So much sickness

It's that time or year.

Or is it?

I don't know. I don't care. All I know is that my poor baby has been sick for what feels like months.

In reality, it's only been weeks -- but that is still an absurd timeframe.

I mentioned in a past post how Ava had been sick. I was praying it wouldn't last, but it did and, long story short, we ended up taking her to the doctor to see what was wrong.

Turns out, little girl had a double ear infection. Ouch.

We were given amoxicillin and sent on our way. 

But...

After just two days on the meds, Ava developed what looked like an allergic reaction.

Dave is allergic to penicillin, as is my father, so we brought her back into the pediatrician's immediately and met with a nurse practitioner who advised us to stop the meds. She checked Ava's ears and said they already seemed better. We had a follow-up appointment already scheduled in about 10 days, so the NP said to wait it out and see if the ear infection cleared up on its own.

So we did.

Ava showed no signs of discomfort except for a lingering cough, relentlessly runny nose and, of course, the standard teething issues. Then, we went back in for our follow-up appointment and learned that her double ear infection was WORSE.

Terrible parent alert!

Now she's on a different antibiotic, which I hope does the job. (Little nutjob is even starting to fake-cough, maybe because she thinks she's just supposed to do that all the time now.) I'm just really looking forward to having a well baby for our next well-baby visit.

Lots of firsts

Ava's been turning into a little person lately and it's both hilarious and awesome to watch her grow. Her latest list of firsts, all happening during her ninth month:

First time really playing with other kids

First time on an airplane (she did pretty well)

First time meeting the family, including Uncle Johnny




First experience with grass




First time walking with her walker!

It speaks!

I almost forgot to share this! Ava now says "mama" and "mom."

...With absolutely no concept of what those words mean. But she still says them!

Prompted by the nanny:

Demanding "mama," AKA her teether:

Good girl

Tonight, Ava reached a milestone: She put herself to sleep in her crib without any fuss.

At 8+ months, I'm sure there are plenty of babies who have mastered this skill weeks (months?) ago. I don't know who these angelic, magical creatures are, but I'm sure they exist.

But who cares about them?

My kick-ass baby reached this kick-ass milestone and I'm thrilled.

The night started out rather ominously. Dave's been in India for a few days, so Baby Girl and I were on our own... and she was NOT tired when bedtime rolled around. I saw the writing on the wall: a difficult bottle feeding with bloody-murder screams when I tried to burp her, an hour of rocking her in a feeble attempt to get her drowsy, another hour standing over her crib patting her back to keep her calm and quiet, another several hours of going in and out of her room when she cries on and off until midnight.

That's when I decided NO. No, we are not doing that.

So, instead of letting her scream-cry as I waited and waited for a tiny burp, I continued with the feeding .

Instead of rocking her for an hour while she did everything but get tired, I rocked her for maybe 10 minutes.

Instead of waiting until she was damn near asleep to put her in the crib, I dumped her little butt in there wide awake.

Instead of patting her back to lull her into dreamland, I bolted out of the room while she wasn't paying attention.

And then I waited. I made myself some dinner, fixed my broken DirecTV, fed the dogs and downloaded some Mad Men. Ava, on the other hand, crawled all over her crib. She stood up, she fucked with the baby cam, she rolled, she babbled, she slapped things... But she didn't cry. And somehow, some way, she was suddenly quiet.

I couldn't see what was happening, thanks to her baby-ninja skills with the camera, so I made a risky decision. I decided to sneak into her room to see what was going on.

I opened the door and it made a loud noise as it scraped against the frame. I froze and waited for the wail... Nothing.

I peeked in and saw a peacefully sleeping baby.

Is that MY baby?

My baby just put herself to sleep?

Without me doing anything?

Shock.

She was out cold by 8:15. Even if she wakes up 50 times later tonight, I still consider this a big freakin' deal. She is capable to going to bed on her own. And I am capable of enjoying it while it lasts.

Not a fan of Puffs yet

Since Ava is basically a pro at baby food now, we decided to up the ante and try feeding her blueberry Puffs that dissolve in the mouth. It was a hilarious failure.

Maybe next time, kiddo.

It finally happened (and it sucked)

There are very few certainties that come along with having a baby, but one is that you WILL, at some point, drop her.

I've known this day was coming. I felt mentally prepared. I promised I wouldn't beat myself up.

And then it happened.

TERRIBLE MOTHER ALERT.

This past Sunday, I set Ava on my (very large, king-size) bed. Every morning, she sits there and plays with toys while I do my hair and makeup. I'm only about three feet away from her and I look up at her roughly every five seconds.

Well, apparently, in only a five-second window, homegirl can suddenly scoot away from the dead center of the bed and throw herself onto the floor.

It happened so fast. I had just done my visual check-in, turned to my mirror and quickly applied my concealer. No sooner had I done two brush strokes than I heard it happen.

Thud.

I snapped around and saw an empty bed. Cue the scream -- hers, not mine. (Though I was close.)

I flew out of my chair and saw her on the floor. She was sitting up but hunched over, face beet-red and tears flowing fast. I scooped her up and said a million curse words. Soothingly, of course. No need to freak her out any more than she already was.

"Lisa... What was that?"

Oh, right, Dave would need to know about this.

"NOTHING," I yelled downstairs.

"Lisa." He was starting to come up.

"I don't want to tell you! Everything's fine! We're fine!" I said.

"Did you drop her?"

"NO," I said. Technically true, but I knew I couldn't lie. "She... rolled..."

Dave knew I felt bad enough, so he waited a few hours before ridiculing me for being the first one to drop our baby. She's fine, of course, but I'm still a little traumatized.

STOP GROWING

Ever since Ava got her vaccines on Thursday night, she's been a fussy little monster. Didn't want to be put down, didn't want to be left alone, didn't want to do anything we wanted her to do. It's been super fun over here.

I chalked it up to general post-vaccine fussiness, which the doctor warned about, but then Dave and the nanny both told me about how Ava was downright inconsolable one day while I was at work. She was screaming bloody murder. Then, that night, she woke up at 4am and wouldn't go back to sleep until 6am. We rarely have a night THAT bad, so we couldn't help but feel like something else was going on.

And we were right.

Behold.

Baby's first teeth coming in.

The nanny noticed it this morning when I was getting ready for work.

As of right now, we're fully stocked on baby ibuprofen, bought more washcloths to wet and put in the fridge, and managed to locate all the teething toys Rocco hasn't yet destroyed.

We're in this for the long haul.

Please pray.

My first panicky "mom" moment

Now that I'm a mom (yep, still weird), I figured that the way I look at things would change. Example: After my college roomie Lauren had her first kid, she told me she has such a different experience watching Law & Order: SVU. Well, while I was in Amsterdam last week, I had my first real "mom" moment.

Dave and I were at a pub/cafe for lunch, seated near some stairs that led down to the kitchen. Some very steep stairs. I actually commented on how they looked "treacherous."

Enter Hippie Dutch Family. With their big hiking backpacks and loose-fitting clothes, the family of three walked by our table toward their own. The child was probably 2. As Mom and Dad got settled with their stuff, the little boy bounced around the tiny restaurant. Bounced around his chair, bounced past our table, bounced toward the stairs...

And bounced RIGHT down them. Total crash. I think time stopped. I know my heart did.

He had ended up jumping without paying attention to his feet and flew over the first few steps before tumbling down the stairs. Thank god he was okay -- he stopped before hitting his head on the cement leading into the kitchen -- but he was obviously terrified. And so was I.

His dad rushed to him and scooped him up. Everyone was shaken, but I was shaking. I realized my hands had been covering my mouth, frozen, for the first few minutes after the incident. My heart was pounding. My eyes got watery. All I could think was, what if that had been my daughter?

The effects of the trauma lasted longer for me than the boy. Within 15 minutes, he was quietly playing with a toy in his mother's arms. I couldn't get the falling image out of my mind.

It's weird how things shift when you have a tiny person in your life. Before Ava, I would have rebounded from that experience without much thought. Yet, here I am, several days later, still unable to forget what happened.

Only solution I see is to load up on bubble wrap and cocoon my kid until she's 30. Don't test me. I might just be that crazy.

My baby's growing up!

On March 4, 2014, Ava hit a big milestone: She began sitting up on her own.

It happened out of nowhere.

It was my first day back at work since my trip to Paris and I was arriving home shortly before 6pm. Dave had worked from home that day and decided to send the nanny home around 5. When I walked through the front door, I realized that Dave and Ava were downstairs together, so I plopped my stuff on the couch and headed down.

I was not prepared for what I saw.

As I turned the corner at the bottom of the steps, there was my kid in her playpen. SITTING UP. BY HERSELF. LIKE A FREAKIN ADULT.

I think I yelped. Dave, who was folding laundry nearby, just casually said, "Oh, yeah, she does that now."

She does??

What the hell!?

I took about a thousand frantic (read: blurry) photos of her, just sitting there with her toys. She seemed amused. I was just stunned.

So, after six months, one week and five days, Ava decided to sit without any assistance.

Brb, I'd better get started on her college applications.

Traveling WITHOUT baby

Back in December, Dave surprised me with a five-day trip to Paris for my birthday/Christmas. I'm not exactly well-traveled -- been to Cancun once, heyyy -- so I was thrilled. Of course, the only hesitation I had was leaving the Little One for so long right after she turned six months old.

Fast-forward a bit and I'm already back from Europe. It was incredible. We stayed at a swanky hotel in Paris before taking the train to Amsterdam for a day, then returned to Paris for the last day of our trip. We went to the Louvre, saw Notre Dame, visited the Eiffel Tower, explored Montmarte, wandered the Marais (Jewish quarter), walked through the Tuileries Garden and, of course, drank fantastic wine. We hung out with our dear friend Zack, butchered a lot of French phrases and genuinely enjoyed being Lisa-and-Dave as opposed to Mom-and-Dad.

That said, I really, really missed the nugget.

Nearly every night, I flipped through pictures of her on my phone. I watched videos of her laughing. We FaceTime'd with her from the Eiffel Tower. I cooed over photos our moms sent. (Both Nani and Gran Fran flew in to watch Ava.) Dave made fun of me, but I couldn't help it!

When I first set foot in the house after our 8-hour flight back to the States, I made a beeline for the baby. She looked at me cautiously, like she was trying to place me, but finally gave a little smile. I'll take it.

As for Dave, she totally Stranger-Dangered him. Stared at him for a few minutes before bursting into tears. Oops.

Now that we've been back for a few days, she's settling back into our routines. I swear she looks bigger, but I'm probably imagining things. Either way, it's amazing to take a grown-up trip, and it's equally amazing to have a reason to want to come home.

Working mama

I worked until 7pm tonight, which means Ava was already asleep by the time I got home. This was the first time I missed out on seeing her before bedtime.

So, when she inevitably cried shortly before 8pm, it took all my self-control not to be like, "I will go! I will hold her! We will cuddle!"

No.

Be strong.

...I was. I let her cry it out for about 20 min until I went up there, pat her back 5 times and she passed out. It took all of two minutes. (Mostly because I lingered.)

And that's when I realized how I am simply meant to be a working mom. It's a strange realization because I never thought that would be me. I was raised by a stay-at-home mom and always thought I would be one myself. But being away from Ava makes me appreciate even those shitty little nighttime moments, which would otherwise make me fall apart. In fact, I feel wildly insecure whenever I have to care for her for more than one full day by myself. I know I can -- and I have before -- but it's not my natural state.

I guess being a decent parent means recognizing your own limitations -- and what makes you the best version of yourself, for your child. For me, it's my job. Even on these rare 7pm nights. I just need to keep reminding myself that that's okay.

There's a first time for everything

Sure, be cute for daddy. Jerk.


Ava peed on me yesterday. Like, all over me.

I guess I should be happy that it took four months and three weeks to actually happen, but no. No, I was not happy.

It was bath time, which shall henceforth be known as The Danger Zone.

I had already put Ava's new whale tub in the bath (homegirl doesn't fit in the sink anymore -- STOP GROWING), and I was holding her naked little body while I fiddled with the water temperature.

Rookie mistake.

I don't know if she magically sensed the warmth of the water or just decided that, hey, now's a great time to release the ol' bladder, but she did. Right on my shirt.

Naturally, I yelped. My daughter grinned. Dave ran in.

"What happened??" he asked.

"She PEED on me!" I said. "Here, take this."

I handed the baby to him and went to go change. And learned a very important lesson: Keep the diaper on until the last possible minute. Better yet, take it off in the bathroom. Even the three seconds it takes to go from the changing table to the bath is three seconds too long.

Merry Christmas!

So that happened.

"No, Lisa, you don't pee in the office kitchen."

Literally what I just had to remind myself today after I made the decision to head to the restroom but walked on auto-pilot into the kitchen instead.

Stood there for a minute before I realized what I was supposed to be doing, u-turned and went to my original destination.

Lack of sleep doesn't look good on me.

Sleep training

For the first three months of Ava's life, she has gone to bed around 9 or 10pm. Since she was sleeping through the night and not waking up until 6am, I didn't think it was a problem -- especially since she's been doing this from a very early age, which makes other moms hate us. (Sorry not sorry.)

But now, she's almost four months old.

It's time to sleep-train this kid.

Sleep training means Ava needs to go to bed around 6:30 or 7, like a normal baby. It means she stays in the crib -- no sneaking her into my bed at the 6am feeding. It means letting her fuss instead of running in there to check a diaper, put the paci back in her mouth or rock her in the glider. It means putting her in the crib before she passes out, not after.

It means I stocked up on wine in preparation for endless nights of hell.

And yet...

Ava is doing really well so far. (Sleep-deprived moms: Stop reading now.)

The first night, we put her to bed by 6:30 because she started getting really tired. Dave was on baby duty, but Ava only woke up once or twice needing a paci and slept until 6:30. (I think. I don't really know because I slept in.)

The second night, we gave her a bath at 6, fed her at 6:15 and put her in the crib at 6:45. Al was on baby duty while we went to a work dinner for Dave's new role, but he said Ava only fussed twice before we got home at 11. She woke up around 5:30 but we gave her a paci and she slept until 7:30.

Tonight is the third night, and it's just me and Ava. I hope she's still cool about all this. We're going to follow last night's routine so we'll see.

I've got wine chilling just in case...


UPDATE: I have been informed that Ava was a gigantic shit on the first time we (Dave) sleep-trained her. Kept waking up crying so much to the point Dave had to rock her in the glider. Refused to sleep until 9:30pm. I, obviously, was blissfully unaware.

First month

Ava turns a month old on Friday and good god, has it been a whirlwind. Dave has been home the whole time and words cannot describe how grateful I am to have him around.

Even with Dave being a lifesaver, the first week home with Ava SUCKED. Not only was I hyper-emotional, but our girl is, apparently, bad at eating. She wouldn't latch, so I've been pumping and just pouring the milk into her bottle... but she was bad at bottles too. We had no idea it wasn't supposed to take her a freaking hour to go through two ounces, but she ended up sucking in more air than anything. Of course, that would give her gas. So we were in this vicious feeding cycle of starving our baby, giving her gas and then wondering why she kept screaming. Oops.

After having a lactation consultant come to the house and work with us, we learned a trick for how to feed Ava the bottle and now she'll blow through three ounces in about five minutes if we'd let her. (We don't.)

Now, we've all settled into more of a routine -- a routine that will be destroyed when Dave goes back on the road. Since I have to pump every three or four hours (KILL ME), Dave is the one who handles the nighttime feedings while I'm hooked up to the machine like a cow. It will be quite interesting when I'm the only one home at night and I have to both feed my child and pump. I expect many zombie days ahead. And perhaps a guilt-ridden surrender, weaning and a future of formula.

Anyway, we're still learning.

A few more highlights from Month One:


Ava met her grandparents.

I had wine again!

Ava showed some sass.

We did a newborn photoshoot with Nick. 

Ava had her first lunch outing.

Next up on our plates: finding a nanny, moving! (more on that soon), introducing Ava to her great-grandma (next weekend), four-week check-up

Priceless reaction

I just realized I forgot to share one of the cutest pictures of all time.

Here's Lindsay and Tony opening the envelope to discover we're having a girl.

Side note: We really, really lucked out with such amazing neighbors.

First meeting

Mom meets her grandbaby for the first time.

The kindness of strangers

I experienced my first special-treatment-for-being-pregnant the other day. I am officially out of the awkward is-she-or-isn't-she stage!

The Incident occurred when I was shopping for a rehearsal dinner dress last week. I don't know if you've ever been to Top Shop, but apparently, they don't believe in seating in the dressing rooms. This is unpleasant for most people, but especially preggos like me, since it's become a bit of a challenge to bend down to remove my shoes.

So, the 20-something guy with a scarf walked me back to one of these bench-less dressing rooms and hung up my dress. As he turned to walk out, he stopped. He stared at my stomach, paused and said, "Actually... follow me. I'm going to make your life a bit easier."

He walked me back to a massive (read: handicapped) dressing room with a large bench. I almost made out with him right there. He told me, "I've been told that when one is with child, mobility becomes more of an issue."

Sure does, buddy. Sure does.

Also? Many thanks.

It happened and it was the WORST

Last night was an unfortunate first for me.

"Morning" sickness reared its ugly head around 9pm and I got sick. So much for being vomit-free-since-'93 (lies -- it's more like 2012, but I can't resist a good How I Met Your Mother reference).

Anyway, it was awful. It wasn't like your average hangover-sick where you feel nauseous for a minute, throw up and feel better. This was like the seventh circle of hell, if hell really had it out for pregnant ladies.

At first, my stomach churned. As I was sitting in the bathroom, I started getting dizzy. I broke out into a cold sweat. I couldn't see straight. I started shaking. I felt it coming. This collision of symptoms was almost worse than the act itself. It lasted painfully long. I wanted to die.

But I didn't die. I lurched. I was grossed out and uncomfortable and panicky and just a complete mess.

Then, when I thought it was over, I shakily stood up. It wasn't over though. Not yet.

When it was actually over, I didn't instantly feel better, which is a cruel, cruel joke. I knew my stomach still wasn't right. I stayed in the bathroom for 20 more minutes.

I finally managed to crawl into bed... very, very carefully. I just didn't want to move too quickly or disrupt anything going on in there. Even though I was trying to put myself to sleep, I was too uncomfortable to pass out that quickly. After about 90 minutes, I drifted off.

Today, I feel better, but I've been scared to go back on my eat-every-three-hours routine. I've been sipping a lot of water and managing to keep it down without any trouble, so that's a promising development. And, yes, I know one incident with morning sickness is nothing compared to what a lot of other women go through, but for me, it was the worst thing I've dealt with in this pregnancy so far. I'm 17 weeks now -- the time frame I keep hearing is when everything "gets better" -- so just cross your fingers that I'll have smooth(er) sailing from here on out.