Get the f*ck away from my baby!

I am not an overprotective parent, nor is Tony.  We just want what is best for our son.  Tonight, we attended Tony’s  staff Christmas party with Sacha in tow.  Although we could have hired a sitter, we are not comfortable leaving him alone with someone.  It would be a totally different story if we have relatives nearby, but unfortunately, the airfare to get one of our parents to sit for us would really be out of our price range.  We have taken Sacha out in public many times - restaurants, church, coffee-shops, library, stores, 6 flights, malls, etc.  He is always a delight.  The occasional cry, but nothing a little calming from Mommy or Daddy can’t cure.  He had been in a good mood all day, had some good naps and ate well.  This is why we had no qualms about bringing him to the party tonight.

Until we got there.  Tony walks into the room with Sacha in his carseat, and before I even had time to enter, one of Tony’s crazy co-workers was ripping Sacha’s snowsuit off and yanking him out of his car seat.  May I now point out that Sacha was JUST waking up.  So the first thing he experienced upon waking was the sight, smell, and touch of a stranger.  Of course, he started to protest - very loudly and forcefully.  Yet the psycho-hose beast would not give him back to his parents.  FInally, we stole him back and I tried my best to calm him down.  It worked - for about 15 minutes.  Then it was all screaming again.  Tony took him into the hallway and rocked him, but to no avail.  Every time he cried, some new stranger put their face in Sacha’s personal space, thus causing Sacha to scream all the more.

I finally couldn’t take it.  I went to Tony, took Sacha and went to the ladies room, where there was a beautiful powder room and such, including a fluffy couch for me to nurse Sacha on.  That worked out ok, and Sacha ate, clutching onto my shirt for dear life, lest some insane woman come and steal him from his Mommy.  After he ate (and spit up - this is Sacha, remember) he stayed curled up in my arms and I sang to him, and played with him with his Winnie the Pooh rattle (he loves that thing) and his pen-light. He was nice and content when an older lady walks in and says to me: “What did you do, sedate him?”  Yes.  I sedated my child in order to sit in the bathroom all night at a Christmas party.  That is really my idea of a good time.  Seriously, what a retarded thing to say.

But that was only the beginning of the retardedness. Sacha continued to have melt-downs every time someone came into the bathroom.  He would look at them and start howling.  To the unwise listener, you would surely think that someone was branding him or other such torture.  Then there was another spectacle of a woman who looked at him crying and said “What’s wrong with him?”  “He doesn’t like you,” I thought.  What I really said was “He’s just overwhelmed by the noise, the room is very warm, etc”  To which she said “It is NOT loud in there.  I wish it was louder.”  Huh?!  Handitard!  What kind of stupid comment it that?  Like it’s my baby’s fault that he doesn’t like the noise level in the room.

Another woman walks in (whom I’ve never met” and says “Do you want me to hold him?”  I’m thinking “Sure!  Take my screaming child!  I know that I am a bad mom and that you will calm him down in a heartbeat!  I must be just holding him the wrong way. “  I just politely said “No, thanks”

Tony had tried to take Sacha a few times to give me a break, but Sacha would have none of that.  I think after his horrific incident involving the stripping of the snowsuit by a possessed woman, he wanted to have one hand connected to Mommy at all times, just to make sure I didn’t disappear (or pass him off to anyone else).  So I ended up eating 3 meatballs and a piece of broccoli in the bathroom while rocking a screaming Sacha.  Finally, I gave up.  I got Julie (who had been keeping me company, thank goodness!) to go get Tony for me.  We were out of here.

The second Sacha was back in his snowsuit, he let out a little smile - he knew he was on his way home!  On our way out of the restaurant, the same lady who told me to sedate Sacha added that we should try and make him more sociable next time.  Great; thanks, tips.  That is the best thing I’ve heard all day.

Tony and I both fumed all the way home - not because Sacha screamed all night, but because of the sheer boldness of people, to assume that they can steal our son out of his car seat, to imply that I should sedate my son, or that he should be more sociable.  It is amazing how as parents, you are stuck between a rock and a hard place.  If you don’t let people hold your baby, you’re seen as overprotective and mean, even if you KNOW that your baby will scream bloody murder as soon as anyone else besides Mommy or Daddy hold him.  So we politely say “Well, you can try,” and wait for the inevitable screaming that will result in less than 10 seconds.  And really, shouldn’t most people who have kids KNOW this?  Yet it seems like the ones who are the worst with Sacha are the ones who have children (and grandchildren) of their own.  The others are too scared of babies to even get close.

We both maintain that if I would have been the one to take Sacha out of his seat when he woke up (and that he would have seen him Mommy and Daddy first thing) he would have been ok.  He has never screamed like that for such a long time (Julie even said that) - he was completely terrified from the second he was torn from his seat and held in the arms of a stranger before Mommy even had time to blink. Way to ruin what should (and could) have been a perfectly lovely evening.

I am SOOOOOOOOOO tired

I am SOOOOOOOOO tired.  Sacha, ever since our little trip to the west, has decided that sleeping through the night is optional.  Actually, it’s rare now.  He seems to go down better, but wakes up an hour later, than sleeps maybe 2 or 3 hours, then wants to eat, then another 2 or 3 hours (if I’m lucky) and so on.  Tony says that I should just sleep when he sleeps during the day.  Well, I tried that today, and I am MORE grumpy and tired than normal.  What the Florida Keys? How does that work?

Well, Sacha is the king of catnaps, thanks to the genetics he inherited from his Memère, so he only sleeps for little spurts at a time.  By the time I fall asleep, he wakes up about 5 or 10 minutes later, and then I am totally exhausted because I have been deprived of the sleep I was just entering in addition to all those lost hours from just having a baby.

Tony says that I whine too much about the sleep and that eventually I’ll get used to having less sleep and feel fine.  I don’t know about that; maybe Tony will just get used to hearing me whine about how tired I am and not notice anymore, therefore thinking that I am fine.
Does that count?

My son: the nudist

Can anyone explain to me why being naked is so fun?  In my experience, being naked means being cold, flabby, and observing a not so flattering reflection in the mirror.  In my son’s world,  however, being naked is next to orgasmic.  Well, he has no way of knowing what orgasmic means, but that really is the only way to describe the instant smile and flailing that follows the removal of his clothing and diaper.

Sacha lives for nudity.  Whenever he is in a funk, bored, contemplative, or just plain there, Sacha loves being naked.  All I have to do is strip his clothes off, and remove his diaper and it’s there:  instant nirvana.  The limbs start flailing, he reveals the widest of grins and starts cooing and trying to laugh, and rolls from side to side, all the while making as much noise as possible from hitting his feet against the floor or crib mattress.

What’s more, it kills me to put his diaper on.  The second that diaper is closed on one side, he grimaces.  Once the diaper is fully on, it’s tears and whimpering.  At first, I though maybe the cloth diapers weren’t comfortable, and that’s why he was crying.  However, after trying Pampers, I realized that it is not the diapers, as he cries just as much from the Pampers (and gets a nasty bum rash, to boot).  He just doesn’t like being restricted in the bum area.  Or in any area.

I would love to leave him be and let him be naked in his little Eden world underneath the mobile.  But then within a few hours, he would be flailing in a pool of his own excrement, which would be so much worse to clean up that the occasional urinary fountain while he basks in his nude paradise.

If anyone has any idea as to how I can accommodate his desire to be au naturel AND my desire to not have feces and urine covering his bedroom, please tell me!

Maybe it is my fault

A conversation we had at a local restaurant this evening with our server.  By the way, Sacha was wearing a boy’s outfit with little trucks on it.

Server: He’s SO cute! (referring to Sacha and making googoo noises at him)
Me: Thanks!
Server: How old is he?
Me: He’s almost 3 months old.
Server: What’s his name?
Me: Sacha
Server: Oh! It’s a female? (with total embarrassment about getting the sex of our baby wrong)
Me: No, HIS name is Sacha.
Server: Oh!

I know that Tony and I did not pick a conventional name for our son, but most of you know that we are not conventional people.  But seriously, has NO ONE ever heard of Sacha as a boy’s name?  Let me think of some people who share my son’s name:

Sacha Baron Cohen - otherwise known as Borat
Sacha Trudeau - Pierre Trudeau’s son
Sasa Petricic (pronounced Sacha) - a reporter on CBC news

But really, I think that the first example should suffice, as “Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for make benefit glorious nation of Khazakstan” is sweeping the box office right now.

Above all else, however, why do people make assumptions based on a name?  If I say “My son” or “he”, that should be enough to let others know that my child is male, regardless if his name is Sacha, Leslie, Clare, Ashley, Shannon, Robin, etc. By the way, those are all GUYS that I or Tony have met in the past.

And furthermore, who said that Elliot is a boy’s name?  I know Andi gets the same grief over Elliot’s name (although hopefully people are not so dense as to think that Elliot is a boy as she is now 2 years old).

The point is, unisex names are becoming very common: Connor, Avery, Kolbi/Colby, Jordan, Bailey, Erin/Aaron, Taylor, Riley, Alex, Gabriel/Gabrielle, Kerry/Cary/Carrie, Tony/Toni, Adrian/Adrienne, Kelly, Mackenzie, need I go on? Furthermore, there are many names that I am not sure what they were originally supposed to be: Pine, Dweezil, River, Ocean, Summer, Enzo, August, Phoenix, London, Jaden, Pilot, Timberland, Xenon, Rumer, Scout, Jigme, Apple, Ireland, etc.

Just because it isn’t common here doesn’t mean that it is wrong or bad.  Maybe people should just become a little more worldly and start tuning in to societies beyond our own and realize that Sacha, in fact, is originally a boy’s name!  And even if it wasn’t, who cares!  Just mind your manners and accept the fact that my son’s name is Sacha and the world is not going to explode because of it.

Daddy bottle success

We did it!  Today, after much consultation and preparation, we decided to try and introduce the bottle.  Nervous as heck, I sat on the computer so that the little guy wouldn’t smell me and want the real thing.  I just received the play by play from the living room as Tony fed Sacha for the first time.  Then I heard the word:

He’s going to town on this bottle!

Horray!  Does this mean that I may actually sleep at night?  That maybe Daddy could take a night and feed him so that I can get  full night’s sleep?  Unlikely, as the process of pumping is touch and go with me.  Sometimes it’s as easy as nursing; other times I want to jam the ends of genuine Q-tips into my ears to block out the atrocious sound of the pump being on for SO LONG just to get 1 ounce.  And Sacha doesn’t only eat one ounce.  He’s a 3 or 4 ounce little man.  Which may mean that I spend all my waking hours pumping just to get enough for one measly feeding.  Bah.  Humbug. Not to mention the fact that Mr Sleeping Beauty can only be awoken by...nothing.  Well, I guess that’s not all true.  Sometimes he wakes up when I start shoving him and yelling his name telling him to get up because he slept in and now he’s going to be late for work AGAIN.  But waking up when Sacha wakes up BEFORE I wake up?  Not bloody likely.

But all in all, I’m glad he took the bottle - at least that means I can get out for more than 2 hours at a time!  Or possibly have a nice chocolate martini from time to time without worrying about having a drunk baby on my hands.

Cabbage is the evilest veggie

I’m aware that evilest is not a real word, but you must also be aware that cabbage is PURE EVIL! We have been trying to get Sacha to sleep in his cradle and have employed many tricks. We finally found a winning combination: giving him a bath before bed, then nursing him, then warming up his cradle with a heating pad, then placing him in his cradle, which is next to my side of the bed. Yippee for us!

But wait: along comes Memère with her excellent coleslaw (with yummy apples and everything) and I am inclined to have some at supper time. SOME here refers to two helpings. That night, all terror breaks loose. Not so much for Sacha, as he was still able to sleep, but for Tony and I. Sweet merciful crap he made a lot of noise that night! Grunt grunt grunt, fart, poop, squirm, spit up, grunt, grr, grr, argh, grunt, poop, fart, AAHH, change me! Such were the sounds coming out of his little cradle while Tony and I lay wide awake, unable to fall asleep due to the incredible decibals coming from our sweet little munchkin.

I believe we got about 2, maybe 3 hours of discontinuous sleep. We tried everything: nursing, rocking him, having him sleep with us in bed, with Tony and I on the couch, but to no avail. Grunt Grunt Grunt.

It seems the cabbage releases a venomous toxin into babies that forces them to keep their mommies and daddies awake all night while they sleep soundly, thereby not giving the parents any reprieve during the day as they are rested and ready to entertain guests, while their parents wander around like zombies trying to nap while little Sacha is awake and being all cute and stuff.

Be warned, all you future parents: beware the perils of the leafy green monster we all charmingly refer to as cabbage. It’s NOT worth it!

Any advice for the sleep-deprived mama?

Sacha slept well in his cradle for the first two weeks of his life.  He woke up for feedings twice a night, and returned promptly to sleep afterward and made cute baby sleep noises from his cradle.  He then, however, discovered the delicate art of grunting and squirming, and has not been able to sleep in his cradle ever since.

I say “not sleep” in this sense:  the minute his back touches the mattress of the cradle, even if he was in a deep sleep in Mommy or Daddy’s arms, he immediately starts grunting, squirming, spitting up, etc.  He sleeps through all this, but his maximum sleep length is about 1 hour. Sleeping in Mommy or Daddy’s arms he gets a good 2 or 3 hours (if not more), just as he used to in the beginning when he used to love the cradle.

So what happened?  The only thing I can think of is that we stopped swaddling him for sleeping at about the same time he stopped liking the cradle.  However, I do not know if the swaddling stopped before or after the sleep changes. The swaddling changed because Sacha got so squirmy that he unwrapped himself in his sleep.  The grunting is a whole other story.

Now, in order for us and Sacha to get some decent sleep, we take shifts sleeping with him.  I (or Tony) will prop myself on the couch surrounded by cushions and have Sacha sleep in my arms or on my chest.  This way, he sleeps the way he did before, without the grunting and squirming.  He will then wake himself up and request a change of diaper and a feeding, then go back to sleep.  Then Tony and I switch, so that we both get some stretch-out-on-the-bed sleeping time.

Does anyone have any sleeping advice or similar situations? I don’t mind sleeping with Sacha, but I fear that he will not be able to put himself to sleep, nor be able to sleep in his crib on his own.  Or will he just outgrow this grunting/squirming thing?

The human pacifier

When I signed myself up for breastfeeding the little sir, I failed to read the small print at the bottom of his little bum that says “I may also require the use of your breasts for pacifier purposes.  Any attempt to withdraw your boobies simply because I am not actively eating may result in mayhem and chaos.  You have been warned.”

Take for instance, yesterday: the little man decided that he wanted to use me as a soother for 4 hours in the afternoon.  When it seemed like he was asleep (after conducting the limp arm test), I would take him off the mommy soother.  He woke up seconds later with full-on crying and anger at what I had done, and promptly latched himself right back on.  Not to eat, simply to suck and pacify himself.

I wouldn’t mind so much if I could let him do this pacifying on the run, while I type or cook.  However, I don’t have one of those marvels we call a mother-sling, meaning that I am pretty much confined to a chair while he soothes himself.  And on top of that, he exercises his revenge on my attempts to unlatch him by ardently munching on me.  Not so much that he gives me a hicky (as he did the first time he ate in the hospital) but enough that I wince and immediately regret my attempts to try and get some housework done.

Lesson to be learned: you can’t fight the desires of a 3 week old.  Take Advil if the munching continues long past the appropriate vengeful period.

It tastes so bad!

Sacha depends on me for everything.  I never fully realized it until now: if it weren’t for me, he would not be here.  I provide his food (literally...it comes from my breasts), his clothing, his shelter, EVERYTHING.  Even if that means giving him medicine that I strongly suspect is making him fussy and gassy and forcing me to stay up all night and day rocking him and rubbing his tummy so that he feels better.

Too bad he loves the medicine so much.  It has that tutti-fruity flavoring in it, so he just laps it up like candy.  If he hated it, less of it would get in his mouth and he may not get as gassy as he is right now.  But, what can I say...his trusty pharmacist made it yummy tasting with ALL the best intentions.

THEN Sacha’s mommy has to shove vitamin D drops down his throat every day, even though the stuff is AWFUL tasting!  I tried it myself, and I thought that since it smells like Nibs, it should taste like Nibs.  HA!  Only if Nibs taste like fermented potatoes and cough syrop.

So it’s a countdown until the pink tutti-fruity devil drink is gone (4 more days!) and hopefully he will resume the bestowment of benevolent sleep hours to his worthy parents.

Eat, Poop, Sleep, Repeat

Sacha is a great baby.  Let me start with that.  But I am very nervous about tomorrow, which will be my first FULL day alone with him.  This means that no one is there to help me when I want to go to the bathroom, have a shower, eat, get pretty, or basically care for myself.  And I will be the first to admit, I LOVE my daily shower.
What is the trick?  How can I have a shower and fix my hair when I am alone with Sacha?  Poor kid will spend so much time in his vibrating chair in the bathroom with me he’ll learn to never want to shower (like his daddy...lol).  I will also be honest about this:  I love nursing, but when he goes through his little marathon all-you-can-drink spurts, I feel as though my breasts are going to fall off.  Yup...fall off.  They say it gets worse when he hits a growth spurt.  I cannot imagine.
Another point of truth: I really rely on Tony to help me when Sacha is fussy.  Tony seems to be the master calmer-downer and Sacha LOVES sucking on Tony’s pinky finger.  It’s very soothing to him.  He is not as keen on my pinky because, granted, I have the milk machines.   Tony said he actually had a dream where he cut off his pinky and put it on a stick so that I could use it when he is at work.  Sadly, I don’t think this would work, for numerous reasons, although it did strike me as a fantastic idea in my morning state of sleepiness.
So for now, I am enjoying this little moment where I can write and chat on msn while Tony holds the little man.  Tomorrow, I’ll be elbow deep in poop and spit up and I may not answer the phone when you call to console me...

I never knew

Labour was not cool. I believe that most women who have delivered a baby the natural way will agree with that statement, but it was not at all what I was expecting. Especially the projectile vomiting that occurred in the pushing stage. Yup, projectile vomit that COVERED my bed, my hospital gown, my IV, the floor, the table next to me, and some of the nurses. And did I care? Heck, no! Vomiting felt so good in comparison to the rest of my day, I felt glad to relieve myself, even if it was stinky and gross for all present.

So I delivered a beautiful baby boy while covered in puke, sweat, and probably some of Tony’s tears. And if you have seen the labour pictures, I am sure that you will agree that it was NOT my finest fashion moment. But I didn’t care. All I wanted to do was see him and hold him and love him. Unfortunately, I couldn’t hold him right away as the doctors had to take care of me, my puke, my fever, my blood pressure, my stitches (ouch), my pulse, and Sacha had to be weighed, measured and tested for reflexes and such. Tony followed him and held him, so I wasn’t TOO concerned, but while I was laying on the table, after all was said and done for me, I was laying there with no baby: none in my tummy, and none beside me. I wanted to cry because I missed him so much. I hadn’t even held him yet and already I missed him.

Later that night, the nurses took him to the nursery (as they wanted to observe him due to my Strep B situation) and I was left once again alone. I could not think of anything but Sacha. I rubbed my tummy, and he wasn’t there. I looked beside me and his cot wasn’t there. I can honestly say that I did not sleep a wink that first night because I waited and waited for the nurses to bring him to me when he was hungry. Then I cherished those night time moments and held him as long as I could after his feedings so that I could soak in his smell and his essence.

Yesterday, I had to run to the store to pick up a couple of groceries and I left Sacha, who was sleeping happily on Memère’s shoulder, with my mom. I have never raced through a grocery store faster as I was worried and missed him so much for the 30 minutes that I was gone. Was he hungry? What if he was fussing and I wasn’t there to take care of him? When I got back, he was exactly as I had left him: sleeping on my mom’s shoulder, making those little wheezing noises that he makes when he dreams of eating.

And even when he fusses, I love him. When he screams, I love him. I just smile and rock him and burp him and feed him and change his poopy bum and take care of him, hoping that he will feel how much I love him and know that I would do ANYTHING for him.

Making friends - the new dating

It may seem ridiculous to some of you faithful readers, but making friends is not my forté. In fact, I really suck at it. Well, maybe that’s a little harsh, as one of my friends put it...”you can’t suck at it because you have at least one great friend” (Thanks, Paul). But I have such high friend standards that I am very reluctant to get out of my shell for just anybody, in the fear that they may annoy the heck out of me and then I am stuck with them.

When I do meet somebody that I feel an instant friend-vibe with, I tend to let my guard down (little by little) and it usually produces a fantastic friendship that continues beyond time and physical location. I have about 5 of these friends. Maybe 6. Yup, 6. In my whole life, I have 6 friends that actually know the real me and, despite that, still love me. And vice versa. Most importantly vice versa. And they are all independent friends. That is, they do not know each other or have anything in common other than knowing me.

As I am starting to see it, I am a bit of a friend snob. My friends need to have something in common with me BESIDES the fact that I am pregnant, a teacher, a blonde, etc. Those superficial type things. It needs to be something like common outlook on things, shared history, ability to be retarded and make each other laugh, love of fine shopping and margaritas, or just being my best friend since grade 3.

Does that make me a bad person? Or hard to befriend? Probably. People used to tell me that I have this air of judgement, like I am always judging others. The truth to that is, I am just keeping my shield up to prevent others from getting too close without my approval. And maybe, rather than calling it judging, I would call it discerning whether or not I want to start anything up with them.

My discernment is really a precautionary measure for this reason: how do you dump a friend that you started to hang out with only to realize that she/he drives you insane? When you’re dating, you just give them the old “it’s not you, it’s me” or “I think we should see other people”. Does that work on non-romantic relationships? I really don’t know, and I don’t think I want to find out.

So here’s to the friends that I love with all of my heart and would do anything for. You know who you are, and thanks for not seeing me as the snob I am sure that I am. I am truly blessed to have you in my life, even if my life is now 3000 km away from yours.

I can play basketball with my tummy

My last visit at the doctor was different than usual. I had to change doctors because Dr Hartt wouldn’t follow me to Timmins (damn him and such). So my new doctor is an actual OB/GYN, not a family doctor. He looked at my chart and my previous tests/ultrasound and told me that my due date is not September 9th, but the 15th (a week later). However, I KNOW WHEN IT ALL BEGAN, so to speak, and that will put me at 41 weeks. Regardless, I don’t think the baby cares about a date and he/she will come whenever he/she feels like it...Hopefully by the 9th, or at least by the 15th so that Mom doesn’t freak out about coming to Timmins too early and missing her grandchild.

And this summer thing is proving to be extremely boring. I have not had a complete summer off since grade 8, and I really don’t know what to do with myself. Everyone is working, the house is all clean and organized (save the office, which I maintain is Tony’s job). I know I could get creative and crafty, but even the idea of that bores me because I will be sitting there doing it by myself with Mr Dash trying to eat the scrapbook or something of the like.

And without the good old reliable TBS on our cable, there’s not much on the tube (except Bring Home Baby and Baby Story, which I will be living out in a month and a half). So sleeping is the best viable option to pass the time.

If the baby would let me sleep! It wakes me up every night between 4:00 and 5:00 am to make me go pee, and then starts kicking and turning and shifting, making it really difficult to fall back asleep. Preparing me, I guess.

So it is now 11:41 am, and writing this entry has taken up 11 minutes of my day. Maybe Baby Story is on TLC...must go check...

The Pauls have been good to me

ok...so for those that don’t know, I have a really good friend, Paul.  He’s like family to me.  And I had a really good friend in high school whose name was also Paul, but we lost touch a few years ago.  Well, turn me upside down and paint me blue...I got an e-mail from Paul (the latter) tonight!  Man, I was so excited, I got on my computer and went to write back, and the batteries in my wireless keyboard were dead.  WIth all my stuff in boxes, I had to scramble around and find batteries (from Jenny’s remotes upstairs...shhhh...) and get my keyboard hooked up so that I could write to him.  He was such a unique individual, and he never ceased to amaze me with his depth of philosophy and character.  So yea!!!  I am floating on a cloud of friend-bubbles right now...