Daniel checking out his little brother. 

Daniel has spotted the latch on the pantry door

Daniel is learning how to open doors and one of his favorite doors to open is the pantry door in the kitchen. The previous homeowners had small children so we have benefited from various childproofing devices that were already installed throughout the house by them, which includes a sliding latch across the top of the pantry door. Today Daniel opened the pantry door and I promptly closed it and slid the latch closed. I don't think he had ever really noticed before that it was this particular device that was thwarting his attempts to eat all the goldfish and animal crackers he can. But today as he watched me close it, I saw a look of horror cross his face when he realized that the latch was all the way up there. The look of horror was quickly replaced by a look of fierce determination. I have no doubt that some small part of his brain is now feverishly trying to work out a plan to get to that latch. We'll see how long it takes.

*whine* tantrums all around

this business of taking care of two kids is hard. Last week, I was home for a couple of days for the first time without any help. I thought I did pretty well. But by the weekend, I was at the end of my rope. Yes, I remembered a lot from when Daniel was a baby and if I were just taking care of a baby right now, it would be a breeze. Well, sort of. But I've also got a toddler who's quickly approaching the terrible twos and who's life has been turned upside down because he no longer has my undivided attention, and as DH remarked, one plus one equals more than two when it comes to taking care of the little guys. And the bad thing is, if I don't eat, I'm not a very nice person, but feeding myself is usually the thing that falls through the cracks most easily. Plus, I've gotta eat to keep the mini-boobula well-fed.

And getting us out the door in the morning for one of Daniel's playgroups is a near impossible feat. DH went in late to work this morning so that he could help me get ready for one of Daniel's playgroups. Ahh, it's just a playgroup, you say. It wouldn't be that bad to miss it right now. But you would be mistaken. We've missed too many and Daniel gets restless and then increasingly tantrum-prone when he doesn't get to see his buddies or leave the house for that matter. It's a good thing to keep the toddler happy and doing what's he used to doing.

Would you like some pasta with sauce?

Since Andrew was born, we've received lots of meals from friends and acquaintances. We are very grateful for them. We are, however, getting our fill of pasta and salad.

We've received:

* spaghetti sauce
* manicotti
* vegetable ziti
* baked ziti with meat
* lasagna
* beefaroni
* another frozen ziti
* stuffed shells
* Mexican stuffed shells
* chicken noodle casserole

and a couple beef stews, chicken breasts w/ potatoes, and a chicken spinach dish. Almost all of these came with salad. I've never been so regular in my life.

Why can't I finish things?

Does anybody else have this problem? I start things -- crafts, cleaning projects, etc -- but get almost done and then stop. Take for example last night. I was cleaning up the kitchen after dinner. I cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher and wiped down the table and the counter. All that was left to do was put soap in dishwasher and handwash a couple of things. But I just quit, walked away, got sidetracked with something else. I'll finish this up in a little while, I thought. Why not just go ahead and do it now and it'll be done?

I decided to make flannel sheets for the bassinet pad. I made one and started on the 2nd, but it remains unfinished. I got to a point where I didn't know the best way to finish a particular edge, so I just let it go.

I am also making a simple baby blanket out of a piece of flannel, blanket-stitching around the edge. I've made it almost all the way around with the blanket-stitching. I have a couple of little ends I need to tie off and then it's done, but it's been like that for two weeks (yes I have a new baby, but this will take just a couple of minutes.) Why can't I just finish it?

I do this all the time. I do part of the vaccuuming and then leave the vaccuum out to finish later, but never do. Why is it so hard to finish something to completion? I think it has something to do with being disappointed about how it's turning out, i.e. it's not perfect. That ugly perfectionism rears its head. But why can some people be perfectionists, but still seem to get stuff done.

And there's something I don't like about that "what's next" moment after you finish one project. Well, what do I do now? I'm not very good at making decisions.

Or maybe I'm just kinda lazy.

needs

I need a laptop.

I NEED a laptop.

How to convince DH.

Any ideas?

the overzealous MIL

My MIL is still visiting us. She's really great, but I think she thinks I spend too much time on the computer and not enough time keeping house. Of course, she's probably right about that. Heh. She keeps wanting to change the sheets on our bed. She's already washed all our underwear, which I guess isn't really that weird. But there is something weird about your MIL viewing any . . . uhm. . . evidence . . .uhm. . . of certain recreational activities. So, no thanks, I'll take care of those sheets.

when did Daniel get so big?

I swear that Daniel has put on 10 lbs in the last month. His head is really big, too. He's practically bypassing the 2T size. Yet, he's still in his crib. No attempts to climb out yet. DH commented that putting him to bed is like wrestling a steer.

baby blues

I'm feeling kind of let down after all the excitement of the Andrew's birth and the holidays. I'm sad about each day that ticks by, thinking that this may be our last time with a newborn. I want to savor every minute. It's such a precious time and I'm enjoying getting to know Andrew very much. He's an angel and has already surpassed his birth weight. He actually turned over today from his stomach to his back, twice. I'm not ready for life to return to the norm. DH went into work today for a while to work on something that's due tomorrow. Life goes on, but I'm not ready for it to. I want to live in this post-baby haze just a little while longer.

I made it from 8:00 a.m. to almost 4:00 p.m. without any ibuprofen. I don't need to park my butt on the boppy to sit down. The post-baby flow is subsiding. Don't get me wrong. I'm very glad about these things and think I just expected another long recovery like last time. But it also means that I'm that much farther away from being pregnant, from feeling the little guy moving around inside, from the excitement and anticipation of welcoming a new life into the world.

My MIL is a saint.

My MIL came in town yesterday to stay with us for a week. Today she accomplished the following:

At least four loads of laundry, including folding.
Cleaning a sofa throw that the cat pooped on.
Cleaning a sofa cover that the cat peed on.
Cleaning the guest bathroom.
Bleaching our kitchen sink.
Taking Daniel outside to play and otherwise tending to his diaper changes, etc.
Vaccuumed den rug and swept & dustmopped the kitchen floor.
Put Daniel down for his nap.
Went to the grocery store with Daniel.

I don't think we're going to let her leave.

Highlights from a week with the 'rents

(my apologies to MTers who have read most of these already. . .)

I wish that she would stop turning the TV down during commercials. What's the point?! We don't have conversation usually. Why would we be trying to work it in in those precious three minutes anyway? Grrr.

Why would you go to someone's house and one of the first things that you do is to turn off the icemaker, so that they run out of ice a week later? Even when they've asked you not to do that EVERY TIME that you come. Grrr. . .

Why do you constantly refer to the cat as a "he" when it's not and we keep reminding you that it's not.

Why do you say "Did he bite you?" when I'm nursing and say "ouch" (it was b/c the cat swatted me).

Why do you scowl at the casserole that was so graciously brought to us and that you didn't have to cook, complain that it has too much x in it, comment that we didn't get dessert with this meal and that corn bread would have been good with it?

Why do you continue to tell the cat not to do stuff and then wonder why "he's" not listening?

Why do you tell my 21 month old, your grandson, to "stop fussing. There's nothing wrong with you."?

Why do you blatantly ignore me when I say, he probably wants lunch, give him cheerios instead because you think 11:15 is too early for his lunch?

Why do you tell me that "it's like talking to a brick wall" when I ask the toddler to do something that we all know he won't do at that very moment, but will eventually learn to do?

Do you really expect a toddler to do what you say immediately when you ask it or not to fuss and whine about things?

Why do you hop up to turn a light off that I've turned on as soon as I leave the room?

Why do you see the French dressing in our fridge and say "who eats that?" and suggest throwing it out?

Why do you give your husband a hard time about his weight when he's lost a bunch of pounds, going to the gym everyday and exercises more than you ever have in your whole life?

Why do you have to comment on how everybody looks? "Oh, he's a beaut." "Ugh, look at those teeth." As if you are the picture of beauty.

A Case of Nursing Overconfidence

I've done this before and recently. I know what to do. Heh. When your newborn's spitup has blood in it and you are cursing a blue streak everytime you nurse, maybe you don't know what you are doing. Thank goodness for lactation consultants.

No need for the doula, or should I say no time

On Wednesday, December 29th, 2004, at 5:02 p.m., we welcomed Sir Andrew into the world. As it turns out, the doula was not needed. At my last midwife appointment the day before, the midwife told me that my cervix was 3 cm dilated and 90% effaced. She stripped my membranes which started a series of contractions for the next several hours from between 5 and 8 minutes apart, but they tapered off at about 10:00 p.m. that night. I continued to have some random contractions through the night and the next morning, and we decided that walking would be a good thing to see if we could get things going again. We went out about 11:30, got lunch and then went to the mall and walked around for an hour or so. When we got home, I was really tired and took a nap. At about 4:10 p.m., I woke up feeling a big, hard pop like the baby had punched my cervix. Sleepy and disoriented, I got up and realized that my water had probably broken.

We called the midwife and finished putting our stuff in the suitcase. Meanwhile, the contractions started coming on about every two minutes. They were OK as long as I was able to pace. As we pulled out of the driveway, I called the doula and let her know we were heading in. By the time, we were a half a mile from the house, I was having contractions where yelling was required.

I tried to do the breathing exercise. Jim said that I was mostly doing it in between the contractions. That was OK because it kept me a bit calmer though until we missed a couple of lights. I opened my eyes, I saw lots of traffic and a car with the little flag things on it and was sure we were caught in game traffic -- we live near one of the biggest basketball schools in the country which is also where the hospital is. I told Jim to drive on the side of the road to go around people. He thought I meant I wanted to pull over and kept saying we are almost there. About a mile from the hospital, I had to push. No panting was going to stop me from pushing then. There was no rational part of my being that was available to me any more. I was pushing.

4:30 p.m.
We pulled up to the ER and Jim ran inside to get help. Meanwhile, it was taking too long and these people waiting outside the ER were watching me and I was screaming and yelling, so I got out and walked in. They came with a wheelchair and I yelled, "NO, LAY DOWN!!!" Nothing like having the attention of the entire waiting room on you. They got the gurney, took me back, and started trying to take my clothes off, which they soon gave up on and just cut off, because I wasn't too cooperative at that point. They checked me out to make sure that the baby was OK and not already out and that I wasn't having a uterine rupture b/c it was a VBAC. The attending OB quickly came down from upstairs and restored a little order. There must have been about 20 people around me. ERs apparently aren't too equipped to handle deliveries. They couldn't wait to get me out of there and up to Labor and Delivery. The OB determined that everything was OK and that since the baby wasn't quite there, we could go up.

They got me up there to my surprised midwife who couldn't believe it was her patient who was the yelling person in labor coming up from the ER. The nurse manager was our neighbor and was also surprised to see us. The OB stayed with us as well. Several pushes later and we had our little guy at 5:02 p.m.! Our doula arrived about 15 minutes later.

Andrew came out with his hand up by his head, so I ended up with a deep 2nd degree tear, which just means that my butt hurts a lot and the dang midwives don't prescribe percocet.

We are in love with out little guy, and Daniel's warming up to him as well. He keeps trying to showing him his cars.