Random questions

So I have a bunch of weird unconnected assvice requests for you all.

1. If your child did not want to drink milk when you weaned them, what did you do?
We decided to give Emmie some whole-milk yogurt this weekend to see how she tolerated it. I am pleased to report, no reactions! Which meant we figured it was safe to see if she would tolerate a little whole milk. Unfortunately, she believed we were trying to assassinate her and violently refused to drink it. She would not drink it from a cup, she would not drink it down or up. She would not drink it from a bottle, she would not, could not, even with threats of throttle. So, uh, yeah. We're T-minus three weeks from weaning and she wants nothing to do with whole milk. Awesome! (She will, however, drink breastmilk from a bottle or water from a sippy with no problem. So I don't think it has anything to do with the container.)

2. How do you make a moist turkey breast at home?
For the second time on recent memory, I bought a high-quality, boneless turkey breast (paid 12 freaking dollars for it) and threw it in the slowcooker covered with chicken broth. For the second time in recent memory, said turkey breast was dry and awful. We threw out the leftovers it was so bad. Anyone know how you could possibly have a dry turkey breast when immersing it in liquid?

3. If you are a stay-at-home parent, do you get a "day off" each week? And if so, does your spouse get a "day off" too? How do you handle this?
Not that anyone in this house argues about who spends what time doing what. Nope. Everything here is sunshine and rainbows. In fact, I just got back from feeding the unicorn we keep outside. It shits money, too! We're just hunky-dory here.

4. I need to branch out in my designer jeans ownership. What brand can you recommend?
I am a devoted wearer of Seven For All Mankind. But I am in need of a new pair -- I'm down to my pre-Emmie-pregnancy weight and all my old jeans require the use of a belt or I flash the whole world my ass-crack every time I bend down. So wondering if there's anything better out there. I have Christmas money for new jeans that's burning a hole in my pocket. (Ha! Pocket, jeans, I kill myself.)

Assvice welcomed and encouraged, please!

Emmie: Eleven months

Dear Emmie,

We're almost there! You turned 11 months old today, which means we're officially in your 12th month, which means you are officially freaking me out with how fast you are growing up. Please slow down, just for this month, mkay?



What a crazy last month it has been for you, too. Your mobility has increased greatly, with you speed-crawling on all fours and cruising upright around the furniture. You've started to let go and balance for a few short seconds as well, so we're convinced it won't be long before you're taking those first steps. Your newfound abilities mean I can't take my eyes off you for a second anymore because if I do, you inevitably start eating road salt off our boots in the front hall or trying to lick your brother's potty seat in the bathroom or climbing up the stairs by yourself. If only I could put your growing independence to good use for things like folding laundry, we'd be in business.

A lot of that laundry I speak of consists of your bibs because you really get into your eating. This past month you started feeding yourself more and more and I would say you're eating about 90 percent tablefood now. You will eat pretty much anything we put in front of you, which is amazing to us because we had the ultimate picky eater in your brother, so the idea of a baby actually eating peas or banana in real-people form is mind-blowing. You love scrambled egg yolks, pancakes, hummus and pita bread, almond butter or turkey sandwiches and rice cheese. Peas and carrots are a big hit and I think you might actually lose consciousness when you see the wrapper for a cereal bar. You get so excited that you kick your legs and wave your arms and generally make excited noises until you get the first bite in your little mouth. You haven't had any dairy products directly yet, but you seem to be tolerating me eating more cheese and ice cream, so I have high hopes that we can introduce dairy next month with little problem.



You're still breastfeeding four times during the day and once or twice overnight. While I am looking forward to starting the weaning process next month, I am also feeling a little conflicted about it. I am not sure how we will eliminate these nightwakings you are so fond of without the boob to soothe you back to sleep. I was all ready with the cry-it-out earlier this month and you even slept through a few times, but then the illness train stopped at our house and it all went to pieces.



Earlier in the month, you were fighting off a cold that was mostly a runny nose. I thought you had kicked it, but it came back within a week. That time it also brought multiple wakeups in the middle of the night and a fever. When you came down with what looked like a mottled rash, I took you in to the doctor and they said it was a double ear infection. They gave you some Amoxicillin and you were good as new. Until a week had gone by and you were covered in a rash that made you look like a leper. I took you back to the doctor and he said, after one look at you, that it was a classic penicillin allergy. But your ears were all clear, so we were A-OK. Until the next week, when multiple night wakings, green snot and a fever once again made an appearance. Yet another trip to the doctor confirmed another double ear infection. I am really hoping this means we're getting all your sicknesses out of the way early in the winter and you won't have any later on.

Your illnesses made you a little cranky, but you were pretty much still your sunny little self. Even when you had a fever, you were always happy to smile and play with your toys and you even learned how to play peek-a-boo at the pharmacy while we waited for your prescription. Now that's what I call a good patient. You also still wanted to play with your brother, despite your sickness and the fact he pretty much makes your life not very fun right now. Ever since you learned to stand and reach for things, he has tried to protect his turf by pushing you down. He could spend half the day in timeout for all his aggressiveness toward you, so if you ever want to get back at him for this when you are older, you have my permission. He does love you, which he demonstrates by hugging you and kissing you and trying to share his food with you. But things are a little rough in the sibling relations department right now. I know they will get better and then worse and then better again. It's the ebb and flow of a family, I guess.



Even when Jack is trying to keep you down, you are such a sweet girl. You love to play with cars and trucks, but I am guessing that's because those are the toys that are always around. You love your dinosaur that you can put balls in and have them come out different holes. You're really into putting things into other things and taking them out again. You still love banging on your little piano and playing with a chunky magnetic puzzle. But mostly your favorite thing is to stand at the toybox, reach in and grab toys and throw them on the floor. You would do that all day if I let you. Which I don't, because there are too many toys laying around already and I might lose my mind if all of them were on the floor at once.



But even when you do something you're not supposed to, I find it hard to get worked up about it. Compared to the stuff Jack gets in trouble for at almost 3 years old, you touching the fireplace or throwing food on the floor is nothing. In fact, I sometimes just laugh at you when you are doing something you're not supposed to do because you are so not slick about it. When you start crawling over to the fireplace, you laugh and look right at me like, "Wait, watch what I am going to do! It's going to be awesome." Usually you accept your redirection without comment, but occasionally you get worked up about it and howl with indignation. That's when I tend to laugh, because really, when you screw up your little face and yell, it's pretty funny. I know that your indignation won't always be funny, especially when you are telling me again how we are ruining your life by not letting you date when you are 12 years old, but for now, it's totally cute.

My new favorite part of the day is when I go in to get you up. You have taken to standing up in your crib and looking at the door through the bars. When I open the door you get so excited to see me that you start shaking the bars and laughing. It's so nice to be loved so much. But I assure you that my love for you is just as exciting.

Love,
Mommy

Emmie: Ten months

Dear Emmie,

It's double-digit time for you little girl! A whole 10 months you've been with us. And wow, have you done a lot this last month. I am pretty sure this has been one of your busiest months yet.



Now that you've been mobile for several weeks, you're getting more and more proficient at getting around. You still army-crawl 99 percent of the time, but more and more, you are taking a few tentative crawls on your hands and knees. But the army-crawling gets you where you need to go -- and pretty darn quickly I might add -- so you really don't see any need to do it the other way. But you are a pro at sitting yourself up now. You started pushing yourself up from your side with one arm, and now you can back yourself into a seated position from your hands and knees as well.

You are also an old pro at pulling yourself up now, as evidenced by the fact I found you standing in your crib grinning at me about two weeks ago. At this point, nothing is safe from you. You pull up on the couch, the ottoman, the exersaucer, your crib, the fireplace and my leg when I am standing in your general vicinty. You once tried to pull yourself up on Jack, but he was having none of it and you just toppled right over when he scrambled to his feet to get away from you.



I have seen you stand unassisted for about seven seconds on a couple of occasions, and you're starting to cruise along the ottoman to get to toys or remotes out of your reach. You so love the remote and even know to point it at the TV when you are playing with the buttons. Smart girl, but don't even think about turning off the football game to watch PBS.

The vacuum is getting quite a workout these days because you are smack in the middle of the "put everything in your mouth" stage. Last week you tried to consume a plaster chip, a dried-up piece of pancake that had fallen off your brother's plate undetected, a torn-up piece of coloring book and 571 pieces of fuzz off the carpet. I could vacuum four times a day and you would still spot the teeniest piece of string from across the room and make a beeline for what you hope is your afternoon snack. While it is resulting in a much cleaner house, it's still pretty annoying to be fishing stuff out of your cheeks all the time.



It's not like you're not getting enough food at mealtimes. You are starting to eat more tablefood here and there, like pieces of pancake and turkey or scrambled egg yolks. I am pretty sure you would live on Veggie Booty alone if we let you, but you're pretty amenable to eating the two jars of baby food we give you at all meals. Because you still can't have any dairy products, we were lucky to find a new yogurt made from coconut milk. Because it's dairy- and soy-free, you are allowed to eat it and I must say, it's quite tasty. You gobble it up and look pretty content, so it's a good thing.

The breastfeeding has gotten a lot better this month after last month's distractable disasters. You are more on task and doing longer sessions, which makes me feel better about how much you are taking in. Of course, you are getting more in during the night because YOU ARE WAKING UP MULTIPLE TIMES AGAIN. To say I am tired of being tired is an understatement. This past week, you were sick again and that meant lots of wakeups where only the boob would console you. Because you were sick, I took pity on you and fed you every time you cried. Which one night was at 10 p.m. and 1, 3, 5, 6 and 7 a.m. It's like you were a newborn again. Wheee! But once you appeared over the worst of it, I got you back on a somewhat-better schedule by making you cry out the first wakeup. Last night you were awake for the first time at 1 a.m., which is better than 11 p.m., but not great by any means. You had been sleeping from 7:30 p.m. to 5 a.m. for a few weeks and I am hoping you will start doing that again. Real soon.



As for your sunny disposition, it continues to be the most charming part of your personality. You are almost always smiley and happy and content to babble away at your toys or your books. You stop to look at your brother like he is crazy whenever he deems you acceptable to play near. You save your best smiles and laughs for Daddy because apparently he is the light of your life. You definitely don't like it when I leave a room, but you can be pacified if Daddy is around.

One of the only times it is acceptable for me to actually leave you in the other room for a few minutes is when your brother is around. You love to watch him run around and play and now that you can get around, you really try very hard to play with him. He's not exactly keen on that idea, however, and it's led to some battles. Just today, you started to play with his garage and cars and he fuh-reaked out on you and you may or may not have been kicked in the head. He is having a hard time sharing, and will instead try to bring you some other toy to play with. But because you are so easy-going, you generally accept the substitute with a smile. You also get so excited in the morning when we go into his room, kicking your legs and laughing and trying to throw your little body at the door to get it open. He has been less rough with you as each month has gone by and he really does love you too. Just today when he got home from the park, he ran over to you and said, "Hi Emmie! Jack home from the park. Jack give Emmie a kiss!"



Every day I look at you and I think to myself, "I will remember her like this forever." And then the very next week, you already look different and I have forgotten that previous stage. I was looking back at some pictures of you this weekend from the previous months and I can't believe how much you have changed. You used to have chubby little baby cheeks at one point and now it's all dimples and cheekbones. Your little blonde hair is starting to darken up with the winter, and I think it might be a thing of the past soon. Your eyes are definitely settling into a nice shade of hazel, which proves to me I really was in the room when you were conceived! Finally, something that I can say looks like me, since you're clearly the spitting image of your father. Hopefully you will get my brains and good humor -- and humility -- as well. But whatever you end up looking like, I will always remember what a sweet, sweet little girl you were when you were 10 months old.

Love,
Mommy

Distractable daughter

I am starting to realize why I don't feel comfortable nursing in public, and most of it has to do with the fact I am not down with flashing the nipple at everyone. Which is what happens on multiple occasions during the same feeding these days.

For the last two or three weeks, Emmie has been easily distracted when nursing. When I say "easily distracted" I really mean "she can hear the whisper of a butterfly wing three houses down and must sit up to find out what is going on."

On, off, on, off. Five minutes later, she announces her intent to finish by arching her back and screeching like a banshee if I even entertain the thought of maybe possibly perhaps seeing if she miiiiiight want to eat a little more.

I know it's the age for this behavior. Nine-month-old babies like to look around. Everything is more interesting than eating. She's getting more calories from food and doesn't need as much breastmilk. Blah blah blah.

But I really can't convince myself that she's truly getting enough in four sessions a day, two of which consist of a drive-by nursing.

Emmie: Nine months

Dear Emmie,

Today, kiddo, you have been outside of me as long as you had been inside of me. Looking at it from the other side, I can tell you the pregnancy sure seemed a lot shorter than this. You have grown and changed so much in nine months, although I guess going from a couple of cells to a complete human being in that same time frame isn't anything to sneeze at either.



This past month has been one of the busiest in terms of development. You learned to stand up at the furniture, crawl and pull yourself up on things. The last two, you performed for the first time within 15 minutes of each other, proving the theory that Mommy can indeed spontaneously combust into flames. I was not ready for the motion part of this picture, and was hoping you would be content to sit and play with your toys for another two years. But you were ready and there was no stopping you. One afternoon you just decided you wanted to play with your piano, which was about two feet away, and you went for it. I cheered for you and clapped and made huge deal about it and you looked up at me as if to say, "What's all the fuss? It's just a piano."

But now that you know how to crawl, you realize that your mobility is somewhat limited. You want to go go go, now now now, faster faster faster. Now that you can crawl, you also want to walk. You're not content to hang out on the floor playing anymore, now you want someone to hold you upright so you can stand. Then you get tired of that and try to squirm away, where you would fall flat on your face if we actually let you twist your arms out of our grasps. It's a furstrating time for you, but this too shall pass.



These frustrations have manifested themselves in a high-pitched screech that only dogs can hear half the time. If you get pissed or don't like what we are forcing you to do -- you know, things like play with a toy you have tired of or spend 1.2 seconds longer in your exersaucer than you deem acceptable, terrible things like that -- you let out this blood-curdling screech that makes me jump out of my skin. It certainly gets my attention, since you used to be such an easygoing baby, and I usually jump to right whatever wrong you feel you are suffering. Which has set a great example for your brother, who has also started screeching to get attention. So thanks for that. Hopefully this phase will end soon and you will go back to your compliant little self.

Your independence has also extended to your diet. You can now feed yourself Cheerios, which you will happily do for several minutes, allowing us time to eat at restaurants without having to hold you or entertain you. But so far, it's the only finger food you have mastered, partly because you only learned to feed yourself about a week ago and partly because I am lazy and haven't given you anything else. You're still quite happy being fed baby food, although we're started to give you purees that are a little chunkier and with more flavors in the hopes of getting you ready to transition to table food in the next few months.



Breastfeeding has been a bit of a struggle these last few weeks. You've hit the age where everything is so interesting that you don't have time to slow down and eat. So you latch on, get in a quick snack for about five minutes, and then you're done. There's no coaxing you, no luring you back to the boob. Once you're done, you're done and if I try to convince you to eat a little more I am met with back-arching, red-faced, arm-waving, screaming displeasure. Which makes for a really pleasant bonding experience. But I know this is something that a lot of babies go through at this age and if you're not getting enough milk, you'll let me know. In the meantime, I offer it up as much as possible and humor you by letting you nurse once during the night. Of course it's this middle-of-the-night feeding that is always your best one because you're sleepy and there are no distractions. We only have three months to go, and I know we can weather this storm and get to my one-year goal. Like it or not, you're stuck with the boob.



You started sleeping through the night about three weeks ago, but I missed out on that fun because Daddy and I were away on vacation for a long weekend. You apparently took pity on Grandma and slept 12 straight hours for her. Of course when I came home, you discontinued that new trick and asked for more boob in the middle of the night. So while you don't sleep straight through, you are only waking up once and you are sleeping in your own crib for the whole night. Which is a pretty good breakthrough.



Now that you're mobile, Jack is starting to realize you are a force to be reckoned with. You can get to his toys, and he's not all that excited about sharing. So in his role as Arbitor of Toy Distribution, he will take something of his from your hands and replace it with something he wants you to play with instead. Usually something boring like a stuffed animal. Now I can't really fault him for replacing a toy, but I tell him he has to learn to share and let you play with the fun toys too. You're also able to follow him around the room now, which is freaking him out. But just this week, he was reading a book and you crawled over to see what he was doing and he "read" you the book. You patted the book and his leg and smiled and it was so nice to see the two of you playing together. I can't wait to see more moments like this. It's just like when the two of you are sitting in the dining room together while I get dinner ready and you make each other laugh. I watch the two of you and realize how awesome it is that you have each other.



Now that your personality is coming out, I am really enjoying hanging out with you. You like to cuddle and touch my face and now when I say "kisses" to you, you smile and lean in and lay a huge open-mouth baby kiss on me. When I go in to get you from your crib, you get a huge smile on your little face and reach your arms up while trying to kick a hole in your mattress because you are so excited. But there is still no one quite like Daddy in your eyes. You wave to him and flap your arms in excitement when you see him. You lunge for him when he enters a room and you always smile biggest for him. Your first word was "dada" and you often say "hi dada" when he's around. While I would like to hear some "mama" sometime soon, I am being patient because you have something different for me. When you see me come into a room, you make a noise that defies description. It's kind of like a whiny grunt. But you only make it when someone else is holding you and you see me. Once I pick you up, you calm down immediately. I'm so glad just being in my arms can make you feel better. I hope someday when you're older you will still feel like that. If someone makes fun of you at school or you fall down and skin your knee or you stick your foot in your mouth saying something stupid (not that I would know anything about how that feels) or you have a bad hair day, I hope a hug from Mommy can make it all better.

Love,
Mommy

Emmie: Eight months

Dear Emmie,

Today is your eight-month birthday. While it doesn't mean you have the right to vote or to drink a beer, it does mean you are now legally allowed to eat Cheerios. I'm not sure that's as momentous as turning 21 and drinking your face off in a bar in some college town, but it will have to suffice for now.



This last month has been pretty busy, what with a family wedding and trips to the lake and the completion of our new downstairs play area.

It's also been exciting because you finally started gaining some weight! Yep, that deserves an exclamation point because it's been a hard road since your six-month checkup revealed you were not gaining properly and were only in the 5th percentile. After we started stuffing you with solids three times a day and sneaking avocado and banana into almost everything, you gained 1.5 pounds in a month, putting you at a whopping 15.9 pounds, which is the 12th percentile. While you still have a ways to go, you are showing good progress, and we've got you eating two jars of food at each meal. I am pretty sure you will retain your thinness for the rest of your life, though, based on the skinny genes you inherited from Daddy. Which should help if skinny jeans ever come back into style. Yes, I just made a terrible pun. You can die of embarassment now.



You certainly won't need to worry about losing weight from all that moving you are doing. Because you're pretty content to not move anywhere. And why would you? If I'm not holding you, then you're sitting on the floor and your brother brings you your toys. You have no need to try to crawl. In fact, you must really not like the thought of crawling on your hands and knees because you scoot around on your butt. You stretch your legs out in front of you and dig in your heels and then pull your butt toward your knees, like some bizarre upright inchworm. You don't move fast, but you do move yourself enough to reach any object that catches your fancy. You also are grooving on the move where you reach for something, realize it's too far away, roll onto your back, roll back onto to your stomach so you've gone forward a few inches and reach out again. With your two modes of transportation, you can get pretty much anyplace you want to be.

You pulled yourself up a few times this past weekend, mostly from a sitting position on the couch with the arm of the couch as your leverage. You also pulled yourself up on Grandma, who was very excited to see such activity. But to be honest with you, I am nowhere near ready for you to crawl. Right now I can put you down on the floor with a few toys and you are right where I left you when I come back. Not that I ever leave the room. No, I am there watching you with both eyes 100 percent of the time. That's why it's so odd that you were able to launch yourself over the side of the bouncy seat in the kitchen last week and I found you hanging upside down with the seatbelt still in place around your waist. Can't fathom how that one happened.



I imagine the bouncy seat fiasco came about because you are getting extremely curious about everything now. You try to grab your food when we feed you, you want all of Jack's toys and you find the teeny tiniest little specks of crud on the floor and study them with interest. Right before you stick them in your mouth. It's so fun to watch you play now because you figure things out. You are starting to see how your toys work and different ways to play with them. You especially like standing up (mostly with our assistance, but sometimes on your own for a few seconds) at your activity table and moving all the buttons and levers and making the lights and sounds come on.


Your days of activity, combined with a little boost of Cry It Out, have resulted in much longer stretches of sleep at night. We've gotten eight straight hours from you several nights in the last week and you've definitely dropped the 11 p.m. feeding. Finally. It only took 7.5 months, but who's counting? The awesome part is that we can now put you down awake in your crib, turn on the sleep machine and the crib soother, and leave the room. Sometimes you fuss for a few minutes, but generally you are content to put yourself to sleep. You wake up once or twice during the night to eat, and I am fine with that for now. You're still breastfed on demand and you've settled in to a schedule where you clamor for the boob about four or five times during the day and a couple times during the night. We put you down for the night at 7 and you wake up for the day around 7:30 a.m. with naps at 9:30 a.m. and 2 p.m. At night, you wake around 1 a.m. and then come into bed with us for the rest of the night where you usually eat about three times. It's a good little schedule that is starting to work for everyone.


Your brother started school this month, just two times a week for two hours, and you seem to notice he is gone. You look around for him, but then are happy to go on about your busines, so you must not miss him too much. But you still adore him as much as ever. He must feel the same way because a few weeks ago, he said, "Love you Emmie" without any prompting from anyone. Just the other night you were sitting on the floor in the bathroom while he was in there and you were laughing these gut-busting giggles at him. Then he started laughing at you laughing, which made you laugh even harder. It brought tears to my eyes because I was so glad to see how happy you make each other. I know someday when you are annoyed with him as a teenager it will be hard to believe, but he will be there for you and you for him all of your lives. I hope you have the kind of relationship your daddy and I have with our siblings, because it's so awesome to have a built-in friend who has to put up with your crap even when no one else will.


This past month also saw your first foray into formal attire when you were the flower girl in Aunt Marnie's wedding. Jack was the ring bearer and he pushed you down the aisle in a little wagon and you two were quite possibly the cutest kids ever. You hung on and smiled and Jack stopped to ham it up for the crowd and everyone oohed and aahed over the two of you. You were so well-behaved and did a great job. But don't get any ideas that it means you get to attend any more weddings. No weddings for you until you are old enough to sit quietly and stay up late. So I guess that would be in about 11 more years. Maybe.


I have a feeling we are the cusp of several developmental changes this coming month and I hope separation anxiety is not one of them. You are still a pretty social baby, once you warm up to people. When you first encounter anyone other than me, Daddy or Jack, you turn your head into my shoulder and play coy. But then you peek out to see them again, and after a few seconds, you start smiling and interacting. The weekend of the wedding we left you with a non-family babysitter for the first time and you did great. You played and ate and slept fine, which was great because know we know if we needed to leave you with a sitter, we could. As always, the best part of leaving you is seeing you again for the first time. It's like you haven't seen me for months and you get your legs pumping and your arms atretching out for me and you make this excited noise that you only make when you see me. And it's the best part of any night out or any trip away. I hope you are always this excited to see me (although I know you won't be) because it's how I feel every time I look at you. I want to pump my legs and stretch out my arms to you and let you know how much I love you.

Love,
Mommy

Emmie: Seven months

Dear Emmie,

Today you are seven months old and I am pretty sure someone somewhere is skipping days on my calendar and not telling me because there is no way that much time could possibly have gone by.



We spent much of the last month on vacation, which coincided nicely with a major remodeling of the house. But as always, you were so laid-back and easy -- no matter where we dragged you. You spent time splashing in the lake, taking boat rides, playing with toys and hanging out with both sides of the family. You went on your first road trip, driving six hours to the North Woods of Wisconsin, and you braved it like a champ. You slept a lot and amused yourself in the carseat and were generally chill.



You started giving us a little baby wave this month, opening and closing your tiny hand, while staring at it in amazement. For a few days it was all you wanted to do, but then you kind of moved on and we get little waves every once in a while now. Just this past week you also started clapping. I wasn't sure you knew what you were doing, but we would clap and say, "Yay Emmie!" and you would stretch your arms out in front of you and start flapping your arms until your hands were clapping. You looked so proud of yourself, which made us laugh and clap even more, which made you laugh and clap more. Hours of entertainment, I tell you.

Your hands are still a source of great amusement to you. Every once in a while, you will be waving your little arms around and catch site of your hand and it stops you in your tracks. You will stare and turn your hand to examine it from every angle and start talking to it. I remember your brother doing the same thing, and it's no less cute the second time around with you.

You are starting to talk quite a bit now. We hear screeching and a lot of "ahhh" and "baaa" and of course, your first real-sounding word was "da." Come on! I am the one who feeds you, gets up with you multiple times a night and doesn't make you cry it out. What about some love for mama? Your daddy was quite proud of himself and said it was clearly because he is your favorite.

I can't dispute that as the evidence is mounting. Whenever you look at him, you smile and wiggle and talk and generally act like a smitten girl. I might be the food source and the one you want in the middle of the night, but if he's in the room while you are awake, I am chopped liver. I think you might be turning into a Daddy's Girl, but we'll see how that works out for you when you're 16 and late for curfew and a boy drops you off outside the house.



The last month was also kind of worrisome. We took you in for your six-month pediatrician visit and they were concerned you weren't gaining enough weight. Apparently, the tall-skinny genes from your father are kicking into full effect. We suspected a little silent reflux, so we gave you Zantac for a few weeks, with no improvement. They wanted to make sure there weren't any underlying issues, so they sent you to see a pedicatric GI specialist. His advice was to start feeding you three or four solid meals per day in addition to breastfeeding on demand. So you went from a little oatmeal with fruit once a day to eating three meals with either banana and avocado mixed in to pump up the fat content. They asked me how committed I was to breastfeeding on a scale of 1 to 10 and I said definitely a 10. I don't want to give you formula if I don't have to, so I am happy to not eat dairy to keep your tummy happy. I am convinced you're just skinny, and they noted you are meeting all your milestones and are such a happy baby, so I am not worrying about it. You'll gain weight on your own pace.



Now that you have mastered sitting up and you can roll to the location of your choice in the room, things are getting interesting with your brother. You are a lot more into toys and inevitably, you both want the same one. I hear a lot of "No, Emmie, no!" coming out his mouth these days. It's mostly him ripping interesting toys out of your hands, which he then substitues with some discarded toy he doesn't want to play with, but every time it happens I feel bad for you because you always look so surprised as if to say, "Wait! What happened?" But you're also starting to become a little more grabby, and he's not so fond of it. Now when you get close enough to him, you usually end up grabbing his shirt or his hair and trying to bring yourself as close to him as possible. I hear a lot of "No touch! No touch, Emmie!" coming from Jack these days -- what I can only imagine is the beginning of years of me saying, "Nobody is touching anybody else, at all, ever again."



Speaking of not doing things ever again, I think sleep falls into that category. As you have for the last seven months, you still refuse to sleep through the night. And you don't wake up to eat just once, or even twice, but four or five times a night. It's gotten to the point I have declared it the new normal. Your GI doctor said once you gain a little weight and start loading up on the calories, you should start to sleep better. I had a hearty laugh at that notion, because I am convinced you will never sleep through the night and someday your poor husband will be getting up multiple times per night to get you a drink of water or a snack.

Your daddy and I spent a few days away from you and Jack recently and by the time the weekend was over, I was really looking forward to seeing both of your little faces. When we arrived to pick you up from Grandma and Grandpa, you were sleeping on Grandma's lap. You stirred a little when you heard my voice and you opened your eyes slightly and when you saw me, your eyes opened wide and you stared at me as if to say, "Is it really you Mommy?" I grabbed you and hugged you and you were so glad to see me. In the coming years, there will probably be tons of moments like this, except you will be all "Mooooooommmmmmm, stop kissing me. My friends are watching." Complete with eye rolls and slumping shoulders. But I will always, always be happy to see you.

Love,
Mommy

Feeling like a failure

Today Emmie had her appointment with the pediatric gastroenterologist. The GI doc asked a lot of questions, examined her and of course measured and weighed her.

While she went from 13 lbs 11 ounces to 14 lbs 2 ounces in the last three weeks, she's still not where she should be in terms of weight. Her weigh-in today placed her in the 5th percentile, which also got her the official label of Failure To Thrive. Except, the GI doc said, she appears to be thriving. So he is saying it's in name only at this point.

We also found out our pediatrician mis-measured her at her last appointment and her height is only in the 50th percentile, not greater than the 95th. So she's apparently not going to be doing shoe endorsements for Nike any time soon. She's just average, I guess.

We discussed the silent reflux, and he said he does not think she has it. He told us to stop the Zantac, as it probably wasn't doing anything. Although I am sure she will miss the spectacular grape taste twice each day, we discontinued it tonight.

He also wants to run a few tests, specifically blood, sweat, stool and urine in addition to an ultrasound of her stomach. He said he doesn't expect to find anything, but it's better to have them done.

His most interesting question came in reference to her suspected milk protein intolerance. When I told him I had cut out all dairy and soy, he said I also need to cut out nuts and shellfish. Apparently, the shrimp skewers with peanut sauce are off the menu from now on. But I digress. After we discussed my limited diet, he asked how committed I was to breastfeeding on a scale of 1-10. I of course said 10 and that I would do whatever I needed to do to make it to a year. He was supportive and said that was fine, he just wanted to let me know we could try a hypoallergenic formula if I didn't want to be so restricted.

For now, he wants us giving her three or four meals of solids a day, following up with breastfeeding. He also said to feed her on demand, no matter what time of day or night. His exact words were, "Let her eat."

So we're going to bust out the avocado and applesauce mixture that Jack enjoyed so much, I am going to whip out the boob at the slightest whif of interest and we'll be back for a follow-up in a month. Until then, we'll just be being over here, failing to thrive.

Emmie: Five months

Dear Emmie,

Can it really be five months already? Didn't I just write your four-month letter, like last week? Are you trying to grow up in fast-forward or is it just me?



Perhaps I just can't remember the last month because I am so tired that it all blended into one long sleepless night. You see, my little wide-eyed wonder, you came home from the hospital loving your sleep and you have slowly evolved into a non-sleeper. You go down for the night somewhere in the neighborhood of 8 p.m., after taking close to an hour to really fall asleep, and you wake up approximately five times between then and 7 a.m. If I didn't let you sleep next to me in my bed, I would truly be a walking zombie. We've taken to letting you sleep in your swing for naps and sometimes even at night; it does the trick and we can get a chart-breaking three uninterrupted hours out of you. But hey, looking on the bright side, all this night-waking is great for the milk supply!



I keep thinking maybe there is some magic bullet for sleep, but I know there's not. You'll do it when you're ready. And when you wake up (at 11, 1, 3, 5 and 7 -- not that I'm keeping track or anything) you truly do want to eat every time. The pacifier doesn't pacify you and you want the boob. So clearly, the breastfeeding is still going well. You are satisfied with it and I decided to hold off with the solids until next month. You've hit a cute stage where you pat me and pull on my shirt and play with my bra strap while you are eating, that is, when you're not pulling off and laying a huge grin on me. Although in the middle of the night, you're all business. You peck at me like a bird until I offer it up and then you just lunge for me and latch yourself on with reckless abandon.

Your new favorite thing to do the last few weeks is crunches. You refuse to lie quietly on the floor now, instead you raise your head and shoulders clear off the rug and also lift your little legs so you're in a V-shape. Then you throw yourself on your side for a minute, then roll back and and start it all again. Sometimes you like to roll over onto your tummy, just for kicks. You've mastered the rolling from tummy to back and you've just starting to go the other way a few times here and there.



I think you and your brother have hit a new level in your relationship this month. Now that you are more interactive, he gets so excited to give you toys and have you hold them or shake them. He wakes up in the morning and always asks, "Emmie? Awake?" and now when he sees you, he says, "Hi Ahhhh-mee!" You of course, adore him. Probably even more now that he's stopped smacking you every chance he gets. Your eyes never leave him when he's in the room and now you smile and coo at him, too.



Your smiles aren't just reserved for your brother though. You literally kick your legs and pump your little arms and actually laugh when you wake up and I come in to get you. But as awesome as your reaction is to me, it's nothing compared to the show you put on for Daddy. Your smiles are the biggest for him and you just adore him. You truly are a daddy's girl these days. Your smile is a whole-body affair, complete with a little shoulder raise that makes it almost look like you're trying to be coy. But you really do light up the room when you are in it.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention your current hairstyle. All the "celebabies" are going to be sporting it in US Weekly this fall. Your blonde fuzz is about three inches long and it sticks straight up from the entire top of your head. No matter how much I try to comb it down, it just pops right back up, so we go with it and it's your signature look now. I know in a few weeks it will probably be too long to stick up and I really will miss it when it's gone.



Your hair is like everything else at this age -- we think it's how it will be forever, and then in the blink of an eye, it changes. Today I was pushing you in a swing at the park and I realized in no time at all, you won't want me to push and you'll be telling me "Emmie do! Emmie do!" But for now, you're content to have me be the center of your world and I am happy to oblige you. You bring such joy to my days -- how can I possibly be upset about something when I see you laugh at your little pink baby, grab her and try to eat her face? Or when you try to shove your entire fist into your mouth and pretty much succeed in doing it? Or when you're sleeping on my lap during your afternoon nap with your little hand pressed against your face, sighing?



There are moments in my day where my love for you just spills over. Not in the overprotective stage-mother kind of way, but I just look down at you and kiss your cute little face and tell you I love you. I can't get enough of you and I am always so excited to see you after I have been gone. Your Daddy and I went to New York for the weekend a few weeks ago and when our plane landed, I could not have been more excited to see you and your brother because I knew your little smile would greet me and make me feel like the luckiest woman on earth. I hope someday you get to experience this kind of love with children of your own, because there is nothing like it in the world.

Love,
Mommy

Held hostage by Blogger, Day 3

Emmie had her four-month appointment yesterday and I would love to talk all about it to you except I can't because Blogger won't publish anyone's site through ftp and I am hopping mad about it.

So you would have seen a post about how Emily is a GIANT. No really, she's 26.25 inches, which puts her above the 95th percentile. She is so long it is insane. She also tips the scales at a petite 12.2 pounds, which is the 25th percentile. Her head is average, at 50th percentile, which is great because I didn't want a daughter with a big old pumpkin head.

But the truly fantastic news is that Emmie had a little blood in her diaper. In a bout of fantastic timing, it was right before her appointment. So they were able to test her diaper while we were there and yep, it did have blood in it.

Blood in the stool of an exclusively breastfed baby usually means one thing: a dairy and/or soy sensitivity. Guess who now is giving up all dairy and soy? Just like I did with Jack. Except stricter because he never had GI issues from it, he just had eczema. So goodbye ice cream. I will love you from afar. Don't even get me started on the lack of butter. Thank God we have a ton of vegan offerings in the 'hood.

Think he watches me much?

This afternoon I was feeding Emmie. Jack, who was gunning for his 750th timeout of the day, decided to pick up his doll and hit it, instead of one of us for a change. I reminded him we don't hit the doll baby either, because it's not nice and it hurts.

Reminded might be a little mild. Perhaps "told him in a strong tone of voice" might sum it up better. It was 4:30 p.m. I was tired of getting hit. I was also tired of deflecting his hands and feet away from his poor sister's head.

He looked down at his baby and said, "Eat?"

I said, "Well sure, your baby can eat."

He then proceeded to pretend to unzip a sweatshirt (with the sound effect "wup!" which is how he says the word zip) and pull his shirt up. He then took his baby and pressed her head to his chest.

He stared at me like, "What the hell woman? Now what do I do?"

Then he threw the doll baby down and walked away.

I think a little biology lesson might soon be in order.

Crush the thrush

That's not lipstick and I'm not feeding my 14-week-old daughter grape juice.

That would be gentian violet, the best cure for thrush. Which I have. Yes, my nipples are the same color. No, I won't be showing you a picture of them.

Shooting pain in the breast between feedings, sore nipples at the start of a feeding and a clogged duct two weeks ago all added up to thrush. And here I thought I knew it all when it came to breastfeeding. Apparently, not so much, because I was convinced it was just a milk blister related to the clogged duct.

(For all the male readers out there: bear with me, we'll return to talk of things other than breastfeeding real soon. For now, just go on over to ESPN.com for some more manly topics.)

After consultation with a La Leche League leader and lactation consultant (who had differing opinions on the cause) and extensive Google searches, it was determined I had thrush and should go straight to the gentian violet and skip the lotrimin and nystatin. In the hopes of kicking this yeast quickly, I gave it a whirl.

So far, day 3 of treatment and I am feeling 80 percent better. Emmie looks ridiculous, but the unfortunate side effect of the gentian violet is that is stains skin purple for a few days. But you know what removes it? VODKA. Applied topically with a cotton ball. To the skin, not the lips, lest anyone call CPS on my ass for giving my baby martinis. But an ounce administered orally to mommy sure makes her feel better about taking her purple-lipped child out in public.

All you can eat

Emmie woke and ate at 1:30, 4, 5, 6, 6:30, 7, 7:30 and 8 this morning. Please shoot me.

It's probably my own fault. She starts the night in her crib and stays there until 1 a.m. -- sometimes it's a little earlier, sometimes as late as 2 a.m. But once she wakes for the first time, I bring her in bed with me and let her stay there until morning.

Every time she wakes up, I silence her with the almighty boob. This setup allows the maximum rest for me, as I just feed her and fall back asleep doing it. But the wakeups and subsequent feedings are getting a little ridiculous. My sleep is fragmented, so it's not quality sleep and something needs to change.

While I could probably stand to get her sleeping in her own crib, the thought of walking in and out of her room multiple times a night, getting her fed and settled and then trying to get myself back to sleep makes me ill. Especially since Jack really doesn't care how much sleep I have gotten -- he just wants to go go go all day.

It could be a growth spurt, but I doubt it as she's not eating any more than she usually does during the day. And I've heard of reverse cycling, where breastfed babies eat more at night because mom works during the day. But she's home with me 24-7 and fed on demand, so I don't know why that would happen.

Apparently she just wants a little action at the Open All Night Breastaurant.

My how times change

I started out my mothering career as a very private nurser. The only person who ever saw me feed Jack was Josh, but that was by my choice. I just didn't feel comfortable nursing in front of other people.

For the first couple of weeks, I took the nursing so seriously that I didn't even do anything else while I was feeding him -- no phone, no TV, no books, no computer. I had read that it was important to use that time to bond with your baby. Look into his eyes, talk to him, let his little fingers grip yours.

What a bunch of crap. I figured out really quickly that babies, they fall asleep when they're nursing. They don't want you to talk to them, they want to eat and sleep. And at 3 a.m., I am not talking to anyone. And once they get a little bit older, you can't look at them for fear they will pop off and get distracted, thus making the feeding session that much more difficult, not to mention longer.

So within a few weeks I was feeding Jack on the boppy while sitting at my desk, typing over his head. I was a working, multi-tasking momma and besides, there's nothing like reading a little celebrity gossip to encourage that letdown now is there?

But for an entire year, if we had guests, I would go into his room to nurse him. If we were visiting family, I would comandeer a bedroom for privacy. If we were out at a restaurant, I would nurse in the bathroom. And let me tell you, I spent a lot of time in bedrooms and bathrooms because that kid ate all the damn time. I got sick of missing out on conversations and hot meals, but I soldiered on.

This time around, with Miss Emmie, I have dropped all pretenses. From the beginning, I have multitasked while feeding her. Hey, I had to; I have a whirling dervish of a toddler. But I have also been known to read, watch TV or surf the Internet with her on the boob. She's asleep, so what does she care? And I might as well use the time wisely.

I have also entered the world of Nursing In Public. That's NIP for all you non-message boarders out there. And you know what, I am having fun with it. Let me share with you places I nursed this weekend: in the car at a gas station, while eating pizza at a restaurant, at my parents' house, at Cosi while eating a salad and at the playground while pushing Jack in a swing. The more I do it, the easier it gets. On vacation I even nursed her at the table at Don and Charlie's restaurant. I figured people there were too busy looking for baseball players to notice the woman at the next table nursing.

Now before you go imagining I am whipping the boob out for everyone to see, I am not that brave. There is always a blanket involved and you can't really even tell what I am doing. You might just think there's a baby sleeping under there. Or that I am wearing a sarong in pink flower print. A really small one. With drool on it.

So I might not have mastered nursing in a sling but I can unclasp a bra, get a baby latched on and keep her there for more than 10 minutes all without looking. Although a good gust of wind at the playground today might have given one of the dads a little more to look at then he bargained for.

Feeling hot, hot, hot

Back when I was still pregnant, I decided I wanted to use a sling with this baby. There were many reasons, among them that I just thought slings were so cute (!), but the biggest was for the hands-free nursing aspect.

I knew with a toddler in tow, I would need to be able to play with him or feed him or hoist my glass of wine and there was no way I would be able to do that while nursing. Although when it comes to the wine, I assure you I would find a way.

So I went to an awesome nursing/maternity/baby store (Be By Baby, if you're local, in Roscoe Village) and they were great and had all different kinds of slings to try on and my mom and I hung out there for a while and got the speeches on how they all worked and the yada yada on pros and cons and whatnot. At the end, I told the clerk I was looking for a sling I could use strictly for nursing, since we already had a Baby Bjorn for our general baby-carrying needs.

She immediately and without hesitation said to go with the Hotsling. I was sold, since it was $30 cheaper than the Ring Sling, and away I went with directions on how to use it.

Enter Emmie five weeks ago. Since then, I have not successfully nursed in that damn sling a single time. I don't think it's too tight, because it works just dandy for carrying her around. She loves it -- goes right to sleep when I stick her in it -- and I really like how easy it is to put her in there and feed Jack. Inevitably, both children wind up eating at the same times and I really don't want Jack throwing his green beans on Emmie's head and I'm not sure staring at my boob is the most appetizing dinner view for him either. So I really need this sling thing to work.

But it's like she's not at the right level or the right angle or the right zip code. I suspect she's too low, since it's like a hammock, but I have no idea. I give up.

So I turn to you, my readers, oh great knowers of all things. Have you successfully nursed in the Hotsling? And if so, could you maybe diagram the positioning or send me a video or perhaps a stick-figure drawing? A step-by-step written tutorial would be great as well. And while you might not have any experience with this, maybe a friend does? And you could ask them? Or direct them here?

I am desperate and the husband is adamant I not spend a single cent on more baby crap, and he doesn't care about poor little me trying to feed Emmie and Jack and it being so very very HARD. He told me to find a way to make it happen with the sling I already have. So there you go. Help a sister out won't ya?

Baptism by bodily fluid

In the two years I have been a mother, I have been pretty smug in the fact my child has never puked. I can count on one hand the number of times Jack spit up during his entire life, and none of them were anything bigger than a dribble.

Sure, I've been peed on. I've been the unfortunate victim of projectile poop explosions. But vomit had never touched these parts.

And oh how the mighty have fallen.

Last night, Emmie was a little fussy around 8 p.m. No biggie, I just stuck a boob in her face and all was well. Then she was fussing again around 8:45, so I fed her again. Well apparently, her eyes were a little bigger than her month-old stomach. Because I heard an odd gurgle from her while she was eating and a nanosecond later, I look down to see her just puke her shit alllllllll over.

I am not exaggerating when I tell you she probably threw up a good six ounces of milk. All over herself. All over me. All over the boppy. All over the couch. It even got on some of the clean laundry I had just folded and was in a pile next to me.
Emmie just looked up at me like, "What the hell just happened?" and I sat there in horror.

To say I was stunned was an understatement. I have never witnessed such an event, much less been the recipient of one. Josh took Emmie and git her cleaned up and I just stripped off my sweatshirt and jeans and put them straight into the laundry, along with everything else.

As someone who is totally skeeved out by puke, I think I did pretty well with it. Granted, it was undigested breastmilk. So it wasn't chunks of food or tropical-punch colored liquor (not that I would know anything about that). Just some non-noxious white liquid.

An hour later, she was looking for more. I fed her, fighting the urge to cover myself with a tarp, without incident. All the breastfeeding books -- you know the ones that tell you pacifiers are the tools of the devil -- say if baby is fussy, you should put her to the breast. Well now I am petrified that she'll eat too much and puke all over me again. I offered her a pacifier for the first time after all this and she wouldn't entertain the idea and refused to put it in her mouth.

So I guess the boobs will have to suffice and I will make it clear bulimia is not a way to maintain her girlish figure.

He's warming up to her

I think he might be starting to like her. Maybe. There was some posing for pictures and he actually offered her his milk and a piece of sandwich yesterday and he only tried to hit her once.

I would call that a success.

In other Emmie news, she's still sleeping a lot. Which is great. But when I say a lot, I mean she slept from 3-8:45 a.m. and while that is awesome and I am SO NOT COMPLAINING, I am teeny tiny bit worried about a breastfed baby sleeping so long at night. Again, NOT COMPLAINING. Just wondering. I also have to wake her every three hours during the day to eat.

I am not used to this not-eating-every-hour thing in a newborn after Jack did just that for what seems like forever and a day. But she's having tons of wet and poopy diapers, so I think she's getting enough to eat. We shall see what the pediatrician thinks at her two-week checkup next Thursday.