Lucky seven. (Months, that is.)

Stella's got what they call "stage presence."

Stella's got what they call "stage presence."

On St. Patrick’s Day, Stella turned seven months old. I’m pretty sure that means she can get a driver’s permit. And maybe even a part-time job. At the very least, she can sit up for long periods of time before the weight of her large head pulls her over. She can tickle the ivories like you wouldn’t believe. And when sitting in her crib, she can pull herself up to a kneeling position–the gateway to standing.

That evening, as my amazing corned beef simmered in a broth of beer and spices, Stella’s piano showed up on our doorstep. The house smelled like Ireland, and dreams, which was somehow extremely appropriate. We opened the box–an event that was very, very exciting judging by Stella’s even-wider-eyed-than-usual expression as I sliced the tape with my trusty blade–and out the baby piano came in all its shiny red glory. I placed it on the rug, plopped Stella in front of it, and she banged those keys as hard as she could while smiling as wide as she could. Then she promptly forgot all about it and tried to eat the accompanying manual and play-by-color sheet music. Paper is Stella’s #1 passion for now. But music is a close second. After I tucked away the paper goods, she resumed her performance with incredible enthusiasm, intermittently grabbing the top and, impressively, pulling the entire piano toward her. You could see the wheels turning in her head; “Maybe if I try hard enough, I can get the top of this delicious piano into my mouth… mmmmm, piano…..”

Stella’s Little Mozart Piano is really like a musical friend than a toy. Right now, she simply sits on the floor in front of it, and it’s the perfect height. But the piano can be raised up by attaching the base that comes with it, allowing the child to stand or sit on the accompanying shiny red bench and play, making it “the piano that grows with your child.” I think it’s brilliant. Stella absolutely loves it. We really should be saving money rather than spending it, but this was worth the splurge. A long-term investment in FUN.

Yesterday, Stella was not herself. She was cranky and tired in the morning, and grew steadily more so as the hours passed. I realized that she had spent more time sleeping than awake, she was a rag doll, crying unless I held her. And instead of squirming and pushing away from me to look at her surroundings, she curled up into me, resting her head on my chest. Stella was sick for the first time. She had a slight fever and threw up a couple times that evening. But today, she is back to her old self. She dropped that bug like a bad habit! Cody took her to the doctor this morning, and her fever was gone. She checked out fine. And really, seven months was an excellent run!

HOWEVER. Her doctor’s visit entailed a standard weigh-in. Sigh. If she hadn’t fallen ill, I wouldn’t know that she’s only gained about 6 ounces in a whole month. Now I’m anxious and confused. I’m trying to cope, but my attempting to remain calm in the face of this worry is like an alcoholic trying to stay sober in a bar. About a week ago, we switched Stella’s formula from a 24-calorie-per-ounce concentration to the standard 20-calorie-per-ounce ratio. Granted, this means that for most of the month, she was on high-caloric formula, so perhaps we can’t blame the new lower concentration. Since the switch, I’ve been keeping track of her intake and it’s been high–between 30 and 32 ounces per day. Right on track! And this is in addition the face that Stella is mastering the art of spoon feeding. At first, far more food wound up on the floor, high chair tray and her bib and clothing than in her mouth. WAY MORE. But now, she’s swallowing way more food than ends up on her and various kitchen surfaces. On Tuesday, she even finished a whole container of peas in one sitting. Just another reason I’ve been saying “Bravo!” to Stella.

Top o' the mornin' to ya.

Top o' the mornin' to ya.

So, in regards to her minimal weight gain, I am completely baffled. I emailed her occupational therapist to get her thoughts, and perhaps some reassurance. Stella’s doctor didn’t express any concern over her weight, so my worry is “proactive” as usual. I’ll probably schedule an eight-month weight check in order to ease my mind. In the meantime, I’m trying to focus on Stella’s behavior and demeanor instead of her weight. Certainly not the fact that she still fits in some 3-month size clothing. She seems happy and healthy–with the exception of that 24-hour bug–and that’s what counts.

When we’re not playing the piano, eating, napping, or out for a walk, we’re trading fake coughs. I’ll fake a cough. And she’ll fake one back. And then we laugh. It’s good fun, though probably setting her up for hypochondria. Or an acting career.

These are a few of my favorite quotes

When you walk around all day with a baby strapped to your chest, you attract your fair share of interesting remarks. Here’s a sampling.

A fit-looking woman in her 70’s, power-walking toward us as I carried Stella (she was facing out in a Baby K’tan), drank coffee and toted a full shopping bag, said matter-of-factly, “You are a walking billboard for multi-tasking.”

A woman ahead of us in line at the consignment store (Kid’s on 45th), after remarking on Stella’s “winning smile,” gasped, “She just looks so…. perfect.”

An enthusiastic and delighted mother exclaimed to her young daughter, as they crossed the street in the opposite direction, “Honey, did you see that cute baby? He’s wearing a lady bug hat!”

A red-headed, sloppy drunk dude stopped mid-stumble as Cody, Stella (dressed in pink) and I passed by, and slurred, “Cute little fella ya got thar.”

A talkative, kind, very petite woman in her 80’s, who still volunteers at the school were she taught for decades, after remarking on multiple issues (such as “Kids these days don’t know what a nickel or a dime is–they’ve never even seen actual money! But I suspect that will change what with the economy and all.”) and after noting how “attentive,” “observant” and “chic” Stella is, shook her head with a smile and remarked, “Whatever it is, kid, you got it.” (Indeed.)

Meet Diego

Back in mid-November, when Stella’s NG tube was put into her cute nose and down into her then-hungry and confused tummy, I was understandably freaked out. I wondered if it was the right thing to do. I worried about how it would affect her. So I did the worst possible thing I could do. I turned to the internet for answers. What I found, mainly on message boards and on random, unofficial-looking “medical” websites, was horror story upon horror story about how NG tubes make feeding aversions worse. How they lead to complete oral aversions, make reflux worse and pave the way to surgically inserted g-tubes. I was so scared.

Rocio and Diego, bonding not long after his premature birth.

Rocio and her precious and miraculous Diego, bonding not long after his premature birth.

I did have the good sense to realize that the people most likely to turn to the web are those who, like myself at the time, are struggling. If things are going well with your child, or if you’ve overcome an issue and are no longer in it, you’re less motivated to go to the web and tell your story. You don’t need answers and support. You’re not desperate for any tidbit of information you can get. I knew that out in the real world, there were probably lots of babies who’d been on NG tubes for a short time and then resumed normal eating. Through my occupational therapist, I learned about the amazing Libby. And then, one night, through comments she left here on this blog, I met an incredible mother named Rocio and her son Diego.

That evening, Rocio did what I had done. She felt a rising sense of panic after reading terrible anecdotes about NG tubes online. She then came across Stella’s story and was encouraged to see that Stella was making progress with eating. Rocio and I began to communicate regularly via email. In a sense, it felt like we were in this together. This woman I had never met who understood everything I was going through and vice versa. We were going to get our babies off the tube. And no other outcome was acceptable. As scared as we were, we knew they could do it.

Rocio’s son Diego was born prematurely, at 28 5/7 weeks gestation. He was tube-fed from birth, first through his mouth, then, after graduating to “level 2” in the NICU, through his nose via a nasogastric (NG) tube, just like the one Stella had. As Rocio explained, Diego developed reflux while learning how to eat, which set him back. As in Stella’s case, the pain all but eliminated his desire to eat. After spending three months in the hospital, Rocio pushed to have Diego sent home, so that he could enjoy a more comfortable, cozy, non-medicalized environment. So, Rocio and her husband bravely learned how to maintain the NG tube, and headed home with their son, unsure about what the future held.

Like Stella, Diego had a Merry first Christmas--even with the NG tube.

Like Stella, Diego had a Merry first Christmas--even with the NG tube.

Rocio was on the same nauseating rollercoaster we had ridden. So many ups and downs. Exhilarating upswings of hope followed by crushing disappointments. Early on in our communications, at the very end of December, she told me, Diego was “not passing the 25 to 30 cc mark of drinking his bottle per feeding.” (There are about 30 cc’s or mls per ounce.) It was a tough time. But once in a while, he finished entire bottles–it took over an hour, but he was FINISHING them. And more progress quickly followed. One day, she told me that Diego took 90 mls in 45 minutes. He was showing that he could do it.

On February 4th, I received an unforgettable, elated email from Rocio. She told me that Diego had been without a tube for three weeks, and that he was thriving. In fact, he was gaining approximately one ounce  per day! Based on all the research I’ve done and my learning from the director of the Austrian tube weaning clinic, I know that this is amazing weight gain, especially so soon after the tube’s removal. Rocio was thrilled, and I truly felt her joy.

A GI doctor confirmed that Diego’s tube was gone for good. At this point, Stella had been without a tube for exactly one month, and it was also clear that her tube was gone for good. We’d done it.

Like Stella, Diego still had some difficulty swallowing. For us, thickening Stella’s formula did the trick. Last I heard from Rocio, Diego was going to have “ECI (Early Childhood Intervention) therapy because the swallowing study projected that he still needs to learn how to swallow better.”

I asked Rocio what she believed was the key to Diego’s success. Her answer was simple. First, Diego needed time to mature. Having been born so early, he didn’t have enough practice. (Babies learn to swallow in the womb.) Then, Rocio needed to get over her fear. Naturally, she worried that he would get sick or be undernourished upon the tube’s removal–even if a deeper part of her knew he no longer needed it. Lastly, she pointed to the removal of the tube as the most important aspect of his feeding progress. Rocio explained, “Pray and have faith. Babies will eat without [the tube] once they feel the need and understand that if they do not want to eat the regular way, they will have no other way to do so.”

With his tube days behind him, Diego is radiant and thriving!

With his tube days behind him, Diego is radiant and thriving!

Rocio fought for Diego. She faced incredibly challenging circumstances with Diego’s premature birth and extended hospital stay. She had to push just to take him home. Then she found the support and therapy he needed. Then she made the big decision to follow her instincts and take out the tube. This is a beautiful, healthy boy who has overcome some daunting odds. And he’s very lucky to have Rocio as his mother.

Whenever I think about Stella’s challenges with eating, that very trying time in our lives and how we overcame it all, I’ll think of Rocio and Diego, too.

“Formula was a bad choice…”

Almost drank a glass of formula before bed last night.

Instead of grabbing the Brita pitcher, I grabbed Stella’s Dr. Brown’s formula pitcher and started to pour.

Luckily, I noticed something was off before I took a big thirsty gulp. Her non-dairy, amino-acid based formula smells like feet and tastes like a liquid multi-vitamin–gross, but I guess it makes sense. Close call.

I need to get to bed earlier.

P.S. If you didn’t catch the reference in this post’s title, you need to rent the movie Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy immediately.

A taste of spring, a touch of sleep deprivation

She gets more email than me. Probably has more Facebook friends, too.

She gets more email than me. Probably has more Facebook friends, too.

Spring sprang for a few hours today. And it was lovely. Stella and I went for a sun-drenched walk, and later, we sat outside on the quilt Mimi made. (If only Stella would put down her Blackberry and live in the moment once in a while!) This evening, it rained cats, dogs, and ponies. It was like two days’ worth of weather crammed into one. I was confused. Stella loved it all. She enjoys rainy walks in the carrier and even helps me hold the umbrella.

Have I mentioned how much Stella loves going for strolls in the Baby Bjorn? We head out two or three times per day, rain or shine. I am beginning to wonder if our wandering, and general lack of structure, is getting the way of a proper “sleep schedule.” You see, I basically follow Stella’s lead. When she seems hungry, I feed her. When she seems tired, I put her down for a nap, or to bed for the night. In recent weeks, she developed a lovely habit of falling asleep upon finishing a bottle. HOWEVER. Lately, it isn’t so easy. Stella is fighting sleep, especially during the day. And I’m not sure what to do about it.

There are lots of theories on why this happens and what to do about it. I have an annoying book called Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child. I hadn’t looked at it in months but perused the section about five- to 12-month-old babies today, immediately prompting near record levels of neurosis. Apparently, Stella should be awake by 7am. Then have a nap at 9am and 1pm, and perhaps, another late afternoon nap if she seems tired. Well, today, Stella woke up around 9am, napped for almost two hours (unusual and fantastic) at noon, then napped for five minutes at around 4:30pm. And that was that until she went to bed at 9:30pm, after her last bottle of the day. Every day is a little different, but most often she doesn’t nap for more than 30 to 45 minutes at a time tops. As a result of this, my annoying book tells me, my brilliant, usually cheerful Stella is on the path to A.D.D. and behavioral problems. (I told you this book was obnoxious–not to mention HORRENDOUSLY EDITED. I will admit, however, it did help us a bit early on. Especially the bit about how sleep begets sleep, and that in their very first weeks and months, babies can really only be happily awake for one to two hours at at time.) In recent days, a troubling trend of screaming and crying–even though she is obviously tired and in need of a nap and rubbing her eyes like crazy–is emerging. The book says that by comforting her, I am being a terrible, terrible parent. What to do?

Spring looks good on Stella.

Spring looks good on Stella.

Before I decide what, if anything, I need to do about Stella’s sleep schedule or lack thereof, I am going to see what happens over the next day or two. We just enjoyed a visit from Mimi and Grampa (my parents), and perhaps all the excitement got us out of our normal rhythm. Or maybe she’s teething. Or, I’ve heard that the development of new skills disrupts sleep, so perhaps her recent advancements in the areas of rolling and sitting up have thrown her out of whack. Or the normal phase of seperation anxiety is to blame. Or maybe there’s a pea under her mattress.

THE THING IS. After all the craziness with the feeding aversion and the tube, I think I get especially worked up when she gets worked up. When she cries, there is a part of me that is truly terrified that something is seriously, seriously wrong and if I don’t jump on it, it will explode in our faces. Because way back when her feeding issue was just starting, there were signs. They haunt me.

Crocus Pocus. Spring is starting to work its magic. Hopefully it will extend its powers to Stella's napping.

Crocus Pocus. Spring is starting to work its magic. Hopefully its powers extend to napping.

But there is another part of me–a sane part buried deep within, a beaten down part that often gets drowned out by panic–that knows that babies cry. And that babies often prefer play over sleep. Hek, so do I. Even when I’m exhausted, and when earlier that day I berated my bedraggled self for going to bed late, I’ll stay up and watch LOST. Or write a blog post. Or check Facebook for the billionth time. It’s the same thing. Only instead of Facebook, she has a network called “mom and dad.” And instead of LOST, she has the suspenseful thriller entitled “mom and dad.” And instead of a blog, she has Goodnight Moon (read to her by mom and dad).

So, I’m trying not to worry too much. And just  follow my instincts.

Sunshine helps a bit.

And with that, I’m 41 minutes late to bed myself. A.D.D., here I come!

Sneak peek

Yesterday, we had a blast with photographer Jen Orbistondo. Later that day, to our delight, we enjoyed a preview of the fabulous images to come! Stella is truly radiant in these shots. I can’t wait to see the rest, which should be available within a couple of weeks!

Click here to visit Jen’s blog and take a look at a few of the photos. More to come.

My other resume

I’ve jumped back into the freelance writing life in an effort to make a bit of money while I stay home with Stella Bella. This, of course, necessitated the updating of my resume.

It got me thinking. Some of my most impressive achievements and abilities will never grace the pages of this supposedly all-important document. And it seems like a shame. I am referring, of course, to motherhood–all that it requires. And with that, I present my other resume…

EXPERIENCE

Mother, 8/17/08–present (lifetime commitment)

  • Collaborate with Stella Eleanor’s father (my husband) to ensure that she grows and thrives; oversee everything from basic maintenance, such as diaper changes and feeding, to high-level development including babbling, drooling, sitting up, laughing, and rolling/tummy time, with plans to teach her how to be kind, walk, use the toilet and drive
  • Provide attention, protection, guidance and full range of entertainment services including peek-a-boo, tickling, general zaniness and impromptu songs, stories and farting noises
  • Willingly put my daughter’s needs before my own while still taking care of self and providing excellent example of how to live life to the fullest
  • Manage public relations; handle photography and mailing of seasonal cards and wellness updates; manage upkeep of Flickr account with near-daily shots of Stella to prevent extended family from suffering cuteness withdrawal
  • Love that girl with all my heart, 24 hours a day, seven days a week, 52 weeks a year–even when her yelling reaches peak annoy-ability levels

Giver of Life, 8/15/08–8/17/08

  • Gave birth to baby girl weighing 7 pounds and 7 ounces; filled with pure joy upon her arrival
  • Kicked ass throughout 32-hour un-medicated labor during which baby’s head was transverse (sideways)
  • Nearly broke husband’s hands with vice-like grip; will try harder next time

Grower of Human Being, 11/08–8/09

  • Provided egg for successful fertilization; worried endlessly about fetus from moment of conception
  • Attended prenatal yoga, birthing and parenting classes despite overwhelming exhaustion and overwhelmed bladder
  • Ate enough cheese to feed all of Wisconsin for three years; consumed record amounts of grapefruit juice
  • Tolerated the shooting of sharp pains up my rear-end for several months; withstood debilitating hip pain and baby’s roundhouse kicks
  • Enjoyed pregnancy despite all of the above

Warrior, 10/08–02/09

  • Assembled and coordinated a top-tier team of Seattle doctors, as well as two lactation consultants, an occupational therapist, nutritionist, dietitian and cranial osteopath
  • Managed to maintain sanity when baby refused to eat; chugged olive oil and ate bacon in a valiant attempt to fatten starving, anxiety-ridden self and improve quality and caloric value of breast milk
  • Mastered use of Supplemental Nursing System while successfully limiting use of the “f-word” to 400 times per day; managed insertion and maintenance of god-forsaken nasogastric feeding tube and associated god-damned pump and evil face tape and crap-tastic peripherals; sacrificed small but previously perky boobs to hospital grade breast pump
  • Navigated labyrinth of hospital and health care challenges; slashed red tape and improved child’s outcome by 1000%; successfully argued case for the removal of nasogastric tube and executed successful tube weaning; produced a happier child and family as a result of round-the-clock efforts
  • Analyzed growth charts, lab results and intake levels; conducted in-depth, terrifying online research on daughter’s condition and treatment

EDUCATION

The Parental Institution of Barbara and Gregory Hescock

  • Coursework in everything, with an emphasis on love, the value hard work, and a good sense of humor

School of Hard Knocks

  • Classes included Terrible Mistakes, Bad Relationships 101, and The Awkwardness of Middle School

Sink or Swim Academy

  • Curriculum revolved around parenting without anything resembling adequate preparation

SKILLS SUMMARY

General: Expert-level nurturing, crisis and conflict management, hazardous waste handling and sanitation, budgeting, soothing, teaching life skills and morals, child safety, nursery decorating, baby-wearing, silly face and nonsensical sounds mastery

Technical: Milk production, human creation, swaddling, rocking, one-handed diapering (experience with both formula and breast milk poop platforms), bottle maintenance, reflux abatement

COMMUNITY SERVICE

  • Contributed a new member to the human race
  • Responsible raising of a kind, compassionate, contributing citizen
  • Adept removal of screeching baby from public places, ensuring a peaceful community
  • Addition to the world of a love that grows by leaps and bounds each and every day

At six months, a weight is lifted.

Welcome to the ERP (Experience Rice cereal Project).

Welcome to the ERP (Experience Rice cereal Project).

Stella has been weighed dozens and dozens and dozens of times during her six months here on earth. More times than the average Orange County housewife–nevermind the average baby. Many more times than a parent can reasonably expect to endure while maintaining his or her sanity. For close to three months, we went to the pediatrician’s office weekly for official weigh-ins. She was weighed every three hours during our four-day stay at Children’s Hospital in November. I’ve weighed her at home, before and after nursing her, on a fancy rented scale that I turned to out of desperation in the the time before the tube when I was trying to figure out how much milk she was getting from me and what the hek was bothering her so much. Lately, every few days, I’ve popped her onto the cheap baby scale I bought when the tube came out. I suppose, technically, she was also weighed before birth, when I stepped on the scale at the start of each prenatal check-up.

At this rate, Stella and I will wind up with a majorly problematic focus on her weight for years to come. (“Stella, what did I tell you? Put down the broccoli and have a cupcake!”) And a weight obsession of any kind is just about the LAST THING I want for my precious girl.

So, it is with much relief and joy-bulation that I announce the good news: Stella Weigh-In Mania (SWIM) is officially over. Today, at Stella’s six-month “well child” check-up, after a full six weeks without the NG tube, she proved that we don’t need to worry anymore. No more weekly weight checks. Our only future appointment is for her nine-month “well child” visit. Hallelujah!

Things are looking up.

Things are looking up.

Needless to say, the appointment went VERY WELL. There was no stand-off between me and Dr. Numrych, as I’d feared might happen if the scale didn’t tip in our favor. She gained more weight than we expected. She’s growing longer (taller?) at a quick clip. And her head is more gigantic than ever. The subject matter at today’s check-up didn’t involve tubes or high-density formulas or other craziness aimed at helping her gain weight. It was refreshingly normal. Topics of discussion revolved around spoon feeding and baby-proofing. Here are her stats, including the dreaded percentiles:

  • 16 pounds, 8.5 ounces (between 50th  and 75th %)
  • 26.5 inches long (75th %)
  • 45.3 cm head circumference (+97th %)

After all we’ve been through, these numbers are worth celebrating. Even the god damned percentiles. Though, I hope that I can think about percentiles as often as I think about, say, checking my car’s oil (every couple of years–sorry, dad, I’ll get on that).

Necessary but not cause for celebration were Stella’s shots. And there were many. She handled FOUR SHOTS (plus an oral rota virus vaccine) like a champ. One was an optional flu shot. Scores of people in my “circles” have been dropped like bad habits by the flu. Otherwise I probably wouldn’t have allowed her to receive so many shots at once. Right after the nurse gave her the three standard shots, Cody realized that they’d forgotten the flu shot. So they had to go tromp through the halls to retrieve it, then come back and inject her again, after she’d calmed down (with the help of a pacifier) from the initial three. Well, oddly enough, when stuck for the fourth time, she didn’t cry. In fact, I am not even sure she noticed the shot at all. Perhaps her chubby little thighs were in shock.

All dressed up in her Wednesday best.

All dressed up in her Wednesday best.

I think Cody and I were in shock upon seeing the number on that scale. We’re always a bit quiet and tense right before a weigh-in. In that moment, I cease breathing and put all emotions on hold. Because it always feels like there’s so much riding on it. Upon entering the doctor’s office, I am mute and/or annoyed until I see or hear that number. Cody and I practically did chest bumps and high fives when we heard “sixteen p0unds eight and a half ounces” announced with appropriate enthusiasm by the nurse. I honestly wanted to bust out with a rendition of Public Enemy’s “Bring the Noise”–something Cody and I do quite well. “Black is back, all in, we’re gonna win, check it out, yeah y’all c’mon, here we go again, turn it up! Bring the noise!” I think Stella would’ve enjoyed it. Maybe next time.

A brighter day.

Stella, sunshine and sculptures, oh my!

Stella, sunshine and sculptures, oh my!

Okay. So we’re 99% sure that Stella’s change in eating habits is due to the pain of teething. I heard from Robin today and she reminded me that it will take months for us to really relax and not worry so much about how she eats. Stella is just fine. We are expecting a tooth to make an appearance any day now–perhaps we’ll see it tomorrow, on her 6-month birthday! She’ll eat more when she is ready. I have faith in her. We’re doing better.

Let’s just say that I’m so glad yesterday is yesterday. I’d started to freak out about Stella’s fussiness around eating–BIG TIME. With my dear friend Kari, I caught an excellent and poignant, but exceedingly depressing independent film, WENDY AND LUCY.  Picked the wrong day to see that one. Then, on the way out of the theater, I was berated within an inch of my life by a belligerent, drunk homeless woman! She assaulted me a barrage of mindblowingly crude insults, some of them tailored to what she’d overheard me saying about the movie, laced with the worst expletives you can imagine for five solid minutes (while we walked down the block and then as we waited for the light to change so we could cross) . On the drive home, I was involved with a scary near-miss (or as George Carlin would’ve more accurately dubbed it, a “near-hit”) with a distracted driver from Ohio, apparently. A few blocks later, I almost hit a pedestrian at the huge intersection at Denny and Boren–I hit the gas when the light turned green, when suddenly I saw a pedestrian right in front of me. I couldn’t help but wonder if my negative energy was attracting all this nonsense. It motivated me to think more positively. Before bed, I paged through Louise Hay’s You Can Heal Your Life. And slowly but surely, I have begun to feel just a little bit better. I expect that trend to continue.

Squinty Squinterson

Squinty Squinterson

We took a stroll through the Olympic Sculpture Park today. Stella loved it. The sun was very bright, causing her to squint like crazy, so we had to bust out her sweet, hand-me-down (thanks Julia!) pink shades for the first time. I couldn’t help but be surprised when, after we popped them on her cute face, everyone in the park didn’t stop in their tracks, with jaws open, and form a line to admire her adorableness. In my eyes, nothing in the park–none of the art, not the sunny weather, nor the views of the water and mountains–compared to the brightness of Stella. I was reminded of how to simply be happy. Thanks, Stella.

Beachy keen (on the shore at the Olympic Sculpture Park)

Beachy keen (on the shore at the Olympic Sculpture Park)

Please no.

Stella has been getting more and more difficult around eating again and I am starting to freak out about it.

She is starting to refuse the bottle more and more. She doesn’t want to eat upon waking up after sleeping for 10 to 11 hours. We now wait an hour after she wakes up, and even then she only takes 100 mls. Prior to this rough patch, she was taking 150-190 from all bottles. Spoon feeding is really challenging–it’s not her lack of interest that bothers me, it’s that she gets so upset when you offer it to her. She will take some if she holds the spoon, however.

I am really concerned. To be honest, I am feeling like I physically can’t continue to worry about and deal with the trials of this feeding issue. We’ve been through so much already! I feel such a sense of dread. It’s just so frustrating and draining and worrisome. I was so sure that she was on solid ground. Now the earth is crumbling beneath us.

I thought we were past all this.

I really hope that this is a fluke. Or that a tooth is coming in. Or something innocuous explains this behavior. Perhaps reflux is flaring up and we need to up her dosage. Maybe we need more cranial osteopathy sessions. I can’t wait to get on the phone with Robin, her occupational therapist, and talk about it. This is tearing me apart. My mind races with worry. I feel a bit sick to my stomach again.

Wish us luck…. thank you.