Family update

3 reasons to smile

Posted on by amberhj

Stella’s Auntie Corinne (my youngest sister) and Uncle Colin (the duo also known as “C squared”) flew in from Boston for a few days, but now they are gone, and Stella and I are suffering from withdrawal.

Just before C and C’s arrival, Stella’s stranger anxiety went through the roof. As we entered the park a few days ago, we saw a couple approaching from the opposite entrance, all the way across the green expanse. Upon spotting them, Stella retreated to her hiding post behind my knee. She remained there until they passed, which took a while, and eyed them intently the whole time, eliciting a laugh from the two suspicious characters. In light of experiences like that, I was wondering how quickly she’d warm up to our house guests, whom she hadn’t seen since April. Well, five minutes after they arrived, she was doing stuff like this:

Kicking back with C squared

Kicking back with C squared

I think they share some kind of bond. It was a given that Stella would take to Corinne, having spent more time with her in the past. But I was impressed by how she fell in love with Colin. They really connected. But then again, come to think of it, these three have something in common. They are survivors.

At one point during the visit, Uncle Colin carried Stella up our steep front steps, of which there are many. This brought tears to my eyes. In fact, this was never supposed to happen. Colin is lucky to be alive. A couple years ago, he was in a devastating single-car accident. To keep him alive, they had to pump more blood into him than the human body actually holds. He was told he’d never walk again. His spine literally moved sideways within his body, and that was just one of many horrific injuries. From the blog that documented his incredible recovery:  “Colin has endured four very difficult surgeries: one to remove a portion of his lung torn from broken ribs and to stop internal bleeding, two back surgeries to repair the spinal cord and stabilize shattered vertebrae, and a fourth to mend three breaks in his right arm.”

During their visit, Corinne thought back about their natural defiance, their bold assumption that he would indeed walk again–their refusal to accept anything else. After waking up from the surgery on his spine, Colin was asked to move his toes. To everyone’s astonishment, he could. The doctor blew it off as spasms–he told them not to get their hopes up, that Colin would not walk. But C squared knew spasms could not explain this on-command movement. They KNEW he would walk again–in fact, they thought it was obvious. Corinne laughed on recalling it: “We were like, ‘he can move his toes!’ DUH! He’ll totally walk again, no problem!” In hindsight she realized that the leap from slight toe movement to walking again was Grand-Canyon-sized. But the important part of all this is that they had hope. Hope! Hope is huge. Hope is what makes us and keeps us human. Granted, it was a very, very long road. Colin worked his ass off. They fought insurance battles and had about a year’s worth of dark days, but they knew he’d get there. Against all odds, and with the support of the community that rallied around him, he did.

Oh, did I mention that Colin’s accident happened five weeks after their wedding? And a several years after a sleeping Corinne rolled out of her third-story dormitory window, cracking her skull and vertebrae, and shattering her arm? She sat in the gutter alongside the building until someone heard her moaning in pain. I remember the moment I got the news about Corinne’s accident and how I could not breathe. I remember flying to Boulder, Colorado to see her, and wishing with all my might that I could trade places with her yet being blown away with how strong she was during the recovery process. And I recall feeling similarly sucker-punched when I got the call about Colin, whose life was dangling by a shredded thread. Those are those frozen moments that stay with you–slaps in the face that keep you from sleeping on the job of life.

While not really comparable to the life-threatening injuries Colin and Corinne endured, Stella went through quite a bit in her first year, the lowlights being a scary feeding aversion, blood in her diaper, and The Tube. So when I saw Colin, Corinne and Stella all together, happy and healthy, I could not help but feel amazed, and overwhelmed with gratitude. Miracles do happen, and my family is proof of that. I could not be more proud.

"Just tell 'em we're survivors!" (I love these three people. And the movie "Cars.")

"Just tell 'em we're survivors!" (I love these three people and, I'll admit it, the movie "Cars.")

P.S. I’m also thankful that we had gorgeous, sunny weather for their visit. “C squared”, being bionic and all, have enough metal in their bodies to shame Wolverine. Their joints get uncomfortable as rainy weather approaches in the distance–nevermind when gloom settles in for days on end. It will surely descend soon, but Colin and Corinne left enough of their light to keep us going for a while.

P.P.S. Corinne and Colin helped Stella embrace her sippy cup. This is also a miracle. Trust me.

Three is a magic number

Posted on by amberhj

Three years ago today, Cody was very, very brave.

Three years ago today, Cody did something that was very, very brave.

Today is our 3rd anniversary. Cody and I have been married for three years, but together for seven and a half. Though, the last year alone feels more like a decade in some ways. Cody gave me the most thoughtful card with several sentences written inside that made my eyes well up (!), and, from Nordstrom, a pretty necklace with black crystal beads. He thought about getting the clear crystal version, but figured black would be better for the fall and winter. He is right. I’m impressed.

We three celebrated three years tonight at a low-end but decent pizza joint. That may not seem very romantic. But in a way, it was.  We were happy and content, just being together. Until Cody derailed my plan to get ice cream at Molly Moon’s afterward! Big mistake, Cody. Huge. But we recovered quickly.

At dinner, Stella ate more food in one sitting than we’ve ever seen: beans, pasta, cottage cheese, olives, shredded mozzarella, grapes, three giant wedges of watermelon, bread. Oh. My. God. It was AWESOME. What a fabulous anniversary gift. I think we both got a little teary eyed. We were in awe, reminded of how lucky we are to have the tube so very far behind us. Our union has created this beautiful, vibrant girl who is thriving. It’s beyond words, really.

This weekend, Cody and I will venture out together for a fancy-ish meal and hopefully a movie. And ice cream will be eaten. And old memories will be rehashed. And I’ll wear my new necklace. And we’ll get to be Amber and Cody for a while, not Mama and Dada.

Cody, I feel so fortunate to have found you. Whenever I miss my family and start cursing about being here in Seattle, so far away, I have to catch myself. Seattle is a magical place! I came here ten years ago basically on my own, with all my possessions packed into my 1990 Jetta, and stepped into the unknown. I was adrift. Throughout my life but especially after moving here, I experienced terrible loneliness and I wasn’t sure why I’d come here or what I was doing or if I’d ever find “my place.” It’s all clear now. I was growing and learning on my own, yes, but more than that–the move to Seattle, all my mistakes and fears and, heh, therapy–it all led me to you, a Minnesota boy sweet and strong enough to put up with me. Truly. (I mean, you just came in here as I was writing this and I snapped at you because I was annoyed and wanted to finish this post and didn’t want you to see it yet.)

You are as smart as they come, but humble, yet, I love that when you don’t know something, well, you’ll somehow form a super-authoritative, convincing and detailed opinion on the spot based on what little information is available. You don’t have a greedy or selfish bone in your body. You are one hell of a point guard (really amazing actually), and a self-made player like me (you may be the only person who knows what I mean when I say that), and this is huge, not only because we got to know each other on the court but because I just couldn’t be with someone who sucks at basketball. You’re incredibly cute, though I’m still trying to convince you of that. Oh boy are you an amazing dad–you nurture Stella and shower her with love and pay very, very close attention to her and appreciate all the little big things she does. Every girl on this planet should be so lucky. What I know for sure is that this world be an above-and-beyond better place if all fathers were like you. I’m lucky to have you as my best friend, and my husband. Honestly, without you, I’d still be lost. I love you very much.

Stella Enters Single Digits

Posted on by amberhj

Stella turned one on Monday. I should probably say something really profound and eloquent and heartfelt but all I keep thinking to myself is “HOLY SHITBALLS!” Over and over and over.

The birthday girl.

The birthday girl.

Okay, I’ll say that after 12 mind-blowing months, it feels like heaven to see her thriving, running, throwing, walking, laughing, smiling, waving, chowing, bye-bye-ing and doing everything she is “supposed to” and more, especially after all we went through with her feeding issues and the entity referred to as The Tube. Perhaps I appreciate this milestone more–who knows, maybe a lot more–than I otherwise would have. There were days when I didn’t know if she’d grow again. I couldn’t see a way out for us–no light at the end of the tunnel. In fact, it wasn’t a tunnel. It was a deep hole and we were stuck in what seemed like mud but it was too dark to really know. There were nights when terror had me by the throat and I literally had trouble breathing because I loved her so much and that feeding tube was hell and totally unacceptable and the tyrannical, suffocating thought, “WHY WON’T SHE JUST EAT?” robbed me of my own appetite and mental stability (what little I had to begin with). The really sad part, I suppose, is that I know there were stretches of time during which worry over her unwillingness to eat, and knowledge of the pain she was in initially, and the resulting lack of weight gain robbed me of much of the enjoyment of some her early little triumphs–the ones that are actually incredibly huge–and anxiety sometimes prevented me from savoring that fleeting, precious time in her life. That’s what gets to me as I look back.

But now, here we are at one year old. We made it! We kicked some ass. Holy crap. We moved MOUNTAINS, we hit the three-pointer at the buzzer, we saved the world! (Our little corner of it, anyway.) I could not be more proud of her. And you know what? I’m proud of me too. I love where we are now. She is such a happy and active child and so strong and vibrant and resilient. She glows! Everyone sees it. I am tempted to quote Jack Nicholsen here, which seems inappropriate and perfect: “You make me want to be a better man.” Because she has inspired me to let go of what doesn’t matter and to cherish what does. Heck, if she is this awesome (and she really, really is–like when she spots her Cookie Monster doll across the room and lowers her voice several octaves and talks in scruffy baby talk all the way over to him), I must be pretty great. So, to be better, I don’t really have to do much at all, except be kinder and gentler toward myself. That’s the example I want to set for Stella.

Just after proving that guacamole has a calming effect.

Just after proving that guacamole has a calming effect.

We threw a very small, delightful and heartfelt party on Sunday (yes, it’s true, a party can be heartfelt). My parents were visiting from Boston, which made it all the more fun. I think we were all shocked when Stella refused to eat her cupcake. Wouldn’t even touch it. We got her to lick the candle, an attempt to help her enjoy some of the Trophy Cupcake frosting magic, but it must’ve been too sweet for her, because she reacted as if she’d been force-fed a heaping dollop of Vegemite. (I reacted the same way, when, during a soiree I attended amid my study abroad experience in Melbourne, I loaded up a cracker with what I thought was Nutella. Let’s just say that I’ve never been more wrong about anything in my life.) Total disgust. However, she eagerly ate my mom’s super fantastic guacamole, and had some flaky crust from one of the three types of quiche (crab, broccoli, and bacon-loaded Lorraine–all were superb).

She looked as adorable as ever, but, not at all used to wearing a floofy dress, she tried to undress herself constantly. Also not accustomed to so many people (and all were adults save for one toddler) crammed into our small abode, she got a bit clingy. I have to say I enjoyed that, because she’s usually far too busy sprinting around or doing headstands on the coffee table (trying to, anyway) to be held. Oh my, she WAILED when we sang “Happy Birthday.” It was funny, and got a big laugh (which probably didn’t help matters!) but I really felt for her. Actually, I set her up. I know full well that when you sing to her on your own, she’ll not only be mesmerized, but she’ll often sing along, or more likely try to one up you with her angelic singing voice when you’re done. But don’t you DARE sing with anyone else! Not even one other person! It is absolutely *terrifying* to this otherwise fearless girl. Cody and I learned this a few months ago. I was singing some old Cookie Monster song (that Cody taught me) while feeding Stella, when Cody chimed in. She looked at me with an expression of total horror, then looked at Cody, and back at me. And then, the tears and hysterics began. Sometimes we forget about this and absentmindedly join in if the other is singing and holy cow does our self esteem take a hit when she gives us the biggest and most terrified thumbs down you can imagine.

Cody made a bound hardcover photo album recapping Stella’s first year of life, as a surprise for me. It arrived yesterday, and it’s fabulous. I just love it. (Thank you very much, Cody!) Somewhere toward the middle, there’s a photograph from Christmas day. She’s on her tummy, wearing her green candy cane (striped) PJ’s, with her fists restly cutely under her chin. Her expression is priceless. She is clearly thrilled and her grin could not be any wider, but there is an undeniably devilish glint to her smile. She’s up to something. The tube is there with its horrible, all-too-temporary tape job, but at first, I didn’t even see it. All I saw was her beautiful face. And as I realized this, I was struck with how far we’ve come.

Stella, happy, happy birthday! You are a wonder to behold. We feel so lucky, so incredibly thankful to have you in our lives. I love you so much I would stand on my head all day long just to prove it to you, or even eat a whole tub of Vegemite. May your second year be as triumphant as your first, and even more joyful! We can’t wait to see what you do next.

Let the games begin!

Posted on by amberhj

Having a ball. The belle of the ball. Insert other, non-offensive ball metaphors here.

Having a ball. The belle of the ball.

Stella’s father (Cody) and I met playing basketball. He was one of two men on our team, and ours was the only team in the league with women. Yep, it was a men’s league and we bitches crashed the party. They were GUYS, and even though most of us played some college ball (granted, division three) and most of them probably rocked JV in high school, they naturally assumed we were a joke and–holy shitballs–were they wrong. We won the league championship and I put that accomplishment right up there with Stella’s 32-hour unmedicated birth, and while we’re at it I have to throw in my leading the Bay State League in scoring my senior year in high school–I still  don’t know how that happened. It doesn’t make sense at all, except that I filled in any lack of social life with constant shooting practice at the outdoor court at Weston High School, usually surrounded by very impressed ten-year-old boys and their parents. And that was all the male attention I needed, thank you very much.

I can admit that, while Stella has not yet entered single digits, I’ve been trying to deny my desire for her to enjoy (okay, fall head-over-heels-in-love with) basketball. I’m trying to keep it at bay or at least on a simmer, but it’s like buying a bag of Kettle Chips the size of a suitcase, because it’s a much better deal than the individual serving bag, and besides, it’ll last you a couple weeks because you will only eat a handful a day with lunch, and then an hour later the bag is completely empty, not even crumbs are left, and your cube smells like salt-and-vinegar burps, CODY. I can’t help it. I love basketball. It was at or near the center of my world all the way from middle school through my early 20’s. When, in middle school, my friends were developing obsessions with NKOTB and attending Marky Mark concerts, I was cultivating an unhealthy attachment to the Boston Celtics, watching their games instead of doing homework and plastering my walls with posters of Larry Bird, and then Reggie Lewis.

I’m trying hard not to label Stella. But for the love of all things sporty, she sure seems like an athlete to me. The toy that makes her eyes most sparkly and bright is a ball (followed closely by books: STUDENT ATHLETE, anyone?). It is green with blue polka dots and very bouncy and by far her favorite *thing*, and she’s been playing catch–no, really, I mean throwing the ball to you and waiting for you to roll it back and throwing it to you again and so on–for a good five months now. She’s strong as an ox, lean and muscular and solid. She’s fast. She loves the water, and will actually try to swim if you let her. She thinks the shallow end of the wading pool is crap, preferring to (attempt to) take rafts and beach balls away from the rambunctious eight-year-old boys in the deep(er) end. Splash her in the face–she’ll laugh and splash you right back. She never, ever stops moving–in fact, she’s been very squirmy since birth, by six weeks could hold her head up for long periods of time as she was desperate to look around and find someone to yell at because boy, did her little cow’s-milk-protein-intolerant tummy hurt with the pound of cheese I ignorantly ate at every meal. (Yep, I’m even proud of her neck strength.) She was never content to sit around, which is exactly what have I wanted to do since I became pregnant and especially after giving birth.

Her walk is really more of an easy yet brisk jog. She runs up and down the hill at the park and if during her ascent she falls, she’ll steady herself and then use the grass to pull herself back up and continue with dogged determination. During descents, I usually offer my hand (she accepts when on very uneven surfaces like giant boulders or flowing lava) because the sight of her running down an steep-ish incline is nerve-wracking. But she doesn’t take my hand, and she doesn’t fall. So I let her go and I savor the sight (really more of a blur) before me. Lately, she’s been trying to stand on her head, or so it seems, and winds up in a downward dog position, hanging out upside down and peering back through her legs with a sly smile. I expect she’ll have mastered the somersault by Monday and if not, we’ll be hitting the gym to work on her core strength, and probably do some suicides in which case Stella may need to take it easy while I get back in shape.

We are at the stage where she is now a very good mimic, an eager and quick learner. We have so much fun. In recent weeks, she’s been putting the phone to her ear and if I hand her a brush or comb, she’ll move it across the back of her head, because let’s face it, the front pretty much styles itself. Yesterday morning, I taught her how to kick, and she hasn’t stopped since. The video below is from yesterday afternoon. At first her dribbling seemed like a fluke, but she’s done it about a dozen times since then, and I can’t help but be completely dazzled. I’m her mom and that is my job and it comes very naturally to me, as it should. This video, below, co-starring PaPa (Cody’s dad), may be very ho-hum to you but it warms me up and makes my heart grow at least another centimeter in diameter. Until yesterday, she’d walk up to the ball, then pick it up and throw it. She never let it touch her foot. But now she is purposefully kicking it along and it’s just about the best thing I’ve ever seen. And tomorrow, she’ll do something else for the first time and it will be a new best-thing-I’ve-ever-seen. Every parent knows exactly what I mean.

Stella relishes every adventure, “big” and small–from trips to see the seaplanes and kites at Gasworks Park and tours among the elephants and giraffes at the zoo, to forays to the fridge to examine bottles and jars and visits to the dust bunnies in the bedroom closet. She expresses her joy with ecstatic physical outbursts. Bouncing and arm flailing and squealing and rolling with total exploding exuberance. She’s my happy little athlete. Yes, yes, I know. That’s a label. And it’s very possible that she’ll one day eschew soccer balls for fluffy pink tutus, and that’s okay. (Though, let’s face it, passing over a basketball for a soccer ball is pretty much the equivalent–KIDDING, sort of.) Really, I’m just following her lead. Trying to keep up and shaking my head in amazement, with gratitude and Stella’s goose-poop-covered shoe smacking me in the face.

Steps in a new direction

Posted on by amberhj

I am so into recycling that I am making Stella wear my old overalls.

I am so into recycling that I am making Stella wear my old overalls.

I haven’t posted in so long because I’m lazy. But also, I needed to take a break and discover a new direction. So, this blog will probably change, and soon. But all the helpful resources pertaining to feeding issues will remain, and I hope that they continue to help and comfort people.

The thing is, Stella’s bottles are no longer thickened. She is off both of her reflux medications, the Ranitidine (Zantac) discontinued two or three weeks ago with no issues. And she eats plenty. All the mental and physical energy that went into feeding Stella, and worrying about feeding Stella, needs to go elsewhere now. I’ve been a bit stuck as a result, but figuring it out, slowly.

I’m working on an article for AOL. I’m doing a small writing project for one of my past employers. I joined a book club. I’m cooking more. I’ve planned a little family vacation for August. We are finding a new rhythm. Speaking of which…

Stella earned her “early walker” status last week. She will be eleven months old tomorrow, and I saw her take her first steps on her ten-month birthday. Though Cody shrugged when  I told him that, because he’d seen it before. Why he didn’t mention that humungous event is beyond me. Best guess is that he felt guilty over having witnessed it with out me. In any case, she is now literally off and running.

I took her to University Village yesterday, and instead of walking past the astr0turf-clad, todder-friendly playground, which previously had all the relevance of a space shuttle launch pad, we stopped, went in, and Stella proceeded to waddle-jog around, exploring all the ground-level gadgets and approaching everyone with aplomb. At one point, two toddlers (clearly playground vets at 18-24 months old) were standing alongside the lowest tier of the series of platforms that lead to the top of the slide. Stella jaunted up to the step, brushing between them and gently nudging them aside. With a wide stance and an even wider smile, she placed both hands on the platform, and turned to smile at each of them before cheerfully smacking the platform twice. They then did the same. It was as if she has bellied up to the bar and ordered a round for everyone. “This one’s on me, gang!”

Speaking of another round, it’s time for my second glass of wine. In my own personal experience, it’s one of the few upsides of formula-feeding, and I’ll take it.

P.S. Whoever says formula-feeding is convenient and time-saving is HIGH!

My deal with an adorable devil

Posted on by amberhj

As usual, I don’t know where to begin. Over the past two weeks, I have experienced the low of crying while lying sprawled on the floor with a string of snot connecting my nose to the carpet to the high of many truly perfect moments with a happy, big-bellied Stella smiling in the sun.

We went through two weeks of teething hell during which Stella ate a lot less than usual and lost a half a pound in one week. At first, I wasn’t worried at all, because I knew it was due to teething and I knew that her occupational therapist had said that Stella has no feeding issues anymore. I knew it would pass and that she would rebound. I was extremely proud of myself. But then she was throwing up and refusing some of her bottles. So,  in totally predictable fashion, just as I started to worry like a crazy person again, she ate way, way, way more than usual. And that is when we went to Minnesota and had an amazingly good time thanks to fabulous weather, a beautiful 18-acre estate, which seemed like a meticulously kept, expansive public garden/park with a house in the middle, Stella’s healthy appetite, and her adoring grandparents. Oh, and this is big: We stopped thickening Stella’s bottles yesterday, and so far, it’s going pretty well–though we may need to make an adjustment as the #3 nipple seems too slow, even with faster, unthickened formula. Stella doesn’t do “slow.”

So, it appears that Stella has made a deal with us. She’ll eat anything you put in front of her (provided she likes it–and she likes a lot of things), without complaint. Entire avocados. Pieces torn from our grilled steak, crusted from the spice rub. Full pieces of whole grain bread smeared with extra virgin olive oil. Yogurt blended with fresh mango. Millet/brown rice/lentil super porridge pureed with papaya, flax oil and brewer’s yeast. Savory baked tofu by the truckload.  However. She’ll throw over-the-top fits any other time she pleases. I was happy with this arrangement until I tried to change her diaper, at which point she screamed bloody murder and attempted to leap headfirst from the changing table.

Okay, I’m still happy with the arrangement. I’m just wondering how to deal with the emerging tantrums. Like the one she threw on the grass alongside the wading pool at Green Lake this afternoon. She hollered at the top of her lungs and wound up in a headstand position–pretty much dangling by her ankles, anyway–as I put on her diaper. Then we went home and had lunch, and she barked at me while pointing at the toast I was tearing up for her. Apparently, the service is too slow. I’ll work on that, Stella. A deal’s a deal.

*Overly dramatic sigh*

Posted on by amberhj

I should be blogging often as Stella is giving me tons of Grade A writing material. She took her first steps last week and is getting four new teeth (all at once). But I’m feeling pretty depressed lately, so every time I go to write, I quickly tire and say to myself, “Why bother?” It’s horrible to think that I don’t have the energy or enthusiasm to write about my precious Stella lately. It’s not for a lack of love, that’s for sure.

The truth is, I weaned myself off of my antidepressants about three months ago. Stella was better, eating happily and no longer tube fed, so I thought I was in the clear. Now I am thinking that it was premature to go off the meds. I am down in the dumps much of the time.

I don’t know exactly why I am feeling so sad, but I hope to rebound soon. Even with all of that heaviness on my shoulders, Stella makes me smile and laugh often. Not that she actually has to do anything to lift my spirits. The mere sight of her is a mood enhancer. Her cuteness forces me to say, at least a dozen times a day while hugging her tightly, “I love my munchkin!”

So, I need to devise a plan for feeling better. If only laziness and Facebook weren’t getting in the way…

Yes, that’s a toothbrush next to the can opener.

Posted on by amberhj

This is not staged. It’s an actual mess that accumulated on our counter one evening last week.

How did this happen?

How did this happen?

Here is a list of all the things that do not belong here:

  1. Three wine bottles
  2. Half of an avocado
  3. Dirty bib
  4. Grater
  5. Onion, avocado and mushroom scraps
  6. Notebook
  7. Can opener
  8. Electric toothbrush
  9. Toothbrush charger
  10. Measuring spoon
  11. Bag of Simply Thick packets
  12. Empty tupperware
  13. Steak knife
  14. Drinking glass
  15. Baby washcloth
  16. Chocolate bar wrapper
  17. Rolling pin
  18. Wine bottle stopper
  19. Dirty paper towel
  20. Cheese rind

The impressively diverse clutter gives the impression that we were bathing and feeding Stella, cooking a Mexican feast, drinking heavily, baking brownies, brushing our teeth and taking notes at the same time. But no. This is not the result of intense multi-tasking. It’s the product of a Facebook addiction, tiredness from staying up very late to do some freelance writing, and chasing Stella around the house as she crawls from one room, cupboard or table to the next. I rest my case.

Firsts and fiascos in Boston.

Posted on by amberhj

Wow. We just returned from Boston and I honestly don’t know where to begin. It was Stella’s first plane trip and travel experience. In fact, the  ordeal adventure was  loaded with firsts–for me and Stella Bella.

1.) Stella crawled–really crawled–for the first time.

This is big. As elated as I am that Stella triumphantly reached this big baby milestone, I am more excited that it will cut down on frustration-induced whining by at least 85%. After pushing herself backwards into corners and  under furniture for weeks–wailing the entire time as the object of her mobile intentions got further and further away–she finally figured out how to move forward. If I leave the room, she can now follow me instead of just crying about it. We haven’t done much baby proofing, aside from plugging a few outlets. I’d better get on that before Stella chews on a bottle of tub and tile cleaner.

During our time in Massachusetts, Stella spent a lot of time watching my sister’s dog, Bosley. She  clearly loves and adores Bosley, who is more human than canine, known to sit on his butt, upright on the couch as you or I would, with one paw resting on the armrest. I’m pretty sure he asked my dad for the remote one evening. So perhaps Stella was inspired by this noble animal’s ability to get around on all fours. Or perhaps she realized that her mom is far too lazy to bring toys to her and that she better figure out how to get them herself. Either way, the paradigm of our daily life has shifted.

2.) Stella met her first- and second-cousins for the first time.

Stella loves other babies and kids. She watches them with rapt attention, abandoning whatever it was she was doing in order to observe. She’ll place her hand on theirs and stare deeply and unblinkingly into their eyes. When she met her cousins James (5 years old) and Chase (3 weeks old), she was in complete awe of them. Perhaps she felt the familial connection. Or maybe because we made a big deal about their meeting, she picked up on the importance of it all. James would put his face right in front of hers, and within two seconds, she’d smile so big and warm that it had the effect of the sun coming out from behind a dark cloud.

The sight and sounds, at a cook-out hosted by my parents, of Rudy, Marley, Owen and Riley (my cousins’ children) were a feast for her giant eyes and alert ears. We took pictures of them all together, and in every one that I snapped, she is staring at the kids around her, taking mental notes, clearly fascinated by their advanced ways. In my favorite picture, Riley and Owen are smiling at Stella in such a sweet way. (If we hadn’t left our SIM card in my parents’ Wii, I’d post the photo.) I couldn’t help but wish that she could see them all on a regular basis. Stella seems very social, and unfortunately, her social circle is limited to yours truly 95% of the time. We’ve started going to the park almost daily where she exchanges smiles with other babies and kids, and I exchange awkwardness with other moms.

3.) I bared my ass to fellow passengers while changing Stella’s diaper on my lap. (Yes, MY ass.) Another first.

The return trip was  FAR more memorable than the flight to Boston. Twenty minutes after take-off, a man–sitting just a couple rows ahead of us–had a heart attack. We watched as several doctors worked frantically to save his life. (A doctors’ conference in Boston meant that our flight was packed with MD’s.) Theyhung an IV from the overhead compartment, performed CPR in the aisle, and even broke out the defibrillator paddles. After an emergency landing in Syracuse, we sat on the ground for two and a half hours. Shortly after take-off, with my legs aching from sitting so long with Stella on my lap, I urgently needed to get up, so I thought I’d change Stella’s diaper while I was at it. We headed to the rear of the plane and entered the only vacant bathroom. It was about the size of me, and I instantly realized that there was no changing table. I  had to pee like you read about, so I went ahead and changed Stella’s diaper on my lap while I relieved myself.

About mid-way through the change, someone opened the door. Yep, I’d neglected to lock it. I immediately closed the door (“hello lighting!”) and proceeded with the diaper change as if nothing had happened. Honestly, I don’t recall being alarmed or embarrassed at all. I calmly but quickly grabbed the slider handle and locked the door. The person on the other side, had they actually looked at my face and I hope and assume they didn’t (since the adorable upside-down face of the bare-bottomed baby on my lap was likely an effective distraction from my own face–or ass for that matter), would probably have been rather disturbed at my lack of alarm. But after you give birth without drugs, completely naked and pooping all over the table in a squatting position (deepest apologies for that visual), it takes a lot to phase you. I am fresh out of modesty. The last remnants of it were discarded with the placenta.

4.) For the first time, I truly and genuinely realized that, yes, Stella is still tough to feed. It’s not just me being insane.

It’s nothing like before, but still incredibly inconvenient. I realize that this issue is probably hard for other people, even most other new parents, t0 really understand. Stella doesn’t have a tube anymore. She looks and is happy and healthy. So some may think that Cody and I are overly protective or nutty when we take Stella to a dark quiet room to feed her or say things like, “We can’t go to that event/outing because Stella won’t eat if we do.” I sometimes sense that people are rolling their proverbial eyes and thinking to themselves that I am the problem. Granted, I’m extremely neurotic and defensive about it, my mothering confidence having been all but obliterated by the feeding aversion, though it is slowly being rebuilt like Chicago after the fire. But the trip armed me with examples that prove my point about Stella’s persnickety and impossibly annoying eating behavior.

One morning, Cody was giving Stella a bottle upstairs in the grandkids’ room, at my parents’ house where we stayed. It’s an adorable bedroom outfitted with a cute crib and bunk bed, complete with peace sign sheets. As usual with feedings, the room was dark and Stella was in her luxurious, super-duper-soft sleep sack. All the pieces were in place. They were in the middle of the feeding when my father came upstairs and said, somewhat loudly, from the stairs, “Hey Amber! Corinne wants to know what your schedule is for today.” Stella jerked her head and the feeding was over. As is always the case when a dog barks or a pin drops during a feeding, she would not pick up where she left off and continue. GAME OVER. Yep. It’s that easy to throw off her eating.

Stella completely refused to eat at Auntie Emily’s house. On two occasions, she had gone a good five hours without eating and was overdue for a bottle. We took her into her cousin James’ room, closed the door, pulled the blinds, put her in her sleep sack, sat down and put the bottle to her lips. No dice. Stella’s head was darting around the room, examining the toys and jolting in response to every noise from the living room down the hall.

And I know, you might think, “Big deal! She’d make up for it later.” Not necessarily! Stella never wakes up at night to be fed, even when she’s had very little to eat that day. Sometimes, if she does wake up crying, we’ll hurriedly make a bottle and offer it to her. We are denied every single time. Keeping Stella nourished is work. Not something you can take for granted. It’s tiring and, as we found out, limits your ability to do much of anything–especially while traveling.

A couple days into the trip, in response to her decreased intake resulting from the stress of the trip (happy stress, but stress nonetheless), I almost *lost it*. I woke up and Cody had taken her out with my parents to run some sort of errand. I went from being delighted at the much-needed extra sleep to over-the-top outraged at him for being gone with her at a time when she was supposed to eat and having taken no formula with him. I was beside myself. I actually grabbed my hair and pulled it. I simply didn’t know what to do with my fear and total panic set in. My phone was broken (Stella chewed it to death) so I couldn’t call them. A short while later, Cody walked in with Stella in her car seat. They were both smiling and calm. Stella idly kicked her feet and looked around delightedly. And I felt like the biggest, fattest ass ever. It was the wake-up call that I needed. From then on, I worried a lot less. Which is a good thing, because I don’t have any hair to spare, people.

5.) I bought and received (for my birthday) cute non-maternity clothing for the first time in a year and a half.

As I now type, I’m wearing this adorable T-shirt from Anthropologie, a birthday gift from Cody. It’s the first new, non-gray thing I’ve worn in ages. I also bought this Lilla P Colorblock Dress and a funky gold necklace to go with it, plus a couple other tops (one blue, one coral) and Christopher Blue shorts, in a charming brown/green/blue/pink on white plaid, that fit like a dream. Note that these are all very cheerful pieces. My attitude and the Seattle weather are following suit. And that’s a very good thing.

This new spring/summer wardrobe made the trip even more worthwhile. That and watching my daughter fall in love with her grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. Family and clothes are good for the soul. And in Boston, I got my share of both. I’m one lucky *32-year-old* lady.

Wrong again. Then right.

Posted on by amberhj

There have been so many times during our seven months with Stella when we thought we had everything figured out, only to discover that we were completely wrong.

Back when she was refusing to eat and not gaining much weight, before her two months with the tube, we were, at one point, convinced that the issue was her poor latch. Then it was my low milk supply. We were way off, and it would take us a while to realize that Stella’s latch was indeed okay–she just didn’t want to take in milk and acted accordingly, which led to my low milk supply and not the other way around. Then we were certain that THRUSH explained why she didn’t want to eat. Nope–the doctor took one look and shot that down. Then it was lactose intolerance that was the cause of all our trials and tribulations. Wrong again! Her lab tests pointed in another direction (cow’s milk protein intolerance–whatever that means).

One night last week, Stella woke up AT LEAST a dozen times and screamed her head off upon opening her eyes. She shook her head from side to side. She was furious and clearly in pain.  Holding her, bringing her to our bed–all the usual no-fail tactics–did little to nothing to soothe her. She was incredibly fussy with the bottle (our nightmare revisited). But we thought she’d just fought off a bug of some kind, so after some quick online research, the answer seemed obvious: Stella had an ear infection.

Nope.

The next day, a pediatrician told us with 100% certainty, after peering into Stella’s adorable ears, that there was nothing resembling an ear infection. She also felt around Stella’s tummy, applying pressure in an attempt to find intestinal discomfort. There was none. There was no source of pain that could be identified, except for her second tooth coming in, just to the left of the one, in the front on the bottom, that came in a couple weeks ago. The last time a tooth erupted, sure, there was fussiness around eating but not endless bouts of screaming and almost completely sleepless nights. We were baffled. Again.

And to make matters worse, at her appointment, she weighed in a full two ounces less than the previous day’s doctor’s visit (she’d been acting like a rag doll and was clearly sick, then we thought she fought it off, then she stayed up all night screaming, then we thought she was okay for a day, then she developed a horrendous cough). Which put her one month weight gain at a mere 4 ounces and just about sent me off the edge. With the doctor’s help, we came up with a game plan to get her some additional calories. I’ll be mixing in rice cereal with all her spoon fed meals–though I don’t think she’ll ever take as much rice cereal as they want her to because she simply doesn’t like it. We have all but removed the fruit in her bottles, as it may have a laxative effect (especially the prunes) and take up the space of the more nutritionally important formula. (Though in hindsight, that plan seems futile–a sweet sort of futility made up of good parental intentions. Stella will eat what she wants to eat, when she wants to eat. And there is so incredibly little I can do about it.)

Just when we thought everything was going so well.

But then, earlier this week, she ate 30% more than she is “supposed to.” And now, she’s back to not wanting to eat, because she appears to be teething (she chews on the nipple, doesn’t want to suck, yadda yadda.) I guess that’s just the way babies are. Last week, Cody was feeding Stella, and despite how much I love her (so much that it makes me crazy sometimes), I just wanted to leave. I didn’t want to hear the crying. I didn’t want to worry myself sick. I didn”t want to wrestle with the mystery of  “what is wrong now.” I just wanted her to be okay. To be healthy and happy. How can such a simple wish be so heavy?

Well, today I’m in a different place. Cody just fed her. She took about 100, far below her usual. But I don’t feel the need to avoid the situation. I am not as worried. Something has changed. Maybe because for the few days preceding this teething strike, she ate like a champ. She ate like you read about. She ate like eating was hip and she was a hipster. She ate like it was the only thing worth doing. So, if for a few days she doesn’t eat as much, how can I really worry? She is doing what she needs to do. I trust her. She is not the baby that used to scream her head off when she saw the bottle. Nowadays, if she doesn’t want to eat, she chews on the bottle. The bottle is her buddy, not her enemy. Her new tooth isn’t a buddy at the moment, but that’s okay. She is a baby, doing normal baby things. I am a new-ish mom. Experiencing normal new mom things. We are “normal.” (As normal as there is, anyway.) There is no tube. There is no feeding aversion. We are so blessed. And to worry this time in our lives away would be criminal.

Seriously. She is so cute I can’t stand it. I am so mindblowingly lucky. And gratitude now outweighs worry. By far. What a difference a few months make.

With that, I’m dragging Cody and Stella to Molly Moon’s. After all the emotional progress I’ve made, a sundae is in order. Make it snappy. And don’t you dare skimp on the whipped cream.