I hate to sound like that asshole, but when you have kids, you will totally do things that you never thought you’d do.  Yesterday, I sat the Mini down in front of the TV with lunch, just so I could feed Little Girl, and also get some peace and quiet.   That’s not the worst thing I’ve done as a parent, but you get the idea.

One of the things that we didn’t do with the Mini and I swore that I’d never do, was co-sleep.  No, that’s not entirely true.  We did occasionally co-sleep when he a baby, if we went on vacation somewhere.  It was much easier than bringing a pack n’ play.  But he has always slept in his own crib, right from the get go.  Little Girl has been in a co-sleeper in our room, one, because I believe that your second child is a way for you to redo all the mistakes you made with your first (not that making him sleep in his own crib was a  mistake) and two, the Mini is still in the crib and I refused to buy another crib for a whole two or three months of use.   On top of the fact that she’s sleeping in our room,  she is a crappy sleeper overall, and when 4:30 rolls around and she’s fighting the sleep and hooting and hollering, we often drag her into bed with us.

It’s often said, that you can’t spoil and infant, and I think that’s a lie.   Little Girl is already very aware, and also completely happy sleeping in our bed.  Last night, she looked at me with this wide eyed grin as if to say, “you mean I get to sleep here ALL NIGHT?”  And when we put her in her co-sleeper, she made a point to make a lot of noise until we relented and pulled her back into our bed, at which point, she looked at me, smiled and promptly passed out, until I finally dragged her out of bed unwillingly at 8am.    She’s not even 7 weeks old and already has firm opinions.   I am so very screwed when she gets older.  I see a lot of princess like attire during her formative years.

I don’t know how the hell I used to come up with interesting material on a regular basis.  What’s better is that kids are generally great blog fodder, yet, I find myself struggling with what to write these days.

Yesterday,  I called out to the Mini that I had a surprise for him.   I heard him come running from the family room screaming “CHEESE.”   I was kind of bewildered.  “What the…  How the hell did he know I was giving him cheese?  Certainly he can’t SEE me unwrapping the cheese.”  To which the Meester replied that he probably heard it.  At which point we got into one of those friendly marital arguments about whether or not you can tell the sound of one of those (organic, naturally) processed cheese slices being unwrapped.   I call bullshit.  He tried to demonstrate by unwrapping a slice.   If you were blindfolded, there’s no way in hell you could decipher it to be a piece of cheese.   Part of the point of the argument was that the Mini could most likely tell given his super spidey hearing abilities.  While it’s true, he does have this freakish hearing, it’s sometimes a detriment to him.  The detriment being that he’s still got the language processing issue going on.  And I’d be lying if I said this didn’t bother me.   There are days where it upsets me.  What if he never gets past it?  HOW the hell is he going to get past it?  There’s no denying he’s a smart kid.  It’s not a bragging thing.  I’m amazed at what he teaches himself.   That aside, he’s got social and language issues, and while we’ve made leaps, HUGE leaps.  There are these little tweaky things that feel as if we’ve been battling forever.  I look at parents who are starting to have conversations with their kids and I want that.  I am sure that one day, I’ll look back and it’ll all be a hazy memory, but right now, it’s still a tough road.

Little Girl.

My Little Girl turned a month old last week.  I can’t believe how fast it’s flying the second time around.  She’ll be six weeks on Monday (!).  She is so so different than the Mini was at this age.  She’s definitely all girl.   She hates to be put down, ever.  At this age, the Mini was fussy.  He cried for no reason.  She too, is fussy, but she knows what she wants.  Already opinionated, she literally looked me in the eye and screamed in my face the other night, as if to say “WHY WON’T YOU GIVE ME WHAT I WANT?”  Most of the time, I could not decipher the Mini’s cries.   She makes herself understood, loud and clear.   When she is happy, she lights up the room.  She is all smiles and coos.  She loves the attention.  When she is pissed off she turns shades of purple that I did not know existed.   I obviously lover her to bits and her smiles, like the Mini’s, make my day, but I can already see the teenage angst and it is not pretty.  She’s also starting to look more like me as she gets older.  I still see a lot of similarities between her and the Mini when he was an infant, but there was never a doubt that he was the Meester’s clone son.  Because I my child didn’t look anything like me, it’s very bizarre to look at this tiny person and see the resemblence.

Yeah, I know.  I’m hoping that once they get older, they’ll provide more blog fodder too.

It’s funny how they tell you that you shouldn’t really compare kids to other kids, or even your own children to each other, but you do.  It’s inevitable.  I’ll admit, that most of my comparisons with the Mini and LG, are mainly due to my insane obsession with making sure that she’s developing typically (though, looking back, the Mini was typically developing, save for some sensory things that I really didn’t think to look for).  Something I have really no way of determining at her young age, but much like my obsession with making sure she has a round head.

Given that Little Girl is only four weeks old, it’s way too early for her eye color to be determined, but it seems that she’s already taking the same path her brother did.   Both were born with full heads of dark brown hair.  Something I had hoped the Mini would have kept, along with inheriting his father’s eyes.  I figured, he’d have to have either my color or the Meester’s, however, my child not only has blonde hair, but he has both brown and blue-ish eyes.  They’re a hazel with brown around the irises.  My child, he even has his own eye color, rather than inherit one or the other.

And if LG is anything like her brother, or rather, anything like her mother (which seems to be the case already), she’s definitely going to be marching to the beat of her own drummer, even genetically.

Things are starting to get a little bit easier.  I’m not sure if this is due to the magic of that Zoloft prescription that I’ve gotten or if I’m just learning to adjust.  Either way, I’m learning to cope with two kids.   The post partum hit me a lot harder than I thought it would, and thankfully, I recognized it before I even gave birth, so I was able to flee to the doctor and get drugs.  Both of us are better living through science, and I’m ok with that.

Little Girl is getting bigger by the second.  She is my little pig and is eating almost 4 ounces.  She is a voracious eater, unlike her brother who would fall asleep eating.   She no longer looks like a newborn, but like an infant now, and it’s hard to believe that she’s already going to be a month old in less than a week.   While I know that I don’t want anymore, I’m already remiss that her birth day has passed and that we’re careening into her first year of life head on like a freight train.  It’s going so much faster than it did with the Mini, and it makes me sad.   She is my snuggler.  Not happy unless she’s sleeping on my chest or in our arms.   She hates being put down and loves to be tightly wrapped in the sling.  She’s gettng better about sleeping that first stretch of the night, but refuses to sleep between 2 and 5 am, which is making both of us frustrated.  I’ve been doing a lot of things this time around that I never would have done with the Mini.   For one, she’s in a co-sleeper, which I’m sure I’ll regret when we move her over to her own room come late summer, but I couldn’t justify buying another crib when the Mini is about ready to graduate to a bed.   I admit, I love having her close and when she gets incredibly stubborn about that sleep thing, I can drag her into bed with us and she passes right out.   She definitely fancies herself a more needy baby than the Mini, as well as more social, for as much as an infant can be social.  I’ve already gotten a couple of non-fart, intentional smiles.  Nothing consistent.

The Mini is still very jealous of his sister.   He constantly needs to be touching her, or kissing her, mainly to get attention from us, more than anything.  Thankfully, he’s gentle with her, but he really doesn’t care so much if she’s there or not, most of the time, but given that she’s more needy, he definitely gets sick of her constantly being held and asks for us to put her down, for the love of god, already.   He’s regressed with some of his progress, which is to be expected, even for a typical child with a new baby in the house, but it’s a little unnerving.   However, he’s also taken to learning his alphabet and the sounds.  Something he’s taught himself.  So, I’m not worried.  He’s still my little super genius.

Parenthood has made me boring.

We’ve been home from the hospital for just over a week.   My mother left on Wednesday and since then, I’m not sure how I’ve survived.  The woman did everything around here, including vacuum my garage.  I know, weird.

Having two kids has been really tough for me.  I’m not saying that I wish I didn’t have another.  And I don’t want to scare other people, because your mileage may vary, but I’m just a systematic person, and when that all goes to shit, I tend to lose it entirely.    I turned to the Meester the other night and said “We got our easy going baby first.”   Little Miss isn’t exactly a difficult child,  but she’s definitely more high maintenance than the Mini ever was, and she hates to be put down.   I don’t blame her.  We’re all warm and snuggly.  It’s the perfect sleeping conditions.   Of course, being that she’s an infant, she’s pretty much checked out all day, and then awake all night.  This will pass.  Right now, I don’t know how people who are sane, have more than one child.   I also am shortly going to be seeking help for Post Partum Depression, because I’m no good to my kids when I’m in this state.

The Mini is still remarkably good with his sister.  He loves to give her kisses and is usually interested in her presence.  However, his method of getting attention with us, leaves little to be desired.  It’s largely “two” with a side of extreme button pushing.  All of it is completely normal and yet despite this, he’s been a pretty good kid for the most part.   If anything, this has helped him to learn to communicate more effectively.

Otherwise, if you’ve sent me email, or have tried to get in touch with me in any way, forgive my lack of response.  I barely have time for anything, and people who have asked for pictures are going to have to wait until the year 2015.

We busted out of the hospital yesterday morning.   I really had no expectations about how things were going to be in regards to life with two kids.   And if there’s any advice I can give when it comes to having a second, that would be it.   Don’t think about it and go into it without any expectations.   Other than that. We’re pretty much still n00bs at the whole thing and we’re just taking it one day at a time.

The Mini has taken to his sister better than I thought he would.   I made a point of walking in the door by myself when we arrived home yesterday.   He was beside himself to see me.   He’s always been a Mama’s boy, but until recently, I never thought he cared whether or not I was there.    But as of the last couple of months, he’s been wanting to be attached to me 24-7.   It’s the best feeling in the world to have your child light up as if you’re the only person in the world when you walk into a room.    He was very excited to see the Little Miss come home yesterday and leaned into her carrier to give her kisses which was very cute.  The minute I picked her up to show her to him, was a whole different story.  It was clear he was very jealous, but instead of acting out, he became very upset and clingy with me.   I decided to make my mother drive me to Target for a quick prescription pick up, so that I could get him out of the house with just me.   We’re making it a huge point to let him know of all of the big kid things he gets to do and when people come over, we tell him that they came to see him.   Overall, he always wants to hold her, give her kisses and snuggle her.   The only problem is, he doesn’t quite understand how tiny and fragile she is, and he’s also a very rambunctious toddler, who doesn’t understand his own strength.   He means well, but it’s going to take time to understand how boring she is, and by the time that happens, she’s going to be pissing him off by grabbing his favorite toys and drooling all over them.

Having two kids.  Whoo, boy, it’s INSANE.  Like, what the fuck was I thinking insane?  And I’ve only been home a day.   Let’s talk about that whole newborn phase.  Why did you kind folks not remind me to oh, READ MY FUCKING ARCHIVES?   Because seriously,  that whole newborn haze?  There’s a reason why you forget that.   So that when you go through it again, you’re like, oooooooooooooooh yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, I forgot how much that fucking sucked.   And at that point?  It’s too late.   On one hand, I’m glad that we’re done.  I know that this is absolutely the last time I will go through this, and it goes very fast (see above re: newborn haze, and it’s in this instance that I’m very happy about it).   But going through it with a 2 year old is like having “monkeys on acid.”   Your life just sort of blows up in your face the minute you walk in the door and you stand there looking at your spouse or significant other with a look of intense fear on your face thinking:  “so this is it, huh?”

I’m sure that it’s easier for some than others.  I guess that all depends on your anxiety level.  I bet you can guess that I’m pretty high strung.

It’s nice to not be pregnant anymore, and while I had a much harder time bonding with her in the beginning, I can honestly say that I feel as if I know her much better than I did with the Mini at this stage.   It’s funny how much you forget from the first time, but it’s also pretty cool how much you remember and how much you compare.   The Mini was largely easier going in the beginning.   Little Miss Monkey Toes has a flair for the dramatics.  Changing a diaper is cause for crying until you turn purple and stop taking in oxygen.   She’s got a temper and gets frustrated easily.   Much like any baby, she wants you to hold her all day and generally sleeps better in your arms.   But put her down and try getting through a meal.   I could do without those days.   As overwhelming as it is, I’m trying to enjoy the little newborn nuiances.   She looks every bit like her brother, but she has these dainty long little fingers and toes.  And I wonder where she got them from.   Unfortunately, she inherited my lips, whereas the Mini got his father’s big juicy ones.   They both inherited our receding hairlines.   Both of them loved being swaddled in the hospital, and we thought for sure that the little miss would continue to like it, vs. the Mini hating it the minute we got home.  Nope, she’s the same.  She wants her hands free, which is great given the fact that she has a big time startle reflex, which pisses her off 77 times a night, that is when she’s actually sleeping.   She also loves pacifiers.   Mini could have cared less.

I look at her and it’s hard to believe that yes, we actually made her together.   The old fashioned way.   I worried for the entire pregnancy that my body didn’t have a clue what it was doing, but here she is, the most perfect beautiful child in the whole wide world (ok, it’s an even tie.  I do have another child that is the most gorgeous child in the whole wide world.  And really, I’m not the only one who says that.  We just make really good looking kids).  I can’t help but stare at her every feature.   And of course, all the worrying I did about the Meester was for nothing.   If you remember, he was pretty upset upon finding out, given that he was content with just the Mini and was pretty sure he didn’t want another.  It took him a long time to even get used to the idea and he was largely absent for a good portion of the pregnancy.   It was his own coping mechanism, and I don’t fault him for that.   You get some unexpected news like that just days after saying that you were pretty much done, and I don’t really expect any other reaction.  Of course,  I secretly hoped that she would melt her Daddy’s heart, and naturally, the minute she came out, it was over.   He coos, he talks to her sweetly, the way a Daddy should.   She looks in his general direction, and he cries.   And I can only imagine how he will be the first time she says “Daddy, look at my pretty dress.”

Yes, I probably need to be medicated to get through the explosion that went off in my house, but at least if I die, it’ll be from the cute and love poisoning around these parts.

Ok, did I really just get that disgusting?  I’m sorry.  I’m blaming the hormones.

This is probably going to be a nice long rambly disjointed post, because that’s what birth stories are.   I’m not sure mental clarity is at its finest in the days post birth.

With the Mini, I had a momentary lapse of reasoning moment, just minutes before walking back to the operating room to be sliced open.  Because of that, I had Ativan in my IV and most of it is a giant blur.   I was determined to not do that this time, because I hate that I have so little memory of a rather big event in my life.

Having been through a c-section once before, I found myself much more anxious this time around.   I’m such an anxiety ridden mess naturally, so I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was.   I guess maybe because I knew what to expect.   But I found myself having mini panic attacks at the thought of surgery.

Our c-section had gotten moved up from 12:30, to about 7:45am, which meant that I had to be up and out the door before the crack of dawn, and that was tough.   I was more upset that I wouldn’t be able to get up and see the Mini off to school, something I wanted to do one last time.

We get to the hospital and got to share an elevator with a woman who was in pretty intense labor.  She was pretty surprised at my nonchalant nature.  I felt bad that I would probably have gone through the whole birth and recovery before she did.

They get us set up in our room, ask the 9 million questions, give you the endless amounts of paperwork that you have to fill out, hook up the IV and then make you wait.   Our nurse had no sense of humor, and pretty much fled the room once everything was said and done.   I think I heard her whisper “CRAAAAAAAAAAZY” as she left.  I also tend to make an ass out of myself with what I think is witty humor when I’m in anxiety ridden situations, such as being sliced open.   Either way, we got another nurse that assisted me for the remainder of the day, and I was glad that she was at least a little more with my funny program.   Of course, we were delayed because of other people needing epidurals (wusses), but before I knew it, I was being walked back to the operating room feeling scared shitless and surreal.    And that’s pretty much how I would describe the whole process, now that I remember it:  surreal.

We get the whole spinal rocking and rolling and the room was just really eerie.  There was no music.  An OB technician was standing there in the corner with his arms crossed, like some bouncer.   I decided he probably didn’t subscribe to my humor program and thought better than to crack a joke (also, the anesthesiologist didn’t have a sense of humor either.  I didn’t hold that against her given that she was sticking needles in my spine).   I absolutely hated the numbness feeling, although, I don’t know of anyone who actually likes that feeling.

The doctor came in, followed by the Meester who was really great about keeping me calm.  Before I knew it, they told me they were starting.  It seemed to go on forever because of it being a repeat c-section.   It was all really impersonal, and that was one of the things I had a hard time with.  The Mini’s birth, while hazy, was still a really personal experience.  I had one doctor from start to finish.  This doctor barely knew my name and I had only seen him one other time.   The anesthesiologist was good about letting the Meester know when it was time to get the camera ready, and I felt them yank her from my insides and heard her scream like there was no tomorrow.   She was pissed and let everyone know about it.   I bawled.  I remember crying with the Mini, but not nearly as much as I did with her.  I was also annoyed that I didn’t get to see her right away (the Mini’s OB was really great about showing him to me over the curtain before whisking him away), and had to listen to her scream, which as the Mama, was really distressing.

Finally, they showed her to me, as we were both bawling.  I don’t know that I’ve ever seen the Meester as happy as he was the day he saw his children brought into this world.   As they were working on putting all of my internal organs back, the OB told me that he was going to start the tubal and to speak now or forever hold my peace.   About halfway through, I asked him if it was too late to stop, and he made a crack (finally, someone who is funny around here!).   Before I knew it, I was being brought back to my room.   The Meester and baby girl were already in there getting all situated.  It took awhile before I was finally able to hold her and see her for more than 5 second intervals.

I’ve had a really hard time with so many things this time around.   There were far too many different nurses walking in and out of my room on a regular basis this time.  Two nurses that I’ve had this week could have given Amy and Maya a run for their money, though annoying at first, one of them turned out to be really cool and helpful.  The other thing that has been different was my lack of bonding.   It’s taken me a little longer to bond with her for some reason, which has surprised me.   We’re getting there, though, it doesn’t help that she’s already being hogged by Daddy, and is a big time Daddy’s girl.    It’s nice to watch her light up when she hears his voice.   I can’t really complain, since I have my Mama’s boy.

Speaking of which, the Mini is also coming around to his baby sister.  He gives her kisses and actually looked for her when he came to visit yesterday.  I had absolutely no expectations of what his reaction would be when he first saw her.    He definitely was pretty pissed off to see me being monopolized by another person other than him.   He’s given me big hugs and kisses on his own free will, so I think he’s forgiven me.   It should be interesting to see how things will be once he realizes that “baby sistwer” is coming to live with us when we bust out of this joint tomorrow.   And we’re both really ready.   Although, we should probably take advantage of this very boring quiet time with just her.   Tomorrow, the chaos known as the rest of my life, starts with gusto.    No more training wheels.

I’m no longer cranky and pregnant.  Just cranky.

Fetus v2.0 was born this morning.

It’s a GIRL!!

8lbs 4oz and 21.5-ish inches long.

Born at 8:55am via scheduled c-section.

I still don’t have a moniker for her yet, but then again, she didn’t even have a real life name until about 4pm.

We’re very excited and obviously tired.   She is already a big time Daddy’s girl and immediately wrapped him around her very tiny finger.

Me, I’m going to try and get some much needed shut eye.  Hooray for good drugs!!!  I’ll get to the birth story another day.

I’m nesting like crazy.   My feet feel like they’re going to split open like hot dogs in a microwave and to top it off, I’m getting sick, again.  Seriously.  My immune system can suck it.  I swear.  So yes, still pregnant, crankier than ever.   Much like fetus 2.0’s older brother.  This kid is content to stay in there forever.  I apparently have a very comfortable uterus.  Who knew?  The others didn’t stick around long enough to know what they were missing.

Anyway.

I came across a study today stating that Autism can be cured.   While the Mini did not get an Autism diagnosis, this is something that is still near and dear to my heart.  Really and truly.  And this article, sort of angers me in some way.  Or maybe it’s just that pregnancy pissiness.

I actually knew a kid at one time who had full blown Autism.  This was maybe ten years ago, now, and I can tell you, he wasn’t what the Mini was like a year ago.    He was a great kid in his own right.  Funny, intelligent, and yes, even loving, despite showing all of the true Autistic characteristics.   I can’t imagine how their parents mourned the loss of the son they would never have when they first found out.   Because for anyone, it is a mourning process knowing that your kid is atypical.

I’ve said before that I think that there are two types of possible “Autism”, if you want to call it that.   But I take issue with this study for quite a few reasons.

• While I truly believe in early intervention, I think kids are getting diagnosed way too early.  Had you said this to me last year, I would have disagreed with you.  I wanted answers.   But looking back, and seeing how much the Mini has changed and how much kids change between even 18 months and two years.   I know it helps a lot of people get the proper therapy they need for their kids.  I’m not knocking that.  But I think that there are too many disorders out there and doctors are quick to diagnose at a young age.    And then their diagnosis changes.   Did they really have Autism?  I don’t know.
• What about the kids with true, full blown Autism?  There are tons of very intensive behavorial modification therapy.   Is that really “curing” a disorder?    Again, I understand, parents want a typical child.   But how would your child feel about this, if they could actually communicate with you?   Sure they learn to look you in the eye, but it’s very uncomfortable for them, normal behaviors become mechanical.   I’m not talking about working with a toddler who might show red flags, and gets some early intervention help.  I’m talking about these kids that are receiving full time behavioral modification therapy.     My own personal thought is that I couldn’t imagine my son going through that type of therapy.   Yes, we have the help of early intervention.  They taught US how to play with him.  How a baby and toddler’s brain works.  How they learn (because as much as you’d like to think it comes natural to you as a parent, it really doesn’t, at least not for us).   They came over and played with him a few hours a week.  Is he still quirky?  Yes, he is.   But I’d like to know what toddler isn’t?  Kids are weird.

I feel as if these days, there needs to be a label for everything.  If the Meester were a toddler today, he’d probably be diagnosed on the spectrum.  He’s not the most social person in the world.  He hates large crowds, and there’s nothing more that will make him come unglued than something like a kid’s party or something equally as loud and discombobulated.   He loves all things physics and engineering.   Does that mean he’s Autistic?  No, I’d say that’s just his personality.    The Mini is largely the same way, and because of that, he gets a sensory/auditory processing label.  I just say that it is who he is.   I’m not saying that I didn’t go through a mourning process about everything we went through.   Not long after we got our evaluation done with Early Intervention,  I went into his room, scooped him up while he was sleeping and completely bawled.  Apologizing for anything I’d ever done wrong by him.   It took me a long time to learn what was him and what was possibly something else.   I wouldn’t say that he was ever Autistic, and that he’s “recovered.”  I  think he was definitely sick from something, but I’ll never know what that was.    We still struggle with his language issues on a daily basis.  He’ll overcome it, I have no doubt, but it’s very frustrating to have a parrot follow you around day in and day out.

I would love to believe that there is something that causes Autism, and that there will someday be a cure, but right now, I think it’s largely a genetic thing, and that studies like these (and Jenny drinking the fucking kool-aid) is going to set a lot of parents up for disappointment when their child doesn’t become “cured.”

And the winner of The Plain White box is:

Motel Manager

Who I started reading way back in the day when she was pregnant with her first and complaining of Zofran constipation! Look how far we’ve come!

Congrats. I’ll get in touch with you via email, and I have high hopes of actually getting this out in the mail before I birth this child.