Second time around

Last time I was pregnant (by the way, I'm expecting again!) I didn't blog. Instead I wrote long and probably inane ramblings about every tiny change that I'd noted that month or sometimes week. I sent these compositions to a rather large list of friends in my gmail address book and prided myself on keeping my loved ones up to date. Looking back I feel like they must have seemed so self-absorbed. And honestly, I was as self-absorbed while pregnant as I probably was as a teenager, which is really saying something. I seemed to think that I had invented pregnancy and I revelled in it.
So this time around I have yet to send a single email. I now blog and almost 4 months into my gestational adventure this is the first time I have decided to publish something I wrote about it. Am I really less self-absorbed? Well if this "me-me-me" post tells us anything it is that no, I'm not.
But maybe I am. It's only been 2 years since I was at this phase of my life and I am a different person. I can't say that is a completely good thing, because I really miss a lot of the pre-breeding Katy, but I am different.
I now know that the pregnancy part is just a waiting game, and I have never been known as a patient one. Instead of focusing on every twitch of my child-in-the-making I can now laugh at the crazy grimaces of my toddler. And instead of rock climbing and reading detailed descriptions of my in utero friend, I now have a picky eater to coerce food into.
And humility is me. I do not carry off pregnancy well. I have many pictures of my bloated self that remind just how large I get while pregnant. And now I know that I have a very hard time losing weight while breastfeeding, so I continue to be large for many months to follow. So I am not reveling in this pregnancy. I am terrified of having another baby in my house but so excited to meet my new little person. I am petrified of getting stretch marks this time around since I lucked out last time. I can't stand the thought of waddling around like a seal on land while trying to hold a screaming two year old. And did I mention comes at the end of all this indignity?! A screaming, demanding, non-sleeping, fragile little baby.
A beautiful, amazing, loving little creature. Someone else to make my stars align and my world make sense.

Jobbing

The economy. Ick, what a boring word. I took Economics from a stoned, half brain-dead old hippie at Pocatello HS. Needless to say I didn't learn much. I do remember watching 'Men In Black' for the first time in that class. What does Will Smith have to do with Economics you ask? Well, I didn't bother to because I wasn't very interested in Economics so watching MIB was just as interesting. Now I'm old and cleverly disguised as a responsible adult and I actually care, a bit, about boring subjects like Economics and I fear I may have missed out on something. But given the state of our public education system, I probably didn't.
So the economy. Right now it sucks. My grocery spending has increased dramatically over the last several months. My fuel bill hasn't changed much, since I did actually manage to drive less according to gas prices. I am trying to continue the good habits I developed, I swear! But the prices of everything have gone up so much that it's definitely affecting our savings accounts in my house. It is much harder to find a bargain and my checkbook is feeling the pinch.
So I am currently seeking part-time, temporary labor. There is no reason to be scared of the big, bad world of employers. I have done it before. So why am I so hesitant to actually start looking? Well, I dread the thought of leaving my boy for hours and hours everyday. I don't know how people manage that. And I am, of course, afraid to fail. What if I have to call in because K is sick? What if my own house goes to shambles because I am too busy and tired to bother with it? What if I can't learn new skills, I don't catch on as quickly as I used to or I just don't do well? What in the world will Kelly think? I haven't even brought it up to him. He's always been of the mindset that I should just do whatever I want (what a guy!) but he has made his feelings regarding daycare very clear. Is it the same if Killian is just going to one of my mommy friends for a few hours? And how exactly do I feel about that? I would never leave him with someone that I was worried about, but there is always that nagging doubt. Somehow you just know that no one else will watch him quite as closely, even though I am way more laissez-faire than most people I leave him with. Then there is that worry that he'll scream ceaselessly and my friend will resent me, hate my child and our friendship will suffer.
But mostly I think I am really just scared that I am not as good as I used to be. I am spoiled. I'm a stay-at-home mom which is, in all honesty, isn't a difficult job. My customer may be difficult to please but his smiles and giggles and learning curve are all more than enough compensation for the crap hours and manual labor.

If I were more articulate when angry I would sound something like this

'Inconsolable: How I Threw My Mental Health Out With the Diapers'

Marrit Ingman's new memoir: an excerpt

THE UNITED STATES OF GENERICA

I want Picture People to burn, motherfucker, burn.

Our story begins with Julie, our photographer, who probably got this job by talking about how she just loves kids. I bet she has a niece or a nephew. She's probably very nice.

But if she doesn't get that rainbow-colored feather duster out of my kid's face, I'm going to wrestle her to the floor and shove it up her ass.

Each time she waggles the duster in Baldo's face she makes a great, ululating cry, like Xena: Warrior Princess. I can't imagine anyone being amused by this. Perhaps some children are sufficiently chuckleheaded to smile at her capering, her loathsome propeller beanie, her safari vest with epaulets, but mine is not. Mine has dissolved into a weeping mass on the floor of the storefront photography studio.

There are rooms in back that are quieter, that are full of toys for children to actually handle and enjoy, but Corporate Policy dictates that we will occupy the first room – the one in view of the foot traffic in the mall. Presumably, the sight of my child posing with props will melt casual pedestrians into gooey submission, their wallets oozing $10 sitting fees for their own grandkids and offspring. If Julie stands him in front of the blue background holding an oversized Valentine's heart – which she actually suggests – customers will stream to the service desk and join the Photo Club.

I resent this on principle – my son is not a posable Precious Moments action figure built to advertise their services, and if he'd rather stand on the stool than sit on it, why can't Julie just photograph that? – but also because Baldo is clearly nonplussed by the pressure. He doesn't understand why he can't climb into the giant, multicolored, camera-shaped playhouse that is paces away; he doesn't understand why Julie keeps crossing his feet. Nor do I.

"Can't we just leave his feet uncrossed?" I wonder, after he sags into a natural bowlegged repose one more time.

"I don't want to get the bottom of his feet." Julie is readjusting her lens.

"Hold you," Baldo sobs, collapsing into my arms.

"Let's stand on this blue paper and look at Julie's camera," I suggest cheerily. I extend my arms, but Baldo is still wadded up into a tiny ball, his feet tucked, tears squeezing from his eyes. I set him down on the paper.

He stays in place but isn't smiling, so Julie ululates and tickles him with the feather duster. Has this woman any knowledge of the toddler psyche? I worry that we appear stupid to the other parents looking on. There are two three-year-old twins with luxuriant, brown, bow-topped hair and matching pink sweater sets looking on as if the scenario is routine and Baldo's behavior is afoul of it. Ours is a topsy-turvy world if Julie's method of relating to children is the preferred one.

Finally her camera flashes. Baldo runs toward the camera-shaped playhouse, and I have to drag him back. He back-dives, tantrums, screams as if he's being burned. He sinks his teeth into my shoulder. I put him down and begin talking to him calmly, holding his hands, trying to untantrum him.

Julie's beanie pops up over my shoulder. "Uh-oh! We've got a biter!"

I glare at her.

She breaks character. "That's, like, only the second biter I've had. He must be in daycare."

I'm going to strangle this woman with her rainbow suspenders. "No, he's at home with me."

"Did you teach him to bite?"

We struggle through the close-up.

"Let's talk props." Julie lobs the suggestion about the oversized Valentine's hearts.

"This may sound peculiar," I counter. "But do you have a broom?"

"A broom?" As if she's never heard of one.

"He really likes brooms," Jim explains. "It'll be fun for him."

Still her face is blank.

"You know, like in the back? For sweeping up?" I add.

"Well, yeah ... I guess we have one. But it's not a prop broom."

"If he holds it, is it not a prop?" I wonder. This blows her mind for a minute.

"Wait!" she snaps her fingers. Julie is so smart! "There's a witch's broom for Halloween!" She returns with a child-size plastic broom. Even the bristles are a solid mass of plastic. She hands it to Baldo, and he begins dragging it along the floor. He won't stand and pose with it.

The twins are still staring.

"This isn't working." I wrest the plastic broom out of Baldo's hand.

"Okay, we'll just go with those two shots." Julie is rejiggering her camera.

"No, this isn't working." I thrust the broom at her. "This environment is frustrating for toddlers. Are you sure we can't use one of the quieter rooms?"

"We have to use the front room first," she reiterates. "We can only use the back rooms if the front room is occupied."

"That's ridiculous. He's not going to just stand here while people are going by in front of him." School-age kids are scrambling past, gawking inside the photo studio.

I pick Baldo up, and we walk off. "Your pictures will be ready after noon!" Julie chirps.

We walk the entire length of the mall back to where we've parked.

"God, I hate this fucking place," Jim mutters.

"We're never coming back here," I agree in the elevator.

"Except to look at our pictures."

"Yeah."

We are all hungry and twenty minutes from home. We drive halfway back to eat at a restaurant that isn't a chain. Baldo tantrums in the chair.

I'm really sick of this crap, to the extent that it makes me want to smash shit up, and that's a big statement from someone who is easily placated by pie. I want to see a bunch of crazy parents dancing orgiastically around a bonfire of stupid prop hearts, oversized stars and moons, and industrial carpeting.

I'm going to put a sledgehammer through the window. I want to pull down and shatter all those stupid portraits on their walls – the ones with hapless infants strapped into angel wings; the ones with families all dressed alike, like they're starring in some kind of prime-time variety show from the 1970s with Harvey Korman. I want to grind all the fake, forced smiles into a thousand tiny pieces under the heel of my boot. All those generic faces, all those people wearing their cutest outfits from Old Navy, all the prints and package specials framed and hung on tasteful beige walls in McHouses from Scottsdale to Fort Myers. With the same couches and the same IKEA bin of LeapPad toys. All abiding by the same rules: Children must smile. We must not see the soles of their shoes. They must climb onto stepladders or big red wagons and be as whimsical as possible.

All this stuff is family-unfriendly. It's corporate-friendly. Why do we pump our money into this crap? Certainly we love our children. Why do we allow people in propeller beanies to torment them? Some of us know better. We skulked through high school in our Siouxsie t-shirts, refusing to smile when we weren't particularly happy; then we bred and some sleeper cell inside our brains activated, releasing a hormone that makes us disintegrate whenever Hanna Andersson has a sale. Striped tights! We must have striped tights!

What I'm really asking is this: Why is the mall where all the families are?

I saw all these mothers walking around with their babies in Pope-globe hermetic strollers. I had no idea there were so many other people with children in my town. I'd flag them down, but there's no place for us to stop and stand, to talk to one another. We're supposed to roam around like cattle, stopping only to buy or eat or piss.

It concerns me that for so many postpartum women walking around the mall with the baby is their way to "go out." Go out and what? Be isolated in public? Be surrounded by pictures of Abercrombie and Fitch models? Granted, when the four walls are closing in, anything is better than staying at home. But isn't there a better alternative?

I used to fantasize about a giant room with a soft, semi-padded floor, like a gym mat. A drain in the middle of the room to hose down the snot and graham cracker crumbs at the end of the day. You pay a buck or two to go inside with your baby. There are piles of toys, separated into different areas by age. You can plunk your three-month-old down on a playmat and sit and be among mothers. There'd be a coffeepot percolating in the corner, maybe some muffins that somebody brought in.

There will be no organized activities here. You will not be coerced into "circle time." The babies will not be made to play with scarves or clack claves along to some dorky music. And it is clear to all that this is not exclusively for the benefit of your child. This is not some shit to bring out your child's aptitudes or help her get into an exceptional preschool. This is because parenting is a group activity. We are not meant to be sectioned off into little dyads. We are supposed to interact and share our wisdom. We are meant to bitch to each other when we need it, to encourage each other when we need it. The very expression "Mommy and Me class" makes it clear that the baby is the subject and the mother the object.

For some parents, my dream is a reality. A friend who has recently moved to Hong Kong reports that her apartment complex has a "toddler room" for playtime. "Wow," she opines. "It's incredible. Padded floor and a baby ball pit. Lots of toys and books and tons and tons and tons of babies."

Other parents have told me about Family Place, a community center for families in Canada. One Vancouver location offers preschool activities, a toy library, parent support (including a home-visit service), and licensed "childminding" for kids eighteen months and over. The program receives government support from the city and from the Ministry for Children and Families, so admission costs 50¢. Fifty cents. Canadian.

"Family Place kicks ass," one parent told me. "It is one of the major things that I love about living here, that I think every neighborhood in the States could use."

This wouldn't fly in the United States. Not just because we do not mix government and parenting. More to the point is that we do not allow low-key, self-directed play. We have to make childhood as noisomely cheerful and strenuous as possible. Our "family restaurants" have to have birthday whistles and kiddie cups with licensed characters on them. We are – to quote a movie I recently reviewed – the "Fun Police." If you aren't having fun, fun will be provided for you! We can't allow our children to just sit there and stack blocks. We will regulate their activities so that every kid meets a Minimum Standard of Childish Glee. We will have DVDs in our minivans so that the ride from playgroup to Chuck E. Cheese is as fun as possible! Everything a child touches has to have at least one flashing light and beeping noise. You can't even have a plain toddler toothbrush. No, your toothbrush will be fun! With patented Fun Bristles™ and Fruit Berry Fun-sation training paste! The strawberries on the tube are smiling! Your diapers have smiling dinosaurs on the waistband! They're so happy to decompose and provide petroleum for your ass!

This shit exhausts me utterly. No wonder I'm medicated. Parenthood is the mass madness that childhood should be a big, giddy laugh riot; rather, it is complex and often frustrating to those who experience it. Childhood does not exist to look cute and move a product. Childhood is an end in itself.

Woe is you who venture outside of the officially sanctioned childhood spaces. People will look at you as if you've stepped out of a spacecraft with an extraterrestrial clutching your hand. What is that ... that small thing with her? Why is it so noisy? Can't she control it? It hurts my ears! You will be deported to the McDonald's Play Place and made to genuflect before a giant corporate clown. You will eat food formed into nugget shapes. And you will like it, or else be cudgeled with a novelty diaper bag.

Where families cluster – those commuter neighborhoods – the big-box retailers follow. The organic full-fat baby yogurt they used to stock has been replaced with a brand with a Disney tie-in. It's got high fructose corn syrup, hydrogenated oils, and "poppin' color crystals™" that create a swirl effect. No more bland banana and vanilla – these come in Cotton Candy and Bubble Gum flavors. And there's a story – featuring a popular licensed character, of course – on the bottom of the lid! Another brand offers an "Orange Strawberry Banana Blowout." What used to be a starter food for kids trying out dairy now promises to be a complete multisensory experience, packed with as many flavors and action verbs as possible, lest we risk understimulating our children.

Must our yogurt be so amusing? No wonder our lives feel empty when we graduate to low-fat and all it has is a cow on the package.

To access the yogurt, you will run a gauntlet of greeters who make goofy faces at your toddler and possibly present him or her with a helium-filled balloon. If you are particularly unfortunate, your child will be latex-allergic and break out into a rash by the time you reach the dairy case. If you reject the balloon, your child's tearful wailing will echo from the tire shop to the photo lab. You have become the person you sneered at when you were young and single and knew everything. You are That Mother.

But it's not really your fault. You were doomed by the giant parking lot, the humming fluorescent lighting, the prominent placement of SpongeBob SquarePants, the giant, talking cardboard standees of NASCAR drivers. There is a conspiracy afoot; its purpose is to dope you and your child into grinning yourself to death. And you better smile, or else that feather duster's coming back.

Loser

Am I really so weak? Or are the other moms just better at the facade? I have made no secret of what a hard time I had with my son as an infant but everyone else always seems to slip into their new role with such ease. My friends with wee ones always seem to have their houses put together, they run errands and have social lives. My son was almost 4 months old last Halloween and I spent the evening in the house, crying and trying to stop him from screaming as if he were being tortured. We didn't even pretend to go trick or treating.
I was just on my friend's blog, Jenni. She recently had twins, which makes for 5 very, very young children in her house and she is already back to her photography and it looks like she's been very busy. And yet she has found time to take professional portraits for pay, she has taken fall pictures of her boys, costumed pictures of all her kids and even family pictures! She has even found a way to get her hair done and lose all her baby weight. What a role model.
I am petrified to be jumping back into the world of newborns. So there it is, my big blog announcement! Kelly, Killian and I are expecting a new love in our lives this June. And I am terrified! Last time I had no idea what I was getting into. I blissfully waddled around enjoying my little guys' pokes and prods, completely ignorant of the life-wrenching terror that was shortly to come. Now I know. And I am terrified.

A Rant

How many recalls regarding baby-killing products do I need to hear about before I get it through my thick skull? DO NOT BUY PRODUCTS FROM CHINA. Sure I have put back a delicious looking salmon fillet because it had a "Product of China" sticker on the front. And I spent a few days last fall checking my baby toys for the lead recall and I have even gone as far as replacing my brand of curry seasoning with a non-Chinese import. But all of these had labeling that was basically shoved into my sight before I noticed they were from China.
As a teenager I swore I would boycott Chinese goods until they had some semblance of a human rights policy that they actually followed.
Last year there was a massive toy recall on toys imported from China and I promised myself then that I would check toys that I buy to confirm they were not manufactured in China.
Even this year, just a few months ago, I again told myself that I should boycott Chinese products based on their invasion of Tibet!
But I have yet to do it. I am weak, lazy and forgetful. In my mind I get upset and I remind myself of all the evils of China and I always think, "I should try hard to boycott 'Made in China' products." But I lack the follow-through.
Well, no more. The poison candy that is being sold in my Americas has done it for me. China cares nothing for the safety of its own innocent babies and children across the world. They continually send deadly chemicals into the mouths and bodies of children in their own lands and across the globe. Chinese officials have allowed melamine-poisoned formula to be fed to newborns in their hospitals and several babies died as a result. Government officials knew for months that there was a deadly toxin the formula and yet nothing was done until the New Zealand company with a large percentage of ownership in the formula company finally forced a public recall. (1.)

So join me, please. Help me to use our power as consumers to make the officials of China listen to the people. Not only will we not allow them to poison our pets, our children and ourselves, but we will not support a government that knowingly poisons its own infants. We will not use our American dollars to fund a government that invades a peaceful country like Tibet and oppress its people, jail their dissidents and brutalize innocents. We will no longer allow our money to be sent to a government that acknowledges and allows the infanticide of hundreds of thousands of female babies. BOYCOTT CHINA

For more information on how to boycott China please click the links below.



No More China
A fruitless quest to Boycott China
Why Boycott China?
Friends of Tibet
How One Family Came to Boycott China

(1.) NYTimes Article

A Parental Paradox

So you had a kid. Good for you. It changes everything.
I don't mean to demean anyone and their breeding skills, I just think that there is more to life than your progeny and frankly, you should too. But then there is me. I have so much more going on my head than my child. He is my first thought every morning but from there it's usually on to many, many things. All revolving around him in one way or another. And sometimes that's just plain annoying. To myself, and I am certain, to others around me. Logically I do understand that the sun does not, in fact, rise specifically to gleam upon his shiny blond head. But to look at my blog, my myspace page or any number of camera phone pictures you would think I had nothing else to do. And I suppose that is the paradox. In my head I am this thinking, fiery, decisive and independent person. But the reality of my internet activity shows a mom. Dare I say, just a mom? Now don't get all angry telling me that it's the hardest job and all that. I know all the rhetoric but really, it's not that hard. With all the rewards I get and perks in which I partake I think it's pretty easy. And I love it, which makes it all that much easier.
But with being a parent, or at least a mom, there is all this guilt and shame attached to being a person separate from your child. Somehow along with an embryo, I grew this insecurity that makes me feel as if I shouldn't have an identity. I place my child out in front of me like a shield or a badge of honor and I feel like he is the only part of me that matters anymore. As if it would be so selfish to assume that I should have thoughts and even go so far as to voice them. Thoughts that do not, at least on the surface, appear to be wrapped around my son. And then there is the other side of this rusty patina of parenthood. The small fact that I really do care about him that much. I love posting pictures of him and showing off this truly amazing being that has enriched every bit of minutiae in my life.
So here goes. This is Katy's Secret Online Life. And while it may seem like a shrine at which I worship my child it is actually about me and how I deal with my life. My life as a mom, yes, but also as a climber, as a political constituent, as a woman, friend, writer and thinking, fiery, independent and fairly indecisive person.

Sleeping Through the Night (and then some)

Since I cam home from the hospital with my sweet Killian I have noticed that he sleeps better than most children in his age range. I spent the first 2 weeks of his life trying to wake him up to nurse for fear that he would starve to death while I held him. I was your typical hyper-sensitive first-time mom. I was convinced that if he ever had a bottle he would never care to breastfeed again. If he cried for a moment I immediately ran to him and did everything I could to soothe him. I rarely complained about waking up for him in the middle of the night and I would cry at the beauty of my child.
And then colic struck.
I had spent my entire pregnancy in mortal fear of 4 things. Miscarriage. SIDS. Autism. Colic. In about that order, too. If my child was born healthy then I was convinced I had to spend every waking second preventing Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. I did everything that was recommended for SIDS prevention and more. I bought a breathing alarm for his crib, I kept him in my room but in his own bed as long as possible and he slept in sleepsacks until he was tripping himself up in them. As for autism, well, I didn't really know what to do to prevent that. I still don't, but I don't really obsess over it anymore. I think I finally just wore myself down on that one because there are just no real answers.
But Colic. The word alone can still send shivers of icy fear down my spine. For nearly a year, yes a year, I had a cranky, screaming, sensitive little man attached to me. After the first two weeks of ignorant bliss my bundle of joy started to show signs of being not so joyful. I attributed it to circumstances. His dad had finally gone back to work so he wasn't with as many people as he'd been used to. Maybe I wasn't holding him enough. Maybe I held him too much? It could be the cup coffee that I drank in the morning. Was it the milk that I would ingest? Maybe he was sensitive to the cow's milk proteins in my breast milk. Well I tried it all. I cut out as much milk as I could. I cut back to one cup of half-caff coffee in the morning. I tried the 5 S's and read Dr. Spock. But all to no avail. My darling child would continue to scream for hours and hours all day long. And then, sometime past 8 or 9 at night he would just stop. And he would sleep. And sleep. By the time he was 7 weeks old he was pretty regularly sleeping for 7 hours. This pattern continued on so that he was sleeping 10 hours at 10 weeks and peaked once he was sleeping for 12 hours at 12 weeks old. I was still getting up for 1 very quick 5:00 am feeding until about 20 weeks, but this didn't even register on my radar.
While recovering from any particularly fierce bout of colic I'd remind myself that he slept so well all night compared to my friends' babies that maybe the days of endless screaming were worth it. I mean, at least I was well-rested enough to care for him, right? I told myself this often. As least I get to sleep all night long. Like a mantra...allllll niiiiiight loooooonnggggg....
And somewhere close to a year the colic started to wane. It wasn't the milk proteins or the caffeine in my breast milk because colic lasted at least 2 months past my weaning him in his ninth month. He just started to be able to deal with the world around him. I can't say what the change was, it just sort of slowly happened. There were days that I would lament that he was 6 months old and he was still colicky even though all the "experts" told me it doesn't last past 3 months. Thankfully I had some amazing friends that had also had "sensitive" little babies and they reassured me that their children were also quite a handful until about a year.
So now Killian is no longer colicky. He is, and probably always will be, on the sensitive side. But there is a very, very bright side to all of this. He still sleeps through the night! Last night Killian went to bed without a single tear or whine at 9:00 pm and didn't stir until 11:00 am. I have to say, I think I'd take a colicky sleeper over an all around easy child that just doesn't sleep. I knew it would be worth it one day. There is no cure for colic but there are blessings in every situation, you just have to be able to recognize them and cherish them.

A Year in the Making

One year. An entire revolution on our planet Earth around the sun, which funny enough, doesn't have a proper name. My son, however, does have a name. A very big one: Killian Finneaus Burnside. I just added "Finneaus" to my Firefox dictionary! And this tiny little man with this great big name is a year old. George Carlin (the late & great) had a bit about our obsession with time and numbers. He remarked how we as a people love round numbers; well my little person isn't celebrating a round number in his life but he is celebrating a biggun, ONE!
I am actually an emotional rollercoaster about this amazing anniversary. In the last year I have officially went from the title "woman" to "Mom". I have fancied myself a huge freakin' whale to a bit of a MILF. I have lost over 40 pounds while my son has gained less than 15. I have went from a chick in her mid-2o's to what may as well be called a 30 year old. And through this last huge, nay giant, year I have had a love in my heart that I never knew was possible. I have had a child. It is indescribably wonderful and still incredibly difficult. I do still, and I suspect I will continue, to take everything personally when it comes to my boy Killian. If a kindly friend mentions he's a bit active I fret and moan about it for weeks. If he hasn't gained enough weight in between doctor's appointments I lament about being blind to his needs. I jest that the word precocious was invented for him. And through it all, I don't actually care what anyone thinks because I know. He is perfect. Allergies, colic, tempertantrums...through it all, I wouldn't change him for a moment. And that is true love. That is unconditional love. Every day I wake up and listen for that groggy voice and every day I am pleased to hear it.
It took a month for me to admit that I no longer have a baby but I am happy to be a mother to a toddler. He walks, talks and throws the cutest damn fits you could ever hope to see and he is mine. Life is good.

Frustration

I'm going to have a tag made and put it on my dog. It will read "It seems I have run away again. My owners are not looking for me so I now belong to you. My name is Jooniper and I also answer to JoonieB. Nice to meet you, New Parent."

Currently Believeing in Miracles

Dr. Parry, Killian's allergist, called yesterday morning and gave me some of the best news I have ever heard. Killian's antibodies to milk and egg are so low that on the scale they use he doesn't even qualify as "clinically allergic"! His dog and cat "scratch test" was negative so it wasn't the puppies causing his hives when my dad held him, which is mostly good, but now we have to start over figuring out that whole thing. But I don't even care because I am still so happy, so relieved, that my baby will probably have a normal diet. His numbers were so low that he can eat baked goods with milk and eggs which means.....HE CAN HAVE CAKE! My tiny little perfect person can have a tiny little perfect cake on his oh so special day. I don't understand how his hives are so bad when his antibodies are so low but I can just assume it has something to do with his very sensitive skin. He is extremely likely to outgrow his allergies! I am so thankful.
What an experience this has been. I can't even begin to tell you how many cupcakes I baked over the last few weeks. I had so much great support from my friends and family too, which is all that made it bearable. I, along with some very close friends, did a lot of research. I researched the lifestyle, cures, causes and treatments and we all researched SO many vegan recipes. My sister Kim and my neighbor Janeille (check out her blog www.pocatellostarvingrealtor.blogspot.com) both jumped right in to start baking and trying new things with me. They were both a constant stream of support and encouragement when I started to get down. Thank you both, I love you. My mom did what she does best in a time of crisis, she shopped! She is visiting us from Texas right now and she brought some great fruit strips and other vegan treats from fun health food stores that we don't have here. Killian has a lot of snacking options now, not that it improves his notoriously poor appetite. My step mom and dad were always there for us too. LuAnne was always ready to go to a doctor's appointment, no matter her sleeping schedule. You people rule! OK, there's my shout out to my support staff.
On a different note, I have two really good friends and they both have sons with extremely severe peanut allergies. If you were one of the people that added Killian to your prayers, good thoughts and well wishes, please add these two little guys, Kale and Felix. Thank you.
Since he was born I have been grateful for my son. Every single day, even the colicky ones, I was struck with the notion that I am so lucky to have a living, breathing healthy child. Whenever the screaming would get to be so bad that I would consider leaving him in the house alone for a few minutes or drinking a glass (bottle?!) of wine during the day, I would try to take a deep breath and remind myself that there are mothers nearby that would give anything to hear their baby again, even if he was screaming for hour three. When we heard the news that he was unlikely to outgrow these awful allergies that notion of his perfect life stretching out in front of us was crinkled up, but not shattered. I always knew that I had to be grateful we weren't having to fight a life-threatening illness, but it was still difficult to accept that he did have a fight for normality at such a young age.
To come back from that grief and have my beautifully healthy child restored to me with a phone call is overwhelming. I am overwhelmingly relieved. I am joyously grateful and emotionally unbound.
We still have a fight ahead, but it is manageable. He can't have raw milk or plain eggs and we'll abstain from cheeses, cream sauces and other dairy products but we are armed with so much information that it seems so minor a thing to give up! I have so many other options for snacks that not giving him cheese and crackers is just a splash in the ocean to me.
We will have Killian's blood tested again at two. Dr. Parry seems to think his antibodies will have gone down by then, although they may not be down to zero, maybe even ever. But again, this all seems so manageable now. I will have to deal with things as they come, but now, with my friends and family by my side and the love for my son to guide me forward, I know I can overcome anything and end up a better person for it.
Mushy gooey emotional stuff is now over!

Milk, eggs and puppies...Oh My!!

For those of you who don't know we recently found out that our son, Killian, is allergy prone. We started to piece together some of the puzzle when he was around 6 months old. It all started when I bought some baby cereal, but I got a special "nighttime" version. I didn't bother to look at the ingredients and honestly I bought the "nighttime" just because the picture was cute and I thought it would maybe be a slower to digest formula or something. What else would I base my choice on??? The first time I fed it to him he pretty much refused to eat it and instead rubbed it all over his face, in his eyes, it was everywhere! I laughed and started to clean him up and figured we'd try again another day. As I was cleaning up I noticed red marks appearing on his face and his left hand, the one he'd used to swipe the spoon away. It seemed to me that these were hives indicative of an allergic reaction. I thought it seemed very odd for him to be allergic to baby cereal, but I called the doctor's office and explained and they recommended Benadryl. As my wee one was sleeping in his drunken stupor I checked the ingredients and noticed "whey" listed as an ingredient in the offending cereal. I mentally filed this and proceeded to basically ignore it but I did start checking all ingredients and making sure that Killian was never given anything with a milk based ingredient.

A few months later I was making homemade mac 'n cheese and holding my fussy little creature while I stirred. Once I needed two hands I sat him down to play near me and finished the pan of mac 'n cheese. Free from cooking duties for a moment I walked over to play with my progeny and again noticed the hives on his face. Something really clicked and I was trying to hold myself together as I called the doctor. I again explained the hives only this time I knew that I must have splashed some milk and cheese mixture onto him while I was stirring. I had recently had a conversation with a friend that is allergic to fish and eggs and he'd mentioned that fish is actually deadly to him and that if any touches his skin he gets a reaction immediately. So at this point I am picturing having to remove all milk ingredients from our home, implementing the strictest of safeguards and controls around our child all to keep the evil whey, lactose and other unsavory cow ingredients away from his sensitive system. All my research came up to tell me that he had about an 80% chance of outgrowing his allergy but something kept niggling in my head telling me that he probably won't be one of the lucky.
Two weeks ago I decided to give Killian eggs for his first time. He resolutely refused to even taste the scrambled eggs so being the kind and patient soul that I am I waited till he hollered at me and managed to sneak a bite of the eggs into his bellowing kisser. He cried harder and gagged a bit so I figured we'd try again a different day. As I was cleaning up the egg mess Killian's face started to turn red with hives beginning around his mouth. I took a piece of the egg and rubbed it on his cheek to test the reaction. His cheek had hives within minutes. For the third time in less than 6 months I called the doctor to explain his reaction and got into an appointment that afternoon. My step mom LuAnne and husband Kelly both accompanied us to visit Dr. Jensen of the Pocatello Children's Clinic. He pretty much told us the prognosis for Killian's recovery from these reactions is grim and referred us to Dr. Parry, an allergist.
We are currently waiting for our appointment with Dr. Parry and I am gathering information. I plan to be armed to the hilt with information and avenues to pursue. I have found clinical trials currently happening at France's Nancy University and Duke University here in the States in which they are having huge success in curing children's milk and egg allergies. Doctors are orally administering minuscule amounts of the allergen and increasing the dosage over two years. Children that could only stand 1/1000th of an egg at the start of the trial can eat two scrambled eggs by the end of the two year study! The outcomes from these trials clearly indicate that oral desensitization is a viable treatment for egg and milk allergies. I hope with all my heart that Dr. Parry will agree with me and help us to start a program ourselves in order to help us cure our child.
And for the third blow. Killian rarely let's other people hold him, especially my dad. It's been an ongoing joke that Killian just really doesn't like his Grandpa because he will scream and try to get away anytime my dad holds him. My dad has always been a good sport about it but I know it bothers him. I have noticed small red marks on Killian where my dad has kissed him, but I always assumed his beard had irritated his baby skin or that it was coincidence. The other day Killian was having a really good time playing with his Grandpa! LuAnne and I were so happy that Killian was being so social and we were all enjoying a nice afternoon until Killian once again broke out in hives. After some investigating we finally figured out Killian is allergic to our miniature pinschers. My dad has one too and Killian had gotten her hair on him, which caused the reaction.
So to date I am trying many eggless cake recipes for Killian's upcoming birthday, wondering if we'll have to find a home for our two dogs and trying to keep it together emotionally. I want everything to be so perfect for my boy and I truly hate that he may have to suffer with debilitating allergies for the rest of his life.
I will keep all posted on my eggless cake search. If you are a fan of cupcakes and would like to taste test for me I'd love the help. Email or call me, I'll drop some off and you let me know what you think of the texture, taste, etc.
Our appointment with the allergist is tomorrow and I will post about that as soon as I can.

Just trying this thing out

I have never had a real live blog before! I used to blog on myspace, like 90% of the rest of the world. That eventually got old and I switched to an email list when I got preggers. I called it my "Baby News" list and I would send out monthly-ish email updates of my pregnancy and life. Then Squishy stopped being an easy to manage fetus and became Killian my colicky little firecracker. With very little time to fit in luxuries like writing I stopped my email lists somewhere around month 2 of my little guy's life outside of my womb. Since that day about 10 months ago or so I have had a few requests from previous "Baby News" recipients for updates. Since I now worry about being one of those parents that shove pictures of their offspring into people's faces I am not comfortable resuming my emails but a friend suggested a blog and that seems like a good compromise. So I have just created KatysSecretOnlineLife and here we are! I have a few friends with blogs and they all have "blogspot" in the address so I typed "blogspot" into my search engine and followed the directions. I hope I can link to other people's blogspots and get updates when they post something, but we'll see how this thing works after I get my first blog posted.
If you're out there reading this please say hi and tell me you stopped by so that I know this is working. If you have a blog and can link to me (I'm picturing a myspace-like network, I hope that's a feature) please do. I love to read, I love to write and I would really like to join the world outside of Killian's bubble. I haven't been able to keep up with current events of the world at large or even what were once good friends of mine and I hope this can change that.
If you have any advice on this dealio go ahead and let me have it.
Thanks for reading!
Much love,
Katy