Category — Babies

A (really awesome) reader emailed me and mentioned looking for my birth story, which reminded me that I’ve been meaning to revise it for about a  year (here’s the original). I don’t want to forget details that surfaced later, so I figured it was time.

This is a long story, so I’ll do you the favor of inserting a jump so you can read more or skip.

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We got one of these bad boys yesterday:

Because I got one of these bad boys a few weeks ago:

This time, we weren’t trying (though as my friend says, if you’re not using protection and aren’t taking it in the bum, you ARE trying), but it happened and we’re thrilled.

When I found out I was expecting this time, all sorts of things ran through my head: How will I tell Chris? How will we tell our parents? Is it too soon? Will be be able to make it? Do we have enough love for another child?

What am I going to call my blog?!?

Telling Chris was fun. He was at work, so I stuck a hot dog bun in the oven and waited. When he got home, I asked him oh-so casually to take a look at the oven door because it seemed to have come off its track again.

He went to the kitchen and opened the oven door with no problem.

“Babe, it’s working fine for me,” he called.

“What? Really? How’d you do that?” I asked.

Still opening and closing the door, he says, “Yeah, it’s fine.” Pause. “But there’s a hot dog bun in the oven. Is that supposed to be there?”

I strolled into the kitchen and said, “Oh, I thought maybe you’d want brats for dinner so I put a bun in the oven for you.” I couldn’t help but smile. Surely he got it.

“Brats? No, I . . . Is this some kind of joke? Is this a treasure hunt? Are there hot dog buns hidden all over the house or something?”

Thinking I was playing a prank on him, he started to laugh. I, on the other hand, was shocked that he still had no clue what was going on. So I went to the freezer and pulled out a carton of ice cream. Then I opened the fridge and got out a jar of pickles.

Chris was still clueless as I plunged a spoon into the ice cream. “What are you doing? Pickles and . . .

“ARE YOU PREGNANT?!?!!!?????”

It would appear so, my dear. It would appear so.

I hadn’t planned on telling people so early, let alone The Whole Internet and all 9 of my readers, but one thing led to another and here we are.

The basics:

• I’m about 7 weeks along
• I have my first ultrasound on Friday. I anticipate it being JUST ONE.
• Terrible all-day nausea. Getting quite a bit of relief from a combination of ginger, B vitamins and Sea Bands.
• Getting tested early for gestational diabetes, since I had it with the girls. DAMMIT. I’ve been eating bagels, ice cream and bread for the past week in anticipation of failing it miserably.
• Estimated due date for now is Dec. 20

We’re thrilled. We’re excited. We’re happy. We’ve named him Squiggy for now, and he sounds just like the character on Laverne & Shirley. We love him.

It’s no longer one or two tentative steps. She’s walking across rooms now, slowly but surely. (Sorry for the shitty video quality — I caught it with my phone.)

I was raised mostly in Southern California. Where I lived, there were vast fields of strawberries and thick orange groves that would perfume the whole city during orange blossom season. We would throw open the windows at night to inhale the sweet balm of nascent citrus. The smell was intoxicating.

Then it was all bulldozed and replaced with a few hundred strip malls, gas stations, freeway overpasses and overpriced cookie-cutter homes. Because that’s how people in the O.C. roll, bitches.

Anything nature-y or farm-y or down-home-y is very foreign to me. I was pretty shocked when I moved to Florida. There’s, like, green stuff here. Endless stretches of flat, verdant land, thick swamps, Spanish moss swaying from ancient cypress trees.

What struck me as much as the landscape was the people. Let me tell you, anyone who thinks Florida isn’t part of the American South is very, very wrong. I thought big-wheeled Chevys with Confederate flags and gun racks were the things of an Alabama or a Texas. Now I know.

Anyway. To the subject of this blog post: The Effing Pumpkin Patch.

The Effing Pumpkin Patch was my idea. I figured, now that we have kids, we need to do things like go to The Effing Pumpkin Patch and take some effing pictures. I found out about a popular one out in BFE (and believe it or not, no matter where you are in Florida, you can get to a local BFE in an hour or less). So we went.

The directions to get to BFE were simple enough. But with me driving, we did no fewer than 1,800 u-turns before we finally got on track down a two-lane rural road — and promptly screeched to a halt. There was a bloody accident, followed by a slow-moving line of cars filing into a giant field to park. It took half an hour before we got to the farm.

The Effing Pumpkin Patch was, in a word, PACKED. Like, nutso, OMFG claustrophobia, 40-minute line for a pulled pork sandwich, I hate this fucking stroller, will-you-please-get-the-fuck-out-of-my-WAY packed.

I love parties, but I hate giant, overwhelming crowds. I get incredibly impatient and grumble obscenities at old people. It’s just not pretty.

So yeah. I hated every second of it, from the moment we entered BFE to the glorious second we finally pulled away from the burning armpit of hell.

If you’re not feeling me yet, take a look at the line to exit the farm.

You can’t see the end, can you? That’s because it it goes allllllll the way to the edge of the field, then wraps allllllll the way back to the front to dump you out onto the two-lane country road.

Kinda makes you want to run someone over, doesn’t it?

Oh, and about the whole Florida-is-the-South thing?

Dude on a tall unicycle made to look like he’s riding a horse? Check.

Scarecrow family sitting on a barn? Check.

Emaciated donkey ass? Check.

Confederate flag on a Dodge? Ding ding ding!

For as long as I live, I will never go to another pumpkin patch. Ever.

Then again, I guess there were a few highlights.

Sigh. The last month of infancy. Though they’re not toddling yet, and hence probably can’t be referred to as toddlers, they’re something a little older than babies, right? Some kind of crazy baby limbo. Anyway. Updates.

Feeding

Still nursing four times a day. They have a big breakfast, while the rest of the sessions get shorter and shorter, maybe three or four minutes long. The girls launch themselves off the nursing pillow and just want to play. I’ve started wearing a  nursing necklace again to keep them on long enough to empty my boobs, which has helped some.

They go through six jars of baby food a day, as well as some finger/table food. I clip a lot of coupons.

Sleeping

Nothing new here — two naps a day, sleeping through the night still. I think that they’re wanting to stay awake longer between the morning and afternoon naps. Time to tweak the schedule.

Milestones

Standing unassisted is soooo four weeks ago. Now we’re cruising around and, as I posted a few days ago, Althea is practicing unassisted steps. I think she’s a ways from walking still, but she’s definitely interested.

Something strangely cool is that they LOVE drinking from a straw. They actually drank an entire juice box EACH. It seems so grown-up to me. How can I possibly have two kids that know how to drink from straws?

We recently attended some birthday parties — one for another set of twins, one for a big group of us from mommy group (early first-birthday party for us). The girls had pizza, juice and cupcakes and sat in little chairs at a table. It was effing adorable.

Oh, and they’ve decided to protest Winblows. We’ve got a couple of budding geeks here.

Sizes

By my non-technical calculations, Elise is about 18 pounds and Althea’s about 17.5. They’re in 12-month size clothing now. Still size three diapers. I’m convinced they’re never going to grow out of them. I wouldn’t mind so much, but the baby on the diaper box is  so freaking creepy looking.

No video or pics yet, but Althea took many unassisted steps today. She started a couple of days ago, but it was obvious tonight that she’s on to us. Determined, purposeful steps. Cue terror mixed with pride and excitement.

Althea’s been on the go for a couple of weeks. She’ll push anything — books, boxes, this walker-push-toy thing. Elise likes to watch because man, why walk when mom can carry you around?

Althea’s a character. She really is. If we’re going to generalize, Elise is sweet and subdued. Althea’s a bulldozer.

And, I hate to say this, but she’s kind of a bully toward Elise.

I hate to say it because I don’t want to say anything negative about my kids. I also hate to say it because I certainly didn’t instill this in her, not even inadvertently. This is just her personality.

For instance.

Elise has the spoon.

Althea spots Elise with the spoon.

Because Elise  has the spoon, Althea decides the spoon is Extremely Super Rad. Now, Althea wants the spoon.

Althea makes a move for the spoon. Elise pulls it away.

Undeterred by Elise’s protests, Althea pulls on Elise’s shirt and pushes her to the ground.

Spoon = stolen.

Althea has the Extremely Super Rad spoon.

Elise = sad.

Elise seeks the comforting arms of Ama.

The problem is, how the hell do I tame this?

The whole parenting thing has been pretty easy so far. Oh sure, I’ve endured two babies coming out my vagina, stretch marks, extreme sleep deprivation, starvation, dehydration, depression, financial hardship, sacrifice.

But I haven’t really had to discipline before. It’s kinda hard. Because I just want to hug them a lot.

For now, I’m pulling Althea away, telling her that Elise is playing with the toy, and distracting Althea with something else. I figure she’s too young to grasp the whole “why we don’t steal spoons from other people” concept, so I’m relying on the whole “hey, here’s this other super awesome thing that you might like instead” concept.

Much to my surprise, the girls turned 10 months old last week. Double digits. Edging uncomfortably close to a year old.

I’ll add some boring details, but I can sum it all up by saying that they’re amazing.

They laugh, they cry, they chase each other, they give goofy looks. I love wrapping my arms around their little bodies. I love seeing their smiling eyes when they wake up in the morning. I love hearing their squeals and shrieks of delight. Everything about them makes me giddy with love and joy. I never knew  I could love this much.

Feeding

The girls are down to nursing four times a day. We go through five jars of baby food (and I specifically say “we” because man, some of that shit’s pretty tasty) and about 3/4 cup of cereal a day, not to mention slivers of bread with cream cheese, teething biscuits, puffs and Mum-Mums. I occasionally give them bits of what I’m eating. The most exotic thing they’ve tried is spanakopita. They are half Greek, after all.

Really, though, I haven’t pushed the solids super hard. I’m starting to realize that they should probably learn how to eat real people food kind of soon, especially since my boobs are getting tired (that’s a whole different post).

Sleeping

I am incredibly grateful that they still take two decent naps per day. I am incredibly even more grateful that we’re having a good stretch of sleeping through the night again, despite teething and milestones and all that other baby stuff.

Milestones

Things are getting pretty interesting in the milestone department.

Both have been standing unsupported occasionally for a few weeks now, but they’re now practicing it on a daily basis, several times a day. It’s AWESOME. I love love love cheering them on when they let go of something and visibly work their muscles and equilibrium to stand on their own.

One really cool thing that I need to get on camera is that Elise is catching on to hand movements. She’s understanding the motion of clapping, even if she doesn’t get that the hands are supposed to slap together. For her, it’s more like a mushing together of hands and fingers. But she tries.

Also, when they’re done eating solid food, I always tap the bowl, proclaim that it’s empty and then brush my hands together and announce “No hay mas!” — “No more!” Elise is starting to imitate it.

Elise now has six teeth and Althea has five. They’re drooling like crazy again with all the new teeth coming in.

Sizes

They’re in 9-12 month clothes (which are oddly hard to find) and still in size three diapers. They’re weighing in at just over 17 pounds.

Personalities

The girls are both exuberant and full of love and life. But in general, Elise is the more contemplative and serious girl, while Althea has the sense of adventure and abandon.

Elise is more calculated in her endeavors. She might not always be the first at something, but she seems to perfect things first. Althea, on the other hand, bulldozes her way around. If she sees Elise with a toy she wants, she’ll bolt all the way across a room to steal it from her.

Perhaps pictures might tell the story better.

Elise? A little introspective and happy.

Althea? Toys in the attic.

The girls had their (late) nine-month appointment on Friday. Elise is at 17lb 1oz and Althea is at 17lb 2oz. (For the first time ever, Althea outweighed her sister!) Elise was twisting around during her measurements and measured about 26 3/8 inches long (pretty sure that’s wrong), while Althea measured 27 inches long. Both had 17″ heads.

The pediatrician was the “partner” pediatrician of the practice, the same guy that kinda sorta pissed me off at their four-month checkup. I didn’t like him much the first time we met him and definitely didn’t like him much this time.

Both times, he’s questioned my ability to successfully breastfeed the girls.

“Well, they’re in the 25th percentile  blah blah blah. At this age, babies need at least 16 ounces of milk a day blah blah blah. So the question is, are you producing four cups of a milk a day?”

I exhaled so that my flapjack, B-cup boobies would disappear. Because I knew he was looking.

(BY THE WAY. Breast size has basically zero to do with milk output.)

The babies aren’t gaining weight as rapidly anymore. The doctor therefore  gave me a sideways warning about “needing to do something” if the girls don’t gain weight more quickly by their 12-month appointment.

First, isn’t it super common to slow down weight gain as the babies increase movement? Both of the girls are crawling like crazy and standing all the time. They’re burning more calories than I am. They haven’t lost weight. They’ve gained since the last appointment. They just aren’t gaining like crazy anymore.

Second, I thought the growth charts were CHARTS, not CONTESTS. It isn’t a race to the 100th percentile, right? Aside from my post-baby muffin top, I’m not a large or tall woman by any means, and Chris is a natural stringbean.

Third, I fucking HATE that the human body’s ability to naturally care for itself is so constantly questioned by modern medicine. Advances in medicine are awesome — hell, lifesaving – for countless people/babies/moms, but why does that have to mean that other folks have to undergo or face the threat of unnecessary intervention? For what? To fund pharmaceutical statistics so that Glaxo can make another overnight vaccine?

Can you tell I get a wee bit defensive and suspicious of “modern” medicine every now and again?

Like any 21st-century mother, I posted about my hatred of the AAP on my Facebook status. (Unlike a 21st-century mother, I did not post to Twitter because, frankly, I’m too lazy to keep up with anything that requires a character count without paying me by the word.)

Anyhow.

I plan to start checking out other semi-crunchy pediatricians before the girls turn one.

Um and holy shit the girls are going to turn one.  Suck on that, doctor.