Pumping

Breastfeeding can do wonderful things for babies. It can also do some really weird things. Take Sam. He used to ask me to nurse his babies and animals. Then, after Jonah was born and we had a few conversations about how only mommies can make milk, he decided that his boobies make water. He's quite proud of this 'fact'. Today, we reached a new level of odd. Not only did he want to help me pump (that's old hat), HE wanted to pump. And he did ... twice. Of course, he insisted on the full rig being correct, and he pumped straight into a storage bag to freeze the water. Then, he filled a bottle with what he'd pumped (reality intervened temporarily and I had to actually fill the bottle from the tap) and proceeded to feed Jonah. To top it all off, he told me he wants his own pump in a backpack for Christmas. "People will call me 'backpack man' and I can pump."

There are bodies in my walls

He's our son...

Tonight, as I was getting Sam settled (after lights out and a bit of rolling around), he sat up and said 'My head hurts. Need holcola.' Given the events of the last 24 hours (he bumped his stitches this morning, and in general these days throws his body around) I was a bit concerned, and wondering whether he needed pain relief.

After a few minutes of trying to understand what 'need hocola' meant (said with increasing urgency), it finally dawned on me: "My head hurts. Need cholocate." No, sweetie - maybe for dessert tomorrow.

He's our son, alright. And his stiches aren't bothering him one bit.

first stitches

So Sam hit a milestone yesterday that I was hoping to avoid for another few years - first stitches. I mean, I know that stitches, casts, and copious bumps and bruises are part of life with boys but he's nit even thee yet! Anyway, long story short ... he got over-excited when daddy showed up to get hum from school yesterday, jumped/tripped off the front porch stair and went head-first into the sidewalk where, to make matters worse, he encountered a small rock. The rock won. Sam has SIX stitches holding a half-inch or so gash closed. According to daddy he was very calm and brave ... a brief burst of tears when he fell, and a bit of panic when they wrapped him in a sheet before stitching (think straight-jacket ... I'd freak out!), but that was all. When he got home last night, he proudly announced "Me bonked, mama!" For sure.

Sugar!!!

Forget Coke and Kool-Aid. When it comes to sugar drinks, Sam has found the ultimate ... 100% pure, natural Maple syrup. I know I probably use enough that I might as well drink the stuff, but I've never actually done it. This morning at breakfast, Sam picked up his 'dipping bowl' and took a swig. We told him that wasn't how it was done, but couldn't help laughing. So, of course, he looked hopefully at us and asked "Do it again?" Oh, no, no.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

Our family has changed (okay, so that was more than three months ago). Now, so has our blog.
Last night I read an article in the New York Times Sunday Magazine about 'high reactive' babies and genetic predisposition toward anxiety. I recognized a lot of Sam and, to a lesser extent, Jonah in the descriptions of 'high reactive' babies. For example: During a 45 minute battery of new stimuli, high reactive babies were often physically active and sometimes arched their backs and cried. Uh, yeah. You mean some of the babies just sat there? for 45 minutes? Were they drugged?
I also recognized a lot of myself. Like the period in fourth grade when I couldn't make it past second period without a trip to the bathroom to throw up, when I cried myself to sleep most nights worrying about school, when I had a total meltdown thinking my mom had been in a deadly car accident just because she was 20 min late coming home from taking my brother to school (I hadn't even been able to face school that day). She'd stopped for groceries.
I still occasionally stop myself in the middle of a silent rant about Jed's tardiness and think 'What if this time he's late b/c he's been in an accident? Then I'd feel like crap.' And unusual or unfamiliar symptoms can still spark rather melodramatic 'what if's.' But I usually keep them to myself and they rarely keep me up at night.
It was at about this point in my mental ramblings that I suddenly realized something: My kids have mellowed me out. A lot. I wouldn't necessarily describe myself as 'peaceful' (that was the alternative to anxious in the article), but I'm a lot closer than I was three years ago. And that surprises me.
It made me think about all the nights I spent singing 'Amazing Grace' to a colicy infant Sam while he cried on my shoulder. It's one of my favorite hymns, and I think I sang it as much to calm myself as to calm him. The idea that some higher power could wipe away my worrying has always evoked a longing in me. Maybe it's not a higher power I need.
So that's the story behind the new blog.