A friend with a kid Oliver's age asked at what point you stop referring to the age in months and just say, "almost two." When asked Oliver's age, I still mostly reply "22 months," which I guess is starting to sound a little silly, especially to non-parents. Give me another month, though, and the response will be that his second birthday is next month. Given that I still clearly remember the days of counting his age in days and then weeks, counting his age in years is just one of the many transitions that happen as your little baby grows up.
As I now firmly fit in the "hugely pregnant" category, (but don't ever say that to my face) the summer heat has taken its toll on me. But it hasn't slowed down Oliver too much. His favorite place to be is outside. I don't know if it's the age, or the fact that the heat (especially in the afternoon) sometimes forces us to stay indoors, (or at least forces me to stay indoors, and then, by default, Oliver) but the whining I listen to because he can't go outside can reach intolerable levels. Luckily Chris's business travel has ended and he's home more afternoons than not and they'll play together until dinner time. I either make dinner or relax and put my feet up (literally), all within the comforts of central AC.
Since this is Oliver's first summer where he's truly playing outside, (he couldn't really crawl well until the latter half of last summer, so outdoor time was spent either in the stroller or lounging in the grass) we're suddenly acquiring toys designated for outdoor fun. He likes pulling his wagon and pushing and riding on his carts. He's completely outgrown the ride-on toys, but until we find him a tricycle, he's been happily making do. He likes tossing balls around or coloring the sidewalk with chalk. If he sees you with the hose, he wants you to fill his watering can, which he immediately dumps on the ground. (He hasn't caught on to the purpose of watering can - for watering plants.) Then he wants you to refill it immediately so he can dump it again. We have a few buckets and shovels we bring with us to the park, because he's just as happy digging in the sand around the play structures as he is playing on them. If you fill those buckets with water, he'll contently scoop water from one bucket to the next or onto the ground. After a friend said she lets her son "paint" the sidewalk with water, Chris picked up a couple of cheap brushes from the hardware store, and sure enough, "painting" has been a hit for Oliver too.
Oliver got to try painting with real paints after I bought him finger paints. Summer is a great time for such a messy activity because we strapped him into his booster seat in just his diaper, and when he was finished, I plopped him directly in the bathtub and Chris went outside to hose down the booster seat.
His favorite art activity is still drawing with markers or these special paint brush pens (just giant felt-tip markers with extra watery ink). He initially was really into the crayons, but I think the markers give him more immediate gratification since he can touch them to a piece of paper and get a vibrant splash of color with less effort than the crayons. Seriously. I'm happy he's getting into an activity that he can do sitting at a table indoors, (finally gives us a rainy day option) but he needs a lot more supervision. We never know when he's going to try to draw on himself or the furniture.
All this outdoor playtime and drawing (on himself) means a bath nearly every night. Oliver had been taking baths literally once every week or even two until his hair grew long enough by this spring that trying to wipe him down after meal time didn't suffice anymore. Now I can't imagine putting a kid to bed covered in sweat, chalk, dirt and an application of sunblock or two. Luckily he's past his fear/distaste for the bath.
Teeth brushing is finally become a bit more tolerable. He wailed as hard as he did at the dentist when I tried brushing his teeth with the new electric toothbrush, and I considered it good progress when he only cried instead of screamed bloody murder. He still cries a little when I brush his teeth, but he otherwise reaches for the toothbrush any time he has a chance to climb up on the stool by the bathroom sink.
I'm trying to savor the cuteness for now, since I know the phase of screaming "No!" to everything could literally be days away, but Oliver has the habit of answering yes (sounds like "yeah") to a lot. It makes him sound very agreeable. Actually, he interjects with "yes" even when not asked a question. I'm still having one-sided conversations with him, but he routinely says "yes" after each statement I make. It's like he's really following the conversation and it appears like he does understand most of what we say to him. Chris tried testing him by purposefully lobbing a bunch of questions at Oliver he knew he'd answer yes to, which he did. Then he asked him something he knew he wouldn't want to do and funny enough, but Oliver answered very matter-of-factly, no.
Oliver still has a typical toddler appetite, which means he'll eat a little of this and that, but not enough in total you think could possible sustain an active child, and what he "likes" and "dislikes" can be unpredictable. But he does love fruit, muffins and any bread-based or chocolately sweets, like cake or brownies. As for peanut butter, where does he fall on the creamy versus chunky divide? I have a sad suspicion he's going to be a chunky peanut butter kid.
When Oliver zeroes in on food he'd like to eat, he's proven to be able to beg better than a Labrador Retriever. (And he's got those big brown eyes to boot.) At a Fourth of July barbecue, he begged a homemade brownie literally out of the mouth of a friend. My friend was about to take a second bite, but couldn't resist Oliver's out-stretched arms and pleading looks, and suddenly forked the brownie over. What a softie! When Oliver wasn't having any success begging from anyone else, (I encouraged everyone to tell him no since we're trying to teach Oliver that what's on other people's plates isn't for him to eat) he made a beeline back to my friend, who would have probably caved on another brownie if I didn't finally step in and steer Oliver away and offer him a distraction.
Kiera, Matteo, Oliver and Soren
Friday, July 29, 2011
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Sharing a birthday
Although my first ultrasound gave me a due date of October 3, the initial estimate was September 29, which is significant to Chris and me because that's Oliver's birthday. Now we're looking at the unlikely, but totally possible, scenario of having two kids born on the same day (two years apart). Chris thinks our kids sharing a birthday would be the worst thing in the world, while I think it would be great. I showed him an article I happened to read recently about a family of three who all have the same birthday. I thought it was really special, but given Chris's reaction, I'm glad I wasn't born on September 12, or maybe Chris would have never wanted to marry me.
I only share a birthday with one person close to me. I've always thought it was neat, and though I'm not normally big into my birthday, I do find it fun when we talk about "our birthday." We went out this past year, just the two of us, to celebrate and were both disappointed that the bouncer checking our IDs didn't notice that it was our birthday, let alone that we have the same birthday.
But she's a friend, not an immediate relative, and we met well past the age of goody bags, roller skating and sleepover parties, and choosing the flavor of cake we wanted, and all the other things that marked birthdays of our youth. So I'm on the lookout for sibling groups born on the same day so I can ask them, did you love it or hate it?
The only siblings I'm friends with who share a birthday are twins, so I started with them. One laughed when I asked her what she thought, because of course she knew no differently. Shared birthday parties and even identical presents in identical wrapping (okay, that was a little annoying) were just part of the deal with being a twin. But they always got separate cakes of their choosing, which actually meant a birthday pie for one of them. One thing she enjoys about her birthday as an adult is not having to open presents at the same time as her sister. Because of all those identical presents, the two quickly caught on that if one opened a gift before the other, the surprise was ruined, so they agreed to count to three before tearing into a present.
At least the twins' parents got it right with making separate cakes. Another friend of mine is two years and two days younger than her sister. Until she was in grade school, her mom only made one cake, which her sister, being the older, more dominate one, inevitably ended up choosing. I can imagine if my brother and I were born on the same day, like my friend's mom, my mom would have tried to get away with combining as much as possible for a shared birthday, but I don't think even she would have gone as far as one cake.
Of all the stories I've heard about shared or nearly-shared birthdays, I'm still not convinced it would be a tragic situation for my kids. I do think it would be more work as a parent to accommodate different wishes and tastes, and maybe not even possible in all circumstances to do, say, separate parties, but I still think it would be very special - at least in the long run. As a kid, sharing a birthday might be a pain, but long after the excitement and magic of birthdays wears off, you'll still have that bond with someone.
I predict my kids will have birthdays no more than one week apart, so whether they share a birthday or not, Chris and I will still face the challenge of making each feel special in a month crowded with milestones. (Their Uncle Scott's birthday is September 9, dad's is September 12, parent's anniversary is September 13 and then the month ends with Oliver's birthday on September 29.) But you can probably guess what I'm thinking right now. What's special about being a week apart when you can have the same birthday?
I only share a birthday with one person close to me. I've always thought it was neat, and though I'm not normally big into my birthday, I do find it fun when we talk about "our birthday." We went out this past year, just the two of us, to celebrate and were both disappointed that the bouncer checking our IDs didn't notice that it was our birthday, let alone that we have the same birthday.
But she's a friend, not an immediate relative, and we met well past the age of goody bags, roller skating and sleepover parties, and choosing the flavor of cake we wanted, and all the other things that marked birthdays of our youth. So I'm on the lookout for sibling groups born on the same day so I can ask them, did you love it or hate it?
The only siblings I'm friends with who share a birthday are twins, so I started with them. One laughed when I asked her what she thought, because of course she knew no differently. Shared birthday parties and even identical presents in identical wrapping (okay, that was a little annoying) were just part of the deal with being a twin. But they always got separate cakes of their choosing, which actually meant a birthday pie for one of them. One thing she enjoys about her birthday as an adult is not having to open presents at the same time as her sister. Because of all those identical presents, the two quickly caught on that if one opened a gift before the other, the surprise was ruined, so they agreed to count to three before tearing into a present.
At least the twins' parents got it right with making separate cakes. Another friend of mine is two years and two days younger than her sister. Until she was in grade school, her mom only made one cake, which her sister, being the older, more dominate one, inevitably ended up choosing. I can imagine if my brother and I were born on the same day, like my friend's mom, my mom would have tried to get away with combining as much as possible for a shared birthday, but I don't think even she would have gone as far as one cake.
Of all the stories I've heard about shared or nearly-shared birthdays, I'm still not convinced it would be a tragic situation for my kids. I do think it would be more work as a parent to accommodate different wishes and tastes, and maybe not even possible in all circumstances to do, say, separate parties, but I still think it would be very special - at least in the long run. As a kid, sharing a birthday might be a pain, but long after the excitement and magic of birthdays wears off, you'll still have that bond with someone.
I predict my kids will have birthdays no more than one week apart, so whether they share a birthday or not, Chris and I will still face the challenge of making each feel special in a month crowded with milestones. (Their Uncle Scott's birthday is September 9, dad's is September 12, parent's anniversary is September 13 and then the month ends with Oliver's birthday on September 29.) But you can probably guess what I'm thinking right now. What's special about being a week apart when you can have the same birthday?
Sunday, July 24, 2011
3-hour glucose test
Rob Lowe is lit-er-ly amazing. (Parks and Rec reference there, for those who don't watch the show.) The first of the three hours of sitting in my OB's office couldn't have gone by any slower, but once I settled into Lowe's autobiography, Stories I Only Tell My Friends, I managed to forget about hunger, thirst and boredom. The friend who lent me the book had told me, "Even if you don't feel like reading, just stare at his picture on the back cover." I turned the book over. It was indeed a flattering picture.
The good news is that I passed the test. The tough part is that my doctor recommended I not gain much more weight. She's not worried that I'll have a huge baby, like the concern would be for a patient with gestational diabetes, but the fact is, the more the weight gain, the bigger the baby.
Sigh...easier said than done. I still feel traumatized from the experience of eight weeks of nausea and my survival instinct now equates hunger with nausea. That combined with the fact that I spend my days in close proximity to the pantry with a toddler who eats all the time, makes the obstacles of maintaining a healthy diet different than those I dealt with when I was pregnant with Oliver. I'm trying not to let myself be overwhelmed and am instead focusing on what I can manage.
The good news is that I passed the test. The tough part is that my doctor recommended I not gain much more weight. She's not worried that I'll have a huge baby, like the concern would be for a patient with gestational diabetes, but the fact is, the more the weight gain, the bigger the baby.
Sigh...easier said than done. I still feel traumatized from the experience of eight weeks of nausea and my survival instinct now equates hunger with nausea. That combined with the fact that I spend my days in close proximity to the pantry with a toddler who eats all the time, makes the obstacles of maintaining a healthy diet different than those I dealt with when I was pregnant with Oliver. I'm trying not to let myself be overwhelmed and am instead focusing on what I can manage.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
First pediatric dentist appointment
Although it is now recommended that children first see a dentist by age one, I had always wondered how a dentist could possibly clean the teeth of an uncompliant toddler. Very quickly, very carefully and with a lot of patience for screaming I discovered.
When I filled out the form detailing Oliver's dental history and came upon the question asking if there was any other information that would be valuable for the dentist to know, I wrote, "Oliver will probably scream the entire visit."
The pediatric dentist had Oliver sit on my lap facing me with his legs straddling my waist. She put a towel over her lap and then had Oliver lay down with his head on her lap and she hunched over him and worked on his teeth. He screamed bloody murder and I had to hold the poor little guy's arms down, but she was able to examine his mouth, count his teeth, (he's up to 10!) and then even clean them. I was relieved she was able to scrub away the stains that had prompted me to finally take him for his first appointment. She finished with an application of fluoride and the whole process was over with in minutes. Oliver spent as much time calming down from the whole interaction as he did actually having his teeth cleaned.
Other than the part of having his teeth cleaned, Oliver liked everything about his visit to the dentist. He got to ride an elevator and run up and down a hallway on the way to her office and the waiting area was a toddler's dream hang-out area with its colorful kid-sized tables, chairs and arm chairs, shelves full of books and toys and a wall-size chalkboard. Oliver pointed at the chalkboard and said, "Oh, oh" and almost couldn't believe it when I said he coud draw on it. His only previous experience drawing with chalk has been outdoors on the sidewalk. He started to cry when we went back to the exam room, but there was another bucket of toys waiting for him and before we left, he got to pick a toy out of the stash in the Radio Flyer wagon stowed behind the receptionist's desk. He wanted to look at and handle each kind of toy, but finally settled on a car.
Oliver's visit to the dentist was as humbling for me as it was reaffirming. Chris and I hadn't bothered putting Oliver on our dental plan, because we originally thought dental insurance for a baby was pointless. (And this is from someone who believes whole-heartily in preventative care.) But how quickly they sprout a bunch of teeth and grow up into little kids.
It was nice to hear that some of the habits I've been a stickler about enforcing (no juice, milk only at meal times, getting rid of the bottle) actually make a difference. (I came clean that Oliver still uses a pacifier, but thankfully didn't receive a lecture about that.) But I learned that despite thinking I was doing the whole teeth-brushing thing properly with Oliver, I could be doing it better. I had been trying to walk that fine line between letting Oliver "brush" his own teeth (really all he does is suck on the toothbrush) and helping him afterwards, but without pushing too hard for fear I'd create a bad association with brushing. The result was improper brushing that allowed grayish/brown staining to form along the top portion of his teeth (main culprit was probably fruit, especially berries). A really thin layer of clear, gum-like tissue had made it difficult for the bristles to properly brush near the gum line. In addition to recommending I bite the bullet and buy Oliver a high-quality electric toothbrush because it's more efficient, she showed me how to hold Oliver so I could brush his teeth better. Let's just say that Oliver has not taken willingly or quietly to the more thorough brushing routine, but I'm hoping, hoping he adjusts soon.
When I filled out the form detailing Oliver's dental history and came upon the question asking if there was any other information that would be valuable for the dentist to know, I wrote, "Oliver will probably scream the entire visit."
The pediatric dentist had Oliver sit on my lap facing me with his legs straddling my waist. She put a towel over her lap and then had Oliver lay down with his head on her lap and she hunched over him and worked on his teeth. He screamed bloody murder and I had to hold the poor little guy's arms down, but she was able to examine his mouth, count his teeth, (he's up to 10!) and then even clean them. I was relieved she was able to scrub away the stains that had prompted me to finally take him for his first appointment. She finished with an application of fluoride and the whole process was over with in minutes. Oliver spent as much time calming down from the whole interaction as he did actually having his teeth cleaned.
Other than the part of having his teeth cleaned, Oliver liked everything about his visit to the dentist. He got to ride an elevator and run up and down a hallway on the way to her office and the waiting area was a toddler's dream hang-out area with its colorful kid-sized tables, chairs and arm chairs, shelves full of books and toys and a wall-size chalkboard. Oliver pointed at the chalkboard and said, "Oh, oh" and almost couldn't believe it when I said he coud draw on it. His only previous experience drawing with chalk has been outdoors on the sidewalk. He started to cry when we went back to the exam room, but there was another bucket of toys waiting for him and before we left, he got to pick a toy out of the stash in the Radio Flyer wagon stowed behind the receptionist's desk. He wanted to look at and handle each kind of toy, but finally settled on a car.
Oliver's visit to the dentist was as humbling for me as it was reaffirming. Chris and I hadn't bothered putting Oliver on our dental plan, because we originally thought dental insurance for a baby was pointless. (And this is from someone who believes whole-heartily in preventative care.) But how quickly they sprout a bunch of teeth and grow up into little kids.
It was nice to hear that some of the habits I've been a stickler about enforcing (no juice, milk only at meal times, getting rid of the bottle) actually make a difference. (I came clean that Oliver still uses a pacifier, but thankfully didn't receive a lecture about that.) But I learned that despite thinking I was doing the whole teeth-brushing thing properly with Oliver, I could be doing it better. I had been trying to walk that fine line between letting Oliver "brush" his own teeth (really all he does is suck on the toothbrush) and helping him afterwards, but without pushing too hard for fear I'd create a bad association with brushing. The result was improper brushing that allowed grayish/brown staining to form along the top portion of his teeth (main culprit was probably fruit, especially berries). A really thin layer of clear, gum-like tissue had made it difficult for the bristles to properly brush near the gum line. In addition to recommending I bite the bullet and buy Oliver a high-quality electric toothbrush because it's more efficient, she showed me how to hold Oliver so I could brush his teeth better. Let's just say that Oliver has not taken willingly or quietly to the more thorough brushing routine, but I'm hoping, hoping he adjusts soon.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Bumpy Road Through Pregnancy
I'd been working on an entry about how not fun this pregnancy has been for me, but it was becoming too long and whiny. So maybe I'll spare you, my reader, and just save it and promise myself I'll reread it before deciding whether to try to get pregnant again. Although it's frustrating that I still can't stay up past 8:00 p.m. and it's embarrassing how rapidly my physical fitness has declined, the good news is that I'm physically feeling a lot better. Not awesome, but better. The worst of it - eight weeks of nausea, fatigue and food aversions - has passed. I'm over a bad cold, and the rhinitis, while not gone, is maneagable, especially in comparison to the state I was in before I kicked the nasal spray addiction. I still struggle with the feeling that I'm not being the best mom to Oliver when I have so little energy, but with the end of Chris's hectic work travel less than two months away, we'll manage.
While I was trying to document the last couple of months, I came across an article on babble.com, "Bumpy Road," written by a woman whose experience being prengant sounds a lot like mine. Why write when someone else has written it so much better, right? Besides, she's a lot funnier.
http://www.babble.com/pregnancy/pregnancy-health/bumpy-road-pregnancy-changes-everything/
While I was trying to document the last couple of months, I came across an article on babble.com, "Bumpy Road," written by a woman whose experience being prengant sounds a lot like mine. Why write when someone else has written it so much better, right? Besides, she's a lot funnier.
http://www.babble.com/pregnancy/pregnancy-health/bumpy-road-pregnancy-changes-everything/
Saturday, July 9, 2011
TOLAC discussion
Because of the type of incision made during c-sections performed a generation ago, for women of my mom's generation, it was "once a c-section, always a c-section." I still encounter this assumption among older women (and men) who learn that I had a c-section with Oliver. They want to know my c-section date instead of my due date. I end up with a lot of explaining to do.
Thanks to a change in the way a c-section is performed, which automatically makes a future vaginal labor a safer and thus more realistic possibility, (the incision is now made horizontally across the uterus instead of vertically, which would likely cause a uterine rupture during a future trial of labor) as well as a better understanding in the medical community of the risks and benefits of vaginal births after cesareans, vaginal births for women who've had a previous c-section are now a supported option. (Not all doctors want to or are allowed to perform them, but that's a different matter.) Thus, many people nowadays have heard the term VBAC, (vaginal birth after cesarean) but the more accurate term is TOLAC(trial of labor after cesarean).
Even though my former OB estimated my chances at a successful VBAC as 50/50, when I became pregnant with my second child, it was really important to me to find an OB who was allowed to perform VBACs and would discuss my delivery options with me. (This was the case with my former OB, but I moved and needed to find someone closer to my new home.) I wanted to make the best decision for myself, even if that decision was to be a planned, repeat c-section.
It was a frustrating process in the beginning, as I had to start with a list of in-network providers from my insurance company and literally start calling around. The midwife I see for preventative care was clearly out, as was virtually every midwife, so luckily I was never interested in a home birth or birth center delivery. My only real option was under the care of a obstetrician, but I discovered that many simply will not (or cannot) consider TOLACs, no matter what my medical history. (Based on a variety of factors, some women are better "candidates" for a successful VBAC than others.)
I eventually found a new OB, whose mentor during residency happened to be my former OB, and whose practice is housed in the hospital less than two miles from my house where I plan to deliver. Even though I still had no idea whether I actually wanted to pursue a TOLAC, at least my more limited options going into this second pregnancy remained open.
Some people (again, older generation) don't understand why having the choice is such a big deal. Why don't people listen to doctors anymore and just do what they say, I was asked? I do trust doctors and rely on their medical advice that's based on years of education and training. But in medicine, even with hard data, there's not always a right or wrong answer. There are different risks and benefits associated with every course of action and patients need to take the information from their doctors and decide what's best for them. Sometimes the decision is simple, like deciding between a prevenative measure versus a wait-and-see approach for a non-life-treatening or non-debilitating condition, while others, like cancer treatments, could make patients decide between a comfortable end of life or a risky treatment with little chance of success.
In my case, I am listening to my doctor. She would have told me if she thought there were too many risks associated with a TOLAC. Instead, in her medical opinion, it would be fine for me to have a c-section (after 39 weeks), schedule a c-section, but see if I go into labor, or pursue a TOLAC, even if the result is hours of pushing and then an unplanned c-section. The risks of surgery, the risks of labor, the benefits to the baby of laboring, the benefits of waiting for the baby/my body to induce labor - they're all a wash. She's very supportive of TOLACs, even when the result will most likely be a c-section and she concurs with my concern about the risks of repeat c-sections, given that Chris and I possibly want to have more kids. Instead, I've got to decide between the 50/50 odds of delivering vaginally and avoiding the pain, recovery and complications of surgery, the likely scenario of having a labor similar to Oliver's (hours of pushing, but unable to deliver the baby, resulting in an unplanned c-section) or planning for a c-section, knowing that while it's still surgery, the complications and recovery time are reduced. There are a myriad of other factors - personal, medical and logistical - that point me simultanously at all three options. Right now I'm in an indecisive, wait-and-see mode and hoping I come to terms with not the right decision, because there is none, but the better decision.
Thanks to a change in the way a c-section is performed, which automatically makes a future vaginal labor a safer and thus more realistic possibility, (the incision is now made horizontally across the uterus instead of vertically, which would likely cause a uterine rupture during a future trial of labor) as well as a better understanding in the medical community of the risks and benefits of vaginal births after cesareans, vaginal births for women who've had a previous c-section are now a supported option. (Not all doctors want to or are allowed to perform them, but that's a different matter.) Thus, many people nowadays have heard the term VBAC, (vaginal birth after cesarean) but the more accurate term is TOLAC(trial of labor after cesarean).
Even though my former OB estimated my chances at a successful VBAC as 50/50, when I became pregnant with my second child, it was really important to me to find an OB who was allowed to perform VBACs and would discuss my delivery options with me. (This was the case with my former OB, but I moved and needed to find someone closer to my new home.) I wanted to make the best decision for myself, even if that decision was to be a planned, repeat c-section.
It was a frustrating process in the beginning, as I had to start with a list of in-network providers from my insurance company and literally start calling around. The midwife I see for preventative care was clearly out, as was virtually every midwife, so luckily I was never interested in a home birth or birth center delivery. My only real option was under the care of a obstetrician, but I discovered that many simply will not (or cannot) consider TOLACs, no matter what my medical history. (Based on a variety of factors, some women are better "candidates" for a successful VBAC than others.)
I eventually found a new OB, whose mentor during residency happened to be my former OB, and whose practice is housed in the hospital less than two miles from my house where I plan to deliver. Even though I still had no idea whether I actually wanted to pursue a TOLAC, at least my more limited options going into this second pregnancy remained open.
Some people (again, older generation) don't understand why having the choice is such a big deal. Why don't people listen to doctors anymore and just do what they say, I was asked? I do trust doctors and rely on their medical advice that's based on years of education and training. But in medicine, even with hard data, there's not always a right or wrong answer. There are different risks and benefits associated with every course of action and patients need to take the information from their doctors and decide what's best for them. Sometimes the decision is simple, like deciding between a prevenative measure versus a wait-and-see approach for a non-life-treatening or non-debilitating condition, while others, like cancer treatments, could make patients decide between a comfortable end of life or a risky treatment with little chance of success.
In my case, I am listening to my doctor. She would have told me if she thought there were too many risks associated with a TOLAC. Instead, in her medical opinion, it would be fine for me to have a c-section (after 39 weeks), schedule a c-section, but see if I go into labor, or pursue a TOLAC, even if the result is hours of pushing and then an unplanned c-section. The risks of surgery, the risks of labor, the benefits to the baby of laboring, the benefits of waiting for the baby/my body to induce labor - they're all a wash. She's very supportive of TOLACs, even when the result will most likely be a c-section and she concurs with my concern about the risks of repeat c-sections, given that Chris and I possibly want to have more kids. Instead, I've got to decide between the 50/50 odds of delivering vaginally and avoiding the pain, recovery and complications of surgery, the likely scenario of having a labor similar to Oliver's (hours of pushing, but unable to deliver the baby, resulting in an unplanned c-section) or planning for a c-section, knowing that while it's still surgery, the complications and recovery time are reduced. There are a myriad of other factors - personal, medical and logistical - that point me simultanously at all three options. Right now I'm in an indecisive, wait-and-see mode and hoping I come to terms with not the right decision, because there is none, but the better decision.
Failed the one-hour glucose test
My pregnancy with Oliver went so smoothly that my OB told me she was waiting for me to come in with a complaint. I ran into a few unavoidable issues in the end, experienced some mild morning sickness in the beginning and generally slowed down and grew more tired as the weeks went on, but looking back, I realize it was, relatively-speaking, a smooth ride.
The downside of having a normal first pregnancy is that experience has become the benchmark for what a "good" pregnancy should be. Good, as in, everything I did "right" that time. It's been tough to live up to. Morning sickness? Worse and longer. Weight gain? Sooner and more. Exercise? Didn't happen for week-long stretches (due to fatigue and all-day sickness) and then sporadically since. So when I failed my one-hour glucose test at 28 weeks, I was defeated.
The glucose test screens women for gestational diabetes, which is a serious condition because of the complications it can cause for mom, baby and delivery. Even though women with gestational diabetes are well-monitored by their doctors and can have healthy babies and uncomplicated deliveries, what worries me is that researchers are now discovering that women and their children are more likely to develop Type II Diabetes later in life if mom had gestational diabetes. Even though the condition goes away upon delivery, there could be long-term effects.
Of course I haven't actually be diagnosed with gestational diabetes, and as Chris tried to reassure me, 85% of women who fail the one-hour test, pass the three-hour test, (at least, according to Google) so I know I shouldn't beat myself up over this first screening. Yet I can't help wonder if I could have done something differently. Could I have eaten better or gotten more exercise? Let's just say, no one thinks of lean triathletes when they think diabetic. Plus, if I don't pass this second test, the opportunity to try for a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) is off the table.
But I'm also frustrated, because the three-hour test is a pain. When you already have a kid, a husband who travels, few morning childcare options and a window of three to seven days to take the other test, the scheduling and logistics of it was equally as stress-inducing as the fasting will be. Even Chris has joked about fleeing with Oliver before I come home from the test, because I'll not have eaten since the night before (or been allowed much to drink)....well, I don't blame him.
The downside of having a normal first pregnancy is that experience has become the benchmark for what a "good" pregnancy should be. Good, as in, everything I did "right" that time. It's been tough to live up to. Morning sickness? Worse and longer. Weight gain? Sooner and more. Exercise? Didn't happen for week-long stretches (due to fatigue and all-day sickness) and then sporadically since. So when I failed my one-hour glucose test at 28 weeks, I was defeated.
The glucose test screens women for gestational diabetes, which is a serious condition because of the complications it can cause for mom, baby and delivery. Even though women with gestational diabetes are well-monitored by their doctors and can have healthy babies and uncomplicated deliveries, what worries me is that researchers are now discovering that women and their children are more likely to develop Type II Diabetes later in life if mom had gestational diabetes. Even though the condition goes away upon delivery, there could be long-term effects.
Of course I haven't actually be diagnosed with gestational diabetes, and as Chris tried to reassure me, 85% of women who fail the one-hour test, pass the three-hour test, (at least, according to Google) so I know I shouldn't beat myself up over this first screening. Yet I can't help wonder if I could have done something differently. Could I have eaten better or gotten more exercise? Let's just say, no one thinks of lean triathletes when they think diabetic. Plus, if I don't pass this second test, the opportunity to try for a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) is off the table.
But I'm also frustrated, because the three-hour test is a pain. When you already have a kid, a husband who travels, few morning childcare options and a window of three to seven days to take the other test, the scheduling and logistics of it was equally as stress-inducing as the fasting will be. Even Chris has joked about fleeing with Oliver before I come home from the test, because I'll not have eaten since the night before (or been allowed much to drink)....well, I don't blame him.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Strawberry picking
When my brother visited in the middle of June, he asked if the tomatoes I was slicing for dinner were from the grocery store or the farmer's market. Turns out, back in my home state of New Jersey, the tables at the farmers markets have been piled high with tomatoes for weeks, while the tomato plants in my garden hadn't even begun to flower. Such are the sorrows of a late-starting (and then short) growing season in Minnesota.
But our late start and cold spring meant that strawberries were still very much in abundance over the 4th of July weekend. (Whereas, the season had ended in New Jersey before I arrived in the latter half of June.) Oliver and I, a friend and her daughter drove out to a pick-your-own berry patch in Afton, which despite being a 30-minute drive from St. Paul, was in the countryside. A girl who got out of the car next to us wrinkled her nose at her mother and announced it stank. But standing amidst the strawberry fields where there wasn't a cow in sight, the air smelled sweet to me, like, well strawberries.
With our cardboard trays in hand, we walked out into the fields to start picking. I showed Oliver how to look for the berries and pick the red ones and then as an example, dropped a few in the little plastic container he had been given. He never really caught on to the concept of picking the berries, (he maybe picked one or two on his own) but he liked eating them! Any strawberry I put in his container, he picked up and shoved in his mouth, stem and leaves and all. In keeping with his favorite activity at home of dumping his buckets of toys, he also liked dumping his container of strawberries on to the ground. I had to keep a good eye on my tray of berries, or he would have dumped that too.
I picked as many strawberries as I could while Oliver happily and messily gorged himself on berries and wandered up and down the rows of plants. When it started to get too warm and Oliver began to whine, we packed up and went home. While our trip yielded just enough berries to share with friends and freeze leftovers to use later for smoothies and yogurt, the outing was a good length and intensity for toddlers.
As for me, our short trip revived childhood memories of strawberry picking with my dad and competing with my brother to pick the perfect strawberry to be designated as the "first strawberry of the season." If you find any pictures in old photo albums of either of us holding up a lone strawberry, that's what the big deal was about. My mom would then make enough jars of strawberry jam to last the year and therefore, I don't think it was until I was living on my own that I bought commercial-made jam. Someday I'll teach myself how to make jam, but until then, I hope a trip to the berry patch will become a yearly tradition I do with my own kids.
But our late start and cold spring meant that strawberries were still very much in abundance over the 4th of July weekend. (Whereas, the season had ended in New Jersey before I arrived in the latter half of June.) Oliver and I, a friend and her daughter drove out to a pick-your-own berry patch in Afton, which despite being a 30-minute drive from St. Paul, was in the countryside. A girl who got out of the car next to us wrinkled her nose at her mother and announced it stank. But standing amidst the strawberry fields where there wasn't a cow in sight, the air smelled sweet to me, like, well strawberries.
With our cardboard trays in hand, we walked out into the fields to start picking. I showed Oliver how to look for the berries and pick the red ones and then as an example, dropped a few in the little plastic container he had been given. He never really caught on to the concept of picking the berries, (he maybe picked one or two on his own) but he liked eating them! Any strawberry I put in his container, he picked up and shoved in his mouth, stem and leaves and all. In keeping with his favorite activity at home of dumping his buckets of toys, he also liked dumping his container of strawberries on to the ground. I had to keep a good eye on my tray of berries, or he would have dumped that too.
I picked as many strawberries as I could while Oliver happily and messily gorged himself on berries and wandered up and down the rows of plants. When it started to get too warm and Oliver began to whine, we packed up and went home. While our trip yielded just enough berries to share with friends and freeze leftovers to use later for smoothies and yogurt, the outing was a good length and intensity for toddlers.
As for me, our short trip revived childhood memories of strawberry picking with my dad and competing with my brother to pick the perfect strawberry to be designated as the "first strawberry of the season." If you find any pictures in old photo albums of either of us holding up a lone strawberry, that's what the big deal was about. My mom would then make enough jars of strawberry jam to last the year and therefore, I don't think it was until I was living on my own that I bought commercial-made jam. Someday I'll teach myself how to make jam, but until then, I hope a trip to the berry patch will become a yearly tradition I do with my own kids.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Baby Bucket List
During a late night of hanging out with friends in my dorm room during my freshman year of college, we started talking about all the things we wanted to make sure we did before the four "best years of our lives" came and went. I scribbled a dozen or so ideas on a piece of notebook paper and taped it to the wall by my desk. I wouldn't learn the term "bucket list" for another decade when the movie by the same name came out, but that is essentially what my friends and I had composed for ourselves.
All I know for sure that was on the list was "hike Mt. Katahdin," but "camp on the beach and watch the sunrise" and "spend the night in a tent in the camping section at L.L. Bean" might have been on there as well. I decided that experiencing the latter was more of Bowdoin lore and highly-overrated, so I never did spend a night in the 24-hour flagship store in Freeport. But I still had that piece of paper four years later when I noticed there was a remaining spot on a "fall colors" camping trip to Baxter State Park and Mt. Katahdin offered by the Outing Club. I signed up even though I wouldn't know anyone on the trip, because it was my last fall in Maine and at what other time in the near future would I be able to do the hike? As for camping on the beach, I actually did that twice by sneaking into Popham Beach State Park with friends. (See, sometimes I can be a risk-taker.)
Some of my other favorite memories from college didn't make the list, only because I couldn't have predicted them, like all the trips to the Outing Club's cabin on the Appalachian Trail, exploring "God's country" (aka, being lost) on a trip to Montreal before the days of Mapquest and GPS, and a full-moon hike in winter that ended with us dipping our snowshoes in the Atlantic Ocean.
That was the first and last time I've ever actually made a list of things I wanted to do in life and then I heard the term "baby bucket list." Some people use the term to talk about the things they want to accomplish from the time they "pee on the stick" until the baby is born, but frankly, in my opinion, that's just a to-do list. Maybe you'll take a "babymoon" with your partner, but the rest of your time is spent vomiting, gaining weight, peeing every half an hour and somehow managing the energy to ready your living quarters for the arrival of a baby.
I think the term is more appropriate when referring to what people want to do/accomplish before they have kids. Probably few actually write a list down, but I think most people have a mental "baby bucket list," even if they never thought about their list in that way. I know there are a lot of things I knew I wanted to do before I had kids, and thankfully, I had that opportunity. I went to college and grad school, studied abroad, traveled, made awesome friends, started a career, lived in different places, had my own apartment, tried new things, like learning to cross-country ski and taking up running, rediscovered old passions, like playing soccer, founded a rec soccer team, got married and bought a house. Sure, I didn't do everything I had wanted to, but I have no regrets about what I did with my 20s. When the time came, having kids was a deliberate decision and just the next step of what I wanted in life.
Even when planned, kids change your life in ways and magnitude you can never prepare yourself for. So when I heard the term "baby bucket list," I actually thought it referred to the list of things you still want to do, even though raising young kids requires you to juggle different financial, familial and time commitments that will affect how and when you achieve your life's goals and even what those goals may be. But I think it's important for parents to have bucket lists, even if looks different than what it was pre-kids and even if fulfilling it becomes more unpredictable.
I've been so consumed with child-rearing and growing another baby that I hadn't given much thought to what I would like to do/have/experience someday, because well, someday seems very, very far away right now. But when I thought about it, I was able to come up with a list pretty quickly.
So the baby bucket list, in no particular order, goes....I'd like to take a trip when my kids are old enough to help plan where they want to go. I want to take a trip with my husband sans kids. I want to travel with friends. I want to go back to Europe and visit old friends. I want to return, more or less, to my pre-pregnancy weight. I want to regularly go to sleep past 9:00 p.m. and sleep in past 7:00 a.m. I want to not feel exhausted all the time. I want to host more dinner parties. I want to cook and bake again from scratch. I want to keep reconnecting with old friends and maintaining friendships. I never want to stop making friends. I never want to wear maternity clothes or a nursing bras again. I want a tummy tuck. I want to speak German fluently again. I want to decorate and furnish my house without kids in mind. Heck, I want to decorate, period. I want to learn how to be more organized. I want to live with less clutter and fewer material things. I want to visit more national parks. I want to stay home with my kids. I want to work in a fulfilling job. I want to keep writing. I want to live an active lifestyle. I want to have regular family dinners...
And I could go on and on. Clearly I've just gotten myself started.
All I know for sure that was on the list was "hike Mt. Katahdin," but "camp on the beach and watch the sunrise" and "spend the night in a tent in the camping section at L.L. Bean" might have been on there as well. I decided that experiencing the latter was more of Bowdoin lore and highly-overrated, so I never did spend a night in the 24-hour flagship store in Freeport. But I still had that piece of paper four years later when I noticed there was a remaining spot on a "fall colors" camping trip to Baxter State Park and Mt. Katahdin offered by the Outing Club. I signed up even though I wouldn't know anyone on the trip, because it was my last fall in Maine and at what other time in the near future would I be able to do the hike? As for camping on the beach, I actually did that twice by sneaking into Popham Beach State Park with friends. (See, sometimes I can be a risk-taker.)
Some of my other favorite memories from college didn't make the list, only because I couldn't have predicted them, like all the trips to the Outing Club's cabin on the Appalachian Trail, exploring "God's country" (aka, being lost) on a trip to Montreal before the days of Mapquest and GPS, and a full-moon hike in winter that ended with us dipping our snowshoes in the Atlantic Ocean.
That was the first and last time I've ever actually made a list of things I wanted to do in life and then I heard the term "baby bucket list." Some people use the term to talk about the things they want to accomplish from the time they "pee on the stick" until the baby is born, but frankly, in my opinion, that's just a to-do list. Maybe you'll take a "babymoon" with your partner, but the rest of your time is spent vomiting, gaining weight, peeing every half an hour and somehow managing the energy to ready your living quarters for the arrival of a baby.
I think the term is more appropriate when referring to what people want to do/accomplish before they have kids. Probably few actually write a list down, but I think most people have a mental "baby bucket list," even if they never thought about their list in that way. I know there are a lot of things I knew I wanted to do before I had kids, and thankfully, I had that opportunity. I went to college and grad school, studied abroad, traveled, made awesome friends, started a career, lived in different places, had my own apartment, tried new things, like learning to cross-country ski and taking up running, rediscovered old passions, like playing soccer, founded a rec soccer team, got married and bought a house. Sure, I didn't do everything I had wanted to, but I have no regrets about what I did with my 20s. When the time came, having kids was a deliberate decision and just the next step of what I wanted in life.
Even when planned, kids change your life in ways and magnitude you can never prepare yourself for. So when I heard the term "baby bucket list," I actually thought it referred to the list of things you still want to do, even though raising young kids requires you to juggle different financial, familial and time commitments that will affect how and when you achieve your life's goals and even what those goals may be. But I think it's important for parents to have bucket lists, even if looks different than what it was pre-kids and even if fulfilling it becomes more unpredictable.
I've been so consumed with child-rearing and growing another baby that I hadn't given much thought to what I would like to do/have/experience someday, because well, someday seems very, very far away right now. But when I thought about it, I was able to come up with a list pretty quickly.
So the baby bucket list, in no particular order, goes....I'd like to take a trip when my kids are old enough to help plan where they want to go. I want to take a trip with my husband sans kids. I want to travel with friends. I want to go back to Europe and visit old friends. I want to return, more or less, to my pre-pregnancy weight. I want to regularly go to sleep past 9:00 p.m. and sleep in past 7:00 a.m. I want to not feel exhausted all the time. I want to host more dinner parties. I want to cook and bake again from scratch. I want to keep reconnecting with old friends and maintaining friendships. I never want to stop making friends. I never want to wear maternity clothes or a nursing bras again. I want a tummy tuck. I want to speak German fluently again. I want to decorate and furnish my house without kids in mind. Heck, I want to decorate, period. I want to learn how to be more organized. I want to live with less clutter and fewer material things. I want to visit more national parks. I want to stay home with my kids. I want to work in a fulfilling job. I want to keep writing. I want to live an active lifestyle. I want to have regular family dinners...
And I could go on and on. Clearly I've just gotten myself started.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Oliver update: 21 months
Oliver enjoyed an extra surge of "Look how much he's grown!" since we visited family we hadn't seen since the new year, a time when he was still doing his three-limbed scoot and couldn't toddle more than a few steps. Six months later we visited my grandmother at her retirement community, whose grounds are larger than the campuses of some small colleges, and she couldn't believe how easily and quickly Oliver marched everywhere. His toddle is gone as far as she can tell.
After holding out at just five teeth for awhile, Oliver has sprouted a few more. Since his idea of "brushing" his teeth is sucking on his toothbrush, I try to "help" him with a quick brush at the end (which he hates!) and that's when I noticed three new teeth had broken the gum line, including a molar.
Along with teeth, Oliver is growing a lot more hair. He still has super fine baby hair and hasn't needed a hair cut yet, but it's getting long enough that eventually I'll be tempted to snip around the ears. Because of his two cowlicks, he now has a clump of hair that sticks up straight on the top of his head. He inherited this pattern of hair from his Uncle Scott, whose cowlicks presented a challenge to many hair stylists throughout his youth. Oliver's hair, while still very straight, is growing long enough in the back that on humid days, he develops a curl or two. The curls in the piece of hair sticking up in back just add to his overall cuteness.
Oliver's language development, while not at a level where I'll set aside my worry that there's some preventable or fixable factor affecting his speech, (like mild hearing loss due to undetected ear infections) has made some small strides. He knows how to say the words "hi," "buh bye" and "bus," or least something that sounds like bus, and most recently, "ball". We stayed in the same room while visiting family, and every morning I'd roll over to find Oliver awake and standing up in his pack 'n' play and repeating, "Hi, hi" in a soft, cute little kid voice. Well, cute, except that it was usually 6:00 a.m.
My brother is convinced he can say "book," Chris says he said "boat" repeatedly at the cabin, and I've thought I've heard him say other simple words like "more," but honestly I find it difficult to tell. He babbles constantly, (which is a good side for language development) but unless he were to say a word clear as day, it's easy (for me at least) for all the babble to sound alike and difficult to differentiate when he's saying an actual word. Ball has been the exception - he'll point at a ball and say the word clearly.
My grandmother, on the other hand, thinks he can say a lot. We spent a few days with her and she started to "translate" everything Oliver said. "Kirsten, I don't know how that wasn't clear. Oliver just asked you to open the door for him because he wants to go outside and see the birds." I should have started calling her the baby whisperer.
Yes, I'm sure he wanted to go outside, because that's where he loves to be. I broke down and bought him a matching rain jacket and pants and rubber boots, because it was clear he wanted to go out no matter what the weather. The only problem is that he's still at the age where I have to be outside with him and I'm not sure how much longer my rain jacket will zip over my growing stomach.
So we try to get out once a day so Oliver can get fresh air and exercise, even if it's drizzling and he just runs up and down the sidewalk. As much as he loves to move, if he sees the stroller, he wants to get in and go for a ride. This is a change from a few months ago when he first started walking with any skill and I couldn't count on him to willingly get in the stroller when I wanted to go for a walk.
After two to three months of Oliver struggling to go to sleep at his usual 6:30 p.m. bedtime, we're finding that the combination of putting him to bed a half an hour later and limiting his nap to three hours has helped. (The nap has kind of been self-regulating itself, though, since most days he sleeps less than three hours and every few days it appears like he's suddenly sleep-deprived and I'll let him nap as long as he wants.) Or it's possible that he just sorted it all out himself.
Ever since Oliver dropped down to one nap, I've been trying to push his lunch back to a normal hour because his lunch time suddendly became 10:30 a.m., with a nap starting an hour later. But in the last month, he started consistently being able to eat at 11:00 a.m. Even more recently he's been able to go some days closer to 11:30 a.m. with a noon nap time. Even dinner we've been able to do a crazy late time of 5:15 p.m. instead of 5:00 p.m.
Another bedtime transition we're working on his moving Oliver out of the crib. I've been the one who's been adamant about making the transition before the new baby arrives, but it was Chris who suggested the bold step of not bringing a pack 'n' play to the cabin and instead putting the mattress on the floor. When Oliver didn't sleep for most of the car ride up to the cabin (we purposefully left around his bedtime assuming he'd sleep in the car) and then cried hysterically once we arrived, I thought we'd set ourselves up for a complete disaster. He wailed while I got him ready for bed and read him a story, and continued to do so after I laid him down on the mattress with everything he usually has in his crib - his pacifier, giraffe, stuffed bear, blanket and sippy cup. He cried hard for a few minutes, but before Chris and I had a chance to brainstorm any other options, it went quiet. Chris checked on him and he was indeed fast asleep!
I was up early the next morning and was eating my breakfast with my back to his bedroom door when I heard a slow pitter-patter behind me. I turned around and a happy and reasonably well-rested looking Oliver had emerged from his bedroom clutching his stuffed animals. His first night in a real bed ended up being a success.
We don't have a twin mattress for Oliver yet, so back at home, he's been in the crib again. But now we have the confidence to make the plunge and switch to a bed. We'll start with just the mattress on the floor, like we did at the cabin, before buying a bed frame and guard rail, because once during every nap and again during the night, Oliver did roll onto the floor. It was enough to startle him and make him cry, but when I went to rescue him, sometimes he'd be sitting right next to the mattress crying - with his eyes closed. As soon as he was placed back in bed, it was back to sleep.
Oliver's favorite activities at this stage in his life are trucks, (or any vehicles for that matter) balls and books. He still points out anything that moves and emerges from the toy table at garage sales clutching a truck or a train of some sort. Chris took him out on the boat at the cabin and they cruised slowly around the perimeter of the lake so Oliver could look at all the boats.
While Oliver gets especially excited about any book with pictures of vehicles, he likes books in general. If you're visiting my house, expect Oliver to want you to read him a book. He even went up to some other mom at a bookstore last week, handed her a book, then stepped back and patiently waited for her to read to him. I was surprised given how weary he is around people he doesn't know.
He's getting more into the picture books now, which I admit isn't as fun for me, because he likes to point to each picture and wants you to tell him what it is, and that gets more repetitive than reading the same story over and over again. (He'll also do this in his crib or at the dinner table and day after day I find myself repeating, "That's your bear." "That's the tray." "That's your sippy cup.") You'd think that if a book was just a bunch of pictures, he wouldn't mind looking at it by himself, but he'd still prefer if someone read it to him. But he also has his favorite stories and can sit through longer books. At the library or a bookstore I'll pull out a bunch of books I think he'd be interested in and then see what he goes for.
Oliver has always liked playing with balls, but sometimes he reminds me of a dog the way he likes to play "fetch." While home visiting family, he befriended two kids down the street, five and eight years old. They alternated between letting Oliver throw a tennis ball and they'd chase it and bring it back to him, or letting him chase the ball. At the cabin, Oliver shrieked with glee as he tried to throw a beach ball as high as he could in the air and the momentum caused him to twirl around and crash to the ground. He's starting to kick balls too, but his strategy at the moment is to run at the ball and inadvertently kick the ball in the process.
He has his calm and sweet moments though. Our neighbor's two-and-a-half-year-old blew Oliver a kiss and he both surprised me and melted my heart when he blew one back.
After holding out at just five teeth for awhile, Oliver has sprouted a few more. Since his idea of "brushing" his teeth is sucking on his toothbrush, I try to "help" him with a quick brush at the end (which he hates!) and that's when I noticed three new teeth had broken the gum line, including a molar.
Along with teeth, Oliver is growing a lot more hair. He still has super fine baby hair and hasn't needed a hair cut yet, but it's getting long enough that eventually I'll be tempted to snip around the ears. Because of his two cowlicks, he now has a clump of hair that sticks up straight on the top of his head. He inherited this pattern of hair from his Uncle Scott, whose cowlicks presented a challenge to many hair stylists throughout his youth. Oliver's hair, while still very straight, is growing long enough in the back that on humid days, he develops a curl or two. The curls in the piece of hair sticking up in back just add to his overall cuteness.
Oliver's language development, while not at a level where I'll set aside my worry that there's some preventable or fixable factor affecting his speech, (like mild hearing loss due to undetected ear infections) has made some small strides. He knows how to say the words "hi," "buh bye" and "bus," or least something that sounds like bus, and most recently, "ball". We stayed in the same room while visiting family, and every morning I'd roll over to find Oliver awake and standing up in his pack 'n' play and repeating, "Hi, hi" in a soft, cute little kid voice. Well, cute, except that it was usually 6:00 a.m.
My brother is convinced he can say "book," Chris says he said "boat" repeatedly at the cabin, and I've thought I've heard him say other simple words like "more," but honestly I find it difficult to tell. He babbles constantly, (which is a good side for language development) but unless he were to say a word clear as day, it's easy (for me at least) for all the babble to sound alike and difficult to differentiate when he's saying an actual word. Ball has been the exception - he'll point at a ball and say the word clearly.
My grandmother, on the other hand, thinks he can say a lot. We spent a few days with her and she started to "translate" everything Oliver said. "Kirsten, I don't know how that wasn't clear. Oliver just asked you to open the door for him because he wants to go outside and see the birds." I should have started calling her the baby whisperer.
Yes, I'm sure he wanted to go outside, because that's where he loves to be. I broke down and bought him a matching rain jacket and pants and rubber boots, because it was clear he wanted to go out no matter what the weather. The only problem is that he's still at the age where I have to be outside with him and I'm not sure how much longer my rain jacket will zip over my growing stomach.
So we try to get out once a day so Oliver can get fresh air and exercise, even if it's drizzling and he just runs up and down the sidewalk. As much as he loves to move, if he sees the stroller, he wants to get in and go for a ride. This is a change from a few months ago when he first started walking with any skill and I couldn't count on him to willingly get in the stroller when I wanted to go for a walk.
After two to three months of Oliver struggling to go to sleep at his usual 6:30 p.m. bedtime, we're finding that the combination of putting him to bed a half an hour later and limiting his nap to three hours has helped. (The nap has kind of been self-regulating itself, though, since most days he sleeps less than three hours and every few days it appears like he's suddenly sleep-deprived and I'll let him nap as long as he wants.) Or it's possible that he just sorted it all out himself.
Ever since Oliver dropped down to one nap, I've been trying to push his lunch back to a normal hour because his lunch time suddendly became 10:30 a.m., with a nap starting an hour later. But in the last month, he started consistently being able to eat at 11:00 a.m. Even more recently he's been able to go some days closer to 11:30 a.m. with a noon nap time. Even dinner we've been able to do a crazy late time of 5:15 p.m. instead of 5:00 p.m.
Another bedtime transition we're working on his moving Oliver out of the crib. I've been the one who's been adamant about making the transition before the new baby arrives, but it was Chris who suggested the bold step of not bringing a pack 'n' play to the cabin and instead putting the mattress on the floor. When Oliver didn't sleep for most of the car ride up to the cabin (we purposefully left around his bedtime assuming he'd sleep in the car) and then cried hysterically once we arrived, I thought we'd set ourselves up for a complete disaster. He wailed while I got him ready for bed and read him a story, and continued to do so after I laid him down on the mattress with everything he usually has in his crib - his pacifier, giraffe, stuffed bear, blanket and sippy cup. He cried hard for a few minutes, but before Chris and I had a chance to brainstorm any other options, it went quiet. Chris checked on him and he was indeed fast asleep!
I was up early the next morning and was eating my breakfast with my back to his bedroom door when I heard a slow pitter-patter behind me. I turned around and a happy and reasonably well-rested looking Oliver had emerged from his bedroom clutching his stuffed animals. His first night in a real bed ended up being a success.
We don't have a twin mattress for Oliver yet, so back at home, he's been in the crib again. But now we have the confidence to make the plunge and switch to a bed. We'll start with just the mattress on the floor, like we did at the cabin, before buying a bed frame and guard rail, because once during every nap and again during the night, Oliver did roll onto the floor. It was enough to startle him and make him cry, but when I went to rescue him, sometimes he'd be sitting right next to the mattress crying - with his eyes closed. As soon as he was placed back in bed, it was back to sleep.
Oliver's favorite activities at this stage in his life are trucks, (or any vehicles for that matter) balls and books. He still points out anything that moves and emerges from the toy table at garage sales clutching a truck or a train of some sort. Chris took him out on the boat at the cabin and they cruised slowly around the perimeter of the lake so Oliver could look at all the boats.
While Oliver gets especially excited about any book with pictures of vehicles, he likes books in general. If you're visiting my house, expect Oliver to want you to read him a book. He even went up to some other mom at a bookstore last week, handed her a book, then stepped back and patiently waited for her to read to him. I was surprised given how weary he is around people he doesn't know.
He's getting more into the picture books now, which I admit isn't as fun for me, because he likes to point to each picture and wants you to tell him what it is, and that gets more repetitive than reading the same story over and over again. (He'll also do this in his crib or at the dinner table and day after day I find myself repeating, "That's your bear." "That's the tray." "That's your sippy cup.") You'd think that if a book was just a bunch of pictures, he wouldn't mind looking at it by himself, but he'd still prefer if someone read it to him. But he also has his favorite stories and can sit through longer books. At the library or a bookstore I'll pull out a bunch of books I think he'd be interested in and then see what he goes for.
Oliver has always liked playing with balls, but sometimes he reminds me of a dog the way he likes to play "fetch." While home visiting family, he befriended two kids down the street, five and eight years old. They alternated between letting Oliver throw a tennis ball and they'd chase it and bring it back to him, or letting him chase the ball. At the cabin, Oliver shrieked with glee as he tried to throw a beach ball as high as he could in the air and the momentum caused him to twirl around and crash to the ground. He's starting to kick balls too, but his strategy at the moment is to run at the ball and inadvertently kick the ball in the process.
He has his calm and sweet moments though. Our neighbor's two-and-a-half-year-old blew Oliver a kiss and he both surprised me and melted my heart when he blew one back.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
