Time For a Time-Out, Mom!

I am blogging on the bathroom floor while watching my daughter take a bath. Why? Because I'm learning that sometimes (more times than not) my child has a perfectly good reason for acting out.

I had punishment on my mind as I went to pick up my 15 month old from behind the side table after telling her "don't touch!" about a bazillion times. I was seeing red . . .  but the red took on a distinct shade of brown as I lifted her and my hand made a "squish" sound into her poop soaked pants. Y U U U U C K!!!! My route towards the time-out spot took a detour to the tub as I looked around in frantic futility for someone else - anyone else - who might deal with this for me. But alas, my husband is at a class for graduate school and my 4 nannies have the night off (what was I thinking?)

My goal was to teach my daughter something, but I learned the lesson instead. Darn you, kid! You're always forcing me to acknowledge how far I fall short of the Mom of The Year award . . . . but then your hugs and kisses make me feel like I've already won it.

Now to dry off this lil' booger and get her in some cozy jammies. 

*sigh*

Livin' and learnin' - the life of a mom.

Becoming the Mother I Swore I'd Never Be

Alternate Title: Confessions of an Imperfect Mother . . . Part 1 of many

The TV is honestly an awesome babysitter and at times my savior.

The other day at a restaurant, a waitress had to bring my wandering child to me while I paid the bill. *face palm*

Sometimes, I put her to bed with a bottle. I just do extra brushing on her teeth the next day. Ok, no, I don't.

I let her run wild in our little post office and tear the place apart as I tried to ship 3 packages. I figured it was easier to just pay for what she'd damaged than to spend all my energy frivolously trying to chase her and put things back on shelves. There was a moment when she walked up to me with someone else's keys. I ran out and chased a woman to her car, just to find out that they were not hers. I just endured the judgmental stairs. I don't even care anymore.

When I'm really frustrated at her and trying to get her to mind me, I grit my teeth at her. I hate that.

I always frowned upon other parents when their children yelled "no" at them all the time. I made it a goal to rarely use that word with my child to try and keep her from forming that habit. So, I now have a child that just yells "stop" at me. *sigh* Apparently, I've ruined this kid. I'll try again with the next one.

While at a street fair, we were standing in a driveway listening to some musicians. Exhausted by chasing after my child who had decided to be ornery that day, I was allowing her to pick up snack puffs that she had dropped on the dirty ground and eat them. Concerned onlookers decided to inform me of the appalling thing my child was doing. I told them she was improving her immune system and allowed them to stare at us with sour looks on their faces. Again, I just don't care.

To be continued . . . . .

Quiting Nursing COLD-TURKEY :(

Here is my "weening" story that really involved no "weening" at all! (Do you know if you forget the first 'n' in "weening" it becomes "weeing"? That is an entirely different story.):

Due to a bout with sinusitis and medicines I needed to take to cure it, I was told by my doctor that I had to stop nursing right away. WHAT?! I had no milk stored up. I mean, with Juniper being 11 months old, I had already switched one of her feedings with a bottle - but ALL of them?! I wasn't ready for that! And I was SURE she wasn't ready for it. My desire was to nurse until Juniper stopped wanting it, so I was almost devastated hearing that I had to quit cold turkey for 10 days. I prepared myself for a week of hell.

Well, color my face red when Juniper didn't bat an eye at no longer getting my boob.  She didn't have any trouble at all! I was the one falling apart over it but she hasn't seemed to miss it. She is chugging a bottle like a champ - even holding it herself.

The other day, I had her on the bed while I was changing clothes.  Usually, when she's sees me without a shirt she smacks her lips and whines, wanting me to feed her. Instead, she handed me my bra, as if to say, "Put those away, Mom!" And it was only the 1st full day without nursing! Excuse me if I feel a little rejected! I kind of thought I was more necessary than that. HA!

You know, I thought I would miss the closeness of nursing, but I am finding that we are connecting even more and cuddling more when I feed her from a bottle. I guess it is bc she gets to be so much closer to my face. With my anatomy, she would have to lay flat on my lap to nurse. Now, I can cuddle her up close while I feed her. She seems to be exploring my face more and taking breaks to "talk" to me. She even directly called me "Ma ma" for the first time! (I don't count the times she's wailed it when she wanted something.)

I expected this "cold-turkey" to be as miserable or more so than my sever case of sinusitis. I didn't expect to have to "ween" like this. But, as shocked as I am, it seems to actually be a good thing. I am no longer used as a bag of milk to comfort her - there were many times that she didn't want me, just my milk. I felt objectified!

Here are some more positives:
I no longer have to consider her diet when deciding what I want to eat. (Sweet tea, anyone? YES!)
I can get back on my ADD meds!!!!! (if my insurance company would stop being stupid. arg!)
I am no longer the ONLY ONE who can feed her milk! (this last one is my favorite)

How did I deal with the discomfort of "cold-turkey" weening? Part of my medication for the sinusitis was Zyrtec D. My Doula/Breast Counselor friend told me that when mothers ween but continue to produce milk, they prescribe Zyrtec because it will dry them right up. Well, there you go. No fussy baby. No achy boobies. Thank you, LORD!


A little piece of me has died, as does every time Juniper takes another step away from being my little baby and towards becoming her own person. But, that empty place is restored and refilled to overflowing by the blessing of seeing her grow into the beautiful creature God has created her to be. What joy I feel when she turns to me out of choice for a kiss, a hug, a snuggle - knowing that she is showing conscious love and desire for me. Now you've got me crying.

Being a parent helps me understand God's love for us so much more. How He must feel when we choose Him and also when we try to objectify Him as just a resource to be used. I know that this journey of parenthood will continue to take me to a greater understanding of our Lord. This child is an unending source of blessings :)


Today, I found her walking around with my nursing cover slung around her neck like a cape. That is the most interest she has had in anything having to do with nursing since the last time I nursed her. It made me smile :)

Of course, I will choose to nurse with my next child, and will encourage any mother to do so if it is a possibility for her. And, though I really enjoyed that season of my relationship with my daughter, I am enjoying this new season of her independence, as well. Even if she IS already exhibiting behavior associated with the "terrible two's" at the age of 12 months. *sigh* More on that, later.

p.s. I just looked it up and realized that the correct spelling is "weaning," not "weening." That clears up the confusion at the beginning. yup.

Allergies

I am allergic to:

Doing the dishes after I have cooked a large meal. (Ok, ok - even after a small, easy meal.)

Running. (The phrase, "I'm exercising. I'm exercising," always repeats in my head over and over again to the rhythm of my canter. And, in the case that you are confused, it is not repeated in a chipper endorphin-infused voice, but rather a voice more similar to that of Eeyore, Pooh's donkey friend. Thanks for noticin' me.) 

Matching socks.

Plain socks.

My husband's explanations of accounting processes.

Hanging up laundry right when I pull it out of the dryer.

Hanging up laundry. (Achoo! I feel it coming on.)

The term "tee tee" when used in reference to urinating.

Watching sports on TV.

NASCAR anything.

Cloth diapers. Kudos to you that can do it. I've tried. I just cannot. Maybe if the stairs to and from my washer and dryer didn't feel like I was scaling a mountain I would be more successful at them.

Lord of The Rings. I can't get into it. I've tried several times bc my husband loves it. But, nope, not happening. In fact, I think for the 2nd movie I went to the opening showing with some friends. I just sat there and heckled it the entire time. I got a lot of angry nerd looks. lol

Animal movies. I'm trying to think of one that I have liked . . . , . . . , . . . Nope, can't think of one.


What are you allergic to?


Inspired by this post from idontbelieveingrammar. I am in <3 with her blog name - even if am an English/Grammar/Writing teacher. I somehow stumbled across her blog and fell in love with it. I see myself in so many of her posts.

Mama Bear (cont.)

Time to continue the story. Yes, it has been a few months. I know you have been sitting in suspense all this time and I am sorry to have caused you so much anxiety. ha
If you haven't read the previous entry (part 1 of this saga), I encourage you to.

In the previous post, I hope I have established my very logical fear of stinging insects. They don't like me. They come after me. I cannot stand still. They do not go away. They sting me. We have a mutual hate for each other.

Some persistent hornets must continue to build a nest right near our front door bc it is a common occurrence for one to find its way into our home when my husband opens the door to leave for work in the morning. As previously mentioned, my normal response to this was to barricade myself in another room until my husband got home from work. Yes. All day. And sometimes several days in a row. These suckers live for DAYS! I would think that they had died by the evening, bc of course by the time that my husband gets home they have stopped flying. But, no, they are just resting for the evening and begin their furious flight anew when I rise in the morning. Ahhh!

I mean, look at these things! They are the size of, like, a golf ball! So scary!

So, to reset the scene: Juniper and I get up in the morning. I set her down on the living room floor to play and I assume my position on the couch. Then I hear it:
Bzzzzzzz *Clink*
Bzzzzzzz *Plonk*
Bzzzzzzz "I'm an angry hornet and I'm just getting angrier every time I run into something!" *Dink*

Being the brave mommy that I am, I scoop up Juniper and run to the back of the room intent on camping out in her room for the rest of the day until her father gets home. Then, my brain kicks in a little. It is 8am. Her father doesn't get home until around 6pm. Am I really going to be able to keep this baby happy in her room for 10 hours? What if she gets hungry? My milk only goes so far. I don't have enough toys in there to keep her entertained. What if I have to go to the bathroom?

I realize I need to get tough and take care of this. Man up. Be a Mama bear protecting her cub. ROAR! I have to destroy this thing.

I begin whispering with Juniper (you know, so the hornet can't hear us), trying to figure out what we are going to do. Juniper whispers babble back. Not helpful - but cute! I'm going to need something with a lot of surface, so there is less room for error. Lord knows, I do not want to miss! I settle on a large dust pan. After about 20 minutes of standing there debating and abating my fear, I begin to move.

I set Juniper down in the kitchen where she can see all the action but is out of harm's way. I stalk carefully towards the hornet. It has been favoring our brick fireplace so at least it is kind of staying in one place. I get closer. I can see it! Closer. Its stupid little wings are quivering. Closer. I am definitely within stinging range now. With a trembling hand I raise the dust pan and . . .

WHACK! Bzzzzzz SCREAM! Screech!
WHACK! Bzzzzzz SCREAM! Screech!
WHACK! WHACK! Bzzzzzz SCREAM! Screech!
WHACK! SCREAM! Screech!

These sounds were happening pretty much simultaneously. The "WHACK," of course, is me hitting the hornet. The "Bzzzzzz" is the hornet that WILL NOT DIE!!! The "SCREAM" is me screaming in fear with every hit. And the "Screech" is Juniper screaming in response to my scream. I am sure it was quite a ridiculous scene.

In the end, I emerged the victor! I slew the hornet! The hornet had been slain! I scooped up the carcass with the dustpan and deposited it outside. I raised my fists in triumph. I deserved a trophy, nay, a CAPE, fore I was the super slayer of stinging insects! HA!

I would like to say that the tables have turned with stinging insects and me. I would like to say that I no longer fear them. But, just today, I nervously held my breath as a yellow jacket flew by me and then frantically waved my arms and yelled, "Stay away from my baby! Stay away from my baby!" as it flew near Juniper. I'm a work in progress.

Mamma Bear

I had a triumphant morning! Today, I slew a stinging insect! A hornet, to be exact. Hooray!!!
This is a huge triumph for me, since in the past if a stinging insect invaded my home and was flying around angrily, I would just barricade myself in another room until my husband came home - yes, I would stay in that room all day. That is how fearful I am of stinging insects.

My first encounter was when I was about 5 (or 8, I can't remember.) Anyway, my family and I were walking through a new neighborhood that had been built near ours, admiring the new houses and checking out the sample homes. As we were leaving we walked through the same rot iron gate we had come in through. The gate had a hole for a handle, but no handle yet. So, we just put our hand through the hole to open it. This was not a problem going in as we all passed through the gate together and went on our way. However, on the way back I ran ahead so I could hold the door open for my family (trying to be sweet has a history of burning me - more stories later.) Lo and behold, within that hole resided a wasp and its nest. As my fingers were disturbing the nest, the wasp flew out to meet me. I screamed. What did my father tell me to do? "Stand still! It won't bother you." Well, that works unless you just stuck a finger directly into their nest. At that point the wasp is already mad and your fate is pretty much sealed. So, I did as my father instructed. I stood still and let that wasp take its time in getting its aim. It made 3 figure 8s in front of my face and then decided to plant its stinger right into the tip of my nose. Yes, the stupid wasp stung the tip of my nose. From that day on I stayed as far away as possible from stinging insects.

Until today. But let me first quickly tell you my second encounter.

I was 2 WEEKS over-due with my little baby. Yes, I was a big waddling ball of miserable. I was walking down a few stairs after a visit to Sub-Way. I was out in the middle of nothing, no walls, no railings. I wasn't holding on to anything so I have no idea how this happened. All I can think is that I swung my arm (and you better believe I was swinging my arms while I was walking. Moving something that big took momentum, man.) I guess I swung my arm in the path of a hornet's flight. Well, EXCUSE ME mister hornet. Heaven forbid that I am walking where you are flying. So, it decided to sting me on the arm. All I heard was a quick buzz and then felt a terrible sting in the crook of my arm.
I was a pitiful sight, let me tell you. Tears started streaming down my face. It wasn't that it really hurt too badly, but my feelings were hurt. I mean, didn't it see how miserable I was? And I didn't do anything to it! I was just walking, well, waddling back to my car after trying to treat my gloomy self to a scrumptious sandwich. I stood there and just said, "Why?"
Two ladies were walking by and, seeing a hugely pregnant lady standing there with a quivering bottom lip and talking to herself, they asked if I was alright. I began blubbering, "I was just walking and this hornet - I guess it was a hornet - came out of nowhere and stung my arm! Why would it do that?!"
They just stared at me bewildered. I realized they didn't have an answer for that, so I asked them, "What should I do? Do I need to go to the hospital? Is it going to hurt my baby?" (Yes, I was pretty hysterical.)
More bewildered stares and then one woman blinked and said, "I guess you should probably put some ice on it. Maybe use your drink. And then call your doctor."
Well, that sounded a lot more sensible to me. I got in my car and held my cold drink to the boo-boo until I got home. I called the doc and she said it was no big deal. Overreact much?

Which brings us to today.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .

Cleaning Up

I have been trying to get my life in order. Read: less time on the computer and more time Doin' Stuff! Every time I think to sit down and blog, I realize there is a pile of junk that could be gone through or a dusty surface or 2 or 5. I realize there is a pile of laundry, a sink of dishes, a messy closet. I used to ignore these things and just sit at the computer bc dealing with these things did not make me happy and sitting at the computer did. However, the anxiety began to build. Life in clutter was stressing me out. So, I began cleaning. While the process made me miserable, the end result makes me a much happier and clear-minded person. *smile*

My bedroom was the biggest project. It had been neglected for, well, maybe for almost *shudder* a year! It is the room that is just so easy to close the door on whenever guests come buy. Every unsightly thing would be transferred there and the door shut. It was one of those projects that I had started several times, but would always be interrupted and the attempt would leave the room worse than it had previously been.

Finally, I got a day where my husband was not working and he took a day off of studying for his graduate classes and could watch our baby girl. I had almost ALL DAY uninterrupted to clean! And you know what? It didn't even take all day! It feels so good to have a clean, (somewhat) organized room! It still needs a little work, but it is in a very good place, now.

And, no, I am not posting before and after pictures. Are you kidding me? My mother reads this blog!

Oh, and may I just mention that I recently moved ALL of the furniture and rugs in my living room and did a seriously cleaning of the floors - all of this while trying to keep a crawling baby contented. This may be a regular activity for some people - but it isn't for me, and I think I deserve a "way to go!" Why, thank you!


I am supper excited to finally get my photo editing software up and running again. I have had several posts bouncing around in my head the last month, but have not wanted to post them without the accompanying pictures. Hopefully, I will get around to them, soon!

The Husband Stitch

T.M.I. ALERT!

This post discusses a topic that is not for the easily offended. In my opinion, I actually exercised a lot of restraint, but to some I may have still gone too far. Oh well. Don't read it. 

I debated about sharing this - but I just have to get it out there. Maybe I am hoping that others have a similar experience so I don't feel like such a weird-o?
Tally forth . . .

Dear "Husband Stitch",

You suck.

As the doctors went to work on my 3rd degree lacerations after the delivery of my 10lb 1oz baby girl, in my exhausted stupor I vaguely remember them saying, "Don't worry. We're going to make you BETTER than new."

BETTER THAN NEW?

What is wrong with just new?

What was wrong with me before?

Nothing. I was fine before.

Just make me like I was before, ok?

But I wasn't asked. I was just sewn. Practically shut. Not cool.

Almost 7 months later and I am still having to deal with this. Let me just say that my husband is not a big fan of this so-called "husband stitch". It's more like an ANTI-husband stitch.

Thank God for an awesome O.B. that has a bunch of little tricks up her sleeve.

Little Juniper - someday you will have a little brother or sister. Someday. Just not any time soon. Sorry.

And if you are wondering, yes, this has affected my self-confidence. Along with that, I have been more than discontented with my flabby, stretch-marked (or tiger striped!) body. But, just when I am about to have a major meltdown - I look at my little Juniper. I remember that this body made a baby. Heck, I should amazed by my body! I should give my body a little wink, wink nudge "good job!" I'd do it all over again for that precious little girl. And I just might have to if I want another one. *sigh*

Maybe I should just make a permanent TMI button. What do you think? lol

I Promise This Is Not Becoming a Breast-Feeding Blog

In light of my last 2 posts, I thought I would re-visit a blog I did several months ago concerning my struggles with nursing my daughter. I hope you enjoy! or re-enjoy!


This Sucks Because She Won't!
Warning: This post discusses boobies. If that makes you uncomfortable, read no further.

I wish I had written this closer to when the events had occurred for a better account. It just took me so darn long to remember and recount the events of my delivery that everything else was put on hold.

Anyway, we finally get baby girl home. I went about trying to do about the only thing my beat-up body should be capable of doing: feeding the baby. I had gotten some pointers from the nurse at the hospital and had attended a breast feeding class during my 9th month. I figured I was pretty prepared. I cradled Juniper in a proper feeding position - supporting her head as I had seen. I supported my breast with the other hand, waited for her mouth to open and popped the thing right into it. I thought, "Now, suck." But she didn't suck. She screamed. So, we tried again. And again. Ok, lets try the other breast. Same thing. I couldn't understand it. For hours I tried to feed her while she screamed - so tired and so hungry. I would let her suck on my finger for a few minutes and then we would try again. Again she screamed. She screamed and cried with perfectly pitiful little "Wha"s until, exhausted, she would cry herself to sleep.

This continued for 2 days. I was exasperated, exhausted, desperate and pretty much mortified. Why wouldn't my baby eat. I kept saying, "It is right here, baby. Take it!" But she would not. I was beside myself. Here it was, my biggest job as a mother - to make sure my child was fed - and I couldn't do it. Everything I had read said to keep going - that eventually the baby would feed. They said not to use a bottle bc it would cause nipple confusion. However, I was watching my baby waste away before my eyes. This pudgy little baby I had brought home from the hospital had lost almost all of her baby fat. Her double chin was replaced with saggy skin and her neck began to look like that of an old woman. Her rosy glow had turned ashen. My every instinct as a mother said to do what I could to get something into that baby's stomach. So, fighting the guilt imposed by breast-feeding nazis I broke out the hand pump. I pumped about 3oz, poured it into a bottle and popped it into her mouth. She drank! She chugged that bottle down and when she was done - no screaming. I had a completely different baby. This baby was peaceful and contented. We all sighed and laughed with relief and then we slept.

The next day we went to a lactation consultant. Juniper had lost 2.5lbs from her birth weight! That is significant. They commended me, though, on doing what I could to get something into her stomach. She was responding well with good color in her skin and would not need to be admitted to the hospital.
It turns out that my breasts were becoming so engorged that my nipples were flattening out and giving her nothing to latch on to. They gave me plastic nipple shields and Juniper took to them right away. Another sigh of relief. Also, I had the letdown of a super soaker and I was drowning her, so they encouraged me to pump a little before nursing. They sent me home with the nipple shields, storage bottles and a rented electric pump to help lessen the engorgement. Happy baby, happy mommy.
Now that she was eating we had to work on improving her latch. "It is called breast feeding, not nipple feeding," they would tell me. Well, someone tell Juniper that! I would do everything they told me to do, angling myself right, widening her mouth and shoving as much of myself in there as I could - but she would inevitably slide down to where she was only sucking on my nipple. 3 months later this is still her preference, but my skin is a lot tougher now. Then, she was biting me raw and to the point of bleeding. The nipple shield would be filled with blood and I was afraid I was creating a little vampire of a baby. With creams and soothing pads they finally healed and toughened up.

I have resigned to the fact that, though we have both greatly improved at it, she is just a fussy eater. My mom says I was the same way and that I fought her the whole time I was nursing until I weened myself around 6 months. She is also a sloooooooooow eater. She likes to take breaks and look around. She will want to stop and play and then want to eat again 10-15 minutes later, causing her feeding time to last about an hour. This makes it very difficult when in social situations. It is frustrating to keep disappearing or to stay gone for hours at a time. With my anatomy and her fussiness it makes it difficult to breastfeed her discreetly in public. This is why I typically try to keep some pumped milk with me. I just fart in the general direction of all the breastfeeding brow-beaters giving me the stink-eye. It is breast milk - but what business is it of their's how I choose or need to feed my baby. How dare they make another woman feel inferior for doing what they can to feed their child. Occasionally, Juniper's hunger is too great for my supply and I have to supplement a little formula. The BFNs (Breastfeeding Nazis) would have me to simply let my baby do without, saying it won't hurt her. Seriously? Giving her formula would do her more harm than having her go hungry? Ridiculous. If my baby is hungry, I find a way to feed her - it is instinctual. Here is a confession for all you booby bullies - sometimes I give her formula simply out of convenience. I must be a terrible mom. My child is going to grow up stupid, right? You self-righteous shamers seriously need to put a cork in it. If we wanted your opinion, we would ask. You just tend to and raise your own little organic baby geniuses. I am going to laugh when my formula feeder gets better college scholarships.
Sorry, I got a little mean and angry their. I just think its horrible when women who have tried their best but are simply unable to breastfeed are judged as bad mothers. I will get off of my soap box. However, this is my blog so I guess I shouldn't have to apologize for expressing my thoughts.
I will probably go back later and edit all of this out - after I cool down.

*I didn't cool down about it. Therefore, I never edited it out :)

Adventures in D'oh!

I am an alright cook. I'm not awesome; no one's asking me to star in my own show or anything, but I typically get good responses to what I do. I'm alright. One thing (among many) that I am not good at is baking. My success in baking pretty much begins and ends with Toll House break-away cookie squares - and sometimes I mess those up, too. I have thus decided to begin a journey. I plan to teach myself to bake and will chronicle this journey in posts entitled "Adventures in D'oh!" (Get it? Dough and Homer Simpson's expletive "D'oh"? Anyway . . .)

I begin this adventure, in keeping with my habit of being ever overly ambitious, by choosing a recipe I saw in a post by fudge ripple for homemade Ding-Dongs. This recipe calls for making devil's food cake, a fluffy filling and a chocolate ganache. Yes, that is 3 separate recipes - all from scratch. Formidable, right? Oh wait, there's more. I decided to make all of this for the Small Group from church that meets at my house on Wednesday nights. No time for a trial run. All done in one day while juggling a 4 month old and allowing time for clean-up, oh, and to make a double batch of chili, all before ppl start showing up around 6:15pm. Yes, I am an idiot.

#1 Lesson Learned: Use appropriate equipment.
I tried to skate buy by using a smaller sheet pan than suggested which made the cake have to cook twice as long as the recipe called for and also made the cake twice as thick as I needed it - which led to a deluge of issues. *sigh*
I also did not have access to a cookie cutter (though I went both to Wal-mart and to my grocery store, neither of which had a simple cookie cutter. Is it really that difficult, people?) As my friend, Kasey suggested, I could have used a glass to cut the pieces out, but I wanted more bite-sized confections that would be easy for people to just pop into their mouths. I therefore decided to use a plastic toothpick container, which cracked and broke after I used it a few times. *sigh*

#2 Lesson Learned: Adjust the mixer speed when adding ingredients.
At one point I was supposed to alternate adding dry and liquid ingredients to my mixer. I added the dry ingredients and got a cloud of cocoa powder, sugar, flour, etc. coating me and everything else within a 3' radius. I added the liquid ingredients and thus added a mixture of milk and chocolate/coffee splatters to the same surfaces. How about turning down the speed of the mixer when adding ingredients, huh? Slow down, speedy! I would like to say I learned my lesson after the first time I added the ingredients. No, it took me a few times before I figured out the solution to my problem. I know you're shaking your head at me. Its justified.

#3 Lesson Learned: Clean as you go . . .

or get a bigger kitchen with triplicates of all utensils and appliances . . . or hire a dish-washer. I was constantly needing the very measuring cup or bowl that I had just submerged in chocolaty water.

What a mess! It was all over the kitchen, it was all over me, it was all over Juniper. (No, mom. I did not feed my baby chocolate. I apparently had ganache on my shirt that I hadn't licked cleaned off before I picked her up from her nap.)

Now, if Juniper were old enough to eat chocolate, right about here I would add adorable pictures of her licking chocolate off of a spoon. But seeing as she is still to young, you will have to settle for adorable pictures of me:

Since chocolate was EVERYWHERE, I did have to lick clean the camera off after taking this picture.

Here is what fudge ripple's Ding-Dongs looked like:

And here are my messy results *sigh*:

Ganache is hard to handle, dang it! I guess this could lead to my #4 Lesson Learned: Follow the suggestions in the recipe.
She told me to use a spatula heated over a flame to smooth the ganache. I used a cold knife and my fingers. D'oh!

And finally . . .
#5 Lesson Learned: Presentation is everything.
If I had just left them looking like little turds on a plate, no one would have eaten them. However, wrap them in foil - no matter how poorly wrapped - and they become little presents with a surprise inside. Added bonus, I can then blame the poor ganache job on the foil mucking it up.

The verdict: They LOVED it! See?

They ate them all!

Moment of pure embarrassment: 
I did make 2 bigger ones after my "genius" toothpick container/cookie cutter broke. At the end of the night, I found myself announcing to the entire church group, "I've got 2 large Ding-Dongs here if anybody wants 'em!" My face turned red. They all laughed. I love them. :)
*Side note: Folks even took the extra Ding-Dongs home to share with family and friends. Yes, they liked them that much! I am SO GLAD all that hard work actually produced something, not only edible, but good and well received!

Now, what do I do with the mutilated, left-over cake?

I hear you asking, "What was Juniper doing while you were whipping up a confectional flurry in the kitchen?"
Well, part of the time she was ENTHRALLED in Blue's Clues, of all things. She actually watched 2 episodes and squealed and giggled at the characters the whole time! The only time she got fussy was when the first episode ended and she needed me to start the next one.
I always feel really guilty whenever I depend on TV to babysit. At least it was educational, right?

Now, it is your turn! I am so interested to hear your baking successes/failures. Am I alone in the world of D'oh, or do others of you have the same struggles? Let me know!
If you post about it, grab the button! Yes, it is huge. I don't know how to make it smaller.


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I am a Jungle Gym

I am a jungle gym.
I am a rock wall.
My nose, ears and eye sockets are hand-holds.
My legs, bulging belly and boobs are foot-holds.
My hair is ropes from which to swing.
I am a human jungle gym.

This is what I feel like with a rambunctious infant squirming all over me. Poor girl. She can not yet move herself to all the places she constantly and so desperately wants to be! She wants everything and is discontented by it once she has finally attained it. Restless, fickle girl. But, don't I so often feel the same way?

Rashes, rashes, rashes all over my baby's body. What are they? I am currently trying to rule-out foods by switching her back to just breast milk for a while. By comparing it to pictures on-line I do not believe it is eczema. Could it be just dryness from running a heater all winter? She has been cranky lately and my mother suggested she could be itchy - which makes sense. I guess we will be making a doctor appt. tomorrow. Arg.
Last time I took her in before her scheduled check-up bc I feared she had acid reflux I felt that they were all treating me like the overreacting mother that brings her baby in after every sneeze. But maybe it was just in my head - how they were treating me, not the acid reflux (though that may have been all in my head, as well.)


Last night I composed an entire post while lying in bed. I remember it was funny . . . but that is all I remember of it. However, I did have a dream that an ex-boyfriend of mine gained 400lbs and was crying bc he had moobs. I was trying to console him by saying that I had gained a lot of weight, too and we can find a way for us to lose weight. I think it was my subconscious's way of making me feel better about my weight-gain. It worked. But it's not true. He hasn't gained much weight . . . dang it.

And now for a little levity:
Here is Juniper having fun in her new highchair . . . and then deciding she is so over it.





I don't know why the video uploaded so pixelly. I'll figure it out next time. This time it took me over an hour to just figure out how (through trial and error) to post a video on here. I finally broke down and uploaded my very first video to YouTube. I'm one of the cool kids, now.

Delicious Demise

So, I'll give you a guess as to what my husband gave me for Valentine's Day. Go on, guess (see previous post for a hint) . . .

If you said Thin Mints, then DING DING DING you're correct! Give yourself a pat on the back. There, now don't you feel good?

Good, because I don't. Oh, he knows me well, but not well enough to keep those things away from me! I do SO LOVE them. Which is why I cannot have them. The fact that I can eat an entire box myself while watching a single episode of The Office is a source for self-loathing.

Oh, Thin Mints. My delicious demise.

And yes, Kat, they (or what is left of them due to some serious self-control) are residing in my freezer. Is there any other way? :)

Dear So and So . . .

Dear Sleeping Baby,

I am conflicted. I am always so relieved that you are sleeping and I have a few moments to myself. But at the same time I miss you and want to give you hugs. I check on you every few minutes because I love you and want to make sure you are safe and I have to fight the urge to pick you up and smother you with kisses.

I know that your naps make you a much happier baby. I am so proud of you for going to sleep even when you are not yet falling asleep in my arms and also for soothing yourself back to sleep when those unnecessarily loud pick-up trucks and motorcycles go by our house. I am considering going outside and throwing rocks at them the next time.
I love you. Keep breathing.

- Mommy of a Rested Baby

*****

Dear "."

 Well, hello again. I did not miss you during your 13 month hiatus and I am not happy to see that you have returned - with a vengeance! The headaches, soar tummy, achy muscles, lethargy and need for chocolate that you bring are not welcome. I guess I do appreciate the fact that you are a part of a functioning reproductive system that produced my precious baby. Whatever.

- Crabby Cramper

*****

Dear Girl Scouts,

Yes, if propositioned I will buy several boxes of Thin Mints. No, I do not need them nor do I really have the money to waste on those delicious boxes of cellulite that I will no doubt consume on my own. I am in a vulnerable state (see above letter.) Please stay away.

- Weak-Willed Woman

*****

Dear Stretch Marks,

You will no longer be labeled as "Stretch Marks." From now on you will be known as "Tiger Stripes." RAWRRR!!!

- A Mommy Re-Purposing Her Skin as Fashionable Body-Art

*****

Dear Winter Weather,

How I wished for you while growing up in Daytona Beach, FL. As I child I would have loved to frolic in your snow, make snow men, snow ball fights, ice skating, suck on icicles, catch your flakes on my tongue, sled, stick my tongue on a metal pole, avoid yellow snow, etc. That was back when days were empty of responsibility and filled with whimsy.
Now, a body's got places to be - things to achieve. I do not mean to sound like a grump. I did so enjoy you during your first visit . . . and some on your second. You were so pretty and such a wonder at our mountain home. I love dawning my winter coats and hand-made scarves and hats. But you are becoming down-right inconvenient and dangerous. You ice our drive-way and the mountain road on which we live. You cancel activities I have been looking forward to and you make the grocery store a mad-house. My heating bills are ridiculous as a Florida girl is not used to these temperatures. And I have a serious case of cabin fever.
You have been pretty, but it is time to go away.

- A Serious Humbug

*****

Dear Husband,

I am so happy that 3 years ago I let you marry me - and you let me marry you back. I knew you would be a great husband and father, but to experience that daily is truly a blessing. You are patient and forgiving, hard-working and devoted, loving and understanding and I LOVE you!
I thought I would be disappointed if our baby began looking more like you than me, but I have to say, you make one beautiful baby! (Let's make more.)
Happy Valentine's Day!!!

- Your Lucky Wife

*****

Dear Readers,

Thank you for taking an interest! Check out Kat's website for more "Dear So and So"s.

- Linzi

This Sucks Because She Won't!

Warning: This post discusses boobies. If that makes you uncomfortable, read no further.

I wish I had written this closer to when the events had occurred for a better account. It just took me so darn long to remember and recount the events of my delivery that everything else was put on hold.

Anyway, we finally get baby girl home. I went about trying to do about the only thing my beat-up body should be capable of doing: feeding the baby. I had gotten some pointers from the nurse at the hospital and had attended a breast feeding class during my 9th month. I figured I was pretty prepared. I cradled Juniper in a proper feeding position - supporting her head as I had seen. I supported my breast with the other hand, waited for her mouth to open and popped the thing right into it. I thought, "Now, suck." But she didn't suck. She screamed. So, we tried again. And again. Ok, lets try the other breast. Same thing. I couldn't understand it. For hours I tried to feed her while she screamed - so tired and so hungry. I would let her suck on my finger for a few minutes and then we would try again. Again she screamed. She screamed and cried with perfectly pitiful little "Wha"s until, exhausted, she would cry herself to sleep.

This continued for 2 days. I was exasperated, exhausted, desperate and pretty much mortified. Why wouldn't my baby eat. I kept saying, "It is right here, baby. Take it!" But she would not. I was beside myself. Here it was, my biggest job as a mother - to make sure my child was fed - and I couldn't do it. Everything I had read said to keep going - that eventually the baby would feed. They said not to use a bottle bc it would cause nipple confusion. However, I was watching my baby waste away before my eyes. This pudgy little baby I had brought home from the hospital had lost almost all of her baby fat. Her double chin was replaced with saggy skin and her neck began to look like that of an old woman. Her rosy glow had turned ashen. My every instinct as a mother said to do what I could to get something into that baby's stomach. So, fighting the guilt imposed by breast-feeding nazis I broke out the hand pump. I pumped about 3oz, poured it into a bottle and popped it into her mouth. She drank! She chugged that bottle down and when she was done - no screaming. I had a completely different baby. This baby was peaceful and contented. We all sighed and laughed with relief and then we slept.

The next day we went to a lactation consultant. Juniper had lost 2.5lbs from her birth weight! That is significant. They commended me, though, on doing what I could to get something into her stomach. She was responding well with good color in her skin and would not need to be admitted to the hospital.
It turns out that my breasts were becoming so engorged that my nipples were flattening out and giving her nothing to latch on to. They gave me plastic nipple shields and Juniper took to them right away. Another sigh of relief. Also, I had the letdown of a super soaker and I was drowning her, so they encouraged me to pump a little before nursing. They sent me home with the nipple shields, storage bottles and a rented electric pump to help lessen the engorgement. Happy baby, happy mommy.
Now that she was eating we had to work on improving her latch. "It is called breast feeding, not nipple feeding," they would tell me. Well, someone tell Juniper that! I would do everything they told me to do, angling myself right, widening her mouth and shoving as much of myself in there as I could - but she would inevitably slide down to where she was only sucking on my nipple. 3 months later this is still her preference, but my skin is a lot tougher now. Then, she was biting me raw and to the point of bleeding. The nipple shield would be filled with blood and I was afraid I was creating a little vampire of a baby. With creams and soothing pads they finally healed and toughened up.

I have resigned to the fact that, though we have both greatly improved at it, she is just a fussy eater. My mom says I was the same way and that I fought her the whole time I was nursing until I weened myself around 6 months. She is also a sloooooooooow eater. She likes to take breaks and look around. She will want to stop and play and then want to eat again 10-15 minutes later, causing her feeding time to last about an hour. This makes it very difficult when in social situations. It is frustrating to keep disappearing or to stay gone for hours at a time. With my anatomy and her fussiness it makes it difficult to breastfeed her discreetly in public. This is why I typically try to keep some pumped milk with me. I just fart in the general direction of all the breastfeeding brow-beaters giving me the stink-eye. It is breast milk - but what business is it of their's how I choose or need to feed my baby. How dare they make another woman feel inferior for doing what they can to feed their child. Occasionally, Juniper's hunger is too great for my supply and I have to supplement a little formula. The BFNs (Breastfeeding Nazis) would have me to simply let my baby do without, saying it won't hurt her. Seriously? Giving her formula would do her more harm than having her go hungry? Ridiculous. If my baby is hungry, I find a way to feed her - it is instinctual. Here is a confession for all you booby bullies - sometimes I give her formula simply out of convenience. I must be a terrible mom. My child is going to grow up stupid, right? You self-righteous shamers seriously need to put a cork in it. If we wanted your opinion, we would ask. You just tend to and raise your own little organic baby geniuses. I am going to laugh when my formula feeder gets better college scholarships.
Sorry, I got a little mean and angry their. I just think its horrible when women who have tried their best but are simply unable to breastfeed are judged as bad mothers. I will get off of my soap box. However, this is my blog so I guess I shouldn't have to apologize for expressing my thoughts.
I will probably go back later and edit all of this out - after I cool down.

Our Delivery Experience

With the baby 2 weeks overdue we had an induction scheduled for 8am Tuesday, September 29th, however I was praying that the whole process would begin on its own.

Monday night around 10:45 I got off of the phone with my mom, used the restroom and then went into the baby's room (temporarily an office) to talk to Erik. I opened my mouth to speak to him and started to sit down in the pink rocker when, OOPS! My eyes got big. Was I not finished going to the bathroom? I clamped my legs together and waddled towards the bathroom but as soon as I got through the door I felt warmth running down my leg. I was shocked! I couldn't make it stop! I thought, "Am I really wetting myself right now?!" Then it dawned on me. Could this be my water breaking? Erik thought it was and said we needed to head to the hospital. I called my mom and described it and she said I needed to head to the hospital, too. I wasn't so convinced. So, while Erik tried to contact the doctor via phone, I got on-line and looked up Yahoo Answers on what it is like when your water breaks and what you should do - because apparently I trust complete strangers over my own family.
Convinced by the internets, I agree to let Erik take me to the hospital. We throw our bags in the car (bags that I have had packed for over a month) and head down the road. About 3 minutes into the drive the doctor calls back and confirms that it sounds like my water broke and they will be expecting us at the hospital.

I'm in a good mood and very excited this labor has started on its own - despite the fact that I still feel no contractions. Erik drops me off at the ER entrance. I waddle in and inform them that my water broke. They call someone and say, "We've got another one." (Popular night?) While I wait for the escort Erik arrives from parking the car. Santa Clause in a Swine Flu mask shows up and tells us to follow him. (Not really Santa Clause - just a big man with a white beard. Come on, people. Keep up!) He takes us upstairs to the Labor and Delivery desk where I see another woman waiting to be taken to a room. She is sitting in a wheel chair and looking miserable. I cheerfully say, "You, too?!" She gives me a pained smile that says "Shut-up." I follow the nurse to my room with not just a waddle but a bounce in my step.

They set to hooking me up to machines to monitor the baby's heartbeat and my contractions as well as hooking me up to an IV of fluids and antibiotics needed for the presence of Strep B. They checked and confirmed that indeed my water had broken. They also discovered the presence of meconium - typical for babies that are 2 weeks overdue, but it means that she needed to get out of the contaminated amniotic fluid within 24 hours to avoid infection. Not only that, but they also discovered that though her head was down, she was facing to the side instead of to the ground. They tried several times throughout the labor to turn her, but she would not be moved! (Stubborn girl.)

The first 7 or so hours at the hospital I spent walking around or chilling in bed and thinking, "This isn't so bad."

I was 7cm and still not contracting on my own so they started me on evil Petocin. At this point I also opted for an epidural. (Gosh, those sting going in!) Unfortunately, the epidural rarely worked. I was experiencing TERRIBLE, ragged, rapid-fire contractions and could do nothing, not even getting out of bed, to handle the pain. They kept sending the anesthesiologist into my room to give me shots and doses of pain meds and still could not manage my pain. At one point Erik was sitting by my bed and holding my hand while I moaned through the contractions, they became so intense and were coming in such rapid succession without relief that I began to sob as I moaned and could not stop. Finally the contractions subsided for a minute and I looked up at Erik. He had tears running down his face and said, "I'm so sorry I did this to you." It was so hard for him to see me in such pain. I chuckled and reassured him that I was okay and, though the pain SUCKED, I knew it would be worth it.

From here on everything is a blur and Erik has had to help me fill in the details.

At this point I have been in labor for 22 hours - mostly w/o any working pain medication though there was an epidural in my back that forced me to stay on my back in bed instead of being able to get up and do various pain management techniques. (Suck.) Erik goes to find the nurses to tell them that we need to get this thing going as it is nearing the 24 hour mark and I am not doing well. (Apparently they were eating dinner.) They come in and have me push twice. I successfully urinate all over the table. I apologize over and over. They just looked at each other annoyed and ask who didn't drain my bladder when it was supposed to be done as they lift me up and change the bed dressings. After the pushing they acknowledge that my baby is rather big and is not turning the way they would have liked her to. 

They give me 2 options: either a C-section or vaginal birth aided by forceps. I have educated myself on the pros and cons of both and I know that the doctor that is on call happens to be the hospital's "expert" on forceps births. I decided to take my chances that possibly the forceps birth will be less invasive and have less damage. Dun dun duuuuuuuuuuuun! (That is menacing foreshadowing music.)

Erik tells me that another 2 hours go buy as they are gathering all the appropriate people and prepping me and the equipment for delivery. The next thing I am conscious of is opening my eyes to remind them to finally get some good medicine into me before the procedure. I was shocked to see about 8 medical personnel in my room. I am told that 2 or 3 of them were from NICU. Since the baby has been swimming in meconium contaminated fluid for so long there is a possibility for infection. Also, unbeknownst to me, they are expecting somewhat of an arduous delivery (which should have been apparent from the presence of so many people in my room, but I was pretty out of it. I had no idea how traumatic it would be.) For this reason the NICU nurses are there to help stabilize the baby after delivery. There was also an anesthesiologist, 2 or 3 nurses and 2 doctors.

The next thing I know it is midnight and we are underway. They have raised my bed to their chest level and are inserting a speculum. Fortunately, they have finally managed my pain so I am feeling the pressure of the activity but not the pain.

They tell me to push and I bare down with all my might. The best way I can describe pushing during delivery is you push as if you're trying to poo. Seriously. I kept imagining taking a dump. This must be right bc they kept telling me I was a great pusher. Anyway, I believe I was passing out between each push. I just remember every now and then waking up and drowsily asking if I should push. I gave a big push and felt the head lodge in my opening. Erik says, "I see hair!" I remember thinking, "This is really happening." Why this only just occurred to me, I don't know.

The next time I come to, I look up and see a doctor's rear-end in my face. She has climbed on top of the table and is straddling me. The baby's shoulder has gotten stuck under my pelvic bone and they need to remove her quickly for the safety of the baby. Erik says this was a terrifying time for him. He sees the horrifying sight of our baby's head and one arm hanging out of me. She is completely blue and is not moving. Then he looks at me and sees that I keep passing out and am totally delirious. My body is being jerked around by the doctor who is on top of me pushing my belly and pulling and twisting the baby. He is standing in the corner traumatized, asking God if he is going to have to choose one of us and agonizing over which one it would be.

With one mighty yank and twist she is out. I hear Erik's shaky voice saying we are going to be alright and that she looks great. I turn to look at him and am not very reassured. His smile is forced, his tear-rimmed eyes look mortified and he is completely pale. I keep saying, "Is she okay? I can't hear her. Why isn't she crying?" They have given her directly to the NICU nurses who are attempting to stabilize her. She does not cry bc they immediately stick a tube down her throat, I am told, to prevent infection from the tainted amniotic fluids. I am told that she is 10lbs 1oz and 22in long. Big girl. I am so impressed that I immediately pass out again.

After a minute I hear her soft cries. She is not a screamer. Her cries have always seemed more like cooes. They place her on my chest and there she is - this thing - this something that I immediately love and find so strange and foreign at the same time. I sense her need. My body longs to warm her's, to nurture her. Her head begins to move, her mouth already opening and closing, searching for food. I help her find it - only we have both miscalculated and I pull her off to find we have completely missed the nipple and she has created a raised hickey beside it. We try again - it is a learning process that even 3 months later is still developing.

Not only am I helping this little one, but she is helping me. She is the best pain medicine. I do not even notice the two doctors at my other end busily working to stitch up my 3rd degree lacerations - vaginal and rectal. Soon they come to take my little girl again. Her APGAR score was initially very low and they must run the test again. Fortunately, this is all done in my delivery room. Unfortunately, as soon as they remove her from my chest I become painfully aware of what is taking place down below. I inform the doctors that I can feel everything they are doing. They tell me that I can't and I am only feeling the pressure of what they are doing. I tell them I know what I am feeling and what I am feeling is needle piercing my skin repeatedly and thread being drawn through me as if I am a leather bookmark craft at boyscout camp. They look at each other and say, "I think she needs some more pain meds." Yuh think?

I am now coherent enough to begin asking Erik questions. "What did we name her?" He said we named her what we had decided upon. We had decided upon it but I was a little disappointed. Did we make a good choice. I don't even know this baby. Maybe the name doesn't fit her. I had these nagging feelings for 2 weeks and even stumbled over saying her name as it did not yet come to my mouth easily. But as she became less foreign to me, so did her name until it became her - definitively. My little Juniper Grace.

"Did you cut the umbilical chord?" Erik said the nurse did it as soon as they delivered her. I began to apologize that he didn't get the opportunity but he threw his arms up and said he was happy to let them do it. He was not about to step into the madness that was taking place.

"They need to take her foot prints. Did they take her foot prints?" Apparently they took them while she was with the NICU nurses. That kind of bummed me out. I would have liked to watch that or at least have gotten a picture of it.

The nurses asked me if I needed anything. "A turkey sandwich with cheese, lettuce and mayonnaise, a piece of fruit and ginger-ale." I was starving! I hadn't had anything to eat in over 28 hours, and after all of that physical exertion and all of the fluids and meds being pumped into me I just wanted something in my belly - other than a baby. That was the best turkey sandwich I have ever had.

They move me up to the mother-baby floor where I remain in my private room for the next 3 days. My mother comes later that day and we soon realize that none of the clothes I brought to the hospital are going to fit this 10lb 1oz, 22in long baby I just had. She runs to the store and picks up a couple adorable outfits so that my baby does not go home naked.

The nurse shows me how to tend to my stitches which involves ice packs that you break and shake like glow sticks, tucks pads, steroid foam, mammoth maxi pads, gauzy granny panties (a God-send), squirt bottles and warm baths sans soap. I am on a regular diet of 600mg ibuprofen, percocet (AMEN!) and stool softeners (DO NOT skip those stool softners, ladies. I will probably elaborate in another post.) So, I am feeling pretty good.

We let Erik go home to sleep that first night as he definitely needs some time to re-coop after all he has witnessed. My mother stays on a bench made up as a bed. Erik stays the next 2 nights with me. During this time I am allowed no visitors as they have become very strict about who they let onto the floor due to the concerns over H1N1 (swine flu.) Fortunately, my friend Laura Bennett had begun training at the hospital for a new job that week so she was able to stop by. That was nice. On the 3rd day they ask if I would like to stay longer. My ordeal has made Juniper and I something of celebrities on the floor with many nurses and doctors stopping by to check on us and pat themselves on the back for their accomplishment. They tell me I deserve to stay as long as I want, but I am eager to get my little one home.

Before we can depart, Juniper must take and pass a hearing test. Though I was told that she would not be taken from my room for any reason, they come and wheel her out for the test. She does not like being taken away and therefore cries throughout the test, causing her to fail. The next time they come to take her for the test I ask if Erik can go with her so she can have someone familiar with her. I was told in orientation this was completely acceptable, however the nurse acts very put off and tries to refuse. I insist. Still, Juniper cries and does not pass. I ask, as I had asked from the beginning, that they please give her the test in my room. I know they are capable of doing this and was told it was done often. Apparently the nurse was offended, believing that I am insinuating that she does not know how to do her job. Whatever. It ends up taking several hours to get someone to come to my room to perform the test on Juniper. I nurse her during the test to keep her calm. She passes with flying colors. Geesh.

Now we can go home. An exhausted nurse asks if I need a wheel chair or if I can just walk out. I say that I guess I can walk - I don't want to wait another hour for a wheel chair. Have you ever heard of a new mother leaving the hospital w/o a wheel chair? Especially one with 3rd degree lacerations? I know!

It was an ordeal - but I swear I would do every bit of it 100 times over if I meant I could have my wonderful baby girl. We finally got her home - and now the real adventure begins!