To any men out there who may be reading this post:

Read at your own risk because I am dealing with uncomfortable, womanly issues. I’m talking m@mmaries, an issue you generally enjoy discussing and viewing. Until Junior comes on the scene. Suddenly that which was desirable turns rather uncomfortable as you struggle with whether to be turned on or off each time you are flashed during feeding sessions.

So, I am kinda tired these days due to my explosive mammmmaries. For whatever reason, their quality isn’t good and my kids never latch on without a shield, thereby making me a failure in the m@ma mi*lking department. However on quantity? I am a m@ma mil*king machine and could feed a small Ethiopian village.

This does not pose too much of a problem during the day because Bode eats frequently. But by having a kid who’s a great nighttime sleeper, I’m faced with a new issue: painful engorgement that is keeping me up all frickin’ night. While he sleeps.

I have been on a pumping strike, primarily because pumping made me overproduce so much with Hadley that I was worse than our sprinkler drip system. And so I am looking for any suggestions/tips/experiences on this matter that do not involve hooking myself up to The Mi*lkers.

WAIT, a retraction: I just informed Jamie about my subject du jour on this blog. And his exceedingly male response:

“Should we put some pictures? People like visuals.”

Once a man, always a man I guess.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

Now, let me get something straight: I am not one of those annoying people who is going to record every single milestone in my kid’s life. At least not publicly. I learned that when Jamie and I celebrated every weekly, monthly, [hourly, minutely] anniversary our first year of marriage. I can now see why folks thought we were just a wee bit irritating. Now, we only show affection in private, and just to gross out our children (though I had second thoughts about even this when Haddie went beyond “kisses” and tried to make out with me in church a few weeks ago.)

But as for our burgeoning Baby Bode, I would be remiss if I didn’t give at least some updates on the little guy. It’s too tough to tell at this point what his true personality is going to be but thus far, he’s exceedingly easy-going like his father. And likes to sleep. A lot.

At this stage in the game, we already knew that Haddie was not. Easy-going, that is. Our first sign was when she cried all night long the first night we brought her home from the hospital. This is not an exaggeration. She cried so much she LOST HER VOICE. Haggard and exhausted, we showed up for our scheduled doctor’s appointment the next morning. “What’s wrong with her?” we wailed. The doc listened closely to our story and then gave the diagnosis: “Hmmm, sounds like you have a baby.” That was the beginning of the end.

Bode, on the other hand, sleeps for about a five-hour chunk at night before I wake him up to feed. Yes, I have to wake him up. This is a new concept to me. Yesterday when we gave him a sponge bath, he didn’t wake up until the very end. And I think that was only to crap all over the towel and pee on the mirror. I think I liked it better when he slept.

Jamie and I, on the other hand, have been the insomniacs in the family. My recovery has been rather painful and he, of course, has been sick. And so like strangers in the night, we have been miserably passing each other and commenting, “Don’t you think it’s ironic that our children are sleeping and we’re watching infomercials on Cortislim?”

We don’t know if Bode will continue to be a good sleeper after he kicks this newborn stage. But after two sleep-deprived years with The Hurricane, Jamie has a strategy. When still at the hospital, the nurse commented on Bode’s sleep habits:

“You need to be careful that he maintains a good blood-sugar level.”
“What is the significance of that?”
“Well, if you don’t, he will be lethargic and will sleep a lot.”
“Oh, OK!”

The moment Nurse Betty left the room, Jamie turned to me, with a glimmer in his eyes:

“So you’re telling me all we have to do to get this kid to sleep through the night is to keep his blood-sugar low?”

Finally, a plan.

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

Hey All,

As many of you know, I’m a contributor to the popular mom’s site, DotMoms. They finally posted last month’s submission today so check it out!

Signed,
She-who-feels-like-her-mammaries-are-going-to-explode

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

A special thanks to all the sweet congratulatory notes I’ve received about Bode’s arrival! I’ve had several inquiries re: the pronunciation (“Bow-dee”) and inspiration for his name. Back in February when we were watching the Olympics whilst holed up in a gorgeous condo in the mountains, the U.S.’s top alpine skier, Bode Miller, flashed across the screen. It was Jamie who suggested the name and it immediately clicked for both of us. Never mind that the guy ended up bombing all his races; here’s to hoping it’s not all downhill for us as well. OK, that was bad. Sleep deprivation, y’know.

I’m actually feeling pretty well, post-labor pains, exhaustion and pathetic pun attempts notwithstanding. It’s Jamie who’s in rough shape. Unbelievably sick. You know: the I can’t-get-out-of bed kind of sick. In addition to all the joys of bronchitis, he has a killer ear infection that is causing nausea, vertigo and migraines. His mom just ran him to the doc for the second time in two days. He didn’t even laugh when I mocked him about going to the doctor with his “mommy;” his misery takes the fun right out of it.

As you know, we went in bright and early on Tuesday to be induced. Amazingly enough, Bode finally got his act together and I actually went into labor at the hospital. Nice. Couldn’t he have done that, say, two frickin’ weeks ago?

To speed things up, they still hooked me up to Pitocin. Just as the contractions were getting rough, I asked for an epidural and had a flashback to Haddie’s birth. Y’see with Haddie, the nurse left…and didn’t come back. For a very long time. For an excruciating amount of time. She claimed she got pulled into an “emergency situation.” Whatever. What could be more urgent than doping me up?

So this time when the nurse said they were going to do another epidural before mine, welp, it wasn’t pretty. Admittedly, there were threats: “Now listen Mrs. Nice Nurse Lady. You go over and tell that other birthin’ mama to just tough it out and stop being a wimp.” Obviously, I have no problems with harboring such a label.

Undaunted, she came to my rescue: “Sorry, I can’t do it but do you want something now to tide you over?” Are you kidding me? Within minutes, they’d doped me up. I don’t know what the wonder drug was but it took effect. Immediately. And thems were goooooooood drugs. I didn’t have a care in the world by the time the anesthesiologist finally came in. I think I even made out with him. It was the least I could do.

The rest of my labor went quickly and I delivered within a couple of hours. I dilated from a 6 to a 10 in a 15-minute period. For the grand finale, I only pushed a few times and he was out. Beautiful, crying and a bit purple from his last-ditch effort to stay inside my womb forever by wrapping himself up in my umbilical cord. But he turned out to be just perfect. And once again, I pondered WHY THE CRAP women choose to submit themselves to suffering in labor. To each their own, I guess.

And he’s the prettiest little old man baby ever. So far, he’s also a stellar sleeper and eater, the complete opposite of his sister (more on that later). His funniest feature is his chin. Initial impressions were that it was rather recessed. But after further inspection, I am more prone to believe this is an illusion due to more than mere chubby cheeks but actual jowls that protrude from his face. I could be wrong, though.

And if the poor kid does end up with a recessive chin? He can always grow a goatee to hide it. It may not be much of a hit in first grade but someday it’ll drive the women wild….

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

We are proud to announce that Bode James finally arrived on July 18th at 12:33 p.m.! Weighing in at 8 pounds 6 ounces, he became known as “The Slug” by the hospital staff because of his size and his refusal to wake up the first few days of his life (juxtaposed against his insomniac sister). We are not disillusioned enough to believe he will maintain this pattern but remain hopeful. He also has his mommy’s lungs and his daddy’s good looks (not to mention his hairline).

For now, we’re alive and well. OK, maybe just alive. Jamie is super sick with bronchitis and an ear infection; I am a sleep-deprived zombie and still recovering from graciously getting Jamie sick. For the time being, big sister Hadley has assumed all parenting responsibilities (though nursing has proven to be a challenge).

We will continue adding pictures and the knock-down, drag-out story of his birth. Just as soon as we get back up!

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

Yes, we’ve been at the hospital for the past several hours. And yep, I’ve been having crazy, painful contractions. But they were the non-progressive kind. You know: Not Liberal.

The hospital staff refused to induce me because they were “short-staffed.” And so here I am at home, left to suffer in “comfort.” I guess when there are only eight nurses hanging out doing NOTHING this counts as short-staffed.

Anyway, back to Hunky Hubby’s latest version of “what not to say.” Upon returning home, we called his mom to check on Haddie. She asked about how far apart and how intense my contractions were registering on their baby monitor (you know, the aforementioned painful ones) .

Hunky Hubby: “Let me put it this way, Mom. I’ve had gas that has registered bigger contractions.”

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

Note to the BabyCenter.com Newsletter Committee:

I HAVE APPRECIATED YOUR WEEKLY UPDATES REGARDING HOW MY PREGNANCY IS PROGRESSING. HOWEVER, I AM BEGGING YOU TO JUST STOP AT WEEK 40. DO NOT SEND ME INFORMATION ON MY BOUNCING NEWBORN, ASSUMING THAT I HAVE, IN FACT, ALREADY GIVEN BIRTH TO SAID NEWBORN. THIS WILL SEND AN ALREADY IRASCIBLE, OVERHEATED AND OVERDUE MOTHER OVER THE EDGE.
Thank you,
Still Pregnant in Colorado

He is late. Junior, that is. I hope this will not become a pattern because I am annoyed by tardiness, particularly in 100-degree temperatures. Oh, and Hunky Hubby is super sick. For the first time in years. Yes, yes, I know: what’re the odds? Don’t answer that. This is why I don’t play Vegas.

But I am pleased to say The End is Near (at least for my suffering) because Induction Day is Tuesday! Of course, if I’d had my way it would have happened a couple of weeks ago. Back on Day 14 of no sleep. The very day when Jamie reluctantly left for work and asked me if I was going to eat my young while he was gone. He then turned to 26-month-old Haddie and said, “Haddie, Mommy is a bit insane today so you’re in charge.” That was the low point.

I now realize how cut-and-dry my labor was with Hadley. My water broke a week early, I went to the hospital, experienced a lot of pain and 11 hours later gave birth to a beautiful little girl who cried like a kitten. At least in the early stages; later on, it was more like a roar. And not the dull kind.

Junior has been completely different with a roller-coaster ride of nausea, bronchitis, fluid leaks and all-night contractions this past month. I erroneously assumed two things from my first labor: that he would come early and that my water would break. And so when the contractions came last week, I was unprepared.

A: I’m having contractions! What the crap am I supposed to do?
J: Time them.
A: But how do I do that?
J: Measure how long they last in between.
A: But how do I know how long in between? Can you do it for me?
J: Crazy woman! You’re the only one who knows when you’re having contractions! I’m sorry to say that you need to do this yourself.
A: Fine, a lot of help you are. I suppose you’re going to make me have this kid by myself as well.
J: That’s the general idea. Hey, did you make sure to pack my treat bag so that at least one of us gets some sustenance during labor?

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog

Hurricane Hadley has been going through a phase that has made me nervous the past two months: the perfect angel phase. Seriously. You’d think I could just enjoy her fun little personality but at the back of my mind, I am waiting for the fallout. These days, she finally sleeps through the night, naps 2-3 hours a day, is spirited, outgoing, loving, hilarious and is so dang enjoyable I just want to devour her rapidly-disappearing chubs.

Y’see, I’m not one of those annoying moms who constantly raves about how perfect her children are. Of course, I love my Hurricane dearly but I am well aware of her shortcomings. I should be: she is genetically predisposed to act like me. And as my own mother declared when she realized I had, in actuality, birthed Mini-Me: “PAYBACK, Amber. PAYBACK.”

Cute as she is, The Hurricane was a cranky, colicky baby. She screamed for hours, never latched on when nursing and rarely slept. Whenever folks commented, “Oh, doesn’t time just fly by?” I looked at them, exasperated, and proclaimed, “Actually, that first year was the longest of my life.” I am just not into sugar-coating like so many in the Mommy World.

I read a blog recently from somewhere in cyberspace and this woman’s honesty totally resonated with me. She confessed that it wasn’t until her child turned 2 that she truly emerged as a parent. That it seemed as though there was a postpartum fog that fell over the first couple of years of her children’s lives that was magically lifted at the onset of 2.

It was upon reading this that I finally got it: it’s not that I didn’t love my little baby and build many wonderful memories with her. It’s just that I don’t care to fraternize with children whose lives are measured in months. Well, at least not with spirited/irascible newborns who take after their mother.

But now that Hadley is a talking, walking, playing, active, full-fledged contributing member of society (she does, after all, excel when swiping my VISA card at the store), I am so enamored by her every move. Oh, and the fact that she finally seems to genuinely like me also helps.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that even though I’m excited (and SOOO ready) for baby #2 that I’m experiencing a sense of loss over my alone-time with Hadley. OK, OK, and also trepidation that Junior could be just like me. Is that so wrong and abnormal?

Of course, with a thoughtful, loving and mellow husband, there’s always hope for him. After all, the good Lord wouldn’t send TWO Mini-Mes to one family. Errr…would He?

© Crazy Bloggin’ Canuck–A Denver Mom’s Blog