#2..No, Not That Kind.

There is this weird competitiveness going on with the moms at Max’s day care.  Since I’m the horrible parent that drops her kid off early and picks him up late, I am usually lucky enough to avoid these manic mama’s.  However, when I do run into one they always seem to have some comment dripping with bitchiness.

“Wow, his cough is really bad, I can’t believe you are bringing him in” – Says the mom holding a child with goop pouring out of her eye.

“Every time I drop my son off, Max seems to be crying”- Says the mom who’s child is screaming bloody murder every time I stop by for a lunchtime visit.

“When I came in today, your son was crawling right over my little boy” – Yes, he probably was considering he’s 9 months and hasn’t quite grasped common courtesy yet or the ability to go in any direction other than a straight line, even if it means crawling over whatever is in his path.

When these comments occur I usually smile and ignore the mom (the Dad’s never make comments. I like them better). I refuse to get into a “my child is the greatest" war with some over-competitive mom. However, the latest round of comments and questions involve me and not Max, making it hard to my tongue.

Now that Max is about move up to the toddler’s room (even if he isn’t anywhere near actually toddling) everyone is asking me “So when are you going to have another child?”.  Some of the moms are already sprouting little baby bumps.  Whenever I am asked this (in my opinion) very personal question it’s hard not to jump out of my skin. First, I can’t believe they are asking the question considering I barely know them and it’s none of their business.  Second, the tone in which they ask implies that I should be absolutely craving a second child and it’s almost ridiculous that I’m not pregnant yet.

What I say is “No, I’m just enjoying spoiling Max”. 

What I want blurt out (in one breath) is “Well, even though it’s none of your business no, I do not plan on having a second child anytime soon and the thought of it makes my reproductive system tremble with horror. I’m still mentally and physically recovering from a 34 hour labor and pushing out a 10lb 4oz baby and honestly at this point in my life I’m not entirely convinced that I even want to have a second child anymore because I’m having trouble adjusting to just having one kid. Plus, I want to lose about 50 more lbs before getting knocked up AND I want to run a half marathon next fall which will be really hard to accomplish if pregnant. Plus, after Max was born my mom made me promise I wouldn’t have another kid until he was at least two because she had two kids in quick succession and said it pretty much sucked. Really who wants to break a promise to their mom? Aren’t you glad you pried into my personal life even though you don’t know my first name*?”.

Now that I think about it, maybe I should give them my whole spiel. Perhaps it will freak them out enough that they’ll never talk to me again.  That would be ideal because I foresee this conversation happening soon:

 

*P.S.- I don’t think there is anything wrong with having kids close together. I just know it’s not the path Brett and I should take.

Dissecting the Asshats of the Similac Recall

Unless you aren't a parent you've probably heard about the Similac recall announced last night. Since it started, a whole lot of asshattery has been going on.

Asshat -#1 Similac

Obviously, Abbott Labs, makers of Similac are the King Asshat.

First, there's the fact beetles got into their plant. That's the obvious reason to be ticked, so I won't harp on the situation.  What gets my panties in a bunch is that they announced a massive recall without the technical support to back it up.  For hours, the Similac recall website was overloaded.  Thousands of panicked parents, myself included, were frantically trying to make sure they didn't serve their child beetlejuice for dinner. Calling customer support got you nothing but a busy signal. Luckily several parenting message boards (which I generally avoid because my idiot quota is usually filled by people I encounter in real life) offered a place to share known recalled lot numbers. There I learned Max was in fact drinking beetlejuice.

Abbott Labs is an asshat for their complete inability to manage a recall. 

Asshat #2 -The "lactavists" who used this recall as an opportunity to bash parents who formula feed.

Way to kick a Mom when she's down.  I really don't want to start a huge breastfeeding vs. formula feeding debate.  I've blogged about my struggles with breastfeeding and I've blogged about the devastation I felt when I stopped. I too think breastmilk is the best option but for reasons that don't affect anyone but my family, I no longer breastfeed. 

When perusing Twitter and Facebook after the recall was announced, I felt slapped in the face. There were so many comments on  how "breasts can't get recalled" or "See, by using formula you are feeding your baby poison". Really? I'm panicked that I don't have food for my son when he wakes in the morning and you are going to make me feel worse by telling me I'm a bad mom?  Now is not the time to preach your gospel.

Instead, how about supporting a stressed out mom or just keeping your mouth shut?  Please stop with the asshating. Panicked parents don't need it right now.

Asshat #3-  My local Walgreens and Rite Aid


On my way to work this morning I stopped by Walgreens to stock up on formula. Still sitting out were rows and rows of recalled stuff.  I mentioned to the manager that most of the formula he had on the shelf was recalled. He looked at me like I was crazy and then said "Huh, I should probably read that email". My husband had the same experience at Rite Aid but with an even more cluessless manager.

As a consumer who is constantly connected to the internet, I knew about the recall. However someone who isn't as wired, works a late shift, or is just busy could have easily missed the news. National drugstore chains have systems in place to get recalled items off the shelf as soon as the news is released. At 7AM the liquid formula at my Walgreens had been well raided. I wasn't the first parent to come in frantically searching for something safe. I can forgive Ma and Pop drug stores. Walgreens doesn't get off so easy.

So to the national stores still selling recalled Similac, please stop with the asshatness.  You should know better.

Unfortunately recalls are going to continue to happen.  From baby food to cars, items will get recalled. I only hope everyone can learned from past mistakes so the asshattery can be kept to a minimun and instead focus all energy on safety.

This post was brought to you by my overwhelming annoyance with the Similac recall and the WoW!

You Know You Married an Engineer When....

Yesterday after a reading a post from Adventures of a Wee Mason Man I realized "Holy Crap!  Max's pack-n-play bassinet has a weight limit....and he's way over it!".  Mom of the Year I am not. So Brett and I decided that it was a good time to move Max to his own room.   My bloodshot eyes, red nose, messy pony tail, yoga pants at noon and 37th cup of coffee are proof that both naps and bedtime were a fail of massive proportions. It's a story for another day but lets just say there were tears and screaming from both Max and me. 

Anywho, he finally went down (for a few hours) and Brett and I decided we too should head to bed. As I was finishing up an email Brett turned me and asked "Do you think we should put a camera in there so we can watch him?"

"Like, right now?"  I replied.

He gave me the "Duh, obviously" look and disappeared into his evil lair office.

When you are married to a mechanical engineer you learn it's best not to ask silly questions like "Why?" and "How?".  You just accept things like a motorcycle engine in your living room and you aren't worried when he comes in from the garage making statements like "My pants just caught on fire".  In fact his mechanical mindedness comes in handy when your laptop screen cracks or your hair dryer stops working. 

Ten minutes later, Brett emerges from his lair and and sneaks into Max's room.  I pop my head in to see this contraption:

And this box:

Then we head upstairs with and with a flip of a few switches, we see Max slumbering away. Sure, the video quality is reminiscient of the Paris Hilton sex tape (not that I saw it) and when the camera is turned on the wireless internet dies but now when we hear a fuss we can flip a switch and see if Max is actually up or just squirming in his sleep. It doesn't require running down a flight of stairs or tripping over a nortiously underfoot cat in the dark.  

It's just one of the many perks of loving an engineer. A little bit of extra work to facilitate a significant amount of laziness.

Home?

"Home is wherever I'm with you"

I've been thinking a lot about the concept home recently. Maybe it's because Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros have popping up regularly on my playlist. Or because I'm homesick for a place I haven't really lived in for 12 years. Or maybe it's because my husband and I occasionally flirt with the idea of going somewhere new. I've been up at night trying to figure out "where is my home"?

Legally, home is Savannah...er, now it's the "Savannah area". That's where all my important papers say my home is located.  Drivers license, tax forms, etc, all have my Georgia address. Savannah is where I transitioned to adulthood.  I moved here as a broke, unemployed, single college grad with a roommate and am now a married mom with a mortgage payment, good job and the start of a retirement fund.  We have wonderful friends here. The type of friends you could call at 2AM with an emergency and be assured they would pick up the phone. We both have good, stable jobs where we were never in danger of getting laid off during the darkest days of the recession. I love it here and other than a concern about the educational system, I could see us living out our days here.

But home is also Sweet Home Chicago, where I was born and raised and where most of my family still lives.  During the holidays I still say "I'm going home for Christmas!". If given the opportunity I'd move back there in a second, despite the bitterly cold winters.  It would be worth it to be surrounded by Bear's fans, Italian Beef Sandwiches and my parents.  I miss living in a real city (or even the metro area) where if my favorite band goes on tour, there's a 99% chance they'll be playing in town.  I have a 6 year old nephew I've only seen a dozen times.  My parents, grandmother and aunts and uncles wouldn't miss out on watching Max grow up.  I come from a huge family and being a mom has made me desperately miss those big family gatherings held every weekend. Max won't get that opportunity growing up in Savannah.

I haven't been to Chicago in a year and half so I might be romanticizing it a bit.  Perhaps I should visit in January and then check back with my desire to move. Brrr.

What about Ohio?  Brett grew up in Akron and his parents still live there.  Nearby Cleveland is another "real city" with professional sports teams and outdoor concert venues.  Max would get to know his grandparents better and again, I love having family close. Plus, lots of free babysitting! That area is only 5 hours from Chicago which is much better than the current 18 hour drive we'd have to endure.

 Rock n Roll Hall of Fame, in case you were wondering

Or, we could go somewhere completely new.  If Brett wants to stay in his current field, aerospace, options are limited. 

Seattle?  Kinda rainy which would be huge adjustment from perpetually sunny Savannah.

Witchita?  Uh. No.

Montreal? Too damn cold

D.C.-Ok, we could do that.

Southern California?  Not really my style.

Houston-Absolutely, but NASA isn't exactly hiring

The more I think about it, the more I can't directly place my home. Home could be so many things.  It might not even be a place. Those Magnetic Zeros might be on to something. Home is Brett.  Home is Max.  Home is wherever I'm with them.  

Where do you consider "home"?

 

The End of a (Very Short) Era

My breastfeeding relationship with Max is over. It's been hanging by a thread for weeks now and this weekend made me realize I need to end the fight.

I worked so hard breastfeed Max.  I've mentioned before how pre-pregnancy I was planning to breastfeed exclusively for a year.  Ha.  But after lots of tears, sore boobs, hours on breastfeeding message boards and multiple visits to the lactation consultants, I did eventually feed him breast milk exclusively. 

Then I went back to work.

My supply dropped immediately.  I went from pumping 8-9 oz to 2-3oz.  That's total, not per side.  I took fennugreek and drank dark beer with no results.  I tried pumping frequently but I was cramming 40 hours of work into only 24. Breaking away for 20-30 minutes was hard.  I found myself missing a pump without realizing it or getting called into last minute meetings screwing up my schedule. My frozen stash ran out and I eventually had to start supplementing his day care bottles

Max, getting more and more bottles at day care started to prefer them.  Getting him to nurse because increasingly frustrating and as of this weekend he just plain stopped. He screams when I try to nurse him and won't stop screaming until he gets a bottle

So today I realized it was over. After struggling to get him to nurse for 10 minutes I remembered what I vowed to myself when I went back to work.  "I'll breastfeed as long as I can.  When it's over, it's over and I won't drive myself bonkers trying to get it to work". So I gave him a bottle and I cried.

I cried that I couldn't be the "super mom" who worked, breastfed, cloth diapered, cooked organic meals every night and still managed to keep her regular eyebrow wax appointment. I cried because I now had to deal with smelly poop, constantly washing the ten million piece Dr. Brown Bottles, and the added formula cost to our budget. I cried because I don't get those extra 500 calories a day. I cried because I felt guilty. I cried because I felt like a failure.  I was a sobbing, mascara running, snotty-nosed hot mess. Hell, I'm still a hot mess as I write this post.

Most of all I cried because I felt that the special bond that Max and I shared had come to an end.  That final bit of physicality of our relationship that started when I was pregnant was over and I wasn't sure that I was ready for the end.

As my little cries turned into big sobs, Max reached up and put his tiny little hand around my pinkie finger and looked into my eyes. Then he spit the bottle out of his mouth and smiled at me. 

Maybe it will be okay after all.

Parental Temperance

I don't quite remember which site it was or why I was there as I tend to avoid most parenting message boards.  I have enough drama in my real life thankyouverymuch. Anyway, I came across an interesting debate about whether or not parents are allowed to ever get drunk.  While, like most, I don't advocate getting rip-roaring drunk and making an ass of yourself in front of your kids, I was shocked by the number of people that said they either a) haven't touched a drink since their first child was born, b) will never have even one sip of alcohol in front of their kids and/or c)you are a horrible parent if you drink in front of your children.  Those were the overwhelming responses.  And honestly, I was really surprised.

I grew up surrounded by responsible alcohol consumption. My dad had a drink when he got home from work each night and my mom enjoyed a regular glass of wine.  Both my grandfathers drank gin martini's during family parties and as a kid my Gramp B ( husband of bad-ass Grandma) always gave me one of his olives. Every family party had an unguarded cooler of beer and a table full of wine. 

Despite the prevalence of alcohol, no one was ever drunk.  Sure, sometimes the laughter got a little loud or someone was a bit sillier than normal but I never witnessed anyone falling down drunk. (Except at family weddings.  L family weddings are Legen...wait for it....dary) Despite being constantly surrounded by booze, I didn't drink until I was in college.  Even my college days, save for a few ridiculous nights, we're pretty tame.  Therefore I was shocked how many people were so adamantly anti-drinking when it came to doing it in front of their kids. Very few people admitted they do drink, but like me, they probably lurked, unwilling to start a flame war.

Sure, I don't know back stories.  Maybe they don't drink for religious purposes.  Maybe they had alcohol parents or family members. I don't think there is anything wrong with not drinking.  However, I also don't think I'm a bad mom for enjoying a regular glass of red wine.  Max will grow up in a house where alcohol is consumed and consumed responsibly.  My husband and I will never have too much that we can't drive, even when at home because we never know when an emergency will occur. He'll be taught that it's okay in moderation and it needs to be respected, even when the time comes that he's a moronic college students like his parents once were.

Now if you'll excuse me, the baby is asleep, the pizza is on it's way, a long week is over and I'm due for a beer.

Must. Get. Sleep.

Preface:  This post is a bit of a downer and admittedly a bit defensive.  I promise the next one will be more sunshine and rainbows. 

I have officially reached the end of my rope and I don’t know what to do anymore. Max has gone from 4-6 hour sleep stretches to 1-2 hour stretches, both day and night.  He only naps 3 hours during the day no matter how many times we try putting him down or coaxing him back to sleep.  I absolutely cannot function like this much longer. It’s one thing when after the 5AM feeding I can go back to bed for short stretches and can veg a bit during his short daytime naps.  However, now I’m up at 5:45 and during the day I have to be perky, cheerful and on my best behavior.  That’s too bad because my lack of sleep is making me want to tell perfectly nice people where to shove it. It’s not really the impression I want to make on my first week back on the job.

I’ve received all sorts of unsolicited medical diagnosis’s including apnea, reflux, and colic. I know none of those are the issue. I’ve run the gamut of food elimination to rule out allergies and my pediatrician says Max is fine expect for the lack of sleep.  I’ve tried the tips and tricks from No Cry Sleep Solution and it helped at first but now even those are failing me.  The book promises that if I stick with it things will get better, but over the past 10 days things have started really unraveling.

Tonight starts a new strategy that will have LLL members and lactation consultants around the world screaming "Nooooooo!".  I'm supplementing with formula.  Yes, I'm a terrible mother.  Sue me. I refuse to feel guilty about it.  Regular pumping has shown I'm obviously not producing enough milk, even after a week on fennugreek.  I'm not going to go on about it but Max has made it clear he isn't getting enough from me.  Perhaps some formula mixed with breastmilk will help kiddo stay full enough to not wake every 60-120 minutes starving and pissed.

So, lets hope this new strategy will bring both Max and I a little peace.  We both need a bit more shut eye.

"Every new begining comes from some other begining's end"

"How was my maternity leave?  It rocked.  It rocked my ass off"- Pam Halpert, "The Office". 

Today is my last day of maternity leave. After 12 of the simultaneously shortest and longest weeks of my life, I have to leave my little man and go back to work.

It wasn't an easy decision to return to work.  We're lucky. I could have quit and it wouldn't have even required major budget cuts. However, I just couldn't leave.  I have a really good job and great bosses.  Sure it's stressful, like any job.  Sure, there were days during my pregnancy where at the end the day I thought to myself "Screw this, I'm not going back!" but when push came to shove I didn't want to leave. I'm good at my job. Darn good.  I like my co-workers. I LOVE the organization I work for. I didn't want to quit. 

I didn't want to work full time either.  I wanted to take my son on outings.  Take Kindermusic classes.  Go on picnics.  Be able to actually have time to run errands and clean my house. Many, many years from now, greet him with fresh baked cookies when he gets home from school.  Just like my mom did for me and my siblings.  .

I think I ended up with the best of both worlds. My bosses were more than willing to let me go back to work part time- Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday.  That leaves me with a four day weekend.  Even better, my husband works 4- 10 hour days, so we have family 3 day weekends.

My major concern was child care.  I didn't know the first thing about day care and I wasn't crazy about the uncertainty that comes with a babysitter.  Luckily, Max was able to get into the day care at work. I can nurse him on my lunch!  Also, my job is nursing mom friendly and they provide a pumping room and hospital grade pumps.  I just have to bring my own parts. I feel secure with this option.

Still, when I actually think about going back, it's like someone is tearing a gullet through my heart.  I'm not ready to leave my little man.  What snuggles and coos am I going to miss?  I'm not ready to be fully initiated in the adult world either.  All I can talk about is poop color!  Am I ready to go back to monthly reports, meeting logistics and being the A/V Queen?   Heck, I don't even know where I put my employee badge!

I'm pretty sure that tomorrow will be filled with tears and when I get home I'll call Saint Brett the Awesome and tell him I want to quit.  And for the millionth time, he'll remind me of all the reasons why I don't. But for now, I have a little dude that needs snuggling after a long nap.


*Edit*  I realized I unintentionally used the word "gullet", which happens to be the first Word Up, Yo word!  Go me!