3:37 a.m.

Once upon a time it was 1:29 a.m. and my little duffer had woke me up with his snarfuls and inability to sleep.  Fast forward two hours and you have now.  I worked hard to try and fall back to sleep, but I kept worrying that the duffer would wake back up again and I’d be dancing to my Grammy Award winning made up songs.  Now, I am just waiting for the idea of sleep to creep back into my brain.  But, while awake, I might a well write since I don’t tend to have a lot of time to do that usually.

The other day before presenting to the school board about communication I sat around the table with some educators having a meal and nervously waiting for our time to present.  The woman next to me with a young son like me was talking about her holiday plans.  Side note, I’ve now realized that from December 1st to December 24th the only conversation people want to have (especially when you have a small child) is what are you doing for holidays?  I am guessing from December 26th until mid-January the conversation focuses on what you actually did.  This woman did get into all the details, but implied from her tone and whatnot that she had a doozy of Thanksgiving with her in-laws in Massachusetts.

My immediate (and to all those who know me) obvious response was have you seen Home for the Holidays? No.  She had not.  So, of course, I recommended it.  I am thinking she will appreciate it.  I mean how can you not appreciate Holly Hunter, as the pathetic protagonist, who has lost her job and is heading home to thanksgiving sans her daughter (played by Claire Danes — pre-My So Called Life) who she finds out is planning to have sex with her boyfriend after she has lost her nice winter jacket and is forced to wear this horrendous jacket her mother just happens to have in the car.  Oh, and I forgot her trying to kiss her not at all attractive boss after he fires her.  Charles Durning as her dad.  Anne Bancroft as her mom.  Robert Downey Jr. as her gay brother who just lives to make life horrible for her perfect sister and husband (the woman I know from other stuff — she is a total character actor and Steve Guttenberg as the husband).  Throw in Dylan McDermott as Robert Downey Jr.’s friend and you’ve got a complete holiday filled with well, holiday goodness.  A must see at any holiday time (Easter, Valentine’s Day — who cares — it’s hilarious!).

In that same vein, what are other good non-syrupy holiday movies?  Forget Miracle on 34th Street or It’s a Wonderful Life – what are the real holiday movies that make you laugh, etc.?

Over Thanksgiving, we saw Four Christmases — Vince Vaughn & Reese Witherspoon — not bad — some good laughs and one-liners.

A Christmas Story — always a good one.  I believe my husband even showed it to a math class once for what reason I can’t tell you, but it is quoted regularly in our house.

I know there are more, but strangely at 3:54 a.m. I beginning to get tired.  So to throw it out to the void — What is your favorite holiday movie and more importantly WHY?

Karma

Yesterday, we decided to have a fun day.  We went to Julie/Julia at the Mom’s Matinee. Despite not finishing the book, the movie was cute.  I say cute because anything Nora Ephron does is just that (think Sleepless in Seattle).  During the movie, which is a place where moms can take their babies and not have to worry about crying, there was one kid who just screamed.  Not cried, but screamed for almost the entire movie.  For the first half of the movie, I felt empathy considering my baby isn’t really a screamer (more on that later), but by the second half the tension headache I had arrived at the movie with was full blown and I was on pins and needles.  Driving away from the theater, I did make a comment to my husband about the baby’s screaming, but tried to feel compassion for the mom who probably just wanted some air conditioning and a a little entertainment.  Little did I know, I would be experiencing something very similar only at midnight and beyond.

Little duffer has had a cold since Tuesday, but somehow last night was the worst.  He work himself up at 9:30 and didn’t settle down until almost 1 a.m.  Plus, on top of that, I managed to get his cold so I couldn’t breathe.  It was worse than all those nights without sleep at the beginning of my child’s birth.  At least, I could breathe, read books, and watch bad t.v  I needed to catch up on even if I was delirious from having no sleep.  This time around he just wouldn’t settle and it involved lots of walking (I couldn’t put him down — talk about mama strength — he weighs 26 pounds), a car ride, and eventually taking the car seat out of the car so he could sleep in it.  Finally, we had some reprieve at 2ish until 5ish.

In the a.m., he didn’t really get any better and had a fever so inevitably he earned himself a doctor’s appointment.  Secretly, I think he likes visiting with his doctor, but he was just plain miserable so we needed something to make him feel better.  However, I admit I went to my hair appointment while my husband (the saint that he is) took the little duffer to the doctor.  No worries because I spent the entire hair appointment so stuffed up that I thought my head might imploded.  In addition, my hair dresser accidently drank my latte and then had to run in the back room to gargle so he wouldn’t end up miserable during a fun weekend away.  Great, I instill salt-water gargling in folk (at least I don’t instill vomiting).

All in all, the verdict for the little duffer — double ear infection.  No wonder he was upset.  Now, he is on the pink stuff and Tylenol as needed.  He is slightly better, but not really himself yet, which is okay because I am thoroughly not myself either.  Today, I can breathe, but now my cold has moved to my chest so I sound like I have a smoker’s cough and feel like someone hit me with an eighteen wheeler.  Good thing, little duffer has decided to take a nap so I can have a couple cups of coffee to help jump start my day to be a powerhouse or maybe just able to carry the 26 pounder to the car for a little shopping (after all — it is tax free day in Vermont!).

Tossin’ and Turnin’…Rockin’ and Rollin’ All Night

No 5K Race for me today.  Someone (a small little mini-hubby) decided that they would roll around last night.  He has been a little grumpy lately and we think maybe he is teething (no teeth visible, but lots of drool and chewing).  When the alarm went off at 6:00 a.m. to throw everyone in the car and drive 45 minutes to the start of the race my body screamed and said, “It ain’t happening lady.”  Luckily, after we all went back to bed the little duffer slept until 7:45.  Now, we are all refreshed and ready for the grandparents and aunt to arrive.  Now, I just need to squeeze in a 30 minute run before the heavens open up and it is time to prune the apple trees.

My Lovely Sleeping Little Man

For weeks now, my husband and I have survived on pockets of sleep.  He usually gets a solid three hours a night uninterrupted and I get about two.  The rest are twenty minute stretches here and there where we hope that our baby will sleep.  However, tonight was different.  Of course, now that I write about it I’m sure it will never happen again, but I will remember December tenth.  Our son has a little stuffy nose and some feeding fussies going on (a.k.a gas) so our doctor suggested he sleep for the next couple days sitting in either his vibrating chair or his jungle swing.  My husband put him in the jungle swing after a 7:30 feeding and he slept until almost 11.  I then took over and put him in about midnight and he slept until almost three.  Now, I am awake briefly to see if he will go back down again, but I realize he will need a diaper change prior to that occurring.  The swing also lets him relax.  Now, if you’ll excuse me I have a baby to change and wait…more sleep to get!

My First Meltdown

I feel like I should be writing about a summer vacation where I went to a new location or something, but rather I am admitting that last night or maybe some would call it early this morning I had my first real meltdown since bringing my son home from the hospital.  Rationally, I know all the reasons why it happened — first visit out and about, long car ride, off schedule, no naps for anyone in the family yesterday, gas, etc.  However, the reality is that it still happened.  I felt like the worst mom on the planet because I couldn’t get my little man settled down and the gas out of him.  Plus, he had a constipated poo and a fountain of youth (our term for when he decides to douse either us or him with his pee) that really took a lot out of him.  Plus, somehow the poo ended up all over my forehead.  Now, hours later as he enjoys rockin’ out in his jungle swing, I can laugh about the curry looking poo that worked its way onto my eyebrow in the early hours of morning, but at that time I felt like I was winning the worst mom in America award.  Thank goodness my husband is a saint who took over and allowed me to get some sleep except when I had to feed the little bambino.  Now at the normal morning hour, everything seems in perspective.  I think daylight makes things seem easier sometimes.  Nighttime for some reason feels pressure oriented.  Amidst the grunts and gurgles, I don’t feel like the worst mom, but rather human.  Today we will get back on schedule — all will get a bath from the poofest last evening, we will all take naps today, and unless necessary we will enjoy a day at the house since the roads are crappy.  And tonight, we will feel refreshed and ready for round two.

Paradise By Radio Tower Lights

I love sleep.  I feel compelled to let you all know that I enjoy naps, going to bed early, falling asleep on long car rides (when someone else is driving), and dozing off on the couch in the middle of a television show with no worries that I won’t know what happened at the end.  In fact, earlier this evening, my husband who had the shift with my son last night that involved much fussiness said I should take the two of you for a four hour car ride so you both can sleep.  However, at 1:12 a.m., I feel I also need to tell you that although I miss sleep, I am enjoying a new piece of my life that involves anything but.  As I type this post with my computer’s brightness turned up just enough that I can navigate the screen, next to me my little man is sleeping with a small smile on his face.  I put him down in the pack-in-play earlier to attempt to get him to sleep while I could possibly curl up on my couch, but he would have none of that.  Now I know that soon I will probably feel grouchy that he is fussy about sleep and all of that, but now I actually enjoy watching him sleep with his hands up looking like he might get in a fight.  Outside my window, the three red flashing lights of the radio towers over on Blush Hill flicker on and off in a rhythm warning planes that towers are in their way.  These lights are my nighttime comfort.  I watch them like I watch my son calmed by their presence.  It is the simple things I think that make me smile.  My son’s eyes half open as I pick him up and soothe him back to sleep.  My dog Sammy’s ability to curl himself underneath your covers so that he is spooning you.  My other dog Maggie’s ability to never get sick of playing her ball games out on the porch.  Or my husband’s smile in his eye as he changes his son for the upteenth time after a blowout.  In the wee hours of the morning, as my son’s stuffy nose makes it seem like he is snoring, I am content knowing that I’ll clock less than eight hours heading into tomorrow, but I’ll have all these little moments to hold on to.

The Long Hallway

I figure it has been over a week since these events so I can now write about it in an objective way.  After my son was born via c-section, my doctors gave me Percocet for the pain (a mixture of tylenol and oxycodone).  After just having major surgery, this seemed like a normal course of events.  However, I should have remembered that prescription drugs and I don’t get along.  There was a time when I was five having surgery to remove a cyst (I still remember the Smurf sheets they put on the bed when I had to stay over before the actual day of surgery) when general anesthesia and I had a run in.  So much so that when my parents gave me my Apple Dumpling doll (how I loved Strawberry Shortcake) I actually threw up everything I had eaten in a sort of exorcist sort of way.  The next memory I have of drugs is the colonoscopy I had a couple years back where they give you enough drugs to put you under but not enough that you can’t walk out of the hospital and head home after a couple hours.  The drugs they gave me convinced me I could just walk right out of the hospital into my husband’s car from the wheelchair I needed to get me down there.  The poor volunteer kept asking me where I was going and all I could say was “That’s my car.”  Never mind the mandatory stops along the way to allow for whatever I had eaten for breakfast to join the asphalt of Route 15.  After my c-section, I should have known I was going down another road like the first two, but I thought I’m older and this was major surgery.  I should have know better than.  The first three days were a blur anyway.  I don’t think I slept more than three hours in 72 hours, which might have contributed to the effects of the drugs.  Because of some mild pre-eclampsia and lab results, the powers that be decided I should have a ultrasound of my kidneys at 1:45 p.m.  As the time rolled around, I was ready to head down to get this taken care of.  Hell, I’m a results girl.  I figured the sooner the test was done the sooner they would tell me what was going on (spoiler alert: all was well in the end which makes the rest of this all the more surreal).  At 2:00, the nurse came in to say they were running behind because of emergencies so they weren’t ready for me yet.  Another half hour or so later, I asked my husband if there was a bug or something at the bottom of the door frame (although, it looked very much like a fairy to me).  He bent down to look and told me it was a paint chip.  I thought he was just trying to make me feel better.  A little later, I was still nowhere closer to an ultrasound and my husband had stepped out to get coffee.  In the reflection of the t.v., I saw a woman holding a baby in the door frame.  In my mind, I figured she was standing outside the door and that is why I could see her in the t.v.  However, the door was closed.  My husband came back and I kept asking him about the woman holding the baby outside the door.  Being a kind husband, he opened the door to check thinking maybe I had heard something and reported back there was no one outside the door.  Only two days later, when I finally asked them to reduce my dose of Percocet and then switch my medicine completely, did I understand the image in the t.v. was a balloon in my room moving around.  Hours past and still no ultrasound.  Now, I was completely paranoid that something was truly wrong with me and wondering why I hadn’t been taken down.  Finally, at 8:30, the transport guy shows up to take me down.  I get into the wheelchair with a bucket in case I am going to puke and my chart (which looks to me thicker than War and Peace at this point).  The man brings me through all these empty hallways of offices of cardiologists.  The emptiness of the hallways is again completely surreal.  It is as if I am in the hallways from the movie The Shining – only that is a hotel and I am in this hospital, which now seems gigantic at this point.  Arriving in radiology (or whatever department they have brought me to), they roll me into the kid’s ultrasound room with a full ocean scene and mood lighting.  I am the only patient plus the ultrasound technician and some girl working the desk.  As I get up to move to the table, the woman asks when I am due.  In my drug induced stupor, I struggle to realize that I already had my baby.  I tell her this and all she says is oh.  This signals that I am probably looking extremely puffy still.  She begins her exam while I ask “How is it?  Am I okay?”  The woman doesn’t say anything.  I continue as she switches to the other side with my same questions and still no response.   I sit up.  The exam is done.  I ask my questions again.  No answers.  They put me in a chair where I am haunted by the ocean scene as the lady tells me she needs to go see the doctor on duty.  She comes back.  I ask for water and my same questions.  She brings the water and no answers.  I now begin to cry.  I am sleep deprived, drug induced, and by myself in this strange world.  I decided I would be fine and left my husband to stay with the baby (big mistake I see).  Finally, she comes in to tell me transport will be there in a couple minutes.  I have tears running down my face and she says “Are you okay?”  I again begin my questions and this time get an answer.  The woman with the bedside manner of a rock tells me “I can’t say anything to you.  It is against the rules.  Your doctor will go over it with you.”  Although relieved that I am not falling apart, I am annoyed.  Why couldn’t she have told me this earlier?  It would have made my life that much easier.  The transport lady arrives and I am whisked back up to my room.  Mind you — I also haven’t seen the outside world in longer that 72 hours and my reality is a tiny room with a bed, t.v., dresser, baby, and slab of chair for my husband to sleep on.  In fact, I’m not convinced there is an outside world except for the big exhaust tube and offices I can see in this courtyard like place outside my window.  Days later, I joke with my friends and husband about my delirious state and how maybe narcotics are not a good thing for me during operations, etc.  Until that time, I worry about killer fairies and women with babies outside my door.

Asparagus are Bad

At 12:54, I have made the realization that asparagus are bad for my kid.  It might seem irrational as the turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and cranberry all could be equally guilty in this gas conspiracy, but let’s face it asparagus make your pee smell so they are the mostly likely culprit in my book.  My son is not crying at this point, but his wails early this evening while I attempted to sleep through my husband’s shift are still fresh in my mind.  I know my son will scream for far worse reasons than asparagus, but I feel completely guilty as I hear my husband say to my sister “What the hell did your sister eat?”  Notice in that sentence I am not his wife or the mother of his child, but I am her sister.  It is funny how we do that when we are silently placing blame on the other person.  I have been know to say these things when talking with others.  Of course, when that person has done the remarkable he or she is always back to being your something or other.  My son is now asleep next to me on the flat couch surface where if he is just touching me he seems fine.  Try putting him in the co-sleeper or pack-n-play and you would think nuclear war had broken out.  I am on shift two and writing frantically to stay awake.  I’m hungry and dehydrated, but I know what will happen if I attempt to put him in his co-sleeper.  Or if I put him in his co-sleeper, he will have another gastastic meltdown.  For the first time in a really long time while feeding my son tonight I had an attack of gas.  Now, I know you are not interested in my gas related stories, but my husband (who thought I was dying) made great sense of the whole situation.  He said, “You know what just happened.  Now think about the little man who has not idea what that feeling is inside him.  I’d be fussy and crying too.”  Great revelations come when you least expect it.  Tomorrow, we have a big day of going to the dentist and preparing for my parents to arrive.  My sister has been here for three days and she is the godsend I never even asked for.  I had to explain to my husband that she must have genes that I don’t because she has cleaned our entire house from top to bottom, grocery shopped, taken care of our dogs, and learned how to tend a fire.  I’m not sure how I can repay her, but I’m sure I can think of something good.  In addition to her cleanliness next to godliness moments, she added a little humor to my day.  During my pregnancy I gained half of my body weight.  No small feat for someone who is 4’10″.  I know that my last month I was very puffy and very round.  The last picture taken of me was a month before the baby was due. Someone at the hospital said to my husband, “Oh, you should make sure you get a picture of that belly.”  My laser eyes of death silenced that actually happening.  Anyway, after I had finished my dinner she says to me, “You look different today.”  Now, my first thought was I haven’t slept in days and decided not to shower since no one was coming to the house today and I wasn’t leaving.  I think I even shared this idea with her.  ”No,”  she said, “You look more like yourself.”  According to her, she didn’t recognize me on the photo website I have for my son and when I picked her up at the airport she wasn’t sure it was me either.  The puffiness factor really took away my look and made me look like someone else.  I think she even mentioned that my nose circa three days ago looked like my dad’s nose, which would be fine except my dad broke his nose and while it fits his face it would look a little funny on mine.  I am glad to see that somehow I am working my way back to my body despite the scar across my tummy that is still healing and the feeling like I’ve pulled two weeks of all nighters in college without the coffee.  I am also amazed at how quickly adult conversation goes to the wayside once you have a child.  My husband came home tonight to tell me how he had dinner with the Science Department at school and the topic of conversation was the color of poo.  Who knew that poo could be a conversation to carry you all the way through dinner?  In a nutshell, I can already tell that this whole parenthood thing changes you in many ways.  In fact, although I am waiting for the changing of the guard at 3:00 a.m., I am really waiting for tomorrow where I know my son will either do something new or change in some significant way.  To finish out my thoughts for this evening, I’ll share with you some things that have happened in the last couple weeks.

• Eyelashes growing in.
• Face rounding out 
• Umbilical cord falling off
• Eyes following me (or at least the general direction I am)
• Paying attention to rattle toy

Some small things, but I know in the months, years, etc. to come there will be even more significant and fun changes!