Coping with Trouble

It's been a while since Harried Mum has checked in.  I have been learning to cope with Trouble and Lunatic Child.  I am tired.  My house is covered in jam and sand.  But the children are fed and mostly clothed and in varying states of cleanliness.  I am doing the best I can. 

To be honest, it's mostly been fairly manageable, except for when it totally isn't. 

One example.  When Trouble was quite tiny and new, he was still horking up phlegm from his lungs.  It was disgusting, and he wasn't doing it very well.  He would choke and gasp and arch his back and it was quite alarming.  So one afternoon, Trouble has one of those explosive baby poos that goes everywhere.  I take Lunatic Child and Trouble upstairs so I can change Trouble.  As I lie him down on the changing mat, he vomits copiously and starts horking up phlegm.  I have to pick him up, covered in poo and vomit and try to comfort him while he's choking and gasping and wailing.  I am covered in poo and vomit.  My youngest child is in major distress.  Meanwhile, Lunatic Child has wandered back downstairs (rookie error - Always Close the Stair Gate) and I can hear him thundering around downstairs shrieking and yelling "kitteh"!! at the top of his lungs.  This almost always means he is doing unspeakable things to the cat, who is too stupid to get herself out of the way.  For all I knew, he could have been lighting her on fire, or stabbing her with knives.

So that wasn't my greatest moment in parenting.

But most of the time, we muddle along through the day until Fun Daddy gets home, whereupon we each demur to the other, "No, really.  You can bathe Lunatic Child tonight", because as everybody knows, babies are cake compared to a toddler.  You don't realise this until you've been through a baby stage and have a toddler on hand to compare. 

Or perhaps it's that Lunatic Child and Trouble appear to have very different personalities.  Frankly, Trouble has been anything but, aside from the odd Exorcist Vomit and Exploda-poo.  He's a very sweet tempered baby and is ridiculously easy to read.  He cries because he's hungry, has done an Exploda-poo, has a bit of gas or is tired.  He's giving me up to 6 hours a stretch at night.  6 hours!!!  Lunatic Child didn't do that until 7 months as I recall.  I am wishing that Trouble would go down earlier at night (he's still hanging out til around 11 before I can really get him down for the night) but, when you're sleeping from 11 til 5 with a newborn, you'll take it...

My biggest complaint about Trouble is that he does NOT like to be put down to sleep.  I will rock him to sleep and wait and wait and wait, until I am sure that he is completely passed out.  I will set him down as gently as a feather and INSTANTLY his eyes pop open and he gives me this reproachful look, like "how could you even THINK about doing that to me", and then starts fussing.  Argh.  As a consequence, he's spent a lot of time in the baby bjorn.  I have been forced into attachment parenting with this one.  Lunatic Child was never particularly snuggly and wanted to be put down to sleep almost from the beginning.  Trouble is happiest sleeping on your chest.

Anyway, speaking of sleep.  Lunatic Child is conspicuously not napping.  We get that a lot these days.  My track record on getting both children down for a nap at the same time is approximately 1 for 1000.  I'd better go check him, as it's likely he's done his own enormous poo.  He specialises in what we like to call the "Crap Nap", per my neighbour.  You put him down. He goes quiet.  You think all is well.  Then he starts up again, singing and talking to himself. You go upstairs to check and are nearly gassed to death when you open his bedroom door.  Result.  No nap.

So toodles, noodles.  Until next time.

Trouble Arrives...

Some of you have been asking for details of Trouble's arrival.  Here is the story!!

We decided I would be induced so that we had a measure of control over when I would be in hospital, given that we don't really have a lot of friends or family nearby who could look after Lunatic Child in the event we had to make a mad dash to the hospital at 2am.

Well, best laid plans and all that.

I checked into hospital at 5pm on Tuesday evening.  The induction process starts with something called Cervadil, which is meant to "soften" the cervix.  Then, the next morning, they start you on a Pitocin drip and that's supposed to get things going.  There is a chance that the Cervadil can jumpstart labour.

So I got my Cervadil (not a nice process, nothing about childbirth really is, frankly) and settled in to watch a bit of Masterchef.  Alas, the Cervadil jumpstarted my labour.  I instantly started having contractions which steadily progressed over the next hour or so, at which point my water broke, and we were off to the races.  I had to call Fun Daddy, who had gone home for the night, and tell him that he'd better get back to the hospital pretty quick.  We ended up having to call our neighbours (who are super nice, and to whom we are FOREVER grateful).  She came over to sit with Lunatic Child and Fun Daddy made a mad dash to the hospital. 

By the time he got to the hospital, I was in a very primal place, having just been informed it was WAY too late for an epidural.  I have never been particularly interested in natural childbirth.  No one is going to give me any special award for enduring that sort of pain, and the point of the epidural is that you don't have to.  Works for me.

Trouble was in a hurry though.  The nurse checked me when I called Fun Daddy, and I was 3cm dilated.  Fun Daddy probably got to the hospital within 45 minutes to an hour.  I had Trouble 20 minutes after Fun Daddy arrived.  The nurse was flustered and stressed and kept saying "but I just checked you, and you were only 3cm dilated!"  Meanwhile, I'm screaming that I need to push.  I mean, that baby was ON HIS WAY.  My obstetrician didn't make it back to the hospital, and the flustered nurse had to call in some back up.  Trouble arrived after about 2 pushes.  It still feels surreal given that it took Lunatic Child a very leisurely 18 hours to make his way into the world.  From Cervadil to Trouble was 5 hours...

Part of the reason Trouble arrived so quickly is that he is so, so tiny.  He weighed 5lb, 13 oz and was 19 in (48cm) long.  Lunatic Child, who was no giant in the baby stakes, was 6lb 5oz and 21 in.  I make the little babies...He looks exactly like a little red walnut.  Sweet baby.  He's still all squishy newborn so it's hard to tell, but I think he will look like Fun Daddy and Lunatic Child.

Lunatic Child is pretty nonchalant about Trouble.  Fun Daddy has been home on paternity leave, which is much more interesting than some new baby.  Trouble also brought Lunatic Child lots of great presents, including a giant fire truck and some new Thomas equipment.

The bigger issue has been Queenie, or Psycho Cat.  She's OBSESSED.  The baby is so interesting and twitchy.  She would like to eat him.  We had to get a spray bottle.  She's been squirted a lot and just keeps coming back for another sniff.  I spend a lot of time checking for the cat and then shutting her in or out of various rooms.  It's a right old pain in the *rse.  Don't worry.  Trouble will get his own back when he's big enough to make a grab for her.  She'll learn.

We're all coping pretty well.  Trouble is sleeping and eating well and I am so much more relaxed this time around.  When he sleeps at night, so do I.  I don't sit there and stare at him and check his breathing every 5 seconds.  This means I'm getting a lot more sleep.  I'm sure things will get a bit more hectic when Fun Daddy goes back to work, but so far it's been pretty relaxed.

Family starts to cycle through at the end of July, so we're looking forward to that!  We wish that we could see everyone in London.  We'll be back when we can.  It might take me a while to work up the courage to take 2 kiddiwinkles on that long of a flight.

Love to all

Harried Mum, Fun Daddy, Lunatic Child, Trouble and Psycho Cat

Oops...

Lunatic Child and famille went to Great Grandma's house today.  Great Grandma has a frog pond in the backyard.  See if you can guess where this one is going...

If you guessed that Lunatic Child managed to fall into the pond in 3 minutes or less, you win a small prize.

Poor Lunatic Child.  He just wanted to see the frogs.  The pond is a sunken bathtub, and he was leaning over it in a precarious manner.  I was waddling along behind him, and I told him to back away.  Since he is 2, he immediately said no, turned around and backed away from me as I reached out to grab him, and the end result was that he tipped into the tub backwards.  I could see his little shocked face as he sank slowly beneath the pond weed.

I hauled him out in about 5 seconds, but he was absolutely covered in pond goo, reeked to high heaven and was fairly well traumatised.   Fun Daddy was SHOCKED at my negligent parenting and came storming over, saying "What are you doing?"  Well, obviously, I'm letting him fall into the pond ON PURPOSE as I think it will be a Good Learning Experience.  I mean, really.  I'm a million months pregnant.  I'm not moving that fast.  I did my best.  Worse things have happened to 2 year olds than being dunked in a stinky pond.  He can work it out in therapy later.  It will give him something to talk about.

After a bath, laundered clothes and a cookie, he was amazingly recovered and had a fantastic afternoon playing with his much older cousins.  They tossed him around for several hours.  I'm really surprised he didn't chuck it.  He was so completely exhausted when we got him in the car.

I am fairly sure he's not permanently mentally scarred, so all's well that ends well.  I think we'll be finding pond weed in various orifices for a few days however.  That stuff is pernicious.

I wish....

I am finding keeping up with Lunatic Child difficult at the moment. The extra 30lbs and huge baby belly are major contributing factors, of course. It puts me in a wistful mood, and I was contemplating some of the things I am wishing for at the moment.

- I wish Lunatic Child would be still for one nanosecond. Just one. He can't even sit still when you're reading him a story or he is watching TV. He twitches. He wriggles. He writhes. He prods. He climbs. It is SO EXHAUSTING.

- I wish Lunatic Child would not profess his undying love for the kitten immediately prior to trying to step on her, kick her, grab her paws, poke her with a stick, drive his dump truck into her, etc. She is remarkably undaunted by this behavior and responds in kind by attacking his head whenever it's in reach, but still, I don't think he is really understanding the concept of "gentle", and there is going to be a new baby in the house in 4 weeks.

- I wish Lunatic Child would just sit and eat a meal instead of eating 2 bites of toast and then telling me he's made me a boat and therefore can't eat his masterpiece. Or spending 5 minutes attempting to get the perfect sized bite on his fork. "This is too big"! (Food is wiped off fork and onto placemat, or floor.) "This bite is too small"! (He then proceeds to put half his plate on the fork), leading to..."This bite is too big"! Rinse and repeat until I freak out. Or telling me that the only food he desires is a banana, and then eating one bite, only to conclude that he "doesn't like it".

- I wish Lunatic Child would not grunt out a denial that he is pooping whilst red faced and straining. He then runs away and hides rather than get his bum changed. When cornered and brought to the changing table, he wails as if being stabbed with knives. Every single time. I mean, really?

- I wish Lunatic Child would not spend half his time at the park randomly sprinting into the middle distance toward traffic with me puffing after him yelling threats to his bodily integrity if he does not stop this second whilst other parents look on in alarm.

- I wish Lunatic Child would lay down in his bed and go the f*ck to sleep. Tonight, for example. I put him to bed. 20 minutes later, he is wailing. I check. Apparently, he has "bumped his head on the bed". Comfort is administered. I shut the door. I instantly hear him get out of bed and thunder to his bedroom door where he lays down. Hilarious laughter. The kitten is sticking her paws under the door and Lunatic Child finds it HYSTERICAL. I remove the kitten and tell Lunatic Child to get back in bed. I go downstairs. Kitten immediately runs back upstairs to his bedroom door. Lunatic Child immediately gets back out of bed. More hilarity. I shut the kitten in the back room for a bit. Lunatic Child eventually gets into bed and spends another 30 minutes or so talking to himself before finally falling asleep.

I suppose if I think pregnancy is hard, I will really be feeling sorry for myself in a few weeks when Trouble arrives. Sigh.

Feral kitten update....

I felt like the Worst Person In The World, but I had to give up on the feral kittens. They were just so completely awful. I tried and tried and tried but I never even got them to come out from under the bed voluntarily. I was covered in scratches. They would pee on the floor with fright if you startled them. They regarded Lunatic Child as the devil incarnate. I called the woman I got them from and told her she had to take them back. She wasn't very happy and insisted they were totally socialized, and I told her she could come and fish them out from under the bed then. So in the end, back they went. They were just never going to be pets in any meaningful sense, and I didn't want to spend the next 15 years feeding cats I would never see. Undaunted, we immediately contacted another dodgy internet purveyor of kittens. I really wanted a cat!! These particular dodgy kitten purveyors were so keen to divest themselves of their kittens, they drove from Manhattan with a pair of them so we could pick one. They were excruciatingly adorable but looked REALLY small. My kitten fu is not strong, but I thought they were a bit young. When pressed, however, they swore that they were 6 1/2 weeks. So we took a little girl. She is black with white paws and a white tummy. She is meant to be a Siberian cat, and they are supposed to be quite large when grown. They have long hair but apparently don't shed like water buffalo. We shall see given what transpired on how old she actually was!! The next day I couldn't get her to eat any solid food at all. She looked at me like I was from Mars when I presented her with some kitten food. So I took her to the vet, who informed me that she was not a day older than 4 weeks. So. For the last week I have been bottle feeding this kitten 3 times a day and supplementing that with syringes full of mushed up kitten food. She is too small to clean herself properly, so I have also been wiping her little kitty butt. Thank God she seems to have sorted herself out with the litter box, so that's been easy. But otherwise, she is basically my 2nd baby, only 2 months early. I have now been told to start weaning her. The vet made it sound like it was simply a process of putting some food in a dish and letting her have at it. It has not worked this way in practice. You put the food in front of her. She steps in it, tracks it everywhere and then tries to jump in my lap and suckle my elbow. Or crawl up my shirt and suckle my hair. You put her back in front of the food. She steps in it. Wanders around disconsolately for a few seconds getting food everywhere and then tries to jump in my lap and sucke my elbow or crawl up my shirt and suckle my hair. This goes on for some indeterminate messy, frustrating time until I give up and give her a bottle, which she hoovers down in about 30 seconds flat. This afternoon she ate out of the dish for about 2 seconds, then gave up and started nosing around for a bottle. My internet searches have led me to believe that while some cats get the hang of it right away, some of them are a bit slow on the uptake. We got a slow one. I have been doing all the internet search approved kitten weaning techniques, including letting her lick the food off my fingers (She bites! Ouch!) and letting her step in it (This is good, because they lick it off and realize they want more. The jury is out on the efficacy of this. It sure makes a hell of a mess though.) On the upside, she is completely fearless of Lunatic Child and will sit on his lap and chew on his hair and generally treats him like a piece of furniture. Albeit unpredictable, loud furniture giving to shouting "Hi kitty. What are you doing!!!" at the top of its lungs. He has been fairly good about being gentle with her so far, although I wouldn't leave them alone together. She is sweet and affectionate. In fact, she will climb your leg to get on your lap. She likes to attack feet and ankles, which is dangerous as she's so small I fear inadvertently squashing her. In any event, we think we will stick with this one. Fun Daddy had the honor of naming her...Queen Elizabeth II, or Queenie. Mostly we just call her kitty. Now we are just waiting for the next baby to arrive!! 8 weeks to go.

Not enough to do...

Fun Daddy and I decided that we weren't busy enough, what with a toddler at home, both of us working, and B2 on the way.

Having done the math, we decided that the best thing to do was to move out of our Upper West Side apartment, which was costing us an arm and a leg and a kidney each month, and bolt for the idyllic and slightly cheaper suburbs.  We were going to wait to do this when our lease expired at the end of July, but an opportunity to sublet our apartment came up and we jumped at it, as it meant we could move and get settled before the arrival of B2 (aka - Trouble) at the end of June.

This meant finding a house to rent, leasing a car, organising childcare for Lunatic Child in new town, organising movers, packing and moving all in the space of about 3 weeks.  I am leaving out about 500 other things which had to be done. And might I remind you, dear readers, this is the 3rd time we have moved in the space of a year.

Oh, and we had a houseguest in the middle of that.

Oh, and both Lunatic Child and I had a hideous bout of the stomach flu.

Our houseguest was an old friend of Fun Daddy's, and it was lovely to see her.  She is exceptionally charming and interesting and the weirdest stuff always happens to her.  I am pleased to say I was able to contribute to this trend. 

She very kindly organised to take me to see Porgy and Bess, which I was tremendously excited about as I have felt very bad that I've been a bit rubbish on experiencing the NY Arts Scene.  ie - I have not experienced the NY Arts Scene one iota since moving here.  So off I tripped on the day, despite feeling a bit funny in the tummy. 

I sat through the entire performance feeling progressively more horrible by the second.  Sweating.  Light Headed.  But really determined to enjoy the show (which was great, by the way).  I made it to the end, stood up to leave, walked about 50 feet and then had to throw up in my handbag.  And not just a little bit.  A LOT.  Like uncontrollable vomiting for about 5 minutes.  I was completely freaked out and hysterical (remember, I am in my third trimester of pregnancy here, people).  Crying.  Puke coming out my nose.  In my hair.  In my handbag.  It really was not my finest hour.  And poor Fun Daddy's friend is just sitting there in horror.  She doesn't know me *that* well and had no idea what to do with this disgusting mess of a person sobbing in front of her. 

We managed to get ourselves into a taxi and home where she gratefully deposited me with Fun Daddy and went to see her sister.  I tried to go to bed,  but an hour later Lunatic Child woke up wailing and when we went into get him, he promptly barfed all over Fun Daddy.  And that was the pattern for the rest of the night.  I threw up in every available recepticle in the house (toilet, sink, bathtub etc.) while Lunatic Child managed to only vomit on things which needed to be washed, such as our sheets, his sheets, his father's clothes, my bathrobe, his pajamas (3 times), etc.  A Fun Time was had by all. 

Luckily, there was only One Night of the Vomit, and then we merely felt totally crap for another week or so.  Fun Daddy did not get it at all.  I fail to see how he could have possibly avoided it, but he must have a cast iron stomach.

My handbag is a write off and I still need a new one.  It remains on the to do list.

We somehow finished packing and got ourselves into the new house.  Which is nice.  We like it.  We only have a few more boxes to unpack and pictures to hang, so clearly we needed another project.

Enter...the Feral Kittens.

Fun Daddy, who is a committed dog person uttered the fatal words "I wouldn't mind getting a cat" about a week after we moved.  I have always been a cat person and have wanted one for ages.  Within the space of about 30 seconds I'd looked up local cat adoption websites, told him to pick one out from the photos and I would go get it.  He wanted 2 sisters, who are lovely gray and tan calico kittens. 

I went to see them last weekend.  They were being looked after by 2 slightly crazy old cat ladies who were *extremely eager* to get me to take them home.  Having gone all the way to see them, I felt like I couldn't say no, but I was worried.  They seemed very skittish. 

My fears were well founded.  They are basically feral.  They've spent the last week hiding under the bed and hissing whenever we try to fetch them out.  I have my kitten poking broom, which I use to sweep them out from under the bed and into the closet where they're easier to grab.  They don't enjoy this.  Neither do I.  I've been attempting to bribe them into submission with roast chicken and tuna fish and copious amounts of handling.  I've basically fed them almost an entire roast chicken, with not a whole lot of results.  One of them no longer tries to bite me when I pick her up.  It's progress, of a sort. 

Fun Daddy is extremely disappointed in the whole cat experience to date as he was expecting some fun, cuddly kittens. I profess that I am having trouble loving them as well.  It's going to take weeks of concerted effort to get them used to people and, to be honest, even that might not be successful as they are about 12 weeks old, and you really need to socialise them before 8 weeks for the best results.

We are contemplating calling one of them Queen of the Underbed, as she has never voluntarily come out from under the bed as far as we can tell.  The other one is less shy and will come out and have a sniff around, but she'll scamper back under there as soon as she hears a noise.  It's hard to get a bit of quiet when you've got a toddler in the house...poor baby kitties.  I'm doing my best to tame them, but this may be a task too far, even for Harried Mum.

Lunatic Child loves the new house with its back garden.  We go looking for sticks and dinosaur rocks.  His new thing is smell, only everything "smells like a dinosaur".  When you say, "Is that a good smell"?  He'll say, "No. It smells like a dinosaur".  OK.  In any event, whilst he still loves cars and trucks, he's definitely moving into the dinosaur phase of little boy-dom.  He can correctly identify 3 or 4 different kinds and is always interested in learning more.  His favourite dinosaur appears to be the Ankylosaurus.  An esoteric choice.

So anyway, that's all the news there is that's fit to print.  I'm off to file the taxes (booo, hiss...)

Cheers to all!

Battle of the Sexes

Recently, I remarked that if Fun Daddy would just do what I told him to, his life would be so much easier. This was because in our long running battle of "Who Is The Most Organised" I had just won a resounding victory. These are becoming increasingly rare for me, as my brain mostly consists of jam sandwiches and nap schedules since I had a baby. Now that I am pregnant, even the bits that are left are stewing in a vat of pregnancy hormones, and I commonly wander into a room and back out of it with a vague notion that I went in there for a purpose, but I will be damned if I know what it was.

In any event, Fun Daddy couldn't find his social security card. This is a very important document in the U.S., so of course it's printed on some cheap paper and is tiny and easily lost. Fun Daddy was convinced that I, in my pregnancy addled state, had mis-filed or lost it. He kept hoping to trick me into confessing by periodically asking me pointed questions, such as "If you had a filing system, where would you have filed my social security card?" Now my brain may be disorganised, but my filing system is impeccable thankyouverymuch. In return, I suggested that Fun Daddy should look to his own double super secret filing system, otherwise known as his sock drawer. Thieves never look for important documents in the underwear drawer you know...

Fun Daddy sullenly replied that he HAD looked in his sock drawer. Convinced that I had filed it someplace random, he stomped off to the study one evening to go through all our filing. Poor martyred Fun Daddy. Having to sort out Harried Mum's silly mistake. Big sigh.

I went and took a shower. And when I got out, I opened Fun Daddy's sock drawer. Lo and behold, what do you think was lying there in plain view? Yes, friends and neighbors, the missing social security card was right where I said it might be.

So I might be a little scatterbrained and muddled at the moment, but Fun Daddy will always be looking for things like a man...