The (W)rights have not been feeling quite so (W)right of late.
Chaya's eleventh month has been much like her eleventh hour: full of mushy mephitic nappies, lots of crying, and a household of very tired Wrights.
Our adorable little disease-etui inaugurated her first flow blown lurgy on a Friday. Just over a fortnight ago.
Prior to this, we'd been gradually easing her into a bonafide sleep/nap schedule. Predictability!?! What? All this with the goal of pushing said schedule back a little at a time until Chaya's daddy could once again have a full meal with the Missy-Chai before bedtime.
It seemed so promising. She was sleeping past six reliably. Even to the point where I was having to wake her to keep her "on schedule." I even ever so optimistically suggested we were at a point of pushing her schedule back a good ten or fifteen minutes.
And there we were. That Friday, she was sleeping in. Pretty late. Probably a little past 6:30. But oh man was she not ready for any new schedules. She was miserable, clingy and exhausted. She didn't nurse much. She didn't eat at all. She passed out in the ergo during a morning walk then transferred to the crib without any ado (unheard of). She napped. Oh did she nap. Two hours. Then was up for a while and napped again. She was overwrought by bedtime. In between, she cried at random and needed snuggles and a thorough thumbsucking. She approached mealtime with an abstemious howl, mostly distracted by gnawing on a spoon or fork from time to time.
The next day brought on the poonami. First a small warning shot. Then the first of a cornucopia of blown out diapers and epic laundry cycles. The most impressive diapers I've ever changed, incidentally. Mixing the liquidity and tang of a breastmilk diaper with the rancidity and chunkiness of a solids diaper. Leaking everywhere. Adhering to everything. And always straight up and out the back, simultaneously leaking out and down the leg!
Sunday was the same: clingy, low appetite, sleepy, and alternating between frisky and miserable. She never spiked a fever, but I'd already been giving her tylenol and motrin for teething pain. That weekend, she was so scrofulous that she didn't even want her delicious sugar shots. I nursed her constantly and tried desperately to get her to drink electrolytes. Or anything.
Monday, I woke up somewhat nauseous and cramping. At first I figured it was some little hormonal hullabaloo of another week of dropped domperidone. Then Andrew mentioned that he was starting to feel unwell. Then he texted that he was really sick. Then he asked if anyone could possibly pick him up from work (an hour and ten minutes away). My mother jumped in to the rescue, as I fell febrile and thoroughly crampy just about on my store to conquest some Pepto Abysmal.
Andrew returned around lunch time and dozed for several decades. Turns out he also was experiencing massive caffeine withdrawal, since he was afraid coffee would upset his stomach and refused to drink it. Neither he nor Chaya ate much. I tried to eat my usual. It was clearly not a good idea. At some point, Chaya popped an upper incisor. I'm not entirely sure. It erupted absent any fanfare, given all the other illness. I just noticed a sharp little thing in her mouth at some point.
Tuesday, Andrew stayed home and I succumbed to massive cramping that brought back unfond memories of early pregnancy. As Chaya - still diarrhetic and gassy but far more energetic - crawled all over my prostrate cramping corpse - and as she ripped out large chunks of my hair with gleeful pterodactyl CAW-CAWS - I just kept thinking "THANK GOD I'M NOT PREGNANT!"
 |
| Though damn, I rocked the pregnancy |
Gramma Pam, of course, fell ill. She threw up and convalesced and had to cancel the rest of her week's plans.
Wednesday, Andrew went back to work. His appetite was about that of a normal person's, a truly disturbing turn of events for a man of his typical ravenousness. Chaya was starting to eat plenty again. Great for my peace of mind, but such avaricious eating presented dire delirium for our laundry baskets. We moved her to more and more of a cautious BRAT diet, which bored the crap out of her but there we go. I was still pretty ill, but feeling on the mend at least. There were only a few times where I needed to collapse on the ground.
Thursday through Saturday, we now had naps being disrupted by blow outs. Sunday we had our first fairly clean diaper day. Tuesday, there was even a little pellet like poop that seemed like constipation. It didn't last. Monday, I also apparently had a relapse. It was nasty, but began to clear on Tuesday afternoon.
That Wednesday, everyone seemed on the mend.
Thursday we had MORE MUSH diapers. Three delicious (albe
it more contained) little treasures. This would be Thursday the eve of a fortnight following her first convalescence.
Friday, there was still some mush but nothing horrible. Chaya's Grandpa Tom (the original Daddy Dubya, one of at least three Toms to possibly lay claim to the Grampa Tom appellation).
By this Sunday morning he is reporting he had a bit of a stomach bug and didn't feel well... We are emptying all the leftovers, Lysolling the house, and hunkering down for a caravel of potential infectious re-infections.
It never ever ever ends.
Of course, this has permanently stalled any plans of introducing a wider array of dairy into the wee one's diet. It's also necessitated a fairly abrupt change of course in dietary choices. Previously dealing with a baby who tends towards constipation, I've been suddenly rooting through a list of forbiddens and nixing all the delicious roughage and fiber that once was necessary. Flax and wheat bran in her eggs? Try the whitest of white rice flours. Bring on the bananas. Hide the prunes! Bye bye juice (darn, she really likes her yippee health-consciously placated veggie/fruit juice).
It's caused a bit of a revision all around, but I'm finding some new and clever little staples.
Eggs remain, of course. As does yogurt (probiotics, baby). Nut butters remain as well, because, well... I want her to actually eat things and slathering nut butter on something is the magical means of making it edible in Chayalandia.
I've discovered the absolute amazingness of mashed banana and peanut butter. Mix with a little applesauce and sweet potato and put it on plain bread and it's like dessert.
Even better, I've discovered the wide world of mug cakes. I started with a banana peanut butter mug cake. Basically, banana, pb, egg, and a few tablespoons of rice flour with baking soda and a microwave. Delicious. Alternately, mashed carrots and parsnips instead of banana.
Even better than better, sweet potato plus peanut butter (did I mention there's a nut butter theme to Chaya's tolerance for most any food) plus an egg. It's like pumpkin pie but more durable.
And then there's "Happy Baby Rice Puff Baby Crack" - this stuff is insane. Chaya will sit there for hours on end eating these little puffs of air and added nutrients. It's kind of like the world's most labor intensive multivitamin. And pricey. Of course. Baby crack. How could it not be? Twenty-five calories in a mound, but some sizable percentage of your RDA of choline. Needless to say, I have been enjoying the weirdly suggestive almost-taste myself. I think the crunch helps with her sensitive gums as well.
And then there's nursing.
We're still doing that.
Previously, I had made my peace with what appeared to be a mutual weaning. I was wrong. Or at least, things got more complicated when Chaya got sick. For a few days, she wouldn't eat or drink anything. She would, however, nurse a bit. I nursed her eight times a day one day. While she was reluctant, she did take a fair enough amounts of sips to stay hydrated.
Since that time, she's been catching up perhaps. Eating heartily, but nursing fairly concertedly as well. Five times a day, including a rather vehement middle of the night nurse.
And of course with the hesitation in weaning-weal, my entire wean-will ebbs a bit. I know I said I'd start spending more "me" time when she was one. One year being my arbitrary date for when she'd be weaning and taking more reliable naps. We're working on the naps. I'm pretty sure I could figure out a schedule to have a little more time to myself. And I will. But it's surprisingly hard to muster the motivation. Doing things has always taken some pretty rigid self-discipline. I have scads of natural inertia, so the only way to get out is to really charge forward, set-a-schedule, and not give myself a chance for excuses. I'm super organized usually, so that's not a problem. I am fabulous at helping people achieve their goals because I have to do so much for myself. But with Chaya complicating things, it's harder to plan and easier to just not want to get out.
So I'm thinking about where I'm mutable.
Aaaaand where I'm not.
Yet.
1. I am not bailing on bedtime for at least the first few years. A majority of the moms I speak with feel equally that this is a sacrosanct time to be with their child. Chaya nurses to sleep or I sing her to sleep. I swear I see the face of the universe in all the tritest rococo parental dazes every night after the battle to get her to drink and drowse. I want to be there sending her mommy vibes if she tosses and turns. And frankly, I want to go to bed. The kind folks who've offered to watch my sleeping baby while I go out and do something "fun" perhaps don't understand that my version of amazing is having a fudgsicle, finishing a crossword, and turning in early. And that this was already becoming true a few years before Chaya was born. With Chaya still nursing once in the middle of the night, and getting up pretty early in the morning, the sleep deficit is even harder to make up if I go to bed late. I know Andrew keeps wondering if I'd like to do some kind of away trip that involves overnights (did I mention I'm not a huge fan of travelling with Chaya?). And someday we will, but I'm going to need a lot more time, sleep and energy to even think that sounds appealing without the Chaya-beast around.
2. I still want to put Chaya down for naps for at least another couple months. I've doffed all pretenses of effective sleep training for naps. She falls asleep in my arms as I sing to her. It's another really intimate moment to share. And besides, naptimes are when I get shiznet done. It's a flurry of cleaning, cooking, and occasionally regrouping. If it turns into a long nap, then I have some much craved downtime in the kitchen.
3. It's hard to give up my little sliver of morning before she wakes up. I get up before the baby. Theoretically I could use that time to work out or something minor like that. But that's when I prepare for breakfast, slowly wake up in my quiet space, and generally gear up for the day. It already is my me-time. And when she does wake up, I nurse her.
3. We're still nursing usually two other times a day (not counting bedtime and overnight).When Chaya first wakes up, about a half hour after her first nap mid-morning, about a half hour after her second nap afternoon. And she hasn't been taking a bottle or much from a cup. Sure, she doesn't need to nurse all those times probably. I'm wary to do anything too sudden, though. Both for her sake and for my own exploding boobs. I expect to drop another midday nursing session in a month or two though. When she's well and eating solids, one of those is always brief. But which one isn't super constant yet. We'll see. That would certainly eliminate one blocker to a solid chunk of time.
4. I really enjoy having meals with Chaya. I usually am the one preparing her food and taking the active role in feeding her. Somewhat it's a soothing transition from nursing and providing her nutrition that way. Chaya also is a distractible baby. That counts for meals too. Even just having another person around can often be too exciting for her to eat. Forget eating out with her. We have to scurry home after meals out and get some food in her at home. But this is certainly more negotiable.
5. I'm ok being away while she's napping. Except that she nurses somewhat shortly after she wakes up.
6. It's probably easiest to be away for the occasional hour when she's awake between nursing and her meal. But of course, talk about missing out! This is when she plays. I love playing with her. I love watching her play. I'm occasionally jealous that her other close attachment figures get such a proportional concentration of fun happy baby play time. Not that I'll let go of any other time. But, of course this is the bane of having childcare. When you're at your wit's end, exhausted and just done being "mom" you're on your own. But when baby's delightful and friendly and the apple of your adoring uvea, that's when the sitter's coming over.
Such is life. We'll always miss something.
As things stand now, I could probably now carve an hour and a half for myself without missing (too) much. And we do sometimes. My mom comes over to watch Chaya while Andrew and I have some time together. And I could be a little flexible on the nursing on one end or the other.
Probably having Andrew take Miss Chaya for a little daddy-daughter playdate once in a while would be good all around.
But what on earth would I even want to do with that time?
Massage? Physical therapy to fix my totally warped postpartum back and core? Workout (oh god, then we have a shower and changing before and after to deal with... how dreadful!). Seeing my non-childed friends? Spend a more concerted time on the blog? Go to a store and actually be able to stand still and/or try clothing on all by myself. I'm having a minor spot of choice fatigue.
Because a lot of the time, I really just want to hang out at home and chop my veggies. I know I'd benefit from working out. And from some physical therapy. And probably a few visits to the dentist.
In the meantime, I'm still pleading "not quite a year yet!" And keeping a watch on those mushy marvelous little nappies that define the highs and lows of my current existence. Some day, she will take in dairy in all its glorious milky (and most likely strawberry-sugar-crack-chocolatey-Quickety-doo-dah) forms.
Until then, we pray for a spell of razor sharp baby fangs, and a mild case of constipation or twenty.
Friday, there was still some mush but nothing horrible. Chaya's Grandpa Tom (the original Daddy Dubya, one of at least three Toms to possibly lay claim to the Grampa Tom appellation).
By this Sunday morning he is reporting he had a bit of a stomach bug and didn't feel well... We are emptying all the leftovers, Lysolling the house, and hunkering down for a caravel of potential infectious re-infections.
It never ever ever ends.
Of course, this has permanently stalled any plans of introducing a wider array of dairy into the wee one's diet. It's also necessitated a fairly abrupt change of course in dietary choices. Previously dealing with a baby who tends towards constipation, I've been suddenly rooting through a list of forbiddens and nixing all the delicious roughage and fiber that once was necessary. Flax and wheat bran in her eggs? Try the whitest of white rice flours. Bring on the bananas. Hide the prunes! Bye bye juice (darn, she really likes her yippee health-consciously placated veggie/fruit juice).
It's caused a bit of a revision all around, but I'm finding some new and clever little staples.
Eggs remain, of course. As does yogurt (probiotics, baby). Nut butters remain as well, because, well... I want her to actually eat things and slathering nut butter on something is the magical means of making it edible in Chayalandia.
I've discovered the absolute amazingness of mashed banana and peanut butter. Mix with a little applesauce and sweet potato and put it on plain bread and it's like dessert.
Even better, I've discovered the wide world of mug cakes. I started with a banana peanut butter mug cake. Basically, banana, pb, egg, and a few tablespoons of rice flour with baking soda and a microwave. Delicious. Alternately, mashed carrots and parsnips instead of banana.
Even better than better, sweet potato plus peanut butter (did I mention there's a nut butter theme to Chaya's tolerance for most any food) plus an egg. It's like pumpkin pie but more durable.
And then there's "Happy Baby Rice Puff Baby Crack" - this stuff is insane. Chaya will sit there for hours on end eating these little puffs of air and added nutrients. It's kind of like the world's most labor intensive multivitamin. And pricey. Of course. Baby crack. How could it not be? Twenty-five calories in a mound, but some sizable percentage of your RDA of choline. Needless to say, I have been enjoying the weirdly suggestive almost-taste myself. I think the crunch helps with her sensitive gums as well.
And then there's nursing.
We're still doing that.
Previously, I had made my peace with what appeared to be a mutual weaning. I was wrong. Or at least, things got more complicated when Chaya got sick. For a few days, she wouldn't eat or drink anything. She would, however, nurse a bit. I nursed her eight times a day one day. While she was reluctant, she did take a fair enough amounts of sips to stay hydrated.
Since that time, she's been catching up perhaps. Eating heartily, but nursing fairly concertedly as well. Five times a day, including a rather vehement middle of the night nurse.
And of course with the hesitation in weaning-weal, my entire wean-will ebbs a bit. I know I said I'd start spending more "me" time when she was one. One year being my arbitrary date for when she'd be weaning and taking more reliable naps. We're working on the naps. I'm pretty sure I could figure out a schedule to have a little more time to myself. And I will. But it's surprisingly hard to muster the motivation. Doing things has always taken some pretty rigid self-discipline. I have scads of natural inertia, so the only way to get out is to really charge forward, set-a-schedule, and not give myself a chance for excuses. I'm super organized usually, so that's not a problem. I am fabulous at helping people achieve their goals because I have to do so much for myself. But with Chaya complicating things, it's harder to plan and easier to just not want to get out.
So I'm thinking about where I'm mutable.
Aaaaand where I'm not.
Yet.
1. I am not bailing on bedtime for at least the first few years. A majority of the moms I speak with feel equally that this is a sacrosanct time to be with their child. Chaya nurses to sleep or I sing her to sleep. I swear I see the face of the universe in all the tritest rococo parental dazes every night after the battle to get her to drink and drowse. I want to be there sending her mommy vibes if she tosses and turns. And frankly, I want to go to bed. The kind folks who've offered to watch my sleeping baby while I go out and do something "fun" perhaps don't understand that my version of amazing is having a fudgsicle, finishing a crossword, and turning in early. And that this was already becoming true a few years before Chaya was born. With Chaya still nursing once in the middle of the night, and getting up pretty early in the morning, the sleep deficit is even harder to make up if I go to bed late. I know Andrew keeps wondering if I'd like to do some kind of away trip that involves overnights (did I mention I'm not a huge fan of travelling with Chaya?). And someday we will, but I'm going to need a lot more time, sleep and energy to even think that sounds appealing without the Chaya-beast around.
2. I still want to put Chaya down for naps for at least another couple months. I've doffed all pretenses of effective sleep training for naps. She falls asleep in my arms as I sing to her. It's another really intimate moment to share. And besides, naptimes are when I get shiznet done. It's a flurry of cleaning, cooking, and occasionally regrouping. If it turns into a long nap, then I have some much craved downtime in the kitchen.
3. It's hard to give up my little sliver of morning before she wakes up. I get up before the baby. Theoretically I could use that time to work out or something minor like that. But that's when I prepare for breakfast, slowly wake up in my quiet space, and generally gear up for the day. It already is my me-time. And when she does wake up, I nurse her.
3. We're still nursing usually two other times a day (not counting bedtime and overnight).When Chaya first wakes up, about a half hour after her first nap mid-morning, about a half hour after her second nap afternoon. And she hasn't been taking a bottle or much from a cup. Sure, she doesn't need to nurse all those times probably. I'm wary to do anything too sudden, though. Both for her sake and for my own exploding boobs. I expect to drop another midday nursing session in a month or two though. When she's well and eating solids, one of those is always brief. But which one isn't super constant yet. We'll see. That would certainly eliminate one blocker to a solid chunk of time.
4. I really enjoy having meals with Chaya. I usually am the one preparing her food and taking the active role in feeding her. Somewhat it's a soothing transition from nursing and providing her nutrition that way. Chaya also is a distractible baby. That counts for meals too. Even just having another person around can often be too exciting for her to eat. Forget eating out with her. We have to scurry home after meals out and get some food in her at home. But this is certainly more negotiable.
5. I'm ok being away while she's napping. Except that she nurses somewhat shortly after she wakes up.
6. It's probably easiest to be away for the occasional hour when she's awake between nursing and her meal. But of course, talk about missing out! This is when she plays. I love playing with her. I love watching her play. I'm occasionally jealous that her other close attachment figures get such a proportional concentration of fun happy baby play time. Not that I'll let go of any other time. But, of course this is the bane of having childcare. When you're at your wit's end, exhausted and just done being "mom" you're on your own. But when baby's delightful and friendly and the apple of your adoring uvea, that's when the sitter's coming over.
Such is life. We'll always miss something.
As things stand now, I could probably now carve an hour and a half for myself without missing (too) much. And we do sometimes. My mom comes over to watch Chaya while Andrew and I have some time together. And I could be a little flexible on the nursing on one end or the other.
Probably having Andrew take Miss Chaya for a little daddy-daughter playdate once in a while would be good all around.
But what on earth would I even want to do with that time?
Massage? Physical therapy to fix my totally warped postpartum back and core? Workout (oh god, then we have a shower and changing before and after to deal with... how dreadful!). Seeing my non-childed friends? Spend a more concerted time on the blog? Go to a store and actually be able to stand still and/or try clothing on all by myself. I'm having a minor spot of choice fatigue.
Because a lot of the time, I really just want to hang out at home and chop my veggies. I know I'd benefit from working out. And from some physical therapy. And probably a few visits to the dentist.
In the meantime, I'm still pleading "not quite a year yet!" And keeping a watch on those mushy marvelous little nappies that define the highs and lows of my current existence. Some day, she will take in dairy in all its glorious milky (and most likely strawberry-sugar-crack-chocolatey-Quickety-doo-dah) forms.
Until then, we pray for a spell of razor sharp baby fangs, and a mild case of constipation or twenty.
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