Monday Morning Odds and Ends :)

I lack the time or energy to post a full post, but have some things I feel I need to put out there so as not to forget them.

1. Ten years ago today, P and I went on our first date. We were seated in the worst seat in the restaurant -- right next to the door of the kitchen. If nothing else had been, that itself would have been memorable. That said, I don't think either one of us could possibly have anticipated where it would lead. But here we are, ten years later. I love you, P!
2. When Harry was still coughing last Monday and hadn't eaten more than a couple of real meals in weeks, P took him to the doctor. Despite not having had a fever (except one day the week before) and not having had any disruptions to his sleep, and not acting in pain (aside from the not eating), it turned out he had an ear infection. So he went on antibiotics.
3. Since then, the cough has gone away.
4. Yesterday, though, was the first day he really seemed to be back to normal. For breakfast, he ate two bowls of cheerios and a cup of pineapple. For lunch, a grilled cheese and grapes. For snack, graham crackers, a few goldfish, and part of a peppermint patty (yeah, he had candy for a snack -- sue me). And dinner was a veggie dog, kidney beans, more pineapple, and mandarin oranges. For weeks, all he's been willing to eat is goldfish, graham crackers, and fruits and veggies. I made a chicken noodle casserole, and he picked out the mushrooms and broccoli and ate them and left the rest behind. I realize a lot of parents would be thrilled if this were their problem with their kids' eating habits, but it's disconcerting when your child only consumes 100-200 calories a day -- they can only eat so much broccoli. Also, the usual suggestions don't work for combatting this problem, since you can't really hide chicken in a blueberry or grains in a mushroom.
5. Harry's language has really exploded over the past month or so. He finally says both mama and dada, along with a ton of other new words, many of which are quite weird. For example, he can name the "sea star" on his high chair (and also likes to point out all the "bubbles"). And he's quite fond of "backhoes." He says "cheese!" for the camera. He asks for "books" in general and some by name (or parts thereof). And he knows certain parts of books by sight or by anticipation -- he knows what nine dogs do on a moonlit night, and when the gorilla gets caught in the bed by Mrs. Zookeeper, he says "uh-oh" then he does a funny laugh (a heh-heh) in response to the gorilla's grin on the next page (he also snores when the mouse wishes the gorilla goodnight at the end). He says "bu-bye" and waves even if no one is going anywhere. And he gets very frustrated when he wants to go "ow-sye" but it's cold and he isn't wearing a coat. He decided that one of the cats at my in-laws will be "kitty" and the other "cat." (Also called kitty was the dead possum at the far end of our street -- I hope someone calls animal control. If it's still there tomorrow, I'm calling, whether P thinks it's our responsibility or not (we live at the start of a dead end-- the "kitty" is in the dead end part, in front of someone else's house).) I think we can put to rest the overly-cautious-pedi's concerns regarding speech delay.
6. I wonder whether the language explosition is purely developmental or whether moving him to a different daycare two days a week played a role. I think the other kids play with/talk to him more at his new place, and I think he engages in more of the group activities there rather than wandering off to play with trucks. That, however, is another post entirely.
7. Last night during Harry's bath, Harry and P were singing Old MacDonald. Harry was actually singing the E-I-E-I-O part, as well as naming the occasional animal (his choice is pretty much always duck) and saying the sound of most of the animals Old MacDonald had on that farm. Of course, he didn't want to stop singing for bedtime, but it was pretty darn adorable. He has sang before, but it's pretty much been limited to the "quack, quack, quack" part of Six Little Ducks.
8. Twenty-seven weeks tomorrow. That seems crazy. I can't believe it's March.

Friday Night Leftovers

I've been a horrific, absentee blogger for ages and hope jumping in with Danifred and company will help get me out of this rut.

• Thanks for all the suggestions on the sippy cup dilemma. We tried a lot of them. Collectively, they worked. Spitting stopped. Hooray! Now we just need to deal with the depositing of food over the side of the tray (soooo glad we have a dog).
• Many people have posted on the subject of double strollers, and we have read those posts and comments and have gotten tons of advice from people IRL and on Facebook, but I'm still overwhelmed by having to think about it. We need something that we will be able to push without great difficulty up hills and over rough terrain (our neighborhood is hilly and has crappy sidewalks). But I also want something that I can snap an infant seat into. And Harry will be too young for a jumpseat. We end up with a bunch of expensive choices. And nothing good seems to come up on Craigslist around here. I've been thinking about biting the bullet and buying the Duallie using the 20% off coupon I just got from BRU (which I think can be used on the Bob). But I'm having paralysis issues.
  
• I hate the Dominos "puffery" ad because it's weird and makes no sense (I'm tempted to drone on about this, but no one cares). I also hate that ad because it makes me want pizza.
• I think Harry has been sick since late August. It's been one cold or another, one after another, with a stomach bug throw in for good measure. The doctor said as long as he gets better between, it's fine. But his most recent "better" stints have been 2-4 days each. Is that really better?
  
• Work was completely crazy in January, but now I'm back to having nothing to do. I've been trying to take advantage of the time, though, doing a little genealogy work, which I've been neglecting for a long time, and trying to relax a bit. I'm guessing I'll get fired at my review in May in the days leading up to maternity leave. Awesome.
  
• With Harry, my placenta was in the front, so I didn't feel much for a long time. This time, it's in the back, and this child is crazy active. What is going on in there?
• All of a sudden, Harry has a lot to say. I'm just not always sure what it is.

At My Spit's End

I can't take it anymore. I feel like I spend half my day handing Harry his cup, watching him spit, saying no, wrestling the cup from his hands, and wiping milk off everything in sight. It's gotten to where he asks for his cup, then starts raspberrying before I even hand it to him. It has been MONTHS now. And I have no idea what to do anymore.

When I have asked folks for advice, they always tell me to say no and take it away, which is what we've been doing with no success. Or they say that it means he isn't really thirsty, except that he is begging for his cup and cries and cries when it is taken away. Or that he is testing us to be sure we'll be consistent in our response, except that we have been consistent for months and he hasn't stopped. (And I feel like the harder we try (including prohibiting raspberries when not drinking), the worse it gets (fifteen minutes of non-stop raspberries).) Or that he'll outgrow it -- when? when he's 40? Months, people, it's been months. Someone must have experience dealing with this successfully after the aforementioned efforts have failed. Please help!

Honestly, I feel like we are reliving the biting-while-nursing issue (which never got resolved), but in a way that is thankfully far less painful to me physically but which is bringing up some old emotional wounds.

Um, Yeah

So, some of you emailed to ask and therefore already know this, others do not. Sorry for going offline for a couple of months. I know it looked like I went PWP and didn't tell anyone. The reality was that I was the only one with the password. I inadvertently exposed myself to someone IRL who I didn't really want reading along and therefore wanted to find a way to keep posting but have it be temporarily private. I didn't mean to keep it that way for so long.

There are posts throughout the "private period," and some previously unpublished drafts that predate it. If you read in a reader, you may have just had them all released to you. If not, you may need to go back. The first former draft was September 29. There are a couple from early October. After that, I was offline, so it's all new to the rest of you.

Again, sorry for going offline and especially for doing so in a way that may have made some people feel as though they were left out -- it wasn't about any of you, and no one else was not left out (if that makes sense). I'm glad to have those of you who are still reading back in my life. :)

EDITED TO ADD: You may want to read the posts from oldest to newest, if possible. Otherwise, you may be in for some, um, surprises.

Fifteen Months, Medically

Harry's fifteen month appointment was today. He is certainly a big kid -- 32 inches and 26 pounds 2 ounces with a 48 cm noggin. This puts him around the 75th percentile across the board, though I think he is actually longer than 32 inches -- for some reason, the measuring made him very angry and I think the nurse just wanted to get it over with.

Our doctor's daughter was born on Harry's first birthday, so she was on leave for his 12 month checkup. She wasn't expected back until January, but because the baby came early, her leave began early, so she came back early, so our appointment with the doctor we saw in September was rescheduled to one with her, which we were happy about. Then yesterday, we got a call that she was going to be out for the day, so we got rescheduled with some other random doctor. Let me just say that had we met with her when interviewing doctors, we would likely have chosen a different practice. I like our pedi because she's pretty laid-back and non-alarmist. Not so this woman.

So, though it bothers me a little, I have tried not to make a big deal about the fact that while Harry has a few words (and uses them a lot), none of them is mama or dada. And it's not because he has come up with some other thing to call us. He doesn't call either of us anything. He know both that the dog is dog and that his name is Buddy (or budzz, as it sounds coming out of Harry's mouth), but neither of us is worthy of a name. Again, it makes me a little sad, but I haven't worried much. Not so this doctor.

Harry has now been officially diagnosed as having a mild speech delay. Not just in their files, but in the forms for daycare. All because he only has seven words at 15 months and because none of them is mama or dada. She also made me fill out the M-CHAT, which seemed a bit aggressive, especially given my answers to her other questions (like that Harry is very affectionate, he gives hugs and kisses, he plays peekaboo, he pushes cars on the floor and says "vroom vroom" (rather than just banging them or spinning the wheels), that while he doesn't imitate words/word-sounds, he does imitate funny sounds). She also wanted to put him on antibiotics because he had some fluid in his ears, even though he is just getting over a cold and hasn't had a fever and while they were a tinge pink they were not at all red. I got her to agree to wait and see -- if he seems to be in pain or develops a fever, we'll call immediately; if not, we'll bring him back in two weeks for a checkup.

Does she seem very aggressive to anyone else? Or am I in denial?

Fifteen Months

Dear Harry,

Mommy's camera died and for some reason that resulted in no fourteen month letter. I'm sorry :( I'm especially sorry because a lot happened that month. You went from taking a step or two, to doing the Frankenwalk across the room, to walking full time. We went apple picking and visited a pumpkin patch and took a hay ride, which may have been the highlight of your young life. You were so excited to be up close and personal with a tractor. You took your first trip to the Aquarium. On Halloween, you went to your first football game with us and Papa and Grandma P, where you saw Mommy and Daddy's alma mater beat Papa's. That night, you were a monkey for Halloween. We pushed you in your red wagon, then you got out and pushed the wagon for a while. It was unseasonably warm, so we regretted not outfitting you in the Bam-Bam costume we planned, which we called off because we thought you'd be cold, but instead you got sweaty in your warm, snuggly monkey outfit. As you will someday learn, hindsight is always 20-20. The next weekend, we went to see Aunt K and Big Papa to celebrate Big Papa's 93rd birthday.

The camera is still broken but we've done our best to use the older camera. I'm sorry there aren't many good pictures from this month, but we'll hopefully have the good camera fixed and home soon.

This month, we celebrated Thanksgiving with Papa and Grandma P and three of your uncles. Everyone wanted to find good toys for you, so Uncle T went to the basement and hunted around for his own toys from when he and Mommy were kids, and we got out our old blocks, and you had a ton of fun. We discovered that you love cranberries, but not turkey. It was a rather bizarre discovery. Thanks to you, we actually had dinner at a reasonable hour for once, which you may one day discover is a rare occasion with Papa. Though it was later than promised, so you had to go right to bed when you were done eating all those cranberries. The next day, we had Thanksgiving Part II with Grandpa and Grandpa and Auntie T and Great-Grandpa. You mainly ate Grandma's cinnamon bread, which I think is what most of us would do if we were fourteen months old and people let us do that. Grandma also gave you your second haircut. You look fabulous. The next day, we took advantage of the warm weather and went to the park to swing and go down the slide and explore the tunnels (and show off the new haircut).

You had your second ever visit with Santa this month. Last year, you were less than two months old (as we went on Veteran's Day), so we didn't expect much. This year, you were about equally non-plussed. No tears, but no smiles either. The best photo was one with you two looking at each other. It may end up as our Christmas card if we can't get a better one before we need to order them.

Yesterday, we got our Christmas tree! It was cold -- very, very cold. We bundled you up in your much-hated coat and hat and gloves and wrapped a blanket around you in the stroller. But your cheeks still got red, so we tried to pick quickly. I think we ended up with our best tree yet -- not just our best in your lifetime but the best your dad and I have had in our ten Christmases together. Hopefully we'll decorate it soon. But it looks great as-is. We didn't manage to get an official monthiversary shot this month, but we did take some photos by the tree, so one of those is the header for this letter. I hope that's okay. We'll try to do a real one in January!

Finally, last night we took you to Zoolights at the Stone Zoo. It was a little underwhelming, but it was nice to get out and do something different and in the holiday spirit. The lights were nice, and you liked the animals you were able to see, few as they were. We took pictures, but we used a film camera and haven't had them developed yet. Film camera -- that must be a totally foreign concept to you :)

I'm excited for the upcoming month. We will celebrate Christmas, and we won't be doing it in the car! Hooray! We should also get some time to spend together -- a whole week with nothing to do but enjoy one another's company. And I'm really looking forward to it.

All my love,

Mommy

Thanksgiving: The One Where I Lose It

It got worse. P spent Wednesday afternoon making the mashed potatoes. Wednesday night, we put Harry to bed in the car and drove to my brother's house and transferred Harry to the pack and play. The three of us then each took a item and prepped the beans, which I then cooked. Thursday, we headed to my dad's. My stepfamily showed up in the early afternoon, and my stepbrothers immediately planted themselves in front of the TV, where they proceeded to spend the entire day.

While P attempted (unsuccessfully) to get Harry to take a nap, I began working on stuffing and sweet potato casserole. My brother helped by washing things when I finished working with them. The stepbrothers would occasionally wander in to get a new beer but never offered to help. It was a long day in the kitchen. The only contribution either of them made was that my dad explicitly asked one of them to stir the gravy, which he did, but he didn't look happy about it. They did manage to contribute very large appetites, eating an enormous amount of food. Possibly because they were rather stoned.

The following morning, my dad asked if anyone was particularly committed to having turkey leftovers. We said we'd take some if it wasn't a hassle but we weren't especially committed. It turned out that he was hoping to re-roast the half of the bird that was not yet carved some night when my brother was over for dinner. His wife stated that she and her boys wanted leftovers. Seriously? You contribute essentially nothing and you insist on leftovers?

They also insisted on pie. My dad divided up what remained of the pie, putting some in a box for him, some in a box for the boys and some in a box for us. When we were getting ready to leave, I asked my dad for our pie. He pointed to an empty spot on the counter, then realized that the boys had taken not only their pie but also ours.

Fuck that. Really? You contribute nothing, you insist on having leftover turkey even though it's inconvenient for the person who prepared it, and then you steal the leftover pie of the people who made 90% of the food? FUCK YOU!! Yeah, I was and am pissed. I called my stepmother to tell her to stop wherever they were and surrender the pie (they had only left ten minutes earlier), but her phone was off. One stepbrother seems to be surgically attached to his iPhone, so I emailed him, but he didn't respond. So we got no pie. And I decided that I will never again have Thanksgiving with them unless there is an arrangement made in advance regarding what each person will be contributing -- one which prohibits freeloaders -- and some sort of lockbox for my damn leftovers.

Thanksgiving: The one where Harry likes cranberry

My stepmother's contribution to Thanksgiving was a cranberry dish involving cranberries, orange, and who knows what else. When she suggested that would be her contribution, I had to laugh a little, since I know that my dad, my brother, P and I do not eat generally cranberry concoction at Thanksgiving. So the only contribution she and her boys would be making was something that only they would eat.

When we sat down to eat, the cranberry was in front of Harry. He immediately started pointing at it. He ate his mixed veggies and some mashed potatoes and some stuffing and some sweet potato casserole. He rejected his turkey, as expected. But throughout, he kept pointing at the cranberry. My stepmother kept telling him he wouldn't like it, that it was tart. But he kept pointing.

Finally, we gave in. We put a few bites on his tray and let him try it. He made a face, one that clearly noted the tartness. And then he grabbed another handful. And another. He made that face each time, but he kept on eating, like it was the best food he'd ever tasted. We kept scooping more onto the tray, and he kept eating it. Apparently, Harry likes tart things, including cranberry.

Needlesstosay, we ended up with half of the leftover cranberry.

Thanksgiving: The One Where We Do All The Work

In the almost ten years we've been together, P and I have spent Thanksgiving with his family. Until last year, my dad and brother joined us. His mom is a good cook and does a good job of assigning people things to bring so that she doesn't get overwhelmed. And the added bonus is that his mom's house is only ten minutes from us. Maybe fifteen. So, aside from last year when we went to his aunt's vacation house three and a half hours away, we spent Thanksgiving at his mom's. But my dad got remarried last year, increasing the size of my family and making it difficult/impossible to join the families together. It started to feel like we were supposed to trade off, so we agreed to head to my dad's this year.

So we're heading to RI. But my dad doesn't usually host Thanksgiving, or hasn't in a long while. Which means he doesn't really know how to do this. He is a firm adherent to the philosophy that holidays are about family/people rather than food or presents and therefore thinks effort should be minimized with respect to the latter two categories. Consequently, he is providing turkey, baked potatoes, peas, and a pie, and anyone who wants anything else is responsible for bringing it. Which means that P and I are responsible for mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, green beans, stuffing, and a second pie. Because my dad's wife and her (adult) sons are incapable of contributing anything. This pisses me off to no end. Thankfully my brother is going to help us prep when he can (keeping in mind that he has to work Thanksgiving morning, so I'm genuinely thankful that he's going to help at all).

I sent an email listing the menu (basically, what my dad would provide) and asking what people were bringing. My dad's wife offered to bring cranberry. No one else said a single fucking word, until one of her boys said he hoped the second pie would be pumpkin or pecan, but didn't offer to, say, bring it himself. Leaving the rest to me and P -- you know, the pregnant woman and her husband and their toddler. And my brother, who actually has work to do that day. Ugh. Not that I'm bitter or anything ;) With P's mom, everyone gets assigned one or two things, and we only have to drive 10 minutes. So, yeah, next year, we're back to going there. And we may not do the alternation thing. Because let's be real -- Thanksgiving is kind of about the food. But if I'm going to have to make it all, I'm not going to travel with my bags of food.

Edited to add: Later this afternoon, my dad sent an email asking what people wanted for beer. He noted that he has Michelob and Coors Light. My goddamn stepbrother wrote back to say he'd like Sierra Nevada or Heineken. Really, you self-centered son of a bitch? I got pissed. P decided to respond to the email, suggesting that perhaps anyone who wasn't okay with Coors Light or Michelob could bring their own to save my dad from having to go buy a bunch of six-packs for anyone who wanted something different. What is wrong with these people?

Not fired

Are you as shocked as I was? Because I was shocked. I did get a "pick up your hours or you may get an 'exit' message in the spring" but it was, surprisingly, accompanied by an acknowledgement that some of the responsibility for the lack of hours lies with the firm/the department for not giving me enough work.

I feel like I had been putting on a brave face for a while, acting as though it was a done deal and therefore I just didn't care. But, as I mentioned yesterday, I did/do. Before my review, I went to talk to a friend/colleague and completely fell apart. I brought a tissue to my review in case I couldn't hold the tears back in front of these two men I'd never met before.

I had been told by friends who were fired in the spring that their reviews had all began with their reviewer looking all dour and saying "It's not good news." When I walked in, there were no dour faces, and no one said anything about news. They actually had my review file out, which I took as a decent sign, since I heard they didn't even bring them to the bad reviews in the spring. My reviewer began by asking how I felt things had been going since I came back from leave. I took this as my opening to say my piece, and I'm glad I did. I laid it all out there -- my frustration, my disappointment, my feelings of uselessness. I left out the anger, figuring I'd save that for if I was in fact fired.

My reviewer then commented that I had pretty much covered the first half of the review -- I didn't have enough work, making it tough to keep pace with my peers, which is the expectation of associates at the firm. He said he was impressed with my maturity in both recognizing the problem and being willing and able to acknowledge it, that usually the "getting the associate to recognize the problem" part is the hardest part of this type of review. He then spoke for a bit about how the firm makes very few hiring mistakes, and it expects that those are rectified quickly, so if I made it to this point, I was clearly a good attorney and that the comments in my reviews clearly reflected that. He then did the actual review, summarizing my comments and reading some to me. They were overwhelmingly quite positive. The one negative that wasn't related to the fact that I don't have enough work was insufficiently specific for me to even know what the partner was talking about, and the partner, in writing it, stated that he could have been misremembering, or it could have been a fluke.

We then had a discussion about what to do to fix the not enough work problem. The head of my department offered to make some calls to find me some work. And both he and my reviewer told me to check in if things continued to be slow for me. Here's hoping this plan works. Honestly, even if it doesn't, I have now ensured my continued employment until late May. And that's pretty much what I was hoping for.

All in all, as good as was possible under the circumstances. And 1000 times better than I actually expected.