Sickies

Enough already. I'm not writing like I should be and I'm going to remedy that. I scrapbooked in all my spare time last week. Then I got sick. Who wants to write when they're sick? Then it snowed and, ug, who wants to hear about my disgust with that? Then it snowed more. And more. And more.

But worse than the snow even was that Chicka caught the cold that had knocked me on my arse.

Crazy Amounts of Snow
+
1 Sick Mommy
+
1 Sick Baby
1 Unhappy Household

In spite of the coughing that's going on today, both of us are feeling marginally better. Thank goodness because it was seriously breaking my heart to see my girl feeling so crappy. My normally very active, mobile baby was lethargic and sad yesterday. She whimpered and cuddled and sat still. 3 things that she normally doesn't do.

Danica's been sick before but not to this degree. I just wasn't prepared for how I would feel. I mean, there was nothing I could do aside from try to comfort her and give her something to break her fever.

It true what they say about having a child is allowing your heart to go walking around outside of your body because yesterday my heart was laying on the floor whimpering and all I could do was scoop her up and hope for the best.

Mother Nature vs. Amanda

I had to comment on Shauna's most recent post, as the entire thing made me giggle. Well, there was the giggling mixed with the "I told you so" feeling (I love that feeling!)

The year was 1996 - when dinosaurs roamed the earth and many people still had tape decks -
and I gave birth to a beautiful little boy named Aerik. He was over 10 pounds, took a round of preeclampsia, a long and itchy round of obstetric cholestasis, and 48 hours of labour to get here. I hemorrhaged, he had an initial APGAR of 6 (read: not good), I had to be stitched up, and I used a sitz bath for days and days. He was tongue-tied, nursing was excruciating, he was gassy and we both cried. A lot. Oreos became my friend, I gained a lot of post-partum weight and I ended up on antidepressants.

And, most importantly, I swore I would never, EVER have another baby. Never would I do that to myself again. He was all I needed and wanted. The hole in my heart that longed for motherhood was successfully filled, thank you very much.

That feeling lasted until shortly after Aerik's first birthday, when I found myself with a baby - nay, toddler - who could speak, run circles around me and sleep (mostly) through the night. He was funny and rambunctious and so gosh darn perfect that it would seem a shame to waste all those eggs in me. Why not have one more?

Wait a minute! I told myself. There was something I didn't like about the whole pregnancy and birth and newborn thing. What was it again? The preeclampsia? Well, research suggests that won't happen again. Problem solved. Obstetric Cholewhatsis? I can't even say it, so I doubt that'll happen again. It can't be that common. We know how to fix a tongue-tie now, right? And I know more about breastfeeding latches. Those nights weren't that long, were they? He didn't cry that much, did he? And they're so cute. So, so cute...

Reality check: The nights were that long, and he did cry that much. The problem here is that Mother Nature was dulling my memory; Twisting it and making it seem easier and more pleasant. And you know what? It worked. It worked so well that we spent the next four years trying to have a second child.

This is where I made a terrible mistake. I wanted that baby so badly that I did, indeed, lose myself in infertility. I was blindsided; I didn't see it coming. How had we managed to conceive a child without even trying, only to find ourselves battling the cruelty of PCOS' worst symptom? I couldn't get pregnant. When I finally did, I miscarried. It was a dark, lonely, frustrating time. I went from someone who took childbearing as her God-given womanly right, to feeling betrayed by my body.

One day after our miscarriage in the spring of 2001, I came to the sudden and painful realization that I had lost sight of what was right in front of me: a beautiful, precious boy named Aerik. A gift to a now infertile couple. I had forgotten to fully appreciate what I already had because I was so busy trying to get more. We were a family - an unplanned, sometimes dysfunctional but always loving family. That is when I made the decision to be grateful for what I already had. We still worked towards our goal of a larger family, but not obsessively.

In the spring 2002 I found myself pregnant again. This one stuck around, and Declan was born in the fall. Just as perfect as I had imagined, and a better sleeper to boot! No tongue-tie, champion breastfeeder, and worth all those years of trying.

That put an end to my obsession over having babies. Jackson was a "not really trying, not really preventing" baby. In fact, we just had decided we were finished making babies right around the time sperm met egg. Oops. A happy oops, mind you.

But I'm done, now. Really done. He's sixteen months old and I still feel complete.

...Except that all my friends are having babies lately. Scrunchy, sweet-smelling, cuddly newborns. And girls, too. A lot of them are having girls...Maybe if we just had one more...

Damn you, Mother Nature.

Yesterday I over did my workout. I went cross country skiing twice, and painted the nursery. The only part of my body that is rebelling are the muscles that connect my legs to my torso.

I will take today off to recover.

Instead, I will go shopping and probably hunch over my sewing machine. I have all kinds of ideas swimming in my head.

Friday my crib arrives, as does my sister. She designed a mural for the nursery and we are going to paint it this weekend.

I got my Rh shot this week from a very frazzled midwife who is filling in for my usual midwife while she's on vacation. She kept saying sorry for having to cancel then re-scheduling the same day. I felt like saying "I literally have nothing to do, I stay at home with my pets, relax". But let her spin around.

I am thankful for the midwife I have.

The baby has turned, I figured as much as my ribs are taking a beating. Hopefully he stays this way. I hope to have the nursery complete by next week. Pictures will follow.

She Crawls!

2 days after I posted about my little late bloomer,Danica started crawling.

And here's proof:



I am one proud Mama!

The Late Bloomer

I'm finding it really difficult not to fall into that Mommy trap of comparisons. I stay away from Mommy and baby playgroups and the like partly for that very reason.

But...

I read a lot of blogs and invariably other babies of Danica's age are further ahead in their milestones. I don't really get it. She's sooooo busy and curious. Constantly on the move and jabbering incessantly. But she rolled late. She sat late. Now she won't crawl even though she's been rocking on all fours for a couple of months now. She likes to stand up but her balance doesn't seem to be improving.

Although she does say Mama and Dada she doesn't really say them in relation to us.

It's so hard to not worry. I guess I never considered that a baby of mine would be a late bloomer. How does one avoid comparing and wondering?

It's so easy to get wrapped up in what she doesn't do instead of what she does do. She is able to point out my buttons when I ask her where the buttons are. She waves. She claps. She shakes her head "no". She rolls all the time to wherever she wants to go.

But I just can't get past the fact that in other areas she lags behind. I like to blame it on her father. He has a somewhat lax attitude about getting around to stuff. And I guess no one would accuse me of being a "go getter".

I guess she's just taking after her folks.