The Continuing Saga of Poorly Timed Poop

Today was a great day. We visited with neighbors in the early afternoon, then went to a birthday party for a pair of sisters. My little guy had such a good time jumping in the bouncy house, playing with their toys, running around with the kids that I could barely get him to slow down to eat some cake.

On top of all that, the weather was beautiful. And, like most New Englanders, I'm constantly obsessed with the weather.

We had so much fun that we didn't realize how close it was to bedtime. Since the little guy didn't have a bath last night, I really wanted him to have one tonight (do you see where this is going?). So I did the heavy lifting in the bath--scrubbing the day's dirt and sweat off, washing his hair--then left my husband in charge so I could fluff the diapers up in the dryer since they were stiff from hanging out in the sun.

Well, I barely got two steps out of the bathroom when hubby calls out to me with panic in his voice. Yes, that's right, this marks our third poop in the tub. We scooped him out and tried to get him to sit on the potty, but he wasn't having it. So hubby wrapped him in in a towel and took him out into the living room while I got rid of the now-ruined toys and sanitized the tub.

As the tub was refilling, hubby sat the little one on the potty, and we smiled and talked to him about pooping on the potty....and sure enough, he did it!

So it seemed like it was going to be a literally crappy end to an otherwise fantastic day, but then we ended with a pretty awesome milestone.

The Perils of the Digital Age

Yesterday I took my son to the park for a play-date with a friend and her son. It was a gorgeous day, low seventies and ample sunshine. The boys played on the playground, we took a walk around the aviary, then had a picnic lunch.

In between all of that, the coffee-slugging mamas had to use the restroom. But my child was getting hungry and crabby, so as a distraction while I used the bathroom, I gave him my cell phone to play with. As I rounded the corner walking away from him, I saw him toss it on the ground. I thought to myself, let me just pee real quick, and then I'll grab it.

Do you think I remembered to do that?

The next time I even thought about my phone was when we were packing to go home. Of course, my friend had already left so I couldn't enlist her help to either help me look for it or stay with the boys while I frantically retraced all our steps.

So I drove down to the entrance booth (it's a big park) and asked if anyone had turned it in...nope. So I drove back up to the playground area and looked where he dropped it...nope. Long story short, I looked everywhere we'd been even though I knew where it had gotten lost. I asked the parents on the playground if they'd found a cell phone laying around...nope.

I'm still hoping it got turned in before the park closed yesterday. But since I don't have a home phone, I have to wait until my mom comes over so I can call from her phone.

At first, my only thought was about the inconvenience of being without a phone for a bit. But then I realized I have hundreds of pictures of my son, my nephews, my niece and plenty of friends on there. So not only am I missing all my pictures, but who know who has my phone. What if some sicko is looking at pictures of my little guy...worse, pictures of me nursing my little guy? Not to mention all the names, addresses and phone number of friends and family that are in there.

I'm still hopeful that I'll call today and they'll have it, but if not, I guess it's a new phone for me. Next time, I'll save all my pictures somehow.

Cloth Diapers and the Law of Poorly Timed Poop

If there is one universal truth that all cloth diapering mamas know, it's that your child will always poop on the maiden voyage of any new diaper. In the past year and a half, this has happened literally every time I've put my boy in a new diaper.

Tonight, I learned the rule of the poorly timed poop extends to all new (or newish) diapering situations.

I've never been one to use fitted diapers. I had a couple hand-me-down fitteds from my sister and I bought one (a popular brand that I can't quite recall at the moment). But they never seemed to fit my little guy right and I just couldn't get the hang of them. But there was a really good deal on babysteals.com a few weeks ago, so I bought a couple. They fit okay, and tonight I decided I was going to try one out for nighttime use.

Now I've only been back to using cloth at night for a month or two. We had horrible leak issues for the longest time, then I just got lazy and got in the routine of using sposies at night. So tonight I took one of these marvelously soft bamboo fitted diapers, laid an extra bamboo/cotton insert in it, added the extra insert that came with the diaper, lined the whole thing with fleece for that stay dry feeling and wrapped the whole thing in a Bummi's Super Brite cover.

This was a lovingly and carefully constructed diaper. And it was a bit of an experiment as I really wanted to know how long it would hold up before getting soaked.

What does that mean? Why, of course, my darling son pooped about five minutes after I put it on.

It could have been worse, right? He could have pooped before I put it on.

The Magic of Motherhood

You know the saying, "I was a perfect parent, and then I had kids"? It's so true. When I was just an Auntie and not a Mama, I had my game down. My nephews and niece were like my own little fan club; I could do no wrong in their eyes. At the same time, I wasn't one of those aunts who feeds the kids nothing but cake and ice cream and lets them rule the roost. I did my best to uphold my sister's values and rules when I babysat...maybe with just a little extra leeway.

When I had my son, it's not that I thought it would be easy, but I thought I'd be better at it.

It was such a slap in the face when, at about two weeks into motherhood, I realized that I was fumbling through everything. As a person who was always good with kids, the fact that I was struggling so much with my own child was hurtful. The worst part was that I had no one that I could look at and say, "Stop hurting me!" I mean, it wasn't the baby's fault; it wasn't my husband's fault (though he took the brunt of my frustration).

Was it my own fault?

Wasn't I supposed to be the one person who could calm my baby better than anyone? Wasn't I supposed to be the one person who knew instinctively what my baby needed? Wasn't I nursing and using cloth diapers? Wasn't I putting everything of myself into this kid?

And somehow, my mere presence wasn't enough. He cried, I nursed. He cried, I changed a diaper. He cried, I swaddled.

He cried, he cried, he cried.

The fact is, some kids cry more than others. Whether you call it colic, a high needs baby, or spirited, the fact is, sometimes babies cry. But it is painful when you feel like you don't know how to sooth your own child. The other fact is we're not magical. We really want to believe that the bond between mother and child will be there instantly, but sometimes it's not. And that's so hard to admit. You feel deficient saying that...I feel deficient saying it, and this all happened a year and a half ago!

So I want all the soon-to-be moms out there to know, motherhood is wonderful, special, surreal, but magical? No. It's hard work, it's labor intensive, it's long nights, sore nipples, poopy diapers, showerless days. And that's where the bond happens. In the midst of constantly putting yourself second to a tiny dictator, somehow, you start to feel it and your baby responds to you feeling it. And it gets easier...slowly, but surely, it gets a little easier.

And then your baby smiles a goofy, gummy grin right at you...and that's magical!

Milestones Galore!

So tonight, my big boy peed on the potty for the very first time. Oh my...where did my baby go?

The look on his face when he realized what he was doing was priceless. He looked so proud of himself and so surprised. Like he was thinking, "This is what I do on this crazy chair? Weird." But I could tell he was very pleased with himself.

I gave him an M&M as a reward then he got to play in the tub for as long as he wanted...which, I'm sure, felt amazing on such a hot day!

Every time I turn around lately, my boy is doing something new and different. So far, this has been my favorite stage. He still needs me and loves to cuddle and nurse, but he's also so adventurous and curious about everything. It's the best of both worlds...a baby on the cusp of being a big boy.

Is there a magic button to slow time down?

Nursing Strikes, Allergies, Vacations, Oh My!

The good news...I think...my little one's hiatus from nursing turned out to just be a nursing strike.  I really thought he was done because of how easily he was going to sleep and comforting himself without nursing.  But one day over vacation, he asked to nurse before a nap.  I didn't believe him, but he latched right on like he had never done anything differently.

He's been nursing so much that today I said to my husband, "Why was I sad that he was done?"  And he said, "Be careful what you wish for."

So nursing is back to normal, which is good because this past week he was covered in hives...head to toe at one point.  Nursing was one of the few ways I felt like I could comfort him when he was so itchy he couldn't sleep at night.

The doctor suspects he is allergic to the antibiotic he was on for a recent ear infection, and after some Internet research, I think that's probably an accurate diagnosis.  The hives started on our last day of vacation with a couple of small red dots on his face.  I thought they were bug bites, but when I got home, he was getting redder and more splotchy by the second.  His ears were bright red and swollen when I called the on-call doctor.

I gave him off-brand Benadryl until we could see our regular doctor the next day.  I kept giving him the Benadryl about every six hours for his comfort, and I alternated it with homeopathic allergy medicine that definitely seemed to help.  He had the hives from Wednesday until Saturday.  On Sunday (today), they were finally completely gone.  I'm so happy my baby is back to normal!

Thankfully the hives didn't start until the last day of vacation, and we had a blast the whole time we were away. The little guy was a breeze on the flights, and once I gave up on using cloth diapers while we were away (a guest bathroom toilet and antibiotic diarrhea don't mix...gross!), I relaxed and we had so much fun.

So that's been the story of my last week and a half!

Is this really the end?

Last week my son decided he didn't want to nurse to sleep for his nap.  This was surprising and a little hurtful.  I was completely confused at how my dedicated little nursling could suddenly do something so out of character.  But the following day, he refused to unlatch for the entire length of his nap, so I shrugged it off.

However, in the days since, our nursing relationship has taken a sudden and dramatic shift.  And this is none too pleasing to this little mama.

For the first couple of days, he still nursed overnight, but a couple nights ago, he refused to nurse to sleep and then when he woke up at 2 am, he refused to nurse again.  He didn't seem to know what to do with himself, and frankly, I felt the same way.  For the past 19 months, our go-to move has been breastfeeding.  He cries, I nurse.  He's teething, I nurse.  He has a cold, I nurse.  Whatever the ailment or trouble was, nursing was a surefire fix.  But suddenly, he rejected it.

And the breastfeeding relationship is so intimate that it's really hard to not feel like he's rejecting me.  In fact, it's impossible to feel any other way.  Around midday yesterday, I started to feel engorged, so I pumped a measly half an ounce.  I gave him that milk in a sippy cup with dinner.  He guzzled it right down.  So when my husband did the bath and PJs routine as he always does, I pumped again.  This time I got two ounces.  Again, he guzzled most of it and only left a little in the cup.  So today, I pumped in the morning, at midday and in the evening with the intention of giving him a nighttime cup of milk.  But he rejected it.

I've met every milestone of his with a smile.  I couldn't have been happier to see him start crawling, then walking and talking.  Every big boy move of his has seemed amazing to me.  I love to watch him learn new things and explore the world, and he does it all with this look of pride and amazement on his face.

But this is a milestone I'm not happy to see.

Sure, there's a chance that this is just a nursing strike.  He has been stuffy, and he's definitely cutting his molars.  But there's something about his steadfast refusal to drink my milk, both from the breast and from a cup that feels very final to me.  I'm going to continue to pump and hope that he changes his mind.  But if this the end of this part of our life together, I wish I had known.

I'd have held him closer the last time we nursed.  I'd have inhaled his sweet milk breath one last time.  I'd have kissed his little hands and tickled his toes like we used to do.  I'd have memorized every little sensation and look, and as cheesy as it sounds, I'd have cherished it more than I did.  As it is, I can't quite remember when the last time was.  Was it that nap?  Or sometime overnight since then?  I honestly don't know.

There's so much that's indescribable in our time together as a nursing pair, so much that I'm not ready to let go of.  And I'm so surprised that he is ready to let go of it.  I feel blindsided and sad and confused.  How will I comfort him now?  What will I do when he has a bad dream or falls and hurts himself?  Holding him and rocking him was never enough.  He always needed milk to help him feel better.  Will it be enough now?

I feel like I have to learn the ropes all over again.  I feel like I did in those newborn days when he cried endlessly and I didn't know how to help him.