The Milk Test

Well, here we are at One Year. It’s time for The Milk Test.

(If you have no idea what I’m talking about, here’s the reason for The Milk Test.)

We have the option to have blood drawn (a difficult and frustrating experience for a toddler) and have it tested for common allergies. Out of pocket (us), this test will cost $300.

Ouch.

What we’ve worked out as The Plan with Braden’s Pediatrician is that we’ll do an exposure test first (we get to give him dairy products!!!) and if he seems to act strange, bothered, sick, or generally unlike himself, THEN we’ll submit to the blood test to get a definitive answer.

Please say your quiet (or loud) prayers and well wishes for him on this, guys. We’re really hoping he is able to consume dairy. (If all goes well, next test, in a month, is wheat…eggs…soy.)

So, today, Braden had Cow’s Milk for the first time… and CHEESE!!!

*big smile*

Other news from his check-up today is that he is now 80th Percentile for height and 65th Percentile for weight. He is a tall, chubby one!

Dr. Hunter was pleased with both his physical (walking/running) and intellectual progress. (I haven’t posted about his words, yet, sorry… that post will be soon – promise!)

We’re just praying (Dear Lord, please?) that he’ll be able to continue eating dairy.

Tips for First Birthdays

Tips for First Birthdays:

*DO take toys out of all packaging before wrapping, unless you like LOSING YOUR MIND.

Luckily, this occurred to me before we wrapped anything, and we didn’t go through the horror that I can only imagine some parents face after the child opens the present. It can take up to 7.23 years to get all the ridiculous twist ties off of some toys. By then, is your kid really gonna give a damn about the 1+Years Rated piece of crap xylophone you hand them? No, they’re going to want a computer, an MP3 player, and a cell phone. Damn kids.

*DO plan what you are going to do on that Special Day well before you retire for bed the night before.

…Unless you want to lie in bed with your husband, going on and on about what you think might make your kid happy in an excited mood, alternating between chattering endlessly (in such a manner that no one would be able to get a word in) and berating your mate for not giving any of his opinions, until your husband wants to smother you with a pillow so he can go to sleep.

*DO take so many pictures that the last several in every series are of your child looking at you like, “The next time you put that in my face, I’m going to grab it from you, bash you in the head with it, and then throw it out the window.”

(You’ll be glad later you have the pictures, even if your kid thinks ‘that metal box’ is growing out of your hand.)

_________

*DON’T set about the task of setting up/putting together any toys/gifts for your child with your husband unless there are anti-anxiety drugs close at hand.

Also during construction/setting up/rigging things you shouldn’t be rigging the way you’re rigging them… If your husband is careless with something dangerous, like…. ohhh, let’s say, fire, for example… right after you warned him to be careful, and he gets hurt… act concerned and help him dress his wounds instead of laughing, pointing, and singsonging, “I told you to be caaarefuuulll!”

*DON’T expect your kid to be as excited about all of this hoopla as you are.

For example, if he/she just doesn’t “get,” or “isn’t into,” or “couldn’t really give half a crap about” the whole present opening part of the deal, try not to wear the Face of Disappointment:

*DON’T put a pot of something to cook on the stove and then walk away to check your e-mail while the water boils and evaporates until the contents burn into a disgusting, crunchy wad and the SUPER FREAKIN’ LOUD smoke alarm (hey, at least it works) goes off at 982,238 decibels right when Birthday Boy is going down for his Birthday Nap.

*DON’T let your husband take Severe Allergy Medication, no matter how much he is sneezing, because he will start looking like he drank a keg of Guinness and then ran face-first into a pole.

*DON’T ask me how I know what that looks like.

Above all else, make sure your kiddo is happy, whatever that means for him/her.

And enjoy that happiness as much as you possibly can.

This birthday is unique. I imagine I’ll already see a big difference by Year 2, and eventually the bratty expectations and lists of demands will show up long before the day in question. (I’m drawing on memories of my own bratty expectations.)

But I figure I still have a good deal of time to practice saying things like,

“Yes, Braden, I know that Billy Patterson has one of those, but his father is a drug-dealer and closet-transvestite who pimps out his wife and burns his son with cigarettes. Do you want everything Billy has?”

Dear Braden

Braden,

It’s been a year since you’ve been outside of my womb, but you’ve been in my heart for 87 weeks. We found out about you on February 14, 2006. It was the best Valentine I’ve ever received.

It’s been a year since I held you in my arms for the first time and couldn’t believe I was touching you with my hands, for real. You were so tiny and perfect on that very first day.

A whole year has gone by since God trusted us enough to give to us a life to mold, a heart to hold, and a responsibility weightier than another other, to fulfill.

This past year, Braden, I have become a better, kinder, more thoughtful, happier, more centered, more careful, grounded person. I see everything differently. I appreciate everything more. Because of YOU. FOR you. As a friend of Daddy’s said, having a child makes you “see things rightly.”

You have accomplished so much this past year, Braden. I knew you would, but seeing it all happen before my very own eyes has been an experience like no other. Seeing you become has been a testament to God’s Creation for my soul.

During this year of your life on earth, my son, you have cheated (sickness can’t stop you), stolen (Momma and Dada’s hearts) and lied (your face isn’t the cutest possible… because it always gets more adorable tomorrow).

This year you have made your Momma so happy, so alive. You have topped every other accomplishment, event, situation, or experience I’ve had. There is nothing else in my past that I can compare to the glory that is being your mother.

It’s been the best year of my life, Braden.

Before you even existed as a tiny Wiggle Bean in the womb, I yearned for your life to spring up inside of me, and once I found out you were there, I was so anxious to meet you that I could have just burst. I had so many expectations and curiosities about you. You blew them all away, and the moment I saw you with my eyes the first time, I knew that I would give my life for you, without question, in an instant.

That will never change.

I love you, Braden. Happy First Birthday, my son.

Momma, Mommy, “Ehmmahhmmm”

Satan Created Teething

Yesterday and today have been lovely. Really.

On Sunday, Braden kept acting intensely clingy and cranky. You’d have thought someone had convinced him that if he acted as much like he was my ill-tempered, conjoined twin as was humanly possible, he’d win a bale of cotton candy. After several situations in which he melted down in a manner unlike him, I decided he must be having a teething session.

That afternoon, he picked up a toy, walked into the kitchen, and suddenly screamed, crumpling to the floor. He pushed his head into the linoleum and just cried. I was bewildered, and ran to get him. I assumed he was either in the process of sprouting horns, or must have just experienced some gum cutting. I checked his forehead, and saw nothing, so I decided it was the teething, and gave him some Acetaminophen.

At dinner that night, while he was opening wide for some Braden Burgers, I saw the new tooth. His lower, right lateral incisor had finally made an appearance. About time.

At bedtime, I gave him some Ibuprofen. He slept like a rock last night. Slept an hour later in the morning than usual, even. This behavior is a sign of the apocalypse. Or his body is going through a major overhaul. Considering all the talking he’s been doing lately, and the teething, it could be the latter.

Nah… I’m still thinking apocalypse.

Today was EVEN BETTER than yesterday. I thought (IDIOT.IDIOT.IDIOT) that he’d be much better today, since the tooth had broken the surface yesterday, and he’d had a lovely night of sleep.

HAHAHA!

I’m suspecting that the lower, right lateral incisor is causing him a lot of extra pain coming up, AND he’s also working on a lower, left cuspid. (I had to do some examining to come to this conclusion, which Braden thoroughly enjoyed. I almost had to use the Jaws of Life just to get in there.)

So, today, Braden basically decided that if he wasn’t at least 3 inches inside my butthole at all times, he was going to DIE.

It served me right, anyway, for wanting to do such ridiculous things.

Like pee when my bladder was full, or make myself something to eat.

OR BREATHE.

Activities that actually made him happy were things like yanking on my nose stud, flinging DVDs off the DVD tower, throwing his cup of apple juice across the kitchen, and whacking me in the face with his recorder flute.

I’m not stressed out about it at all.

But, I have decided that I don’t really want to put him in the closet when he’s like this, after all.

I want to go in there. Alone. And sleep.

Waking for Braden

Last night I awoke, at about 4:30 am, to mildly-annoyed-baby-whine sounds. Listening to the monitor intently for a moment, tapping into that special Baby Sound Meanings-Deciphering Super Power us mommies have, I decided Braden must be half asleep, but missing his paci.Sometimes, the sounds say, “I miss my paci… but it’s not a big deal, and in a few seconds, I’m gonna murmur off, back into deep sleep without it.” When they say that, I roll over and go back to sleep.

Sometimes the sleepy sounds say, “Uh-oh. I miss my paci. While I sound pretty deep asleep still, right now, if it doesn’t jump in my mouth soon, things are going to change pretty quickly.” When they say that, I’ve learned to get up quickly, walk quietly, search furtively, find the paci and plug the hole.

Of course, sometimes they say, “OMG, I’M NOT GOING TO MAKE QUIET, SLEEPY SOUNDS AT ALL! I JUST WOKE UP, MY PACI IS GONE, AND WE’RE GOING STRAIGHT INTO DEFCON-5! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Those are the nights when I really, really wish I hadn’t given up the sweet, sweet alcohol. (Because getting drunk while rocking a child back to sleep for the next seventy-eleven hours is a good idea. ? )

So, anyway, while I was standing by his crib reaching into the corner to retrieve The Paci, the soft glow of his crib-side light gave me one of those sweet glimpses of my Nighttime Braden. He was nestled near the corner of the crib right next to me, on his back, sleepily rubbing at one eye, with both eyes still shut. His blonde hair was falling back softly from his forehead. He had that, “I’m an angel in dinosaur pajamas” look. I sighed as I put the paci back into his little mouth, and listened to his sleepy, happy sucking sounds.

Back in bed, I spoke to him in my head for a few minutes.

“Braden, you have amazed me just recently.

I can’t believe how much you JUST changed on me again. I can’t believe how often you are talking to me, and that you’re asking me QUESTIONS!

I can’t believe that you can RUN and point at things and ask me, “Ish?” (this?) and “Wah-DAHT?”

I can’t believe that you spit out large paragraphs of garbled baby-language about the things I identify for you.

Braden, I’m just amazed by you and I don’t know how to tell you that. I still can’t believe that God decided to let you live with me.

But, you know what, Braden?

I hope He never changes His mind.”

The Great Breast-Fest or Facebook Blows

Yesterday I was reading Veronica‘s latest blog “The Great Booby Fest” over at her blogsite, Sleepless Nights. I learned that apparently Facebook has gone and removed pictures of women breastfeeding from user accounts on their site.

From ‘League of Maternal Justice:

[On October 10 at 10am, women around the US and Canada and - we hope - the world will breastfeed for justice. We'll nurse our babies or bottle-feed our babies or reminisce about doing either of those things and we'll post pictures and video, all together, and let the world know that there is no shame, only power, in caring for our children.

Spread the word by placing a button on your blog, and then set up your web cam to live broadcast on your blog on October 10 at 10am (your time). If you don't have a web cam, but have a video recorder, post some breastfeeding video! Load it up on YouTube and tag it "The Great Virtual Breast Fest" on October 10!]

Read the blogs at that site. See the whole story. It’s ridiculous. (There wasn’t even breast showing in the original banned photo.)

The woman that writes this blog: One Small Step for Breastfeeding…. is the one that had her photo banned and her ACCOUNT DELETED originally, but Facebook has continued deleting breastfeeding pictures now. (But they don’t even ban pedophiles!)

The removal of these pictures is another example of our society not being willing to accept the MORE THAN wholesome images of women nurturing their young the way nature and God intended.

It’s sick that provocative ads slap you in the face no matter where you turn (billboards alongside the road, ads on buses, TV, magazines, online, etc), promoting sex and pushing the idea that women should look and act sexy (read: slutty) all the time. Most of the time, thin, yet big-busted women are seen in ads wearing provocative clothing which reveals cleavage and leggage, leading to assage. Imagery in movies and tv shows isn’t any better.

Of course, we should all STRIVE to look this way, and be morbidly depressed if we don’t. In fact, if you have an ass at all, by the way, you can’t find a decent pair of jeans unless you shop at the “Fat Store.” More on that another day.

What I’m getting at here is how Tits and Ass are pushed in our faces all the time in the most UN-wholesome manner, and yet, when a woman wants to breastfeed in public there is such an outcry that you’d think she was masturbating in front of a crowd instead of FEEDING HER BABY.

It’s not right. Do you hear me? It’s Stupid, Sad, and Sick.

What kind of culture are we to support a vision of women that does nothing but treat them like second-class citizens? We women are held to ideals about our bodies which are near to impossible to achieve, we are expected to pleasure men willingly, and yet, if we do, are labeled as “loose” or “easy” (read: fun to party with, but not to marry?) and when we try to do what is right by our offspring, our beloved children, we are insulted and treated like criminals.

Breastfeeding moms are made to feel like they are doing something dirty; they are frowned at and talked down to, pushed into proverbial dark rooms and expected to feed their children in bathrooms, of all places! Even people who agree that breastfeeding is in the best interest of the child will tell you that they have no desire for a woman to do that in their presence.

[By Janet Fuchs Jackson:

If a woman breastfeeds with her whole breast out of the shirt, there's someone in the room wishing she would pull the shirt down a little more.

If she pulls her shirt down a little more, there's someone in the room wishing she would put a blanket over her side boob, or cleavage.

If she blankets her boob, there's someone wishing she would put the blanket over the baby's head.

If she blankets her baby, there's someone wishing she was in the corner.

If she moves to the corner, there's someone wishing she would face the wall.

If she faces the wall, there's someone wishing she would leave the room.

Can't please 'em all, so do what feels right to YOU, I say. But regardless of how you do it, keep nursing, ladies.]

To have such a stigma on a thing that is so RIGHT is disgusting.

Please, whenever you have the chance to stand up for Breastfeeding Moms, do it. Support them, and their children, whenever you can.

Please don’t think that you can’t offer your support if you’re not breastfeeding, or if you don’t have children. ANYONE can offer their support. Let’s make a difference whenever we can, as a society!

If you’d like to put a button, like this one:

 

Or even:

or one of the others, on your site, blog, or anywhere else, you can get the codes for them here.

If you’re a member of Facebook, and you’d like to join the protest group there, it’s at: Facebook Protest Group. You’ll have to login, of course.

And don’t forget the “Breast Fest” on October 10th, @ 10am!

Facebook needs to know that when there’s a picture of a mom breastfeeding her child, this is no different than a picture of a mom (or dad!) feeding, nurturing, or loving a child in any other way. Let’s tell ‘em.

Unexpected Situations

INSTRUCTIONS FOR CHILD REARING, Chapter 11
*Unexpected Situations, Part 3
*What to Do When Child Attempts to Eat Own ExcrementFather:
1.) Notice that your diaperless sweetheart just dropped a log on the carpet.
2.) Realize simultaneously that he is bending over to pick it up.
3.) FREAK OUT.
4.) Start screaming – begin in normal tone of voice, quickly ramping up to intense, shrill trumpeting – “no, No, NO, NO NOOO, NOOOOOO!!!!”
5.) Jump any obstacles and rush over, grabbing the child’s arm right before disaster strikes.
6.) Hold child up in mid-air, looking bewildered and disgusted.
7.) Run out of room with child, not sure where you are going.

Mother:
1.) Be startled by your husband screaming.
2.) Look to see what is going on.
3.) Laugh. A lot.
4.) Laugh some more.
5.) Point. LAUGH.
6.) Tell your husband to put the baby in the bath tub.
7.) Help clean the child, starting by wiping the chunk of Turd off of his lip.

People, no matter how smart you think your kid is everytime he does something that seems brilliant and amazing… an episode like this will leave you wondering about the adaptive qualities of putting everything in the mouth. I mean… do our kids REALLY need to learn about the world by tasting it? Can’t God just program in, “Don’t Eat Your Own Shit, Thanks.” ?

*sigh*

But…. it WAS funny. Heh.PS: No pictures on this one, sorry. I was afraid John might actually divorce me if I went and got the camera.

Braden James University

My son astounds me every day with his beauty.

How is it possible that this person came out of my body?

I have 2 degrees, a BA and an MA…. spent yearsandyearsandyears in school with my nose in books…. and I have learned more in the past 11 months than I ever did in a classroom.

My son reminds me of how important it is to laugh, sing, play, and love. What better lessons in life are there than these?