone and starts playing with toy phone]" "Ian, is Grandma still talking to you?" "Hello are you there, Gramma? She's not there." I take the phone and say hi. Grandpa answers. O.K., I guess technically Grandma wasn't there.
Speaking of Grandpa, the other night Ian was enjoying a Juicy Juice soda. He took it around to everyone to offer a sip. When he got to Grandpa, Grandpa politely declined, saying it had too much sugar and he can't drink sugar. Ian slurps a sip of soda and hands the can back saying, "Here you go. I drank off the sugar for you." I'd say that's a very marketable talent he has.
So, congrats to me. I actually managed to feed my older boys twice today, and the youngest multiple times, and it all happened without anyone screaming or wounding themselves. I even got the two youngest to sleep at the same time, thanks to my use of Grandma's jaw-dropping method of simply telling Isaac to go take his nap (who woulda' thunk that would actually work?!). I never feel great about the quality of time I spend with the walking, talking children until the baby can at least sit or crawl or otherwise become less time and effort intensive. My tactic for now was corralling everyone in a room with strategic use of the television when I had to tend to baby. I'm sure in no time I'll be back to my old self, storming the town with my barely-controlled posse of pre-schoolers...and their new "Baby 'Liijah."
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
I want sleep NOW! But, first...
I finally admit I'm a sleep fighter. That's the first step, right? An hour past bed time last night, my eyelids were so droopy tired, I was using them for slippers, yet I found myself in the closet, suddenly very concerned about the whereabouts of Isaac's hand-me-down winter coats. Brian, festively adorned with an assortment of toddlers, diapers and tooth brushes, caught me mid-rifle to gently offer his support: "You know, maybe this is a good time to tear the house apart for those coats. We might need those tonight." Aww, what a sweet ma-- now hang on a second -- I think I just got patronized!
I reluctantly gave up my search and found a small set of teeth to brush. My sweet Brian already had Isaac in some cute little fire truck pajamas. Ian, still prancing around in his squeaky-clean skin, insisted on having fire trucks too. I opened the pajama drawer and was immediately transfixed by its disarray. Brian was solidly into his narration of Tiger Can't Sleep, with Isaac tucked in the crook of his arm and naked Ian balanced precariously on the edge of the bed. My hunt for more fire trucks segued into a full-blown drawer organization project. My eyes were crossing, but this was "important." About the time Tiger was one-man-band-ing, Brian realized I was into "it" again. "Amy, what are you...?" "Here they are! Ian, let's put on your fire trucks" "O.K., now come to bed....plllease." "Hang on, I have to put all this back."
Finally, we're all tucked into bed. The last story is read. Ian and Brian are discussing who will turn off the light. An idea assaults my groggy brain: Hey, I should go microwave that squishy little foot warmer thingy...
I reluctantly gave up my search and found a small set of teeth to brush. My sweet Brian already had Isaac in some cute little fire truck pajamas. Ian, still prancing around in his squeaky-clean skin, insisted on having fire trucks too. I opened the pajama drawer and was immediately transfixed by its disarray. Brian was solidly into his narration of Tiger Can't Sleep, with Isaac tucked in the crook of his arm and naked Ian balanced precariously on the edge of the bed. My hunt for more fire trucks segued into a full-blown drawer organization project. My eyes were crossing, but this was "important." About the time Tiger was one-man-band-ing, Brian realized I was into "it" again. "Amy, what are you...?" "Here they are! Ian, let's put on your fire trucks" "O.K., now come to bed....plllease." "Hang on, I have to put all this back."
Finally, we're all tucked into bed. The last story is read. Ian and Brian are discussing who will turn off the light. An idea assaults my groggy brain: Hey, I should go microwave that squishy little foot warmer thingy...
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