Swimming, Baby Dedication, and a Cousin Photoshoot

Today, I will let photographs tell much of the story of the past week. Here it goes:

"The Michelin ballerina" in her swimsuit

We took Q swimming for the first time today. The brief sequence of events was as follows: Wake up, get ready to go, arrive at pool, get in swimsuit, pee on Mom and dressing room floor, rinse off in the shower, swim for 30 minutes, begin to get fussy, wait for Dad to finish going down the water slide, wait for him more, wait for him more, eventually realize that Dad has decided to go down the water slide about 10 times in a row, scream bloody murder as we walk back to the dressing room, scream bloody murder as we shower, scream bloody murder as we get diapered and dressed, head to the car, scream slightly less bloody murder as we're strapped in the car seat, promptly fall asleep and nap for the next three hours.

Sometimes, Mom likes to play dress-up. And sometimes, Mom puts together a horrendous ensemble that utterly fails as a coherent outfit. This is one of those times.

The biggest highlight of the week was Q's baby dedication at church. It was a very special and symbolic time for me as I dedicated my daughter to God and promised to lead her in His ways to the best of my ability through things like regular church attendance, reading her Bible stories, and praying with her. I am also making it my ambition to live in godliness, because what I want most for Q is for her to grow up to be a godly woman. I was blessed to have both Steven and my in-laws attend church for her dedication in support of me and Q.

And finally, Q got to meet her brand new cousin Landon this week (Landon has the most wonderful expressions and mannerisms), and the three cousins had a mini photoshoot in their Valentine's Day onesies...

...which quickly descended into chaos.

Ode to a Soggy Mitten

Oh soggy mitten,
You belong to that ilk
Of gently used clothing
That smells of curdled milk.

Oh soggy mitten,
You're covered all in spit
The baby drools upon you,
For you are her favorite mitt.

Oh soggy mitten,
Your fabric is pilling
The baby tries to eat you,
But you're not very filling.

Bodily Fluids, Bodily Fluids, and... Bodily Fluids.

"You'll just have to wait a minute!" I yelled through a mouthful of fries over the wails of a crying baby, wiping in vain at the dried spit up on my shirt with one hand and surreptitiously dipping a soother in a bottle of whiskey with the other. That's kind of what last night was like. I changed shirts three times yesterday, prompting me to swear off shirts forever. And I don't change shirts for little watery spit-ups, no. I only change them for massive, sour-smelling, cottage-cheese-consistency spit-ups. And I changed them thrice. By 10am this morning, she'd already spit up approximately 5 times.

Luckily, she was a champ at her RSV immunization today. And by a champ, I mean that she peed all over the office floor as I held her out to put on the scale to weigh her. "That's happened before, right?" I asked anxiously, prepared to be reassured by the nurses that this was a common occurrence. "Well, we've never actually had one pee on the floor," one replied, "But it's nice to be the first at something, isn't it?" You're sensing a theme here, aren't you? And it's possible that I may not have changed my clothes after that incident. "It's only a couple of drops of pee on my pants," I said. "It's only a little urine on the bottom of my shoes," I said.

In other news, Q's weight gain is a little on the low side (3 pounds total since birth), and when I pump (rarely), I am only able to pump about 3 oz total (she takes about 5 oz when given a bottle). I'm still debating whether this is a matter of "knowing too much" and expecting every baby to fit within a specific set of guidelines. Q is pretty fussy, but not extremely. She seems to sleep well, looks healthy, and has an appropriate number of pees and poops. And really, would she be spitting up so much if she wasn't getting anything? It's possible that my body doesn't respond well to pumps, or that I have a particularly cheap one (a $25 manual one from Walmart, I believe). But then they make offhanded remarks to you like, "Well, it can hurt their brain development if they're not getting enough," and you immediately jump to, "My gosh, my body isn't working right and will result in my child's irreversible stupidity!" So back to the doctor and/or breastfeeding clinic I will go. Because my goal for Q is to be chubby and brilliant.

I mean... not for me to be chubby and brilliant. Though I'm halfway there.

Meds, Food Triumphs, The Bible, and a List of Likes

Valentine's Day cuddles with Dad

First off, I would like to say that the reintroduction of Zoloft was a success. I am on the tiniest dose available (25mg), and my anxiety levels are probably about 5x better. Steven says he has noticed a definite improvement, as well. I feel more capable to handle the challenges of motherhood and think that it was a good decision for both Q and myself.

Second off, I would like to say that it was an unadulterated pleasure to move a pot of food from the fridge only to discover three forgotten Lunchables peeking up at me from below the glass shelf. That pleasure was only slightly dulled by the fact that they tasted like corrugated cardboard. Other food-related triumphs: Making muffins from a mix (I added not only eggs, but water too!). Having a meatloaf and cookies delivered to me by my mother-in-law. Steven's discovery of how to make a delicious chai latte. And lastly, multiple attempts at sharing Liberté Mediterranean yogurt with Steven, only to polish off carton after carton on my own. Seriously, in heaven there are probably rivers of Liberté Mediterranean yogurt. The Mocha Yogurt River. The Hazelnut Yogurt River. And oh blessed day, the Lemon Yogurt River...

Speaking of heaven, after several years of not being able to bring myself to read the Bible, I have started again for Lent (did you know that you can also start something for Lent instead of giving up something?), and it has been pretty wonderful. I am doing a 40-day overview of the Bible, reading important parts of various chapters in chronological order. It's a pretty cool program, and I've started reading A Year of Biblical Womanhood, as well. The latter is written by a woman who decided to try and live like the Biblical model of womanhood for a year, such as covering her head, calling her husband master, and "cultivating a quiet and gentle spirit," rather than her usual rigamarole of yelling curse words at the screen during football games. I've found it very comforting in light of my own numerous shortcomings as a homemaker.

And finally, I try to tell Q often all the things I like about her:

I like your toes.
I like your chubby thighs.
I like your belly button.
I like your numerous arm rolls.
I like your hands that always have fuzz in between the fingers from your no-scratch mittens.
I like that they always smell like sour milk because you suck on them so much.
I like your neck rolls.
I like the cheese in your neck rolls.
I like the drool bubbles you blow with your mouth.
I like your button nose.
I like your dark blue eyes and long eyelashes.
I like the duck fluff on top of your head, bald spot in the back, and mullet on the lower back.
I like your smile.
I like your squeals of delight.
I like your piggy grunts.
I like the big pout you get when you're about to burst out crying.
I love everything about you,
and I love that you're my daughter.

Supermom, Electronics, and a Hatred of Cooking

"Mute Button"

Steven is sick, so naturally I have gone full-throttle OCD. Though honestly, I wouldn't really qualify it as real OCD--I've had OCD, and I'm not compelled to clean so much as I just really, really don't want to go through the drudgery of caring for an infant while sick. I'm tired enough as it is while healthy. So each evening, I've been dampening a rag with rubbing alcohol and walking around the house disinfecting doorknobs, light switches, keyboards/mice, the fridge handle, cupboard handles, and any other little object that I think might get regularly touched. I'm also popping Vitamin C and Zinc in addition to my prenatal vitamin.

I'm picking up the slack in the chores, too--today, in addition to vacuuming the upstairs, doing laundry, and single-handedly taking care of the kiddo, I took out the trash, gave the litter box a once-in-a-moon-but-sorely-needed scrubbing, fed the cats, wrote an e-mail to the company who made our humidifier, loaded, ran, and emptied the dishwasher, and did the aforementioned disinfecting. I like that being a mom has brought out a productive side in me that was fairly untouched until recently. I'm not always this productive, of course. Some days all I do is sit on the couch, change diapers, and stick a boob in my baby's mouth. Mine, preferably. But lately I'm feeling a little like Supermom. I wonder how people with multiple kids do it...

I spend more time than I should on the computer/browsing Facebook, and I'm thinking of giving it up for Lent. But there are a couple of problems with that. Firstly, I'm about to start my full-time venture into cloth diapering, and I am a part of a cloth diapering group on Facebook that is full of invaluable information and troubleshooting. And more importantly, Steven's cousin Emily is due to give birth on Valentine's Day or any day around that time, and I really, REALLY want to stay updated on that and see pictures of baby Landon the moment they're posted. So I'm not quite sure how to compromise between my desire to cut back on electronics so that I can give my full and undivided attention to the baby, and my need to keep up with big life events and get the cloth diapering support I will undoubtedly need. Any suggestions?

One thing that I continue to struggle with is cooking. I really hate cooking. Every aspect of it. Planning meals, grocery shopping, cutting/prepping, and the actual cooking part. Tonight I made Kraft mac & cheese, which is more prep than I usually put into food. And I made "ants on a log." Because I'm 7 years old. What I really need to do is just find about 10 meals that I get really good at and stick to those. Easy meals. Like the linguine al fresco that my brother makes. And I really should be focusing on eating healthier because everything that I'm eating goes to the baby. And I have been eating an inordinate amount of cinnamon raisin toast. Steven is often willing to do the actual cooking part if I plan the meals and have all the ingredients ready, so that's nice. We ultimately eat a lot of things from frozen, though.

Well, going to watch a little more Whose Line is it Anyway before I turn in. Goodnight! (P.S. Look at the entry below this one if you want to see some photos of Q from January.)

Photos from January 2013

Professional photos at 2 months

Very girly

Favorite place to sleep--on Mum

All scrunched up in her swing

Pretty dress and new leggings

In her baby carrier

Big smiles

Another funny sleep position

A failed attempt at a cute, double-kiss picture

Q & Daddy hiding under the covers. I love her little legs sticking out

Being held by her Auntie Ang in an owl hat specially made for her

Regrets

Q is two months old, and I already have some regrets. There are short term ones that in retrospect, I am okay with, and there are long term ones.

A short term regret was the night that I let Q sleep 7 hours when she was little and very jaundiced. She woke up bright yellow; I had set an alarm, but I was exhausted and turned it off. I felt very guilty in the morning. But now, looking back, I know that I needed the sleep, it was just one time, and her jaundice eventually cleared up, regardless. I don't blame myself for that "decision" (it was more like an accident).

A long term regret I have is the night near Christmastime when I let Q "cry it out." She was only a month old! I let her cry for... an hour? At least? I went in to check on her and she wasn't screaming bloody murder or anything, but come to find out later that you are definitely NOT supposed to let babies that age cry it out. I still feel bad about it--she was so little and had spent most of her short life sick in the hospital, and I feel like I abandoned her.

Which brings us up to now. I am making a decision that I don't know whether it will cause me regret later or not. I am suffering from some fairy heavy postpartum anxiety (not depression--I know the difference!). My paranoia is above reasonable levels. I have had one big panic attack in the past week, and about two smaller borderline ones. I have been tempted to take Xanax, which is definitely NOT approved for breastfeeding. I'm so tired and jittery that I'm having trouble falling asleep.

I keep worrying that I'm dying. Example: I used a year-old razor of mine to shave the other day--I checked it to make sure it was clean. Well, my skin is very sensitive, and I got raised red itchy bumps, which sometimes happens. I immediately panicked that the razor had given me some fast-acting bacterial infection which was now coursing through my body and would kill me. Was it smart to use a razor that old? Probably not. Would it result in a rapid and deadly bacterial infection that would appear within 30 minutes of use? No...

One of the big indicators that my anxiety might need treating was the other night when I found myself worrying that someone had poisoned my pizza. Steven brought it home from work, and as I ate a slice, I wondered, "Why isn't he eating it? Did someone poison it? Does he know it's poisoned?" I even asked him to take a bite, which he did. Turns out no one hates me enough to poison me.

All this to say, I am starting back on my Zoloft. I researched it and got the opinions of both my doctor and pharmacist (doctor said go for it, pharmacist said she wouldn't unless necessary). I am on the lowest possible dose, which is comforting. But I don't want this to be something where I will always wonder what the long term effects on my baby were. I don't want another regret. But I also know that rampant anxiety will have a negative effect on Q--when my levels are high, I can feel myself drawing away from the baby as the fear takes over. Babies can sense stress levels; it has been shown that babies of depressed mothers gain weight more slowly, for example. Anxiety could even decrease my milk production. So I am having to look at risk vs. benefit, and for now, I think I need to take the medication. I pray that God will bless my choices and give me the wisdom to make the right ones. No regrets.