We've moved!

I apologize in advance for any pain-in-the-ass requests that are now required on your part as far as updating links, following, etc. I promise, I will make it worth your time.

smoochies,

Blair

You can find me, Nate, & Harrison over at wordpress.

http://heirtoblair.wordpress.com/

Apparently comments aren't working.

Apologies, folks.

The move to my own domain may be more pressing than first realized after an entire week of issues with blogspot. Harrison is very unhappy with this development.

I'll keep you updated, but I'm 90% sure that a move is coming...

Bitch, step off.

I really should not find this funny.

I mean, a 50-lb dog just stomped on my child, making him cry. & I can't stop laughing.

Probably because he was grinning up at her, thinking "Oh, my BFF!! Life is awesome!" & then she stomped on him like the Jolly Green Giant. Don't worry, the moment I picked him up, he sucked on his paci twice & stopped crying.

Poor Harrison. It won't be the first time your best friend stomps all over you. 'tis an unfortunate lesson in life.

Today was the first day I thought Harrison's poop smelled especially rank.

Today was also the first day I accidentally put my entire hand into his dirty diaper. & consequently got baby poop under my fingernail.

Finally captured.

i've got everything i want right here, right now

the sun keeps shining like it won't ever go down

it's pure bliss

my world is brighter

true happiness when we're together

it doesn't get better, it doesn't get better than this

all the ups & downs & all the in-between

it's not perfect but it's everything i dreamed of

it's pure bliss

my world is brighter

true happiness when we're together

it doesn't get better, it doesn't get better than this...

~joy williams

Over the river & through the woods.

Thanksgiving! A day of family, turkey, mashed potatoes, & more importantly, pecan pie.

Poor Harrison, he never partook in the feast as a fetus, & now he has to wait at least another year before sampling the goods. Life's a bitch, no?

But I am so thankful for this little blonde kid, even when he's not being this cute.

Dear folks at local Target,

umm...sorry about the obnoxious screaming baby. Really.

Believe me, if it were not absolutely necessary, I would not have braved the universe with the kid today. I knew he would make sure the deaf person in the candy isle knew his presence. But, being the day before great amounts of turkey are consumed, I had no choice. You simply cannot make mashed potato casserole without cream cheese.

I'm even sorrier that I got in the line with the new cashier who couldn't decide whether to take $0.10 off my order for the reusable bag I brought but didn't use, thus waylaying our departure an extra 5 minutes.

Harrison would send his apologies, but he's very busy screaming his frustrations at the lambs on his swing right now.

smoochies & peace offerings of Oreo truffles,

Blair

p.s. shout out to the mom in the lane beside me who told me that anyone who looked at me sideways deserved to be shot! i'm pretty sure we were bff in a former life!

p.p.s. thumbs down to the five people who asked if harrison was either a) hungry or b) took a pacifier. i do not comprehend the question of his appetite. like i'm going to say, "oh shit, i totally forgot to feed my kid! thanks for reminding me!" idiots. i fed him 4 oz a mere 30 minutes prior to the target melt-down.

Someone call Father Merrin, stat.

It's Blair versus the Six Week Growth Spurt. & I imagine this is what an exorcism feels like.

Quite punctual, that growth spurt. Unfortunately, it is the only thing polite in it's characteristics. Gone is my sleeping through the night child, who eats well & smiles. Instead, I woke up this morning (after very little sleep last night) to a grumpy, screaming child. Diaper, bottle, fail to nap, then attempt to swing/bounce/rock/play. Rinse, repeat. For five hours. Sleeping? Be damned. Eat more than 2 oz per bottle? Forget about it. Screaming? It only bows to the hum of the vacuum.

We're heading into hour number seven, if you're only counting daylight hours. I am frazzled, dirty, exhausted, & two seconds from laughing from pure insanity.

But my floors are incredibly spotless. I invite you to come over & eat your turkey & dressing off them. & while your over here, maybe you can hold the inconsolable child while I go wash the formula-vomit out of my hair.

At 5am this morning

that incredible sound heard 'round the world?

A million hearts breaking as Harrison lit up the universe with his first smile.

Would I be out of line if I said, "I miss you?"

It has been one year.

and even when I'm holding Harrison, I still ache for the baby I will never know. I am so thankful for Harrison. So proud of him, so thankful for his health, so in love with his blonde hair that some days, I think I will explode.

But even a year later with a healthy baby, it doesn't make the miscarriage okay. It doesn't make me not miss Harpie. It doesn't take away the sting or how losing a baby changed me as a woman & a person forever. Maybe that makes me a little crazy. A little emo. Or maybe it makes me completely normal & the most sane, to love any life that much.

Unless you're selling Thin Mints, step off my doorbell.

After Harrison was woken prematurely from a nap for the THIRD WEEK DAY IN A ROW, I resorted to drastic measures past the typical "No Solicitations" sign:

(yes, your third grader has better penmenship than I do. I accept defeat.)

It's not the doorbell that wakes him. It's Tuck going batshitcrazy at the human who dares threaten her home & boy via innocent knock. So although I considered simply disconnecting the doorbell, it wouldn't stop the insanity in case the solicitors knocked. & after ADT (the security company, the irony of it all) attempted to sell their wares on our front porch for the second time in under 5 days, Tuck nearly launched herself through the glass in the door. Because they rang the doorbell. Twice. & when I didn't answer, they knocked. & Tuck was 3.2 seconds away from giving herself an aneurysm from barking.

My note is rude, yes. Because even though they have the dissapointment of lacking sales, I'm left juggling a sobbing, cranky, exhausted 4-week old. & in my opinion, that injustice denies the need for polite society.

Let me tell you 'bout my beeeest friend...

I get this question a lot -- "How is Tuck doing with the baby?"

& I could write a long post about how much she loves him, how she nudges him on the head the way a mother dog does to her pups, or how obsessively protective she has become of him & our home. But I'd rather let pictures do the talking:

Being Harrison's favorite kick toy.

& sometimes, Tuck offers moral support during Tummy Time.

But after all that hard play, it's time to nap again. On each other, for safe-keeping.

But most of the time, they hang out under the gym like the popular kids. Tuck licks him & he coos back.

Proof that you do not need to boot your dog just because you're having a kid, no matter what the breed (we received some negative flack for having a Shepherd mix with a baby). We did spend the year I was pregnant working with her -- honing on her obedience, working on social skills at the dog park & play dates, & making sure she knew the nursery was a "calm" room where she is expected to sit or lay the entire time. The result? A boy's best friend.

But for now I'm rocking my baby, & babies don't keep...

But children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow

So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust, go to sleep.

I'm rocking my baby. Babies don't keep.

~Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

Dear Harrison,

Today, we celebrate the past thirty-one days. Thirty-one days of bliss. Thirty-one days of tears. Thirty-one days since you were born. Thirty-one days since my life changed forever. Thirty-one days that flew by so fast, I fear that the next thirty-one years will pass in the blink of an eye.

Last night, I sat in your nursery & rocked you, even though you had been passed-out with the bliss of being milk-drunk for 30 minutes & even though your father was begging me to come to bed. But I rocked you because I could...because you are still so dependent & wee that you curl into my neck, little baby whimpers & snores that I so longed to hear. I rocked you, because I know that it brings you "home," as it does for me. I rocked you, because I fear that far too soon, you will struggle to get down. I rocked you those extra minutes, because I waited an entire year to do so.

I rocked you, even though I had a load of laundry, waiting to be flipped over. A blog that sits neglected on the internet, void of much true posting in the past month. A dog that begs to be walked, & a husband that needs to be kissed. I rocked you, memorizing the lines on your little face, even though I can see the dustbunnies under my china cabinet. I bent down & kissed your cheek, inhaling that sweet post-bath baby smell. I laughed at the way your lower lip stuck out in a full pout. & I know that at this time in my life, I've never been more thrilled to have a filthy house, bills that are stacked on the kitchen table, & dinner that is often not made until 9pm.

Because last night, I rocked you, soaking you in & knowing that you can't stay this little forever.

How is it that I am already packing away newborn sleepers & pants, re-arranging drawers to make room for 3-month clothing? Have you already grown so much that we've doubled the amount of formula you drink every bottle? Has it really been a month since the first time I heard your little "uh-huh uh-huh" cry, or kissed your platinum Donald Trump hair?

I thought back to my hopes & expectations while I carried you & I asked myself -- has it been everything I dreamed of? It has been better & more than ever expected. & I look forward to the new hopes & expectations that I have for you as you grow. So grow, Harrison. Grow, even though I cling to you & your newborn sleepers, wishing I could keep you this little forever. Even while I rock you longer, knowing that babies don't keep.

I love you forever.

Love,

Momma

Harrison, 1 month.

Since several have asked...

Cow Baby Legs -- from Target. I bought them a few months ago, but think I saw them at our local one just a few weeks ago. $9.99 per pair, roughly?

Whale sweater -- Carter's. der. You can probably snag it super-cheap since it is "last season" now.

Four Weeks.

The strangest thing about four weeks? When people ask me about Harrison, the first thing that pops into my mind is the pressure & pain of childbirth. Not his blonde hair, not the early-morning wake-up calls...but my pelvic area almost begins to ache remembering the pressure of pushing. I wonder if that will ever stop, or if I'm doomed to be a freak that squirms in her pants 20 years from now.

But it's worth it, just to have this little lad in his wee whale sweater:

Zantac isn't just for old folks. But Blair's biting hate can be.

Harrison has reflux. If that was not BLINDINGLY OBVIOUS TO EVERYONE BUT HIS MOTHER.

On Friday, I sat in Dr. Hottie's office on a cold vinyl bench, running through a list of reflux symptoms as he cauterized Harrison's belly button (because oozing gold funk is not attractive). We chatted about spit-up, coughing, the hours-long screaming post-bottle, & how at almost a month old, he still didn't like to take more than 2 oz per feeding. The final kicker:

Dr. Hottie: "Does he ever arch his back during or after a feeding?"
Blair: "oh, he just stretches a bit. You know, like 'oh what a wonderful bottle!' & stretches with his arms over his head."
Dr. Hottie: ::blank, pointed stare::
Blair: "OH. MY. GAWD."
Dr. Hottie: ::bursts out laughing::
Blair: "Listen, I will slip you $5 and a Pumpkin Spice Latte if you don't mention this to Nate. Because I will NEVER live this down."


Needless to say, he immediately sent in a prescription for baby Zantac. It was food time, so I fed Harrison in the exam room quickly, but since we were tying up a room, I quickly burped him & unceremoniously plopped him in the carseat. Crossed my fingers, said a prayer, & braced myself. Just as expected, the hell-cat screaming of reflux began at the check-out line. I crouch down, rock the carseat & offer Harrison his paci. Just 5 minutes, I promise him in my mind.

Cue the grandmother in front of me, helping her daughter check out with their one-week-old twins. "Do you think he's hungry?" she asks. I smile & say, "No, he's not hungry." Trailer Trash Barbie, aka a mother wearing Daisy Duke cut-offs with a toddler on her hip stalks up, glares at me under bleach-frizzed bangs, & rolls her eyes at Harrison. I arch my eyebrow at her. She's at the pediatricians. A baby is crying. That's not exactly a recipe for calling Guiness, you know?

::tap on my shoulder:: "I'm sorry, but he's crying like he's hungry," the grandmother persists. I smile tightly & say, "He's not, I promise. I just fed him." The over-involved stranger offering parenting guidance is not needed, mmkay? Harrison's screams increase. Trailer Trash Barbie behind me heaves a massive sigh & mutters, "Can't she get that kid to stop?" just as Grandma Nosy clucks her tongue & snips, "I'm pretty sure he's hungry!" for a third time.

& I promptly lost my shit as the exhausted Momma Bear in me roared. Whipping around to Barbie, I snap "DEAL." Then I turned on Grandma, biting out, "No, he's not hungry. I know this because a) I am his mother and b) I just fed him. He's screaming because he just ate & he has reflux, which means that right now, stomach acid is burning up his esophagus. Does that sound comfortable? No? Because I'm pretty sure you'd scream your head off if you had stomach acid eating your throat alive."

BLESS HER HEART.

I should feel remorse. & in a way, I do for lighting into someone that is twice my age. But honestly? I'm glad I snapped. I am all for the "village" raising a child, but when I am obviously attempting to soothe my child while reassuring you that he is not hungry, it's time to back off. Harrison was not hurting anyone. I was not hurting Harrison. BACK. OFF.

Thankfully, we're done with Grandma & Barbie & Harrison's Zantac seems to be working quickly. His burps are less wall-shattering & juicy, his screams are more managable, & the coughing & arching has practically stopped. We had a rough couple of days figuring out what worked best as Harrison attempted to cluster-feed 1 oz per hour to soothe himself. He was feeding to soothe the reflux. The constant small feeds created a child that was never truly full. & the needing to eat every hour created an overly-tired child that could not nap. After 24 hours of the cluster-feeding & me borderline on needing to be admitted to a room with padded walls, I put him in the Moby with a paci to hold him off.

& cried the entire time. I typically feed on demand. This went against every grain in my body, but instinct told me "BREAK THE CYCLE" of the cluster-feeding. & guess what? It worked. Two feedings later, he was back on his 3oz every 3-4 hours schedule. You know what else works? Keeping the kid upright while he sleeps, compliments of the bouncer:

p.s. I know, it looks like the SIDS risk from hell. But I promise, he's buckled in & cannot slide under the blanket. & I do check on him. oh, & we put the bouncer in the crib to keep Tuck from licking him to death while he naps. Slobbery dog kisses do not bode well for long naps.

oh, and add the Fisher Price Soothe & Glow Seahorse to my list of favorite things.

Moral of the story? Go with your instinct. On a diagnosis from the pediatrician, breaking cluster feedings, & doing something as ridiculous as putting a bouncer in the crib.

As eloquently put in the 40 Year Old Virgin: "Show me your instincts!"

A Few Of My Favorite Things, aka I'm imparting the assenine wisdom of being a mom for a whopping 3 weeks.

So, here it is. A run-down of the things I love, the things I hate, etc. for being three weeks into the game. I always find it so interesting how every mom's list is different -- bottle sterilizers, for instance, are always 50/50. Some swear by Swaddlemes, but cannot figure out a Moby. But off the top of my head, these are my must-haves & my leave-alones. & remember that opinions & favorites lists are like assholes -- everyone has one & they all stink. Grain of salt, but maybe it will help someone who is about to pick up their registry gun & face ye olde Wall of Nipples.

Flannel receiving blankets a la Carter's (get ready for my love affair regarding all things Carters). Perfect for swaddling, light & compact enough to carry in the diaper bag, & great as an emergency burp cloth. My one word of caution -- wash on a delicate setting in cold water, then dry on a delicate setting to keep them smooth & soft.

There are no words to express my love for the Fisher Price My Little Lamb swing. NO WORDS. Every morning, Harrison happily swings for a good 30 or 45 minutes while I have a cup of coffee, check my email, & clean up a little from the night before. Also a plus when he's fussy -- just plop him in with a paci, get the swing going, & within minutes, he's quietly glaring at the little lamb mobile.


Fat, fluffy blankets if you have a fall/winter baby. I usually use them for stroller walks or tossing it over the car seat when it's a wee bit cooler outside. As I type, Harrison is snoozing in his Boppy with one snuggled over him since we keep it pretty cool in our house. Carter's makes them, but I'm a big fan of the one's from Target made by Circo (the upside of snagging them on sale for $9.99).

Newborn nipples for your bottles. You'll need at least 6, if not 8. Our bottles came with 1 month + nipples, but Harrison was choking on the formula, making a 10pm Target run necessary on our first night home. & to wash those little nips...


Bottle Sterilizer. I know, I know...50% of moms love them, 50% say they are $30 in the trash & unnecessary. Mark me in the former category because I adore mine on an unhealthy (but undoubtedly sanitary) level. We don't run our dishwasher often, so this is the perfect option to washing them in the sink, then popping all bottles, nipples, & pacifiers in the microwave for 2 minutes. Fast. Easy. Steamy. Like me in bed with my husband.

Soothies. No explanation needed. & no, you can never have enough. One for the stroller, the car seat, a few for the diaper bag, one to continuously wrestle from the dog, & one that will inevitably get wedged in the couch cushions with popcorn pieces & rusting pennies. In our house, we take it one step further with the Wubbanub, which helps keep the paci in his mouth & simultaneously gives him something fluffy to grasp. WIN.


Carter's fleece footed pajamas. LOVE. My girlfriend, Susan, brought a pair by the hospital & I immediately fell in love. She had the smarts & thoughtfulness to realize that a) Harrison was smaller than anticipated & b) the temperature dropped over 30 degrees from when we entered the hospital, so we were probably lacking anything warm in the newborn-size. The Momma & I promptly ran out & bought 3 more pairs within 24 hours of being home. They are so snuggly, soft, don't shrink, & easy to get on & off -- perfect for both fast stripping after spit-up or the bleary-eyed 3am diaper changes. & they're so damn cute with the puppy ears on the feet.


The Moby. If you read my blog, you know that this needs no other explanation. Best $40 ever spent. Exhibit A. Exhibit B.

and finally, for those that use formula, Munchkin Formula Dispensers. Get at least 3, if not 4. Yes, they're convenient for the diaper bag, but what I love most is how easy they make night feedings. Every night before bed, I fill up 3 bottles with water -- two 2oz and one 4oz bottle, & fill the dispenser accordingly with powdered formula. That way everything is in his nursery for the night to just pour & shake for bottles, eliminating any need to trot up & down stairs.



Things I'm not wild about:
1) Swaddlemes. Total waste of money, in my opinion. Harrison hated them, plus they were too thin to keep him warm. Maybe the fleece ones would have been better, but a blanket is just fine. Plus, he had his arms out of it in under 2.5 seconds.

2) Sleep outfits without feet. Don't even bother, for serious. No feet means socks, which Harrison kicks off during his sleep. & then he cries because his feet are cold, not that I blame him -- cold feet at 3am are nothing to joke about.

3) Fancy burp cloths. Just use plain pre-fold cloth diapers. You can snag 12 for roughly $10 as opposed to 3 pretty ones for $10. & we go through them like Sherman went through Atlanta.

4) Baby monitor. Our house is decent-sized at 1650 sq ft & two stories, but we don't use a monitor. Seriously, when the kid is awake, he lets us know & it echoes through the entire house. It also keeps us from freaking out over every single peep he makes in his sleep, which keeps me asleep & Nate sane. The only time I can see us using ours is next summer, when we're out on our screen porch at night past his bedtime.

An unpopular opinion.

& an undoubtedly controversial post. One that I may likely regret posting, but feel it is fair to address since I was shocked to find I was not the only mother that felt this way.

Last week, a girlfriend of mine & I sat down to chat babies. We were discussing the ins & outs of reflux, colic, incessant crying on both our parts & the babes. I laughed because sometimes, I do tell my child that he's acting like a jackass, despite what some readers feel is inappropriate. Is it inappropriate? Sure. But if it helps me laugh when I'm home alone, floundering on very little sleep, staring at a child that has been screaming for 2 hours straight, then the word "jackass" that he cannot even comprehend yet is hardly a threat to my child. & in talking to my friend, we both agreed...

We, as mothers, understand Shaken Baby Syndrome.

Wait. Read on before you call Child Services on me, or write some hateful diatribe as a comment.

I understand where Shaken Baby Syndrome comes from. I am not condoning the action, supporting it, or saying that it is remotely okay to harm a child in any way, shape, or form. I did not say that I shake Harrison, or will ever shake Harrison, or that I ever lose my cool to the point of no return. & if I did feel that way, I promise you that he would be in his crib to scream alone while I locked myself in another room to call Nate before I ever harmed a hair on my child's head. But when he is screaming at such a fevered pitch that I can feel the blood rushing in my ears & I start shaking from heart palpitations...yes, I compute where it comes from. I'm bite my lip, & tears run down my face as I stare at a little human who is red-faced & inconsolable, making me powerless over the own chaos of my life that I created. It's unnerving. You have those moments where you stare into your child's face & say, OH MY GOD, WILL YOU JUST STOP CRYING?! & when they don't (which they won't), you want to slam your head into the closest brick wall simply to escape. So I get why an uneducated teenage baby daddy with no support system would pick up the child & shake it in frustration. I get why a mother with severe PPD, lacking the logic to pull her back to rational thoughts past the emotional & biological reaction to the crying, would have urges to throw the baby out the window. I GET IT.

& the friend of mine & I agreed, most other parents would get it, too. & it makes you feel dirty & unnatural. So nobody would ever want to admit it.

I love Starbucks, but for the sake of maternity leave, I brew at home.

Nate & I have developed a new code to describe my day where he asks, "What does your coffee cup look like today?"

Translation: Is our child behaving & letting you be sane or is he being a jackass?

For when Harrison is an angelic little babe, he swings happily for a good 45 minutes in the morning while I clean up the kitchen, get a cup of coffee, & check my email. & then he goes down for a morning nap so I can shower, make beds, & start laundry. Fantastic routine, no? But when he's a cranky little booger, I spend my entire morning juggling him on my hip, singing insane tunes about how I wish he would sleep, & pulling my hair out all while wistfully staring at my untouched mug.

This would be today's cup of coffee. Notice how it's still full at 11am, despite being brewed 3 hours prior? Obviously, we had one of those mornings that I'm sure Satan delivered himself. After a mere three (non-consecutive, mind you) hours of sleep last night, Harrison & I were up for the day. Where he fussed, screamed, ate two bottles, refused to swing, & basically tried to burrow himself back into my uterus via my neck. You know that feeling, where the kid is over your shoulder & ferociously kicking & nuzzling so hard into your throat that you say, "KID. I promise, you cannot physically get any closer to me!" After 2 hours of this madness, I wiped away all disillusions that the child would settle into a nap & I settled his Pampers-swaddled butt into the Moby:


and we had peace. & while part of me wishes I could pull him out & put him in his crib so I can catch a snooze since he's finally sleeping, I dare not wake a sleeping baby. Which is why I finally have a moment to do laundry, blog, & make sure the kid has clean bottles for when he awakes.

& it takes me back two weeks, where Dr. Hottie complimented my calm in his office & then described this period as "Survival." Plain, old-fashioned survival. & I looked at him like he had five heads because honestly, I didn't feel like I was in survival mode. My kid was sleeping incredibly well. He was sweet, content, & easy to soothe. The only thing in survival mode was my house, which has not seen a vacuum or dust rag in over 2 weeks. But I was showering every day, even getting make-up on, & blissfully enjoying 4+ hour stretches of sleep.

MY GOD, WHY DID I NOT FULLY APPRECIATE HOW GOOD I HAD IT? Because it's like Harrison woke up last week & said, "OH SHIT, I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE THIS COOL YET." & then let out a holler that they heard all the way in Bejing aquatics cube.

& I haven't enjoyed a cup of coffee since. Self, welcome to "survival mode."