Backtracking

Some friends were over recently and we were sitting and chatting away in our lower level, where there is a living-room type area, a guest room, and the laundry room.  I proudly told of Bitty's latest accomplishments, which included her heightened interest in imitating us.  "She brushes her hair, talks and texts on the phone, and yells at the dogs.  It's so funny to watch her try to do all of the things that we do."  As if on cue, Bitty crawled out from the laundry area with a pair of my underwear on her head. 

I spent the next ten minutes trying to convince our friends that we don't do that.  Come on, you believe me, right?

An (un)Civil War

If there is one thing that I've learned about parenting in the past year, it's that as soon as one issue is resolved, another promptly pops up in its place.

When Bitty learned that feeding herself was quite an enjoyable activity, she also discovered that throwing food on the floor could be as equally enjoyable.  When she finally accepted that whole milk could be a tasty and satisfying beverage, she soon became a fiending milk addict. 

Throughout the past year, the problems with poop just won't go away.  Different, yes, but always involving poop.  We've had issues with no poop, runny poop, leaking poop, and turtle-head poop.  There has been squirting poop, hairy poop, buried-treasure poop, and poop at quite inopportune times and places.

Lately, it has been poop removal that is causing me grief.  As soon as Bitty learned to roll over she decided that lying on her back for a diaper change was a glaring waste of time, and so as soon as she realizes what is about to happen, the wheels are turning and she is planning her escape.  For months I was able to bide some time with songs, tickles, raspberries, silly noises, special toys, my phone--but Bitty is on to me now, none of my distractions are working, and I am out of ideas. Diaper changes have become a battle of wills, me vs. Bitty.  I am at my wits end.  Poopy changes result in me cleaning poop off of the floor, the changing pad, the rug, and even the dresser.  I even find myself thinking how long can I let her sit in this before it's considered negligence?  Avoidance, I just don't even want to deal with the conflict.  The only semi-solution that I have found is speed.  If I have my materials ready, I can sometimes get the diaper off with one hand, a few wipes of the behiney with the other, while grabbing an ankle to prevent escape with the first hand, in enough time to prevent disaster.  When can we start potty training again?

Room For Error

This morning I went to a preschool fair.  You might be thinking that I must be crazy, Bitty is not even eleven months old, why on Earth am I thinking about preschool.  But around here, the options are plentiful and diverse and the waiting lists can be long.  Rest assured, I have no intention of enrolling her in preschool until she's three...or maybe I might consider it at two-and-a-half if we have another baby in the picture by then.  Consider today more of an exploratory, fact finding mission.

Bitty and I perused the tables of preschools showcasing their programs for about forty minutes.  Or rather, I perused, while she focused on kicking her shoes off about five billion times.  Within ten minutes of our arrival, she made it perfectly clear that this was not how she intended to spend her morning.  But if I managed to keep moving and not stand still for too long, Bitty was distracted enough to avoid a meltdown.

I left with a fairly significant handful of brochures and information pages, and just in the nick of time.  Bitty had run out of patience for this nonsense.  I hurried to the car, and set my stack of papers on the roof in order to free up my hands to buckle her in.  Bitty really hates the car seat these days, and in her mind, this morning was going from bad to worse.  First I had her strapped into the ergo,and now the car seat.  No matter how often she fusses, I still have anxiety when she does and it still throws me off my game.  I tried to be quick and scurried around to the drivers' side, hopped in, and hurried home. 

I put Bitty down for her nap when we returned and then settled in to look over all of the paperwork I had gathered at the fair.  Except I couldn't find it.  Not in the diaper bag, not in the car...and then I realized--I left the stack on the roof while I was buckling Bitty in and then drove away.  So typical.



Replaceable

Today Bitty and I enjoyed the beautiful weather with a picnic at a park, just the two of us.  It was perfect.  It was so quiet and peaceful, as we were the only ones there.  The main attraction of this park is a lovely rose garden, and the last of the summer blooms greeted us with their dazzling color.  We listened to the birds chirping and felt the breeze brush over us.  I watched as Bitty crawled through the grass, every so often turning to look back at me as if to say, "Can I keep going, mama?"  She doesn't get to do this much--the landscape around our townhome is filled with some type of bugs that feast on us both like we're their last meal.  She was very interested in the sensory experience of the prickly green grass beneath her, and at one point stopped and spent a good fifteen minutes pulling clumps of it out of the ground, until finally she decided to take a bite of the soil wrapped around the roots.  Judging from the look upon her face afterwards, I don't think she'll be doing that again.

We returned home and I carried my sleepy baby to the front door, and as I got my key out, she suddenly perked up and started huffing a breathy "huh huh huh huh huh."  She continued as we walked inside, where the dogs, as they always do, welcomed us home with their excited panting, "huh huh huh huh."  And it clicked!  Bitty anticipated the dogs' reaction and was mimicing them!  I was so amazed!  I bent down with Bitty to the dogs' level, and the four of us shared a moment of panting together, which Bitty found extraordinarily amusing. 

As I took her upstairs to get ready for her nap, I thought about my efforts to teach Bitty sign language.It has been discouraging; she is always interested in her toy, or her food, or her sippy cup whenever I'm trying to sign ball or eat or more or drink. I was beginning to think that it was all pointless, that she clearly wasn't ready to communicate in this way.  But now, I started to think that maybe I was pointless.  Lucy and Riley taught Bitty her first sign.  The dogs are better at this than I am.   

Lucy and Riley will be charging $45 an hour to conduct sign language lessons with your baby.  Group discounts are available.  Please call to schedule your appointment today.

Tella Me About It

Well we survived The Great Hurricane unscathed;  no flooded basement,  no wind damage, and we didn't even have our electric power flicker a moment.  But that certainly didn't stop me from making short work of my hurricane snacks and booze. 

I usually don't buy Nutella because it's sort of like crack in a jar for me...one hit and I'm addicted.  I just get out a spoon and go to town.  This afternoon as I was gobbling up one spoonful after the other, I started to wonder if they really do put crack in the jar.  I turned the label around to look at the ingredients list and saw this:

Hmmm.  An example of a tasty balanced breakfast, eh?  Now I was really curious about the ingredients.

The first two ingredients are sugar and palm oil.  Balanced breakfast indeed.  But at least there isn't any crack in it. 

My spoon was scraping the bottom when there was a knock at the door.  One of the neighbor kids was on the porch with her mom and sister, delivering a couple of cupcakes--today is her birthday.  I chatted with the mom and the girls for a few minutes before wishing her a happy birthday and closing the door.  Bitty starting crying, awakened from her nap, and as I went upstairs to get her I caught a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror.  I had chocolate all over my face.  Nutella, to be precise. 

I threw the rest of the jar in the trash.  Addict is not a good look for me.

Terror On The Plane

We recently returned from a week long trip to Cozumel, Mexico, where we celebrated  the nuptials of my little sister.  We brought Bitty along with us because (a) this trip was so dang expensive there is no way that we are taking any sort of family vacation this year, and (b) even with brainpower combined, we have the foresight of a sea sponge.

The amount of actual in-air flying time wasn't so horrible, it was the time spent getting to the airport, during the layover, going through customs, and getting to the resort that was consuming.  Our outgoing trip was eleven hours door to door, and the return thirteen.  We really didn't think this whole thing through.

The engagement party in Colorado a few weeks prior provided us with a sort of trial run.  It was a three day trip, but from the volume of luggage we had you would have thought we had brought all of our worldly belongings.  Car seat, stroller, diapers, wipes, bottles, formula, baby spoon, baby bowl, baby food, hair bows, sunscreen, lotion, baby wash, baby brush, hat, socks, shoes, clothes in case the weather is hot, clothes in case the weather is cold, extra clothes in case she sh*#s herself.

And then there are the toys.  This was Bitty's first flight and I had no idea how she would handle it.  I wanted to be sure to have enough toys to transition to something new every five minutes, which is about how long her attention span is.  The flight was four hours.

My two worst fears were that she would poop on the plane and I would need to change her in that tiny disgusting bathroom, and secondly that she would scream bloody murder and we would be "those" parents.   As it turned out, Bitty was WONDERFUL on both the outgoing and return flights.  She actually didn't want to  play with ANY of her toys.  She just needed a paci for take-off and landing, and other than that, she was only interested in people watching and napping.  She took a two and a half hour nap both ways.  The passengers seated nearby remarked that she was the best baby they had ever seen on a plane;  the only sounds she made were soft little baby coos.

It couldn't have gone any better except for one little thing.  Forty-five minutes before we touched down, she decided to take a big giant messy poop (here I am talking about poop again...sorry, but it's just a big part of life when you have a baby).  Ok, backtrack a little bit....historically, Bitty has never been a big pooper.  For the longest time she was on the once-a-week plan, but what she lacked in frequency she made up for in volume.  Around the time of our Colorado trip, we were starting to add more of a variety of solids to her repitoire, and that kept things moving a bit more often.  During the three days we were in Denver she hadn't pooped at all, apparently waiting for a grand reveal on the airplane.  Changing a poopy diaper in the airplane bathroom is as bad as I had imagined.  I think it would be easier to change a diaper while skiing downhill on one foot.  In a blizzard.  It is IMPOSSIBLE to keep the baby from touching anything in that tiny space.  Which is so revoltingly gross, read this if you don't believe me.

So aside from the poopy incident,  the Denver flights couldn't have gone better.  Mark and I were so smug.  We couldn't understand what the problem was with all of those babies shrieking and carrying on during flights.    Our angelic child was the model passenger.  This Mexico thing was going to be a breeze.  In fact, I only packed one toy in the diaper bag this time.  Probably wouldn't even need it.

Bitty made us pay for our arrogance shortly after we buckled our seat belts.  A switch was turned during the weeks that elapsed between trips in which Bitty went from a content little princess simply entertained by novel surroundings to an avaricious little monster who must obtain each and every visible object for immediate tasting.  As I'm sure you can picture, on an airplane everything is either bolted down or in the seat pockets, neither of which make acceptable teething devices.  Bitty was underwhelmed by all of our attempts to entertain her and expressed her displeasure in such a way that would rival the temper of Alexander The Great.

I know we weren't the only ones who were relieved when we got off of that plane.

Just In Case This Whole Teaching Thing Doesn't Work Out . . .

Yesterday, I took Bitty to Whole Foods with me.  It has been a while since we have been grocery shopping together.  During my maternity leave, we made weekly trips, but nowadays...well, we get a lot of take out.  Don't judge.  I'm tired and busy and don't have time to cook so why bother grocery shopping.

I had almost forgotten how much I enjoy our grocery trips.  I plop Bitty into the ERGOand away we go.  She likes to look around wide-eyed and I like to tell her about all of the different foods we're buying.  We always get LOTS of attention.  Everybody loves a mother with her baby.  Especially when she's strapped into one of those baby carriers.

Knowing that we would probably attract more attention than the average grocery shopper, I thought maybe I should wear something that can NOT be mistaken for pajamas, and changed from one of the three pairs of yoga pants that I rotate during the weekend into a pair of jeans.  A pair of my old jeans.  Yes, it's true, I can finally fit into a couple pairs of my pre-pregnancy jeans.  The big ones.  If I suck way in and squeeze my butt cheeks together, then do ten squats and ten lunges to stretch them out a bit, there are two pairs that I can zip and button.  I'm aware that my thighs probably resemble stuffed sausage casings, but three weeks ago those pants weren't even close to buttoning so I'm going for it.

As usual, Bitty worked the crowd by flashing flirty, toothless grins at the strangers and shouting out her food requests at the top of her lungs.    We were the target of many smiles and "How old is she?"  "She's beautiful" comments.  I was just soaking it up and basking in the glory of my baby's cuteness.

Eventually we made our way to the checkout line.  I always get one of those double-decker shopping carts that look like this:

Because it's easier to maneuver through the aisles

I squatted down to remove the items from the lower basket and no fewer than three people asked if I needed some help!  Wow, it is unbelievable how much attention a baby will get you.  And then, a fourth person offered assistance!  This one a somewhat elderly lady.  I should be asking her if she needs help, I thought.  "Oh no, that's OK, I've got it!"  I cheerfully answered.

"But dear, I think you need to pull up your pants a bit,"  the old woman replied with a look of concern upon her face.

Embarrassing.  Completely, utterly humiliating.  Then I started to wonder if those other do-gooders were actually trying to spare me the shame of having my a** crack peeking out for the world to see.  Indeed, I have been trying to figure out a way to obtain part-time employment after this school year, but plumbing certainly wasn't on my radar.

Namaste, Baby

When I was pregnant, I thought, November will be a good time to have a baby.  I probably won't want to go out with her much while she is itty bitty, and that will be during the chilly winter months when I won't really want to go anywhere anyway.

But I was wrong about that.  When you're home all day just you and the baby, you need to get OUT!  Which makes those chilly winter months problematic.  Cooped up indoors all day does not actually work for me.

Bitty and I went to Mommy & Me yoga this week.  It's supposed to be bonding and relaxing, right?  Sounded like a perfect mama-baby outing to me.

Everything started off just fine.  Bitty was content in her car seat during the drive (she has recently decided that she hates the car).  She was fed and appeared to be in a good mood, despite the pathetic excuse for a nap she took that morning.  I got a good parking spot, and I even made it there five minutes early.  I got us all set up--my yoga mat unrolled, Bitty's stack of blankies arranged at the top.  She laid peacefully kicking and punching away on her blanket as we waited for class to begin.  All of the babies were as relaxed as could be.

The instructor began class with a series of Oms as each mama held our babes seated in our laps.  That's when it got a little ugly.  Bitty did not want to be held in my lap.  She did not want to be held in front of me, or against my shoulder.  She only wanted to be cradled--left side only, definitely not the right--and rocked from side to side.  Once I got her calmed down, I tried to rejoin the class in the poses; baby on my belly, while doing a bridge; baby held in front, while doing a lunge.  Bitty, however, was having none of this.  And naturally, she expressed her displeasure with dire urgency.   This set off something of a chain reaction.  Soon, half of the babies were fussing and crying away.  The instructor shouted out directions over the wails, in vain, as the majority of moms could not do the poses while attempting to soothe their babies.

This continued throughout most of the class.  That is, until the very end, when the instructor banged the gong.  All the babies became silent, entranced by the vibrating sound of the gong.  It was amazing, and got me thinking that maybe I should get my own gong for home use.  It would be like a call to sanity when things get a little hairy around here.

The gong banging went on for about five minutes, signaling the conclusion of class.  Predictably, as soon as the ringing ended, Bitty made it clear that she was ready to go--NOW.  She apparently had things to do and there was no time to dawdle.  So we hightailed it out of there and I was once again reminded of who is in charge in this family.



P.S. As I am writing this post, Bitty is napping IN HER CRIB!!!  She's never slept in there before!  And she has been sleeping two hours!  I am feeling like a super awesome mom with this crib transition thing.

Our Birth Story

Still reading?  Oh, good.  I'm not sure that I would after a title like that.

I've read a few blogs where people really go into the details of their baby's birth.  I'm not going to do that.  Because, (a) nobody cares about the details, and (b) that would be gross.  But, here is the Cliff's notes version...

When all signs were pointing towards a past-due induction on December 6th, I surprisingly went into labor in the evening on November 22nd.  Some work friends and I were out to dinner to celebrate two birthdays, and I initially thought I just had indigestion from gobbling too much fondue.  I realized that it probably wasn't indigestion toward the beginning of my ONE HOUR drive back home.  Probably wasn't such a good idea to go so far away from home close to my due date.  I called Mark on the way and told him he'd better head home (he had class that night), and we arrived at the hospital at 11:30.

Jessica got this cute gownie for me!

Once I made the request, it took a very long time to get the epidural, which allowed me some time for meditation and reflection.  For example, I arrived at the conclusion that women who decide upon natural childbirth simply must be masochistic.  And also, the anesthesiologist is both the biggest jerk (thanks for taking three hours) and biggest hero in the hospital.

So then, fast forward a few hours and Bitty Bebe was born at 7:42 AM on Tuesday November 23rd.  Weighing in at 6 pounds, 6 ounces, and 18 1/2 inches long, introducing....SOPHIE ALANA BITTENBENDER!!!

(Alana pronounced "uh-lane-uh", even though it doesn't look that way)

Her middle name is in honor of my late father, whose middle name was Alan.

Little Sophie and I had a mother-daughter conflict already during her first day on the outside--I expect some conflicts, say, during her teenage years, but on day one?  She was Coomb's positive, which means that our blood types are incompatible.  My red blood cells produced antibodies against her red blood cells, and that made her prone to jaundice.

And, sure enough, her bilirubin levels had quickly elevated and she had to spend the first night in the nursery under the bili-lights---which was SO HARD!  I was so much more emotional about it than I ever could have imagined.  We have this brand new baby girl, and she spends the first night away from us.  I couldn't sleep that night, though I knew it may be my last opportunity for a decent night's sleep for a very long time.  After several nights under the lights, and ten pricks to her little heel for blood samples, we could say good riddance to that darn bilirubin.  I am glad to report that Sophie did not faint even once.  Fortunately she did not inherit that from me.

Going home from the hospital

Sophie's going home outfit

And so, that is our delightful story of Sophie's birth.  Now, Mark and I find ourselves adjusting to parenthood, life with a newborn, and adapting to zombie-like diaper changes and baby feeding in the middle of the night.

You Know You're Exhausted When...

This weekend has been one of personal grooming for me.  I figured that soon enough, it will be hard to fit these things in.  I got my brows waxed, toenails done, and hair did. 

I had trouble sleeping this week.  First of all, I'm getting heartburn, for the first time ever in my life, so I wasn't used to dealing with that.  And, I just keep waking up at an ungodly hour of the morning--usually between 4:00-4:30.  And I'm up.  There are no half-awake, half-asleep states;  no drifting back to sleep.  I'm up. 

Apparently, this is all catching up with me.  At my eyebrow appointment, I actually fell asleep on the bed or cot or whatever you call it.  Passed out, dead asleep as the aesthetician was waxing and plucking, ripping the hairs out from their roots.  Not exactly what you would call a relaxing experience.  The lights are turned on brightly, the appointments are short, so it's not as if I was lying there for very long, and obviously there are the associated zings of pain.  I have no idea how this happened.  It was embarrassing.  But the next time I go, I'm downing some major caffeine first.

Most Expensive Energy Bar Ever

This story is about my first, original baby, my dear Riley. 

Riley is my ten year old Jack Russell/Rat Terrier mix.  I've had him since I was a college junior, and through some of the most major transitions in my life.  We've moved nine times, seven of which were within a four year time span.  I've had him through undergrad, graduate school,  my first "real, big-girl" job (which involved a move of just the two of us more than 600 miles from anyone we knew), first home ownership, our wedding, and now my first pregnancy.  He is my baby. 

Yes, Riley is my precious, but he is also a little menace.  In fact, I could probably start another blog to regale you with tales of his antics.  And there are many people who could add their two cents, because I am not the only person whom Riley has terrorized with his mischief.  This weekend, I'll add a few stories about Riley's past shenanigans in the comments section below, and if anyone reading has one to add, please do so.

Riley has always been mischievous on his own, and now that we have Lucy, our two-year-old Great Pyranees/Lab mix, it's double the trouble.  I suspect with near certainty that it was Lucy who was the ringleader in the incident on Thursday.

Mark had commented that he wanted to try some of those Clif energy bars;  he thought it would be a good pre- or post- run snack.  So I bought him a small assortment at the grocery store last week.

The bars were sitting out on the kitchen counter awaiting Mark's sampling.  Lucy, apparently bored with the usual bark-at-squirrels, terrorize-the-mailman, eat-the-mail, take-a-nap routine that she usually does while we are at work, decided to do a little counter surfing.  Over the course of her perusing, she happened upon the Clif bars--pushed against the spot where the counter meets the wall--and snagged two of them. 

Could she really smell them through the wrapper?  Or was she just being nosy?  Who knows.  I came home from work that day to find both of these wrappers torn to shreds, and the contents devoured.  

As you can see, both of these bars contain chocolate, which everyone knows is toxic to dogs.  But, neither of my dogs are inexperienced when it comes to chocolate (told you they were mischievous), and I knew that they both had a fairly high tolerance for it.  I expected some, ahem, gastrointestinal upset, and was just hoping that it would find it's way outside and not on the carpet that we just had steam cleaned last month.

The next morning, I awoke to find Riley sleeping in Lucy's pink doggie bed, which is quite uncharacteristic for him (he usually sleeps in bed with us, under the covers and in between our legs).  He was shaking, but it was chilly in the house that morning, and Riley is an inherently cold dog anyway, so I covered him up with a blanket, finished getting ready, and left for work.

I came home early that afternoon;  I had an OB appointment and took a half day off from work.  When I arrived, Riley came crawling up from the basement, ears back, tail down, his eyes bugging out and looking at me pleadingly.  Uh Oh, I thought.  What did you do?  I interpreted this as his I-did-something-bad guilty look.  I took him outside, and he did not perk up, but continued walking crouched-down, and it became clear that he was in pain.  I had never seen him act quite like this. 

By now, I was pretty concerned.  I thought about Riley's quivering that morning, which I had previously thought were just chilled shivers, and realized that he had been suffering all day.  I called Mark and told him all about the situation, and since I had to get to my OB appointment, he called the vet, who recommended that we bring Riley in immediately.  Mark hurried home from work to take Riley to the doggie ER. 

The vet asked Mark the typical questions that one does when trying to initially assess a pet's ailment.  Had he eaten? (no, but that's not unusual;  Riley sometimes goes anorexic for a few days, and then binges for a day or two).  Was he drinking? (no, but he hardly ever drinks).  Did he have diarrhea? (yes, but he does at least once a week).  Riley is a very finicky dog.  Then there were the questions about the energy bar ingredients.

It turns out that chocolate wasn't the only ingredient that we should have been concerned with in those Clif bars.  Macadamia nuts, and especially raisins (in the mountain mix one), are also toxic to dogs.  The raisins are what the vet was worried about.  They can cause kidney and/or pancreatic failure in dogs.  Since we didn't know how many raisins were in the bars, or which dog ate what, the vet recommended blood tests, IV fluids, and overnight hospitalization so that they could monitor Riley for either of these.

And so, Riley spent the night in the ER, and all the while I thought about how devestating it would be if something happened to him.  And how guilty I would feel for not putting the energy bars in the kitchen cabinet.  I cried at the thought.  My baby.

The vet called us around 9:00 PM to report that Riley's blood tests came back ok--no kidney or pancreas failure.  But, sometimes this can be undetected for a few days, so they would continue to monitor him over the night to be sure that he was getting better.  His x-rays had shown that he was a little gassy, and bloodwork indicated that he was a bit dehydrated, so they would keep him on fluids through the night.  Things sounded like they would be ok.

At 5:15 Saturday morning, I awoke to the sound of my phone ringing.  Who could be calling so early?  It had to be the vet.  My phone was charging downstairs, so I rushed to answer, but was unable to get there before it went to voicemail.  I figured that they would be calling Mark next, so I rushed back upstairs, just as his phone was beginning to vibrate (he never has it on ring).  "Here!"  I shook him awake.  "I think it's the vet!  There must be something wrong with Riley!"  I was petrified.  Did Riley's kidney's fail?  Did his heart stop?  Is he in pain?  I mean, why else would they call at 5 AM?

I'll tell you why.  To report that Riley had eaten, and was now resting comfortably.  He was ready to go home any time now; but, before 8:00 AM or we would be charged for another half-day hospital stay. 

$1,000 (yes, that's one-thousand dollars) later, we can now confidently say that the Clif bars had caused a massive case of indigestion in Riley.  He is now happily rehydrated, thanks to the overnight IV, and his gas pains relieved by the medicine the vet had given him.  And, we have learned the very, very, very hard (and expensive) way to put our energy bars in a cabinet. 

Riley was so happy to arrive back at home, and immediately resumed his post guarding the house from squirrels.

His discharge instructions directed him to rest indoors for the remainder of the day, and Riley has been following doctor's orders.

And I still can't believe that it cost $1,000 to find out that our dog has the sh#&s.

Sometimes They Just Won't Take No For An Answer

I like food.  I like dessert.  I like to eat; that's no secret.  That's why I run ran and work out worked out.  So I can eat.  Lots. 

Pregnancy is the perfect excuse to indulge; and believe me, I have taken full advantage of this.  But sometimes, I just don't want to indulge.  Sometimes, I just want to eat like a normal person, though other people seem to have a problem accepting this.

Take, for example, the cashier at the Yogiberry in the neighborhood.  Since it's nearby, it's quite easy for me to pop in for some fro-yo whenever I'm in the mood.  Yogiberry is sort of like a Pinkberry and Red Mango concept, but it's all self-serve.  You choose your yogurt flavor(s), and then complete it at two buffet-style toppings bars with whatever combination of fixings that your little heart desires. Finally, your cup is weighed at the register, and you are charged by the ounce. 

One day, I just wanted a little something to satisfy my sweet tooth, so I popped in for a little lychee yogurt with kiwi and strawberries sprinkled on top.  "Is that all?"  the cashier asked as I approached the register, raising his eyebrows with surprise.  Grrrrrrrr.

Waiters are the worst offenders.

A few friends and I were having lunch at a local dining establishment.  I ordered my favorite warmed goat cheese, spiced pecan, and dried cranberry salad, and enjoyed every last bite.  Our plates were cleared, and as one typically does, our waiter returned to offer us dessert.  Actually, I use the word "us" loosely--because the waiter, more accurately, offered me dessert.  He didn't even remotely acknowledge the rest of the table, pointedly looking directly at me as he made his case for the dessert menu.  I declined, shaking my head "No, thank you." 

"But we have strawberry shortcaaaaaaake," the waiter came back at me in a sing-song voice.  "And banana bread puddiiiiiiing."  Really, dude.  The big pregnant lady doesn't want dessert.  Get over it and move on. 

Sometimes it's even hard to get a cup of coffee without having normal portion sizes questioned.  About a month or so ago, I was so thrilled to learn of DECAF ESPRESSO!  I am a latte junkie, and nothing makes me happier than a pumpkin spice latte in the fall.  Although the decaf is not quite as good as the real thing, it is certainly a good stand-in until Bitty is born.  I do so love pumpkin spice lattes, but usually a tall (coffee-speak for small) is good enough for me. 

And so, that is what I ordered on a recent trip to Starbucks.  "A tall?  Are you sure you don't want a venti?"  the barista interrogated me about my drink choice. 

Yes, I'm sure.  And I want non-fat milk, too. 

"But you still want whipped cream, right?"

Well, of course.  Don't be silly.

Honesty and Manners

Phew!  It has been a busy couple of weeks!  No time for blogging!  In Virginia, we don't start school until the Tuesday after Labor Day, and the beginning of the year is always a hectic time.  Add to that the fact that I have been out of town the past two weekends (so that's every weekend since we started)--I am definitely ready to get back to a normal schedule this weekend. 

Anyway, I have a feeling that my students will be the source of some amusement for the blog.  Take this story, for example.   

Two days after school began I had to leave an hour early for yet another ultrasound appointment.  I explained to the kids that I was going to a doctor's appointment, which, as usual, had them concerned.  The kids always get worried when their teacher has to go to the doctor.  I assured them that I wasn't sick, the doctor just wanted to take a picture of the baby to make sure she was growing okay.  "What baby?"  they wanted to know.   I replied, "Well, the baby in my belly of course!" 

They were completely flabbergasted that I had a baby in my stomach.  "A baby?  There's a baby in there? You're having a baby?" they asked in disbelief. 

"Why, yes!  Did you think that I was just fat?"  I wanted to know.  A little sheepishly, one of the girls replied, "Well, we would never actually tell you that."  

At least they're polite.

Now How Big Is Baby?

In July, I blogged about those baby size weekly emails that pregnant ladies subscribe to.  Since then, one of the questions that I am asked the most is "So how big is the baby this week?" 

Well, here is the update:  the produce comparisons are going strong, but the references becoming more and more obscure.  Or, I suppose detailed, depending upon how you look at it.  Here are a few of my favorites:

Week 22--Spaghetti Squash
Week 25--Rutabega
Week 26--English Hothouse Cucumber

Week 28--Chinese Cabbage
This is getting hard to visualize.


I have decided to start working on my own comparison chart based upon things that I would like in my tummy.  Mostly things that pregant ladies are deprived of.  Things that I find myself wishing for instead of all the fruits and veggies that Babycenter and The Bump are pushing.  Here's what I've come up with so far:

Week 9:  Your baby is the size of a Spanish Tempranillo grape.

Week 11:  Your baby is the size of a spicy tuna roll.

Week 14:  Your baby is the size of a chocolate lava cupcake with buttercream frosting.

Week 15:  Your baby is the length of a cocktail umbrella.  Preferably situated on the rim of a margarita.

Week 17:  Your baby is the size of a filet mignon.

Week 19:  Your baby is the length of a turkey sub sandwich.

Week 21:  Your baby is as heavy as a bottle of Delirium Tremens.

Suggestions, ladies?  Comment below.  :-)

One of "Those" Moms

Would you put one of those yellow "Baby on Board" magnets on your car?  I have been contemplating this the past few days.  Okay, I'll be honest.  I bought one.  A moment of weakness at Babies R Us.  In that moment, I had mental flashes of those insane highway drivers who weave in and out of traffic and tailgate and erratically merge in front of you when clearly there isn't enough distance between yours and the preceding car.  This magnet would work, I thought.  This magnet will tell people to drive cautiously around me because, I've got a Baby on Board. 

That's what I thought at Babies R Us, but then I came home and skepticism set in.  I used to think these magnets were ridiculously stupid.  As cliche as pocket protectors and cell phone belt clips and BMWs.  What happened to me?  How could this have seemed like a good idea?  Am I destined to become one of "those" moms?  One day it's the Baby on Board magnet, the next I'm wearing a pair of Jordache mom jeans? 

But, I still had a nagging feeling of protectiveness lingering, so I decided that I would do an internet search to look for any statistics as to whether or not the magnets actually helped to promote safe driving.  If they were effective, I would proudly slap mine on the back of my car, abandon any hope of being a "cool" mom, but assured that I have taken every known safeguard to protect my baby.  If not, well, I'll have to find something else to do with that magnet. 

My search turned up nothing but a host of tirades from people angrily ranting about how much they despise these signs.  One person even said he felt more inclined to ram into a vehicle displaying one.  No one had a positive comment about them, unless you count the companies that manufacture them.  All of this made me seriously question my judgement.  I am going to have to be much more cautious if I am to avoid turning into one of "those" moms. 

A few days ago, while watching one of the many Bravo reality shows that Mark and I are obsessed with, a commercial came on and my dear husband remarked "That is exactly how you are going to be as a mom."   It was one of the Toyota Sienna commercials, the one with the diaper bag.  I'm not sure how I should take that.

Incidently, if you haven't gone on YouTube and watched the Sienna Family commercials, you probably should.  They have lots on there that I haven't seen before, and they are hi-larious.  My favorites are Meet the Parents, Swagger Wagon, and Mommy Like Versatility.  Oh, and you should probably watch Daddy Like Bonding Time.  Actually, maybe you should just watch them all. 

I've decided that I'm not going to use my Baby on Board sign on the car.  I'm a little concerned that there may be more negative implications than positive ones.  Like, if I'm on the road with that guy who is one magnet away from ramming his vehicle into mine like we're in a demolition derby.  But, luckily, I've found another use for my sign. 

Mederma Isn't Going to Work on This Scar

I had such a productive week. My classroom is nearly completely set up. I made record time this year. I love productivity. A day that I can get some things crossed off my list is a great day for me. To extend this streak of efficiency, I decided to stop into the Wal-Mart down by my school to pick up a few things.

It was pleasantly quiet inside Wal-Mart on this particular day. Normally, I try to avoid the store. It seems that whenever I'm there, the child-to-adult ratio is about 15:1; and the majority of those children are running through the aisles, playing hide-and-seek, tag, and otherwise screaming like banchees. And their parents are either clueless or pretending to be clueless. It makes me crazy. The teacher in me is compelled to reprimand these little fiends, and if the mood strikes me, I do. "No Running!" "Your mother told you to come over there, and you need to listen." I can't help myself. Especially since probably half of these children are students at my school, so it sort of just seems like an extension to the school day.

But, as I mentioned, this visit was quite the opposite. I calmly perused the aisles in peace. I picked up the items that I came for, and a few things that I didn't. Walking past the women's section, I spotted a display of underware. I have recently grown to have an affinity towards the comfort and coverage of granny panties. These days, when it comes to undergarments, the bigger the better. I stood there, inspecting the color and sizes, when to my right, I heard a voice say "Hi, Mrs. Bittenbender!"

I glanced over to see one of the students from my school. I did not have him in my class, and I am unsure of him name, but I recognized him--I think maybe a fourth or fifth grader; a nice one, the kind that holds the door open for you and says hello in the hallway.

Any teacher can imagine the look on a student's face when they spot you out in the "real world" doing regular stuff. They are so shocked and excited to see you outside of the school environment. Like in disbelief that teachers actually go grocery shopping, or to a restaurant. The younger, the more astonished they are.

The next moment passed quickly, but it was seemingly slow-motion. The nice boy had that familiar excited expression on his face when he first saw me, but then he noticed what I was holding up in my hands--a set of gigantic granny panties. His expression changed from excitement...to surprise...and then utter disgust.

I decided to play it nonchalant. I placed the undies in my basket and said,"Oh, hi. I hope you're having a good summer!" He nodded and then we both spun about face and carried on in opposite directions.

Retrospectively, I probably should exercise more prudence when it comes to shopping for unmentionables. Like, not do it anywhere in the vacinity of my school. But, truly, I am not the victim here. The memory of one of his knocked-up teachers purchasing an enormous pair of underware will surely scar that poor child for life. I can only pray that time will heal the wounds.

Another Obsession

A few weeks ago, at the end of July, I went to Michigan for a few days to attend Sarah's baby shower. Sarah is one of my oldest friends (well, oldest in terms of how LONG we've been friends, not in terms of age), and she is expecting a baby girl in September. Look, here is a picture of us, aren't we cute?

Sarah, 34 weeks & Me, 23 weeks


While I was there, I admitted to Sarah another one of my newfound obsessions--baby leg warmers.

No, not THAT kind of leg warmer... Adorable, charming ones, like these...

Okay, maybe it was less about coming clean and more about trying to convince Sarah that HER baby was going to need this wardrobe staple as well. I was a pusher. A baby leg warmer pusher. Bitty has had four pair since the age, oh, gestationally 17 weeks.

Sarah tried to convince me that these were no less kitschy than the switch flops that I had teased her about last summer, but clearly the two are in completely different leagues.
Baby Leg Warmers--delightful, precious, and functional. They keep the babe's limbs toasty, while you change a diaper without needing to remove a pair of pants.
Switch Flops--matchy matchy, and I think that's all I need to say about that.

Dumb Things I've Read

My extra-curricular reading as of late has revolved around the topics of (surprise!) pregnancy and babies. I read pregnant lady books. I read baby development books. I read parenting books. I read pregnancy and baby magazines, blogs, websites, etc. etc. etc. Lots of reading, and mostly because this is our first baby and I really don't know what the hell I am doing. And, being the obsessive and anal planner that I am, I need to be prepared.

Right now, I am reading several books on sleep training so that I can compare approaches and decide which I want to follow. Just in case our baby has sleep issues down the road. Like, ten months from now down the road. As I said, I need to be prepared.

I've read some good things, but I've also read some really dumb things. Here are a few of my favorites:

1. These are the two most common cravings among pregnant women:
33% crave chocolate
20% crave sweets of some sort
Well, luckily for us pregnant ladies, Your Pregnancy, Week by Week has a recommendation for combating these sweet cravings. The authors write, "When you crave something sweet, eat a cherry tomato or some broccoli pieces to help curb your sweet tooth." Really? Seriously? A tomato and some broccoli are supposed to take my mind off of a giant hot fudge brownie sundae topped with Oreos and whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles? Riiiiight. If this has ever worked for you, please let me know. Dumb.

2. And that reminds me, there is the issue of weight distribution during pregnancy. Here is a typical breakdown for a woman who gains 30 pounds during pregnancy:
7.5 lbs. is baby
1.5 lbs. is placenta
4 lbs. in increased fluid volume, and another
4 lbs. in increased blood volume
And then, two pounds each can be attributed to the mother's uterus, big boobs, and the amniotic fluid, for a total of 6 pounds.

The rest of the weight? Oh, the books account for that as maternal stores; also known as, all the fat you've packed on to your hips and ass. I cringe every time I read the words maternal stores. No need to sugar coat it (pun intended), just label those extra lbs. for what they are. Cottage Cheese. Dumb Dumb.

3. There is no shortage of unnecessary PC-ness found in the baby genre. Take Dr. Sears, for example, who coined the term "high needs baby." Ech, this one drives me crazy, too. To me, this is of the same caliber as referring to an old person as "chronologically gifted," and incompetence as "unique proficience." Why not just keep it literal? Fussy baby! High-maintenance baby! I know that Dr. Sears has a devoted following, especially in regard to this issue, and I don't intend to offend anyone; my husband, for one, is convinced that if Bitty's temperment resembles that of her mother's she will surely be a fussy, demanding little creature. If this is the case, you will never hear me refer to her as high needs. High-maintenance, yes. Screaming, blithering la creatura, maybe. But not a high needs baby. That's just dumb.

4. A website I recently encountered listed some interesting facts about babies that are likely unknown to most people. This one caught my eye: Babies and toddlers are, pound for pound, stronger than oxen. Oxen? Who uses THAT word anymore? I think the only place I've heard anyone even utter the word oxen was on an episode of "Little House on the Prarie." Is that really the best comparison that they could come up with? Now think about this amazing baby-strength fact and look at this picture and tell me that isn't a weird visual. If this is truly the case, then shouldn't babies be "pulling their own weight," so to speak, around the house a bit more? Dumb.

5. I guess this one might not be characterized as "dumb," but it is kind of weird to think about. At 19 weeks gestation, the female fetus has already produced 6 million eggs in her ovaries, though by the time she is born she will only have about 4 million. My first thought was, "Wow, that's a lot of eggs." And secondly, "what happens to the other 2 million in utero?" Seriously though, where did they go? Are they in my belly? Weird. I relayed this interesting piece of info to Mark, who immediately covered his ears insisting that he did NOT want to hear about the ovaries and eggs of his unborn daughter. Fair enough.

How Big Is Baby?

Like most pregnant ladies, I subscribe to those weekly pregnancy tracker emails. I think I'm getting about four per week, which is probably overkill; The Bump, Fit Pregnancy, Baby Center, Planning Family, and there may even be another one. Among advertisements, links to FAQ's, and discussion streams, each email gives a brief summary about what is happening with the baby's development that week, usually including a length and weight estimate and a size similarity.

I've noticed that the writers of these size analogies are all strangely produce-centric. Week 8, my baby was apparently the size of a raspberry. Week 12, she had grown to resemble a plum, and by week 16, had the likeness of an avocado. Then she got a little fancy in week 19 and morphed into an heirloom tomato. This week, which is 21, I have either a banana or carrot sprouting in my belly, depending upon which email you read.

Maybe it's the hormones that get me worked up, but I am getting seriously annoyed with these comparisons. Irrationally angry. Why are these people so obsessed with fruits and vegetables? Are they being bribed by the agricultural industry to subliminally suggest produce cravings in pregnant women? Well, I'll have you know that it is NOT working. I do not want a green olive (week 9), a kumquat (week 10), a fig (week 11), or a lemon (week 14). Nor do I have a hankering for a naval orange (week 15), a turnip (week 17), a sweet potato (week 18), OR a cantaloupe (week 20).

I'm just hoping for the day I get an email that says "Your baby is the size of a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon." Now that's an analogy I can get excited about.

Why, Yes, I Would Like Sprinkles With That

I've been seeing a neonatologist, which is basically a baby specialist, about every two to three weeks since the end of my first trimester. Women who have or are at risk of having a high-risk or complicated pregnancy may be referred to one of these specialists. For example, women carrying multiples usually see one of these doctors. TMI ALERT! THE FOLLOWING SENTENCE MAY BE TMI FOR SOME READERS!

In my own case, I'm being monitored to make sure that my cervix does not shorten prematurely, which could cause stillbirth or premature labor. The good news for me is that everything is going great and normal and without a problem.

I am always a little amused when I am scheduling my next appointment, though. The receptionist always asks..."Single or Double?" I feel like I'm at the ice cream parlor ordering a cone. One day, I thought I'd make a joke of this and said, "Single, with sprinkles, please." She didn't get it. Fail.