Things that make you go hmmmmm....

I saw my midwife yesterday because I mistook back spasms for contractions. This is kind of embarrassing, especially since this isn't my first baby and I've experienced contractions before so you'd think I'd know what they feel like, but I'm not going to beat myself up about it. If you're 35 weeks along and have episodes of severe pain across your lower back that come along every hour or so, you can be forgiven for thinking they are contractions. As it turns out, however, this baby is no closer to the light of day than he was a few days ago, but they were extremely painful. Anyway, the point of the story is that I left the office with a prescription for tylenol with codeine. Right on the prescription it says 'take every 4 hours as needed'. When the midwife suggested it I asked her skeptically if taking codeine was really safe while pregnant (editor's note: I am not actually planning on filling this prescription, assurances of safety or no) and she assured me that there was nothing to worry about.

Now, I'd just like to volunteer that it's a little odd that taking tylenol with codeine every 4 hours as needed is absolutely nothing to worry about, but caffeine, deli meat, soft cheeses and the occasional glass of wine are all on the official pregnancy forbidden list. I mean, really, makes you think twice about declining that turkey sandwich, or second cup of coffee, doesn't it?

Disaster Strikes

First of all, thanks for all your input on my previous post. The decision has been made, the original baby name stands. I appreciated all the considered replies, and think the winning point in its favor was made by Ashley (hi Ash! miss you!) who noted that since it's what I've been thinking of the baby as for all this time, it's going to be really, really hard to completely switch gears and think of him by another name. For better or worse, the baby has been named, so if there are 20 boys with the same name in his 5th grade class....he'll live. Like I said, there were numerous other Jennifers in mine, and I'm not scarred by the experience.

Speaking of the other Cox spawn in the house, I have come to a decision, and that is that never again will I let Owen go on an overnight trip without me until he has reached the age of reason. This past weekend my parents helpfully volunteered to take Owen up to their house for the weekend so we could get the house organized and some essential projects finished before baby comes. That is, it was helpful until he returned home and every stitch of sleep training we have done and all the progress we have made was promptly undone and Owen and I (but not Andy, who somehow has managed to excuse himself from parenting duties that occur between 10pm and 5am) were locked in a battle to the death last night pretty much every hour on the hour from midnight on. It doesn't help that both he and I have developed bad colds, which further disrupted sleep ability. It's no one's fault, but the fact is that Owen is a very, very sensitive kid to changes in his routine and he just can't handle the disruption of us being away from him. This happened when we went to Florida too (only much, much worse - he was a disaster for almost two weeks afterward) and it's just not worth it. This is going to make the having of baby 2 very tricky, as I think for all our sake's, Owen is going to need to stay with a parent. This may mean that Andy doesn't get the full hospital experience this time and instead goes home after the baby is born to stay with Owen. I think that might be the best way.

A rose by any other name?

This blog doesn't usually generate many comments, but I'm actually actively seeking opinions on this one. So if you have one, chime in.

The baby currently still cooking has been named for about 15 weeks now. After a surprising amount of debate, given our very quick selection and approval process with Owen, we picked a name that we thought had a good balance of uncommon and normal. That is to say, it wasn't Joe, but it wasn't Dweezil, either.

This not-too-common name, however, has turned out to be much more Joe-like than we thought. Despite the fact that prior to choosing it I knew only one little boy with this name, I have since met or heard of (through mom friends and friends of mom-friends, or seen written on cubbies at Owen's school) a total of 8 more, just in my reasonably small network alone. I'm starting to feel like now maybe our name is a little overnamed. Not that it's terrible to have a common name, but the whole point was to avoid a situation where what Jennifer is to 1980 my kid's name is to 2010, you know? Then again, I grew up as a Jennifer, and it was fine. I never felt super put out about having a very common name. But, I certainly did wish my name was Katrina for a number of years (number of Jennifers in my graduating 8th grade class: approximately 30. Number of Katrinas: 1). In retrospect, I suppose I am now glad my name isn't Katrina, but that's neither here nor there.

Anyway, without writing the name (although I am aware there are some readers who already know it), what do you think? Go with what is turning out to be a very popular name, because it was our first choice and we like it? Or go back to the drawing board and come up with another name that is normal, but a little more unique? 2 or 3 years ago when 1 in 3 girls were being named Madison I remember wondering what all those parents were thinking. Now I feel like we're in the same boat. The reason I'm not sharing the actual name is because it's not about the name, its about the relative popularity of the name. Meaning, I'm looking for objective opinions.

If we like the name, does it matter if it's really common? Or is it better to avoid the trendy names, and go with something a little more classic?

Still Celebrating the Season

Tonight I took Owen to have his picture taken at the studio at the Atrium mall. The woman assigned to us was practically a miracle worker, as far as I'm concerned. Owen's behavior in general runs the gamut from charmingly rambunctious to birth control, and tonight he was an absolute disaster. We got to the mall an hour early because I was thinking I could maybe get a little christmas shopping in before our appointment. Fail. Owen would not stay in the stroller and did about $60 worth of damage at Williams-Sonoma before I managed to pig-wrestle him up to the indoor playspace on the 4th floor, where he could at least run around like a maniac without costing me anything. After 45 minutes of letting him do that, I started to think it was a brilliant strategy - he'd be docile and accomodating when it came time for the photos. Wrong. So, so wrong. When we got to the studio he was TERRIBLE, and I sat there cursing myself for even coming up with the stupid picture idea in the first place. Owen kept running away - not just away from the photographer, but OUT OF THE STUDIO ITSELF into the mall. When he wasn't doing that, he was pulling on the backdrop canvases, knocking over all her props, and sticking his fingers into anything even vaguely electrical looking.I did my best to keep him on task, but it's no easy feat to whale myself around these days, and I was pretty much doing a lousy job of toddler managing. So it was actually a shock, when she finally showed me the pictures, to see that some of them came out really well despite the mayhem. In 24 hours, you will be able to see the photos for yourselves (apparently they post them online 24 hours after the session, so start checking around 8 tomorrow evening). There are two separate sets of directions, for grandparents and non-grandparents, so pay attention.

Instructions for non-grandparents:

go to www.portraitsimple.com
select 'portraits online' followed by the studio location, which is the atrium mall in chestnut hill, ma
the password is 2803
enjoy

Instructions for grandparents

see above. However, when you get to the point where you have the option to purchace prints, I advise that you...don't. I am sure you don't think I had Owen's picture taken two weeks before Christmas with no intention of using said photos as Christmas gifts. Furthermore, if you don't like the prints I chose, I have it on good authority that there is a giant sale in January and all the pictures you had taken in 2009 are heavily discounted. Plus, we are now 'members' of the studio and if I go back and buy more prints, I get 10% off (even off the discounted January prices). So hold your horses until after the holidays, is what I'm saying.

Cards

I finally managed to order our holiday cards, and they arrived today. I was so proud of myself for actually taking a picture, selecting a card on snapfish and ordering them before January 1 that I forgot when they arrived I would actually have to address and mail them. God, life is exhausting. Anyway, they're really not that cute. I thought they were when I ordered them, but the mockup on the snapfish website is just so damn small, that the expression on Owen's face that I thought was 'holiday excitement' looks more like 'surprise bordering on fear' on the final product. Don't worry, if you're one of my 10 faithful readers you're certainly on the list of people who will get one, so you can see for yourself. If I ever mail them, that is. Anyway, last year we ordered 40 and ran out. I distinctly remember feeling badly about several people who did not get one, so this year I ordered 60. And now that they're here, I cannot for the life of me think of 60 people that I even know, let alone need to send a holiday card to. I'm soliciting suggestions, so if you can think of someone who needs to be wished peace and health in the new year send me thier address. There's really only so many off-label uses for a photo holiday card.

Speaking of photos, I've been toying with the idea of bringing Owen to visit Santa this weekend. I'm very firmly of the opinion that my kids are not going to believe in Santa (save your outrage, people. It's not going to scar them. And if they want to do the whole santa thing with thier kids, I won't take it personally) so I'm not sure I really want to do that. But I guess you can get the benefit of the cute photo-op without having to explain Santa as anything more than a decorative accent to the holiday, like a Christmas tree. Especially this young. Anyway, so we might do that, and if that picture comes out nicely, maybe I'll scrap these cards and order another set.

Then again, that would probably result in 120 cards sitting on my counter making fun of me for not being able to get things done.

Updates

A quick post to provide some updates:

1) Ferber: outcome excellent. I love him. If I wasn't married I would write a letter - better! rent a skywriter! - and ask him to marry me. In fact, I might do that anyway. We followed the plan, it sucked and then it worked, and now Owen is sleeping through the night. Until at least 5:30. I'll take it.

2) Big boy bed: see above. The remaining hurdle is, as predicted, naps. He won't nap in it unless I can get him to fall asleep first (for instance, driving him around in the car) and then transferring him. He doesn't sleep in a crib at daycare, though, so I'm not sure why the naps issue is such a no-go on weekends, especially when the night time bed is going so well. So, a mixed bag but mostly good.

3) Pregnancy: things could be going better. I'm much more uncomfortable than I was last time. The injury I sustained at 22 weeks to my left hip hasn't healed, and my back hurts a lot more this time around. I feel this can probably be directly attributed to the fact that last time I didn't need to haul around a 30lb toddler constantly. I also got diagnosed with gestational diabetes yesterday, which completely shocked me and is a total bummer (let's be real, the only upside to being pregnant over the holidays is the dessert table). I'm also now fearing a 14lb newborn. Only time - 7 weeks and change, but who's counting, really - will tell.

4) Christmas: I still hate it. Nonetheless we are now the owners of 3 (!) advent calendars and I am good naturedly going through the motions of opening them up one day at a time, so look what a good sport I am. This weekend we'll decorate seasonally, and we recently inherited enough Christmas decorations to outfit santa's village at Bloomingdales so I'm sure our house will be a sight in a few days. I'm even letting Owen listen to Christmas carols on the radio and Andy has forced me to stop lecturing Owen on rampant commercialism and manufactured sentiment. I might even take Owen to see Santa. I say again: look what a good sport I am.

5) Kitty: um, a handful. At dinner Andy asked me if the MSPCA is open on Saturdays. I didn't really ask him why he wanted to know, but well, Kitty, if you're reading this, I'd encourage you to get your act together. stat.

Sorry

Sorry for the interruption in service. The blog settings got messed up. You don't need to be invited to follow the intrepid adventures of team Cox...I believe I've fixed the problem and if it happens again shoot me an email.

Blinded by love for thier offspring....

Parents do really dumb things.

 

About a week ago, we acquired a small black kitten that seemingly had nowhere else to go. You could argue that the appropriate thing to do would have been to take him to the shelter, but it's hard to overstate the case when describing how much Owen LOVES this kitten. I swear the first day we had him in the house was the very best day of Owen's life - and how can you take away the root cause of the very best day of your child's (admittedly, short) life? you can't. Hence, we are now the proud owners of kitty the cat. We've tried and failed to explain the concept of proper names to Owen, so it seems that Kitty is, by default, the newest member of our family's name. Good thing we're not letting Owen name the new baby, or we would certainly end up with a child named 'baby'.

Kitty is remarkably patient with Owen. Owen spends most of his time chasing him, and probably catches him about 60% of the time. Clearly, Kitty is letting himself be caught because if he wanted to, he could camp out in the top back corner of the nearest closet and let Owen have nothing to do with him. Instead, he allows Owen to carry him all over the house (frequently upside down), kiss him wetly and repeatedly, roll around on the floor clutching him and giving him hugs, and chase him until they're both exhausted. Earlier this evening I took a series of pictures (which sadly, I cannot make Blogger upload right now) in which Owen manhandled Kitty to the point that I was sure any other feline on the face of the earth would have taken his face off, but Kitty purred and was a good sport the whole time. I have to say, all the reasons we shouldn't have acquired anything new to take care of right now - and you're right, there are many - become totally moot every time we pull up to the house now and Owen starts shouting "KITTY! KITTY! KITTY!". I've really never seen anything make him as happy. So yep, we now have to get a cat sitter when we travel. And with our luck, Owen will be off at college someday and we'll be giving insulin injections 6x daily to our geriatric, diabetic cat. And it will probably scratch up everything we own and shed and drive us nuts all night.

But really, HOW could we say no?

Dear Dr. Ferber

Dear Dr. Ferber,

I would like to take this opportunity to apologize for calling you an overhyped quack who doesn't know what he's talking about. I know we've never met and so technically I could have gotten away without apologizing, but I believe in giving credit where credit is due and I feel badly for maligning your good name for the past 20 months. After a third reading of the revised edition of "Solve Your Child's Sleep Problems", I have finally realized that I was not following your instructions precisely as laid out in your treatment plan, and so was judging the results unfairly.I have now learned that it is important to adhere to the letter rather than just the spirit of the program, and I also finally sucked it up and let Owen cry for 5 (yes 5) hours without breaking down and letting him get some sleep in either my bed or his. I even observed the full 10 minute waiting period before going in for each check in and back pat, a period of time which hertofore has seemed excessive and I have always capped at 5 minutes. Miracle of miracles, for the first time in almost two years, we seem to be making headway on the sleep issue. Last night Owen slept in his own bed for the whole night, with only two minimal episodes of crying and both times was resettled without a parent getting into his bed, just like you said would happen if we followed the program exactly as written. Amazing.
I promise to follow all your instructions from now on, even though it's going to make us far less flexible than we would otherwise be for the next 30 days. I will not doubt you again.

Your devoted servant and biggest fan,

Jenny

Revelations while playing hookey.

I didn't go to work today, and the only thing that was on the to-do list was go to target, so I figured Owen and I would take a little field trip. And then I remembered that I had been hearing really good things about a new indoor playground that had opened in Watertown. A quick google revealed the indoor playground to be 5 minutes away from the target, so the fates were aligned. Early this morning, we packed up a bag and headed to The Inside Playground (100 Parker St., Watertown: http://www.insideplayground.com/). What a fabulous, fabulous idea. It was a huge indoor space, maybe the size of an indoor rec complex that can hold two hockey rinks or indoor soccer arenas filled with every toy you can imagine. Ride on toys, push toys, trucks, planes, legos, dress up clothes, play kitchens, a ball pit, a giant sesame street bouncy house (side note: One thing I am adamant about is that Owen not watch television. And no sooner than do we walk in the door he starts pointing at the bounce house and yelling, "ELMO!" Seriously? I want to know: how does he know Elmo?)plus a huge, 20 foot inflatable train. If you're two, this place is pretty much the best thing that ever happened to you. And I think it was perfectly priced, at $10. You can stay as long as you want - we stayed from about 9-12. It wasn't so much that it was prohibitive to go there but not so little that it was a zoo. Owen had a fabulous time, and I was thanking my lucky stars that I found it before the winter came and we face long, dreary days stuck inside. Anyway, at noon I decided I'd better get a move on if I wanted to feed Owen and run errands at Target before he started having a must-nap meltdown, so we left. It just so happens that there's a Friendly's in the parking lot of Target, and I thought - hey, why not. We're playing hookey from work and school, might as well make an event out of it. And so I set foot in a Friendly's for the first time since high school. I didn't have high expectations of the food, but was pleasantly surprised - the kids menu actually had pretty good choices. Yes, there was a selection of fried and cheesed items, but you could swap out the fries for broccoli, steamed veggies, mandarin oranges, white rice, applesauce, baked potato, etc, OR you could combine a bunch of healthy sides for lunch, which is what we did. (Owen won't eat hamburgers or hotdogs anyway, but can put the hurt on mandarin oranges). In that case, I felt much better about him eating the clown sundae (you know I couldn't take him to friendly's and not get this) that came free with the kid's meal. Add a salad for me, and it was overall a pretty good experience for $13.50. Go Friendly's. Who knew? We ran our quick errand at Target and hit the car just about 1:30, late enough that Owen's eyes closed the minute he hit the carseat. Perfect day out: Major success.

Our great day made me, oddly, appreciate being a working mom. You might think that I would be thinking, "Oh, I wish I didn't have to work! Wouldn't life be awesome if I was home all the time?" But instead, it inspired the opposite feeling. I had a great time at the indoor playground - really, I spent three hours chasing Owen on various ride on toys, building towers, and jumping in the bounce house, and it was a certified blast. But I can't sustain that level of interest in toddler pursuits day in and day out. There are people out there that can - and I am grateful that I can pay them to do so while I apply the talents I do have to another productive endeavor. I don't have the perfect job right now, but I certainly don't mind working. And I don't feel like I work too much. What I do feel is that I wish there were just a couple more hours in each day, so that I could spend just a little bit more time with Owen than I get to. But not a LOT more time, just a little more time. An hour or two. That would be nice. Short of that, I wish I could outsource more of the stuff I hate: cleaning, shopping, organizing, cooking. And if I could somehow do both at the same time? Well that would be perfect.

I know there are people out there who still think that being a good mom means being a full time mom (sadly, some of them are so rude as to actually make their opinions known in the company of working moms. Way to be an ass.) But I think that ultimately, staying home because you think that's what a good mom should do when you're not cut out to do it won't make you a good mom. I think it would make me a resentful, bored, and probably depressed mom. In fact, if I could make improvements to the situation I have now (which is truthfully, pretty good) I would get a MORE challenging (or at least interesting) job, work about 8 fewer hours per week, and pay someone to do the stuff "good" moms do - clean bathrooms and bake pies and make dinner and make sure the baby has had a bath in the past couple days. I know plenty of people who are staying at home because they like doing those things. For a long time, I think I thought that even if you didn't like those things, staying home and doing them ANYWAY was what you should do if you could. But I've been thinking alot about it lately, and today I realized that that's not the case at all. If staying home suits you, then great. But if it doesn't, you're still being a good parent. The trick, I think, is to find ways to maximize the quality time you do have while not feeling guilty about the mundane time you don't have.

Anyway, enough rambling. the point is, we had an awesome day, which has capped off a pretty awesome week for Owen. More on that later, when I get some pictures uploaded.

Norwegian Star Hat

As a general rule, I don't like to make any knitting project twice. That would be boring, and besides, there are so many patterns out there that I want to make, I don't have time to waste going back and doing something I've already done. But I'm going to make an exception in this case. I made Owen this Norwegian Star pattern hat for the winter:




While I was making it, Andy said "when are you going to make me a hat?" and I told him that I would make one that matches this one. Because as you may know I have a weakness for anything that involves dressing Andy and Owen alike. And then I realized that in a scant 10 weeks I am going to have THREE boys to torture and embarrass by insisting they dress alike. So there's pretty much no option: if Andy's getting a Norwegian Star Hat, then so is the new baby. So stay tuned. Because those pictures are going to be awesome.

Big Boy Bed, Part 2: Night 1

well. I'm as surprised as anyone - more surprised, actually, I assure you - that the reprot on the debut of the big boy bed is not that bad. Overall, weighted to the positive, even. I expected a disaster, and we actually ended up with a moderate degree of success. Not that I got any sleep - I was awake all night, anxiously anticipating the *THUMP* and subsequent screams that never materialized. I was so worked up about it I ended up getting up and making a cup of tea at 2:40, hoping that would work. But until a little after 4, I heard....nothing.

Now, we did stack the deck - we basically skipped his nap yesterday and then kept him up an hour and 15 minutes later than normal to the point where he was trying to put himself to bed on the living room rug, handing me back toys and saying "night night. night night". I figured this would make the boundaries of the cage-free sleeping arrangements less tempting to test, and to a degree it seems to have worked. He did wake up crying at around 11, but I went in and rubbed his back for awhile and was able to get him back sleeping and successfully sneak out.

at about 10 past 4, he woke up crying. I found him sitting up in bed, crying to be picked up. He clearly didn't associate that he could just get out, and I wasn't about to illustrate it for him. I got into bed with him, and he tried and failed to go back to sleep. He closed his eyes, but he embarked on the famous routine where he flails around, keeps checking to make sure I'm there, insists on wrapping his hands in my hair, and kicks like a donkey. He kept this up until 5:15, when he fell back asleep again. When I finally managed to nod back off, he was up for the day. Luckily, Andy was kind enough to let me return to my bed and sleep in until 9:45.

Overall, the score: Owen stayed in the new bed all night. He woke up MUCH later than he normally does (with the exception of 11:30, but I'm willing to discount that since I was still up, and he went back to sleep). He still ended up sleeping with a parent - not ideal, but at least not in our bed. He still has this weird, restless, half awake half asleep state that results in screaming if you leave him alone but prevents you from sleeping and also results in severe battery if you stay, which is bad. But on the bright side, I only had to endure it for about an hour rather than 2 or three which is what happens most night.

We still have a long way to go - I have no idea what naptime will bring. He's notoriously more resistant to naps then to bedtime, and might take that opportunity to just climb out. Also, as we have learned many, many times in this great parenting experiement, nothing is generalizable from one experience. We'll see how it's going in a week.

And ultimately, it can still be classified as an overall fail because I still ended up in the bed with him - not sleeping. But I really think it's a much milder fail than oh, say, the past year and a half. I call this making progress.

Owen gets a big boy bed

Owen helping Daddy put the bed together:



We thought long and hard about what to do about the crib situation. We have one crib, two bedrooms, and 1 and 1/2 children under the age of two. Not bad numbers, but as you can see they don't exactly add up. We had lots of options. 1) do nothing. keep owen in his crib, put baby #2 in the cosleeper until 6 months, and deal with it then. 2) buy/borrow/steal a second crib; put it in Owen's room. 3) make the leap to a bed, toddler or twin.

I got lots of opinions on what we should do, mostly from people who've dealt with the 2 under 2 situation recently. And ultimately, we decided to go straight to the twin bed. There were compelling arguments for the others, but the deciding factors were these:

-unlike most 20 month olds, Owen still does not and has never slept through the night consistently. He does still end up in our bed every morning. We've tried so many things to break this pattern with no luck, so, baby steps here. First thing: No more coming into mom's bed. Mom might very well have to come into Owen's bed, but the pattern where he gets himself into our bed stops tonight. Bonus: small possibility that after mom comes in and lies down in new big boy bed, she can sneak back out once Owen is back to sleep. We'll see if this works. So, a toddler bed wasn't going to work for this.

-I feel like major transitions are best tackled separately. So, either we do something now or not till way after baby 2 gets here. I'd rather do it now to avoid taking Owen out of the crib one morning and putting the baby in it that night. Better to have him done with the crib before the little interloper even shows up.

- 2 cribs seems excessive. Plenty of kids transition to a bed between 18-22 months, we don't need another crib, especially since we probably won't have any more babies. It feels like a waste.

So, we'll see. We shall see. Tonight is the maiden voyage. Wish us luck.



Le bed du big boi:

Good news: I'm not crazy.

For about the last two weeks, I've been feeling a little anxious about driving places. Recently, each time I've been in the car, I've been hearing...something. Something that sounds like a voice, but I can't tell what it's saying. It's a muffled, low sound that for all the world sounds like a man's voice. This sound is not loud, and a lot of times it's drowned out by the sound of general traffic, the radio or Owen chattering away, but at other times, particularly at night when it's quieter out, it's undeniably there. The first time I heard it, I was listening to NPR and using my GPS, so I thought it was a malfunction on the radio. I thought that there was some muffled recording error on the talk show I was listening to, and forgot all about it...until I heard it again on my way home. That's odd, I thought. They usually are pretty good about picking up and correcting technicial errors on air. Then, I promptly forgot about it again.

Then next time I heard it, I was listening to a CD, but using the GPS. This time, I figured it must be the GPS doing something weird, like repeating directions sotto voix or some other malfucntion. But what was it saying? To find out, I held the GPS up to my ear while driving to try and figure out what it was doing. Here's a tip: Don't do this. I was listening so intently that when the woman who normally barks directions at me spoke up to tell me to turn left, it was directly in my ear and scared me half to death. I almost caused a 10 car pileup.

After repeated experiments with and without the GPS, I realized it was happening even in it's absense. I looked all over the dash to see if something was wrong with the radio. I started driving around with the radio turned unescessarily loud. And I started wondering if maybe I was even hearing the voice at all. My job isn't excessively clinical, but heck, I am a licsensed and practicing mental health professional. If there's one thing I absorbed from two years of dozing through grad school it's that hearing voices is Not Good. With a capital N and a capital G.

So it got to the point where I was approaching the car pretty warily. I even skimmed parts of my grad school DSM-IV just to see if it said anything about a location-specific auditory hallucination (it did not).

Until today. I left work a little early, and on my way home I took route 9 instead of the Jamaicaway like I normally do because I wanted to swing by Barnes and Noble for a few minutes. As those of you who are local can attest, route 9 at 4 on a Friday is a nightmare, and it ended up that I had to stop short behind a truck that decided to make a break across the lanes from the Chestnut Hill Mall driveway. The car lurched forward a bit and all of a sudden, in an extremely clear, deep male voice, I heard:

RECTANGLE.

Rectangle?

For a second I was confused. My auditory hallucination was....a man saying "rectangle"? bizzare.

I pulled into the Barnes and noble parking lot, and the mystery was revealed. Tuesday before last, I had to bring Owen into my office for a little bit for a short meeting I couldn't miss. I brought along some toys for him to play with, which I took back out of the car when we got home except for a shape naming puzzle which apparently got stuck under the backseat. When I stopped short, it dislodged and was out in the open, so I could listen to it malfunction all the way home.

rectangle!
rectangle!
rectangle!

 

Anyone know a toddler with a really small head?

I made the toddler aran sweater from Tina Barrett's Natural Knits for Babies and Toddlers. I'm posting it because despite the fact that the pattern was written poorly, and despite the fact that it took me forever to troubleshoot the mistakes and make the body and sleeves come out correctly, I stuck with it because I really liked the pattern. Now I'm finally finished, and the neck is so small there is no way this sweater is going over the head of any child over the age of 6 months. So annoying! So, if you got here because you googled the designer name and the pattern, my advice is to skip it. There are plenty of adorable toddler cable knits out there, and this one is more trouble than it's worth. I'm supremely annoyed that I spent almost 3 weeks making this, and there's no way Owen can wear it. If you have any use for this, let me know. it's yours.

now I need to find another pattern - and buy more yarn - for Owen to wear at the holidays. knitters, any suggestions?





Edit to add: the color is really off in these photos. The sweater is actually not that putrid yellow. It's more of a cream. Dunno what happened with the camera.

Dr. Y solves all your problems.

I've posted about it before, and I'll say it again: I love, love love Owen's pediatrician, Dr. Y. I also consider the good doctor to be the final word bar none on any baby health and wellness related issue. Sometimes, I'll admit it, I make appointments with Dr. Y just to talk about my baby. Oh, I give him a snuffle and a cough just to get it by the sniff test of the triage nurses on the phone, but Dr. Y usually knows as well as I do why I'm there. And he never minds indulging me, so after he's cleared Owen of his imaginary ear infection he says, "so what's going on with Owen?"

What is going on with Owen is that he doesn't sleep. He will not sleep through the night in his crib. I've posted about this extensively and I'm sure everyone is sick of hearing about it, but it is significantly negatively impacting our quality of life. I don't mind working, keeping up with a toddler and generally trying to keep my arms around life, but I do mind doing it when I can count the number of times on one hand in the last 19 1/2 months that I've slept through the night. Some nights are ok (one major wakeup), some nights are horrible (three or more). On balance, I'd say we're weighted toward the horrible.

So this is how I ended up in Dr. Y's office blubbering about Owen's sleep problems today. (Definitely not the first time I've blubbered in there. There was the infamous "my baby nurses every 40 minutes and I think I'm going to die" episode at 3 months. yikes.) And Dr. Y looked very seriously at Owen and said, "Owen, my beautiful boy, why you are not sleeping?" and then he asked me, "when he wakes up, what does he want? To eat? To drink?" I said, "no, he wants to be cuddled. He wants to come into bed with me." And this is true. Most of the time, I fight with Owen (unsuccessfully) to stay in his own crib for a couple hours before I eventually give up and let him come into bed with me, after which he is usually quiet until the morning. Not necessarily not bothering me, but quiet. (and yes, we've tried the hard line approach of just not. letting. him. in. bed. It doesn't work. He cries till morning on and off, and we get zero sleep for weeks until we give in and let him back in bed again). I told Dr. Y all this and more. It's been a long battle with the sleep.

Dr. Y said, "Jenny, I love this country, but there is one thing I do not understand. Why do Americans think their babies should sleep away from mama and daddy? Of course he wants to come sleep with you. You have a smart baby. He knows it is nicer to sleep with Mama. In my country we sleep with babies and we are not a country of psychopaths."

"well, ok, Dr. Y". I said. "It's not so much that I have an aversion to cosleeping. We've been doing it more or less since Owen was born, after all. And if everyone was happily sleeping, we'd keep doing it. the problem, though, is that after we bring him into bed, HE'S happy. But we are still up because he flops around like a flounder on the dock, kicks, squirms, wakes up every couple hours to find a better way to position himself and generally takes up approximately 3/4 of our queen size bed by 5am. So Andy and I are hugging the edges of the bed for dear life while he's snoring spread eagle in the middle. We really, really, REALLY need a way for everyone to get sleep, not just Owen."

Dr Y seemed, finally, to understand what I was saying. "Ah!" he said. "I got it. I know what you need to do."

Finally! I thought to myself. This is what I've been waiting for! I should have come and cried to Dr. Y sooner. He ALWAYS knows what to do.

"Jenny," Dr Y said, "what you need is a bigger bed."

trip to smolak farm

we went to Smolak farms a couple weekends ago and met our friends up there who have a little boy the same age as Owen. Owen had a great time looking at all the animals and discovered the joys of "pick your own" - in this case, raspberries (as a side note, $7 a pint for raspberries is nothing short of usurious, but I guess you're paying for the experience). I was highly amused by our friends' son neatly identifying raspberries and delicately picking them one at a time from the bushes while Owen's idea of picking involved breaking off an entire branch and trying to eat it, stems, leaves and all. I'm a tad concerned about the amount of pesticides he probably ingested during this endeavor, but ultimately, I've let it go. He had a great time and at that price, might as well eat a few stems and branches, if only to get your money's worth.

knitting

As many of you know, I enjoy knitting. In fact, I've been extremely prolific lately and if I get around to it, I'll post some pictures of my latest projects. I've got some cute stuff done for the new baby (so excited he'll be born in the middle of the winter, when lots of knitted apparel is appropriate) and I'm currently making Owen an adorable cable knit sweater for the holidays. However, it's hard to really find the time to get any knitting done when Owen is so adamantly opposed to me doing it in his presence:







luckily that was some junky yarn leftover from some puppets I made and not the $12/ball hand dyed alpaca I bought the other day. but still - knitting is clearly an after bedtime activity.

24 week malaise

I'm sure it comes as no surprise that I'm no fan of being pregnant. First of all, I don't do pregnant well. I'm insanely jealous of the women who manage to look like they swallowed a basketball the entire time, and I've come to realize it's a function of how long your torso is. I've got an extremely short torso, which means I get pregnant basically from my shoulders to my hips, where as women with more length tend to have the more recognizable, low pregnant belly. Yes, eventually (around 8 months) I get to the point where people can tell right away, but before that I could very well just be hefty and carry the extra weight in a really unfortunate way. Given the number of people I encounter that are genuinely surprised to discover I'm pregnant, I've been forced to conclude that's what people are assuming. Note: when someone tells you they're 6 months pregnant, "oh, REALLY? I didn't even realize! That's great! Boy or girl?" Is so, so, so not the right response. The last thing someone who has gained 15 pounds concentrated in the front wants to hear is that no one can tell she's pregnant. Aesthetics aside, I also tend to get testy. My normally misanthropic personality gets positively caustic in the presence of human growth hormone. If I'm the (pre redemption) grinch at baseline, pregnant I'm practically Voldemort.

So, anyway, I'm 24 weeks and sick of it already. Weeks 20-30 are in my opinion the worst. I'm big enough to be uncomfortable, far enough along that the novelty has completely worn off, but there's really no end in sight. This baby is coming near the end of January. That's three major holidays away. Four, if you count Halloween. There's no light at the end of the tunnel yet.

Moreover, I'm back to work full time. Which is crappy. But really, there's no good solution to the work question - any thing less than full time is no good for me professionally (especially if I'm seriously plotting a course out of the trenches and into administration, or looking to take my career in a more managerial direction) not to mention financially. At part time, I might as well have gotten a big sign that said "marginalize me" and pinned it to my (giant) shirt. At the same time, full time is a killer personally. Our quality of life was so much better at part time. We actually had something cooked for dinner more often than not. Cooked. for dinner! That's pretty unheard of when I'm working. Finally, I think (no, I'm certain, actually) what bothers me most about working full time is the fact that it completely eliminates the ability to go to the gym. I will be the first to admit that I go to the gym primarily for the mental health benefits. My mood is affected by exercise the way some people's is affected by prozac. It has a powerful effect on my outlook on life. But honestly, working full time just means it's impossible to fit in. The gym babysitting doesn't open until 8am. No good, as I need to be at work by 8. By the time I pick up Owen from school, we almost never walk in the door before 5:45. Then I have at most 1 1/2 hours to feed him, bathe him, and generally orient him to who his parents are before it's time to do stories and bed. Then at 7:30, I suppose I could go to the gym, but frankly, at that point - by the time I got there it'd be close to 8, and that's just too late for me. On most nights, I am ready to crawl into bed by 9:30 because (have I mentioned this? Ever?) my kid refuses to sleep after midnight. So Andy and I usually get a few solid hours between 9:30 and 12:30 and then we're pretty much awake with bursts of cat napping until 6 or so when it's time to get up anyway. If you can find a reliable way to get a workout in in this scenario, please share. Because I have failed miserably. When I was part time, we went every day. I worked out from 8-9, and then Owen and I either went in the pool or to indoor playground from 9-10. It was great. It's not a coincidence that I started to be extremely resentful of this pregnancy (see beginning) right around the time I transitioned to full time. Doesn't take a rocket scientist to see that one.

so, anyway. that's the update as of today. I'm large, cranky and overtired, which isn't a great combination. The only bright spot in the crank-fest is that we have weekends back now. My goal is to make sure we do something fun as a family every weekend between now and initiating the launch sequence of baby boy cox #2. Whether I feel like it or not.

Tremblin' Toads

I don't know if they still do it, but at holidays Hallmark used to put out these animatronic stuffed animal type things that sang a song and danced when you pressed a button for $12.95 if you bought three greeting cards. My mother loves these things and never fails to get me one when they have a new one. Last year at Halloween they offered tremblin' toads, two little toads in a cauldron that sing and dance about the witch cooking them up for dinner. Owen LOVES it, and he likes to press the button and dance to the song. It's so cute that we had to take a video of it - but of course, the minute we got the phone out to record, he stopped. Just so you know, this happens all the time. I fully intend to capture a moment for posterity and then can't get him to do anything cute at all. However, we did get a reduced version of the song and dance, so here it is: and if he starts doing it later this evening the way he was doing it when we took it out of the box this afternoon, I'll post a new one.

Actual Conversation that Occured at 55 Cerdan Ave This Evening

Me: well, I guess I have to go to the grocery store tonight.

Andy: yeah?

Me: yeah, I looked in the fridge and the cabinets and we don't have much food. I have to pack Owen a lunch tomorrow and we don't have anything he likes to eat. And he's going to have to eat Wednesday and Thursday, too.

*pause*

Andy: yes, honey. he has to eat every day.

Me. I know. Parenting is so hard.

The word is out

I interrupt this blogging vacation to bring you this late-breaking news story.

It's a boy!

As we all were. See you in September :)

blogging vacation.

Does anyone actually check this to see if I've posted anything? well, if you do, you can quit for at least another week because I simply cannot get up the interest to do anything productive in August. August is pretty high up there on the list of things I hate (Sample list of things Jenny hates: 1) Christmas 2) August 3) The dentist 4) people who don't believe in global warming etc.) and I can't get motivated to take photos, write witty (to me, at least. witty to ME. you don't need to write me emails letting me know I'm not as funny as I think I am) recaps of Owen's adventures, or even subject the internet to my outraged liberal ranting. A couple years ago - ok, I just looked up the article and was astounded by the date on the byline...ALMOST TEN FREAKING YEARS AGO - I read a great article called "august - let's get rid of it" by David Plotz. I couldn't agree more. So, rather than waste time on my blog, I'll direct you over there, and as for team-cox.blogspot.com...we'll be back up and operational in September. Which is a great month, by the way.

August: let's get rid of it

Backyard Candids

In for it

Today I arrived at Owen's school to pick him up at 5. As is usual in the late afternoon, his class was playing outside on the playground. It took me awhile to see him at first - I was distracted by the knot of well behaved toddlers climbing up and sliding down the plastic dinosaur slide with one of the teachers' assistance. I spotted Owen finally, in the far corner of the playground playing by himself in what appeared to be a giant pile of mulch, supervised by one of the other teachers. I called "Owen!" and his little red head whipped around, and he came charging towards me grinning like a maniac. Friends, when I tell you this child was filthy, I mean I've rarely seen the likes. He had dirt clinging to his nostrils and in his hair, and his clothes were soaking wet to boot. I looked again at the other, notably non-disheveled kids, still playing near the slide. I looked back at my child, who I then noticed was not wearing the clothes I sent him to school in that morning. The teacher, in the meantime, had gathered up Owen's things for me and sheepishly handed me a plastic grocery bag along with his diaper bag. The contents of the plastic bag were an equally filthy set of clothing, the same he had worn in the door that morning. She said somewhat apologetically "well, when he wants to do something, we just can't stop him!"

I smiled, did the figurative equivalent of picking up my toddler between my thumb and forefinger, and cheerfully waved goodbye. I couldn't help thinking, however, "you just can't stop him? He's sixteen months old". I am in trouble. 

As we were leaving, the teacher continued to give us the report about his day. The last thing she said to me was "he ate a lot today! maybe he won't want his dinner. He had all his lunch, three big snacks and three glasses of milk". 

When we got home, he ate more than half a package of buitoni 4 cheese ravioli (that serves 3. adults.), a package of chocolate bunny grahams, a whole peach, and over a cup of milk. 

Summer Fun

We took Owen to the Blue Hills state park in Canton on Sunday. It's actually a really nice place to spend the day, because they have hiking trails, a huge playground, and a sandy beach with a swimming area. We didn't get too many photos, but some of the ones we did get are cute. You may notice that I am in none of them; this is intentional and will remain the case until roughly next February because I have a personal rule disallowing photographic evidence of me pregnant. (since approximately 5 people read this blog regularly and all already know I'm pregnant, I figure we can dispense with the big announcement.) Some women are all into documenting the growing belly; I personally like to maintain the illusion that I fit into my favorite pair of jeans at all times. Without evidence, you can prove nothing.

All right, well, I'm not sure what's going on, but blogger is for some reason giving me a very hard time about uploading photos tonight. So, while this post was largely going to just be photos from our day at the state park, that will have to wait. So I'll tell you a funny story instead. Today, I had to work all day (which is unusual for a wednesday). So Owen stayed at his school until 5 instead of noon, which is when I usually pick him up on Wednesdays. When we got home, the second we walked in the door Owen was in a state I'd never seen him before. He was screaming at the top of his lungs, hitting me, throwing himself on the floor, banging his head on the floor, running full on into walls, and I was freaking out. I seriously considered bringing him to the ER because I thought the circuits were misfiring in his brain. I kept trying to soothe him by picking him up, hugging him, speaking to him softly, but all I got was more screaming, flailing, and a bright red bite mark on my left arm that is still there as I type this. I had NO IDEA what the problem was. While I was looking for my phone to call Andy at work to tell him we were going to the hospital, Owen ran over to the fridge and started throwing himself against it. I thought - could he be hungry? He doesn't usually eat dinner until quarter to 6 or so, and it was only 5:10, and supposedly he gets a snack at school at 3:30....but I decided that before I showed up at Faulkner ED with a raging case of "crazy toddler" I'd try food first. Well, clearly, food was the problem. Or not the problem, the answer. Owen ate: Almost a full cup of cottage cheese, two doctor praegers spinach pancakes, an adult sized serving of cheerios with milk, 5 saltine crackers and (when andy got home) a full slice of pizza. I've never seen the kid eat so much. He was so hungry that he was using both hands to get cottage cheese and spinach pancake into his mouth at the same time. I have no idea what happened at school today. Every time we pick him up, we get a little report and Owen ALWAYS gets "ate all his lunch". He had a solid lunch today: A cheese sandwich, a banana, and a pack of Annie's bunny grahams. Plus, they give them the snack I mentioned earlier. So, maybe he hit a growth spurt? Maybe he didn't get his snack? Maybe he hid most of his lunch in his diaper? Who knows. All I know is that the kid had a full on low blood sugar episode. Note to self: In the future, keep a snack on you at all times. I shudder to think what would have happened if we had gone to run errands straight from school instead of going straight home!

Uh, thanks.

Sigh. While straightening up some papers, I just came across an (unopened) package of "first birthday" thank you notes.

Since Owen's first birthday was 4 months ago, and I currently have no other child who is either imminently celebrating or just celebrated a first birthday, you can do the math. I assure you I had the best of intentions, and I think that I may have even convinced myself that I actually sent and wrote them. Which I clearly did not. And quite honestly, the chances of me at this point ever doing so diminish by the second.

I'm not ruling out the possibility. If you attended Owen's first birthday you may at some point in the future receive a kicky, sports themed thank you note. But it probably won't be soon. Or before Owen can sign his name himself. So, I apologize profusely for my rudeness - don't hold Owen accountable, he's just slightly too young to commit major social faux pas. And thank you very, very much for coming out and celebrating with us and bringing Owen a gift, if you did. We all enjoyed seeing you and are as always, touched by your generosity.

Mother of the Year

When I was still a few weeks away from having Owen, we put him on a waiting list at a daycare center that was extremely conveniently located to where I was (at the time) working. They cheerfully took our $100 deposit and informed us that there would VERY likely be a spot for him "sometime in the spring or at LATEST early summer of 2009." This sounded great, since Owen was due in March. Until I thought about it driving home and realized he was due in March of 2008. bummer. It was just as well though, because once I found out how much full-time care there was (an astronomical amount that I'm pretty sure only neurosurgeons and celebrity dermatologists could afford) I wrote them off. But, the fortuitous intersection of him FINALLY getting to the top of the waiting list and me reducing my hours to a point where I really only needed a small amount of childcare meant that I could actually start sending him there this summer. He goes for a half day on Wednesdays and a full day on Fridays - and it would not be any kind of exaggeration to say that Owen LOVES IT THERE. In fact, it would be pretty safe to say that he loves it there way more than he loves me.

Case in point: today. We get there at drop-off time. All the other toddlers are busy clinging to their mother's power-suited pantlegs, wailing and gnashing their teeth. Owen, however, as he has done since the moment he laid eyes on it, made a beeline for the sand table. (He loves that sand table so much that I briefly considered getting him one for Christmas this year. Then I realized, SAND TABLE in my house? AM I HIGH?) The daycare teachers chirped "say bye to mama! have a good day mama!" Owen barely looks up as he pours a container of sand mixed with glitter onto another little girl's head. Yep, that might be my cue to go. I return at noon, because Owen only gets to go a half day on Wednesdays. He was happily seated at the table with all his little turtle-room buddies, eating his lunch and swiping food from slower eaters when he thinks he can get away with it. When he saw me come in, he was initially excited. He stopped feeding himself his yogurt (which he is more than capable of doing) and demanded I let him sit in my lap and feed him the rest. Aw, sweet. makes me feel appreciated. We finish his lunch, and I start to gather his things up. Owen spies me holding his bag and freezes. I can see him doing the math in his head: "Why's she holding my bag? Why's she putting my lunch bag in there? Wait a minute. Why is she HERE, anyway?" He immediately broke eye contact and ran over to the shelf of plastic dinosaurs and started to play with them very pointedly. "Oh, that lady? Yeah, I know her, but I really don't have the time to be bothered right now because as you can see I'm VERY busy." Unfortunately (actually, very fortunately), 15 month old mind tricks usually don't work, so I went over to pick him up. When he realized my intentions, he started to throw the mother of all tantrums. I was pretty embarrassed. the preschool teachers were all "don't worry, Owen! You can come back Friday! we'll see you friday and you can play all day!". Meanwhile, I slunk out of there with my screaming toddler, trying to telepathically communicate that my house is not actually a dungeon of spikes and lashes.

The whole point of me working less was so that Owen would benefit from being home with me. Turns out all he wants to do is go to daycare. Figures.

The great pediatrician debate.

When Owen was born, we were living in Watertown, a couple miles from Newton Wellesley hospital. At the time, my primary care doctor and my obstetrician both had offices in the green building at the hospital, so it only made sense (since I was delivering there) to pick a pediatrician for Owen that had an office in the hospital as well. This is how we ended up with Dr. Y. He fit the geographical criteria, as well as had the added benefit of having a PhD in pediatric gastroenterology in addition to his MD, which was attractive to me because of the strong family history of GI disease. He was also, to be honest, the last pediatrician anywhere at Newton Wellesley who was accepting new patients. At first, Andy and I thought there was probably a good reason for that. As much as I have come to adore Dr. Y over the past 15 months, there is no denying that he is one of the goofiest looking human beings on the planet. Combined with his odd mannerisms, a tendency laugh at his own (unfunny) jokes awkwardly hard, and an extremely strong chinese accent, Dr. Y is an experience. He's an excellent doctor. But he is definitely an experience.

Since we've moved, it no longer makes much geographical sense to have doctors at Newton Wellesey. In fact, of the realtor-advertised benefits of our location now is that there is a huge Harvard Vanguard Medical Centre 3/4 of a mile from our house. Andy and I have already switched into PCP practices there, and I have a new OB there as well. It's within walking distance, has a lab and pharmacy contained right inside it, and every sort of doctor from pediatrician to geriatrician, all within walking distance. Every week I think "it would make so much more sense to switch Owen to one of the pediatricians at the HV." But something always stops me. I just can't bring myself to do it, because I am so attached to Dr. Y.

Today, Owen had his 15 month appt. at Dr. Y's office. My plan was to ask the receptionist to fax his medical records over to the HV pediatrician's office. I had gone so far as to find out which of their doctors were accepting new patients, picked one, and decided to go ahead and do the deed. But once again, I was so charmed by Dr. Y's wackiness and obvious care for Owen that I couldn't do it. Dr. Y acts like he has exactly one patient, Owen. He remembers absolutely everything about him, as if he'd seen him yesterday instead of 3 1/2 months ago. He makes weird jokes that (amazingly, since Owen understands about 10 words total) make Owen laugh hysterically. He performs each part of his exam (each individual part: looking in his eyes, then his ears, then in his mouth, etc.) very seriously, and then each and every time looks at me, concerned, and says "hmmm....I think Owen is....Perfect!" and then bursts into laughter. His enthusiasm for being a pediatrician is at once confusing and infectious. You can't help having a good time when you go to his office. In addition to all the good times and hillarity, Dr. Y is almost suspiciously accessible. Sometimes I wonder if he actually DOES only have one patient. I have his pager number, which he carries at all times and encourages me to use at every visit (calling the office can take too much time for the message to get to him!). When Owen is sick or hurt, he calls himself to see how he is doing. When Owen was 3 months old, he called 4 days IN A ROW to see how he was responding to the zantac he prescribed. And he has never failed to spend as much time as I feel like sitting in his office on an appointment. We have twice had appointments run over 45 minutes.

But it's so inconvienient to get to his office! when Owen is sick or needs to see him at a non-regularly scheduled time, I always think how much easier it would be if we had a doctor at the HV. And when I think about the possibility of adding a sibling at some point (and start multiplying the enormous number of well-baby/well-child visits that kids seem to involve, plus all the times you have to go in for sickness) it seems silly to keep driving to Newton Wellesley. I should just switch practices and be done with it. But I probably won't. After all, what would Dr. Y do without his only patient?

Foolish

I think I read somewhere (probably on a refrigerator magnet in spencer gifts or something) that the definition of a fool was someone who does the same thing and expects a different outcome.

Turns out when I said "lesson learned" about the blueberries last week, I hadn't ACTUALLY learned my lesson.

Sorry for the infrequency of posts lately. I'll try and be better about getting some recent pictures up.

Parenting lesson #205

Unlimited access to blueberries has a significantly negative effect on a 14 month old digestive system. Lesson learned.

Things I don't love about parenting

Most of the time, I'm pretty surprised about the things that don't bother me about parenting. For instance, I thought I'd be really annoyed by whininess and clinginess, and surprisingly it doesn't annoy me all that much. I was a little worried about how I'd handle the ick factor - between diapers, vomit and adventures in feeding, everyone knows babies can be disgusting. But turns out, I have a really high tolerance for bodily effluvia and general disgusting mess. Tantrums don't really faze me, and moving at baby pace (ready to go! Ok, wait - where are your shoes, did you take them off? Where did you put them? Ah, I see, you hid them in your wagon. Here we go, back on....what's that smell? Ok, let's change the stinky pants and then we'll go! Ready? Let's see, diaper bag, check...well, we'll probably be gone long enough I should bring a snack. Just one minute, let me get a snack to put in your bag. All right, here we go! wait, where are your shoes?.....) is ok with me as well.

But there are a few things, I have to say, I really dislike about parenting. Overall, they're few in relation to the great parts, but still. The end of sleeping in, for example, no amount of cuteness makes that better. On Saturday mornings, when I take Owen to the playground at QUARTER TO SEVEN in the morning, I exchange sympathetic glances with the other dejected looking women with one eye on their toddlers and the other staring glumly into a giant coffee. your kid was tearing your house apart at 5:15 too, huh? I feel you sister.

Then there's the paying for babysitters. Not while I'm at work, that I can get behind. For some reason paying someone to watch Owen while we're working seems entirely reasonable and does not bother me, but paying someone to watch him so we can go out to dinner really bothers me. I'm not sure quite why this is such a sticking point with me, but most of the time I choose NOT to go out because I have having to pay a babysitter that much, even when we want to go somewhere and can afford the sitter. I suspect this has less to do with some essential elements of parenting and much more to do with my incureable tightwaddery.

And really, that was it, until this week. And then I discovered the doozy, the first thing I really, REALLY don't like about parenting.

First Andy was sick, then Owen was sick, and now I'm sick. Andy has recovered nicely, but Owen's and my sick has overlapped, which has never happened before and I've suddenly realized reeeeeallly sucks. A sick baby is terrible, but a sick baby plus a sick mom is REALLY terrible. Especially when baby has decided that he can only be comforted by mom. When your throat is sore and your sinuses are blocked and you have a headache that you think will probably kill you before it gets better, a sobbing, feverish baby at 2am is pretty much the worst thing ever. And turns out, you can't explain that you're not feeling well. Babies, they just don't understand. It's been two days now, and although Newton Wellesley Pediatrics assures me it's just a virus (not the swine flu, call me paranoid but I did check) I'm starting to wonder if we'll both survive.

If this blog never gets updated again, you'll know that not-swine-flu got the best of us.

Best. Pictures. EVER.

The matching outfits kill me. Happy mother's day!

Who taught you how to do that?

It certainly wasn't me.

like a fat kid love cake

One of the joys of parenting is getting to celebrate "first" milestones. Owen was feeling a little under the weather this weekend, and yesterday the weather was GORGEOUS, so we decided to take a nice walk to the ice cream store to get us out of the house and get Owen his first ice cream cone as a way of cheering him up a little.

Turns out Owen loves ice cream. really LOVES ice cream.

Here is Owen being presented with his cone. So serious. Owen approached the demolition of this cone with the concentration of a competitive eater:





After this photo, I decided that he'd had enough ice cream. First of all, they gave a one year old two enormous scoops. That's more than enough ice cream for an adult, despite the "kiddie" size claim. So I tried to take it away. This made Owen extremely upset. In the first photo you can see the anger and in the second, suspicion that I might get near him and try again.




Finally, he was making such an enormous mess with the ice cream melting all over him and the stroller, that I said I'd take the plunge and took the cone away, resulting in a total meltdown. Somehow, Andy got too close to the flailing ball of misery that our son had become and Owen swiftly liberated what was left of Andy's cone. Which we figured, he was entitled to having defeated us fair and square. So he happily finished eating that one all the way home.

Big Adventures & Beautiful Weather

Owen's been having a great time since the weather improved! Some shots of his first visit to the Franklin Park Zoo as well as some we took in the Arboretum yesterday. I try and try to get good shots where he's looking happy/cute, but this kid is just so ON THE MOVE all the time that it's practically impossible. It's the best I can do to even catch him in the frame! I have some funny video of him running around the arboretum, throwing his hat on the ground over and over and yelling "Uh Oh!" (again, we're still working on the distinction between "uh oh" and deliberate mischief) But I'm apparently not smart enough to figure out how to make it post and play, so you'll have to settle for pictures until Andy gets around to posting them up.