September 2006

I’ve read a couple posts out there in the blogosphere about self image/dieting/losing your identity in the swamp that is motherhood. This is an age old issue among women of my age, and yet, this is the first time in my life that I’ve really sat down and thought about it.

I’ve always considered myself unself-coinscious. But I don’t think that’s the whole truth. I think I am self-conscious, but figured my image was a lost cause so why spend any time or energy worrying about it? Which isn’t to say that most of the time I haven’t tried to look nice. But at the same time, my efforts can only carry me so far and nature isn’t interested in picking up the slack on the other side, you know? I’ve never thought I was attractive. EVER. Since I was old enough to have ideas about beauty I’ve always thought I was sub-par. And not just plain, because plain I could handle. Plain melts into the background and no one bothers plain because they’re PLAIN. I’ve always thought of myself as rather, well, ugly. That the features I was born with and inherited honestly through genetics, combine to make me rather unattractive.

For one thing, I have a large nose. I hate this nose. I spend a lot of time not talking about my nose to anyone. Because I hate it and I think it’s possibly the worst feature I have. Wait, no possibly about that. It *is* the worst feature. I got it from my mom’s side of the family. My grandmother had this nose. On her? It didn’t bother me so much because she was grandma and that’s what she looked like. On me? HATE.? The nose alone wouldn’t be that bad, but when paired with the small eyes, the prominent lower jaw the large almost bulging forehead… OH MY GOD, I’m hideous, lookaway! And that isn’t even the whole of it either.

I’m tall. Tall isn’t that bad, but I’m also large boned. Another thing I can thank my mother for (for the record: the forehead and the jaw came from my dad. The eyes, from my mother).? My sister is also tall, maybe an inch shorter, but tall just runs in our family. The difference is she has a more petite build. Her bones are better proportioned to her body. I am built nearly like a linebacker. I have big feet, big hands with long fingers, big wrist bones and large shoulders (I always have cut shoulder pads out of outfits because I DO NOT NEED EXTRA HELP).? Don’t I sound just gorgeous?

So consider for a minute I had all this self-image baggage already lurking in the wings before I got married. And when I got married, I did what a lot of women who find themselves in a stable, happy relationship do. I started to gain a little weight. But it was just that, a little weight. 5 to 10 pounds, thereabouts. Then? Six months after our wedding I got pregnant. I actually didn’t gain a lot of weight for the first 20 weeks They even sent me to see a nutritionist and I had to go in for weekly weigh-ins. I gained about 20 pounds total by the end of the pregnancy. But I wasn’t too worried. Especially when that weight melted off pretty easily after Harry was born. But then the thyroid decided it was DONE doing whatever it is thyroids do and my metabolism took a header. And… there came the weight. A pound here, a pound there. I was busy with a small child so I didn’t really notice and I certainly didn’t have time to do anything about it.

Then we decided to start trying to get pregnant again. And that’s not a good time to be starting a big time diet, is it? We tried. And tried. And tried, tried, tried. Even after the lazy thyroid was discovered, medication didn’t help me lose any of that weight. True, I didn’t gain much anymore. But the damage was done. Then I got pregnant again; 38 weeks weeks later, I lost that baby. But I still had the weight. No, I didn’t gain any weight in that pregnancy, but I didn’t really lose any afterward either. Depression is counter-productive to that sort of thing, you know. A year later we tried again and got pregnant, again. I was only pregnant that time for 15 weeks. Nothing gained, again, but nothing lost, either. And still trying (HOPING) to get pregnant. No dieting, the smallest amounts of exercise. Got pregnant and here, almost a year later, we have our beloved baby safe in our arms. And for the first time in SEVEN years, I’m not pregnant or trying to get pregnant. I’m free, somewhat, to diet and lose some serious poundage. I’m doing the pumping thing, which means I can’t “crash” diet, but then, I’ve never been the sort to do that sort of thing anyhow.

The point of all this is to tell how at the age of 30, I’m finally becoming aware of my appearance in a broader sense. I know there are things about myself that I can’t change. But there are things I can. In the last couple of years, there are things I’ve started to do, like see a hairdresser every 8 weeks. As much as it pains me to spend the money on a haircut, it’s become vital to me to have that splurge. I would love to get some professional highlights or something of the like, but I don’t know if I’m ready to spend quite that much on my hair yet.

I’m trying to improve my wardrobe. I bought some nice jeans last year for $40, the most I’d ever spent on jeans in my life. The problem is they’re now WAY too big. I bought them sort of large to begin with because I am I strict believer in not wearing clothes that are too small for you. But you shouldn’t buy them too big either. So now, post-baby with the predictable pound-meltage, I can take them off without even unbuttoning them. And ya’ll? There’s no elastic waist on these things. You aren’t supposed to be able to do that. So… I need new jeans. I need a lot of new clothes, but jeans top the list.

In the meantime, I’m going to keep trying to lose more weight. So far I haven’t had to do much to lose. I’ve lost over 24 pounds without doing much more than pump milk six times a day and drink a TON of water. Eventually I’m going to have to break out of my comfort zone and do some more hardcore dieting and perhaps (*gasp*) exercise. Perish the thought. And I want to lose this awful vision of myself that I have. I may not be able to change things like my nose or my build… but I can do things to make me feel better about myself. And now that I’m entering the wilds of midlife, it’s the perfect time to lose, don’t you think?

Otherwise known as: OMG I just typed up this big long entry and Wordpress ATE it. HATE.

While I’m pondering some fairly major changes to this blog, I have had to take a look at my posting frequency. And I’m pretty disgusted. I mean, once a week? Maybe twice? What’s that about? I used to post every day if I could. Maybe more. And now I’ve dissolved into this non-posting blog dweeb and that just ain’t gonna cut it. I need to post more often. It’s not like I don’t have anything to say. I just need to SAY. Ya know? So if the only way I can actually put out a freaking post today is to do it bullet style, I’ll do it. See? That’s me throwing myself on the sword of blog indecency for you guys. I hope you can appreciate it.

• Harry is on Zantac, ya’ll. ZANTAC. For possible acid reflux or maybe even an ulcer. Okay? He’s not even SEVEN yet. I’m still not over this, even though I’ve already mentioned it. (And why the hell was I calling it Zantax???) If that’s not a great way to feel like a horrible mother I don’t know what is.
• On the flip side, his teacher pulled me aside on Friday to tell me that Harry was head and shoulders above anyone else in the class in reading. My son? Can read like nobody’s business. So she wanted to send him to the second grade class for reading lessons. WOW. He had his first lesson in the second grade class yesterday and from all accounts (namely, his), it sounds like it went well. He said, and I quote, “I knew all the words.” That’s just fantastic.
• Remember when I said I wanted to change my blog’s definition? That “Inconceivable” wasn’t cutting it anymore? Well, I’m going forward with that. Prepare to see a LOT of changes on this blog and soon. I’m not sure HOW soon, but you’ll know it when it happens. Partially because I have a whole new .com address for my blog. Wee! So while the content will all be here, it’ll be at a whole other address. Don’t worry, I’ll leave a link. But isn’t that exciting? I need to come up with a fresh, new design to go with the new site. That might take a little longer. But yay for a new start. Because let’s be honest. I’m not inconceivable anymore. I’ve got my sweet, sweet baby here in my arms and I’m not constantly dogged by horrendously atrocious luck any longer. So here’s to a new life! And a new blog to go with it. Watch here for news, I hope to have the new account up hopefully by this weekend sometime!
• Liam has an appointment with the ENT next Wednesday to evaluate his tongue-tie. :unsure I’m not sure what exactly to hope for so I’m just hoping for the best. I mean, I want to get it clipped because I do believe now that that is the best choice for the future. But at the same time, this will mean a sharp implement will have to be used to SLICE something in my darling Liam’s mouth and that sounds just too horrifying to comprehend. Hold me.
• Speaking of the little peach pit, he’s been fussy as all get out since his shots on Friday. We’d just gotten to a place where he was embracing a reliable schedule, and nearly sleeping through the entire night. Now? He’s cranky and awake for most of the day and reluctant to sleep at night. Argh! Darn those doctors and their evil needles!
• STILL PUMPING. Oh my God, ya’ll. On a normal day I pump when I get up around 7:30, then again about 10 or 10:30, then 1 or 1:30, again about 4:00 and then 7 and again at 10 or 10:30. DANG. That’s a lot of pumping. And you should see the enormous supply I’ve got going in the deep freeze out in the garage. I’ve filled a box. A BIG box. I have enough milk in there to feed a whole army of infants. Which is fantastic. But I’m so sick of pumping. I can only hope and pray that clipping his tongue tie will finally allow us to breastfeed. Because if this little experience with exclusive pumping has taught me anything, it’s taught me how EASY it is to just breastfeed. I hate the rigamorale with bottles. I’m constantly washing bottles and pump parts and pumping or feeding… my life is milk. MILK MILK MILK. Argh! I want to breastfeed so bad. SO. BAD.

I’m sure there was many other things I was going to add, but as I stated above, I lost the entire post and now since it’s been more than an hour since I wrote it, I’ve completely forgotten everything. My brain is officially mush. Are brain cells secreted in breastmilk, by any chance? Sheesh! So hopefully it won’t be near as long before I post again. I’m gonna try!

Today was a momentous day indeed in the Porter household. Today was the day of Liam’s two month pediatrician appointment. Even more, it was also the day of Harry’s first visit with the same pediatrician. How can one family handle that much excitement all in ONE spectacular day?

I’m still reeling from it, myself.

The day had a rather auspicious start to it, too. Actually, nearly every day this week has had that sort of start to it. Generally because Harry wakes up late or takes an extra long time eating breakfast or whatever. The poor kid has had to fix his lunch two out of four days. Most mornings are kinda nutso anyhow; I’m pumping for about a half or longer (after not pumping all night long, I get something like 18 oz. each morning) and then when I’m done, Liam is usually desperate to be fed. Kile has to get to work so it’s pretty much my business. However, sometimes Harry falls through the cracks and has to fix his own breakfast and sometimes lunch and I feel pretty guilty about that. But anyhow. Where was I?

Oh yes. Today. Anyhow, I picked Harry up from school early, at 2 pm. Then we stopped by Smiths so I could get some infant tylenol drops for Liam, which I administered in the parking lot before jetting over to Kile’s work to pick him up. This was a family affair, ya’ll. We got to the doctor’s office a little late (typical), but it was a while before they called us back anyhow.

It went pretty well, actually. The boys had their appointments pretty much at the same time. Liam has grown quite a bit, to put it mildly. Of course, we already knew this but our suspicions were confirmed when the little chunker weighed in at 12lbs 6oz. Ya’ll, that’s almost 75^th percentile. Not bad for Mr. Underweight Baby. He measured in at 22 1/4 inches, which is 25^th percentile. His monster noggin? 40 cm and 50^th percentile. Go, Liam! Harry isn’t doing so badly either. At 6 years, 10 months, he’s 49 3/4 inches tall and weighs 58lbs. Both of those are 75^th to 90^th percentile. That’s my big boy.

We got to talking to the pediatrician about different “issues” with both the boys. Mostly Harry. We talked about his emotional outbursts and the doctor didn’t think it sounded that unusual or any particular cause for concern. However, he could tell we were concerned so he suggested that a psychiatrist would be better than a therapist. Since we especially want to avoid him just being medicated to deal with it. We’re hoping that someone can help give him the tools to better deal with his emotions. Because, apparently, we aren’t as able to do it for him as we’d hoped. We also mentioned his dental issues, of which has many, and the pediatrician was able to recommend a good dentist. Because the one we’d had before just wasn’t a very good fit. We also brought up Harry’s stomach problems. For years now he’s complained of tummy aches, always after eating. It’s been getting worse in the last year, so we asked if he knew what it could be. After we answered a few questions, he said he thought it might be acid reflux or even an ulcer (!!) and prescribed Zantax. If that doesn’t stop the symptoms, then they’ll have to maybe do some bloodwork to rule out a milk allergy or even send him to a gastroenterologist. Fun! But hopefully the Zantax will work. The doctor seemed to think it would since giving him Tums and Children’s Pepto always seems to help.

We also brought up Liam’s tongue tie. He said he’d get us a referral to a ENT (Ear, Nose, Throat) specialist who could clip it for us. He thought maybe it might not need clipping until we pointed out the extent of the tie. He didn’t seem to think it’d be an issue, but we’ll see. Poor kid. He wasn’t entirely surprised to hear he had one, given our breastfeeding problems. I can only hope that the clipping will help and that we’ll finally be able to breastfeed. Becuase today of all days, I’ve missed the handiness of breastfeeding as a comfort tool.

Being it was Liam’s 2 month appointment, we had the first round of vaccinations to enjoy. Why does it always feel like a betrayal? Liam was laying there, looking around curiously at all the colorful decorations in the room when all the sudden… STAB! STAB! STAB! Lord, was he mad. First was the stunned look. Then it dissolved into open mouthed silent scream and (plug your ears!) the WAIL. I took one look at his purpled face and grabbed a bottle. Of course, by then he was too upset to notice the nipple in his mouth. I wiggled it around until he finally got the hint and started to suck with abandon. And that was that, he ate a good four ounces and was pretty contented for the ride home.

Of course, since then he’s been less than contented. He had maybe one nap of an hour or so, but the rest of the time, he’s just wanted to eat, eat, eat. And we’ve had to be dilligent with the tylenol, because if we let it wear off and he starts to kick his legs and of course that HURTS so it’s this vicious circle of kicking the legs, crying cuz it hurts and kicking the legs because you’re upset and it results in mom making a frantic dash for the tylenol. FUN!

Right now he’s wide awake, wanting to suck but not hungry (I miss the boob!), and I’m just thoroughly exhausted. However, Kile just got puked on so his patience is at an end for the evening. I have a feeling it’s going to be a LONG night!

^{doo dee doo dee doo}

FYI: a? new video has been added to the Videos page.? It’s of a recent “pat a cake” game between Kile and Liam.? In other words?? You just can’t miss it.? It’s just too darn cute.

Not having, you know, a uterus or anything gets in the way of men having babies. Obviously. But think there are deeper, more profound reasons why men don’t have babies. Personally, I just don’t think they can handle the pressure.

Which isn’t to say that dads can’t take fantastic care of their babies when called on to do so. Few men I know are as good with children (even including delicate newborns) as Kile is. He’s got a real heart for them, and the kids just love him right back. In fact, when it comes to taking care of OTHER people’s children, he’s the one you want. Not me. But that’s something we’ve already covered here before and I’m sure we’ll cover again before it’s all said and done. ANYHOW. Getting off topic.

I’m just saying that when the shit hits the fan, the daily grind becomes just that (a GRIND, hoo boy, what a grind), that perhaps men just aren’t equipped to handle it.

I’ve lost my fair share of patience with Liam, even though I love him to itty, bitty, teeny, weeny pieces. But I’ve also noticed that sometimes (SOMETIMES), Kile’s patience is thinner than mine. He’s fantastic for jumping in when I’m at my wits end and I NEED A BREAK, so help me GOD. But I need to remember to give him a break too, usually in a couple hours. Especially if it’s late at night.

Also, he can’t take the hours. Bless him, he tries. And he NEVER complains (though I do, and OFTEN). But I think he just plain needs more sleep than I do. Or he can’t function on less. One of the two. Take last night for instance. It was “my night”. Since Liam has been getting up (roughly) once per night, we switch off who takes care of him each night. We went to bed around 11:30 and Liam was up at 2:30 or so. I got up, fed him, rocked him, fed him some more, was thrown up on, changed him and his diaper, rocked him and went back upstairs. I laid him down but he wasn’t having it, so I picked him up, rocked, fed a little, rocked and patted and voila. He was down. Sorta. The next thirty minutes consisted of me laying next to him (lovin’ the co-sleeper), patting his back to put him back to sleep each time he’d stir until he fell into a deep enough sleep pattern. Then, finally, I got back to sleep myself. That was about 4:00. Around 5 or so, he woke up again, but Kile got up and rocked him until he fell back asleep that time. About a half hour at the most, more like 15 minutes. We both woke up at 6:30 this morning (though, admittedly, I dozed in bed for another 15 minutes. My bad).

So we get home from our adventures Out of the House this afternoon and it wasn’t five minutes in the recliner before Kile started nodding off. He has a particular illness when it comes to that chair anyhow. I’m tired, heck ya. I would love a quick snooze in the chair. But, when we got home, I had to clean bottles, change Liam, change my own shirt, pump, feed Liam and pat/rock him to sleep. Of course, once Liam was asleep, Kile got up and went upstairs presumably to “change clothes.” What he’s really doing? Playing Runescape and/or Halo. How do I know? I just KNOW.

So, whatever. As much as I’d love to have more “time off” on the evenings and weekends, I just know it won’t happen. It can’t happen. I don’t even know if it SHOULD happen. I enjoy my “job”, taking care of Liam. And if our (childcare… not household because he totally carries that column) responsibilities are a little unbalanced, it’s only because that’s really how it’s supposed to be. I’m the mom and in the beginning, I’m in the hot seat. I’m cool with that. But a nap WOULD be nice.

edited to add: FWIW, Kile has been fabulous the last couple of days.? He took yesterday off work and really helped out and tonight, I haven’t had to take care of Liam once since he got home.? So bonus points to Kile.? And he hasn’t even read this!? Yet. *gulp*

^anyhow….

In other news: I put a new video up on the “Videos” page called, “Funny Dream”. It’s one I took of Liam just yesterday. He’s been giggling in his sleep lately and this was my attempt to capture it. I didn’t get a true giggle, but I got a couple little chuckles. It’s cute, at any rate. Go check it out.