My daughter the car demon

Sophia hates being in the car. She always has. She cried on the way home from the hospital and this trend has continued ever since. This problem was briefly corrected when she moved into a forward-facing car seat, but when I say briefly, I mean she was OK in the car for about a week.

Everyday I listen to her yell, scream and kick. I've tried all types of kids music, audio books and food to distract her. I've tried talking to her, ignoring her and I've even resorted to yelling back at her on more than one occasion.

For a while I was able to pacify her on the way home from daycare with a cookie or two (or five or six). This has backfired on me -- big time. As soon as her bottom touches the car seat she starts asking for a cookie and it gradually escalates to crying and whining until I can get into the driver's seat and tell her to say please, and hand her two cookie. One for each hand.

Several cookies later she wants juice. I can't refill her sippy cup while I'm driving so she freaks out until we get home. As soon as we pull into the driveway she is all smiles again. If you look in the back seat you'll see most of the cookies are in pieces all over the floor. It's not the cookies she really wants, but what she wants is anyone's guess.

I don't understand her aversion to the car. We've never been in an accident and I don't drive erratically. Ryan falls asleep as soon as the car starts running -- he's an angel for sleeping through his sister's tantrums.

I think the car is a perfect place for families to talk to each other so I've been hesitant about getting a DVD player for the back seat, but the idea has crossed my mind.

Sometimes while she's in a heated screaming match with herself, I imagine her at 6 or 7 years old screaming like a banshee in the back seat, while her little brother yells at her to shut up. I get chills just thinking about it.

For now, I know the farthest we can drive is 45 minutes before I need to get out of the car. Maybe when she moves to a booster seat she will be more comfortable and our problem will be solved.

Good morning!

I'm obsessed with sleep. I'm always talking about it and every night I can't wait to do it. And after last night, it looks like I may be able to stop obsessing.

We woke this morning, like every morning, to the cry of a baby, but this morning it was Sophia and this morning it was 7:30.

Last night, Ryan slept through the whole night. When we woke up and realized that neither of us got up with him, our first instinct was to make sure he was OK, but our survival instincts kicked in and we thought better than to go into his room and potentially wake him.

That lasted 15 minutes before the urge to make sure our son was still breathing became overwhelming. At 7:45 a.m., my husband tip-toed into Ryan's room and found our little boy awake and smiling. He must have slept well.

In my experience, that first full night of sleep is stressful in the morning. Instead of waking up feeling well-rested, I wake up and feel anxiety.

Sophia first slept through the night when she was one month old, and since then, with the occasional exception, she has always been a good sleeper. But even now, if we wake up before her, we have to channel all our willpower to not run into her room and check on her.

I don't want to jinx it, but I'm hoping that last night wasn't a fluke and that tonight, tomorrow night and every night after, Ryan and his big sister sleep soundly through the night. It will help everyone feel better, but it won't stop us from worrying about our kids -- I know that will never happen.

One step closer

It’s felt like a million years to get here, but it’s only been four months. This weekend, Ryan rolled over for the first time.

The thrill that came over me when we watch him roll from his belly to his back is indescribable. I am so excited that he has finally hit this milestone, but I am even more excited that he is that much closer to complete mobility. When Ryan can move around on his own he will be able to defend himself against the towering toddler … his big sister.

Sophia absolutely loves her little brother, but she can be a bit aggressive when it comes to showing him how much she loves him. Somehow sticking her face directly in front of his and squealing doesn’t translate real well into “I love you, Ryan.”

When he can move, he will be able to get away from her when she becomes overwhelming. He’ll be able to push her away when she becomes overbearing and he can tackle her to get her back for all the times she’s tried to pick him up by his neck.

Now that he has rolled over, he is one step closer to being able to play with his big sister the way she understands how to play with children her own age. And that means a little more freedom for me.

Thank goodness.

Sick day

It’s often said that busy moms don’t have time to be sick. I have said it myself. I’ve got to keep my sick days for when my kids are sick, I can’t use them when I’m actually sick.

In just the last month I’ve dragged myself into work with everything from laryngitis to a stomach virus, all of which I am sure my co-workers have loved being exposed to.

Since the beginning of the year I haven’t been completely healthy. I blame this on the lack of sleep making my body unable to heal itself because it’s too busy keeping me awake.

New moms tend not to sleep well for weeks, even months after the baby is born. Couple that with trying to heal from the trauma of child birth and playing the role of supermom, and many moms find that complete exhaustion sets in pretty quickly.

I am no different.

I haven’t sat still in months. I was carrying my daughter around the hospital within 24 hours of giving birth to my son. When we came home from the hospital, there was no time for me to sit in bed and recover; I had to hit the ground running, regardless of the doctor’s advice. My daughter was 14 months old and she needed her mommy and daddy and it didn’t matter to her that we just brought home a new baby.

So, here I sit, after nearly four months of running in high gear I have been forced to take a day off. After neglecting my own health for so long, my body has turned against me and a little cold has completely knocked me out. My husband brought the kids to daycare and left me at home with orders to get some sleep.

It’s going to be tough. Even as I sit here writing this, I’m thinking that I could still go into work. But that will not help me and I’ll probably just get sick again next week.

With my focus completely on my kids, it’s so easy to forget to take care of myself, and when I do, I feel guilty about it. The thing is that it’s so important that we, as parents, stay healthy so that we can be great parents and reliable employees.

So, today I will curl up with a cup of tea, take a very long nap and, hopefully, revitalize so I can make it the rest of the year without using another sick day for myself.

Taking a bite out of time management

My son has started eating solids. Solids is such a misleading term for baby food since the "solids" he's eating are thinner than that protein drink you just had for breakfast. No matter what the term, he's now eating more than just a bottle.

We started him on rice cereal. It's a cruel introduction to food. It doesn't taste like anything, and frankly it doesn't make him eagerly want to take to the spoon. But he's a trooper and did his best to choke it down. As a reward for all his hard work, last night we introduced him to the next step in solids: his first taste of food with actual flavor. He had carrots, and he didn't hate them.

Whether he likes the food or not, the whole eating off a spoon thing is a glorified mess. Most of the food ends up across his face and the rest is getting picked up by the fist he continuously jams into his mouth. But that goofy little smile on his food covered face is priceless.

With an already hectic schedule, it would be easy to just give him a bottle in the morning, send him to daycare and let them take care of the solids. But let's be honest, I eat breakfast and dinner every day, so should he. So feeding him breakfast and dinner has been added to our laundry list of things that must be done before we go to work in the morning and the second we walk in the door at night.

The hardest part about starting solids isn't getting him to swallow them, it's the time it takes to do so. About two weeks ago, my husband said, "You know, I think we're getting the hang of this parenting thing." I agreed. Both kids were following our schedule to the best of their ability and we were getting things done. We are always busy, but it was starting to flow. Then we introduced solids and the whole thing came crashing down.

In time, we'll get back on track … just in time for the next developmental phase. But that is the plight of the working mother. It sometimes takes a little longer to get into the swing of things. But with every day that passes we get better and better at what we have to do and very soon we are experts at efficiency.

Sorry to see you leave

I just learned that today was one of Sophia's teacher's last day. No one told me, I happened to be in one of the classrooms when the teachers were signing a balloon for the departing teacher that said "Miss You."

As I was leaving, I saw the teacher by the door and wished her well. She said that was leaving because she was moving. She seemed sad.

I am also sad. It's hard because I trust these women to take care of my most precious possessions and in return they make me feel like they love my children more than all the others. I like the feeling that I'm leaving my children in the hands of people who honestly and truly care about the welfare of my children and that their job is not just a paycheck to them.

I believe that the people who care for my children while I'm at work have a direct effect on their personality. Picking a daycare was not a choice I made lightly. Because my children are so young, these women are not only changing their diapers and feeding them, but they are also helping to mold their personality. They give my kids the personal interaction that I am not able to give them while I'm at work.

If I didn't like these women personally I would have taken my children out of this daycare. But opening myself up to these feelings for my daycare provider also makes me vulnerable to sadness and disappointment when one of them leaves.

I hope it's a long time before another teacher leaves.

Working to be pain free

Working is good for my health. I've come to this conclusion after experiencing terrible back pain during the last several weeks. At first I was sure it was our bed since my husband has experienced similar symptoms. It's only three years old, but it's been through two pregnancies, so I figured, pregnancy beat me up so why wouldn't it do the same thing to our bed?

Every chance I got I would mention that we needed a new bed; and every time I was reminded of the sad fact that it's just not in the budget at this time. It's the cold, hard reality of family budgets, parents will never get what they need because whatever the kids need is exponentially more important.

So I've been forced to get rid of my back pain myself. Upon investigation, I noticed my back pain is most severe Saturday, Sunday and Monday. Even though my desk is not exactly ergonomically correct, by Tuesday the pain is practically gone. By Thursday I feel like superwoman again.

I work Sunday to Thursday. On Friday I am home all day alone with both the kids. This means I am carrying at least one, if not both children around the house all day long on Friday. Even with my husband at home during the rest of the weekend, we are still carrying the kids. Because Ryan is small and Sophia is bigger, when he's playing on the floor, we often need to keep her away from the little guy because she tends to be a little, um, well, let's say aggressive. And let's be honest, my kids like to be carried around, so as parents, we gladly oblige.

I'm not a doctor, but my official diagnosis is that my back pain comes from carrying my kids around during the weekend. If that is the case, and I'm certain it is, it's a pain I will gladly deal with as long as my kids need to be carried around. I'm just thankful I get a break during the work week.

The blending of families

The relationship we have with my husband's ex-wife and her family is unusual. My husband and his ex-wife were married very young, had a son they named Jonathan, and after a couple of years divorced.

When we first started dating, things were a little tense, as is expected. I can't imagine how it feels to be the ex-wife watching someone you once shared dreams and aspirations with start a new life. But life went on for everyone and the day came when everyone realized that it would be in Jonathan's best interest if we all just got along. So everyone just put their differences aside and started our new blended family.

I met my stepson when he was 5, he is now 14 and a well-rounded teen who has the ability to make all his parents proud and completely frustrated at the same time, just like any other 14 year old. He is a good kid, there is no doubt about that. I believe his stability is based solely on the relationship we have with his mother and her family.

About once a week, we get together for dinner. On weekends, we all go to my stepson's various sporting events. In fact, we probably hang out with her family more often than we do any of our other friends.

When she had her daughter, we came to the hospital to visit her and the new baby. When she and her fiance moved into their new home, we went over for dinner to celebrate their good fortune. When my children were born, they were there to welcome the new babies. Sophia and her daughter are only nine months apart, so they are ready-made friends.

I like it this way. I like the thought that Jonathan feels he has one big extended family, with all the parents on the same page. There is no bad blood, no name calling, no fighting. It's just one, big family. We celebrate birthdays, christenings and births together. In my opinion, we share holidays better than many families who are actually related.

Sadly, this is not the norm and when I talk about our family, I often get strange looks from people. "How do you do it?" is the most common question. Honestly, I wasn't there when they were divorcing so who am I to judge the demise of their relationship? The only thing I contribute is my ability to realize that Jonathan has a mother and father and I am neither one of those. I am huge part of his life, but I know my boundaries and I think that goes a long way. The real credit goes to my husband and his ex-wife for being able to put their past differences aside and focus on what's really important: their son. I have much respect for them for this.

Sometimes marriages dissolve, but when kids are involved, they're the ones who have to be a part of both families. It is in their best interest to see healthy relationships rather than angry and bitter ones. I feel extremely fortunate to be part of this family.

My not-so girly girl

When do little girls start to like to do girly things? Sophia hates getting her nails cut. She completely freaks out. I feel like I'm torturing her because we have to hold her still to cut them. It's emotionally and physically painful for both of us, but it has to be done.

This weekend, in the midst of everything that went on with my son, we had to cut Sophia's nails. They were starting to get dangerous. So I pulled out some nail polish, a nail file and the nail clippers and sat on the floor with her and tried my best to make the experience fun.

It was an absolute failure.

She was interested in the nail polish, but only if she was doing the painting … all over her feet. Not a single drop got on her nails. She wouldn't let me near her nails. After 45 minutes of trying to get her to play manicure, I caved and just held her down and cut them because she can't go to daycare with daggers for finger nails and I had other things to do that day.

It's the screaming that gets to me. I feel awful, but it's a basic hygienic need. How do I get her to enjoy the experience? She wasn't always like this. I used to be able to put on an Elmo video and cut her nails in no time. Elmo can't even save me now. She hasn't even had her first haircut because I am so nervous about how she will react. Fortunately, her hair has been slow coming in, but my time is running out and she is going to need one very soon.

She's obsessed with shoes, in fact, shoe was one of her first words (that's MY girl!), but that's as girly as she gets. She did let me put pigtails in her hair once (see photo as proof), but they were short-lived and I think they made her crazy.

She is perfectly happy wrestling on the floor with my husband. She loves being thrown in the air and she loves to be startled. One of her favorite games is hide and seek when the hider jumps out and scares her. This boggles my mind, shouldn't she be at least a little scared? Nope, she loves it and she is always hiding herself and jumping out and trying to scare us.

I guess I'll just have to wait a little longer and if it never happens, that's OK. I guess she doesn't have to be a girly girl.

Today was a good day

Relief washed over me when I heard the news. When my husband came home from taking Ryan to the doctor’s this morning, he told me that Ryan is doing 100 percent better than yesterday. I guess the virus is taking its course and the therapy we’ve been doing is working.

Ryan’s breathing was less labored today than it has been in several days. He is still congested and coughing, but that will take some time to clear. The good news is that he can breathe and we don’t have to worry. He’s going to be fine.

Of course, we knew he was going to be fine from the beginning. It’s just hard to keep remembering it while your child is hooked up to machines that monitor his vital signs.
After what we’ve been through during the last several days, today, we wanted to do nothing but hang out together.

And today was a good day.

Today we took the time to enjoy our family. We played, ate and napped together. We stayed in our pajamas all day and just had fun. It was a nice change of pace for all of us. On most days we are running around like crazy trying to keep a schedule and get things done that have to be done. Today we stopped and didn’t do anything we had to do, because the only thing we had to do was be thankful we were all together.

Keep breathing

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. We’ve been counting my son’s breathes for the last 36 hours. It began Thursday when I got a call from daycare around 2:30 p.m. telling me I had to pick up Ryan because he had a fever. So I left work (thanks to my extremely understanding boss) and drove him from daycare right to the pediatrician’s office. She looked at him, listened to his chest, counted his breathes and checked the oxygen levels in his blood. She suspected it was bronchiolitis, gave us a nebuliser and told us to come back Friday. We went back for the recheck on Friday and from the doctor’s office, we went right to the hospital.
Ryan’s breathing was labored, his oxygen level’s were hard for the doctor to read and he was wheezing. The ER doctor’s took a chest X-ray and his lungs are clear, but he did test positive for RSV.

After an entire day at the ER, we are home tonight but we’re going back to the pediatrician tomorrow. He’s not any better, but he’s not worse. I’ve been told that this is a very common virus in infants. I’ve also been told it’s common in daycares and since the virus is so contagious, by the time a child exhibits symptoms of the disease, it’s already spread through the entire classroom.

I am so worried about him. This is not like anything I’ve ever experienced. I can’t help but worry about him, he’s having trouble breathing. It doesn’t get any scarier than that. It’s a simple act that keeps our heart beating and the blood pumping through our bodies and my son is working very hard at it.

I’m exhausted, I’m completely stressed out and all I can do is believe that we will make it through the weekend and my precious little boy will be healthy again.

A delicate balancing act

I've been struggling for the last couple of days trying to figure out why Ryan will not sleep through the night. As soon as I think I have things figured out and he sleeps through one night, the very next night we're up two times.

We put the kids to bed between 7:30 and 8 p.m. every night with no distinction between weekdays and weekends. Sophia usually sleeps until about 7 or 7:30 the next morning, while Ryan, on the other hand, will get up at least once during the night, if not twice, which is not uncommon. Last night, for example, he woke up at 11:30 p.m. and then slept until 8 a.m., while the night before he was up at 1:30 a.m. and again at 4.

We've tried stuffing him with food, putting him to bed later, more sleep during the day, less sleep during the day, nothing makes a significant difference in his sleep habits. At this point I'll try anything to get him to sleep.

On top of this problem, when he wakes up, if we don't stop the crying immediately Sophia will wake up and she will not go back to sleep and we're up the rest of the night trying to get her back to sleep. This makes it impossible for us to just let him cry himself back to sleep.

When I go to bed at night, my blood is coursing with anxiety because at any moment, no matter how tired I am, I will have to jump out of bed and run into my son's room to shove a bottle in his mouth to stop the crying. Fortunately, the anxiety doesn't prevent me from falling asleep, exhaustion takes care of that.

My husband and I take turns waking with the baby. Since we both work, it's only fair that we both share the midnight responsibilities. I get first shift and he gets second. First shift guarantees that I get up at least once every night. He gets second because every morning, no matter how ridiculously early it is, he gets up with the kids and lets me sleep in, which I love him for, but it doesn't make up for a lack of continuous sleep.

I find myself slugging back caffeine all morning at work and slugging back energy drinks for the rest of the day just to stay awake. I could easily fall asleep at my desk.

At home, we frequently end up bickering about the stupidest things, like who didn't bring the mail in, or that I left a dirty glass on the counter, or he didn't replace the toilet paper roll. Fortunately, we know the arguments are stupid and can usually stop them before they get out of control. At work, though, it's harder. No one cares that I haven't had a good night's sleep in six months (although they are sympathetic); I have a job to do, on that I want to do to the best of my ability. I think I'm doing a pretty good job balancing lack of sleep and working, but a good night's sleep would sure go a long way.

Let her eat cake

Childhood obesity has become and epidemic in this country. On almost any given day, you can pick up the newspaper and read about how America's children are expanding at completely unheard of proportions. Schools are changing snack and party policies. Spongebob Square Pants has become a spokes-sponge for baby carrots and Sesame Street characters are plastered all over organic food choices. For all of these reason, Sophia's recent 18 month checkup seemed a little, well, ironic.

She is tall and skinny. There is no question about that. From the day she was born, she has been at the 97 percentile or higher for her height and at the 10 percentile for her weight. Today, she weighs a whopping 21 pounds and is almost 34 inches tall. I imagine she eats just like most toddlers, some days she eats like a horse, other days she survives on air and apple juice.

While talking to the doctor about her weight, I mention that I'm a little concerned that she is so tiny. He says, "Don't worry. She not malnutritioned, she's just petite for her weight and very tall for her age, which she has always been. But if you want to give her ice cream every now and then, you can. You can put butter on her toast if you want and, of course, you can give her Pediasure every day if you want to give her the extra calories. Don't worry about making sure she eats her vegetables, just give her the calories."

It's not everyday the doctor tells you that it's OK to eat ice cream and butter and not to worry about eating your vegetables. It's especially ironic since my husband and I had just launched an all out war to get her to eat some vegetables. Our latest battle ended with her taking one bite of dinner followed by one fruit snack. One for one. It may not have been the best parenting tactic, but she ate some vegetables, so I considered it a victory.

For the record, Sophia has been known to eat only ice cream for dinner, we never short-change her on butter for her toast and she drinks whole milk. I will also continue trying to get her to eat her vegetables.

No such thing as a good night's sleep

You know that blissful time right before you fall asleep? Every muscle is relaxed, your brain has settled and you're all warm and cozy. It's the time of the night that unless you are woken up during it, you probably don't even know it exits. This is the time my son decided to wake up at last night. It was about 12:15 a.m. and it happens just about every night.

Saturday, my husband and I were able to get away for a night out alone. We went to Atlantic City for his company's after Christmas Christmas party and it was the first night we were away from home without any kids for at least 18 months. A friend offered to watch both kids for a single night. Almost every person we know will only watch one at a time, so when she offered to watch both, we jumped at the chance.

After the party, we settled to sleep in our hotel room. I was so excited to sleep past 4 a.m. "Imagine," I said, "we will wake in the morning without the sound of a screaming baby. We'll be able to get at least eight hours of completely uninterrupted sleep."

No dice.

I woke up at least four times during the night. It was brief, I just opened my eyes, looked around and reminded myself I wasn't home and fell right back to sleep. My husband woke around 4 a.m. and did the same thing.

The alarm clock I set for 10 a.m. was in vain because by 8:30, we were both wide awake and disappointed we couldn't stay asleep any longer.

I guess my mother was right; we should plan not to get a good night's sleep until the kids are at least 18.

It's a brand new year

Sometimes I hate having kids. Mostly it's at 3 a.m. when the last thing I want to do is run to the kitchen and make a bottle to feed a screaming baby before he wakes up his sister. Of course there are lots of times when I love having kids, but there is alway an ever-present frustration trying to handle the two of them together.

This frustration brought me to my New Year's resolution. Since it's still January, I think I am still justified in talking about my resolution.

Since the birth of my son in September, my life has been turned upside down. With two children under the age of 2, most of the time I feel a little, no a lot, overwhelmed. At 18-months, my daughter wants my attention 100 percent of the time. At the tender age of 4 months, my son needs my attention 100 percent of the time. That leaves me 100 percent overextended. This has created a situation where I've stopped taking advantage of the time I had with my children … while they still liked me.

This year, I want to enjoy spending time with my kids again. This is a wonderfully exciting time for both of them and I want to make sure I don't miss it because I'm too busy being frustrated with their lack of cooperation.

Instead of getting upset that they have banned together and refuse to nap at the same time, I will make a conscious effort to enjoy the fact that I get to spend one-on-one time with each of them.

Instead of freaking out because I can't leave the house for more than 20 minutes without one of them having a breakdown, I will stop trying to do so much during the one day a week I'm home alone with them.

So what if the wash doesn't get done. Who cares if the dishes pile up in the sink. All that stuff will get done in time. My kids will not love me less if their socks aren't folded, but they might if I don't work to develop a long-lasting and loving relationship with them.
Happy 2008.