Dillierama

Walker

I can't seem to get used to this yet:

Click here if you can't see the video

Milestones

Alex can write his name!

 

I admit, I did have to tell him the letters to write, but he wrote them all by himself!

Max has some exciting milestones as well.  John officially declared him a Toddler!  In our house, John has decided that he has to verify all claims I make about our children as he believes I am prone to exaggeration.  Max's primary mode of transportation now is bipedal.  He does prefer to have a hand on something to steady himself, but he is capable of at least 10 unassisted, unsupported steps. So, that means, HE CAN WALK!!!

Also, since the tubes were put in, I believe we're already seeing more language development.  Max now says the follwoing words:

Mama
Dada
Da (for dog)
Ababa (for bottle)
Bobbat (for boobie)
Ass (for Alex, which is unfortunate)
Ball (His favorite word and his favorite toy)

What the hell was that??

So if you follow me on Facebook, you'll know that Max got sick on Monday.  Nothing too scary, just a low fever.  But the fever got worse on Tuesday (104!) so I took him in to the KidsCare (after hours clinic) and the doctor seemed really concerned that he had this high fever with no other symptoms.  Apparently the more symptoms you have, the less scary a temp is?  Anyhow, they sent him to the hospital next door and had them draw blood (had to poke his arm and wrist), then he came back to the KidsCare where they put a catheder in him (Awful. It was AWFUL watching that while holding my screaming baby down. AWFUL) and took a urine sample.  The thought was that he could have a blood infection or UTI. 

The preliminary test results we got back on Tuesday night suggested he did not have a UTI, but may have a bacterial blood infection (MY GOD MY GOD MY GOD!), so they gave him an antibiotic injection in his leg (he was none too pleased about getting poked YET AGAIN) and we were told to come back in 24 hours.

Well yesterday he seemed fine, no fever, with the exception of waking up from an afternoon nap at 102, which came right down with Motrin.  By the time I took him back to the clinic, he was fine.  The 24 hour culture they'd done on his blood was negative, dr said it was an 80% chance it will stay negative. Phew.  He did the second antibiotic injection, just in case, and I was told to call back tomorrow night (tonight) to check on the 48 hour results of the blood culture. If it is still negative, there's a 90% chance it will stay negative and the doctor won't give him the third shot.

So, on one hand I'm glad it's not sepsis, because MY GOD!  But on the other, I put my child through all kinds of torture and had him shot up with more powerful antibiotics for...what now?  A possible virus.

Anyhow, so last night Max was hard to put to bed, which isn't unusual. This boy doesn't really like going to bed.  I finally got him down around 11, but just as I was going to bed myself he woke up screaming. Screaming and freaking the hell right out.  I picked him up from his crib and he wouldn't look at me, he was just screaming and wiggling around and he didn't want to be held, but he didn't want to be put down and he looked either terrified or in horrible pain, I just couldn't tell. 

After a while of this, maybe 10 min or so, I yelled to John to come out and help because I was freaked out and thinking he was having a seizure or something.  We both tried to comfort him to no avail.  It didn't really seem seizure-ish, other than the fact that he didn't seem to be acknowledging John or I at all.  We started to talk about taking him to the ER (and by "talk" I mean, me saying "I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO! SHOULD WE GO TO THE ER? MYGODMYGODMYGOD!") 

We agreed we'd take him in, but when I stood up to hand the screaming baby to John so I could get dressed to take him, I froze.  Just froze standing there. The ER was at Alta View. The hospital that almost killed him the day after he was born.  I'd be taking him to the regular ER where they had lots and lots of scary medications they could easily overdose him on.  Suddenly the ER seemd more dangerous to me than keeping him at home. I became convinced that if we took him to the ER, they would surely kill him.  No way. No way was I taking him.  John said he would and went to get dressed.  But when he came back, he was nervous because he knew they'd ask him all kinds of questions about the most recent trips to the doctor and what he'd been injected with and he was sure he wouldn't know how to answer them.  By then I was of no help because I was having some sort of mental/emotional breakdown about my poor baby is either terrified or in pain or seizing and I'm irrationally scared of taking him to the hospital because of something a completely different department of the hospital had done to him over a year ago.

He was breathing fine.  He wasn't bleeding.  He didn't seem to be in any immediate danger.  We decided to wait it out.  And it lasted, oh, maybe 45 min.  It was awful.  But once it was over, he was back to being normal. A little grouchy, but even that's normal for him at night.  I got him to sleep finally close to 2 and I slept in his room with him.  He did fine the rest of the night.

So, what the HELL was that?  Was it related to his virus?  Teething? His ear tubes?  Was it a seizure?  Was it Night Terrors? I tell you, this child is knocking days, weeks, off my life.  I'm excited to be able to say all is well with Max and start writing more about my Awesome Alex, who, sadly, doesn't get nearly the attention he needs or deserves what with his brother hogging the spotlight by being freaking SICK ALL THE TIME!

New! With extra gas!

Him:  BRRRRRRRRRRRT

Me:  "Honey, you STINK!"

Him:  "I know, I don't know what's going on"

Me:  "It's probably my fault. I must have accidentally bought the beans with extra gas for the chili"

Him:  "Why did you buy differnt beans? I like the regular beans you use for chili"

Me:  "Honey, I didn't buy different beans. I'm kidding.  They don't have beans 'New, now with extra gas!' anyway"

Him:  "oh"

Wipeout

Max is desperately trying to learn how to walk. This makes for a lot of boo boos due to the fact that we have hardwood floors.  So I've been putting him in his playpen and it has proven to be a great solution. He goes wild in there, basically bouncing off the sides and having a ball.

So, if you like to laugh at babies falling down, as I do, this video is pretty entertaining. 

If you can't see the video here, go to: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RuKYzItW2F4

Not mine

A few days ago, I found a grey hair on my sofa.  I thought to myself, why would there be a grey hair on my sofa?  We'd had a family get together a few days earlier and I figured the hair must have belonged to one of our guests.  Who had attended that had grey hair? I wondered.  I remembered Grandma Judy sitting in the exact spot where I'd found the hair and she did indeed have grey hair.  Surely it must be hers! I concluded.  Completely ignoring the fact that the hair in question was curly and about 6 inches long.  Grandma Judy's hair is maybe, oh, 2 inches long. 

Yesterday in the car with John on the way to the hospital for Max's ear tube surgery, the air conditioning was blowing and I noticed a silver hair floating in the air near my face.  Strange, I thought, that a grey hair was floating around in the car.  Stranger still that it appeared to be attached to me somehow.  I batted at it with my hand, trying to get the offending hair away from me.  It would not go away.  I caught it in my fingers and pulled at it. OUCH!  Holy crap! That hair, it's attached to me! IT'S ATTACHED TO ME!!!

I plucked the hair out and stared at it.  Still not cluing in that I'd just yanked a grey hair out of my own head. First I considered another, much more likely scenario.  That someone else's stray hair had somehow gotten tangled into my own hair.  Never mind that it was the same length as mine.  Never mind that it was curly like mine. 

I spent a good long time staring at that hair while we drove.  It looked so foreign.  After a thorough inspection last night, I couldn't find any more grey hairs, so until I see an actual grey hair growing out of my own head, I continue to be in denial that those two hairs belonged to me. 

Happy Father's Day!

To my dad:

  

My step dad Mark:

 

My dad-in-law Joe (This is an artists rendering because he does not like pictures of him on the internet):

 

And, of course, the father of my children:

Father's Day 2009 from Jamie Dillier on Vimeo.

Breastfeeding: A history

 I've always had a love/hate relationship with nursing.  With Alex it was hard.  We got a late start because they'd taken him away to stay in the nursery because of his fast breathing, and despite working with a lactation consultant during every feeding for three days before we took him home from the hospital, he never did get a good latch and my nipples basically fell off, no I'm not exaggerating, they FELL OFF! At which point I started pumping and bottle feeding the expressed milk until they healed enough that I didn't cry every time he attempted to latch.

Basically though, Alex wasn't really into it.  When he was four months old I went back to work full time, pumped every 2 hours for 30 minutes in a supply closet at my office but still had to send formula with him to my mother's house because my milk supply suffered, likely due to the stress of being a new mom working a full time job outside the home.  I gave up when Alex was 9 months old because after an entire day of pumping I only could produce 2 oz. FOR THE ENTIRE DAY!  Alex couldn't have cared less.  He didn't seem to miss the boobs one bit.

When I was pregnant with Max, I worried about whether or not I would or should nurse him.  I didn't exactly have a good experience with Alex, and I didn't want the first nine months of my last baby's life to be frought with worry, anxiety, frustration and pain like Alex's were.  Especially since I could easily formula feed him.  I'm not one of those "FORMULA IS EVIL!" breastfeeders.  I wanted to breastfeed because I felt it was a unique experience that I'd only be able to do at this time of my life. 

So, Max was born, and I'd decided I'd give it a month and if it didn't work out, we'd quit, give him a bottle and everyone would be happy.  After he was born and cleaned up, they handed him to me, I tentatively put him to my breast and the kid latched on like a pro!  Nursed on both sides for about 20 minutes each!  After nine months Alex NEVER nursed as well as Max did on his first attempt.  They had to take Max away for fast breathing, just like Alex and I worried he'd forget how to do it.  Then they almost killed him with an overdose of epidural medicine (WHICH SHOULD NOT HAVE EVEN BEEN AVAILABLE!!!! Grrrr...clearly I'm NOT over that yet, actually I probably never will be) and he spent the next week of his life hooked up to machines and monitors and breathing tubes and drugged up on anti seizure medications and the option to nurse him was taken completely off the table until he recovered.

I pumped every two hours like clockwork. I was determined to have a good hearty milk supply for him when he was ready for it, even if I had to give it to him with a bottle.  As it turned out, I overdid it a bit because by the time he was allowed to breastfeed again, I nearly drowned him with my letdown.  With the help of lactation consultants, I learned how to help him handle my overproduction and soon, my boobs learned just how much to produce and my nipples stopped acting like firehoses and Max discovered his first love:  Boobies.

Nursing Max has been a completely different experience than nursing Alex.  It feels natural and normal and comfortable for both of us.  But now, Max is one year old, and that means it's time for him to wean and I'm feeling very conflicted about it.  On one hand, it is simply time.  He's eating regular food now, he can have cow's milk now, there is no added nutritional benefit to breastfeeding him.  It would certainly be nice to have my own body all to myself again.  To be able to have a glass of wine whenever I like, to be able to take cold medicine... But, on the other hand, he still seems very much like my baby.  When I nurse him, and he's curled up on my lap, head resting in the bend of my arm, face snuggled into me, I never want to wean him.  I want this feeling forever.  The feeling of being his comfort. 

I feel like breastfeeding Max is such a huge part of being his mother that I'm not ready to give it up just yet.  I know that sounds silly, I know I'll still be his mother even without nursing him, I certainly didn't feel any difference in the realtionship with Alex when he weaned. I'm not really sure why this is so emotionally hard for me, but it is.  There are people who say to go ahead and keep on nursing him.  Nurse him until he's 2 or 3, until he can pull up my shirt and take my boob out of my bra himself.  And while I respect those people who do that, I'm sorry, but ew.  You do what you're comfortable with, by all means, but I really don't think that long term nursing is for me.  Like I said, it's time to wean, I'm just sad about it.

I've decided I'll continue nursing him through the end of June.  He's got an allergy test and his Tympanostomy tube surgery next week and I feel like he'll need to comfort nurse after those events.  But after that, come July 1st, I hope to be able to have him off the boobs and on cow's milk from a bottle and/or sippy cup.

It all boils down to the fact that my baby, my little Maximus, is growing up. This is just the first of many things I'll miss.  

 

Max!

Max 1 year old from Jamie Dillier on Vimeo.

One year ago, Max was born!

I've learned a lot in the last year because of Max.

I've learned that I can survive natural childbirth

I've learned what my personal hell looks like (When Max almost died)

I've learned that family and friends rallying around me can give me strength I never knew I had

I've learned that a person can actually survive on 3 hours of sleep per night for an entire year. That person might go crazy, but it is possible.

I've learned that peanuts are EVIL!

I've learned that my little family, John, Alex and Max, are the sum total of what I need to make me happy.  Nothing more, nothing less. 

Happy birthday my one year old boy!  I love you more than I could ever tell you.

Happy Birthday Honey!

Last year I was a wreck. I was one day past my due date and very, VERY miserable.  I was prone to spontaneously breaking down in sobs every 15 minutes or so.  I barely acknowledged John's birthday because I couldn't get my mind off the fact that there was still a baby living in my body and I wanted it out like three weeks ago. I didn't want to throw him a party because I could be having that baby ANY SECOND NOW!  In fact, I didn't have the baby until noon the next day.

This year will be better.  John and Max (and Grandma Judy) had a party on Sunday and opened all their presents.  I'm even prepared with a father's day gift for John this year.  John's taken the day off and I've arranged to have the neighbor's eldest daughter (she's 12) come watch the boys for a couple of hours this afternoon so I can take John to the movies (he chose Star Trek, so I totally scored and get to see a movie I want to see again too! mmmm Sylar-Spock). 

My husband is awesome and I wish there was a way for me to say that without sounding 13, but I, like, TOTALLY love him and stuff!

Happy birthday Honey!