parenthood

*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…

The truth about moms

Posted on by amberhj

On message boards across the web you can find, far too easily, cringe-inducing posts by moms skewering each other’s parenting styles and choices–battles over breastfeeding versus formula-feeding and catfights about co-sleeping and cribs, and that’s just the tip of the judgemental iceberg. This sad reality is partly why, even though it was necessary to ensure Stella’s wellbeing, the switch to hypoallergenic formula was so difficult.

I’ve thought a lot about all the guilt and shaming and I think that what it really boils down to is that today, there is no one clear way to raise a child. Somehow, with a constant flood of opinions, experts, and information, there are more questions than answers. Nothing is clear cut. We’re all so worried about making the “right choices” for our children that we cling tightly to our way of doing things, and they come to define us. It’s as if we are trying to convince ourselves, not just others, of their correctness. Defensiveness and insecurity can be the only explanation.

However. What I’ve learned through my experiences with this blog is that none of that matters. Not one bit. I’ve heard from mothers across the country and around the world–moms in Singapore, New Zealand, Ireland and Texas whose babies refuse to eat. We all do the same desperate things, ask the same questions, and think the same thoughts. Our feelings, stories and longings are not just similar, but identical. The fact that some of our babies enjoy breastmilk and some formula, and that some sleep nestled under our arms while others are tucked into lovingly adorned cribs, makes no difference whatsoever. These women span a diverse range of nationalities, but you’d never know it.

As I think about Hatice, Rocio, Erin and all of other moms who’ve contacted me, I am overcome with emotion. Not just because I’ve been where they are and know how gut-wrenching their struggles are. Not just because I know how terrifying it is to insert an NG tube, how the tape turns their scrumptious little cheek into a red, raw mess that seems to symbolize disfunction, and how an aversion comes to suffocate every other aspect of life. No. Really, my heart aches and expands when I think about them because they love their babies so very, very much–literally to the point of madness, sometimes. They would do anything at all, gladly handing over their own wellbeing and comfort, to ensure that their babies are happy and healthy. It’s that simple.

The truth about moms is that we are all incredibly alike, when it comes to what actually matters.

Me and Stella, all cozy and matchy matchy.

Me and Stella, all cozy and matchy matchy.

Open wide

Posted on by amberhj

So, as I reported earlier, we visited Seattle Children’s Hospital this week to see Robin, Stella’s wonderful and very wise occupational therapist. We wanted to check in and see how Stella is doing with solids. We were worried because she wasn’t eating as much as a nine-month-old is “supposed to” by now. She had not been showing any aversive behavior, and once in a while she’d chow down on bananas, avocado or toast, but overall, her intake of solids seemed pretty low–maybe 1/4 of a cup for an entire day and a few bites of finger food. And it was taking *forever*.

Well, Robin assured us that Stella was just fine. In fact, Stella has no feeding problems anymore, at all. I knew this deep down, but it was an incredible relief to hear it from our trusted expert.

We realized that the problem was us–not Stella. Robin gave us some very valuable pointers on how to feed Stella more effectively. It turns out that we’d been so afraid to push Stella, based on early battles over breastfeeding and bottle-feeding, that we weren’t offering her enough via spoon. We were way too timid. Stella doesn’t need to be coddled. Ever since our meeting with Robin, we’ve pretty much been “shoveling it in” and Stella has been enjoying 1/4 to 1/2 cup of baby food plus a few bites of finger food at each of her three meals. Just like she is “supposed to.” It’s amazing!

She seems to really enjoy my homemade blueberry puree mixed with a bit of cereal, and that makes me so happy! That said, Stella has a nasty cold, which is making food less appealing to her–especially chunky things like finger foods. She’s thrown up immediately after some of her meals due to coughing fits, but it’s tapering off as the worst of her illness appears to be over. It hasn’t slowed her down too much, but I’m interested to see how eating goes when she feels better.

Stella had been taking enormous bottles, up to nine ounces at a time for a total of 30 ounces of formula a day. Contrast that to the days when when 3 and a half ounces was HUGE! So in the two and a half hours before her first nap, she was getting 400-450 mls (that’s up to 15 ounces in the first couple hours!). No wonder she wasn’t into solids. She was full! As a result, we’re in the midst of a schedule shift. I’m almost embarrassed to admit this, but it’s made me anxious.

We had our old schedule *down.* I knew roughly how much she would eat when, and it created a nice comfort zone–for me as much as Stella. Well, as she grows we need to adjust, and that’s what we are doing now. But a low-level panic infiltrated my day. By fitting in these larger meals of solids, we are messing with the timing and amounts of her bottles. She doesn’t seem hungry enough to take a bottle RIGHT after solids. I don’t know exactly when she’ll get her 24-30 ounces for the day and it makes me nervous. I have to watch for hunger cues more closely. So, I am officially out of the comfort zone, and am figuring out what works and what doesn’t. It’s a bit of a throw back to when Stella had her tube and when we were weaning her. I never really knew when she would want to eat. I just had to pay attention and wait–not my strong suit.

I’m giving myself pep talks, and they are effective.  They sound a little bit like this:

“If I can survive the anxiety of a newborn that won’t eat, pumping around the clock, mastering the use of a god damned supplemental nursing system, navigating the complexity and chaos of hospitals and healthcare, inserting and maintaining an NG tube, getting no more than three hours of sleep at a time for two months, weaning my baby off of the tube and curing her aversion without (completely) losing my mind, I think I can figure out a new feeding schedule. Damn it, I can do just about ANYTHING.

And so can Stella.”

Nine months

Posted on by amberhj

Stella's a little shy in the pool--at first.

Stella's a little shy in the pool--at first.

So, Stella has been outside the womb for just about as long as she was in it. This seems like a big milestone to me and my uterus.

Stells (that’s not a typo–it’s one of our nicknames for her) celebrated her nine-month birthday on Sunday. The occasion was marked with a Waterbabies class (with a stop at Bellevue’s Downtown Park beforehand), and a walk to Gasworks Park. The next day, we went in to Dr. N’s office for her nine-month check-up. Ah, yes. Time for those dreaded percentiles.

Cody and I let out a sigh of relief and our shoulders dropped about six inches upon seeing the number on the scale: 19 pounds, 2 ounces. We knew that if she wound up at 19 pounds or so, she’d be at or above the 50th percentile for weight. I know, I know. It doesn’t even matter. One look at Stella tells you how happy and healthy she is. But we’ve got a nasty, lingering case of feeding aversion/tube-induced PTSD  and are grateful for any extra reassurance.

After the measurements were taken, the doctor came in, shook our hands and started tapping away on his touchscreen. He’d plugged in Stella’s stats in order to show us her growth curves, charted electronically.

“Look at this beautiful curve, ” he said, highlighting the fact that Stella’s weight was right between the 50th and 75th percentiles, just as it had been at her six-month check-up. He continued, with a bit of sing-songy positivity in his voice (which I loved), “And this curve looks great…” We saw that, for length/height, she was in the 75th percentile, just like last time. We were flying high.

Then, pointing to a dot, adrift above the highest percentile curve, he noted, “And this is how smart your baby is.” He was kidding, of course, but her head size was clearly “off the charts,” as they say. Last time, it’d been on the highest curve. Her head circumference has risen by a few percentiles between each check-up apparently. It’s not uncommon, really, and not a concern. Unless it keeps going, of course. In which case learning to walk will be a lot more challenging.

In short, Stella is thriving. Her doctor told us to feed her solids three times a day (I’d limited it to two, fearing that she might not take enough from the bottle otherwise), and to stop tracking how much formula she takes outside of that. He also suggested changing her formula to the normal 20-calorie-per-ounce concentration, which we have done. At one point, in the wake of all this, I stuttered, worriedly, with what I’m sure was a look of concern and confusion, “Um, so, like, h-how much f-formula does she NEED now?” The doctor kindly told us that we’d worried enough, and that we could stop now. Worry had become like air to us. So we are pretty much adapting to life on a new planet.

He also pointed out that, in a way, we are allowing Stella to wean herself off of the Ranitidine by not upping the dose as she grows. It reminded me of the progress she’s made int hese last three months. She’d been on two reflux medications until a couple months ago. We’ve lowered the amount of Simply Thick we put in her bottles, with the goal of soon weaning her off of that, too. She is back to the “normal” caloric density for formula–just like I’d predicted (boldy, it felt at the time) in her early tube-free days.

And that brings me to my point. So often, these days, when I look at Stella’s impossibly beautiful, beaming face, I can’t help but cry. Especially when she laughs. I remember, somewhere in the dark, dark days of December, bawling at most commercials. Our situation and those post-partum hormones were brutal–even bland Sleep Country USA ads opened deep, previously forgotten psychic wounds, apparently. But there was something especially gripping about the “Peace on Earth” spot for Pampers. Those soft, gorgeous baby faces! Those cherubic, chubby cheeks! Yes, those cheeks. Those cheeks, free from evidence of medical intervention. Those perfect baby lips, moving as if the baby is nursing in her dreams. They tormented me. Because to Stella, eating was a nightmare, not a dream, and our view of her angel face was obscured by two kinds of tape and a long yellow tube. Those babies were chubby and sleeping in a sprawled out fashion–not being force-fed while sleeping swaddled and strapped into a giant foam wedge. That commercial just seemed cruel to me at the time.

I go into her room and look at Stella every night before I go to sleep–despite that fact that by doing so I risk letting our super creaky floor wake her up. I have to do it. How could I miss out on the most beautiful sight imaginable? It is a triumph, a joy and a reminder to be grateful. I just watched the Pampers commercial again. And I have to say, Stella would fit right in with that bunch of sleeping angels–those arrogant bastards.

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.

Lucky seven. (Months, that is.)

Posted on by amberhj

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.

My other resume

Posted on by amberhj

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.

Posted on by amberhj

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.