New Mom Old Mom

I think I’ve mentioned before that I LOVE my baby sling.  I bought it at Kangaroo Kids in Kirkwood and today I went there to buy one as a gift for my sister-in-law who is due in August.

I keep my sling in my diaper bag and use it all the time.  I’ve had a lot women say to me, “I had one of those and could never figure out how to use it.”  In fact, my sister-in-law told me the same thing, but after seeing me use mine so much, she decided she wanted to try one again.

Thankfully, the kind women at Kangaroo Kids told me when I bought it that I would need to come back at least once for a live baby demonstration on how to use my sling once my baby was born.  I didn’t have to go back once — I went back three times!  It’s not hard to use, but it’s a lot easier if you’re comfortable and confident that you are using it properly.  And, there are several different ways to use the sling.  Some positions work for newborns. Some work for nursing.  Others work for carrying your baby on your hip (which is the way Ginger likes it best now.) 

Me carrying Ginger in her Slingaroo

  Sometimes when I’m at the mall or grocery store and she’s fussing, tired of the stroller or whatever, I get it out and carry her around that way for awhile.  She’s always happy to be held, so it usually solves my problem. 

Most of my daughter’s swim friends and their parents have seen me carry Ginger around in this sling at multiple swim meets.  And most recently, I found that I could nurse Ginger in the sling while standing in line to get my season pass made at Six Flags.  It was discreet enough that my 13-year-old daughter wasn’t absolutely horrified.

They sell for about $41 for solid colors and a little more for prints at Kangaroo  Kids.

My son, Bradley, who was my “baby” for nine years until Ginger arrived last October, celebrated his 10^th birthday last week.  I honestly cannot believe he’s in the double digits.  Of course, his lack of “babyness” was, in part, the reason I began to long for and eventually talk my husband into adding a third child to our family.

We celebrated Bradley’s actual birthday – dinner out plus dessert and presents.  And then on Saturday we had his “friend birthday party.”  Gone are the days where Chuckie Cheese or a pool party at the neighborhood pool would make him happy.  Gone are the days when water balloons or bowling could satisfy my little boy. Now our fun involves some kind of guns.  Last year it was Laser Tag and this year it was paint ball.

We did a paint ball birthday party at Bushwacker’s in Pacific, Mo.  For a mere $275, Bradley and nine others got to spend two hours running through some elaborate “fields” where they hid behind concrete bunkers, defended hills surrounded by trees, crawled under and over multiple obstacles, and basically had a BLAST.  When I scheduled the party, the Bushwacker folks suggested that the boys would have more fun if a few Dads also played.  Okay – twist my husband’s arm.  So, our party actually included seven boys and three “men,” including my husband, brother-in-law and a friend.  I’m not sure who had more fun.  Check out the pictures on my Flickr photo stream.

As the pictures indicate, I chased the boys through the woods, snapping pictures for my scrapbook habit.  I managed to only get splattered with paint once and I never got shot.  Another woman who was there with older sons told me that she would NEVER go into those woods unarmed.  I guess teenage boys are more likely to shoot the person who drove them and paid for their fun?

The party included our own “referee,” who started each round of play, declared players “out” if they didn’t remove themselves from the game after being shot and who ensured everybody’s safety by making sure the face mask/goggles were worn at all times.  After the two hours of play, we got to use the party pavilion for lunch, cake and the opening of presents.

Of course, now my son is addicted.  He’s already talking about what a great family activity this would be.  Yeah right – I can’t wait to try to talk my teenage daughter into spending an afternoon running through bug-infested woods, sweating and getting shot at with paint balls.  Did I mention that it stings a little?  The boys never cried or anything, but several of them had welts.  And our referee told us he had turned the pressure on our guns down.  I can’t imagine how much it must hurt at full force.  Although, I did see some of the older players wearing vests.

Anyway, I think it would be a very expensive hobby, and it wasn’t an easy one to photograph, either.  I wish I would’ve taken my telephoto lens.   I’m just glad I didn’t bring the baby.  I originally had visions of pushing her along in the stroller while I watched the boys play.  That wouldn’t have worked at all.

I hoping next year I can talk Bradley into lunch at the art museum?

 I’m baaack.

And, I broke my promise to myself. I promised I wouldn’t let time slip away from me and fail to keep up with my blog. But, my amazing baby happened to me, and time completely got away. In fact, she’s 8 months old. She’s amazing, and I’d like to introduce her:

Here is Ginger.

She’s a perfect baby. She smiles all the time and she has brought so much joy to our home. I can’t believe she’s eight months old. I am trying to cherish every moment with her, and doing a pretty good job of it. That’s the greatest joy in doing the baby thing again as an “old mom.” I have the wisdom of knowing how fast it will all go by, and I can remind myself of that whenever I grow tired of some task related to my baby. I wish I could’ve had so much peace with my first two, but that wouldn’t have been possible. I never would have thought that I’d blink and they’d be 13 and 10.

As I write this, my teen, Gretchen, is returning home via bus from a swim meet in Lawrence, KS. I remember a time when I wouldn’t even let her ride in a car with a close friend - heck, I would seldom even let her ride in a car with her own grandparents. And I never would’ve put her in a car with a stranger, let alone on a bus with no seat belts. I admit, that was my quirky thing. I was overboard on it. I still worry about it. But, I’ve had to let go little by little. First, it was the school bus. Then it was carpools to swim practice. Now, it’s bus trips to meets. In a few years, it will be riding in a car with friends who are driving and then - NOOOO - driving herself. I bet I’ll get even less sleep than when Ginger was a newborn.

I haven’t posted in awhile.  I got too busy.  Here’s the lowdown on my life the past few weeks:

• I found out our baby is breech AND big.  At 32 weeks, the doc was estimating her weight around 4 pounds.   Had an ultrasound at 33 weeks, and she had turned (which I suspected.)  But she measured 5 to 5/12 pounds. 

• I broke my elbow walking up the street from my son’s bus stop. I just tripped and landed on my hands and knees, but must’ve taken the full brunt of the fall in my right elbow (Guess what? I’m right handed). It was my first real broken bone (because I don’t count a toe and a tailbone).   I cried from the pain, but also from the fact that I was 34  weeks pregnant and had a broken arm. The ER put on a hard cast and hung a sling around my neck. That was on Friday.  It was a miserable weekend – I felt so handicapped.  But on Monday, the orthopedic specialist declared that the fracture was very minor and would not heal any faster in a cast.  He said if I were a child, he’d leave on the cast, but as an adult, the mobility is more important. He predicted a full recovery in about three weeks, but said if I fall again, if the pain gets worse, or if I don’t have full range of motion at the end of three weeks, to come back and he’ll do another X-ray.  I could have kissed him when he took that cast off.  The arm is doing better everyday, and as long as I remember not to lift anything heavy, turn a doorknob, etc., I don’t have much pain.

• I went for my 34-week OB visit, and my doc had a hard time finding the baby’s heartbeat. That was a few scary moments.  Then when he found it, it was very faint.  To reassure both of us, he took me back to the ultrasound room, and we discovered that my daughter flipped AGAIN!  So, back to breech position.  This time, I’m not going to worry.  If she can turn once, she can turn again, right?

• I announced at my work today that I’m not returning after my baby is born.  Our senior level account staff already knew this, but the “general population” did not.  Although, I don’t think anyone was surprised.  I stayed home with my first two children for 10 years as a freelancer.  And this is my LAST AT BAT.  So, it’s time to start reaching out to my former freelancing contacts, but I’m hoping my current company will be a main source of that work for me, as they were in the past.

• My 12-year-old daughter started cotillion two weeks ago. She hates it.  At least, she says she hates it.  It was a little awkward, because she wasn’t “asked to dance” in the first round of dancing, so she, along with about 10 other girls, went to the “stag” line to wait their turn.  Needless to say, there are more girls than boys in their session, so this will be a problem each week.  She vacillates between not wanting to be asked to dance, and also not wanting to be sent to the stag line.  I’m so glad I’m not 12! 

• My 9-year-old son started a fall golf league and loves it.  My husband says he’s doing really well.  I hate golf (too slow, frustrating) but am glad he likes it.  It’s safe. It doesn’t matter that he’s small. It’s gentleman-like.  Lots of reasons for a mom to like a sport.  But, he still wants to play football.  At age 9, he’s about 55 pounds.  I’m very opposed to this, but he and Dad keep working on me.  Then, yesterday, a friend/client offered to let my son join his flag football team next year.  I’m considering it, but I know what it will lead to.  My husband keeps saying that my son’s size doesn’t matter – he’s fast and agile and coordinated.  He is fast and agile and coordinated, but brute force still counts for something.  I guess I’ll worry more about that later.

With Mattel announcing yet another toy recall today, I got to wondering about the whole experience of garage-sale shopping.  I know the garage sale season is about over, but I can’t imagine having to carry a list of all those recalled toys along on what used to be fun garage-sale shopping days. 

My older kids used to love to have a few dollars in their pocket to take along on these journeys in order to buy a used toy here and there.  Plus, now that I’m older and wiser, I was figuring I’d probably be more sensible about toy shopping for this baby and plan to pick up some of her future toys at garage sales next spring.  Now that won’t be happening!  I’d be afraid of lead paint or some other danger.  I guess it’s no different from not buying a used crib, or a carseat from someone you don’t know, etc.

Here’s some advice – most pregnant women, if not ALL pregnant women, do not like to be told they are large any more than their non-pregnant counterparts.  In fact, if you cannot imagine saying something to a non-pregnant woman, it’s probably best to not say it to pregnant woman.   

Maybe I’m overly sensitive.  I had a weight problem in high school.  In college, I discovered better eating habits and I learned that exercise was definitely my friend.  So, with controlled eating and jogging 5-7 days per week, I can keep myself in a size 8.  BIG EXCEPTION – when I’m pregnant.  I AM NOT A SKINNY PREGNANT WOMAN.  I’m jealous of those women who are, wish I could be, but I’m learning to accept this fact about my body.  I gained 50 pounds during my first pregnancy, and it took me about eight months to get back into all my clothes.  I gained about 30 pounds during my second pregnancy, and it took me four months to get back into all my clothes. 

I will not discuss my weight while I’m pregnant.  I’m trying to enjoy this pregnancy, since it is absolutely my last.  But it’s hard when some insensitive #%&wipes say things like, “Wow.  Are you sure you’re not further along?”  Or, “You’re huge.”  Or, “You’re about ready, aren’t you?”  Or, “Did you get this big in your previous pregnancies?”

My husband says, “You’re pregnant.  Don’t take it personally.”  My friend says, “People think you won’t take it wrong because you’re pregnant.”  So here’s my question:  If I were to walk up to a woman who is 50, and say, “Wow.  You’re really getting wrinkles,”  would that be acceptable because she’s 50?  I mean, after all, you’re supposed to get wrinkles when you’re 50, right?  Isn’t this the same logic? 

I have a sharp tongue, but pride myself in being able to control it a little better the last few years, due to maturity and a few other factors.  However, I’m really considering letting loose.  Really I am. Maybe in response to the “Wow, you’re huge” comments, I should say, “Man alive, you’re ugly.”

All I can say is Wow!! We had our 3D Ultrasound on Tuesday night, and it was amazing. We really enjoyed the experience, and I’m so glad we did it. The folks at Precious Preview in Belleville were very nice to us and we got some great pictures. 

Our 9-year-old son seemed to really dig the whole experience. Our 12-year-old daughter was interested but in a “cool, distant” sort of way. She seemed a little embarrassed by the whole thing, and could NOT believe that I uploaded the pictures to my Flickr account so I could share them with friends and family. I mean, after all, I won’t let her have a Facebook page! Still, both kids wanted to take pictures of their baby sister to school the next day, and my daughter does seem flattered or excited about the fact that we’re all commenting on how the baby’s pictures look like her baby pictures.Now I really cannot wait. Just 63 days until the “tentatively scheduled induction.” Maybe I’ll get lucky this time and go a few days early on my own. Probably not, but maybe.

So my husband and I decided that it would be fun to have one of those fancy ultrasounds with the DVD and pictures and all. My OB suggested not getting one until after we’d had our “medical” ultrasound, claiming that if there is anything wrong, it’s scary to see it in full color, 3D/4D imagery. Plus, he said, something can look a lot worse than it is on those screenings. So, we took his advice, had our medical ultrasound and everything is fine.We began looking into the facilities that offer these “fun” ultrasounds, and discovered that one in Creve Coeur, MO has closed its doors. We found another one in O’Fallon, MO called Ultrasona, so we called. We got a recorded message stating that their summer hours are Thursday, 5 p.m. – 9 p.m., Saturday, 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. and Monday, 5 p.m. to 8 p.m. We left a message. No one called us back. We left another message, and no one called us back. Last night, we decided to drive to O’Fallon (about 20 minutes from our home) and “walk in.”

I’m so lucky.  Today, my girlfriend found her Medela Pump in Style Breast Pump that she had stored for five years or so, and she gave it to me.  So, cross that item off the list of “Babies Products that I need.”  I do, however, have to buy the kit that includes the tubing, collection bottles, breast suction cups, etc.    I’ll probably buy it at my new favorite store, Kangaroo Kids.

Amazingly, it looks like that kit is going to cost about $50.  But, considering it would cost me about $250 to buy this Medela pump new, I think I’m doing okay.

I also asked my pediatrician the other day what type of electronic/digital thermometer he recommends.  He told me to buy two of the cheap, digital ones from Walgreens — one for under the arm, and the other to use in the baby’s bottom.  He said the ear thermometers shouldn’t be used on an infant less than four months old, and that they are seldom very accurate, anyway.  I was really surprised at his answer.  Then he went on to tell me that the plain old mercury thermometer is really the best bet for either end of the baby.  I already have those, so maybe I’ll just purchase a pair of cheap Walgreen’s digital thermometers and call it a day on that front, too.

I’ve been looking at  baby monitors, and there are just too many from which to choose.  Any suggestions?  I also need to buy a cradle mattress (my cousin is loaning me a beautiful wooden cradle).  Slowly, but surely, I’m getting ready. 

What a frustrating couple of weeks I’ve had with regard to my kids and sickness. About three weeks ago, my 9-year-old son had a slight fever and a cough.  That normally wouldn’t send me to the pediatrician, but we had a weekend lake trip planned, so I decided better safe than sorry. 

The doc looked at him, declared it viral, but added the caveat that if the fever persists, if symptoms worsen, or if he develops a rash of some kind, to pay him another visit. About one week later, I returned from two days out of town with my 12-year-old daughter to discover that his cough was much, much worse.  We went back to the doc, and he was diagnosed with pneumonia. The doc put him on a five-day course of antibiotics and said it wasn’t contagious.

Then on Monday night (about three days after my son finished his meds), my daughter started coughing, and by Tuesday, she was feeling lousy.  I took her to the doctor at 5 p.m. Tuesday, mainly because I was feeling guilty for letting my son’s illness drag on for so long before taking him back to the doctor.  Mind you – a 5 p.m. doctor appointment in St. Louis isn’t easy (lots of traffic, lots of working parents in the lobby waiting to be “worked in,” etc.)

Again, the doc declared it viral – no fever, no swollen glands, no rattle in the chest, thus no pneumonia.  However, this time he tells me there is a strain of pneumonia that can be contagious, and said he’d need to take another look at my daughter if she developed a fever or if the cough worsened.

We were home by 6:30 p.m.  By 8 p.m., she had a 103 degree fever, a worse cough, the chills, and she looked horrible.  I was peeved.  Not because my poor kid was sick, but because I know my pediatrician and I know how committed he and his partners are to reducing the abuse of antibiotics.  He almost NEVER puts my kids on antibiotics, and I’m glad.  I am afraid of the antibiotic resistant bacteria.  But here it was, not three full hours since I’ve seen the doc, and I’ve got to put in a call the exchange.

As suspected, my doctor’s partner who returned my call did not want to prescribe anything over the phone.  He said we couldn’t be sure it was the same thing, yada yada yada.  Being 6 ½ months pregnant, I’m a tad short on patience and a tad long on emotions right now.  I got testier than I would have liked, almost cried, and all but insisted that he call in a prescription.  I told him, “I have been with your practice for 12 years. My parents and in-laws constantly comment on how little is done for our kids when they’re sick, and we tow your line.  I would have left this practice a long time ago if I didn’t support your stance on antibiotic abuse.  But I don’t think that one course of treatment, even if it ends up being unnecessary, is going to make my daughter resistant or significantly contribute to this medical problem in general.”

I got my way.  My daughter improved significantly after 24 hours.  Maybe she would have improved anyway.  When I was a kid, my doctor was shot-happy.  I got a shot in my rear if I had a fever and a cough.  There weren’t throat cultures. There was no, “let’s wait and see if the symptoms worsen.”  If you were sick, you went on drugs.  My parents and in-laws think our doctor is lame.  They think physicians today are just afraid of being sued. They don’t believe in this antibiotic resistance stuff at all.  I know antibiotic resistance is a real problem, but sometimes you just have to do what you think is right for your kid versus what’s right for the “greater good.”