It All Started Out So Innocently...

(Better settle in kids, it's a long one (by VDog standards).)

I had posted two times in one week. Two times!! Not only in one week, oh no! In two days.

I knew it could quite possibly be a mistake even as I was hitting the "publish post" button. VDog just don't publish two times a week, people. So I got cocky. I thought to myself, 'wow! Now I have the rest of the week to slack off!' blog wise, that is.

So I went about trying to be a good housewifey and mama. Dishes were unloaded. Laundry was done. Outings were had.

This same week was the week that the GranCracker left after a two week stay. She had been cooking dinner every night (AWESOME and gourmet n shit!) and was watching the Little Man every morning so that I could take a shower. Cuz honestly? Mama V don't get showers more than two times a week either. Gross, I know.

So we're trottin' along, accomplishments stacking up, and then it hits me...the big bad depression. When really, what did I have to be depressed about? My life is actually really really good and I have a ton to be thankful for.

BUT, I have been prone to depression before and lived through deep dark recesses of time where sometimes I couldn't even get out of bed. Times where I wouldn't go to school for a week, or two weeks, and I would just cry. Or sleep. Or feel sorry for myself.

Because I DID have reasons. Reasons to feel worthless. Reasons to feel not good enough. Never good enough. Reasons too deep and dark for VDog's Blog, so let's just say four years of intense therapy made things much, much better.

And yet here I was, hit by a Mack truck of hormones and genetic predispositions that I couldn't do anything about. I've always had a reason to be depressed, and this Fall, I really felt like, "SHIT! I've got a great life and I STILL feel depressed?? WTF?"

Dawn asked if there were any emotional minefields for me in September. Well there's one personally big one, and then there's the Country's big one. There's what Dawn and I have come to call "Dead Dad Day" or "Dead Dad Anniversary." That's the beginning of September for me, and then, of course, there's the 9/11 Anniversary.

9/11 happened my Senior year of College. Warrior got me out of bed, and I sat, sleepy-eyed, and watched the horror on our television screen. It took a few weeks to sink in, and once again I fell into a depression and skipped two weeks of school. The only reason I ever return(ed) is because I, ya know, kinda cared about my grades and graduating 'on-time' and stuff.

Now I'm thinking it's pretty ridiculous for me to think that I can get away from years of serious depression without having some sort of relapse. I got through all the worst times in my life without medication because both my therapist and I felt, well, I had serious reasons TO be depressed. I probably could have felt better a lot sooner WITH some meds though.

So here I am now, feeling magically better, but still considering that magic pill. Will it make me more effective as a person? Will it let me handle stress more evenly? Will it make me less VDog?

Another thing I've realized is that when I'm continually surrounded by more people than just the Little Man and Warrior (e.g., GranCracker's visit), I get a HUGE let down afterwards. It's happened to me a couple of time before, and I know now that I need to watch out for THAT minefield as well. I'm learning that I truly enjoy being more social and when that "village" disappears, I get depressed.

As for my last post, I want to thank you all for your wonderful, supportive, helpful comments. My issue is that I keep having that hold-your-breath reaction, even though it is no longer founded. When someone asked me if Little Man was two months old when he was five months old, it really hurt me since I felt like he was getting to look more age-appropriate. I guess that is just sticking with me, and frankly, it sucks. I know that the way to get over it is just to have it keep coming up and examine the feelings until I'm good with it and it doesn't come up anymore.

I know this because I've done it before and it's how I've dealt with most of my issues. I just need more time. Like ZoeyJane said, I've got a few more years to milk this whole preemie thing.

There's more to say, but maybe I should keep it for next week. (HA!)

Thank you all for your love and support, it means the world to me.

10 Things I've Learned from My Son

My Child, He Breaks My Heart

Heartbreak is knowing your child will be born prematurely, cutting short your time for hoping and dreaming about your baby.

Heartbreak is accepting the fact that your child will be a preemie and that there is nothing you can do to change that fact.

Heartbreak is letting go of all your hopes and excitement for your baby and instead, replacing them with worry and grief.

Heartbreak is seeing your precious baby covered in wires and IV's at only a few hours old.

Heartbreak is watching your child struggle to breathe -- really struggle -- with his chest fitfully expanding and then collapsing.

Heartbreak is having your five month old child confused for a two month old.

You know how I squash that heartbreak? With moments like this:

********
Not to cheapen my post or anything...(heh)
*This is part of the http://www.bloggygiveaways.com week long celebration!*

Preemies are too small for Baby Bjorns - so ended up using a Mei Tai and a sling for my Little Man.

I have this beatiful handmade-by-a-Mama (NOT me, a professional sling maker, lol) ring sling to give away. Leave a comment that you want it and I will give it away on Friday.  Thank you to all of you leaving comments who don't want the sling -- I love you all!
The fabric looks like this, a really pretty neutral:

We Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled *BlogHer Recap* Programming For A Mommyblog RANT

Oh Little Man, Little Man, Little Man.

You wouldn't be so tired if you hadn't gotten up so early. Just sayin'.

Why, oh WHYYYEEEEE must you wake up at five-forteeeeeee????? I do not understand you, son. I put you to bed, well scratch that, your Father put you to bed at seven the last two nights.

Wednesday morning?? You don't get up until SEVEN-FIFTY. This morning? Up at five-farking-forty.

I just don't get you, kid.

CONSISTENCY!! Consistency, dammit!! That's what Mama needs! That what Mama wants!

I've been giving you consistency -- don't you think I deserve some in return?? Please?? Pretty please with Vanilla Crunchin' Blocks on top?? No?

Ah, well. I still love ya kid.

/end RANT.

Oh yeah, it was my Blogiversary yesterday. Mah baybee is One! Whaaaa! *sniff* *sniff*

Two Weeks

Two weeks since I last posted. Two weeks. I've seriously lost my blogging mojo.

I'm having an internal struggle with the nature of blogging. How much do I want to share? If I don't want to share some special moments, but feel like blogging them is the only way they are going to get recorded, what do I do?

This blog is largely a way for me to record my son's progress and life and to explore my new role as a mother. I'm terrible at keeping a diary/journal, and haven't even purchased a physical baby book for the Little Man. Keeping this blog felt like something I could do -- occasionally updating to record his milestones and show my friends and family, and myself, how much he has changed over the last year+.

I've been selfish lately, wanting to keep these memories all to myself. But I also understand that these memories get lost, and misremembered, when I don't record them in some way. And I desperately want to remember every detail...they are already starting to fade.

If I had the courage to ignore the fact that much of my extended family reads this blog, I would tell you about more intimate moments, many of them involving my boobs. Not because I think you'd be interested, but because nursing has been such a HUGE part of our relationship, and it's important for me to remember and record those moments.

I'd like to tell you (preserve the memory for myself) how we're still nursing, at least four times a day. How I love laying in bed with him in the morning, having a big nurse, both of us closing our eyes and trying to wake up a little more before starting our day. I'd tell you about how he can find the "target" with such ease and grace now, not even needing assistance from me to begin nursing. It truly amazes me how well he takes care of business now. It is such a dramatic departure from what we were doing a year ago, struggling to stop using the nipple shield.

I would tell you how much it amuses me, and makes me proud, strangely enough, that he bobbles my breast in his hands and opens wide, bringing his comfort deftly to his mouth.

I would tell you about how much part of me wants to wean, and part of me is grasping onto every last moment.

I would tell you about how embarrassing it can be when we're in public and my son is literally ripping my shirt off because he's upset or tired and wants to nurse. I would also tell you about how sweet it is that he sometimes just wants to put his hand down my shirt, without urgency, for comfort.

*****

I would tell you about how this blogging thing makes me a bit uncomfortable when I see people in real life who I know keep up with the blog. It is funny when people know what is going on with your life even when you haven't spoken to them in days or months. I guess that's the nature of blogging though -- to share your life. Yes?

It is surprising to me when people DO mention what they've seen on the blog, and also when they DON'T. This makes me censor myself.

*****

I would tell you about how I desperately want to use the Little Man's real name when I talk about him, but feel like that's really not an option because of how my family feels about this being a public blog. I just really feel like there is a fakeness to my writing when I can't really talk about "us." I'm talking about VDog & Little Man, our online personae, rather than Victoria & her son.

I'm considering using a psuedonym, because while perhaps not any less "fake," it would at least allow my to use a real name, and not just "Little Man."

He won't always be a little man.

*****

I would tell you about how busy my son is keeping me, and how much I am enjoying paying attention to him.

I would tell you about how I am spending more time with my husband. I am more present in my evenings with him when I am not trying to blog at the same time.

*****

In short, my life is very full of wonderful things. Making time to blog has just not been important to me lately. I have a lot of topics I WANT to blog about, but part of me is holding back, because a) I don't have that much time to blog anymore, and b) I am afraid of overstepping familial boundaries for the sake of a funny or personally fulfilling post.

I'm not sure how much of "me" I'm willing to share.

*****

I got my first offer to review something last week. I am excited to be getting an advance copy of The Rookie Mom's Handbook. I'll let you know what I think very soon.

*****

We had Little Man's fifteen month appointment today. He is doing so well. I'll fill you in on the complete details later.

*****

If after all this, you STILL care about VDog & Little Man, you may want to consider adding me to your reader or signing up for email updates. That way you'll know when I actually post again. Either that, or, you know, obsessively check back for updates. Whatever works for you.

Best,
V

Haiku Yippee!

Yesterday was rough.
Sleep? What's that? Asked Little Man.
Mama's rope was short.

Today I wake up
To my Cracker best blog friend
Giving me a shout.

Oh! I am so loved!
I felt better instantly.
Thanks Dawn, you mah gurl.

-----

I'm so lucky to have lots of great blog friends. You all rock. Hopefully I'll meet some of you soon! ;) (And if you're on the blog roll, I'm talking to you, too!)

Sentimental

Nursing on my mind
Impostor Mom has weaned Boog
Don't think we're ready

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It's Haiku Friday.

Now that Little Man is taking a sippy cup, the option of starting to wean is there, but I don't think we're ready just yet. I feel like this is going to go on forever, but not in a bad, oppressive way, if that makes any sense. It just seems like something we do, and I can't imagine our life without it.

Yesterday we didn't nurse immediately after the afternoon nap, as we usually do. Two hours later he was frantic to nurse (he had been drinking water from a sippy in the meantime, so it's not as if he was thirsty). I'm reading this as "he's not ready."

Impostor Mom's son, Boog, is only a few days older than Little Man. Boog's interest had been waning, and they had a natural, baby-led weaning experience. That's what I want for Little Man and myself. It seems far off at this point. I know I'll be sad when it happens.

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Little Man seems to be dropping his morning nap -- at least that's what some of my friends said when I described this week's naps (or lack thereof).

He's almost one year corrected age, and fourteen months chronological age. Is this about the time? I want that morning nap!! I usually sleep then, too. I am really tired this week. ;)

Any thoughts on moving naps and holding on to my sanity are welcome.
*
Have a great weekend everybody. I have some SUPER cute pictures of the Little Man for Weekly Winners on Sunday, and I need to thank all of our wonderful March for Babies supporters. See you then!

My Morning Thus Far

Joy.

Round the Bend and Back Again

I'm sorry my friends
Been really busy lately
Love that you email

Stop by my Buzz page
Wondering where did she go?
Crazy but good week

Huge sigh of relief
A let down of emotion
I cried tears of joy

My baby is fine,
According to the doctors.
Holter was normal

His poo was blood-free
New GI doc was a dream
Said blood was minor

In her opinion
The least worrisome symptom
Of an allergy

Really? Blood in poop?
WTF? How can that be?
With that one symptom

She said, I don't have
Moms change their diet at all
Wait just a second

I thought, is this real?
Are you fucking kidding me?
My diet for naught?

Nine months without milk?
Five of those without citrus,
Wheat and much much more?

It was hell on me
Worth it for my Little Man
Or so I had thought!

He won't take any
Mom substitute, starting at
Three months. Boobs only

And all of the time
Guess you can't beat skin to skin
For my Little Man

It's been such a ride
So many worries and tests
This first year of life

I hope this next one
Is a wee less exciting
For my sanity

-----

Insomnia sucks
Blog posts running through my head
Why do I lay there

When I could get up
And blog till my heart's content?
Guess I hold out hope

That sleep will come soon
I fear the 4:30 feed
So I stay in bed

-----

So, yes, I've been really busy -- Mom's group outings, doctor appointments, my sister's birthday -- but also really preoccupied. It's been such a relief to finally have a "normal" baby (I know this is such a subjective thing, but from the get-go, things haven't gone "normally" or the way that they are "supposed to"). It hasn't quite sunk in yet. I am grieving for this last year+ of worry and doctors, and hospitals, and being strong.

Of course, I am very happy, but it is mostly a feeling of relief. Like a giant weight has been lifted off my chest. I feel like I don't have to hold my breath anymore. It's still processing in my brain and I almost can't believe what has happened these last two weeks.

First, the pediatrician said he was doing great. Then the cardiologist says everything looks great; "normal." The holter study came back normal. So now if I notice that LM has a fast heart rate, we'll just take him to the Children's Hospital ER, but this is unlikely to happen. No more monitoring, no more special heart doctor.

Then we go to the GI doctor this week and it's a whole different experience from the last few times.

First, a little background: we had a male doctor who had been really harsh with me at times, who had been insistent on my extremely strict diet, and when that didn't work quickly enough, he seriously wanted my to force my son to drink (completely disgusting) hypo-allergenic formula.

So the last time we saw him, things went well. Dr. H was very blase about the whole situation. I thought it was odd, but was glad that he was more positive. So I went to check out and make the follow up appointment for two months from then (late Sept.). I was told that they "didn't have his schedule yet," and to call back in a week. I called back the satellite office where we had been seeing Dr. H. They said, "he doesn't work out of this office anymore. Let me transfer you to the Main Campus."

Okay...no problem. Right?? So they transfer me and then the person at the Main Campus says that he doesn't work in that office anymore! WTF?? So I had to make an appointment with a new doctor, and since LM wasn't one of "their" patients, we had to wait until this week to see someone.

Okay, this week. We go to the new GI doctor. She is wonderful. The nurse is wonderful. They both oooh and aahhh over Little Man, who is being completely charming, despite only having had a short nap in the car on the way there.

We go over the history. They evaluate him. He gets high scores from the nurse and doctor. We get told to HAVE SOME DAIRY ALREADY!!!

So I'm trying fluid milk this week, and if Little Man has no reaction, we can try some for him. Yippee!! I honestly CAN. NOT. BELIEVE. IT.

I am also a bit annoyed that two doctors had such differing opinions on the course of action that would have been appropriate. The new GI doc said that the only worry with the blood in the stools is if they become anemic. And then she would have just prescribed an iron supplement.

I know it's all a moot point now, but I can't help but feel a bit frustrated that all of my hard work and struggle was perhaps not necessary. I'm sure I'll get over it. Ay caramba.

Oh yeah! And we're off the heart medicine and the acid reflux medicine for good it seems. I really just can't get over how lucky we are. I know it's been a hard year, but I DO feel very lucky that Little Man's "problems" have (hopefully) only lasted a year. I know that we will most certainly face other hardships and tests in the future, but right now I'm exhaling, and I don't plan on holding my breath for anything else (especially unknowns).

Okay, I know I don't usually swear (save for ass and crap and stuff I don't really think is "that bad") but hey, the 'ku needed it, and it's what I thought and said to Warrior when I relayed how the visit went. Hopefully my family won't hold it against me!

In bloggy news, I REALLY want to be back "in it" if ya know what I'm saying, but I haven't been getting much screen time with the compy, so forgive me if I'm being a "bad blog friend." I need to start "blogging without guilt." Heheh.

Have a great weekend, everybody, and I CAN promise some Weekly Winners on Sunday -- I took some good ones on our adventures out and about!

Little Man's Story, Part Two

Get caught up: Little Man's Story, Part One

I had spent the last week taking care of Sasha and relaxing at home (since I was already on maternity leave).

I celebrated my 27th Birthday with my family and #4 on Sunday, December 17th, 2006. I cooked for everyone and accepted little help, much to my Mom's dismay.

I spent a lazy Monday hanging out with Sasha and having a visit from #4 while awaiting my "real" (on the actual day) Birthday celebration with the Warrior that night. I remember it vividly.

We ordered red chicken curry, basil chicken, chicken pad thai (can you tell I like chicken?), and steamed rice. We were shoe horned into a small table, right in front of the register. Not exactly the mood and ambiance I had wanted for my last baby-free Birthday dinner. We had no idea the restaurant would be so jam packed on a Monday one week before Christmas.

Warrior and I were both so excited. I had spent the week ordering the bassinet, crib, stroller and accoutrements. We held hands across the table and talked about the impending change to our universe. We talked about our first daughter, Sasha, and her sad, sad state. But most of all we talked about Little Bunny, as he was known then.

I had just become noticeably pregnant -- my belly button hadn't even popped -- as I spent the majority of my pregnancy looking like a porker who eats five hot dogs at every sitting (this line courtesy of my brother) unfortunately uneven in my fat distribution. I told Warrior that I didn't have enough "Preggie pictures" -- and that we needed to go home and take some.

This is as big as I got. I am proud of my Belly.

My Belly started shrinking the next day :(

We realized that this was my last Birthday with just the two of us as our little "family." We knew I would be a 27 year old Mama, but we didn't know that Warrior would be a 33 year old Papa. We thought we would have one more just-the-couple Birthday to celebrate, Warrior's 34th, three weeks before our due date.

We went to bed with dreams of Little Bunny and parenthood racing through our heads.

The next morning, Tuesday, December 19th, was uneventful. I went downstairs and brought my cereal back up to our room to be with Sasha (we were taking our meals and living completely upstairs due to her surgery). I surfed the Internet from the La-Z-Boy and enjoyed the sun streaming in through the sliding glass doors.

As I prepared for my nap (I was constantly tired throughout my pregnancy, and napped often -- the luxuries of a first pregnancy!) I noticed a clear discharge that was "different." I thought about it for about a minute, since I had just read in one of those helpful books that you need to watch out for something of that nature, as it could one of the first signs that your water has broken, or you have a leak. I thought, "hmm, that's weird," and then went to sleep.

When I woke up about an hour and a half later, my thighs were wet. Not soaked, but wet. There were also a few small wet spots on the pillowcase of the pillow I was using between my knees. I thought, "either I've peed myself, or my water has broken." I went to the toilet and felt a trickle. I was pretty sure I hadn't peed myself.

So I called the doctor's office, and said, "Hi, this is VDog (not really), I'm at 30 weeks, and I think that my water has broken. I woke up from my nap and my thighs were wet blah blah blah, I could have just peed myself, but I'm pretty sure that my water has broken."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

"Ok, the doctor is on-call at the hospital right now; I'll have her give you a call."

The doctor literally called me back within three minutes. She has always been prompt at returning my calls, but I knew this meant it was SERIOUS.

"Doctor Amy" (she actually says, "this is Amy"; I LOVE that) has a very soothing, calming voice, and it was very reassuring for me to hear her voice. Although what she had to say was not reassuring -- after I told her what had been going on, she said, "Well, it definitely has to be checked out, and the best place to do that is here in Labor & Delivery."

This concludes Part Two. Stay tuned for Part Three where I FREAK OUT!!! and get hospitalized.

I promise to not let so much time lapse between "episodes" Two and Three!

Haiku Birthday, Trip & Contest!

Birthday twenty-eight
Another year has gone by
This time, as a mom

I received a Flip
Two copies, Haiku Mama
Contest to win one!

New slippers, photos
Framed and placed in an album
Little Man and me

A birth stone necklace
Showing off my baby's month
Wine glasses -- oh yeah!

Ear muffs for East Coast
I hope I won't need them much!
We leave tomorrow

What a joy 't'will be
Airports, waiting, long car rides
With my squirmy boy

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Once again, it's Haiku Friday.

I had a lovely Birthday, complete with four, count 'em, FOUR! celebrations. Yippee for me! Both #4 and #7 got me a copy of Haiku Mama, because they love me and know me so well. ;)

Since I really only need one copy of Haiku Mama, I've decided to throw a little contest here -- so if you really want a free copy, here's what you have to do: find as many of my posts that are titled with song lyrics or song titles (I don't know if you've noticed, but it's been a bit of a theme here). The person who can find the most will win their very own copy of Haiku Mama, autographed by VDog if ya like! Email your entries to VDogBlog (at) gmail (dot) com.

This contest will run from today, Friday, December 21st through Thursday, January 3rd (at midnight, PST), to give you plenty of time to search the archives. I will announce the winner on Friday, January 4th, in my usual Haiku Friday post. Two runners-up will receive lovely consolation prizes. So get searching!

*****

So as you can tell, I'm SUPER excited about traveling with the Little Man. His first plane trip -- woohoo!! NOT. We'll be off for the week, so I don't know if I'll be posting -- you know I pretty much never miss Haiku Friday, so I'll try to post next Friday.

I'll let you know if we survive the trip. Haha.

28 Years Ago Today

My Mom went into labor while she was watching Monday Night Football. She recounted this fact to me today, even though I already knew it, since is WAS a Monday, and today is Monday, and I was born the following afternoon, a Tuesday. (But I like hearing our birth story again and again.)

Tomorrow is a Tuesday. My twenty-eighth Birthday (that's for you, SAM, who told me "twenty-something is pretty vague" (or something to that effect), why yes, yes it is vague, SAM).

(Aside: people are TRYING to make me feel old, I swear! Warrior: "Almost 30!!" Everyone else: "I thought you were younger than that!" "So, how does it feel?" like this is some HUGE Birthday or something. I feel like, well, I'm already a Mom, so that makes you feel older than people your age without kids, I'm sure. Anyway, rambling....)

I was born in the ABC room at the hospital, also known as the "Alternative Birthing Center." This means my Mom got to have more control over our birth, and was able to have a steak dinner once she had pushed me out of the womb. Awesome, right?

I have to thank my Mom for birthing me. She endured around 22 hours of labor, I'm guessing, since I was born at 4:09pm, and MNF starts around 6pm here on the West Coast, all without any pain medication. Because she is that damn strong.

One of "my songs" growing up was "409" by the Beach Boys, for obvious reasons. It made me feel special, even though it was about a car. (Giddyup, giddyup, 409!)

A year ago today was my actual Birthday (last year it was on a Monday). I was trying to enjoy being 30 weeks pregnant. I had a lovely dinner out at a local Thai restaurant with the Warrior. We came home and took (what would be) my last preggie pictures. I don't know if I had a feeling or premonition or what have you, but I HAD TO HAVE those pictures taken. It was the biggest I would get, since the next day my water broke, and my cute basketball like stomach started shrinking. It makes me sad just thinking about it.

This year I will be going to lunch with my Mom and siblings, one of my best friends, #4 and hopefully #'s 7 & 8, if the BigGuy isn't too whacked from the Synagis shot he has to get that morning (and of course, the Little Man will be there!).

Tomorrow night we are getting a babysitter and most likely will go out for Thai food again. But this time the only thing to photograph afterwards would be a bloated belly from too much Pad Thai. HA.

Apparently Warrior has presents for me. Usually I make it abundantly clear what I want, or I buy stuff and tell him to wrap it up for me. We're super romantic like that. Heh.

I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings!

Thanks, Mom, for bringing me into this world. Without you none of this would be possible (cheeeez).

Sasha's Concurrent Story, Part One

On December 11, 2006, CrackerDog Sasha went in for surgery to repair her torn right Achilles tendon. She had torn it while running after her frisbee the week before.

Sasha and I were at the park at sundown. I needed her to run off some energy. I was just going to give her a few more throws when it happened -- she abruptly stopped in her tracks and let out a yelp I had never heard from her before.

When she came home two days after her surgery, she cried all day long. Sasha had never cried for any reason before, so we knew she was in a sorry, sorry state. She was completely out of it from all of the sedatives they had given her. It was one of the saddest things I had seen as her "Mommy," and it broke my heart.

Needless to say, a lame dog was not what a twenty-nine week pregnant VDog wanted to deal with. Especially when I was the one who had to be home with her and her lame leg and our 40 million stairs.

Sasha had to be helped up and down the stairs with a towel under her hindquarters, lifting her up ever so slightly, so that not all of her weight was on either leg. This was no easy feat for either of us, Sasha fresh from surgery and me six+ months pregnant.

After one day of trying to get Sasha up and down numerous stairs (she was only allowed outside to go to the bathroom, and even then the trip was so challenging that we had to keep it to a minimum), Warrior made an early morning run to Home Depot to buy strips of sod, and a tarp to put the sod on, for the deck outside of our Master Bedroom (because here in California, even in December, the sod is all gone by 6am). It was a total Cracker maneuver, undertaken on the suggestion from our Cracker neighbor (and colleague of Warrior's), who had seen the idea in use for a dog across the street from him.

This is where Sasha and I holed up for the next week until my own unexpected hospitalization. We moved our entire living situation upstairs into our bedroom. I would make quick trips downstairs for bowls of cereal, yogurts, and microwaved food. We even set up our little TV tray and two chairs by which we ate our dinners. We moved our TV to the foot of our bed, along with our TiVo.

During the day, Sasha and I just hung out, me on the Internet and her sad in her bed. I ordered the bassinet, crib, infant car seat and stroller. I rarely ventured out as this required putting a cone on Sasha's head, which she hated, and involved much anxiety on both our parts.

I did go out to what would end up being my last OB visit on Thursday, December 14, for my 30 week check up. I was measuring the correct size, heartbeat was good and strong; everything seemed "normal." I had been excited because it was the first of my every-two-weeks appointments. I was making progress! But no, the next time I would see my Doctor would be the following Tuesday, the 19th, in Labor & Delivery at the hospital.

(Ok, back to Sasha.)

For the first few days, Sasha was so affected that she couldn't get up the will to eat. We hand fed her meals and put her plethora of medications in the tastiest stuff we could think of -- peanut butter, cream cheese, and finally, the wonder treat -- beef "pill pockets." The pill pockets are totally disgusting, and hand feeding your dog is not exactly pleasant, but at least it was minor preparation for Little Man's arrival. It was caring for a living being in a way that was very similar to caring for a baby -- doing everything for a creature that can not do anything for itself, even tasks that you wish you did not have to do.

It was an uncommonly nice stretch of weather, that week we were holed up together, so that made it more bearable. I remember having the door to the deck open with the curtains partially drawn, the sun warming my body and raising my spirits. I was taking in the situation as best I could, and trying not to get down about it.

Tearing the Achilles tendon is one of the worst injuries a dog can have. The surgeon said it is common in older Labradors and Dobermans. As far as we knew, Sasha was only supposed to be four, but she has always acted older, poor girl. The surgery sewed her tendon back together, and then the Cage cast was placed around her ankle, with pins going through her skin and bones. The Cage is basically like a miniature, semi-spherical bicycle rim and spoke set. It is disturbing and effective at the same time.

Once she had the surgery, we had to go back each week for bandage changes on the Cage. This lasted for eight weeks. After that, they wrapped her entire leg up in a splint that caused her to have even less mobility than with the Cage cast, which was eventually weight bearing (I didn't get to see that until after I came home from the hospital) and she had the unfortunate gait of Peg-Leg with it on. Which was actually pretty funny. But so sad at the same time. We were evil though, and laughed at her.

Sasha kept her Peg-Leg for four weeks, and then spent another four weeks in a soft wrap (kind of like a doggie Ace bandage). After ALL that, she got to go on very short leashed walks.

So we decided back in that first week of December, 2006, to do the surgery as soon as possible, since we were told the recovery was a three to four month minimum. "Great!" we thought, "Sasha will be pretty much recovered once we're ready to get out with the baby!" who was due February 24, 2007.

Little Man, however, had other plans.

Stay tuned for Part Two of both Sasha and Little Man's stories.

Btw, don'tcha just love my Cracker-style "Photoshop" job? Ya, I did that with MS Paint. Cuz I'm a Cracker. Totally.

Haiku Ouch! That Hurts Mama!

Running his fingers
Over my chest. Gentle, please!
A price for closeness ~

Bruises on my breasts
Little Man scratching, pinching
Oh boy does it hurt.

Domestic violence*
Of the infantile manner
Baby harms Mama.

-----

It's Haiku Friday!

*I realize some of you may say vi-o-lence, but to me, violence (viol-ence, no "o" sound) is a two syllable word.

Le Sigh

I just had a trying dinner with the Little Man, to say the least. He wouldn't eat anything I put in front of him. Not even Cheerios. It was that damn bad.

I managed to get some baby food down him, and his reflux medicine.

By the end of the meal, both my shirt and pants were wet.

He refused to take his nap this afternoon, which no doubt was the reason for him being Fussy McFusserson tonight. But the rest of the day had been nice. What happened? Ugh.

++++++++

Little Man has managed to chip his left front tooth after he had it for only about two weeks. This says to me that I am in serious trouble for the future. I have no idea how he did it. I can only "look forward" to more of his craziness as he gets older.

+++++++

Today at Gymboree I got the dreaded dropped octave "Oh." You know the one? Where the person you are talking to lowers their voice and gives you that, "OH" (while they think to themselves, "how awful, OMG, what do I say now?").

We are trying out the "Level 3" classes since that is the age range Little Man is supposed to be in now -- 10 to 16 months -- and the minimum requirement skills-wise is that they be able to crawl. These classes are a whole different beast than the mellow, barely moving and shaking Level 2 classes for the 6 to 10 month olds.

I've noticed that Little Man is by far the least advanced and the shrimpiest out of the kids (but to be fair, there are SIXTEEN MONTH OLDS (!!!) there).

One boy I saw looked somewhat in the same range as Little Man, size-wise, so I asked how old "Jack" was. The mom said, "one next week."

She asked me about Little Man and I said that he'll be one three weeks from today, on New Year's Day.

"Oh, wow! When did you go in the hospital? When did you know?" she asked.

"Actually I went into the hospital with pre-term labor on December 19th at 30 weeks, and he was born at 32 weeks," I replied.

"Oh."
"Well he seems to be fine now!"

"Yeah, he's doing great," I shrank, absorbing the "Oh" of pity.

I haven't gotten that "oh" in a long time. Since Little Man has grown so tall, I've stopped getting the OMFG, WHY is your baby SO SMALL?!?!?!

Once, when he was five months old, a woman asked if he was two months old. That one really hurt.

It's so hard when I feel like people think that there's something "wrong" with my baby.

I can't believe the number of people who asked me in the last month if Little Man is walking yet. I mean, how many full-term ten month old boys do you know that are walking?? I don't know any. Grr....

+++++++

I'm feeling sensitive and a bit raw today.

*Le Sigh.*

New Jams, New Toys

Doesn't the Little Man look SO big in the first photo? He has moved up to size 12M in the footie pajamas, which is just unbelievable to me, considering he is supposed to be the size of a nine month old (his corrected age).

Today at lunch someone even called him a toddler!

My baby is growing up, WAHHH!!!!

Who's Looking Out For Me?

Why is it so easy to take care of the baby [others], but it is near impossible to take care of me?

Now I know that taking care of a baby isn't easy, but we know what to do (generally) and we do it. Because we have to. Because that is what is right.

But what about me? What about you? Is it acceptable not to shower everyday simply because you don't have the time (you say), and because you are putting another's needs in front of your own? I wasn't kidding about being so excited to have washed my hair. In fact, I am in dire need of a hair washing right now.

It is much easier for me to take care of Little Man's needs than it is to take care of my own. I largely ignore my own needs on a day-to-day basis because I am so tired, and so dedicated to taking care of Little Man, Sasha, the house, and Warrior (yes, the husband comes last during the day, but first at night after the baby is in bed).

The truth is that I have never been very good at taking care of myself. I felt a large sense of responsibility to my family and others from a very young age. It was only in the last few years that I was learning to be more "selfish," (also known as staying out of other people's business, minding my OWN business, actually focusing on myself, not caring about other people's problems more than my own, etc.) but I never got very good at it.

Taking care of other people, I know. Taking care of myself? Not so much.

I've struggled with making myself worth taking care of, and in the manner that I would hope to, for all of my adult life.

I've struggled with not feeling good enough in most everything I do.

I've struggled with depression, and mostly won.

Now, with the arrival of my Little Man, I need to make myself important, but I also have to put his needs first. As a mom, I feel like I am now going to be number two, at best.

I'm tired of feeling like I am just getting by. Part of me feels like I am just being lazy when I think about the things that I COULD have done to take care of myself, but didn't do. Part of me feels like, eh, they don't matter. Part of me knows I am doing great, and I am just being hard on myself.

I am doing the best I can for now, but I hope for better.

This post makes me sad, but in a good way. Blogging is like free therapy. Totally.

Thankful, Turkey Day Edition

This year, I am thankful for my life.

I am thankful certain things, like Little Man's birth, went better than they could have gone.

I am thankful my baby made it thirty-two weeks, one day, two hours and twelve minutes in the womb, and not any less.

I am thankful my baby got the care he needed for twenty eight days, and not any more (or less!).

I am SO thankful for our health insurance coverage.

I am thankful I was able to provide my own milk for my baby while he received his care.

I am thankful my baby and I were able to breastfeed after his special start. Not all babies are so lucky.

I am thankful my baby prefers to take his milk from me, and that he is able to do so.

I am thankful that my baby is now a healthy and happy Little Man.

I am thankful to be surrounded by family today.

Haiku Sickness

My poor Little Man
What am I going to do?
How can I help you?

Nursing is so hard
Up all hours of the night
Hard to breathe and suck

Snot out the wazoo
Running, running, running. DRIP!
Down your nose, now mouth

Past your lips, to chin
I want to wipe it all up
You scream if I do

Feel so bad for you
We will have to wait it out
Cold meds are no good

Bad for you, your heart
So you will have to suffer
This season of snot.

It's Haiku Friday.

The meds seem to be kicking in, ear pulling is waning, fever appears to be gone, and he SLEPT!! The boy SLEPT!! For hours at a time!! Happy Day! I think it did him a world of good. And Mama, too. Things are looking up at Casa de Cracker. I think Little Man is on the mend. Whoopee!

From a Long Line of Bad Tubes

Eustachian tubes, that is.

We've got our first ear infection, people. At least the fever and crankiness are for a reason! Unfortunately, I'm almost certain that this will be the first in a long line of ear infections.

You see, both Warrior and I were complete sickies as kids, and still get sick probably more often than other adults. It's all thanks to the faulty tubes.

When I told Warrior that it was the beginning of an ear infection (consistent with a high fever and ear pulling, and his ears didn't look "normal"), he said, "I got ear infections ALL the time as a kid!" Huh. I knew about the asthma, bronchitis, and pneumonia, but NOT the ear infections.

As a kid, I would have pretty much any one of the three major tube infections at least once a year: ear, sinus and tonsil. I also had bronchitis about once a year.

I don't think there was a year of school where I DIDN'T miss at least a whole week and several sporadic days due to illness. It's no wonder I earned the nickname, "Sicky Vicky." (Btw, don't EVER call me Vicky, k? Thanks. (Another story for another day.))

Then there was the month in seventh grade that I was out with pneumonia. Guess what? So was Warrior! We have so much in common! Both of our Moms took us to warmer climates to dry us out, like we were old people needing environment therapy.

The next year, I was out for over six weeks with Mono. And I didn't even have a boyfriend! At least I could have gotten it some fun way! But Nooooo, I got it SHARING A CAN OF SODA. I am THAT lame exciting. HA!

Growing up by the beach, I was in the water a lot. Which meant I got a lot of ear infections. I got so paranoid about water in my ears causing an infection that I became, and am still to this day, obsessed with using Q-tips to dry out the insides of my ears (which you're totally not supposed to do, but, hey, works for me!). I also try to avoid getting my ears wet, which is hard when you're trying to SWIM and generally ENJOY THE WATER.

My latest ear infection was four years ago, well into my twenties. The doctor said, "you're not supposed to get these past age three!" Yeah, thanks. I'll let my Eustachian tubes know that. I'll put 'em on probation or something.

It was such a bad ear infection that it required TWO rounds of antibiotics -- including one of the Anthrax drug, Cipro -- and a ten day course of prednisone (steroids) to clear it up. And even after the 'roids, my tube didn't ever open completely back up.

So I am left with a left ear that doesn't hear as well as the right. Because of an ear infection. Fabulous. (Diminished hearing is only one reason why I am already eighty-three years old. Tendonitis and arthritis are two others. Also another story for another time.)

In sum, I've been waiting for this day to come. I have actually been quite (pleasantly) surprised at how healthy Little Man has been. Of course, I did keep him in near total seclusion for the first six months of his life (due to doctor's orders -- prematurity and all), so that probably helped immensely.

I will have to be prepared for many more of these ear and other infections, and doctor's visits like this morning, marked by screaming and crying and heartbreaking sadness. My poor little Boo.

Little Man still has a fever, but the doctor said he should feel MUCH better in a few days. Since he's sleeping A LOT, I got to blog early today! At least something good came of it. Heh.