Currently Browsing: Kid’s Point of View
May 8, 2013
She was like impending doom watching me from the other side of the room. One of many of the parade members. They were all just letting themselves in. As hospital staff, they all have a purpose there. But something about her wolflike stare creeped me out. She had a true purpose. And it was breastfeeding.
The hospital has two fulltime gals for the specific purpose of coaching, training, and assisting with the new mothers with their breastfeeding “plan”. This isn’t just a job for them, they’re missionaries.
Their belief is a altruistic. That breastfed children enjoy many benefits to their health that they wouldn’t if they’re just on formula. Immunity, intelligence, security, and much much more. I don’t disagree.
What they also know is that having a baby is extremely scary and painful and breastfeeding only adds fuel to that scary fire. I found it messed with my head but good to know that this creature’s survival was dependent on something that came out of my body that I didn’t have conscious control over. And your nipples really really hurt, your breasts ache, and sometime you get this feeling like you want to peel the leech off of your personal space and go screaming off into the night.
Her Leche League leading self was trying to act calm during her first uninvited visit. She sat in the chair and asked if I had any questions. I knew she wanted me to show her my technique. And I wasn’t about to do that. Not for nobody. I’d read those pamphlets, watch videos, and talk to anyone but her. It was a proprietary conversation during which I happened to spill water on my newborns head. She didn’t crack a smile. Just stared at me with that lupine stare. She creeped me out.
She showed up uninvited to my hospital room the next day (stalking me) during the exact moment when I began my breakdown from the constant flow of people showing up unannounced in my room to poke and prod me and the baby. I am sure she was still wanting a technique demonstration. And she got the bums rush with everyone else so I could relax for a few hours.
I am still breast feeding, not that it’s anyone’s business. It takes the patience and temperament of a saint. Honestly, selflessness isn’t any of our natural propensities. But we’re doing it. And we’re throwing down a couple of ounces of formula for good measure. At first to put weight on her. Now to get probiotics in her.
And don’t worry Breast Police, she is a nipple snob. She absolutely hates any rubber nipple in her mouth. Aren’t you happy? Keep doing what you’re doing if only because you have the children’s well being in mind. But I’ll hope not to meet you in a dark hospital alley any time soon.
May 5, 2013
We celebrated Fiona’s miraculous presence in our lives with a meet the baby party yesterday. She’s two months old. I had written a poem in honor of what it is she gifts the world and those who come in contact with her supreme cuteness and innocence. It’s called Hope.
I could be dulled
By my daily routine.
In the trenches
Left boob, right boob,
Change poopy, cat nap,
Rinse and repeat.
I forget about our need
Until I look into your eyes.
The most important need.
The one babies fulfill.
In every face that looks upon our
Baby daughter Fiona,
Even crazy people’s faces,
I see Hope dawn. Hope ignite.
A chance for future hope and
more life to enjoy.
Your welcome and thank you.
May 3, 2013
Everybody keeps saying Fiona looks just like Eamon. And I supposed it was true. The picture below is one I’ve had pinned to my art cabinet of my son as a newborn. I took a picture of the picture (it has a scratch on it) and one of my daughter in the carrier sleeping on my chest.
And the results are in. You all are right. She looks eerily like him at that age. Except she’s got a girl nose.
Many of you ask how’s Eamon doing with the addition of a sister? Well, he never outright said for us to take her back. But he did ask me whether I liked the cat or the baby better. Because he liked the cat better. He is really great at bouncing her in the bouncy chair. And he likes to hold her when she’s not crying. Other than that, he never looks at her.
Unless we tell him to kiss her.
Daddy sleeping with baby Eamon
Daddy sleeping with baby Fiona
Mommy holding baby Eamon at the shop
Mommy holding baby Fiona at home
Baby Eamon aka Baby Lou at 8 weeks
And baby Fiona not quite 8 weeks but that would be now so good enough.
You tell me, do they look alike?
Apr 23, 2013
Newborns are like zombies. Maybe it’s me missing those last Walking Dead episodes. But there are some uncanny similarities.
No one mentions this but those weird dark eyes we are born with are kinda creepy. Have you seen the opening montage for the Walking Dead and that sudden shot of the black eyeball twitching about? Aha.
Secondly, she’s trying to eat me alive. Albeit with the cutest little bowed lips and hopeful gulping sounds. But eating alive is eating alive.
And then there’s those weird jerking movements. You know the lurching and twitching and flailing that zombies do even if they are missing a torso. The spastic movements of a newborn are eerily similar.
The insatiable need for you is last on the zombie-alike list. Their hunger to have you satisfy their continued existence. Husband said she was like a vampire, sucking on his neck and staying up at night and we called her Fionicula at first. But zombies have an undying need for you too. The need for your brains.
Willingly and happily we invite zombie babies to come live with us. And they do and then proceed to eat our brains, one sane brain cell at a time, for the rest of our lives. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Apr 19, 2013
If you know us, you know Butthead. He’s the cat who went missing for a week in Easton.My son’s brother cat. In a sad and really sudden turn of events, our beloved Butthead has departed from our company. As in, he had something heinous cancery wrong with him and his lungs began to fill with fluid.
Last Friday, I hauled him and Fiona to the vet’s where she extracted 250 ml of fluid from his lungs (he was drowning). The cells confirmed he had cancer in the glands around the heart. The vet said take him home and let his little boy say goodbye to him. A shot of lasix (Furosemide) to keep his lungs clear and off we go.
A couple of mornings later, we said our goodbyes. The boy cries. I call to make an appointment for his imminent demise and Becky the vet assist says, “You know we can give him a pill if he’s doing this well 4 days later.” Huh. So I get the pills. And stuff it down his throat. Twice a day. For two days.
I was having a hard time with the now he’s gone, now he isn’t, tomorrow’s the day. I asked Mark to reframe this for me. Mark said, “Think of him as being in Hospice“. The decision for his destiny has already been made by a higher power. We’re administering to his comfort and our feelings around that decision.
Sometimes, in sudden circumstances, we may need a few days to cope with the imminent concept of loss. My kid’s done with his grief. He was surprised to see Butthead when he got home this week. The reason I really wanted to keep the cat around a few extra days? It’s Eamon’s 8th birthday this weekend. We lost our Minnie kitty on his birthday last year.
So this morning, although Butthead was looking better, he was holding his front leg out at a weird angle. It seems, when there is liquid in their lungs, they will move their limb to breath. And Mark and I knew we had to take him to the vet and say our goodbyes.
So here’s to the Butthead. He was aptly named for his annoying dunderhead personality as a teenager. And we gladly enjoyed his company however he offered it. In the bathroom, in the middle of the kitchen floor during supper making time, or sitting out on the wall looking out over the river with his little boy.