How Daniel Came: A Birth Story

I’ve discovered that, any possible writing skills aside,¬†I’m incapable of writing birth stories with any sort of artistry. This is pretty straightforward and “this happened then this happened” and far too long, but that’s okay. I don’t know that anyone other than me is actually going to read this anyway; if you do read to the end, it means you were actually interested (either in my life, or in birth stories in general) so good on you. There are pictures down there. And maybe once I get the whole thing down on paper I’ll be able to go back and do a revised version some day.

Oh, and as you get toward the end, I’m just telling it like it was and not bothering to clean up (censor) the TMI details, so if you don’t want to read about the gory details of how babies enter this world, proceed with caution! ūüôā

So, the last time I posted was 3 AM on January 28, and as you can see, it was a whole lot of “seriously, so done” whining. And I guess I really¬†was so done, because little did I know that we were just over 12 hours from meeting Baby Daniel!

I went back to sleep after that post and woke up a few hours later. I decided that since I was clearly never having this kid, I might as well make some other plans for the day… so I put on a comfortable dress and made plans to meet up with Mom to go to a fabric store and get supplies for a tied fleece blanket. Ryan was off work (still sick) so I asked him if he’d mind driving me to Mom and Dad’s house. After a little while, we had both of us, Henry, and the hospital bag (just in case — I just basically kept it with me everywhere I went at this point) in the car and were headed across town.

At that point, I was once again having some irregular contractions. This was about the fourth day that I’d had late morning/lunchtime contractions for about an hour, that ended up being nothing, so I didn’t think much about it.

As we approached my parents’ house, Ryan pulled into the Burger King parking lot and said he wanted to get something to eat, and asked what I would like. Despite not having eaten breakfast, I found that I was really not at all hungry. I didn’t feel bad, I just didn’t feel hungry. I also noticed that my contractions were getting a little more painful and weren’t tapering off like they had on previous days, but I still didn’t dare believe that they were “real” because of all the previous false alarms.

When we got to our destination, I got out of the car and discovered that the contractions were painful enough that I wanted to wait a moment before walking into the house. Ryan got Henry inside, and I went inside and sat down in the big chair in the living room. When Mom said hi from the next room, I told her that I actually wasn’t sure that we were making it to the fabric store that day. Until I had said that — and I didn’t know I was going to say it until I’d said it — I hadn’t realized that I’d started to believe it was showtime.

My sister and I had both been in a hurry to be born, so she immediately felt like it was time to load back up and head to the hospital, but after Henry’s 23-hour exit I couldn’t get my head around that idea. I stayed in the chair and began timing the contractions, saying that I wanted to wait until they’d been close and strong for an hour before doing anything. While I was sitting there, my contractions were between 5-10 minutes apart, and while I could still think and talk through them, I didn’t want to walk or anything when they hit. Finally I decided that I might as well text my midwife Kristi and give her a heads up. I guess it was just “that time” because as I was texting her, she called me to check in and schedule the induction for the following day.

When I told her about my contractions, she advised that we get Henry situated and head on down to the hospital. She told me that they’d monitor me for 20 minutes and then check my cervix, and then call her to come over (her office is literally minutes, on foot, from the L&D floor). She assured me that, even if this wasn’t “it,” she wouldn’t send me home since we were at 41 weeks 6 days and planning to induce within 24 hours anyway.

Mom called Meredith (my sister) to come help with Henry so that she could meet us at the hospital, and Ryan and I drove downtown. He pulled into the valet parking at the maternity/emergency entrance, but I was between contractions and told him I could wait in the lobby while he parked. At some point I told him how happy I was that it was daylight — I had really hoped to avoid being admitted in the middle of the night, as I found the hospital really depressing and kind of scary when we’d arrived after midnight for¬†Henry’s delivery. We were both still figuring on a long ordeal, so I told him to just park and come in, and not worry about the bag for now.

We went up to maternity triage and the nurse at the window asked what brought us there that day. In retrospect I’m sure she meant for me to give her some stats on my contractions, but her question just made my brain flatline. I¬†remember looking at her with kind of a “well, duh” look on my face and answering, “I think I’m having a baby?” Then she asked how far along we were, and when I told her, she went and got a different nurse and had her take over — guess that was alarming? ūüôā

They hooked me up to the monitor and left. It was clear that the maternity department was busy that day, and became more clear as 20 minutes came and went without them returning for the cervix check. As I lay there, my contractions became more painful and were steady at about 6 minutes apart. Finally, at over 40 minutes on the monitor — maybe an hour — Kristi¬†called me to see if I hadn’t gone to the hospital, since she hadn’t heard from triage. I told her we were still waiting, and she said she’d just come over and do it herself. Moments later she arrived, checked the contractions, and then checked my dilation. I was at 6 cm. She then said that she’d like to sweep my membranes to make sure that labor didn’t stop again, and I told her that I was completely okay with whatever she felt was best. She warned me that it could be quite painful, but it really didn’t seem to be especially uncomfortable. Then she asked me to take a 20 minute walk and return to triage, just to make sure the contractions kept going, and to give them a chance to get us a delivery room set up.

Mom had arrived by then, so the three of us took a walk up to the 8th floor, looked inside the “baby zoo” (big window to the nursery), stood around watching the clock for a few minutes, and headed back. By the time we returned to triage, I definitely couldn’t walk through contractions — and they were about 2 minutes apart!

Entering triage, we saw my friend Lisa, who had been the school nurse at the high school I’d worked at, and Wendy, who had been our superheroic nurse for Henry’s birth! Ryan later said that when he saw Wendy standing there, even though she wasn’t going to be our nurse, he felt like everything was going to be okay. We paused to talk to them for a moment, and then went back into our monitoring room to wait while they finished prepping a room.

And we waited… and waited…

I didn’t want to lie down, so I was sitting on the edge of the bed holding onto Ryan’s hands for dear life as strong contractions hit every couple of minutes. After a while, realizing that no one had come to help us yet, Wendy came in and said she’d take care of us while she was waiting for her patient to be ready. She and another nurse did my blood draw to check my anemia levels — my blood was great! — and then Wendy reminded me of the stupidly simple but critically effective technique of relaxing my forehead muscles to ease my stomach/pelvic muscles during contractions. That immediately helped my pain levels, and she helped Ryan support me through the next several contractions. Still, we waited and waited. I began to think that they were going to end up delivering a baby right there in triage!

Finally they came and said the room was ready. They asked if I could walk to my room and I told them that it would be better to have a wheelchair because I’d have to stop every minute. They wheeled me down into our labor/delivery room at about 3:50 PM. Ryan helped me change from my dress and leggings into a hospital gown while the nurse started the jacuzzi. Then she asked about a birth plan, and we had to say that it was still in the car because we’d thought we would have more time! Instead we ended up giving her the immediately important bullet points: no pain medication, would be interested in trying nitrous, jacuzzi for pain management, no family in room¬†except Ryan and Mom until it was all over. The only exercise/birthing ball that they had was enormous, so I tried to prop on it while the tub filled.

Then Ryan helped me into the jacuzzi and got the jets going — immediately felt much better, although the contractions still came strong and close together. I started off half on my knees resting forward, and that felt very good, but my legs started to fall asleep so I shifted and a couple of positions later ended up reclined in the tub much like you would be for a nice bubble bath —¬†not an ideal labor position — except that I was bracing myself against the end of the tub with my legs and clinging onto the grip bar with one hand and Ryan with the other. I felt far too warm, so the nurse brought a big bowl of ice water and washcloths, and I kept a cold washcloth on the back of my neck and on my upper chest, and sometimes on my face, while drinking what may have been crazy amounts of ice water. At some point Ryan got a text that his dad was at the hospital, so I had him send him out to the car to get the bag — mostly because I wanted a rubber band to tie my hair back with! I remembered the forehead trick, and it helped a lot. Then Kristi showed Ryan how to pour water on my stomach in rhythm with the contractions, and even though that sounded silly it helped a lot, too.

After a while — because time really becomes very elastic under these circumstances — I was having a strong contraction and felt my water break. Almost immediately the pain level went from a 9 to about a 12, and I went from “holding on for dear life in grim silence” mode to “couldn’t keep from vocalizing if I’d wanted to” mode. Kristi came and checked the bath water for signs of problems in the amniotic fluid, but it was clear.

Then things really kicked into high gear. The contractions were¬†so intense, and there was no break between them¬†— they were literally back-to-back. Even though I’d mentioned the nitrous to the nurse and Kristi several times, there was literally no time for me to use it as you’re supposed to use it between contractions to help you relax. (Probably just as well since¬†it never arrived in my room!)

At one point, Kristi and the nurse came in to the bathroom to check on me, and Kristi told the nurse that she thought I was pushing involuntarily. I hadn’t realized that was what was happening, but when she said so I instantly realized it was the case. With every contraction my stomach muscles (well, not really stomach muscles, but I’m not sure what else to call them) were convulsing and doing things without my intent or control over them. I could look down and see my belly trembling and rolling in the second part of every contraction.

(By the way, I have to pause here to say how different this part of labor was from Henry’s. I was so completely out of my head with Henry’s labor¬†(password is HGB). In 2013, I’d had my contacts out, so was completely blind, and was in a total meditative state. I’d been transported and disconnected by exhaustion, hunger, and pain management. This time, I’d started out the process midday, with makeup on and contacts in, and a night’s sleep behind me. I still experienced periods during Daniel’s labor when I wasn’t entirely focused on reality, but I was totally aware of everything and could see what was taking place. What a difference!)

Baby’s heartrate had dipped during that contraction, so Kristi told me that I had to get out of the tub between contractions. I wanted to tell her at this point “There¬†is no ‘between’ contractions” at this point, but the only thing I could say was “nooo,” so she and Ryan thought I was resisting leaving the tub. I wasn’t; I was ready to get out. I just couldn’t talk! She firmly told me that I was too getting out of the tub, and as soon as the current contraction faded she and Ryan grabbed me by both arms and hauled me upright. I got one leg over the side of the tub, had to wait through a contraction, and then got the other leg out before the next one peaked.

Then she told me that I was going to have my next contraction on the toilet. As soon as I could move, they helped me turn and sit on the toilet. Almost immediately another contraction hit, and it was a whole different beast. I honest-to-gosh thought I was defecating, only it was the world’s most horrifyingly painful poop — I had a distinct impression of being split in half up my body, complete with a visualization of a dark, bright-edged fissure cracking up from my groin to my shoulders. I believed that I was screaming, but Ryan later told me that I hadn’t been, so I guess I was just screaming in my head or something.

The nurse and Kristi told me that my next contraction was either going to be kneeling at the bed, or sitting on a birthing stool. I couldn’t answer, so Ryan said “bed” because it was the first thing they’d suggested. But as we left the bathroom, the birthing stool was closer, and that’s where I landed. They told Ryan to get behind me and support me in a slight recline, and then there was another moment of splitting in half, and then Kristi was grabbing my hand and helping me touch something that I realized must be the top of my baby’s head. Then another one of the horrible moments, followed by a sudden lessening of the pain, and then she had my hand again, and now I could feel that the entire head was out. Kristi told me “one more,” (as if I had any control over this process at this point — my body was in autopilot!) and then there was that amazing slithering twisting feeling and suddenly there was a crying baby in my arms. And just like that, the pain was gone and I felt amazing — wiped out and shaky like I’d just had a good workout, but still amazing.

There was a lot of blood — evidently upright births tend to be bloodier — and the $6 sports bra I’d worn was completely destroyed with it. Daniel was perfect. Kristi began to tell me something about the placenta, but then I had another practically inconsequential contraction and the damned thing just fell out of me. At that point they went ahead and clamped the cord, which was really no delay at all — this may be why Daniel ended up not having any jaundice, it turns out. Everything was happening on a tray right next to me as I still sat on the birthing stool, so I could see the umbilical cord and the blood they retained for testing, and I got to see the placenta as well.

Despite Daniel being 13 days “overdue,” my placenta was “beautiful”, there was no meconium in the ample amniotic fluid, and Daniel was perfectly healthy. On the flip side, my “probably 8 pounds at most” baby weighed 9 lb 6 oz, was 22 inches long, and had a head circumference of 15.75 centimeters — height and head size both in the 99.9th percentile!

I was helped to the bed and made comfortable, and Kristi examined me for tearing. She told me that I was pretty torn up down there, but that it was a multitude of minor abrasions with two slightly worse tears at front and back, and that if I were okay with it she would recommend not suturing. I was definitely on board with that, and was later glad we made that call as my recovery in that particular regard was much faster and less uncomfortable than it had been the first time around (which had included stitches).

If you recall back earlier in this far-too-long post, we entered our labor and delivery room at 3:50 PM, prepared for another lengthy ordeal. I quickly lost track of time after that, so I was pretty much flabbergasted to learn that Daniel had been born at 5:18 PM — less than ninety minutes afterward! While Henry’s 23-hour labor had been a true marathon, Daniel’s was a brutal sprint… and believe¬†me, I recommend the latter!

It’s an awfully good thing that I had planned for a second unmedicated birth, as there simply was not any time to administer any pain medication. Ultimately, the only thing I ever had was some¬†over-the-counter ibuprofen later that night. The worst side effects I experienced were unrelated to the actual birth; my hand remained sore and bruised for several days where they’d had to draw blood for the anemia check, and my cough worsened to a point where it was causing me pain “in my aggrieved region” and ramping up to bronchitis, so Kristi prescribed some codeine cough syrup that made me feel so stoned that I never took any but the first dose. I felt like my physical healing went more quickly than the first time around, although I did have some setbacks related to parenting a Junior Hulk toddler and have had to take it easier than I’d like to.

Maybe the hardest thing has been that Ryan had to use up half of his “paternity leave” on being sick before the actual birth, and my parents have been saddled with a house situation that had to be addressed right now, and that on top of the “second birth is no big deal” thing has kind of resulted in me being emotionally and literally¬†on my own a lot. I think that’s slowed down my emotional recovery, although now by¬†3 weeks out I am beginning to feel more myself. It is kind of sucky, though! I haven’t had any coworkers/work friends¬†contact me directly to ask how I’m doing, which is kind of depressing but not especially surprising, and my social life has deteriorated to the point that the only people who act like friends are the lovely ladies of my book club, half of whom have had or are about to have second or third babies at the same approximate time as I did! So they get it. Bringing a newborn home to a toddler, especially one as passionate as Henry, is h-a-r-d, and now that I’ve been both I think 2nd time moms may need more support than first-timers!

I am glad, though, that Daniel is my second baby. He is much clingier and needier, and I am able to relax and not worry about that in a way that I wouldn’t have been able to the first time around. It’s good to know that things are okay and that I don’t have to respond to the baby within the first two seconds that he cries — especially given that this is liable to be the exact same moment that the toddler is shrieking and the dog is demanding to go outside! Haha.

Channeling my inner “16 and pregnant” here, I guess — everyone says I look 15 in this picture, which is pretty great considering I’m 35!

Bright eyes ‚̧

Little Boy Blue

So despite what 4-5 out of 9 stupid online quizzes had to say, Baker Baby #2 is apparently a little brother!

All the appropriate body parts accounted for, no visible abnormalities, healthy squirmy kiddo all the way around. Long legs that he likes to put over his head. ūüôā

ultrasound

Both times, with Henry and now with “Gotham”, I’ve come away with a lot of different thoughts and feelings. One that struck me this time was that I wondered what our OB* thought of our reactions. Logically, I suppose he probably doesn’t care one way or another — I imagine people have a wide range of emotions in those moments. But I can’t help but wonder if we are reacting in a…..¬†normal way? I have heard many stories of exaltation, tears, etc. — of big emotional reactions as the machine reveals whether the family in question will be welcoming a little boy or a little girl. And we don’t outwardly do that. I know we are feeling big emotions, but something about that environment and that moment brings out the quiet “huh!” in me. Like, “huh! that’s interesting”… I just find myself without anything to say to this guy who is basically a stranger as he prods my belly and tries to get me to decipher the between-the-legs shot for myself.

Oh, and so with Henry, it was so incredibly obvious exactly what flavor of child he was. The very first shot was right between the legs. And with “Gotham” the OB kept trying to get us say what the gender was, and we were both just like, “um, could you just say a pronoun now?” We couldn’t tell at all! So for the first day or two I think I was telling everyone “Well, according to the doctor, it’s a boy……” I never did really see it with my own eyes!

Anyway, so it turns out that “Gotham” is a boy. According to the doctor.

And I honestly thought that I had been telling people the truth when I said that I didn’t have a preference for a boy or a girl, so I was pretty surprised when I realized that that wasn’t actually the case. I had a little bit of a rough 24 hours there, and if you’ve ever had the dubious pleasure of experiencing pregnancy hormones you can just imagine what that might have looked like. The worst of it was feeling like absolute scum for feeling¬†any sort of sadness over being pregnant with a beautiful, healthy baby of¬†any gender — after all of the months and years of fearing I’d never have my babies, while knowing all of these people who haven’t yet, or won’t ever, have theirs.

And then I got over it and now I’m unambiguously happy and excited.

I mean, I felt a bit of a pang when I walked into the Old Navy baby section and saw clothes in the most¬†seriously adorable pink buffalo plaid, because COME ON,¬†pink buffalo plaid? Is there anything more amazing? Why isn’t this in my size?

pinksuit

But it’s okay, because they had the exact same adorable little suit in a blue buffalo plaid, and it came home with me.

blue buffalo plaid suit

This is Gotham’s second little warm thing for when he arrives in January. The first came from his Grandmommy, who knows¬†exactly what a little Gotham needs:

gotham suit

I am wishing that I could find the “big brother” correspondent to this cute pair of navy-and-orange jammies:

little brother

We don’t need a ton of clothes for Gotham, since he has a very fashionable big brother, but Henry was tiny in fairly warm months and Gotham will be tiny in January/February — which is bitterly cold around here — so I’ll enjoy collecting a few little warm fuzzies for him. I do the vast majority of my baby/toddler shopping at consignment shops but couldn’t resist hitting a few Labor Day sales this weekend!

Sidenote: Now that the gender is known, people are very interested in what name(s) we might be considering. I would like to direct those folks to some of our previous thoughts. ūüôā

* I am seeing a fantastic certified nurse midwife, but she shares a practice with an obstetrician who is very talented with the ultrasound machine, so he runs that aspect of things.

 

Pink or Blue, Part Two

gender-revealAlmost three years ago, I wrote a blog post about the silly futility of trying to predict the gender of a not-yet-born baby without the benefits of modern technology. We were getting close to time to find out whether¬†we were having a blue or a pink, and I made a vague sort of guess that he (because it was a he, we’d find out later) was a boy because I couldn’t come up with any boy names that I loved. By that logic, we’re definitely cooking up a girl this time — I’m ready to name a boy but can’t settle on any girl names! Still, that’s hardly any way to figure it out, so tomorrow — hopefully — we’ll find out the new-fangled way.

In the meantime, though, I thought I’d go back to that 2012 blog post and try out some of the same gender predictors to see what they had to say this time around. Last time, I took 8 online gender prediction quizzes. Four said I was going to have a boy, and four said I was going to have a girl. How do we do this time around?

So as you can see… totally conclusive! Fifty/fifty, just like last time!

Obviously, I need a tiebreaker. Fortunately, the Me of three years ago planned for this occasion and wrote her very own gender prediction quiz based on highly unscientific nonsense (sample question: How many freckles are on your right hand?). I just took it and got the following result:

Your result: Girl!

You are going to have a child of the anatomically feminine persuasion.
Start stocking up on baseball bats, shotguns, and other devices to repel unwanted suitors.

There you have it, friends. Gotham is scientifically proven to be a girl. Or something.

1b65cc2c254090d25e40993698542346

I guess we’ll see what the fancy schmancy machine has to say about that in the near future.

Baker Addition FAQ

Wait… you’re pregnant?

So they tell me. I hope they’re right; I’d hate to think my current physique is entirely the result of ill-advised quantities of pizza. It’s possible, though.

When are you due?

According to Arbitrary Birth Calendar, we’re looking at January 15. Did you know that 40 weeks is merely the¬†average length of gestation, not the “correct” length? Apparently a lot of OBs don’t know that, hence a ton of unnecessary inductions. Big Brother was a good eleven days past his ETA so I’m figuring “mid to late January” is a pretty good answer. [Read a bit about the 40-week myth here or many other places.]

How have you been feeling?

The first trimester was a little rough (in comparison to not-pregnant me, not in comparison to people who get well and truly miserably ill during pregnancy). I was exhausted and nauseated pretty much all day, although I could manage it fairly well with snacking. I actually had worse¬†evening sickness than morning sickness. As with Henry, I didn’t actually vomit until the start of my second trimester. At almost exactly the second trimester mark, the nausea shut most of the way off and was replaced with my old maternity friend, Crushing Heartburn and Indigestion. My midwife suggested chewable papaya tablets and I was shocked to find that they actually work better than Tums. I feel stronger and healthier now, although when the exhaustion hits it¬†really hits, and the stomach upset is often worse, although for shorter periods of time. And since I started the “waking up all night to use the bathroom” routine waaaay earlier this time around, there’s a little bit of sleep loss in there too — although after having a newborn, I’ll never complain about four hours of sleep at a stretch again!

Wait… in that answer, did you say “midwife”?

I did! The OB who I saw with Henry left the practice, and his erstwhile partner replaced him with an awesome Certified Nurse Midwife. So not only do I have the benefit of a care provider who better fits what I want in my pregnancy and delivery, but she’s got an in-house OB right there in case of complications. Best of both worlds! [If you watch this video, you can “meet” my midwife at about the 2 minute mark.]

So other than papaya tablets, any other weird cravings or aversions?

Let’s be clear: I don’t exactly like the papaya tablets. But they taste better than Tums.

The main thing I’ve been experiencing, food-wise, is trouble finding anything that tastes very good. As with Henry, I’m gravitating toward really flavorful (read “spicy”) food. Most recently, Sonic’s Cheddar Peppers have been a pretty reliable¬†source of calories. (So good for my heartburn, too. Haha.)

I completely lost my taste for coffee, which is a tragedy, and I can’t stomach soda unless it’s a fountain drink on ice. Seltzer/soda water with lime (or other) juice has been an absolute lifesaver. I’ve enjoyed Dasani Sparkling, Schweppe’s flavored seltzers, and¬†Canada Dry flavored seltzer, but the very best is plain soda water from a fountain drink dispenser with the juice of about five lime slices squeezed in.

What I¬†really¬†want to eat is Jimmy John’s. Boooo, listeria. That, and a really good margarita. Oh well. Worth it.

You called Henry “Kermie” until his name was official; what’s this one’s nickname?

Gotham.

gotham

So do you know it’s a boy?

As of right now, all we really know is that he or she might be an alien.

Yes, that's actually him/her. Bad enough before I rotated it and made it green, huh, Ryan? :)

Yes, that’s actually him/her. Bad enough before I rotated it and made it green, huh, Ryan? ūüôā

How far apart will Henry and Gotham be?

Rarely more than fifty feet, I’d guess… oh, you mean age-wise? My bad. Henry will be a little more than three months shy of being 3 years old when Gotham makes his/her grand entrance.

Are you hoping for a girl this time?

Gotham¬†would make an excellent name for a little girl, don’t you think?

Do you have any real names picked out yet?

I’m still pulling for a Xerxes or a Hurricane.

What’s the best thing about being pregnant?

Getting to wear stretchy pants and snugger shirts that show off my belly without feeling like I seriously need to go on a diet or something. I love the way I look when I am pregnant!

What’s the worst thing about being pregnant?

Unexpected sneezes. And if you don’t know what I’m talking about, count yourself lucky.

How is the second pregnancy different than the first?

Lord have mercy on all pregnant women who have toddlers. I’ve been at home with Henry this summer while Ryan teaches summer school, and Henry is a very willful and high-energy kid, and that can be tough to wrangle when you’re exhausted, overheated, and nauseated. Some days I count it as a triumph if I actually put in my contacts, much less getting dressed!

The flip side of that is, I don’t have as much time, etc., to dwell on this pregnancy. When I was pregnant with Henry, there wasn’t a single second of the day that I wasn’t on some level thinking about the baby-to-be. I would talk to him¬†(usually in my head, because gestating babies are telepathic, doncha know) all day. This time,¬†every so often I remember that there’s a baby in there! Which means I had to have forgotten! I’m unendingly conscious of my own bodily changes and discomforts, but their root cause gets pushed to the background by all the Henryness. (Should that be Henriness? Possibly…)

Are you excited?

Sooooo excited.

Is Henry excited?

Henry is excited by Sesame Street characters, Thomas the Tank Engine, unsupervised cell phones, and peanut butter treats. He is, as far as I can grok, utterly oblivious to future threats arrivals.

What questions — serious or silly — didn’t get addressed? Ask them and I’ll add them!

 

 

Posting Every Two Months Or So

How do mommybloggers do it? When do parents find time to write? I swear, every drop of my creative energy is poured into being totally interested in the Best Toddler Ever.

It’s been months since a real post. I don’t even know where to begin. I guess I’ll do a quick(ish) update on H’s talking.

We had to miss a speech therapy appointment due to a time conflict, and then our therapist is having surgery, so it’s been a while since she and H have met. Somewhere in there, I guess H just decided that he didn’t really need that stuff anymore, and started yakking. I mean, it’s not like he suddenly opened his mouth and started reciting Shakespeare, but sort of out of the blue he began connecting sounds and gestures to communication, and that was all she wrote. You could almost see it clicking as he figured out that the noises and movements people were making meant something, and that he could get things that he wanted if he did little things like taking our hands and leading us to the object of his desire.

It kind of seems like forever ago (early to mid March) that I was playing with him up in his room, and he turned to his wooden alphabet puzzle and shuffled through the pieces. Then he very deliberately found the Q, held it up, and said “Q!” I froze, shocked; he did it again, with about a third of the letters. How the heck did he learn his alphabet? This is NOT something we’d been trying to teach him! I guess it’s all of the toys and PBS shows… he does love Super Why… We played with this with him and discovered that if we sang the alphabet song and stopped at the natural breaks, he’d tell us the next letter. We never did get a great video, but his enthusiastic “Q!” and “thee-you-thee” (T-U-V) would melt your heart.

And then he turned into a little myna bird (do you, I always thought that was spelled “mynah” until just now, but apparently not), copying back everything anyone said. It started with little things, and then whammo! Everything!

Out of nowhere — and really, no one coached him on this, it was bizarre — he started saying, “Be happy!” So of course we had to jump on that and teach him to say it in response to, “Don’t worry”… and then he started saying that, and that was adorable and silly. Kid can’t say mama and daddy but he knows Bobby McFerrin.

He also sings “choo choo!” at relevant points during “The Chatanooga Choo-Choo,” punctuates the rubber ducky song with appropriate “ba-do-ba-do” and “foh foh foh-de-oh”s, sings parts of “C is for Cookie,” and does a passable Ernie laugh.

On April 11 we were at the bookstore and he was running laps around the picture book section. I was tired and hoping I could get him to settle down for a few minutes, so I picked up a brightly-colored Wonder Woman ABCs board book and called him over. I’m thinking maybe he’ll consent to letting me hold him and read a few pages, but instead he grabs the book away from me, opens it to a random page, points to the large yellow T, and says, “T!” He flipped the pages and I kid you not read every single damn letter in that book. Not the little words, and I guess it’s not too startling that he could recognize letters in a book if he could recognize them in his puzzle, but I was blown away. Since then he’s picked out letters in EXIT signs, television shows, and t-shirts. I keep telling him that he needs to learn to brush his teeth and use a toilet before he has to learn to read, but he’s not interested in my opinion.

This week he’s figured out animal sounds. I guess it’s not that impressive, given his age, that we can bray and he’ll say “donkey,” or we whinny and he says “horse,” but it’s such a huge improvement that it feels to us like he just got his Mensa membership. As of this morning he has monkey, donkey, horse, pig, sheep, cow, dog, and cat. He knows eyes, ears, and nose. He says “uh oh” and “okay” and “oh no” and “hi” and “okay guys” and “kiss” and “bye bye”. Once he said “okay go bye-bye be happy” as we were walking to the car. He says “shoe — feet” and “step up/step down,” except it usually sounds like “sh*t” instead of “step,” but we’ll take it.

He seems so happy. I mean, he’s always loved it when he realizes he’s entertaining. He likes to make people smile and laugh and applaud, and he gets a lot of positive reinforcement when he speaks. If only he knew how happy it will make me the day he says “mama” instead of just knowing what it means!

Also, it might be good for him to learn a few other useful words. I mean, sure, “monkey” comes in pretty handy, but names and things like “milk” or “fix” would probably make his life easier. I know it is my fault that he doesn’t know my name; he’s never had to annoy me to get my attention, or call for me from across the house. I’m too attentive to him, but I don’t regret it. I just really like being in his presence. And I figure he’ll come up with something to call me eventually. ūüôā

More Consignment Clothes

Kate the consignment shopper strikes again!

First, if you remember, last time I was making fun of the crazy expensive baby pants people buy — well, I found myself a pair for $3!

corduroy pants

These pants, or similar ones of the same brand, are selling for $45 new, and this particular pair looks like it’s been worn about twice… goodness.

Here are some more:

moose overalls

adorable lined moose overalls

gray fleece jacket

gray fleece jacket

shearling lined flannel shirt

shearling lined flannel shirt

Children's Place dress shirt

Children’s Place dress shirt

thick orange sweater

heavy orange sweater

striped zip-up sweater

striped zip-up sweater

argyle cardigan

argyle cardigan

red hoodie with helpful kitty

red hoodie with helpful kitty

turquoise hoodie (I know it doesn't look like it)

turquoise hoodie (I know it doesn’t look like it)

orange REI fleece vest (pre-laundering)

orange REI fleece vest (pre-laundering)

black velvet dress vest

black velvet dress vest

d'Artagnan likes the monster booties

d’Artagnan likes the monster booties

Two kitties

Two kitties

 

There’s a cute dragon sweatshirt, too. I don’t have a clear idea of what H is going to be for Halloween, but we’ve got a couple of cute things to play with, anyway. ūüôā He makes a very cute black kitty cat!