WOW with Grandpa and Grandma M

I still have not finished posting a review of Grandpa and Grandma M's visit earlier this month. Here are a few pics from the trip to Wonders of Wildlife, one of Zoe's favorite places to visit.

I think we will have a huge collection of "Where's Taggie" photos by the time Dear Daughter hits puberty. I notice that her beloved can be seen in every picture she is in. She loves to squeeze Taggie close and say things like, "Taggie is my best friend!"

This is one of many large aquariums, and I believe the one in which Dear Daughter impressed her Grandma with the statement that she was seeing a "school of fish."

Metamorphosis

Recently I paused for a moment of reflection, and I realized that there seem to be fewer and fewer moments for reflection these days. So I reflected on this lack of time for reflection and discovered that something bewildering has happened. “Metamorphosis” is what kept coming to mind. I looked it up on answers.com and realized that indeed, Metamorphosis is what has happened.

Metamorphosis 1: a transformation, as by magic or sorcery

I don’t believe in sorcery so to speak, or magic in the literal sense. But it would be fitting to say that it has been a “magical transformation.” Nothing else could quite capture the depth of the change or the degree to which the changes literally permeate every corner of my life. Somewhere between the moment of conception with Dear Daughter and my present state of existence, this kind of transformation began and it hasn’t stopped.

Initial reflection on the lack of time for reflection led me to recall that long ago, at a time I can only now faintly remember, Dear Hubby and I used to have more time, and we used to spend our time much differently. Upon returning home from work on Friday evenings, Dear Hubby and I used to ask each other, “So what do you want to do tonight?” It was pretty much an open question and an open invitation to choose to do anything we wanted, including going out to eat in a restaurant that doesn’t serve crayons as an appetizer and provide paper table cloths to draw on, going to a late movie, having a few glasses of wine, and even having time and energy for “the unmentionable.” Heck sometimes we would do all of those things in a single evening. But that was long ago, at a time I can only now faintly remember.

I think the Friday night question was asked a couple times right after Dear Daughter was born, and it hasn’t been asked since, because we both know what we are going to do on Friday evenings now. Friday nights are like any other night (a whole topic in itself that there’s not room to address here), with the exception that we go to bed sometimes at 11:00 pm rather than 9:30 pm in anticipation of sleeping in until, oh say, 6:00 am. And if I do manage to sleep in until 6:00am and haven’t heard anything from Dear Son, I awaken with a start wondering what’s wrong and find myself getting out of bed and tiptoeing in the silence to the side of my wee one's crib to scrutinize his profile, looking for the subtle rising and falling of his chest. Being satisfied that he is still respirating, I wonder to myself when I will stop worrying that my kids have mysteriously stopped breathing. Then I recall the response of a friend (whose kids are teenagers) who laughed knowingly at my confession and said, "Oh, probably when they are about 13!" By this time I'm wide awake thinking "Oh my gosh! I'm going to be doing this for thirteen years!" which is then followed by the even scarier thought, "Oh my gosh! My kids are going to grow into teenagers!" If Dear Son still has not awakened to be fed following my trip to check his respirations, I will go back to bed and lie awake, wondering whether to wake him up to nurse, go downstairs and seek relief from the “milking machine,” or simply ponder the odds of my breasts exploding before I choose to do one of the previously considered options.

Metamorphosis 2: a marked change in appearance, character, condition, or function

Indeed, my appearance has metamorphosized multiple times since becoming pregnant with Dear Daughter, growing to the size of Bertha the Beluga Whale, giving birth, and ultimately FINALLY returning to my pre-pregnancy weight and size only to discover a week later that I was pregnant with Dear Son. Then I grew to the size of Bertha-the-even-Bigger Beluga Whale, gave birth again, and am still working on the returning to pre-pregnancy size thing. As for character, condition, and function, well that can also describe the appearance and purpose of my physical body. I’ll spare any great detail this time and suffice it to say that until I had children, I didn’t fully realize the kind of “functionality” my body would morph into managing. In addition to my physical being, there is no other aspect of my existence that has gone unscathed by a morphing of character, condition, and function either. Definition 3 also helps explain this:

Metamorphosis 3: A change in the form and often habits of an animal during normal development after the embryonic stage.

Following the “embryonic stages” of my babies, I now find myself a part-time working mother of two. Spare time is a rare treat. Money is first spent on baby gear, baby clothes that are outgrown in record time, and car seats (that are also sometimes outgrown in record time). A weekend outing is nothing like it looked BZ2 (before the two “Baby Z’s”) and consists of choosing to do things a toddler would enjoy as well as being as infant-friendly as possible, hence the rare experience of going out to dinner no longer means going somewhere with linen napkins and glasses of wine, but somewhere you can order chicken fingers and color on the table.

Metamorphosis 4: Pathology. A usually degenerative change in the structure of a particular body tissue.

Pathology, indeed. I think I already described the changes of particular body tissues. I could go to much more particular tissues and graphic details, but I won’t. If you are a mom, you already know what I mean. If you aren’t, be thankful that you can’t relate.

And so, I will say what many seem to feel is taboo to admit: There is a “dark side” to motherhood. As I stated in a post long ago, any mom who denies this is either lying or delusional. You see, there are times I grow weary of my almost-three-year-old's whining and nagging. And I sometimes feel completely irritated with my 5-month-old who has prevented me from getting a full night of sleep for the past year, long before he ever poked his head out of my womb. And furthermore, I really miss peeing with the door shut, and I can't remember when I last had two solid hours to myself to do ANYTHING!

But here’s the kicker. Here’s the part where (If I didn’t already believe in the supernatural influence of the Holy and the Divine) I could almost justify the role of magic and sorcery in this whole metamorphosis experience: If someone asked me if I would prefer to return to the “pre-metamorphed” existence—a life without my wee ones, complete with time and freedom to visit those fancy restaurants and money to spend on frivolous and expensive and not-at-all-kid-friendly belongings, a life where I could be guaranteed not to be awakened in the night by hungry infants or toddlers afraid of spiders being in her bed, a life in which I wasn’t plagued by fleshy post-pregnancy wiggles and rolls, I would say “Absolutely not!” It’s crazy, I know. I can’t explain it, and it makes no logical sense. There’s just something about an almost-three-year-old who says to me, “Mommy, you are my best friend!” and a 5-month-old who looks into my soul with infant adoration for me, as if he is telling me I am his entire world and existence--his sun, moon, and stars (I am, after all).

Motherhood truly is a pathological (deviation from a “normal”) condition. It’s a Metamorphosis--a magical transformation of all that was previously familiar. It’s an experience that wacks out your brain cells leaving you to think that in spite of all that makes logical sense, motherhood is the greatest thing you've got going in your life.

Rolling, Rolling, Rolling...

"Hey! What's that red light thingy?"




"Can't you see I'm trying to practice my rolling?"







"I'm not too sure about this big sister deal."






We're back to the childproofing stage. Dear Son has found his own unique way to be quite mobile: rolling wherever he wants to go. And he's getting quite fast at it, too. Time to get out the playpen, pad up the fireplace hearth, and be vigilant about keeping the "choke-ables" put away. We barely hit the five month mark. Dear Daughter wasn't this mobile or this fast until she was close to nine months old. ...and our family doctor cautioned us that he may be "slow" in his physical development due to his large size and having so much mass to "oomph" around. We are thinking at this point that this will not be the case.

Playing Shopping with Grandpa M

Grandpa M didn't only have tea parties with Dear Daughter, he also played "shopping" with her. This involves loading up all her play groceries in her shopping cart, pushing it around the room and ultimately ending up at the ottoman, which serves as the check-out counter. This is where every item in her cart comes out and gets examined before loading them back into her cart.



This one is actually out of sequence, but I wanted to include it, because it is sweet. You can tell Dear Son just woke up, but it was a pleasant "get to know each other" moment and Grandpa M's first time to hold him and squeeze him.

Trying Out Some New Foods

Since starting Dear Son on solid foods a week and a half ago, he's back to sleeping from about 8pm - 4:30am. Last night Dear Husband and I actually felt like staying up after the kids were in bed and watching a movie. It's a rare occurance these days. I woke Dear Son up to feed him around 11pm before going to bed myself, and he slept until 6am. Life is good again.

So far, Dear Son has not cared for rice, but he really likes oatmeal and bananas. These pictures are typical faces he makes when eating. He doesn't look like he likes what he's getting, but he often keeps grabbing for the spoon and pulling it to his mouth. Next on the food menu: avacados.

I am all set to make homemade baby food again, just like I did with Dear Daughter. Only now I've got it easier. Dear Hubby bought me a very nice food processor for Mother's Day. It will be much easier than the blender for making baby food. I'm already ahead of the game with butternut squash and apples that I purchased on Saturday.

I am so excited to report that Dear Son's eczema (which showed up when he was two months old) has totally cleared up since I began following the diet rules that our enzyme practitioner recommended. I can't believe that I didn't learn all this stuff months and months ago when we first began taking Dear Daughter to him to fix her food allergies and eczema. Anyway, the basics areto consume as many whole unprocessed foods as possible and never eat a carb without a protein. Especially do not consume refined sugar and white or other bleached and overprocessed flours. I am actually finding this not at all hard to do, and so much healthier. Dear Son's eczema, which had lingered for a good two months and was growing worse and worse, cleared up within four days of these diet changes! His skin is now baby soft and not a sign of eczema to be seen. I've got double evidence now that our enzyme practitioner really does know what he is talking about and that it really is all about digestion and nutrition. Both my kids have perfect skin, and Dear Daughter hasn't been sick, save for a slight runny nose last fall, ever since adding the enzymes to her diet over a year ago.

Comic Relief

It's been one of "those" mornings. On Friday mornings I tend to pay the price for working late on Thursdays. I get home just in time Thursday nights to get both the kids to bed. The house is typically a major wreck by then, and I'm just too tired to clean it up. When I get up on Friday morning, it's go go go again with the kids. In addition to the regular "Mommy race," dinner dishes are still dirty and I have to carve out a clean patch of counter to prepare the kids' breakfasts (and then there are dirty dinner dishes AND dirty breakfast dishes to contend with), laundry is half done, toys are everywhere, and there's a funky stink lingering about the house.

Today has been a Friday morning no different from any other. After getting Dear Daughter dressed and ready for breakfast, we did the typical struggle where she does not want to sit by herself at the table in case there's an ant in that corner of the room. We've had an ant revival the past several weeks. It's a problem we fixed a couple years ago and haven't had problems again. Until recently. As I've already mentioned, Dear Daughter has a "bug-o-phobia." It's bad. She's even terrified of miniscule ants. So she did her usual routine of clinging to my leg, avoiding eating her breakfast, and refusing to sit at the table by herself.

Meanwhile, I needed to get Dear Son's oatmeal prepared, and had to carve out another couple of square inches on countertop to do so. Then I found myelf feeding a bite here and there to Dear Son in between refilling Dear Daughter's cereal bowl and re-assuring her that the ants are gone (which they thankfully are now even though Dear Daughter isn't sure she believes it). Then Dear Son gets fussy and he is ready for his first nap of the morning, but he has to sit and fuss while we wait for the Princess to finish her third bowl of cereal because she will come unglued if left alone at the table (an ant might "get her"). When Princess finally finishes we can take Dear Son upstairs to nap. First though, Dear Daughter runs to the living room while I unbuckle Dear Son from his bouncy chair. I hear her voice call from the other room, "Oh no! Cat poop!" That typically means cat barf, not actually poop. I was praying for the former if I couldn't escape them both. Sure enough, the geriatric cat was leaving his barf mark on the freshly cleaned carpets that I busted my tail cleaning a couple weeks ago.

While putting Dear Son down for his nap, Dear Daughter begins her non-stop broken-record chattering about wanting to watch her Little People show. She wanted a specific one, which I promised her she could watch after I got Dear Son down for his nap. Only when I finally went to put it on for her, I couldn't find it. We finally settled on a different one, and I returned to the mess and funky stink in the kitchen. Then to the geriatric cat barf. When that was caught up, there was the next crisis: a clogged toilet. Forturnately Dear Daughter was sitting rather contently watching her show while I scrambled about cleaning up messes and putting out fires. As I passed through the living room, I told Dear Daughter I was going to the garage to get the toilet punger and unclog the toilet. She looked up at me with shiny eyes and a beaming grin and replied, "Okay, Mommy! Have a good time!"

Thank God for comic relief on mornings like this!

More on Grandpa and Grandma's Visit

Here's a little more about Grandpa and Grandma M's visit. Not sure why both the wee ones have such blank looks on their faces in this picture with Grandma.


Dear Daughter got unlimited one-on-one attention all week with Grandma and Grandpa captive in the house. We didn't get out much due to the fact that it rained and rained and rained and barely reached 60 degrees most days. There were many daily tea parties with Grandma and Grandpa. Boy did Dear Daughter ever love hanging out with Grandpa and Grandma M for a whole week! She doesn't get the same undivided attention from Mommy, especially now that Dear Son is also in the picture. She never complains, but I can sure tell she misses all the attention from last week. Prior to Grandpa and Grandma's visit, Dear Daughter had gotten quite good at entertaining herself for some good stretches of time. After all the attention from Grandpa and Grandma last week, she now wants Mommy to take part in every minute with her just like Grandpa and Grandma did.

Things are a bit sad and a lot empty feeling around the house today. I'm used to having several extra pairs of hands and lots more commotion around the house. Whereas I usually like things quiet and I generally like to be alone, today I feel lonely in spite of having both the kids (who are both down for a nap at the same time today!) I also am having trouble processing some different emotions. I have a wonderful Mother and Father-in-Law, and it was so great to see Dear Daughter enjoy their company all week and they hers. This was only the third time they've seen her (and the first they've seen Dear Son). Last time they saw Dear Daughter, she was about 14 months old and was a real Momma's girl and too shy to thoroughly enjoy Grandpa and Grandma's company. I keep feeling a haunting sense of grief tug at my heart when I think of the day that Grandpa and Grandma M left and they each held and cuddled Dear Son one last time before he went down for his nap. They would have to be at the airport before he awakened again. Later Dear Husband told me that as he and Dear Daughter left the ariport, leaving Grandpa and Grandma to board their plane, Dear Daughter said, "I love doing things with Grandpa and Grandma!" My heart broke again. I so deeply wish that we could have regular and frequent visits with Grandpa and Grandma M and that they could see their grandkids grow up on a daily basis and that their grandkids could enjoy Grandpa and Grandma's frequent presence in their little lives.

We love you and miss you terribly, Grandpa and Grandma M!

Five Months

At five months, Dear Son is about to pop out of his 6-9 month clothing. Note how it is pulling in the crotch and the pants legs are not quite long enough. He's wearing a 12 month snap-crotch t-shirt, which seems to fit him about right in the length, but a bit long in the arms.

I'm not sure what he was saying when I snapped this picture, but I'm pretty sure it was important at the time.

As for five month accomplishments, we seem to be going backward in some areas. Whereas a month ago he was sleeping through the night or only having one early morning awakening at 4 am or later, he has recently been waking up hungry at midnight and then every three hours again. He practically did better than that as a newborn. The past couple nights it's been 2:30 am and 5:30 am. I couldn't decide if that meant it was time to start solids, as he had also been stretching out his daytime feedings to 4 and 4 1/2 hours. I also didn't know if the excitement of having Grandpa and Grandma M here for a week threw him off a bit, or if he had teeth coming in (nothing is visible yet). At any rate, after multiple nights in a row of getting up every three hours once again, I decided it was time to go ahead with the solids. At least that makes me feel like I have the power to try SOMETHING!

Incidentally, Dear Son is not thrilled with the new menu. I've tried rice cereal for four days now, and he makes a most interesting grimace when I manage to make it through the flailing arms with enough on the spoon to get it into his mouth. Other times he clams up tighter than Fort Knox, and there's no breaking in. Sigh. I can't decide whether to try another grain cereal next or something like bananas, but tomorrow will be day five, so it's time to try something new for the next four days. I seem to remember Dear Daughter not having any great problems with starting her cereals. I started her at 5 1/2 months, but she was not waking up in the night more frequently or anything. I just decided it was time. In fact, by this time, Dear Daughter was regular as clockwork in her sleeping, going down by 8:30-9:00 pm and sleeping until 4:00 - 4:30 am.

The way to survive the sleep-deprived jags, I've learned, is just to remember that "This too, shall pass!" and quite quickly in the scheme of things, I might note as I look onto Dear Daughter and wonder how she made it so quickly to becoming "almost three"! Sheesh!

Dear Son is also getting quite good at grabbing things and putting them in his mouth and continues to practice his rolling skills. He still loves to sleep on his tummy against the far side of his crib. He occaisionally gets his arm caught between the mattress and the crib rail and I have to go "rescue" him. He continues to be as sweet natured as can be, still doing an awesome job of going to sleep without any big dramatic displays. I still shake my head in disbelief when I lie him down in his crib and walk away with nary a peep before he goes to sleep. As long as he has his thumb all is well in his world--and mine too, for that matter!

Grandpa & Grandma M Come to Visit!

We had a great week with Grandpa and Grandma M visitng from Oregon. Dear Daughter kept them very very busy. I will post some highlights and pictures over the next few days. Here's a little intro...

Grandpa and Grandma arrived on Saturday and couldn't wait to get their arms wrapped around their "Grand-kiddos"!

Dear Daughter got Grandpa busy drawing water towers right away. It's a bit of an inside joke, and yet there really isn't a lot more to say other than Grandpa doesn't have water towers in the part of the country where he lives. Thanks to Grandpa's fascination of these structures (and a bit of teasing on the part of Dear Husband), Dear Daughter now excitedly points out all the water towers whenever we go for a drive.

This was our trip to the park on Sunday. Dear Daughter is practicing her "Princess wave."


And this is the Princess in all her glory. We were on our way to get professional photos taken. This was Mommy's first attempt to curl Dear Daughter's hair. Incidentally, it was pouring rain all day and we got drenched trying to get everyone in the car on the way to the photo studio. Also, before leaving home for the photo shoot, Dear Son ate vigorously and then promptly threw up all over his AND Mommy's picture clothes. We were already late, as seems to be usual custom with two wee ones. By the time Dear Son and Mommy got changed into fresh clothes, we were mega late. The photo shoot was hectic, and we didn't get to spend the time we wanted as the photographer had another group already waiting. The stress alone made for a few good memories, though.

The Taggie Book Crisis

Dear Daughter has her own version of a "woobie." It's her beloved Taggie Book. This is something we bought for Dear Daughter just before her first birthday, and it has been a permanent fixture even since. We dare not leave the house without it, and naptime and bedtime cannot occur without it.

When Dear Daughter was between 13 and 15 months of age she had a few rounds of the stomach flu and we purchased a "substitute" Taggie Book for her out of fear that she would vomit on Taggie Boook and have him left incapacitated in the clothes washer for a time. Being without Taggie Book, we knew, would be more traumatic to her than the flu itself. But by the time we offered her the substitute, she had the original Taggie Book broken in just right and would not accept the substitute. She knew which one was her true Beloved. She had gnawed on the care tags througout one of her teething spells and shredded and frayed it just so, and the pages and ribbons were already a bit dingy and a bit less fluffy due to a few trips through the washing machine. By 16 months of age, if we tried to offer her the imposter, she would flip it to the bottom and find the care tags and rub them between her chubby little fingers. If it didn't pass the test, she would let us know that under no circumstances was this an okay thing. And this remains the case today. The substitue Taggie Book still remains in nearly perfect, untouched condition, fluffy pages, brightly colored ribbon tags, and lacking the dingy look. And lacking the love and attention of her true Beloved.

Today we had a crisis with Taggie Book that I figured would happen sooner or later. While I was busy changing Dear Son's britches I also needed to get Dear Daughter ready for her nap. I sent her to the master bathroom to get her toilet seat and bring it to her Ducky bathroom in the hallway (the toilet seat makes its rounds to either upstairs bathroom depending on the particular demands of the moment). She ran after it and proudly returned (she loves having assigned tasks that allow her to show off her independence) squealing that she "did it!" Then she disappeared around the corner to put in on the toilet. I came around the corner with Dear Son and his freshly changed britches only to hear Dear Daughter wail, "Oh no! Look, Mommy!" as she pointed into the toilet. I peered into the porcelain crapper only to see Beloved Taggie Booking soaking up the water and quickly sinking. I quickly snatched him up with my mind reeling, trying not to show my own shock and dismay. It was naptime. Dear Daughter had not had a nap without Taggie Book since she was 10 months old. I laid the dripping woobie on the counter top and proceeded to help Dear Daughter with the potty duties while silently praying that the world would continue spinning in spite of the crisis at hand. Then the real shock set in for Dear Daughter. He face turned red and crumpled up and the tears started as she wailed and grieved the predicament.

I gave her the choice of napping or not, as I was not sure she would handle being "Taggie-less" for her nap. She chose to nap. I offered the imposter Taggie Book. She turned it over just like when she was 16 months old, fondled the care tags, and said, "No, Mommy! See the tags are rough!" But she managed to climb into her bed and accept a story in between whimpers of, "Taggie Book!" and I left her in her room promising to give Taggie a bath while she napped. She stayed strong, only calling me up to her room once to inquire if Taggie was done with his bath yet. When naptime was over, she was thrilled to find that Taggie was done with his bath, and he resumed his usual and customary spot tucked under her arm. Another crisis survived, and all is well again. I suspect that Taggie will receive extra careful consideration from this point forward during "potty time."

Paul Bunyan?

As I’ve described many times before, Dear Daughter is a little sponge of information and constantly overflowing with words, sayings, and gems of knowledge. I’ve realized that she picks up much of this from the 14 books we check out each week from the public library. This week she has been quoting from her “Three Billy Goats Gruff” book. The first time it was in the middle of lunch at Grandpa and Grandma’s house when she stated that we were going to “eat and get fat.” It took me awhile to get the association, but I realized she was referencing the little billy goats who say they are trip trapping across the bridge to get to the meadow where they will eat and get fat. That brings me to the second reference yesterday when Dear Daughter was watching Dear Husband replant a tree in our yard. As he wheeled a wheelbarrow full of dirt out of the fenced back yard to the large grassy side yard, she stated that Daddy was taking the wheelbarrow to the “meadow.” I said, “How do you know what a meadow is?” She said, “I don’t know; I don’t know what a field is either.” I laughed out loud, as she most obviously does know what a meadow is if she knows it is like a field. When I shared this with Dear Husband later, he pointed out that the same book references a meadow. However, my favorite reference from that book was when I was tucking her in one night and pretending to eat her neck and I said, “I just want to eat you up!” and she exclaimed, “No! I’m too little!” which I realized is what the two smaller billy goats say to the troll when he tries to eat them as they cross the bridge.

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Our big project this weekend was buying new car seats. Yes, at four months of age, Dear Son has outgrown his infant seat, which is just as well, I suppose, as I can hardly lift him in it anymore…or at least I cannot carry him in it very far at all. I noticed the top of his head was fast approaching the top of his seat back. A couple weeks ago he had his four month check up and measured 16.8 pounds and 26 ¼ inches. I checked the instruction booklet that came with his car seat and it specified that the height limit is 26 inches. The dilemma, Dear Daughter, also in the 90% for size, is not quite ready for a booster as she can still fit in a harness, and that is recommended as long as possible. We decided to move Dear Son into her convertible seat and purchase a new combination seat for Dear Daughter, so she can continue to use the harness as long as possible and then we can remove it and use the seat longer as a belt positioning booster. Due to our varied work schedules, we had to purchase two of these seats. I drop the kids off once a week with Grandma and Grandpa and go to work and Dear Husband picks them up so I can work late. To this point, we have gotten by without double seats, but life has gotten more complicated recently.

Dear Husband had the daunting project of figuring out how to install/re-install four carseats in two vehicles, neither of which has LATCH and one of which requires those gosh-awful seat belt locking clips. I think it took most of the morning to accomplish said mission.

Another complicated aspect of the current situation is that while Dear Son is too big for his infant seat to travel safely in the car now, he does not have the coordination and strength just yet to sit up in a cart, or in the stroller seat, for that matter. I’ve decided I will have to hang onto the infant carrier and leave it in the family-mobile to use when going places so that I can take Dear Son out of his convertible car seat and transfer him into the infant seat, which snaps on the stroller or can be set in a shopping cart. He can still fit in the seat for that purpose, just not to safely ride in the car.

Dear Son is also pushing the limits of many of his 6-9 months clothes already. I had to purchase him the largest size of lightweight footed sleepers I could find. One brand is nearly too small in the 6-9 month size and the other brand sized 9 months fit just right. I cannot find 12 month lightweight footed sleepers. I also purchased him the large size onesies that are indicated for 9 months of age and should fit to 20 lbs. He only has one more size up to go in those (to the XL) and I will no longer be able to find onesies to fit him. I keep picking up up 12 and 18 month size clearance clothing for him when I see it, thinking he’s going to hit those sizes way too soon! I know he will have to level off sooner or later. If not, we will have another Paul Bunyan on our hands!