My boob hurts

My boob hurts. I feel like today has been a day where I've said this constantly. It might have something to do with the fact that El Porker Bambino slept for almost six hours straight last night. Was it a fluke, was it a miracle? This is yet to be determined.
However, with that being said, I would've loved to get those six hours of sleep straight like my kiddo did, but there was a crazy wind storm that past through almost the entire east coast of the US last night. We were not only blessed by the lovely freight-train sounding wind, but by the sideways rain. In fact, I awoke to said rain on my face. Why do you ask, because my husband wanted to sleep and hear the storm. In fact, I even asked him if the storm would make the rain come in our window in the middle of the night and his exact response was "Only if it came in sideways." Well the f#%@ing rain did indeed come in sideways. Raindrops were falling on my sleep parade. Not to mention after I woke up startled to the room leaking and slammed shut the window, I was kept up for a bit longer by the snoring husband who fell right back to sleep.
Fast forward about two and a half hours later, my lovely husband was making his nightly bathroom trip to the bathroom (which he's been a frequent flyer in as of late-think stomach bug plus lots of dairy) and this woke me up. At this moment, I thought for sure my boobs were going to explode and that the kid had died. I know, that is such an awful thought, but being a mom that wakes constantly to this porker, I fully expected that he would've woke me up already by this point. Rock hard breasts are not something that are fun to wake up to. So I praised the lord that the kid was asleep still and did what any rational person would do at a quarter to three in the morning, I emptied my boobsicle mountains. Wouldn't you know about 7 ounces in (and I probably had about 12 ounces in these peaks), the kiddo awoke. Not only did he awake, but he awoke with his normal goat like pleas that I let him out to graze at mama's mountains. So after a quick change of a 10 pound pee-filled diaper, I nursed him and he did what any baby that just slept six hours straight would do. He started a party. You know, one those where you feel like "Let's party, it's 3:00 AM and the club is just getting hot!!" Yuppers, he did this till the wee hours of the morning where I put the chunker in bed next to me with a boob in his mouth to quiet him down. This worked and he fell asleep. As soon as I noticed his "daddy-like" snores, it was off to the pack-and-play the kiddo went and mommy went back to sleep. So my night, like normal was interrupted by everyone including the weather, but I wouldn't have it any other way!

No joke

It just took me four times to log in and create this new blog post...why do you ask? Well I'm having mommy brain. Lack of sleep plus a stomach bug running rampant through the household has left me utterly brain dead. It's a wonder I could even remember that today is my birthday. Yup, 33 years young. And how may you ask am I celebrating? Well I'm not celebrating....today because it's crap outside. The sky may be falling down soon as Chicken Little would say. However, tomorrow, I fully intend to escape from the confines of my living room, drag my @ss off the couch, and get my toenails painted by someone other than myself (even though I can reach them as I no longer have a baby bump) and get my forest filled eyebrows waxed. Yup, I'm torturing myself for my birthday. Hey, better that I torture myself than anyone else, right?
Well yesterday was a fun day of taking the kiddos to the doctor's office. They both managed to make it in and out alive and didn't scream too much. There we learned that The El Porker Bambino is a whopping 13 pounds 1 ounce and the toddler is 26 pounds. It's funny because at 2 months old, my toddler weighed 14 pounds himself. I wonder if the RSV truly slowed down El Porker Bambino's weight gain because of the lack of eating due to congestion. Could he have beaten the set record and have been an even bigger chunk than his older brother? Well I guess we will never know and I'm not one to compare kiddos.
Today my mind keeps wondering to my boobs. Earlier I read about a high school student who was soon to return to school and her school would not accommodate her desire to breastfeed her child. They had every excuse under the sun about how other students would pick on her, the nurse's refrigerator was for medicine, the pump would be too loud, blah, blah, and blah some more. It made me think back to the first time I informed my employer about my desires to breastfeed. My concocted plan involved me leaving my inclusion classroom while the special education teacher was in there for 15 minutes of spelling instruction. (Yes, we still teach spelling even if there is spell check). My principal informed me that that was not going to happen. Her reasoning was that "We needed to do what was best for our students." I thought that the teacher should be comfortable or we would not be able to deliver instruction that was best for our students. She in turn called the school board's lawyer and their plan was that I would pump during my planning period. Well back then, planning was at 1:40 PM. Could you imagine that I would feed or pump at 5:30 AM and then go till 1:40 PM and be able to fully function with Dolly Partin sized boobsicles? Uhmmmm, heck no. So she agreed that I could start at my first proposed time period and they would have someone watch my students for a fifteen minute later increment each day till I was comfortable pumping at 1:40PM. Can we say I fought that and threatened to quit and talk to the media about how unaccommodating that idea was? It was then that I sent out a mass email to my fellow employees to see if someone could come be in my classroom for that 15 minute block of time and teach spelling for me. Yup, there you have it, teach spelling. Now you know that there need not be two teachers in there for a 15 minute block of spelling, but if I was allowed to be out of my classroom, then that was what I was going to do. I received many nice responses from fellow teachers and was truly blessed with the ability to pump in another teacher's office and she would be in my classroom. The reason for that story is, I'm going back to work in 33 days and I'm so not looking forward to another fight. Breast is best and in education, we have so many cutbacks in budget that there are not many assistants or helpers to share the education and relieve an engorged mama from her duty for a whole 15 minutes. Now is the time, that I need to start formulating a plan. I'm going back to school with an earlier planning period of 12:55 and even lunch is at 12:10 PM, so I can probably pump then. However, I need to find someone to cover for me and watch my class as that is obviously my responsibility. Like I said, I'm not looking forward to this. In addition, many things like meetings, planning sessions, informational meetings, and professional development sessions often occur during our 40 minute planning block. I'm not looking forward to the response that I will get when I let people know that I will constantly be late for such because of my pumping plans. What is often sad is that we women take on so much responsibility to do what is right for our children and this causes distress in the work place. When my mind ventures to this, it makes me wish that I lived in Canada where mothers get a year of paid maternity leave. Here, we get twelve weeks and it is unpaid (unless you have sick/personal days accrued-who the heck has those accrued when you have kids??). So if you are a mom or going to be a mom, start planning for your new home in the cold northern regions!! :)

Down and Out

So the weekend with a pukey toddler was rough, but it seemed to continue on and throughout the entire household. Sunday night, my husband awoke to puking his brains out and last night it was my turn for the Great Pukesplosion. My mother got it yet today and the kiddo continued with it last night. We've done countless loads of laundry to wash all the towels that have cleaned up the mess. In addition, my Porker Bambino projectile puked on me. I can say that this stomach bug has really had us all under the weather. Tomorrow is my birthday and I am really hoping that we all get well because that would be the best present in the whole entire world!!
At this very moment, my mother is laying on the couch with El Poker Bambino. He's been sleeping on my mom for about two hours now. He seems so peaceful and content as she does too. I hate to move him to get some food in my mom, but she's probably in need of food as all we've eaten and kept down was white rice. The doctor suggested bananas and white rice be our staple diet. Such delicious food, huh? NOT!! Instead, we've got chicken noodle soup cooking away in the crock pot and boy we can not wait to scarf it down.
Well I truly hope that all this sleep doesn't lead the porker to staying awake all night. I really hope he's just feeling tired like the rest of us and that he can shake the stomach bug too by utilizing mama's milk. Maybe we should all start drinking the boob juice too?

Pukesplosions anyone?

A friend recently posted that she would love it if mothers could get a day off. Unfortunately that is just never going to happen for us, but it does for our husbands.
My weekend was going great, until the Great Pukesplosion Incident of 2013. It was just five hours before my own mother was set to visit. She was flying in on a jet plane to see her beautiful El Poker Bambino and Loving Toddler Boy. It's a good thing, she had planned this visit, because this mama was an unsuspecting naive one who thought life was perfect until it flipped upside down in an instant.
The dear husband had been off doing business and I was stranded at home quarantined with the recuperating bambino and wild toddler. We had exhausted ourselves playing cars, throwing a plastic ball, and running in circles around the coffee table, so we settled down to read a book together. We were surrounded by the two whiny fur babies who were dying of thirst and starvation as well as demanding to be taken out to use the restroom for the fifty thousandth time that day. Then out of nowhere, the toddler began dry heaving. Suddenly, he was a geyser erupting with the powerful force of pukesplosions. Not one eruption, not two eruptions, but three large eruptions of mixed veggies that had been lunch were now tossed across his beige bedroom carpet floor. Hurriedly the annoying dogs jumped into action. The tongues came out and ate that nastiness up. Now, normally, I'd yell at them for licking anyone or anything because it truly grosses me out. This time though, I let them lick that sh#% up because I can not stand puke. Literally it tosses me over the edge of a mountain where I loose all footing and plummet to my own demise. However, today I let it be as I simply could not handle the stench of digested green beans, lima beans, corn, carrots, and potatoes. Simply put, coming back up the pipes of a child was a rotten aroma so significant it could've made a grown person cry and cry I wanted to do.
Off we raced to the bathroom where I promptly ran a bath as the Great Pukesplosion incident carried on. Again, the toddler was puking on the lovely lime green bath rug. Now I needed to get the infant elevated off the ground level of the bathroom so as to not be placed in the puddle of puke. I raced with lightning speed to grab the vibrating bouncy seat. If I could run the bath and get the toddler cleaned with my arms, then I could bounce the baby with my legs at the same time and keep him calm. That sounded like a great plan, but unfortunately, it did not work at all. The decibel levels in the bathroom reached higher than the stars in the sky as astronauts could hear the wails of the infant as the toddler sat in complete disbelief over his sad sad luck. We made the best of it though and survived. Finally we emerged with a whole new attire and found our way to the kitchen. There we placed the bouncy seat with with the infant on top of our hideous dining room table and grabbed some water and goldfish together to get some things back into my baby boy's belly. At first, he was hesitant to take any food or drink, but gradually he began. Just as soon as this occurred, he exploded again....this time all over me. While the dogs happily cleaned up his room and the bathroom floor, there was no way in hel@ that I was letting them lick my chest and bosom because of course the kid puked right down my shirt.
Quickly, I whisked the kiddo away with me to my own bathroom. I closed the door to drown out the sad wailing still coming from the infant who was safely on top of the table tied into his bouncy seat and I took a lightning quick shower and changed into some better smelling clothes. I then proceeded to strip down my toddler and get him changed for a second time. Finally, the husband magically appeared and off I passed pukey boy to him. Within one minute's time, he had erupted again,this time on my husband and not on me. I was finally thankful for something. Had he been here earlier to help me, I wouldn't have wished the puke on him, but as it stood, I was bitter that I  had to suffer through puke by myself for over an hour. Eventually my husband cuddled him on the couch and I managed to get in a shower. After all, I needed to smell clean to welcome my mommy into town.
I drove to the airport thankful to pick her up. Her presence is always a blessing as she cleans more than anyone I know and can keep a toddler entertained for hours. As she landed and I picked her up we chatted about the Great Pukesplosion of the night. She was unaware that the next day, she was in store for some more.
She arose with the roosters just before dawn as usual. Without fail, the toddler arose a short time later. My mother then greeted him with her lovely presence and proceeded to give him some milk. He now had a present in store for her. It was within minutes, that she received the gift of a Pukesplosion geyser as well. She hurriedly entered the bedroom where my husband and I were recuperating from the joys of being up all through the night with an infant to ask our advise. We sent her back into the pit of terror with a new pajama set for the wee one and instructions on to give him water and a banana. She did as was told and we soon dragged our tired selves out of bed to join the party. It was not more than five minutes after our arrival into the stinky-cheese smelling living room that the toddler was bouncing across the dark, brown, microfiber couch with a smile on his face. He was delighted mommy and daddy and baby brother were joining his party. He bounced like Tigger over to one end of the couch, all color drained from his face, stopped dead in his tracks, and proceeded to explode all over the poor couch. Oy Vey!!! My husband spent the next twenty minutes cleaning while I calmed he down and soon he was off to feeling a bit better. There were no more contents in his little belly to explode, so he was put on a strict diet of applesauce, toast, water, and bananas to bind him for the early morning. He made it a few more hours without puking and we thought for sure we were in the clear. Finally the day came to an end and we all called it a night.
About midnight, trouble was brewing. It came in the form of a violent race from our bed to the porcelain god. My husband was now worshipping the toilet. They became close friends and hugged throughout the night. My only help was a bottle of water, a cold wet rag, and a stern talking to about not working in the morning. He eventually fell asleep too. He awoke the next day to meeting with someone to deliver work paperwork and has been in bed the entire rest of the day.

The Pukesplosion subsides

While he's had his day off, I've been Lysoling and bleaching every surface and toy within the confines of our lovely home. I'd hate to be blessed with this tummy bug too. And that my friend's is how husbands get sick days and mothers do not.

RSV can kiss my @SS!

So if it felt like this mama dropped off the face of the Earth, well, I kind of  did. It had been a rough weekend. First on Friday, my husband swiped our computer and took it to work with him. The result = no blog fun! Then the weekend is reserved for family and I, so no more blog fun. Then later on during the weekend and Monday and Tuesday were long, grueling, days and nights.....
What started off as some simple congestion, a little fussiness, severe stinky gassiness for El Bambino took a turn on a high speed roller coaster that this mom can only describe as dancing with the devil down below.
Friday, Saturday, and Sunday were all rough evenings. The kiddo was very irritable and let this mama know it. So as usual, he was rocked, shhhhhhhhed, coddled, talked to, etc. just to get him to turn down the decibels of his ear piercing wails. It worked intermittently and he would give us a break and eventually gave into slumber on mama's milk jugs. Yup, he slept sitting up on my chest for a bit. Then he was wide-awake again and ended up sleeping on his belly across my chest on top of the Boppy Pillow. Boy, was that a mistake. He enjoyed it, but I got the short end of the stick with his comfortable position. The chunker passed gas casually throughout the night into the wee hours of the morning. I felt the need for a gas-mask just to contain breathing in that rancid odor. However, as stinky-cheese like that it was, he was my offspring, so I suffered on.
Then Monday morning rolled around, and I was off to the pediatrician. I was hoping for some kind of illness or virus that could be cured or explained. Instead what I got was, he's got a virus that just needs to run it's course. $65.00 and two hours later,  we went home and sat all day staring at each other through tears (both of ours) and boogers (his). It was a rough one. Picking up the toddler later that evening was also a time of frustration. As much as I wanted to play with him, I needed to soothe the El Poker Stinky Bambino so that he could get well soon. So the toddler did what the infant had done all day long. He threw a fit to end all fits. The fireworks of tears shed across the house as he threw himself on the floor screaming bloody murder. My ears were ringing and I was in dire need of a shower, which never came. When the husband made it home from work, I choose to have some vino instead of a shower, because after my day, I deserved a whole bottle. No kids were harmed and they all survived to live another day.
Fast forward now to Monday evening. All was well in the household, dinner had come and gone, and El Stinky Poker Bambino had just awoken from a long afternoon nap.  He happily joined his loving brother for a bath time session. We made it through bath time unscathed and decided to settle on the couch with El Stinker Poker Bambino, some vino, and a movie. It was apparent after a fourth of a glass of vino that the child was not into the movie. Maybe it was the awkward English accents, the subtitles, the setting, who knows, no one but he knew and he just wasn't cooperating. So, off to the bedroom we stormed to get him in the mood for a peaceful slumber and his drift into Sleepyland. Little did I know, that he was about to be a wild tornado causing havoc on one's ears for the next  eight or so hours. He was wide awake and screaming a high-pitched scream that could shatter glass as we entered the peaceful sanctuary of our bedroom. No amount of bopping, shhhhhing, rocking, coddling, etc was going to get this kiddo back on track. He was a derailed train heading for mama's demise. Eventually he gave in for a few minutes and woke up again like a meteor heading straight for my brain. The demon was arising and he wasn't settling for just a bit of crying and screaming. Oh no, he was screaming continuously, he was no longer latching to eat, would not take a bottle, and could not control himself. By 3:00 AM, I'd officially been ready to throw in the towel, wave the white flag, surrender as a looser.....the husband was awoken. My tears were flowing like a river as I was so upset trying to dance with this devil. Nothing worked to calm him and I was the one who now needed calming. I could not take it anymore, I needed peace and quiet for ten minutes and that's exactly what I expected to get as I handed the child off like a touchdown pass to a wide receiver. Touchdown, mama was headed for the living room to catch my breath and get some relief. It did not come though, as I could hear the child wailing across the household. There was nowhere to run to get relief so I lowered my head and returned in a panic state back to the room. I begged my husband to pull something out of a hat.....anything.....a white kitten, a turtle dove, a puppy, some sh#% needed to be done to get baby to bed. Eventually-like an hour later.....the baby whisperer (AKA my husband) had the kid calmed down enough that he gave into DJ Sleep for another 2 hours. However, when he awoke again with the husband's alarm, I knew that I was in for it. In fact, I even offered to trade the husband's job (which I truly have no idea how to do) for a golden day off of work where he would watch our demon-spawn. For obvious reasons, he declined, and took our toddler to daycare and I was left in a state of  h e - double hockey sticks. Now the baby had what I liked to refer to as labor breathing.....when a mama has a natural birth, they go to Lamaze classes and learn to breathe through contractions. It seemed as though he was making those Lamaze sounding breaths, except he could barely get them to get air into his itty bitty lungs. They were involuntarily unlike the ones a mama produces to eliminate her pain. There was definitely something wrong. I started to wonder if all my bopping caused the baby to develop Shaken Baby Syndrome. Had I hurt my own child? Well the river of tears now became an ocean as I was scared this was somehow a fault of my own. This mama bear was taking her cub back to the pediatrician for answers. So I bundled up the screaming child (who no longer had much of a voice) and off we went to the pediatrician for the second day in a row. We sat for no more than 15 minutes and were welcomed with somber looks and pity stares of all in the office. Little did they know, the kid had just fallen asleep, and they had seen nothing of the show he had previously put on. The office assistant took my $65.00 again with a sad look in her eyes as she knew that I had just coughed up the same amount the morning previous. I cautiously joked that it was for the funding to buy me bedroom furniture so I could sleep over as often as I come in there. Then, my favorite nurse, ushered us back. We went through the symptoms, weighing the porker again, measuring him, and were placed into a tiny room decorated with fish. The pediatrician came in a short time later, stuck a swab up the kid's nose, and soon we were being diagnosed with RSV. This was Respiratory Syncital Virus. It was no joke for infants as it causes an infection in the lungs and the breathing passages. This makes them appear to have a common virus to the untrained eye, but when you put them through an x-ray you can see how inflamed their lungs truly are. It can be extremely harmful if left untreated as it can lead to dehydration and even worse pneumonia and death. The pediatrician wasn't taking any chances and sent us to the hospital to be admitted for 24-48 hours-it turned into just that three days and two nights in a tiny room. Just the porker and I, as well as his IV that was attached to his right foot, his oxygen sensor to his left, and a butt revealing hospital gown.


Breathing Treatments are tiring

Mama's little trooper

As we arrived, we were taken in a circle to get to our room. This was precautionary as the volunteer was avoiding the labor and delivery section of the hospital. We didn't want to share this illness with newborns. Eventually we made it to room 280 on the pediatric floor.  By this time, my head was pounding from lack of food and I was exhausted beyond belief. There was no time to eat as we were overwhelmed with nurses and respiratory therapists galore. The fun was just beginning. We were given the IV, the oxygen sensor was attached, a breathing treatment administered, vitals taken, and lunch was delivered sometime in between this all. My heart was aching, my head pounding, and my legs shaking, but somehow we made it through the day. Constant interruptions to our peaceful time together were made as the IV would beep like a car horn or a nurse would need a vital, etc. The time dragged on through the night as well as all the normal hospital visitors who were here to heal my stinky boy. They came and went with a smile, were talked too and cooed at by my little dude, and really sent the gray clouds away. Soon the worst was over as the bambino was now eating again. At first it was from the bottle and then eventually he could latch as well. It seems the storm was slowly making its way off our coasts and we were headed for sunshine and birds tweeting. Although, he showed significant improvements that first night and into the next day, the pediatrician wanted us to stay for another night to continue his breathing treatments and IV fluids. Hastily, we agreed and luckily were visited by a few friends later on that day. They were sweet enough to bring this mama some new socks as I'd been wearing the ones I came in with for two days now....ick......we were making our way to 100% oxygen levels and smooth sailing. Well it was smooth except for the often spit ups that were filled with pleghm. Congestion and phlegm do funny things to those with RSV.

Indeed we were eventually released and made it home. Baby napped which allowed this mama to take a shower for the first time in three days-gross, I know, but I was stuck to my infant's side and not leaving him for more than two minutes to use a restroom. As I sit here now writing this, I can tell you, that I'm glad I trusted my gut. I'm relieved that my mama radar was ringing enough to take my child back to the pediatrician two days in a row. I'm scared almost to wonder had I not been so persistent, could this illness have progressed to something worse than the phlegmy, gooey, poopy diapers that I've been changing all morning?

Moving into the Doctor's Office

Yesterday was all about me!! I woke up and decided that I'm going dairy free. I went online and looked up lots of interesting articles on how this can help a colicky/reflux baby. So, with my husbands help, we loaded up El porker bambino and the big kiddo and went to Kroger in search of dairy-free food and ideas. It was there that I found some vegan cheese, fake butter, and many more interesting products to start this three week journey. I was completely excited about this too, that is until....I had to take El porker bambino to the pediatrician this morning and he looked at me sceptically. He mentioned that most kids will be extremely gassy and fussy till four months. However, the man has no breasts and has not personally breastfed a child, so what does he know? Well he only knows what a man can know, which is not going to stop my newest diet idea.

Anyways, yesterday, I got out of the house without my children, got my hair done, and did a bit of shopping. It was exhilarating, yet terrifying to leave my husband with both kids. It's not that he isn't capable, he certainly is capable, it's just well he's a guy. Guys do one thing at a time and us women, we do ten things at a time to get stuff done.

 

I really enjoyed myself until I noticed that it was after 5 PM and I was going to turn into a pumpkin if I didn't get home soon. So I checked my phone to let my hubby know I was on the way when I noticed one of those crappy texts you wished you hadn't received. My porker was running a 101 degree fever :( Boo-so I raced home faster than a speeding bullet to promptly put my boob juice into his needy little immune system. I truly believe this is the cure all to baby ailments. I nursed him constantly through the night and he slept on my chest with snot dripping all over me. It must be love when your kiddo's boogers are like precious nuggets of gold. Well we woke up and took up our daily residence at the pediatrician's office only to be told he will live. It's just viral. Another cruddy infection for my poor wee one. Oh well, I'm happy it's nothing serious and that he will be fixed soon. Gotta love the amount of money that the pediatrician has made off of my family in the  past three weeks. We've been there four times between two kids and we are set to go back on the 29th. Oh well, at least they know to set up a cot for me and know me and my family by our names. That's love, huh?


My new haircut and my sick El porker bambino

I'm Going Out Without Kids!!

Okay, I've been working so hard to keep the house semi-clean, cook dinner, and keep my two kids alive, that I've decided I deserve some birthday fun. Well let me back up a bit on that.....it all started with a birthday lunch for a dear friend. We went out for delicious Thai food and I ordered something I can't begin to pronounce, but it was made with green onions, mushrooms, bean sprouts, baby corn, cabbage, chicken, and crystal noodles. I salivated as I ate every last bite. Then I consumed two fabulous birthday cupcakes and I was extremely sated for a bit. As we payed our bills, and said our goodbyes, the discussion of birthday outings was brought up. Manicures and pedicures were suggested and I of course, have got to oblige my girlfriends. Therefore, I will officially be leaving both children, yes you heard me right, BOTH CHILDREN, home with their father on Sunday at 1:00 PM.
Now I expect my oldest kiddo to be napping till about 1:30, but who knows with El Poker Bambino. This big kid's nap schedule is so random. Schedule? Who has a schedule with a seven week old? I'm not good at schedules for my kids until I have a schedule for myself. Right now, I'm on maternity leave, so I've been a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants kinda gal. Last minute lunches, photo shoots, or outings, that's ME!!
 Now in another month and a half when I return to the chaos of school, I will become more scheduled again as I've got no choice but to rise with the roosters so I can get to school before the sun rises and make it home before the sun sets-so be the life of an educator. I hope by that return, they don't allow teachers to bring guns to school either because I'd be scared to piss off a fellow educator and wind up a 187.

El Porker Bambino's 1st photoshoot

About to jump

Today is a rough day as my big boy was sent home from daycare with a fever yesterday. This always means twenty-four hours (at least) hiatus from school for him as he gets rid of whatever cooties he's got. The cootie culprit this time happens to be (drum roll please).....an ear infection. The resolution to our conundrum-Amoxicillin. Now if you have ever had Amoxicillin, you would know that it's this dreamy, strawberry-flavored, yumminess. That's to the normal kiddo or person, but my child is far from normal. He's not one to take medicine easily. In fact, as a tiny bambino until about 14 months, he was an amazingly happy kiddo who would be happy to take any kind of tasty medicine you shoved down his throat. Nowadays though, he is a raging bull, an octopus with flailing tentacles, a rabid dog out for the kill (well maybe not a kill)......he's utterly cray cray when it comes time for medicine.
In the past twenty-four hours, I've tried putting it in apple sauce, chocolate milk, water, Gatorade, pudding, and the worst was in his mouth. Okay, well maybe the mouth part was both my big handsome hubby and I. We laid our big boy down across his lap on top of a pillow and the hubby secured his flailing arms while I secured his handsome head. Well at least, I tried to. We carefully squirted the Bubble Yum Gum pink looking liquid in between his teeth and cheek and he erupted like a geyser every time. Even with the infamous "blow into his nose" and "pinch his nose," our big boy still spit the liquid out like a batter spits out sunflower seeds. Therefore, he has barely had much of his 1 and 1/4 tablespoons of medicine he's supposed to have twice daily. Wish me luck, because today, this craziness makes my heart hurt for him and truly makes me wanna jump. Send help, puhhhhllllleeeeessseeee (and a glass of wine)!

Mommy Dearest

Colic and the grocery store don't mix. Enough said. <------That was yesterday's Facebook status.......and the following is a reply from a college friend.

"I had (baby name) in the store once and he completely lost his little mind and this older woman came up and put her hand on my shoulder and said "Relax, every mom in here has been through this before. We are looking because we remember and feel for you, not because we're judging you. You're doing a great job." I was so upset and her words totally calmed me and I never let a public outburst bring me down again!"

Boy did that make me feel better about my situation. So I decided to face the rest of the afternoon with colic boy and his big bro at their friend's 1st birthday party. We really enjoyed ourselves and the baby snoozed the entire time. I even had to move the baby into the birthday girl's crib so  big bro wouldn't awaken my sleeping beauty.



Wake up Little Bro!!

Eventually, we made it home and enjoyed a fabulous dinner of bow tie pasta in a homemade marinara sauce that I had cooking all day in the crock pot. Soon it was time to feed the big bambino and as usual,  I took my position on the couch and allowed big bro to help feed him his two ounce supplement of soy formula. Such a good brother, he did as normal, shoved that bottle into his brother's mouth until he shut it down like an office at 5:00 PM on a Friday afternoon. No more formula for Mr. Bambino and a big old belch was given as a prize for a feeding well done. Off the couch hopped Mr. Big Bro with a smile on his face. He approached his dad, who was working hard on the other couch, and proceeded to hold up the baby's bottle with the remaining 1/2 ounce of formula left over. With a mischievous grin and a sparkle in his eye, he did what any daring 19 and a half month old would do....he lifted that bottle to his lips and took a big swig as mommy cheered him on for his courageousness. Then it happened....he was dry heaving and mama was not cheering anymore. Swiftly, with bambino in one arm and a blanket in the other, I launched myself off the couch and put the blanket under Big Bro's chin. His lips quivered and he struggled with the dry heaves momentarily. Then, like a rocket being launched from NASA, his bow ties shot up and out of his little mouth at lightning fast speed. He was so saddened by this and was stunned at what was happening that tears were pooling in his big expressive eyes. I almost cried myself as I held the contents of my own stomach down. One serving of bow ties was certainly enough for the evening. I felt awful for cheering him on, but was glad that I could catch his stomach's contents without loosing my own. Mommy fail yet a mommy victory all in the same. I bet Big Bro will never again drink from his little bro's baby bottle. Poor dude.

Diagnosis Doc

Okay, so yesterday was a great day to get some answers. I truly feel blessed to know that my sarcastic self was jinxed by my first born. He was an easy going child, always had a cheesy grin, and was NOT a spitter. Therefore,when people commented on how great he was and how they loved him so and that I made great babies, I would often joke that "The next kid will have colic and reflux!" Well obviously I'm a f%#@ing psychic because be it as it may, that's exactly what my child has and you can add in sensitive skin as well as a bit of eczema. Yup, I totally brought my kid's conditions on myself with my very own sarcasm. Oy vey (yup I had to look up the proper spelling of that one in the Urban Dictionary). Anywho.....the gigantic twelve and a half pound, butterball, six-week old is now on Zantac twice a day for his reflux. In addition, I bought him something called Colic Calm, which my mommy friends swear by, and finally I'm prescribed a glass of wine a night to deal with all of the above. Wish me luck!!

Dinner plans and reflux don't mix!

Let me preface this post by saying I absolutely love my big bambino. However, yesterday I was ready to put his @ss back into the womb.
It all began with a dinner invite to celebrate a family friend's 18th birthday. Like I've stated before, if you invite me out, I'm there.
Quickly, I said my prayers for a fabulous night with some great gals and my little dude. I prayed for bliss and sanity and what I got was far from it.
So off the baby and I went (daddy  couldn't handle the pressure of two kiddos at bath and bed time). Well I was there 35 minutes later with my big bambino. Upon arriving before the others, my kiddo began to stir. Then out of nowhere, he erupted like Mt. Saint Helens. His voice was like molten lava decaying my ears. So what did I do, I attempted to feed, burp, change, and soothe him.I thought I had the situation under control so I packed my mommy arsenal of supplies into the stroller as best I could and held big baby in my arms as the ladies arrived and politely opened the door for me and my madness. We sat down in this swanky, upscale, Vietnamese restaurant and promptly the bubbling lava once again erupted. So, I hid under the table. Just kidding, I bounced, rocked, fed, and pacified Mr. Volcano while trying to keep his goat-like squeals down to a minimum. Eventually we  ordered drinks. I could actually manage to sip my Coke quite well because it had a straw, that was until the server refilled it with Diet Coke. I found myself thinking dark thoughts about kicking him in his knees as I asked him if he was trying to hint to something. For goodness sake, I had a baby six weeks ago, but no I do not want a diet soda!!  When dinner arrived, I tryed extremely unsuccessfully to eat with one hand and a fork. This was quite the feat and I was more hungry as I left unsated.The pan seared grouper I ordered wasn't very yummy and became too tepid too fast as I was still trying to handle my baby crisis situation. However, as much as I'd have liked to complain, the restaurant staff was nice enough to ignore my little Beelzebub. Not to mention, the ladies finally offered to hold and rock the kiddo so I could eat. I ate what I could, still extremely unsatisfied as my kiddo continued his verbal assault on them. Oh well, that's life, right? Eventually, I left without a cupcake because I was over the whole "taking my cute baby out for the night on the town" and had moved onto " I just want to get the h e double hockey sticks outta here!" mode. So I loaded up and off I went into the wild yonder....
What started off peacefully as a gurgling became full on explosiveness. The ride had quickly gone to he double hockey sticks in a handbag and I was holding said handbag prisoner in the backseat shackled into his car seat. Boy was he unhappy and his lungs assaulted my ears the entire 35 minute drive home. Upon arriving home, I was ready to throw in the towel on motherhood, so I did what any sane person would do, I dropped the kid into his daddy's arms and closed the bathroom door so I could breathe and stop my ears from ringing. My nerves calmed down even more with this peace and then with a nice ice cream sandwich. Back into my arms, the kiddo was placed so this mommy could rock, coddle, and  soothe my hellion. Eventually, 2 hours later, he was snoring like a freight train and in his pack and play.
As I was about to join him in sleepy land with DJ Pillow spinning soft lullabies, the screeching sound of sirens rang out. This was not just a mere one set of sirens, nope, it was at least 20 sirens ablazing with  their blue LED lights lighting up my house and neighborhood like a Christmas tree. I jumped up out of bed and peered out my window to see what was going on. It was......a high speed chase. Literally before my eyes, a car was followed by the cops at speeds to high for your average driver, blockaded, and forced to stop in front of my home. Out jumped two suspects who tried unsuccessfully to flee on foot. They were apprehended and I was finally ready to sleep, but adrenaline pumping, sleep evaded me. Finally, my eyes closed as I drifted to sleep to wake up quite a few times with a disgruntled kiddo.
This morning, I decided, enough is enough. I called the pediatrician's office to schedule an appointment for my demon child. The angelic voice on the other end informed me that there were no appointments available until mid February. "February," I mimicked in a not-so-splendid voice. Yuppers, that was it. So I talked to the friendly nurse (who I've bribed with candy) and told her that I will walk in tomorrow extra early so we don't have to wait in the germ-infested waiting room with the snotty nosed kids and screamers (like my own son). She's going to keep an eye out for us so we can get to the bottom of the guessing game....Is it reflux or not that makes my child scream, arch his back, spit up his boob juice, and rip farts like atomic bombs. Stay tuned if you want to know the answer to that question and much much more........................

Multitasking

So I'm not a SAHM, really, but I am staying at home with thing #2 while on maternity leave. Therefore, the majority of my day is taking care of a 6 week old bambino. However, in order to do this properly, have a life, and get things done around my house, I've got to multitask.
I was wondering if anyone else every multitasks to get sh$# done? For example, yesterday, I found myself doing multiple things at one time while showering: #1-I cleaned myself (including shaving the jungle that's been growing on my legs and under my arms), #2-I cleaned the shower liner with the scrub brush I leave in my shower, #3-I brushed my teeth. In my mind, combining these things allows me more time to snuggle up to my bambino while he's in the Ergo being fed and I'm doing laundry. See, all this multitasking means I can get things done!

Roll on Tide

Okay, so typically parents do not go out at 7:30 PM on a week night and take their 19 1/2 month old wild child and their 6 week old gassy bottomed baby. However, who said my husband and I are typical. We are certainly not nor have we ever made such claims to normalcy. I'm on maternity leave, so I expect to be invited out during the weeknight and I will be in attendance unless I am dying. So what did we do? Where did we go? We went to our good friend's house to watch the Alabama Crimson Tide roll over the Fighting Irish Notre Dame. At least, that's what  I think happened.
Traveling with a wee little one makes one the life of the party. Everyone wanted to crowd me and take my little bambino or rough house with my toddler and for this, I was happy to oblige. It only took about an hour and a half of arriving, one bottle of mommy's boob juice, two poop explosions (and I mean explosions), and a glass of wine to give up mommy responsibility for a little bit. So off the baby went into some strangers arms. No, I didn't know her personally, but I sure as h-e-double hockey sticks (l l) made sure that she washed her hands. God forbid this lady passed on Ebola to my chunky size-two-diaper-wearing-six-week-old. Some people may sneer that I passed along my kiddo to someone I never met before, but those people probably don't have two children nor like to drink wine like myself. Have you ever tried to have a glass of wine while feeding a baby a bottle? It's impossible, unless you grow extra arms. Anyways, the stranger was great. She actually gave my husband, who had rescued her from the atrocities of a bad paint job in her new home, a bottle of single malt scotch/whiskey, Can we say yummy and I wish to god I wasn't breastfeeding so I could get my hands on a glass of that yummy, golden, deliciousness? Well okay, she was a stranger to me, but my hubsters had known her for a while and truth be told, any friend of the host and hostess is going to be a friend of mine. I mean, come on parents, this is where you go to a mixer to get the oodles and oodles of free baby sitters and their services. I mean who can resist my nineteen month old wild child or my butterball baby? I certainly can't!

Really, the weekend is over?

Okay, so the weekend was fabulous-full of three hour naps, wild parties, and destination weddings. NOT!! I'm a mom for god's sake, that's not going to happen for another 20 something years. Reality check-it was full of smiles, giggles, and yes .......delirium. Delirium gave me a rude awakening on Saturday morning at 6:15 AM in the form of a 19 month old toddler. Riley decided that he wasn't having it and was going to wake with the roosters. As one would expect, my husband dragged his butt out of bed and instead of entertaining said toddler, he choose to bring him into our bed. Picture this scenario folks.....two adults, an infant, and a toddler all in one bed. Mind you, I nurse my infant so he's laying pretty close to me with a boob in his mouth. Then the toddler is on top of my pillow stroking (or rather pulling) my hair and trying to grab the bib under my boob to wipe his brother's mouth. Uhhmmmm, yeah, pretty ridiculous if you ask me. As many times as my husband said "No, no Riley, mommy is feeding your brother, please lay down and sleep," he choose to not listen. Even between him trying to help out, I could hear the dreaded sound that sends this mama on a rampage......snoring!!!! I hate snoring. I hate it even more when it comes from my beloved's nose and mouth. That means he's sleeping and I'm not. After he brings in our toddler to our sleeping oasis and he is the only one asleep....I think not! So I do what any grown  @$$ woman would do, I scream, "I quit," jump out of bed, demand he change someone's poopy diaper, and lay in the fetus position on the bedroom floor like a tortoise stuck within their shell, and block everyone out. I tried to reach my happy place....it didn't work. I was perturbed having been up every hour and a half the night before feeding and changing little Mr. Poopy diapers. Of course, being a man, the husband has no clue as to my evening as he peacefully rested said evening away, he probably just thought I was being cute. However, inside I was a raging, molten-hot volcano, ready  to combust. Then my toddler began rubbing my back and bestowing bear hugs on me. This changed everything. Now it was time to face the day with a huge mug of joe that would never be finished since I have two kiddos. Ahhhh, the life of a mommy.
So this weekend,I truly noticed how great and not so great men can be. Number one: my husband loves his children wholeheartedly and is an amazing dad. Number two: He's a man, need I say more? Sticking with the "He's a man," I once read somewhere, that we women should adopt the man's way when it comes to kids. We should just be layed back more like them. Well if that happened, the kids would cry way too much for my liking. For instance, if my husband changes a night-time poopy filled diaper, often I find myself waking him to ask him to do so. Then before he gets the high-pitched squealing goat boy from his pack and play paradise or from the bed to change, he goes to the restroom. Now if I change the baby, I'm already awake, the bambino gets changed immediately and then I use the bathroom. Another time, I asked my dear hubby to change our little guy and he asked me "Can I drink my chocolate milk first?" Uhmmmm, no, would you like to be our little one sitting in a pile of chocolate milk? Us women, we don't eat or drink until our kiddos are content. The men, they adopt the layed back "I'll get to it soon," approach. I'm so glad they don't mind the innocent screams of infinite helplessness that escape our children's mouth when in the menfolk's care. However, I for one, don't enjoy the loud wailing.
Happy Monday ya'll!! That's what South Carolina folks say :)

What a fun vet visit (NOT)

Okay today was a really difficult day. I've been lacking the sleep department and my boobs still want to explode and spray milk everywhere. Trust me on this, the poor wee baby, got milked in his eyes this morning for delatching (is that even a word) and while multitasking and creating this post, I accidentally overflowed my lovely Medela bottles that are attached to my boobs as we speak. Can we say, "Yes I'm crying over spilled milk?" If you've never spilled mama's milk before, you just wouldn't understand. However, as someone who will be returning to the workforce in March, each drop of mama milk is like a bazillion golden nuggets.
So what have I done today?  I've managed to dress myself sans shower. Taken both dogs out for walks as well as remembered to feed them (yes I sometimes forget that the dogs and myself need to eat). I've dropped the oldest off to daycare in one piece. I grocery shopped with a sleeping baby who only squeaked like a little billy goat as I was paying and screeched as loud as dying hyena the whole way home. Managed to load both the kiddo and my 40 pound pitbull into my vehicle and travel across town to the vet where I met up with a nice lady to purchase some second hand clothes for my numero uno kid. The vet........hmmmmm........that was extremely difficult.
It's often difficult to take one dog to the vet. See, my dogs are both pitbulls. I know, I know, killer pitbulls and yada yada. Well no darn dog is perfect, especially not Banks. He has barked and tried to nibble a child or two at times when they screech (not my own kids though-he's practically raising these two himself). So let me set the scence for you-scary pitbull, huge 5 and a half week old son, and little old me walk into the Petstore where the vet is located. Let's rephrase, I get pulled into the petstore by the pitbull while I try to restrain him from hurling us both to an unsitely fall. We approach the reception area where a snotty British looking lady (no offense against the English) proceeds to glare at me as though I've got shit on my face while her ankle biting cocker spit on you spaniel dog yelp loudly. My buddy then tries to make his way towards the dumb dog and eat him for a snack. However, I restrained him and caught the devils eye. Then she goes away for a few. Finally we make our way up to the counter and I go to put my evil dog on the scale and she comes back. She's now standing between my handsome sleeping child and the scale where the dog and I are. She's a nitwit. I can't get to my kid with her dog there because my furry baby thinks he's a delicious champagne apertif, so what does she do, she stands there longer. After I ahem and choke a few times thinking she'd catch my drift, the dense woman proceeds not to catch anything but my "Mama bear I want to eat you for breakfast stare!" Finally, the vet tech kindly asks her to move her dumb@ss. Well not really, but in my head, that's what I heard. Eventually we proceeded into room #4 and were separated from the furry child as he had the plastic piece removed from his ear. Upon his return, he was spewing blood everywhere from an open puncture, or so I thought. After one tissue, the blood and gore was cleaned and we were sent on our merry way home. I genuinely can't forsee taking the dog and the kid to the vet ever again in my future. This is more of a job for my big burly husband.
So now we are home. The breasts have been expressed, the kid fed and changed, and I'm ready for bed (it's 3 PM), but I've got about a thousand more things to do and quite a few more hours to go, so maybe I'll just settle for some quiet time to stare at (I mean bond with) my numero dos, Bryan. At least we both survived the majority of this beautifully sunny day!

Banks (my furry kid) and Bryan (my non furry kid)

Welcome to the dark side.....

Hello World!! Welcome to my new blog. I thought the name would be fitting as I can always use a glass of wine. Personally I prefer a red such as a bold cabernet. Being that I have two beautiful little boys, a husband, and two crazy dogs, the brand doesn't matter to me. Whatever is cheap and available will go a long way.
So let me start with an introduction. Like I said, I've got two wonderful boys. Riley is my oldest kiddo coming in at 19 months, 31 inches, and 25 and someodd pounds (I still think he feels like a hundred though as he always wants to be picked up-he raises his little hands and twists his fingers in the air with the smile of an angel and a devlish attitude to demand being picked up so). My youngest, Bryan, is 5 weeks, 20 1/2 inches (maybe), and about 10 pounds (I think). My other child (the husband) is 33 years old and works in the home building industry. Myself, I'm currently home on maternity leave, but I'm a teacher most of the time.
Being on maternity leave is like a false sense of security. You think you can accomplish all you need to do, but that never happens. You start on one chore, get easily distracted, wind up posting your life away on Facebook or sleeping. Other times though, you run around like a chicken with your head cut off five minutes before your dear husband comes home so you can pretend that you cleaned all day long, but truly you did for the last few minutes. Don't tell him I said that though. Truth be told, I do end up doing the majority of the household chores.
Well today's blog includes my schedule - I got up at 6:45 AM after a night filled with nursing sessions. This was tiring because Riley started with his screaming for things that he refuses to name. I decoded his screams/grunts as "Mom, get me a f'ing banana right now!" Yup, that's what he wanted. Then he proceeded to scream while I cleaned his stinky poop filled tooshie. Finally, I wrestled clothes onto him and he began his babble about "Shoes," as he thus proceeded to throw all five pairs he owns around his room. Eventually we were done with our morning conundrums and craziness and proceeded to wake the little billy goat baby from his peaceful slumber. Then I loaded the kids into the Expedition and set off to go to Dunkin Donuts and grab some munchkins for the daycare teachers. The person at the window was  godsend. She separated five into a bag for me and actually told me that I was so nice they threw in some extras. I felt special and I hadn't even finished my own morning cup of happiness (coffee)-they must not truly know me I thought to myself.
Eventually I arrived in the rain to school. Today I decided to park on the side of the building instead of the front. Reason being, I end up talking to everyone and hold up traffic. I thought that was super sweet of me as I was lugging out the baby's stroller and daydreaming of a nap when a voice appeared out of nowhere. Sure enough, Riley's teacher was wishing me a good day and offering to help with the munchkins. She was lucky I wasn't still preggers though because in my reverie and my own world, I jumped out of my socks and sure enough could've gone into labor-just saying. So I pushed my happy baby stroller in with one hand and carried Riley with the other and it was inti daycare he went. Lucky for me, his breakfast was on the table and he was happy to see me go.
So home I went. What did I actually accomplish though today? Well I've kept my 5-week-old alive, put a load of laundry in the washer and the dryer (where it remains), took some pictures of clothes, ran the dishwasher, called the vet, and relieved my engorged boobs by pumping away. That's a lot to do or so I think it is. If you want to disagree though, come over and I'll punch you :) Just kidding.

Bryan (he just peed on me so he's smirking)

Well with that being said, I really must go and get shi@ -I mean stuff done....so I can eventually wind down with a goblet of my cheap cab later this evening.

Riley ready to throw his cars everywhere (notice the evil grin)