Temptation

Although I am aware that Jacob is extra-sensitive to dairy, I couldn't resist one of my favorite treats: frozen yoghurt with live cultures. It is delicious and healthy, as compared to other things I could eat. I figured one bowl wouldn't be a problem.

Unfortunately, dairy is apparently a slippery slope for me. The next evening, I had two slices of cheese pizza because I just love pizza and it was only two slices - what could it hurt?

Of course, that same evening I noticed the baby seemed a little fussier and harder to settle than normal. I passed it off; babies are sometimes fussy and why should I worry about it?

But then the next day, he was in absolute misery. Fussing continuously, this low-level "eeeh! uuuh! eeeuuuh!" over and over and over until I thought I'd go mad with it. Occasionally it would escalate into crying and screaming, sometimes the pitch would go way up into this awful squeal of pain. Nothing I did helped - nursing, rocking, humming, walking with him in my arms, petting his back, rubbing his belly, changing his diaper... he was obviously in discomfort bordering on pain, and nothing could stop it.

It went on all day, and that evening I noticed his poor bottom was bright, BRIGHT red. And then he started having trouble breathing when he was laying on his back. He'd suddenly gasp and gag and wheeze, and if we didn't sit him up quickly, he started gagging and crying.

Today has been better... it's been over 48 hours since I ate dairy, and while he occasionally whimpers, his stomach seems to feel better overall and his bottom isn't quite so horribly red.

I suppose temptation is meant to be resisted. I think now my ability to say 'no' will be better - I need only remember the last two awful days and how miserable the baby has been.

Family visits

I've gotten up-dates from both the women I've donated breastmilk to, and their babies are both growing and thriving. It's so satisfying to me to know that I can help, that the milk I pump every day is doing some good for babies out there who otherwise would've been fed formula.

It looks like I'll be getting a visit from the mother-in-law in about a week... I'm looking forward to it with excitement and trepidation. Excitement because obviously I like getting to know my family members more, and trepidation because I am the type who feels like I MUST hostess, and I can't think of how to keep her entertained while she's here and Chris is at work!

I suppose I'll just have to take it one day at a time. If all else fails, I'll just hand her her grandson.

Cheese-less

Things I never thought I'd have to deal with in my life... blood in the baby's poop. For one, I never thought I'd have children. Having had one, I never thought I'd have to endure something as shocking and disturbing as blood in his stool. Well, surprise, life says.

Until we can get a stool sample to take to a lab and then get the results back, I am having to go dairy- and egg-free. This is hard for me, because I have two big addictions in my life: cheese and chocolate. Even when contemplating living a healthier life, I always said I would do anything but give up cheese and chocolate. Well, now I'm having to face exactly what I swore I'd never do.

I'm researching dairy-free alternatives to cheese... and cringing. I'm not much a fan of soy-based products. I suppose, though, if I want to eat nachos and sprinkle cheese on my salads, I'll have to suck it up and accept less-than-stellar cheese-like products.

As for chocolate... I tend to prefer darker chocolates anyway, and the blood in his stool has never been shockingly thick, so I think a little dark chocolate now and again won't be a deal breaker.

Here's hoping this clears up soon... and that I find a reasonable (and reasonably tasty) alternative to cheese.

Tiny escapes

I seem to be developing the habit of waking up early in the mornings (7am is early if you don't go to sleep until 1am) and puttering about the house doing unimportant, quiet things for an hour or two. Bowls of cereal, mugs of tea or coffee, and many books accompany me during these quiet hours... and often a breastpump, but that's not so much for the edification of me and more a necessity, so I don't count it as part of my me-time.

While I'm up doing these things, both the boys are asleep in bed, Chris turned to snuggle with the wall and Jacob sprawled as far across the bed as a three-month-old can sprawl (you'd be surprised).

Having a few hours to myself with no one needing me to do anything is so pleasant that I can't seem to break myself of the habit of waking and doing my own thing for several hours, despite the fact that no one with any sense would be getting up at 7am after only getting to sleep at 1am (or sometimes 2 or 3am), not every morning like clockwork. Especially not someone with Systemic Lupus.

But I seem to need this time. It keeps me sane during the day, especially when dealing with the necessity of several crazy dogs, one especially needy baby, and one scatterbrained husband who wouldn't remember shoes if I didn't press the point as he was walking out the door. So I think of the time as me-time that I deserve (or possibly WHEE! time, because that's what I feel like yelling when I get to wander off on my own for any length of time).

Speaking of early mornings and things that don't edify me, I don't appreciate being interrupted by the glorious sound of gagging coming from the trailing edge of the bedsheets, and certainly not in the wee hours of the morning (not the WHEE! hours). Chasing a dog out of the bedroom in absolute silence while still communicating my displeasure and the absolute need for the dog to get into the backyard to finish vomiting is not easy. And, I don't enjoy cleaning vomit off the carpet, not only because it is disgusting but also because it takes away from my me-time by making me be mature and do the necessary things of life again.

Since both my boys are still sleeping comfortably (and since one tiny baby fist is slowly making its way across the bad to invade the two square feet of space I'm sitting in to type on my laptop), I'm going to escape to the kitchen and indulge in hot tea, cold cereal, and a novel.

Growth

Lately, everything has been growing, it feels... both the baby and myself.

I went to the closet the other day, searching for one of my three pairs of nice high heels. I only rarely wear high heels, because I've never managed to find a comfortable pair (which may have less to do with high heels themselves and more to do with the pains of SLE), but on days when I feel like I need a confidence and self-image boost, I reach for the high heels.

Image my annoyance when I found myself the evil stepsister, struggling to squeeze my gargantuan foot into the slipper meant for a princess.

So, I bagged up the majority of my shoes to give to Goodwill. Someone else out there can enjoy my worn-five-times high heels. I suppose I'll have to start rebuilding my shoe collection slooowly. I don't relish the idea - I'm not much of a shopper, and doubly so when I have a three-month-old baby riding on my chest.

I believe that all maternity books should finish with a special chapter on post-partum wardrobe issues. Bigger feet mean your shoes are out the door. The postpartum pudge on your stomach means that even if your jeans still fit your bottom and thighs, you're going to either have to wear maternity jeans for six months or invest in the next size up in jeans and have them hang like a tent. Breastfeeding means that all the shirts that used to hang to the tops of your jeans are now riding up like croptops, showing those wonderful maternity pants and the post-partum pudge off to the world at large.

Why is it the baby's growth is adorable and wonderful, while mine just leads me to contemplate if I can eat an entire gallon of ice cream by myself without being sick?