headaches and dreams and help

This zero ability to blog is really sad.

I am…really tired. My hormones are changing again…it happens every few months. I guess my body is trying to eventually ovulate? TMI, probably. I had to fend off a migraine on Saturday…thankfully I’m learning how to catch and knock them out while they are still a headache behind my eye…but that’s the warning flag. The pounding knife sensation in that location.

Don’t ask me why but 500mg of Tylenol and a plain Coke is what works. It’s kind of disgusting, but it gets the job done. And it has to be a plain Coca-Cola. Nothing else works. It must have some kind of secret ingredient because it is not just the caffeine…coffee doesn’t help me when it comes to migraines.

I can’t even believe I have to deal with migraines, period.

Oh! Random question. If you can remember, if you had dreams about having a baby before you got pregnant and in the dream, the baby ended up being a boy or a girl, did real life match the dream once you actually got pregnant and had your child? I’ve had two such dreams so far and each time the baby’s sex was the same….

Also? Huge favor?

Kellan has been entered into (yet another) photo contest. It’s a one week voting window, so I won’t have to bother you for very long…but it would be awesome of he won! The ultimate prize is getting on the cover of Parents magazine. That’d be neat. And I would have a reaaalllly long thank you card list…of you all voted.

Here is the link to his picture.

And just so you know, he’s definitely the cutest one. I already checked the competition.

happy easter!

Okay…so…I’m sitting here with this chicken basket that my mom just handed to me and you’re saying I need it…but I’m not exactly sure why? Tell me again how this Easter egg hunt thing works?

I search for eggs that have been hidden and I put them where? In a basket?

Ohhhhhh! In my chicken basket!

(There are no actual egg hunting photos. Only a video. That I’ve yet to view)

Hey, look! An egg!

So, okay. I found an egg and I put it into my basket. What next….?

Wait…You say I get to keep it?! You’re joking right? Just pullin my diaper pins?….

No? You’re serious? It’s mine? This is shaping up to be the best day ever!

No worries, ‘rents. *I* can take it from here. I know exactly what to do. It’s time to shake-a shake-a shake-a the egg-a egg-a egg-a!

Thanks, Barnes and Noble! We just so happened to be in your store and heard an announcement about story time and an egg hunt! And kudos to your team for giving Kellan a few extra eggs since he only found a few before they were gone AND for getting something special for him afterwards since he was the only kid who didn’t win a raffle prize. This was his first official egg hunt ever and he had a blast!

Also? Good thing you had baskets available to purchase…we obviously were not prepared…as evidenced by the tag still hanging off the handle.

the grocery store takes on a whole new meaning with a kid

There are many, many, mannnnnny things that now make sense to me pre-child that are now crystal clear.

Like when I’m all, “Nobody touch me for five minutes! Including you, animals! I’m touched out. I’ve reached my maximum touchability. No more touching!”

Or how I told Tim the other day that the reason I think I’m so tired is because I am no longer able to zone out, Earth to Jessica style. I’m always ON. On on on on on. On.

The other day at the grocery store, I was pretty much running up and down the aisles, trying to get everything on my list. Kellan was ready to go and though he wasn’t crying, the urgency in his vocalizations and his throwing everything – toys, snacks, sippy cup, apple we had yet to purchase – out of the cart was enough to signal to me that the happy time meter was just about up.

Now, I always have to make a list when I buy groceries. Well, technically, this is nothing new. I’ve always made a list…who can remember a weeks worth of food plus weird random ingredients for a new recipe and household items?

If you’re all, Uh, ME. I can,” then you A: probably don’t have kids and/or B: may want to call somebody who tracks that kind of talent. You’d be a hot commodity.

Anyhow. Pre-Kellan, I would usually have the mental wherewithal to remember a few things not on the list that I had forgotten to write down.

Now?

If it isn’t on the list, it isn’t happening.

My brain is only partially paying attention to what I’m supposed to be grabbing off the shelf and mostly trying to make sure I pick up what Kellan decides should be on the ground, feed him a snack, oh, here, have some water…no? Well, here’s your toy…look! Balloon! You’re right!…No, we cannot grab glass jars from the shelf…wait. I forgot baby yogurt…Yes! A balloon again!….Here, have another cracker…please don’t throw the cracker on the ground…where did your toy go…why is your shirt wet?…Yes! Balloon!…I don’t know why the store puts balloons everywhere, either…what are we waving at?…oh! hiiiii giant stuffed animal on top of the dairy coolers (??)…what am I looking for again?….Your water? Ok, here it is….Where was I?…Right! Where is the yogurt…

And while all of that was happening, I overheard a mom who was wrangling her two kids say, “Just wait! Stop. Let me think for a minute.”

Before Kellan? I would have thought she was coo-coo.

Now?…I totally underst….where is your sock?…here, try playing with this….hi, balloon!…where is that damn yogurt?….

a day in the life…

First? Happy 13 months, Kellan!!

Second?…..This:

Scene: Tim reading to Kellan on the bedroom floor, me on the bed, supervising.

Tim: A cow says moo. A sheep ::yawn:: A sheep says ::yaaaawwwwn:: A sheep says baa. Three ::yaaaaaawwwwwnnnnn::

Me: Can you not read without yawning?!?

Tim: Um, no. You know that. It’s a psychological problem.

Well, ok then.

****

Me: Kellan needs pants and socks and a sweater.

Tim: Did you lay them out?

Me: No. Just pick something. I have to go to the bathroom.

The next sounds I hear:

Drawer open, close.

Drawer open, close.

Tim, yelling from Kellan’s room while I am *trying* to pee in peace: Where are his pants?

Me, yelling back from the bathroom with the door open because I don’t even bother closing it anymore: Bottom right drawer…..

A minute goes by….

Tim: What sweater?

Me: Just pick one! Hell, have Kellan pick one!

I wash my hands, leave the bathroom, and find them downstairs, playing.

Tim looks at me, smiling, proud of himself for successfully dressing Kellan, and then…he sees my face.

He takes a second look. Sweater. Check. Pants. Check…and then it hits him.

He realizes why my face looks slightly perplexed.

Tim: I forgot the socks.

it’s the giant diarrhea poo that gets you

We have had a ridiculous amount of sickness in our house this year.

And I don’t like it.

I’m not used to being sick or getting sick or dealing with SICK.

Tim pretty much has to have a 104 degree fever before I relent and become sympathetic. I know. My sympathy bone isn’t very strong. It’s a work in progress.

When it comes to Kellan being sick, I’m always sympathetic and patient and all the things a mom should be (snot rag, barf catcher, all night nurse). It’s kind of disgusting to be able to add being both thrown up on and pooped on to my list of life achievements, but there it is.

The thing that took me by surprise the most is that when those things happen, I’m not grossed out. It’s like that queasy, gag reflex, freak out reaction gets put into a closet in my brain and I just go to work and do whatever needs to be done. And here’s the kicker – I do it in a completely calm state. I don’t even think about the actual reality that is warm barf running down my arms.

I guess that’s what happens when you become a mom. I would end that sentence with a question mark but there really is no point in doing so. That IS what happens. At least in my case.

Since the winter started, we (as in Kellan) have had probably three colds, two (possibly three…one kind of stopped and re-started with a few days respite in between) stomach bugs, a random virus that came with a fever and then turned into a cold, and herpangina. And probably a few other things I can’t remember.

O.M.G.

I don’t think I’ve had that much sickness in my entire life.

The h-e-double hockey sticks?!

Suffice all of this sickness to say, I’ve learned how to decontaminate. And how to get at least a few hours of sleep with a kid-turned-snot-factory.

Our routine for colds goes something like this:

Constant-on cool mist humidifier in the room where he sleeps.

Roll up towels to elevate the top part of the bed to allow gravity to assist in the snot drainage.

Bulb syringe snot evacuation and then squirt saline spray in his nose throughout the day.

At night, Tim turns the shower on as hot as it will go and sits in the bathroom with Kellan for fifteen or so minutes, with a towel blocking the crack under the door to keep it as steamy as possible. Then he takes a bath in the steamed room to give him extra steam time.

Post bath it’s more bulb syringe time (we tried Nose Frida…didn’t work as well/Kellan freaked out). Saline spray. Baby Vicks on his feet and then cover with socks. Keep the humidifier going and if he seems like he is in pain, Tylenol.

I really think colds are the worst. When Kellan can’t breathe, he wakes up AT ALL HOURS. If he has a stomach bug, at least he sleeps….until his stomach starts hurting and he wakes up crying and then takes the most giant, smelly diarrhea poo that no diaper will ever – ever – possibly contain, so much so that the poo has defied gravity and traveled all the way up to his neck in the span of the five seconds it takes you to realize what is happening and pick him up. So, now, we both require a complete outfit change and a bedding swap out and by the time everything is all said and done, everyone is wide awake and probably needs a shower. At 2am.

Oy.

baby model

EVERYONE…and I mean EVERY.ONE. keeps telling me…us…that Kellan should model or be in commercials.

Complete strangers will legit stop me in the grocery store or mall or wherever we happen to be to tell me this. Or to tell me how cute he is or how awesome his hair is or whatever.

And I’d brush it off if this did not happen every. single. time. we go anywhere.

Really? Is he *that* cute or do I just shop when all the people who really love babies are out? I mean, of course *I* think he’s the most adorable baby ever, but I’m also his mother…so that’s a given.

Tim and I have talked about it…but I feel weird seeking out an agent or agency or whatever/whoever it is you’re supposed to contact. It feels…I don’t know. Just….weird. I know zero about the process.

He has no issues with cameras…thanks to the probably million pictures we have taken of him to date…so I’m not really concerned with his ability to “perform,” per se…and at the same time, what are the odds, really, that anyone would really be interested? 0.00001%, probably. That’s how the business works, right?

I figure if it is meant to be, it will happen? Right? Or is that not how it works?

What are your thoughts? Experience with this, anyone?

Don’t worry. I’m not one of those parents who plan on, um, galavanting all over the Internet town, throwing Kellan in everyone’s face all, “Just look at this kid! He’s perfect!”

I’m just thinking out loud, is all.

I realize I haven’t posted many pictures of Kellan m recently, so…

eye-ron

***I would just like to say I noticed that I have almost 300 people who have subscribed to this tiny blog. Really?? Wow! Are you guys actually reading this or am I junk mail? I hope I’m not junk mail. I certainly don’t feel like junk mail…I digress.***

Really, iron. I just say “eye ron” in my head because Tim and I have this thing where that’s what we say when someone has to iron a piece of clothing. As in: “Will you please ‘eye ron’ my shirt?”

And for the record, it’s usually me asking because A: I am the worst ironer ever (like, ever. My shirts usually have more permanent-until-it’s-washed wrinkles after I iron. It usually looked better beforehand with the soft wrinkles I was trying to remove) and B: Tim has been ironing his clothes since kindergarten (for serious) and he has 13 years on me, so he’s obviously the expert.

Who messes with perfection? Amiright?!

Anyhow, that’s a REALLY long winded way of explaining why the title is eye-ron when I really mean iron.

And by iron I really wanted to talk about iron the mineral, not iron the cloth smoothing device I’ve yet to master.

SO.

Iron. The mineral. The thing we need so we aren’t anemic. The thing Kellan is apparently low on.

He was checked at his nine month appointment and was 9.9. He should be at 10.5-12. They told us to do iron drops (poly-vi-sol). Those made him ridiculously constipated. They told us to do every other day. Kellan got sick multiple times (stomach bugs and herpangina and who knows what else. I’ve lost track) and would go a week at a time without eating (save breast feeding), on multiple occasions.

The kid refuses meat of all varieties. We finally got him to try shredded BBQ chicken that I made in the crockpot the other day. It was a huge success, even though he only ate a tiny bit.

We give him green smoothies (spinach). We try to pair citrus foods with iron rich foods to help iron absorption. And we limit yogurt to one meal a day, since calcium hinders iron absorption.

(You’re saying “eye-ron” in your head now, aren’t you? It’s catchy, no?)

I’m telling you all of this because when we went back for his 12 month appointment, his levels dropped to 9.0.

Now? Daily iron supplements and as much iron rich foods as possible. He will be checked again at his 15 month appointment and if they haven’t improved or if they drop again? Blood draws to check for other potential issues.

I’m pretty sure it’s just low iron due to him not getting enough in his diet. However, I’m also slightly perplexed. In my (admittedly limited) research, it seems like many breastfed babies have this low iron issue in the 6-12 month range – after their stored iron is depleted.

One reason I found for low iron levels in young babies was to protect their gut from E. coli, since the iron in breast milk is absorbed at a rate around 49% (though it isn’t much iron) and the iron is only available to baby via and not bacteria like E. coli…here is the info, plus more, about all that.

Anyway, Tim and I are both struggling with this. The low iron. The supplements. The reason his iron is low in the first place. Part of our brain feels like there IS a reason, biologically, this is happening. Maybe not related to protecting him from intestinal bacteria but something. Why else would so many breastfed babies turn up with low iron? I mean, I read a theory about how we used to sleep on the ground and get iron absorbed brought the dirt we ate as babies way back in the day because everyone knows babies put everything in their mouths.

But what about the places with snow on the ground ten months out of the year? What dirt were those babies eating? I’m just saying.

Anyhow, theories? Observations? Experience with this? We *are* giving Kellan the iron supplement but we are also struggling with the *why* — it just seems like there is a reason…that this low iron isn’t necessarily a bad thing but instead a protective measure (or something) and will correct itself in due time, as nature intended.

I could be way off, here, which is why I’m asking you guys if you have had similar issues with your kids or have some kind of insight as to WHY.

trust the gut

I really have so much to say…except I never have time to sit down at the computer to write anything. Well, it’s not time, per se, it’s the small child who is going through a helluva developmental spurt and is clingy as all get out. It’s wonder week 55, at your service.

The child reaches and cries for me even when I am less than two feet away and – AND – his father has him, if that tells you anything.

Some moments of some (read: a lot) days I feel like this clinginess will be the end of my sanity. Then, I have to remind myself that Kellan isn’t doing this on purpose or with malice and intent to drive his mother crazy. He’s doing it because he needs me. He needs to feel secure and comforted and loved.

He still is not walking, though he’s getting closer and closer to doing so every day. Just last night when he was sitting in Tim’s lap, he stood up on his own and started taking a few solo steps forward.

That?

Huge.

He has gone from being absolutely refusing to take a step by himself anywhere to willingly letting go of a piece of furniture to take one or two “close my eyes and scrunch up my face in preparation for impact” steps to me.

And now, he has been deciding to just start walking somewhere, completely unprompted.

It’s happening soon, this walking. I just know it. And at 27 pounds and 32 inches long, my back is ready for it, I can assure you.

The independence that comes with the waking, though, is what is partially causing the clingy behavior. He’s really beginning to realize that he is not me and I am not him, but instead he is his own, separate person.

Begin operation random “check in” nursing sessions in between playing and crying like something terrible just happened if I am not literally touching my mommy.

It’s a thing, people. A real and challenging thing, this mental development.

I’ve been doing what seems and feels right, for me and for Kellan. I’m planning on allowing him to self wean versus me putting a time limit on it, with a “no more by x date” and a hard stop in mind. We still co-sleep and probably will for awhile. I’m not really setting limits on that, either. We’ll do it until we don’t need to anymore – whenever that happens to be.

I know there are other moms who want or need their child in their crib in a separate room. And moms who need to stop breast feeding. And that’s fine. I’m of the mind that whatever works and is best for you and your family? Do it.

The arrangement we have with Kellan is what works for us and regardless of what any expert or doctor or anyone else says, I’m listening to my mommy instinct and following that.

Tim told me the other day that if I say something doesn’t seem right or we should do X because I’m having reservations (like removing something in Kellan’s environment that doesn’t seem dangerous but my gut says it is) or whatever “it” happens to be that my mommy instinct is throwing warning flags up about, he doesn’t question it at all. He said that it has been right 99% of the time, no matter how strange my request or reservation or suggestion may be.

I cannot even explain it, the automatic mommy instinct. It just is.

Even though I may get twinges of, “I wish Kellan did that”- like sleeping through he night or not needing to nurse to sleep – I know that the ways to make either of those things happen will require some form of sleep training or another…and my mommy gut tells me that’s not right for Kellan. I know that he will eventually fall asleep on his own consistently, sans nursing, and sleep in his own bed, in his own room. I’m just allowing him to do it on his own timeline instead of mine. That’s what is right for us. If your method is different than mine? No big deal. No judgement.

If you happen to be another mom who is doing the same kind of thing that I’m doing?

I just wanted to let you know that you’re not alone. I realize *this* way is a bit more challenging at times. However, I know it will be worth it in the end.

the things we do

You know, I was never *really* sure if I would actually, literally, stop what I was doing instantaneously – INSTANTANEOUSLY – if Kellan needed me.

Then, one day not so long ago, I left Kellan on the floor in the family room to go to the bathroom. All of a sudden, I hear a strange sound and then…silence…and then….the panic cry.

You moms know the panic cry.

I ran out of the bathroom before A: I was finished and B: my pants were on.

He was fine, by the way, as were my pants and legs, after a thorough washing.

Also? Tim has witnessed me throw food – haphazardly…no, maniacally -that I was juuust about to eat because, mid-bite, an emergency started unfolding with Kellan (are you choking????) and my hand automatically let go of the fork/spoon/food.

Where did it land?

I have no idea but I’m positive I saw the pea come out of Kellan’s mouth.

Then, the other day I was literally on my hands and knees in the grocery store to dig out the last box of his favorite crackers, probably mooning everyone within sight.

You must understand.

He only likes THESE SPECIFIC CRACKERS.

Apparently, I’m not below getting down and reaching into the depths of the shelf for the last box of crackers.

I see why, now, kids think their moms are embarrassing. Look at me, running out of the bathroom sans pants, jumping up and throwing food everywhere whilst contorting myself into yogic positions to barely reach your most favorite crackers in the very, very, very back of the bottom shelf.

(Dear Grocery Store: Your shelves are entirely too deep. My arms are abnormally long and *I* could barely grab those crackers. Imagine if I was of average height?)

Newsflash: We’re doing all these crazy things for you, kid. I’m honestly not a fan of peeing on my own leg, either.

happy birthday!

One year ago today we were blessed with this amazing little boy. Life has never been the same since…and it also has never been more fulfilling, joyful, or complete.

Our perfect miracle has brought so much life and love to our family over this past year. I could never imagine my world any other way.

Happy Birthday, Kellan!

With all the love my heart can hold, plus so much more.

Mommy