February 22, 2010

Laughter and Tears

Saturday, Owen’s cold was so awful that he had a fever of 103.1 degrees.  I panicked, of course, and called my mother for advice.

Since my younger sister and brother still live at home with my parents, they often answer the telephone.  One of them looked at the Caller ID, saw my phone number and gave the phone to Dawson who was staying with my parents for the weekend.

The phone rang once and I heard my sister say, “Dawson, it’s for you.”  She passed the cordless to him.

“Hello?”  Dawson said.

“Hi Dawson, it’s Mom.  Can I talk to Grandma, please?” I asked.

My little boy, funny child that he is, yelled at his aunt, “It’s not for me! It’s for Grandma, you twit!”

I laughed and laughed until my mother got on the phone, and she was laughing, too.  The two of us were in tears over the situation.

“Where did he learn the word ‘twit’?” I asked.

“Probably from Auntie Rachel!” Mom howled.

My mother then told me that she was talking to my brother earlier in the day, and Frankie was giving her a hard time about his curfew.  She told him if he didn’t like the rules he was more than welcome to move out and pay rent.

“I told Frankie he had no room to talk when he’s living here rent-free, and Dawson said, ‘Grandma, he has a room!’” she said, laughing.

After the laughter subsided, I asked my mom what to do about the fever and she suggested infant Tylenol and a cold washcloth on his forehead to keep him from overheating.  I had already given him a dose of the infant medicine but had not considered the washcloth.  She told me to try that and to call the weekend care phone number at the clinic.

The nurse suggested the same things my mother had, and it’s nice to know that I can still rely on my mom, even when I’m in panic mode.  It’s been a long time since Dawson has had a fever, so I’m not surprised I had forgotten all the remedies.

Thankfully, Owen’s fever dropped down to 100.5 two hours later and he was feeling much better.  Good thing Dawson had his comedy down, I needed the laughter through the tears!

December 1, 2009

Out of Our Minds

There is a light at the end of this tunnel, methinks.  Owen is still suffering the stomach bug from hell.  It makes me sad because he’s so tiny.  Okay, really he’s not tiny tiny.  He’s truly living up to his Monster Baby moniker, he’s just about ready to bust out of the 0-3 month clothing.  He’s only six weeks old.

It’s no surprise really, the child eats constantly.  I’m practically glued to the glider, nursing non-stop, save for the 3-5 hours he sleeps at night.  Last night he slept five hours straight and I woke up with softballs for breasts, they were so hard from engorgement.  Which make me laugh.  Softballs.  Right.  Too much information, I know.  I apologize.  Just tellin’ it like it is.

I shouldn’t complain.  Depsite the little virus, Owen is eating like a champ and growing like a weed.  I’ve been on edge the last five days because he sleeps erratically and wakes easily.  His big brother is the culprit.  I’m constantly telling Dawson to stop running! jumping! yelling! making so much noise!  It’s hard for Dawson to understand that he can’t be as loud and wild as he was before.  We’re working on teaching him to tone down his exuberance.  Just until Owen is ready to sleep somewhere other than in my arms or next to me or attached to me or in the sling.  This baby does not sleep well in his bassinet or crib.  He loves to be held.  LOVES.

If I put Owen down for longer than a minute he squawks then cries and wimpers and CRIES.  This morning he was unhappy that it took so long for me to use the bathroom.  When I came back to the room, Dawson was singing the alphabet to Owen, trying to calm him down.  He turned to me and said, “This baby is out of it’s mind.”  I just about died laughing.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“He does not want to stop crying.  He’s out of his mind!” Dawson said.

It still makes me giggle to think about it.

I think we’re all out of our minds.  Just a little bit.

November 25, 2009

Must Have Been Gas, But It’s All Over Now

So, it turns out that Owen might have had gas.  Gas! That is probably why he was fussy and not sleeping and making me think I was slowly losing my mind. Once I began bicycling his legs and giving him an occasional dose of Mylicon drops, he burped and farted and is now eating again.  All the time.  Like normal. I think we’ve hit the 6-week growth spurt, too.

Right now he is peacefully sleeping in his vibrating chair.  I’m not about to move him.  I wanted to take a nap myself, but Dawson just got home from school and I must keep one eye open to his needs and make sure he doesn’t wake the baby.  It’s exhausting, really it is.

I’m so sleep deprived these days that little things make me ornery and frustrated.  This morning I snapped at Dawson because he still hadn’t picked up the toys he played with the night before, after I asked him multiple times.

Then I snapped at Doug for asking me for some paperwork he needed to add Owen to our insurance plan.  I was nursing Owen at the time and had to get up and find whatever it is he needed.  I didn’t understand why he couldn’t find the stuff himself.

I even yelled at Murphy for barking too loudly and too often.  And when the phone rang I nearly lost it right then.  So many noises! No wonder Owen doesn’t nap during the day.

Because I’m preoccupied with all things baby and child, I haven’t even had time to contemplate Thanksgiving.  Thankfully my wonderful husband, the one I yelled at, has taken over.  He’s making baby back ribs and shrimp for Thanksgiving.  Because we forgot to thaw the turkey in time.  We’ll be having the bird on Saturday.  I’m so lucky my husband cooks.  I don’t know how I’d manage it with a baby attached to my breast 15 times a day.

We might visit my parents and Doug’s parents sometime during our days off, but with the weather turning colder and rainier, and with Owen recently coming down with the stomach flu I’m thinking it’s wise to stay home until all is well.

I’m really hoping I’ll get some free time to spend with Dawson.  After yelling at him this morning I’m feeling guilty and I realize I haven’t been available to him like I once was.  I know that taking care of Owen is a legitimate excuse, but I still need to let Dawson know I love him just as much as always.

Mothering two children isn’t as easy as I hoped it would be, but I’m sure it will get better and less complicated as Owen gets older. I can’t imagine how I’d manage if I had more than two kids.

November 23, 2009

The Flu and More Breastfeeding Woes (Yes, Again)

I don’t know how it happened, but Owen came down with the stomach flu.  He had been having bowel movement troubles for several days and after seeing what looked like a streak of blood in his poop, I took him the pediatrician immediately.

The doctor inspected the diaper, checked over my sweet baby and told me it was the flu.  “Not H1N1,” she said, and I was relieved, but Owen’s fussiness continued and I was at my wits end.  Three days of a non-sleeping baby and then the fourth day he slept a lot.  So much in fact that he didn’t wake for five hours.  I woke up in a panic, made sure he was still breathing and promptly pumped my engorged breasts.  Thank God for Medela.

Now it seems like he’s feeling a little better, but he still fusses at the breast and I’m afraid he’s taken a preference to the pumped milk in a bottle.  I’m not sure what to do.  Let him cry a little to make him hungry?

He sometimes falls asleep while nursing and the second I de-latch his tiny mouth and lay him in his bassinet, he wakes up frantically and starts rooting and sucking on his hands.

It was so crazy that I finally just gave him another two ounces of milk and he slept soundly.

I’m sort of feeling like I’m messing up this breastfeeding thing, and frankly, I’m sick of talking about it.  For the last five weeks it’s been nothing but NURSING! and NIPPLES! and IS THE BABY EATING ENOUGH?  IS HE STARVING?

Ugh.  If I’m not over analyzing my milk supply, I’m studying the contents of his diaper like a mad scientist.  He’s still having trouble with his bowels.  He strains and cries as he tries to poop.  His face gets red as a cherry and I feel helpless because I hate seeing him struggle.

Right now, as I type, he’s fussing.  I just spent 45 minutes trying to get him to nurse, on and off, fits and starts. Blah.

Any advice?  I seriously need it.