I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m in some kind of foul mood cycle, and I can’t get out of it.
I love Mason, but I’m so tired of being all-consumed with all things baby. I got out for a whopping 2-1/2 hours today, during which time The Husband called me twice. Twice. Even when I’m away, I’m still not alone.
Here’s the all-consuming part: I’m really starting to think there’s something wrong with the baby. I took his 7 month measurements yesterday, and he comes in between the 90th & 95th percentiles for length; but he’s fallen to the 10th to 25th percentile for weight. He looks healthy – his cheeks are rosy, he’s always alert, and he’s extremely active. But he only weighs 17-1/2 pounds. The Husband’s co-worker has a son who’s only 5 months old, and he’s already over 20 pounds.
I see these delicious, fat, adorable, roly-poly babies EVERYWHERE, and I can’t help but look at my little string bean and worry. Yesterday, while we were out shopping, this stupid woman looked at Mason and said her grandson is the same age and “twice his size”. Thanks for the knife to my heart, you thoughtless b*tch.
I am feeding him. All the time, in fact. 7 meals from 8:00 in the morning until 11:00 at night. He never goes longer than 3 hours between meals. SO WHY ISN’T HE GAINING WEIGHT????? I’ve tried feeding him more, but he urps it all back up if he overeats.
I hate to call the doctor AGAIN, but I keep thinking something must be wrong with him. If he has a little tremor, my brain immediately thinks he’s having a seizure. If he pats his head, he must have a headache caused by a brain tumor, right? Having a baby has definitely brought out the worrywart in me.
And to add serious insult to injury, a waitress asked us how old our grandson was last weekend.
Well, The Husband is back. Hoorah. All his flights went off without a hitch, and he’s contentedly snoring away in the other room.
I’m starting to see that things are really strained between us. It was hard while he was gone, yes; but the baby and I fell into our own little routines and we muddled our way through.
Last night, when he called me from his hotel after a lengthy, extravagant dinner with his mother (!!!!!), I was in a bad mood. Mason had been whiny and crabby all day, and I did something to irritate the herniated discs in my lower back while grocery shopping with him.
I had him in the pack & play, where he was getting increasingly irritated with his inability to crawl. He gets up on all fours and rocks back & forth; but he can’t quite get the motion going yet. And boy, he’s not shy about letting the world know how frustrated he is.
Anyway, my back was killing me and the baby was screaming and I’d had enough, and The Husband made some flippant remark about how much he enjoyed dinner with his mother. When I said something about how it must be nice to go out for a fancy dinner (or anywhere, for that matter) without a noisy infant in tow, he sprung this little gem on me……
“You don’t know how good you’ve got it.”
Um, excuse me?!?!?! Yeah, I’ve got it so good that I’m looking at part-time daycare openings so I can go back to work for a few hours a week.
I’ve got it so good that I washed all the bedding and remade the bed, scrubbed the floors, vacuumed all the mud off the carpet, gave the baby a bath, and never ate lunch today. What, you think the cleaning fairy comes in and does all this sh*t while you’re away? And as a reward, my lower back is screaming in pain.
I’ve got it so good that I can’t sleep and lay awake every night, worrying about why the baby isn’t gaining weight. Am I not feeding him enough? Why doesn’t he want formula anymore? Is he getting enough calories from solids? Or is it just because he’s so active?
I’ve got it so good that I spend most of my days yelling at the dogs to get out of the mud, yelling at the baby to stop yelling at me, or yelling at myself for yelling so damn much.
I’ve got it so good that the last time I was treated to a nice dinner (or even a crappy lunch), there was a white democrat and an infamous intern in her blue dress in the oval office. He goes off to England and treats his mother to lunch/dinner at least 5 times each week, while I’m stuck home eating stale bread for breakfast and choosing dinner from a box in the freezer every night.
And I do have it good. I know that. I don’t “have to” work, we’re all healthy, he has a good job, and we’re doing okay. But for the love of crepes, I don’t need that thrown back in my face when I’m having a bad day.
I do have it good. But I wonder just how bad things are going to get before I smother him with a stinky poop-filled diaper in his sleep.
I woke up early this morning & plodded through the house to try and pacify the squirmy baby. He woke up early (6:00), and really only needed a pat on the butt to lull him back to sleep for a bit.
However, as soon as my feet hit the cold vinyl floor, I was awake for the day. I grabbed a glass of cranberry juice & decided to check my e-mail & catch up on the events of the world.
The very first story I stumbled upon was this one. Prepare to be horrified.
VEEDERSBURG, Ind. – A couple who ran a baby-sitting service out of their home videotaped themselves performing sex acts with children, some as young as 2 months old, police said Friday.
Stephen E. Quick, 31, and Samantha Light, 25, both of Veedersburg in western Indiana, were being held on $100,000 bond in Fountain County Jail. Both faced preliminary charges of child molestation and child exploitation. Jail staff did not know whether either one had an attorney.
Police who searched the couple’s home found a videotape depicting sex acts involving Quick and Light and at least four different children between the ages of 2 months and 6 years old, said Fountain County Sheriff’s Deputy Bob Kemp.
“In 15 years of doing this job, it’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen or imagined,” he told WRTV. “Just horrible, just horrible. It’s a new low.”
Police searched the couple’s home after the parents of a 3-year-old girl reported that she told them Quick and Light had touched her inappropriately and photographed her at their home on Feb. 28.
Deputies seized several computers, cameras, a video camera, pornographic materials, drugs and drug paraphernalia. Several sex toys that appeared in the video were seized during a second search, police said.
Quick and Light were arrested March 5. Neither has a criminal history.
Authorities have removed the couple’s daughter from their home.
I was going to post their mug shots, but I don’t want to put their hideousness on my blog. Stephen Quick has four other children from a previous relationship (view his old myspace page here), in addition to the 2-month-old daughter he shares with Samantha Light. If you look through the photos on his myspace page, there is one of his daughter with the quote “she only looks innocent”. Looking at those words made me physically ill.
The youngest child on the tape is 2 months old. Their daughter is 2 months old. Put 2 + 2 together, and you realize these monsters were “allegedly” sexually abusing their own newborn daughter.
In my opinion, there is no legal punishment severe enough for these 2 animals. 50 years in prison? That’s an insult to the children who’s innocence they’ve stolen.
In my opinion, they each should have a pound of flesh removed for every second of pain they caused each one of these children.
Actually, this story brought up the memory of a recent episode of Weeds on HBO. A police officer was kidnapped by a couple of drug thugs, who used a belt sander to remove the skin from every inch of his body. In my opinion, even that is too kind for these two.
My son is six months old, and it is incomprehensible for me to think of someone viewing him as a sexual object. How can ANYONE consider ANY child, much less their own, in such a way?
I guess what makes me the sickest of all is that no matter the outcome of their trial, no matter what the sentence for these two animals may be, it won’t be enough.
They are living, breathing evil and no punishment can possibly befit their crimes.
I really don’t want to complain about The Husband’s work assignment again; nor do I want to talk about the fact that the little one has a tummyache & I’m covered in stinky sour formula. Instead, I’m going to focus on a few of the other 999 things rattling around in my head.
On the television front:
I find myself shaking my head while watching Brothers & Sisters a lot these days. It started a couple weeks ago, when ABC over-hyped the 2-hour special with the promise of “A SHOCKING DEATH”. For the entire 120 minutes, I sat on the edge of my seat, trying to figure out who was leaving the series. Robert had a heart attack, but he survived. Tommy got busted for embezzling – would he commit suicide? Or would it be Holly? Rebecca? Justin? Sarah? COME ON, who’s it going to be????? And then, they all lived. Dammit.
Dancing with the Stars is back on again. The premiere was okay, but no one stumbled or tripped or anything. Dammit. I live for the carnage.
And The Biggest Loser. What the hell? This is the first season I’ve watched, but I’m so frustrated with it. The egos of the black team make me want to pelt them with frozen pastry. Especially Helen, who’s turned into a self-centered beyotch. Kinda like an older version of Tara. The gloating after the relay challenge made me want to throw my shoe at the screen. And Ron. Oh, Ron. You’re ruining it for everyone on the blue team. Just admit you can’t keep up, do the honorable thing, and ask to be sent home. Sending Mandi home was cruel, when you only make halfhearted attempts to challenge yourself.
And Lost. Now that I know the big mystery of the island involves time travel, I’ve lost it for Lost. If I wanted to watch science fiction, I would have turned on Battlestar Galactica.
And Jon & Kate + 8. Oh, those poor children. Jon & Kate have turned their own flesh & blood into miniature cash cows, and they treat them like cattle in the barn. No entering Mommy & Daddy’s bedroom. No shoes in the house (even by the crew members). The 4-year-olds still wear bibs at every meal. There’s no love in that new $1.3 million McMansion of theirs.
Tomorrow night is one of the last episodes of ER. I can’t wait to see the old gang again – Nurse Carol and Doug Ross and Doctor Benton and Doctor Carter. And Doctor Lewis – when she tried to adopt her sister’s baby and it all fell apart. God, I loved that show. I faithfully tuned in every week, until the original cast members disappeared. And now, tomorrow is the big episode when they all reunite. I can’t wait!
Big Love on HBO is also hit or miss these days. I hope they find their groove again, lest they go the way of Grey’s Anatomy & start concocting more ridiculous storylines with each passing episode.
I was giving the baby a bottle today, and caught part of an episode of Dr. Phil. And who was his guest? None other than the fifty shades of crazy Octomom. I’m so sick of hearing about her and reading about her and having her financial ruin thrown in my face. I don’t care if she has 4 children or 14……that woman does not deserve to be rewarded for her actions. Daddy bought her a new house, and contractors are fixing it up for free. Some expensive baby boutique is “donating” cribs, changing tables, armoires, and rocking chairs. And another agency is “donating” around-the-clock specialized nursing for her. I’m sure she’s selling photos of her litter for ridiculous amounts of cash; yet she’s unable to pay for any of her or the babies’ extended medical care. What the hell?????
I watch too much tv.
Hard times have hit us all. I usually scour my Valpak envelope for coupons & deals; but this quarter, most of the ads were for advertising in Valpak. Where are my milk and pizza coupons?
Why do all cute summer shoes have open toes? Sometimes, I just don’t want to deal with painting my toenails.
Do people actually find good deals on Craigslist? My local version is a joke. Today’s “bargains”. A banged up wood crib for $275. Another crib, eight years old, for $175.00. A used diaper genie for $35. And $85 for used Pooh crib bedding. Or my favorite, a used pack & play and swing for $250 (and duh! it’s pretty obvious it’s in bad shape when you post one blurry, poorly lit picture and use the store/advertising photos for the rest). Seriously, people????? Those of us looking for formula coupons or gently used outdoor toys on Craigslist are barely scraping by. Stop trying to feck us over.
I got a bill in the mail today from Mason’s first trip to the emergency room. $755.61 for a mini bottle of Pedialyte, a syringe, and a diagnosis of “the stomach flu”. I hate to think of what it would have been had he needed an actual IV, or more than 2 minutes of the physician’s time.
How is it that Mason’s substitute doctor yelled at me for underfeeding him; yet he’s 6 months old and wears 12 month clothes and socks designed for kids who are 18 months – 3 years old??? My son is just fine, thank you.
And his tooth is finally through! Hoorah! He’s still crabby; but now I know it’s because I handed him the wrong teething toy or put on the wrong diaper or didn’t yell the right giggle word (tonight, screaming the word “pizza” sent him into fits of exhausted giggles).
And with that, I’m off to see the wizard. The wonderful wizard of jaws.
The Husband is not coming home from England tomorrow. Dammit. Saturday, perhaps.
I can’t think of anything meaningful or entertaining to write. I’m so sick of running this house by myself.
I’m so sick of being the baby’s sole source of entertainment.
I’m sick of eating pizza and microwave dinners because I can’t be bothered to cook something decent for myself.
I’m so sick of getting up early and going to bed late and barely sleeping in between.
I’m so sick of worrying about the checkbook balance, because he has to pay for all of his expenses up front. For the last four weeks, the hotel, the car rental, and all meals have been paid for out of his wallet; and he has to submit the receipts for reimbursement when he gets back. And I have to continue to make the mortgage payment and his $450 truck lease payment and all the other living expenses he left behind.
And I’m disgusted with the fact that he has FOUR MORE of these stupid trips before the end of July.
And yeah, have I mentioned that he’s going to rip out the old landscaping around the house (which I did two years ago when we moved in, but my efforts weren’t good enough) AND build an extension on our deck? All during the approximately 6 weekends he’ll be home. Who’s going to look after the baby then? Well, geez, ME of course.
I have completely lost myself. I’ve given everything I have to this marriage and this family, and it’s cost me my sense of identity.
When do I get time for myself? I’ve asked my family and friends for help, but no one wants to watch my “challenging” child. I know he’s difficult, okay? I GET IT. He’s loud and wiggly and never stops moving and always needs to be entertained. But you people can’t even watch him for 2 hours so I can get a little quiet time. I’ve had him 24 hours a day for the last 25 days, and I’m about ready to scream.
Having this baby has changed everything about the relationships I’ve built with my family and friends. I’ve learned that the only person I can depend on is myself. And I’m not bitter. Really, I’m not. I’m just sad that I wasted all those years cultivating relationships where I gave and gave and gave, and never took anything in return. And now, when I could really use a helping hand, they’re all too busy to reciprocate.
I understand what people mean when they say “it takes a village to raise a child”; but what happens when your village becomes a ghost town?
*** Update ***
Well, he’s not coming home Saturday, either. Now it’s looking like the middle of next week.
I want him to fly home on Saturday, then go back next week & stay until the project is done. Big shocker, no one agrees with me. “Too expensive”, “too much time wasted”, “we don’t give a shjt about your family”, blah blah blah.
When he does finally get here, Mason won’t remember him. I fully expect it to take several days for him to warm back up to The Husband. I just hope he’s prepared for that.
And then he turns around and leaves in 2-1/2 weeks for another trip to Utah.
And guess who’s left behind with a very confused infant. Again.
Oy. The wicked witch of the east My mother-in-law is at it again.
It’s no secret that she & I are like oil and water. She’s said some terrible things about Dave and I, about our dogs, about my family, and about the way we’re raising our son. For a long time, I tried really hard to like her. I invited her over to spend Christmas with us, so she wouldn’t be alone. I ignored it when she categorized all Americans as fat, loud, lazy, and rude. I let it go when she picked apart my family’s Christmas dinner. I overlooked all her little digs about my weight and my clothes and the fact that I don’t eat french fries with a knife & a fork. And let’s not forget her calling me a “sore loser” in front of my entire family.
I look back at all the mean things she’s said and done, and it amazes me that she would even ask to come over here again. I’ve always said no, yet she came last Thanksgiving to see Mason. She always gets her way, and it infuriates me to no end.
And it never ends. A few months ago, I snapped this sweet picture of Mason’s feet. I love his little piggies, and thought this was an adorable photo.
As soon as she saw it (because my buckethead husband gave her our flickr address), she had the gall to call here and complain about the photo because, “I can’t even see his face. Can’t she take some better ones???”. I don’t want to be petty, but I’m thinking about making my photos of Mason private. She obviously has no appreciation for the time it takes me to snap these pics, transfer them to the computer, edit them, and upload them. I know it’s stupid, but it’s just one more way for her to interfere in our lives.
And she’s at it in full force again. Since Dave is in England on his job assignment, he’s been trying to be the dutiful son and spend some time with her. She’s constantly badgering him to move over here, making snide little remarks to make him feel guilty for not welcoming her “offer” with open arms.
I’ve told him this before, but I’ll divorce him and take Mason if she moves here. I hate to give him an ultimatum, because no one should have to choose between two important things in their life. But I won’t have her living within 1,000 miles of us. I won’t expose my son to her enormous ego and her passive-aggressive bullsh*t. She’s not welcome here.
But Dave’s defenses are wearing thin without me there to back him up. She’s a master manipulator, and she knows that he’s sick and exhausted from working 14-hour overnights in the mill. And I can’t tell you how much it disgusts me, that she’s trying to take advantage of him when he’s feeling weak and worn out.
Oh, God, I despise that woman.
And I know she’s his mother and Mason is her only grandchild. And it’s so hard for Dave to be in the middle. But he needs to protect his own family now, and put our needs first.
It’s my time now. Mine and Mason’s. And she needs to butt out and let us live in peace.
At 1:04 this afternoon, the Great Bottle Strike of 2009 came to a peaceful conclusion.
I was desperate. Last night, I tried to feed him with a medicine dropper & I’ve never been so frustrated. As soon as I put it in his mouth, he would spit it right back out.
This morning, I stuck a cereal nipple on his bottle & almost drowned him, trying to make him drink. And he still fought me.
I tried mixing whole milk with the formula. I tried giving him straight-up whole milk. Nothing was working.
So I put a drop of vanilla extract in his bottle.
Oh, dear God. He drank it like a prisoner on death row gobbling down his final meal. I’ve never had him eat that voraciously. And when it was gone, he cried because he wanted more.
Mind you, I called the dimwit doctor before trying this, just to make sure it wasn’t poison or anything. Of course, it’s now 2+ hours later & I’m still waiting for a return phone call. *eyeroll*
I looked at his banana custard & it lists vanilla extract as one of the ingredients, so I went with it.
And you naysayers can just shut it. One little drop of vanilla is a waaaay lesser evil than dehydration.
Moving on…..
I tried his new big boy bathtub last night. He finally outgrew his baby tub, but I’m not ready to put him in the big tub yet. It seems like such a waste of water – to fill such a big space up for that tiny little body.
He splashed so hard that my shirt and the shower surround were drenched.
It’s a Primo Bath, and you can get one in white for $22.38 on Amazon (the green one was on sale when I bought mine).
It’s great, because one side is contoured to hold your baby in place (the side Mason is on in the video). And the neck angle is FABULOUS, because I was able to rinse his hair without getting one, single drop in his eyes. And the other side is made for a bigger baby to be able to sit up & play in.
It’s huge – it’s only about 2″ narrower than our bathtub, but I absolutely love it. And no, I don’t get paid or bribed or kickbacked from Amazon or anyone else for recommending it. I just think it’s a great baby bathtub.
I know you’re getting a tooth, as is obvious by the hard little bump under your gum. I’m sure it hurts, and probably itches, too; judging by the amount of time you spend grinding your head into my shoulder.
But dude, seriously. This bottle strike of the last six days is killing me. You have to stop playing with your bottle and actually drink from it. Because Momma can’t take much more of this.
You don’t want your bottle. You don’t want the faster flowing nipple. You don’t want any of your four sippy cups. But you’ll drink apple juice from your little bottle, no problem. And you’ll inhale your yummy yummy pears and your banana pudding with absolute glee. Oh, you are trying my patience.
My favorite part? When you get so upset that I’m holding the bottle in your mouth that you scream until you throw up. Nice.
I know you’re uncomfortable, but there’s got to be a better way. I don’t want to have to resort to feeding you with a medicine dropper. You’ll have to sit in your chair around the clock.
Since the last time I’ve updated, I’ve started no less than 16 new posts. Oh, wait! I have a 6-month-old infant who naps in bursts of 5 minutes, and a husband tucked quietly away in England until the middle of March. I’ve said it before, but I really don’t know how single mothers manage to hold on to an ounce of sanity.
For the most part, it’s been going okay. Mason and I have settled into a routine of sorts, with each of us struggling to understand the other. He’s gotten SO vocal over the last two weeks – he’s constantly babbling or yelling or screaming or shrieking. There’s no such thing as quiet time at my house. Even the dogs have been hiding in the bedroom or scratching at the door to be let outside. Anything to escape. All. That. Noise.
It’s not all from the kid, though. This is how we spend most of our days. Yelling HEEHAW and giggling like a maniac.
I haven’t had any kind of a break since The Husband left, though, and it’s been hard. I planned to drop the baby off at my parent’s house & go catch a movie; but they got the stomach flu & didn’t want to pass it back to us again. I think my 16-going-on-35-year-old goddaughter is coming to stay with us this weekend, though, so I’m hoping she can watch him for a few hours while I sneak in a little “me” time. I love Mason more than anything in the world, but I need some downtime.
I just read somewhere that said we, as parents, often forget that we are our children’s whole world. I never thought about it like that before, and it’s so true. I’ve learned to accept the fact that I can’t kerplop him in his swing or his rocker and go into the other room to make bottles or wash dishes or, God forbid, send a couple e-mails. He wants to be with me all the time, because I’m the one constant in his life. I desperately want him to be independent; but I don’t know how to teach him to self soothe when he needs to reassured that I’m always here. I’m sure his anxiety has something to do with Daddy’s comings and goings and these long absences, but I try to make the most of it and keep him happy.
We had our six month checkup yesterday, and it was a disaster. I almost don’t want to write this all out, because I feel like a failure as it is and have broken down and cried more tears than I want to admit.
Mason dropped from the 50th percentile in weight to the 30th, and the doctor bawled me out. He didn’t even gain 2 pounds since his four month checkup, and the doctor is convinced that we’re underfeeding him. I tried to argue that he was sick for an entire week and lost over a pound, but he wouldn’t hear of it. “Even with that additional pound, he’d still be underweight for his frame.”
The whole problem is that he wasn’t eating much in the days leading up to his flu, then he went seven days eating next to nothing while sick, then took almost two weeks to gain the weight back that he lost. That stupid nutramigen formula never really sat right with him; and at the end, it was a fight to get him to take four ounces at a time. He was only taking in 20-24 ounces each day; and even though I knew it wasn’t enough, I believed we had his best interests at heart by giving him the ultra expensive nutramigen. I let his stupid doctor talk me into trying what she believed was best, rather than following my own instincts.
After convincing me I’m starving my son, he said we need to start giving him bigger feedings or more food at each meal. I tried to explain that Mason has acid reflux, so we limit the amount we give him or it all gets projectile vomited back up. Then he said I need to add rice cereal or oatmeal to his morning bottle AND give him fruit or vegetables with his last feeding. Again, I tried to explain that Mason doesn’t like the texture of rice cereal or oatmeal, and he’s never had a successful feed with it. He told me to keep trying, and force him to eat it if I have to. What. The. F*ck. Can we at least wait until he’s a year old before pushing an eating disorder onto him?????
I should explain our schedule. First thing in the morning, Mason gets a 7 ounce bottle (although I’m going to cut that to 5 ounces and start adding a 4 ounce jar of some oatmeal/applesauce/banana combination). Three hours later, he gets 4-5 ounces of his favorite pears, with another 5 ounce bottle. Four hours after that, he gets 4-5 ounces of a veggie or veg/meat combination and another 5 ounce bottle. Somewhere in there, he gets a 4 ounce bottle of apple juice to keep things flowing nicely through his belly. After another four hours, he gets 4-5 ounces of a fruit combination and another 5 ounces of formula. Finally, I wake him up somewhere between 11:30 and 1:00 a.m. for an 8 ounce bottle of formula.
He’ll be getting 28 ounces of formula along with 16 ounces of fruits & veggies. That seems like a lot of nourishment. Shouldn’t it be enough for a 6-month-old kid? Obviously the doctor doesn’t think so. I just don’t want to wake him up fully at midnight to shove a jar of applesauce in his gob, yanno? He takes the bottle so nicely & usually falls back asleep about half way through. I know he’ll be awake for at least an hour if I have to sit him in his booster seat & feed him from a spoon.
And the appointment only got worse from there. When he asked what kind of formula we were using, I said we had switched to the Nestle Good Start without the DHA/ARA, since it seemed to be upsetting his stomach. Well jeebus cripes, he almost had a coronary. Said all kids need to get that fat in their diet, and that was the reason he wasn’t gaining weight. When I told him that he rarely spits up on this formula; and when he does, it’s because he didn’t burp properly or we overfed him; he said that it didn’t matter and we needed to change to a formula with DHA/ARA in it IMMEDIATELY. I finally said I wasn’t changing formula again, and if he suggested it one more time, I was going to start giving him cow’s milk. At least he agreed that staying on this formula is better than prematurely going to cow’s milk.
Then he asked about Mason’s sleeping and nap schedule. I told him that he sleeps really well at night, but naps are a big problem for us. He’s just not a good napper. I can get 20 minutes in the morning and maybe an hour in the afternoon, but that’s it. Then he tried to blame Mason’s slow growth on his lack of naps. Said that he should be sleeping 12 hours at night, plus taking two naps of 1-2 hours every single day. I asked him how to force him to nap, and he didn’t have any suggestions (big shocker there). He said to leave him in the crib if he wakes up too soon; but Mason screams for me to come and get him when he wakes up. He’s not going to fall back asleep. I’ve left him cry for over an hour, and that is most definitely not the answer. Neither is duct taping or bungee cording him to the mattress. Not that I’ve tried it, but the thought has crossed my mind.
Then we moved on to the 6-month milestones. Mason has met them all, except for sitting up unsupported. Again, with his acid reflux, we keep him reclined for 30-60 minutes after he’s done eating to give his belly time to settle. When we try and sit him upright too soon, he leans forward & puts too much pressure on his stomach, and he heaves. And he’s a big leaner. I can sit him next to me on the couch, but he’ll lean over until his head is touching my side or my leg. I can prop him back up, and he’ll lean right back in to me. I’m not too worried about this – it’s not like he’s going to go to college without being able to sit up – but the doctor again told me that I have to work harder to get him to sit on his own.
I wholeheartedly agree, but I was so sick of his condescending bullchip by then that I didn’t bother to respond. I hate hate hate that he pointed out EVERYTHING I’m doing wrong, but was completely unable to offer me any kind of help or solution to making things better. Thank God Mason’s regular doctor will be back from maternity leave at the end of the month. I can’t wait to give her the scoop on what a dick her replacement turned out to be.
And just when I thought the worst was over, the nurse asked if I would let a student give Mason his shots. She promised that the girl had done plenty of other shots, but she needed to log the experience for her degree. I agreed, but was so sorry I did. She pinned Mason’s legs between her stomach & the edge of the table to hold him still, and he FREAKED out. He started panicking and hyperventilating and screaming when he couldn’t move his legs. I offered to hold his legs for her, and she said she would rather do it her way. He kept screaming louder and louder and holding his breath, and she got so nervous her hands were shaking like a pinwheel in the breeze. Luckily, I brought a small bottle of apple juice with me, so he went into a sugar coma and settled down pretty quickly once she left.
And with that, he’s waking up from his nap. I promise, there will be more updates to come, including my 6-month love letter to him.
