Booby Juice

Sample conversations with my children

Conversation with Lucas while going through security at the airport -

Lucas:  What are they doing with my bag?

Me:  They have to run it through the machine again and take another look.

Lucas:  What are they checking for?

Me:  They want to make sure there's nothing dangerous in your bag, like a bomb.

Lucas:  A bomb?  That's so silly!  We wouldn't pack a bomb........ Would we?

Conversation with Justin while getting ready for bed -

Me:  What was that noise?

Justin:  (Grinning) I farted.

Me:  You mean you tooted.  I don't like the f-word.

Justin:  No, I farted.

Me:  No, you tooted.

Justin:  Well, I might have tooted, but my toot farted.

Justin-isms 1

I'm going to get right into this post, ignoring the fact that it's been oh.....5 months since I've last witten anything!  Just play along with me, will you?!?!?!?

This post is long overdo.  Justin began talking, I mean really talking in fragmented, yet thoughtful sentences last summer.  Here is a small list of the some of the cutest euphemisms he's held onto over the past 9 months. 

Justin Speak = Translation

Goo-kus = Lucas

Up sleeves = Short sleeves

Down sleeves = Long sleeves

Up pants = Shorts

Vini Van = Mini Van

Farfellow = Marshmellow

Eat-mall = Oatmeal

Dude = Ronald McDonald

Of course, as I was thinking about this post over the past couple of days, I had a list of 10+ of Justin's euphemisms, and now that I've actually sat down to write, I can only recall a measley 6.  I'll update the post as I think of more.

What boys do when they're alone

Last week I did a rare thing -- I went out to dinner with some girl friends.  No kids in tow.  No husband beside me.  Just me and some other XX kin-folk.

When I broke the news to Lucas, I expected the usual protests with a few tears for good measure.  But when I pointed out to Lucas he could enjoy the all-boys' night with his brother and father, Lucas cheered, "Yeah, just the boys.  Now we don't have to say 'excuse me' when we toot and burp."

Oh, the things fathers pass on to their sons.

I know it's been a while

I know it's been a while, but I can't bring myself to post.  I'm not even going to be able to finish this one....I stopped nursing September 18th and it's been much harder for both Justin and me than anticipated.

In fact, it's been so hard that even thinking, about writing, about weaning is enough to bring me to tears.  When I'm not crying, I am utterly and totally overcome by ho-hum, with a twist of "I don't want to do or read anything" thrown in for good measure.

It feels like the longing will never end and the void will never be filled. 

Struggling

I've been struggling to get back into the swing of things since the Mexican plague made its way through the household.  The boys are both back to normal, as is Husband, but I'm still experiencing off and on intestinal cramping and general malaise.

It didn't help that last week I got my period for the first time in 25 months.  Allow me to repeat that:  TWENTY-FIVE MONTHS!  I thank pregnancy and breastfeeding for the delightful, extended break, and I frankly don't know why it came back now as I am still nursing regularly.

Which brings me to an issue very near and dear to my heart right now, and one with which I am struggling....weaning.  As I stated in my prior post, breastfeeding saved Justin from further ills as after he got sick, he did not eat or drink for 4 days other than to nurse.  Before we left for Mexico, I had cut back the nursing sessions to first thing in the morning and at bedtime, and Justin seemed perfectly happy with our routine.  When he got sick, though, our pediatrician said to start nursing on demand to ensure Justin remained hydrated as he battled a 6-day 104 fever, and I happily obliged.

But it's been two weeks since we got back from Mexico, and about 10 days since Justin has recovered from the mysterious Mexican virus, and he is a complete booby maniac, more than he's ever been.  In fact, I can't be in his presence more than 30 minutes at a time without his crawling onto my lap, turning himself perpendicular, mouth open, hands down my shirt, rooting for the boob.

The problem is I think I am finally ready to wean.  Or at the very least return to our pre-Mexico routine.  I thought when I went back into the office this week we would happily slip back to our nursing comfort schedule, but I was wrong.  Justin cries for the boob as soon as he hears my car pull into the driveway.  Forget putting my bags down, Justin is nipping (no pun intended!) at my heals before I close the door, arms stretched up, mouth open, screaming "Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh" until he's nuzzled in my chest. 

While I am thrilled I have made it 16 months nursing, I am also ready both emotionally and physically to start the weaning process.  But, Justin apparently has other things in mind, and I am happy to oblige, up to a point.  Sunday, Husband and I took the kids out to lunch and while I don't mind nursing in public, I have been trying to slowly cut back on daytime nursing sessions.  So when Justin started protesting for the boob, I tried unsuccessfully to distract him.  His protesting quickly escalated to all-out hysterics, so much so that Husband finally demanded I nurse him. 

It is this escalation to hysterics that has me worried.  And totally unprepared for how to handle the process.  To be continued.....

It's all fun and games until you lose your small intestine - or- Breastmilk saved my baby's life

Yes, I am back from what felt like death.

I dropped off my blog 3 weeks ago to prepare for what was suppose to be a month's vacation with the entire family ("entire" includes both kids and my mom) to San Miguel de Allende, a place Bossy seems to know well.   Right before we left, the month was cut down to 2 weeks due to a conflict with my job, but nonetheless, 2 weeks was still a lot of packing for me to tackle and hence my disappearing act.

I will spare you (some of) the gory details, and will jump right to the good stuff.  The "vacation" was doomed from the start....  First it was cut in half, which in hindsight was a good thing.  Then when we arrived in Mexico, we left one of the suitcases at the airport (picture 3 adults trying to manage 4 suitcases, 6 carry-ons, 2 kids, 2 strollers and 2 car seats -- all after 8 hours of flying and 2 flights).  Then, 3 days into the "vacation" Justin got so sick we had to call an ambulance and have him rushed to the local hospital.  He had a fever of 105.5, a double ear infection, and a swollen throat, all of which was making it hard for him to breathe.  The ER staff actually thought he was choking on something, despite my futile attempts to explain in broken Spanish the contrary.

To add to the drama at the hospital, the ER doctor saw a bruise across Justin's back which he had gotten earlier in the day after an innocent spill on some rocks.  When questioned about the bruise, Husband turned to me and said, "Is it from the fall?"  In my panic over the fever and other ailments, I had forgotten about the fall and replied, "What fall?" to which the ER doctor quipped, "You know, in Mexico we take child abuse very seriously."   An image of Husband and I rotting in a Mexican jail instantly flashed before my eyes as I heard Husband yell, "He falls all the time!  He falls all the time!  He just learned to walk!"

Seemingly satisfied by Husband's reply, or panic, the staff moved on to treating Justin.  Three hours and $1,234.52 pesos later, we were discharged with a potent dose of an antibiotic that made Justin even more sick and did nothing to break his fever.  By this time, I myself was so sick with diarrhea I stopped eating. 

Thirty-six hours after the hospital stint Justin was still terribly sick -- he had completely stopped eating and would only nurse (hence part two of my post title: breastmilk saved my baby's life), his fever hovered between 103 and 104, not to mention I myself couldn't keep anything in, so Husband and I decided we had to get out of dodge.

A week after we left for San Miguel, we landed back in PHL with a sigh of relief.  The night before we returned home Justin was so sick I thought we were going to have to take him back to the hospital.  There was actually a moment where I was afraid he was dying....  Husband and I discussed my taking him to the children's hospital in Houston where we had a layover, but thankfully Justin pulled through and tolerated the flight home.  But it was still another 4 days before there was any obvious sign that he was feeling better.

Within 24 hours of returning home, Lucas was sick with the same viral infection and had a fever of 104 for 6 days.  And me, I was not able to keep anything in me for a torturous 10 days (Get it?  It's all fun and games until you lose your small intestine....).  My doctor had finally written a script for me to leave "a sample" for analysis when I turned the corner.  Husband got sick our last day in Mexico and thankfully began to feel better today.  The only person to get out of Mexico unscathed was my mom.  Go figure!

And lest you are thinking to yourself, "It was the water,"  IT WAS NOT THE WATER!  We drank only bottled water and stayed clear of ice.  Not to mention the house we rented while in San Miguel had a filtration system for showering and brushing teeth. 

If you haven't read enough, email me and I will fill you in on the unusual thunder and lightening storms that flooded the streets and houses every night we were there and in which Husband, Lucas and I almost got swept away.  Oh, and did I mention the fact that my husband had to work every day while on "vacation"?  Like I said, we just weren't meant to be there.  At least not then.

So how is everyone else's summer going?

Weaning

Once Justin turned one, I decided to cut back on the nursing sessions.  I wasn't ready to totally wean, and nor was Justin, so we kept nursing in the mornings and at bedtime.  For the rest of the day, I stuck to the "don't offer-don't refuse" method. 

As Tahoe approached, I realized that I would have to bring my pump -- I didn't want to take any chances and totally wean during my big ride week-end, as some women experience engorgement, plugged ducts and a great deal of discomfort during the final days of weaning.  I had enough to worry about that week-end, so I opted to pump once a day while I was away.  All worked out well.

Until I came home. I had told myself that if Justin didn't ask for the boob, I wouldn't offer and I was okay with that.  I had breastfed Justin for 14 months, and was proud of my accomplishment.  But, true to form, the very moment Justin saw me he started hemming and haa-ing, reaching for my oobies.  So I gladly obliged.  Husband and my mom said in virtual unison, "What?  You're still nursing?"

So now here it comes -- the battle over extended nursing (and when I say "battle" I am referring to others, not with me...).  I know Husband wants "his" oobies back, and there are admittedly lots of things I would like to do and can't as long as I am nursing (like laser eye surgery), but at this time, this very second, I have no desire to stop breastfeeding.  And I think most importantly, Justin doesn't appear to have any desire to stop nursing!

Praying to the porceline Gods

Well, it's Monday night and after 3 days, I have finally emerged from my powder room.  Only partially victorious.  For those of you with 2 or 3 years old who have yet to potty train, you might want to navigate away from the page.  I will spare you all the gory details, and believe me, there are plenty of gory details, and instead try to stick to the high notes.  Or low points, depending on which side of the coin you are on.

Saturday morning started well enough.  Lucas was thrilled to forgo his diapies to put on his new ultracool Power Ranger undies.  We had breakfast and then we spent the majority of the rest of the day in the bathroom -- Lucas on the toilet crying and me on the bathroom floor crying, or more aptly, begging, pleading, and praying to the porceline Gods, for him to "just pee." 

Potty training is much harder than I anticipated.

But I am pleased to report that on Lucas' first day of potty training, he made 4 pees in the potty and had only 2 accidents.  Poop?  That's another story.  He absolutely, adamantly, unequivocally refused to poop in the potty, even when he apparently had the pee-thing down pat.  So at the end of the day, after holding his poop for hours, Husband and I told him he could go in his undies (accident #2) thinking that the experience would be yucky enough he would be running to the potty for the next poop.  Wrong.

Day 2 (Sunday) started off better than day 1.  Lucas woke up with a dry "special Buzz Light Years undies," aka Pull-Ups, and immediately went to the potty and peed.  There was some protesting with subsequent pees, but after all was said and done he peed the entire day on the potty with no accidents.  But no poop.  We told him he couldn't poop in his undies again, unprepared for the curve ball he would throw us.  He held his poop.  And held it.  And held it.  And went to bed without pooping, while Husband and I fought between the 2 of us about whether we had done the right thing.

Day 3 (Monday) again started off well.  Lucas woke up with a dry a Pull-Up (Lucas figured out that they weren't special Buzz Light Year undies sooner than we anticipated....) and peep on the potty after much protest.  He was clearly uncomfortable from holding his poop for over 24 hours, but really seemed to have the peeing down.  I on the other hand, had fears that his bowels would become so sore I envisioned him in the emergency room getting his impacted poop pulled out resulting in his wearing diapers for the next 10 years.  So Husband and I made a deal with the devil.....we told Lucas he had to make all pees in the potty but when he had to poop, we would let Buzz Light Years catch them.  Lucas was happy and pooped shortly thereafter, requesting a Pull-Up before he did the deed.  I took his poops to the potty and showed him what would happen if he had made them there himself, to which Lucas happily waved good-bye to them and said, "Maybe next time I'll try." 

He's good, he's really good.  Next time came and went and Buzz Light Years was there again to catch the poops.

So while I am stressing over how to break the deal with the devil and get this kid to poop on the potty, I am totally proud of him that he learned to pee on the potty and in 3 days.  We're still working on the placement on the doodle (I got sprayed a couple times), and Husband and I were totally stressed and frazzled the entire week-end, but progress is still progress.  And a mother can be proud!

Sibling rivalry and the green monster

Sibling rivalry is such an interesting phenomenon.  The rivalry between my sister and I was so bad, my parents made us read this.  Yet to this day, my sister and I still don't get along - I guess that's not a great endorsement of the book!

My mom said I was the perfect baby, so easy-going, which is why my parents decided to have a second child.  The day my parents brought her home was the same day I threw my first tantrum.  My parents report they stood in stunned silence while I thrashed on the floor, kicking and screaming at the fact that there was someone with whom I now had to share the spotlight. 

Husband and I always knew we wanted more than one child.  The fact that Lucas was the perfect baby, incredibly easy-going, only made the decision of when to have baby #2 a little easier.  We spent a lot of time preparing Lucas for the birth of his  baby brother, and it seemed our efforts paid off -- when my mom brought Lucas to the hospital after Justin was born, Lucas hopped on my hospital bed, asked to hold his baby brother, and then wouldn't let anyone else touch "his baby."

Justin came home and Lucas continued to dote on his little brother.  Lucas often proclaims that he and Justin are best friends, and Justin simply lights up whenever he sees Lucas.  I thought Husband and I had produced the perfect siblings, that is until Justin became mobile  Then he started grabbing for Lucas' toys, you know, the ones Lucas was playing with at that moment.  Then Justin started biting Lucas when he wouldn't let go of said toys.  If that wasn't enough to create some sibling rivalry, then the significant developmental milestones Justin has hit recently were the icing on the cake.

Justin now has a vocabulary of two words ("Mama" and "Nonna") and as of Thursday, Justin is walking.  It was this latter accomplishment that spurred the inspiration for this post.....  Husband I were getting the boys ready for bed.  Justin was in his jammies and I stood him up and faced him towards Husband, then he just took off and walked across the room.  Husband and I of course immediately started cooing.  Justin repeated, this time walking from Husband back to me.  We called my mom to come watch -- Justin walked from me to Nonna.  We then called my dad, who is visiting for a few days, so he could witness the excitement and Justin walked from Nonna to Grandpop. 

By this time, Lucas was yelling, "Look at me, look at me.  I can walk, too."   "Yes, you can sweetie," I replied.  "And when you were little like Justin, and you walked for the first time, we made a big fuss, too."

Apparently, Lucas was not moved.  As Justin practiced his new skill, walking back and forth between Husband and me, Lucas came up behind him and punched him in the back.  And there it was -- the green monster had officially reared its ugly head.  And Husband and I stood in stunned silence, not knowing what to do or say.

Funny how history has a habit of repeating itself.

CSI

Below is a recap of the most recent episode of CSI:  Crib Scene Investigation, which debuted in our household early yesterday morning.

Scene 1

Justin awakes in his crib and plays quietly for 10 minutes before whining for relief.  Mommy walks down the hall to get baby Justin, opens the nursery room door and is immediately slapped in the face by the pungent smell of vomit.

Mommy reluctantly looks in Justin's crib to find a puddle of vomit, in which Justin had apparently been lying.  Strip clothes.  Furiously use baby wipes to try and remove chunks from Justin's hair.  Give up and bring Justin back to bed, the smell of vomit wafting all around him.

CSI theory #1 - Justin must have a stomach virus.

Scene 2

Later that morning, Mommy returns to the nursery to strip the crib and disinfect the room.  She puts the soiled linens in the wash.  Justin is exhausted and wants to nap before Mommy has time to make up the crib, a production that takes much longer than it should on account of the crib bumper she refuses to get rid of -- it looks so comfy and has cute lions and monkeys all around!

Mommy decides to put Justin down for a nap in big brother's bed which has dual siderails.  She crawls into bed with Justin and realizes big brother peed out of his diaper, soaking his sheets.  Strip sheets for the second time in one morning and put Justin to nap on the comforter, which suffered no apparent damage.

CSI theory #2 - Justin is acting fine, though he has been gnawing on both thumbs.  He must have gagged himself in an effort to relieve teething pain with his thumbs, and that's what caused him to throw up.

Scene 3

After a 2 hour nap, Justin appears well rested.  Justin still wreaks of vomit, so Mommy finally decides to give him the overdue bath.  Mommy furiously washes Justin's hair in a futile effort to remove vomit smell.  Daddy enters bathroom and proclaims Justin's hair still smells.  Hair washing #2 doesn't help.  Hair washing #3 with adult shampoo did the trick, but by this time poor Justin is hysterical. 

Mommy manages to calm Justin down and he plays for the rest of day.  Later in the afternoon he has a major bout of diarrhea.  Change clothes.  All of the other laundry is finished -- soiled clothes will have to wait for the next run.

CSI theory #3 - Severe teething is still the running diagnosis.

Scene 4

Right  before dinner, Justin becomes rather lethargic and spikes a fever.  Mommy immediately administers Motrin and lots of hugs and kisses.  Justin doesn't eat much except an ice pop which he devoured. Justin goes to bed without incident, clearly not feeling well. 

CSI theory #4 - Fever.  Vomiting.  Diarrhea.  Justin must have an ear infection.

Scene 5

Nonna takes Justin to the pediatrician, who debunks all 4 CSI theories.  Official diagnosis of stomach virus is handed out with strict orders to rest and drink fluids.  Pediatrician obviously doesn't recall he is talking about a feisty 1-year old!

Nonna gets Justin home just in time for him to vomit all over her and the kitchen floor.  Followed by a bout of explosive diarrhea.  Stomach virus it is.

Lights fade.