sputnik; three months in orbit

Sam is now three months old; a quarter of a year! When you’re eating and sleeping, time can really fly by.

Poor Sam, he’s definitely the Second Child. This month I really began comparing him to Lydia and her Awesomeness of Sleeping Through The Night At TEN WEEKS OLD. She started one night at ten weeks and never looked back. Sleeps through hurricanes, that one.

Sam is a trickster and likes to mess with my mind. The ten week mark came. It went. Sam was still popping up promptly at 2:00 a.m. for that bleary-eyed feeding. I began to wonder if I’ll find myself up at 2:00 a.m. until he goes off to college.

Into his 13th week he slept through the night in the sense that he didn’t require a feeding. A bit of cuddling was needed but, hey! a step in the right direction. The next night, however, he decided cuddling just doesn’t cut it and back to 2:00 a.m. we went.

A week later, Sam did his trick again, but only for a night. It was not until his 16th week he started sleeping consistently through the night, and that’s only been eight or nine days in a row now, so let’s not jinx this too much yet. Even now I wonder: will I get a full night’s sleep tonight??

Another sibling difference is in the paci department. Lydia was (is) a paci kinda girl. We’ve whittled her down to naps and nighttime, but God help us when she was a bit younger and we found ourselves out and about and the Paci Cannot Be Found.

Sam is incredibly fond of his left thumb, a habit I’m trying vainly to break him of. It’s one thing to wean him off a paci in a few years, but you can’t tell him to put his thumb “night-night” when he wakes up in the morning. I will admit, though, it does help during the night. He can’t lose his thumb like Lydia did her paci. I have found myself on my hands and knees in the dead of night many a time hunting for that little treasure, her piercing cries cutting through the dark.

His smiles have broken out in full force this month. He coos away at me in the morning while I do my multitude of things in the morning before we all haul off to our respective places. Sam seems to be a morning person like Lydia (you just can’t help but compare the two all the time, it seems) and he prefers to be where the people are. That seems to suit Lydia just fine, who was positively thrilled when Sam had some tummy time on the floor with her.

The past few days the weather has decided to bless us with a slight decrease in humidity — it’s September and football is approaching. Sam is spiffed up in his Auburn finest and looking a bit like his Uncle Jason. It took me a while to be able to get his picture without his sister in the frame.

dramatic taco

Lydia is really turning into my little drama queen. She is realizing that she can ‘pretend’ in order to get a specific reaction out of others, especially me.

I first realized this about a month or so ago when we were watching cartoons on a Saturday morning. It was The Backyardigans (darn it, now the song is in my head), and it was the first time Lydia had seen the show. Suddenly, she sat down on the floor, fell back with her head hitting the hardwood, staring straight up at the ceiling.

Well, I freaked. My God, I thought she was having a seizure. I got over to her quick as a flash to find her fine and smiling at me. I’m all, “Do you need some water? Milk? Want me to hold you?” It was only later that day we figured out her game when she did the same thing four or five times at her Grandma’s house, grinning slightly.

This week she’s picked up a new Drama Moment: pretending to pout when we get to the bottom of the steps before climbing in the car to go to school. As soon as we’re off that last step, she turns toward the corner, hangs her head and shoulders and waits for me to notice. Once I come tickle her or pick her up, she’s fine, but if I waited in the car for her, I’d be sitting there until the cows came home.

Once we get to school, she has another Drama Moment with one of her classmates. They apparently growl back and forth at each other all day while I’m not around, but at that first part of the day Colin (which she pronounces more like ‘Cognac’) comes running up to her, hands up like a dinosaur: “Rawwwwwrrrr!”

Lydia turns into me, melting into tears, though we all know she’ll be growling back at him in five minutes’ time. She just needs to try out her newfound drama skills.

Poor Colin just looks confused at the reaction. Girls: you won’t figure them out at two; you won’t figure them out at sixteen.

eater of crayons

We visited my sister down in Auburn yesterday. Lydia’s cousin, Elizabeth, has these excellent crayons that are mostly encased in plastic. Lydia was unamused with the unbreakable nature of the crayons and spent five minutes unsuccessfully trying to take them apart.

normalcy

Sam and I have colds and are feeling a bit under the weather. Lydia is wandering around the house wearing her “cleaning gloves” and refusing to take them off even to eat her cheese. Then there’s Renton, recently drunk from a vet visit, rolling around on the floor and trying unsuccessfully to jump onto the couch.

All of this is very loud.

I am just thankful it is a Saturday.

sputnik; two months in orbit

Today Sam turns two months old, but he looks about the size of Lydia at four months old. During this past month we have found out that Sam likes to EAT. Holy moly, he can put it away. Even now I can hear him beginning to wake up behind me, smacking his lips in anticipation of his next meal. He has already doubled his birth weight — he did that a few weeks ago. His next goal is to surpass Lydia’s weight.

Due to all the growing, he’s quickly busting out of a lot of clothes. Just yesterday it took me three tries to get an outfit on him; the first two wouldn’t go over his head. Anything smaller than 3 months just isn’t going to cut it, and the 3 month sleepers won’t last long. We’ll be shopping in 6Ts before Christmas.

Sam has been more awake this month but, as with Lydia, he isn’t sure what to do with himself when he’s awake but not necessarily hungry, so he defaults to fussy. This time, The Husband and I are from the Been There Done That Club and early in the month we preemptively ditched the swaddling for footie jammies at nighttime, which has resulted in much less screaming.

Don’t get me wrong, there have been some wonderful gassy episodes, but they don’t seem to last as long as Lydia’s did (*knock on wood*). Sam’s gassy times will consist of ten to fifteen minutes of crying, followed by a fart and more whimpering into sleep, then he’ll start up with some crying again to repeat the cycle, which goes for about an hour or two.

Last week Sam started attending daycare with his sister. Everyone there was excited to finally have him. So far Sam seems fine with it — he especially loves all the fantastic swings they have. I usually find him conked out in one when I come to pick him up.

Lydia is loving him more and more. When she hears him fuss she goes a-running, she hands him his paci and his blanket whether he needs it or not, and if we’re about to go home from a visit with someone she becomes quite insistent that Sam must be put in his carseat RIGHT NOW and she’d rather do it herself if we would let her.

Sam isn’t going to care so much about the cats or even rely on The Husband and I to entertain him when he’s older. He’s only going to have eyes for Lydia.

the one where the hospital tries to kill me

You would think I would have copious amounts of time to sit about and write blog posts while being on maternity leave, but I have managed to keep myself busy with other parts of life. There was also the most horrible sickness I think I’ve ever had, a foul thing known as mastitis, which had me convinced one night that we were all Vikings and the books were levitating off of the shelves.

Nothing like a little delirium to start off your month.

I had mentioned that the hospital tried to kill me while I was there with Sam. It did almost seem like deliberate negligence, especially after my first experience with them when Lydia was born. While in the hospital with Lydia, I was very impressed with, of all things, their hospital food. It was tasty, filling, and above all, they took extra care to avoid my many food allergy pitfalls. With every meal there was a printed ticket that listed every food item I had received, the caloric content (not that I wanted to know those pancakes were 800 calories), my name, room number, and a list of my food allergies I had verbally told them when I was admitted. The entire time I was there I saw nary a nut.

When Sam arrived and I got set up in my room, I was looking forward to all the feasts they would bring again. Oh boy! I now pronounce us Ready To Eat!

The next morning I’m met with a resigned food lady by the name of Rhonda, who has come bearing me breakfast. Rhonda has brought a big plate of EGGS, toast sitting in the egg juice, sliced up CANTALOUPE, a banana, and a NUT BRAN MUFFIN. No spiffy ticket to be seen. No smile, no good morning. Here is your Plate of Death; enjoy.

Being nice and optimistic, I attributed the mistake to a delay in the transfer of information and hoped for better tidings in the future. At lunch, Rhonda showed up again with a mediocre plate of some version of Mystery Meat and a nutty dessert. No spiffy ticket. She gives me the option of choosing tomorrow’s breakfast — EGGS! or cereal, muffin and banana — I go with the non-lethal choice and mention the reasons for doing so. Dinner brought more Mystery Meat sans ticket.

A non-ticketed breakfast came with a slight detail that ol’ Rhonda failed to mention — the muffin was covered with nuts. Come on, lady. When my regular nurse came in I reluctantly mentioned to her that I needed something else to eat as a quarter cup of cereal and an unripe banana just wasn’t going to cut it, and did I mention that I CAN’T EAT NUTS?? This was the morning after The Laughing Incident and I was already feeling a bit beaten up.

Rhonda saunters back in and asks with a sweet voice that reminds me a bit of Professor Umbridge from Harry Potter, “You don’t like my breakfast?”

“I have a nut allergy,” I deadpan. I’m in the process of being put on a gurney to go be wheeled to some test. She asks what I would like and I go for pancakes with bacon, which I finally get to dive into around 10:30 that morning.

Later that day I’m in the room with my sister and Ken when Professor Umbridge Rhonda saunters in with lunch. It some meaty pile of I-don’t-know-what with a dessert topped with nuts. NUTS! We all have a giggle while I poke at the few good tidbits, joking that when Rhonda comes back to get the plate she will ask why I didn’t eat her dessert.

“Do you want me to leave the dessert for you?” Rhonda asks sweetly as she picks up my food tray an hour later. You’re kidding me, right? Mental or sadistic, this one.

I knew better than to look at Ken or Cathy; it was all we could do to keep from busting into laughter. I had to swallow many potential sarcastic replies and just say, “No, thank you.” Laughter had about killed me the day before and I wasn’t eager to test it out again so soon.

The weekend came and Rhonda does not torture people on the weekends. There was a different food lady who, though nicer, still had not seemed to have gotten the memo. There were more eggs and nuts tossed at me. I had long since given up on educating them and was relying on family and friends to toss food at me.

On Sunday morning I actually met the Weekend Food Lady. Our paths had not crossed before since I had either been in the shower or the NICU whenever she showed up with the egg and nut assortment. She asked how I enjoyed the food. “Well, truthfully,” I replied, “I haven’t been able to eat much of it, since I have some food allergies. I’ve tried to list them out but the information seems to get lost.”

“You know, I saw that on this ticket,” she replied, gesturing to some piece of paper she had, but shrugged, as if to say she just didn’t know what to do with that kind of information.

Oh ho ho really.

Well, I guess if I ate some nuts and went into anaphylactic shock, I’m in the right place! Nothing like a hospital to cure what ails you.

sputnik; one month in orbit

And just like that, Sam is one month old. Time flies triple fast when you have two kids nipping for your attention!

This first month, caring for Sam himself has been relatively easy. Now that Lydia has been putting us through our paces for the past few years, newborns are a piece of cake. Sam doesn’t roll, crawl, or run away from us; he doesn’t require specific foods that he is craving at that very second; no entertainment needed other than cuddling; and no backtalking. All Mr. Samwise needs is milk at three to four hour intervals, a regular change of diapers, and a snuggly spot to sleep.

The New Thing ™ to learn has been the coordination of two children when leaving the house or navigating some place other than the home. It’s not just Lydia’s well-worn routine that we fall into when preparing to leave — diapers, extra paci, juice cup, blanket, child, LEAVE — there’s a blend of routines we try to fit in together . . . and sometimes the two-year-old is impatient. Now it’s more like: feed Sam, change Sam, is Lydia dressed? okay, pump, make bottle for Sam, Lydia has pineapple juice on her shirt, change Lydia, gather diapers, juice cup, emergency paci, blanket, get Sam in carseat, Sam’s mad — feed Sam again?, feed Sam, where’s my shoes? Lydia ran off with my shoes, get shoes, bags in car, kids in car, GO!

And then we’re worn out before we get to where we’re going. Whew!

Thankfully, most of our outings have involved just Sam and myself — at least when we’re leaving the house. We head out each afternoon to pick up Lydia from daycare, and we’ve conformed that into an art. Sam has a lot of admirers in Lydia’s class when I tote him in with me to get the girlie. They all come a-running to see Sam, pulling down on his carseat carrier to get a better look at him and give commentary.

“He sleeping!”

“He paci!”

“He night-night!”

“Sham! Sham! Mommy!” Lydia hollers when she sees us. Then in the car we go to head home where Lydia will start up a movie (lately, The Iron Giant), and Sam eats again or I start dinner, depending on the fussiness level.

Though their birthdays didn’t end up being on the same day (praise the Lord), they are still only three weeks apart, and Lydia celebrated her second birthday last weekend. Many people were there to celebrate with her and meet Mr. Sam as well. His cousin Elizabeth felt he would look more distinguished with some Potatohead glasses.

Something tells me this year will go by quite fast. Just one year ago, Sam was a twinkle in his Daddy’s eye and Lydia just spoke her first word — “Uh-oh.” Now Sam’s dozing in my arms (one-handed typing FTW) and Lydia is chanting, “Spongbob, Spongbob!” from the living room. Thanks for that, Uncle Kevin.

two-year-old taco

Miss Lydia turns two today! Oh, what all can change in another year! Despite the cute outfit I had saved for her, she was not ready to face the day this morning. Even the promise of cupcakes later in the day could not bring her to smile.

One year ago, Lydia was yet to walk or to speak. When I look back at the pictures, I’m amazed by how much she still looks “baby-like.”

Now Lydia has mastered walking — and running — quite well and is learning something new in the language department every day. Her newest language skill is putting together small sentences, like, “No no no no NO MORE, Daddy!” She also gets a kick out of phrasing the word ‘No’ very sweetly, starting low then raising the pitch in a cute fashion as if she were asking a question. I have to admit, it does make it easier on the ears.

As with any toddler, she is notoriously picky in the food department. She still has her love of tomato-based pasta dishes and certain fruits that I probably rely on too much, but anything else is not a sure thing. Surprisingly, the food group I have the most problem with is meats. I will have much more luck with green beans, corn, and broccoli than a hot dog, hamburger, or any type of chicken. There’s probably two or three actual dinners that I cook for The Husband and I that she will eat as well. I wonder when this will change?

Then there’s her hair. Ohh, how her hair has grown! I do wish she would let me fix it up more than she would; it is wonderful to run your hands through. Most days now she comes home from daycare with her hair done up in some form or fashion — she trusts someone at daycare enough to mess with her hair. One afternoon she came home with two French braids in her hair; now that takes patience! Ohh, how it curled when we had to undo them.

I think I have an artist on my hands. Lydia is all about anything to do with paints or crayons — “colors,” as she calls it. I’m finding I have an OCD streak when it comes to crayons that I didn’t know I carried, and I cringe when crayons and chalk get broken or the tips get worn down. This will be a cross I’ll just have to bear, for Lydia will use her colors any way she wants.

Just in time for Lydia’s birthday, Sam arrived. Whether they will be very close or not, I just cannot know. Lydia will check on him when he begins to fuss (sometimes she beats me to him) and she sounds excited when she sees him and says his name — “Sham! Sham!” she exclaims. Though she still doesn’t like seeing her daddy holding Sam, she is content enough with it if she can get equally close to him.

Now we begin another year with Lydia, who I’m sure will change as many times again as she has during the past year. It has been breathtaking to see the world through her eyes and I am ready for more.

the launch of Sputnik, part IV (orbit)

We have been home with young Samuel for about a week and a half now and things are slowly beginning to find a new normal in our new household of four plus two hungry cats.

On Sunday afternoon Lydia arrived a few hours after we did, and here came The Moment I had most anticipated and slightly dreaded ever since I had seen those two pink lines way back in October. Oh, what would she think?? It turned out, Lydia wasn’t going to care one way or another until SOMEBODY put Shrek in the DVD player. “Shrek! Shrek! Shrek!” she demanded.

Once Shrek was on and she settled down on the couch was she finally willing to look over and see what I had. “A baby!” she exclaimed, and she pointed at Sam. “Baby!”

“This is your baby brother, Sam,” I explained.

“Sam,” she repeated while nodding. “Baby Sam.” She gently (for a toddler) rubbed his head. “He night-night!” And then she turned back to Shrek.

She seems very content with Sam being here. If she finds his pacifier or blanket, she wants to get it to him; if she hears him make any sounds, especially any crying, she wants to check on him; she is totally cool with me holding and snuggling him . . .

Her Daddy, however, is a different story. She has been a Daddy’s Girl since time began, and it’s harder for her to share him. She cries when he holds Sam the same way she cries when she sees The Husband touching me. It’s a wonder she has a brother at all, actually. She will let The Husband hold Sam as long as he is holding her as well, so I feel that is a step in the right direction.

So far, Sam has been a pretty content baby. If he isn’t eating, he is sleeping, so while Lydia’s in daycare and The Husband is at work I find myself having these strange occurrences of FREE TIME that are almost mind-blowing. I’m doing whatever dishes and laundry I can scrounge up and trying to find any reason that I need to go somewhere but without needing to spend much money. Last week when The Husband was still off work we both were beset by the FREE TIME bug. He worked outside a lot and our front yard has never looked so good in all the years we’ve lived here! He even vacuumed the couch.

Sam’s two-week doctor visit was yesterday and he’s starting to bulk up. He’s gained nine ounces over the past week for a total weight of 6 pounds 4 ounces. Huzzah!

I am also on the mend, slowly but surely. The past few days I’ve started to test the waters on driving and I feel pretty comfortable with it. I don’t think I’d attempt Highway 280 at 5:00 p.m. yet but I’m going to pick up The Girlie from daycare this afternoon, Sam in tow.

So here we are. I have my sprightly little girl and a healthy growing son. We’re flying along through life and now can set our sights on the next event on the horizon: Lydia’s second birthday (and The Husband’s 29th!). The last few weeks have been eventful, to say the least, and I am looking forward to being in the everyday with my family, cats and all.

a summary of Sputnik

I have been writing a lot, it’s just all been on the kids’ site. You can go over there to check out the story of Samuel’s arrival, from the countdown to the liftoff and the ascent. There will be an orbit as well.

Not only have I been getting Sam used to the camera, we also had Breanna Fogg — who took such awesome shots of Lydia last year — to come by and get portraits of both children. They’re wonderful, of course.

Soon I shall tell you a side tale of the food people at Brookwood and how they delighted in trying to kill me.