Ahhh..... I am in pure bliss... doing nothing extraordinary other than sitting at Starbucks, enjoying a cup of coffee and reading my emails, uninterrupted and without the pressure of a ticking clock that starts as soon as I put Caedmon down for his nap. Okay, I have X number of minutes/hours to myself, starting... NOW! ... On second thought, this little respite at Starbucks IS pretty extraordinary.
Since school let out at the end of May, I have been adjusting to my new schedule. Without any sub jobs to fill my weeks (previously, I had been subbing on an average of twice a week), I simultaneously have more and less time. I have more time, since I don't have to work, but almost all of that time is taken up by an active toddler who is now transitioning to one nap, which he still takes earlier in the morning, leaving a LONG stretch of wake time from noon until bed time. At the end of the day, I am exhausted, and I have gotten nothing done.
I miss reading. And paying bills even... without heavy eyelids and nodding off, half sitting up in bed, pen marks on my sheets from where my arm dropped, drool glistening in the corners of my mouth. Isn't motherhood beautiful?
And so today, my little jaunt to Starbucks is extra rewarding and refreshing. It's like unclenching a muscle that I didn't even know was wadded up into a rock, welcoming that release of pent up tension, allowing relaxation, in the form of dark roast, to wash over me. Ahhh... solitude and free time...........
This is therapy.
On a related note, this video parody of Taylor Swift's "22" pretty accurately and hilariously depicts my life at 32... perusing my closet for yet another comfy cotton outfit, falling asleep to Downton Abbey, bookworm, the whole bit. When did I slip into such a mundane existence?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OUTTrgZSigQ
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Friday, May 03, 2013
Caedmon's Bread Party
I've been meaning to post pictures of Caedmon's very own bread party, in honor of his favorite food, since we celebrated his first birthday a couple of weeks ago. After months of debating, we decided on a smaller affair, which turned out to be a good idea, because Caedmon was overwhelmed by all the commotion and attention as it was. More than a few times, he burst into tears and we had to take him to his room to play quietly for a bit before rejoining the festivities. Still, it was a joyous occasion. One year is quite the milestone, and it was as much a celebration for me and Wayne, having survived the first year of this crazy new life we now lead, as it was for our little man.
Happy birthday, Caedmon! May you always know the simple joy of a good loaf of bread and the warmth of loved ones with whom to break it with.
It's my party, and I can cry if I want to... Caedmon burst into tears as soon as we finished singing "Happy Birthday" to him. After watching the video later, I realized that he was reacting to our applause! My poor boy was scared of all the sudden, loud noise.
Turning one was fun, and now on to... the terrible twos?!
Happy birthday, Caedmon! May you always know the simple joy of a good loaf of bread and the warmth of loved ones with whom to break it with.
The man of the hour in his birthday crown and bread shirt!
The invitations I made to fit the theme.
I used the handy-dandy EuroSealer I had sitting in the back of our junk drawer to pare down regular sized ziplock bags. (I never thought I'd actually put that thing to good use!)
Our fare for the bread party was not for the carb-conscious! The menu consisted of tarragon chicken salad sandwiches, baked sausage strata (using cubes of bread), chocolate chip bread pudding, cheese and crackers, bran flax muffins with cream cheese frosting, and fresh strawberries.
Packages of freshly baked chocolate chip banana bread sit waiting for guests to take them home.
Vanilla bean cake with mocha frosting, shaped as a loaf of bread!
Overwhelmed by the commotion, Caedmon seeks a little comfort from Mom.
Oh, how far we've come!
"Hi, it's my birthday." "So I've heard. I'm quite enjoying myself, thank you..."
"...Especially this show; your dad is hilarious." Lunch and entertainment--Caedmon and Kaylee giggle over Wayne's antics.
In all the commotion and hullabaloo, I forgot to set out the one game I had planned that I so creatively named "Guess How Old Caedmon was in the Photo". Emily and Ed played after all the other guests left.
New toys for the birthday boy--his very own (old) cell phone and a new bouncy ball!
Turning one was fun, and now on to... the terrible twos?!
Monday, April 15, 2013
A Baby Story: Caedmon's Birth
Do you remember that old show on TLC, A Baby Story, that chronicled the lives of a soon-to-be mom and dad from pregnancy to birth? It was like the third sister in a series of similarly monikered shows: A Dating Story, A Wedding Story, and then aptly, A Baby Story. In college, I used to fill my afternoons between classes with A Dating Story and A Wedding Story, captivated by the romance and fairy tales. But when A Baby Story came on, I would yawn and turn off the television. The show was boring... and messy. And honestly, I wasn't that interested in babies. I much preferred the glitz and glamour of dating and weddings.
Since then, I've changed my tune. I'm thinking Caedmon's birth had something to do with it. Now, I am all things baby, and I love hearing other moms' birth stories—goop, gore, and all. I used to wonder why in the world TLC would have such a show like that, if anyone was even watching. And now I get it.
I never did write down my story. I was too entrenched in what felt like warfare in the early months of parenthood, but now, on the one-year anniversary of the night that changed our lives forever, I remember...
Caedmon was born on April 16, 2012 at 7:28AM, but our story begins the day before. Sunday, April 15. Baby To was already four days late, but I was feeling great, and really, I was in no rush. He could have stayed inside for a few days longer, and I wouldn't have complained; I had so many projects left to finish. That morning, Wayne and I went to church, I engaged in the usual goodness-how-big-you're-getting chitchat that had become common conversation, had lunch with friends at Smash Burger, and upon returning home, I discovered that my mucous plug had dislodged. Quickly referencing my copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting, I read that this meant I would most likely go into labor within 24-48 hours. Got it, I thought, and I launched into action immediately. I started scrapbooking like a madwoman. Project Europe Scrapbook had to be completed before the baby came... except it didn't, because shortly after, at 5PM, my contractions started.
Oh, Contractions... how you deluded me at first. Having never experienced contractions before, I seriously, honestly thought I just had trapped gas, and kept trying to continue to scrapbook... except the "gas" kept getting worse, and I was soon unable to concentrate any longer. (Darn you, Smash Burger, I was thinking at the time.) Wayne was convinced I was in early labor from the beginning, but No, I squeaked, doubled over in pain... just gas. Still, he started timing my "gas", which at first, was all over the map, but soon, my bouts were steadily increasing in duration and decreasing in time apart. When they were two minutes apart, Wayne made the executive decision to leave for the hospital. The next day being a workday, he started calling in a sub for his classroom, but I stopped him. Let's wait until we're admitted, I reasoned, in case they send us home, because, you know, this really could just be gas. Really, gas? Looking back, I realize how ridiculous I was for being in such deep denial. Had it truly been this monster gas, I suppose we were in the right place anyway, because I obviously would have needed some serious medical attention.
But no, it was not gas. Upon examination, the nurse announced that I was already 6 centimeters dilated. I was incredulous. You mean I'm admitted? Okay, I told Wayne, you can go ahead and get your sub. We were taken upstairs to our room. Wayne called the Fongs to get our dogs, I called my sister, Sam, to come right away, Wayne made the requisite posts on Facebook, and then we settled in for what we thought would be a relatively short night, since, as we so naively reasoned as first time parents, I was already more than halfway there at 6 centimeters.
I had decided beforehand that I would try to the best of my abilities to have the baby without any medication. I'm not against medication, but I'm also not against NO medication, allowing for a natural birth to occur. I figured that if our bodies are designed for this, and if women all over the world have been and are giving birth naturally, then I should be able to do it, too. Still, I was not married to this. I had obviously never experienced childbirth before, and also, who knows what complications there might arise, so I was open to medication if I needed it. Wayne and I had a secret code word, "prickly pear", that I would utter if I truly wanted an epidural... but I never felt like I needed it. Never was I even tempted, and so Caedmon was born with the full experience of pain and suffering, but also with my full cognizance and awareness that resulted in an intense elation that is often accompanied natural births from the endorphins released by the body (and I'm guessing sheer relief). I have no regrets; I would do it this way again. But that's for the end of our story. For now, we go back to 6 centimeters.
At first, it really wasn't that bad, which is probably why I refused to believe I was in labor in the first place. The only labor I knew was the screaming and gnashing-of-teeth kind on television and the movies. I realized later that this kind of labor, transition labor, would soon follow. But active labor preceding that really wasn't so bad at all, and I was able to hold pleasant conversation in between contractions, asking Sam how her day was, etc. I did most of my laboring sitting on an exercise ball facing the bed, and when a contraction came, I would stand and bury my face in the pillows on the bed. Wayne was by my side, rubbing my back and soothing me the ENTIRE time.
At one point, when I had labored for what I thought was a good amount of time, I asked the nurse to check my progress, and she reported that I was at 6.5 centimeters. I was devastated, as I thought that I surely would have been more progressed than that! It was so demoralizing that I never asked to be checked again.
Soon enough, my contractions grew longer and were so incredibly intense and strong. With every contraction, my insides seized, lurched, and rebelled against me. I grabbed the railings of the bed, writhed in pain, burying my head deeper into the pillows. Annie, my midwife, came in and told me that I was now in transitional labor. I asked her how she knew, since she had just stepped into the room. Oh, I could hear you from down the hall, she said. Yes, I am a screamer. And during transition, I could not contain my agony. Annie then checked my cervix and discovered that while Caedmon's head was nice and low, it was slightly turned, so she had me lay on my side on the bed, to try and naturally shift Caedmon's head. I was, then, at 8 centimeters.
Those last two centimeters, when I was lying on my side, were the worst, because 1) I could not move, and it was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, and 2) we just had to wait.. and wait for Caedmon's head to turn. Annie even tried to turn Caedmon's head manually, but all it did was force the most blood-curdling screams to erupt from my deepest being. If I were a cartoon, my eyes would have popped out of their sockets, and my courage-hangy-ball* in the back of my throat would have been violently undulating (*Full House reference), my screams, echoing in canyons. That's how I felt. The lowest of lows, though, was when Annie and the nurse left the room for an extended amount of time, and it was just us, left to battle on our own. I felt so alone and defeated, because if no one is around, it means that there is no progress to warrant their attentions. At one point, I even pathetically cried, "Why is no one here???"
The great thing about transition (if there is a great thing) is that while the contractions are strong, they are at least far apart, so we were able to rest in between, even dozing at times, slipping in and out of consciousness, between heaven and physical hell. It's important to note, however, that though I was going through the worst physical pain imaginable, my spirits—our spirits—were high. Wayne was a rock star. No, better than a rock star, he was my husband—the best, most loving, and supportive husband during my time of most dire distress. It was distressing for him, too, to watch me go through such torture and not able to do anything about it. Later, he admitted that there were a few times he had wanted to step away; it was just too emotionally overwhelming for him, but he didn't. He stayed by my side the entire eight hours I labored in the hospital, rubbing my back, giving me water, offering me encouragement, praying with me, keeping me focused. (Wayne also related later that while I was pushing, he found himself pushing along with me, wanting so much to help me and for the baby to come out. Now that's moral support!) And then there was my sister who also toughed out the entire process. We armed her with our camera and told her to snap away, and snap away, she did. She took close to 300 photos, some of which I even grimaced at (her philosophy was to err on the side of more, so as not to miss a moment; we could always delete later). And it was extremely comforting just knowing that someone else who loved us and Caedmon so very much was also there. And so I was bolstered by my family, by God, and by the amazing hospital staff. I felt the pain, but it wasn't bad. It wasn't bad, because it didn't touch my spirit. Transition was hard, and all through the night, we wrestled with this beast, but it also gave me much to be thankful for.
And then finally, finally... in the early hours of the morning, Annie checked my progress, and Caedmon had turned! I was completely dilated. It was time to push.
On television and in the movies (and for a select few who are so fortunate), women push a few times, and then are rewarded with a beautiful bundle in their arms. Just like that. While I knew this was the last phase before the baby would be born, and the nurse told me it would be "soon", I also knew by now that "soon" can mean a very long time when it comes to real-life labor. I pushed for over an hour before Caedmon made his initial signs of appearance. At that point, Sam, wanting to encourage my efforts, exclaimed, "You're almost there! The baby's head is the size of a QUARTER!" I may not have known much about babies, but I did know that babies' heads are much, MUCH larger than quarters, and this "encouragement" only served to deflate me. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. I wanted to tell her to stop talking. But I was too tired to do any of these things, so I just kept pushing, and finally, he crowned. I experienced the "ring of fire" in its fullest magnitude, but it was fleeting, thank goodness, as I gave one final push and felt a large, warm release of fluids and a HUGE relief of pain and pressure.
And then I heard his cry for the first time.
During the last stage of pushing, I had wondered if I would even feel anything other than relief when the baby was born, if I would have any energy left to feel any emotions... But that cry. I will never forget that first cry. So small, so seemingly fragile... and yet so powerful in that it was attached to a real life that Wayne and I had created and that God had blessed us with. And then they placed him on my chest... and I can't even adequately explain what that was like, except that it was pure elation. I was laughing and crying and blubbering, "He's perfect!" "He's real!" "He's really mine!" "Hello, Baby!" "It wasn't so bad!" "It was all worth it!"
Annie delivered my placenta next, patched me up from a second degree tear, and that was it. We had our baby! And it was worth it. And he was, indeed, perfect.
Though I was in much agony, I loved every minute of my birth experience, as strange as that may sound. I embraced my pain, as I suppose a marathoner embraces the pain, pushes on, and then rejoices at the finish line, exhausted, slightly wounded, but reveling in the glory of the moment, pumped to do it again. That's how I felt. It was not unlike the races I've completed in the past, except it was infinitely more grueling and exponentially more spectacular... and at the end, against my chest was not a medal, but a tiny, living, breathing baby. MY baby.
Caedmon, this is our story. And though you have no recollection of the events that transpired through the night, I will always remember—for the both of us.
Happy birth day, to us.
Since then, I've changed my tune. I'm thinking Caedmon's birth had something to do with it. Now, I am all things baby, and I love hearing other moms' birth stories—goop, gore, and all. I used to wonder why in the world TLC would have such a show like that, if anyone was even watching. And now I get it.
I never did write down my story. I was too entrenched in what felt like warfare in the early months of parenthood, but now, on the one-year anniversary of the night that changed our lives forever, I remember...
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Caedmon was born on April 16, 2012 at 7:28AM, but our story begins the day before. Sunday, April 15. Baby To was already four days late, but I was feeling great, and really, I was in no rush. He could have stayed inside for a few days longer, and I wouldn't have complained; I had so many projects left to finish. That morning, Wayne and I went to church, I engaged in the usual goodness-how-big-you're-getting chitchat that had become common conversation, had lunch with friends at Smash Burger, and upon returning home, I discovered that my mucous plug had dislodged. Quickly referencing my copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting, I read that this meant I would most likely go into labor within 24-48 hours. Got it, I thought, and I launched into action immediately. I started scrapbooking like a madwoman. Project Europe Scrapbook had to be completed before the baby came... except it didn't, because shortly after, at 5PM, my contractions started.
Oh, Contractions... how you deluded me at first. Having never experienced contractions before, I seriously, honestly thought I just had trapped gas, and kept trying to continue to scrapbook... except the "gas" kept getting worse, and I was soon unable to concentrate any longer. (Darn you, Smash Burger, I was thinking at the time.) Wayne was convinced I was in early labor from the beginning, but No, I squeaked, doubled over in pain... just gas. Still, he started timing my "gas", which at first, was all over the map, but soon, my bouts were steadily increasing in duration and decreasing in time apart. When they were two minutes apart, Wayne made the executive decision to leave for the hospital. The next day being a workday, he started calling in a sub for his classroom, but I stopped him. Let's wait until we're admitted, I reasoned, in case they send us home, because, you know, this really could just be gas. Really, gas? Looking back, I realize how ridiculous I was for being in such deep denial. Had it truly been this monster gas, I suppose we were in the right place anyway, because I obviously would have needed some serious medical attention.
But no, it was not gas. Upon examination, the nurse announced that I was already 6 centimeters dilated. I was incredulous. You mean I'm admitted? Okay, I told Wayne, you can go ahead and get your sub. We were taken upstairs to our room. Wayne called the Fongs to get our dogs, I called my sister, Sam, to come right away, Wayne made the requisite posts on Facebook, and then we settled in for what we thought would be a relatively short night, since, as we so naively reasoned as first time parents, I was already more than halfway there at 6 centimeters.
I had decided beforehand that I would try to the best of my abilities to have the baby without any medication. I'm not against medication, but I'm also not against NO medication, allowing for a natural birth to occur. I figured that if our bodies are designed for this, and if women all over the world have been and are giving birth naturally, then I should be able to do it, too. Still, I was not married to this. I had obviously never experienced childbirth before, and also, who knows what complications there might arise, so I was open to medication if I needed it. Wayne and I had a secret code word, "prickly pear", that I would utter if I truly wanted an epidural... but I never felt like I needed it. Never was I even tempted, and so Caedmon was born with the full experience of pain and suffering, but also with my full cognizance and awareness that resulted in an intense elation that is often accompanied natural births from the endorphins released by the body (and I'm guessing sheer relief). I have no regrets; I would do it this way again. But that's for the end of our story. For now, we go back to 6 centimeters.
At first, it really wasn't that bad, which is probably why I refused to believe I was in labor in the first place. The only labor I knew was the screaming and gnashing-of-teeth kind on television and the movies. I realized later that this kind of labor, transition labor, would soon follow. But active labor preceding that really wasn't so bad at all, and I was able to hold pleasant conversation in between contractions, asking Sam how her day was, etc. I did most of my laboring sitting on an exercise ball facing the bed, and when a contraction came, I would stand and bury my face in the pillows on the bed. Wayne was by my side, rubbing my back and soothing me the ENTIRE time.
At one point, when I had labored for what I thought was a good amount of time, I asked the nurse to check my progress, and she reported that I was at 6.5 centimeters. I was devastated, as I thought that I surely would have been more progressed than that! It was so demoralizing that I never asked to be checked again.
Soon enough, my contractions grew longer and were so incredibly intense and strong. With every contraction, my insides seized, lurched, and rebelled against me. I grabbed the railings of the bed, writhed in pain, burying my head deeper into the pillows. Annie, my midwife, came in and told me that I was now in transitional labor. I asked her how she knew, since she had just stepped into the room. Oh, I could hear you from down the hall, she said. Yes, I am a screamer. And during transition, I could not contain my agony. Annie then checked my cervix and discovered that while Caedmon's head was nice and low, it was slightly turned, so she had me lay on my side on the bed, to try and naturally shift Caedmon's head. I was, then, at 8 centimeters.
Those last two centimeters, when I was lying on my side, were the worst, because 1) I could not move, and it was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, and 2) we just had to wait.. and wait for Caedmon's head to turn. Annie even tried to turn Caedmon's head manually, but all it did was force the most blood-curdling screams to erupt from my deepest being. If I were a cartoon, my eyes would have popped out of their sockets, and my courage-hangy-ball* in the back of my throat would have been violently undulating (*Full House reference), my screams, echoing in canyons. That's how I felt. The lowest of lows, though, was when Annie and the nurse left the room for an extended amount of time, and it was just us, left to battle on our own. I felt so alone and defeated, because if no one is around, it means that there is no progress to warrant their attentions. At one point, I even pathetically cried, "Why is no one here???"
The great thing about transition (if there is a great thing) is that while the contractions are strong, they are at least far apart, so we were able to rest in between, even dozing at times, slipping in and out of consciousness, between heaven and physical hell. It's important to note, however, that though I was going through the worst physical pain imaginable, my spirits—our spirits—were high. Wayne was a rock star. No, better than a rock star, he was my husband—the best, most loving, and supportive husband during my time of most dire distress. It was distressing for him, too, to watch me go through such torture and not able to do anything about it. Later, he admitted that there were a few times he had wanted to step away; it was just too emotionally overwhelming for him, but he didn't. He stayed by my side the entire eight hours I labored in the hospital, rubbing my back, giving me water, offering me encouragement, praying with me, keeping me focused. (Wayne also related later that while I was pushing, he found himself pushing along with me, wanting so much to help me and for the baby to come out. Now that's moral support!) And then there was my sister who also toughed out the entire process. We armed her with our camera and told her to snap away, and snap away, she did. She took close to 300 photos, some of which I even grimaced at (her philosophy was to err on the side of more, so as not to miss a moment; we could always delete later). And it was extremely comforting just knowing that someone else who loved us and Caedmon so very much was also there. And so I was bolstered by my family, by God, and by the amazing hospital staff. I felt the pain, but it wasn't bad. It wasn't bad, because it didn't touch my spirit. Transition was hard, and all through the night, we wrestled with this beast, but it also gave me much to be thankful for.
And then finally, finally... in the early hours of the morning, Annie checked my progress, and Caedmon had turned! I was completely dilated. It was time to push.
On television and in the movies (and for a select few who are so fortunate), women push a few times, and then are rewarded with a beautiful bundle in their arms. Just like that. While I knew this was the last phase before the baby would be born, and the nurse told me it would be "soon", I also knew by now that "soon" can mean a very long time when it comes to real-life labor. I pushed for over an hour before Caedmon made his initial signs of appearance. At that point, Sam, wanting to encourage my efforts, exclaimed, "You're almost there! The baby's head is the size of a QUARTER!" I may not have known much about babies, but I did know that babies' heads are much, MUCH larger than quarters, and this "encouragement" only served to deflate me. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. I wanted to tell her to stop talking. But I was too tired to do any of these things, so I just kept pushing, and finally, he crowned. I experienced the "ring of fire" in its fullest magnitude, but it was fleeting, thank goodness, as I gave one final push and felt a large, warm release of fluids and a HUGE relief of pain and pressure.
And then I heard his cry for the first time.
During the last stage of pushing, I had wondered if I would even feel anything other than relief when the baby was born, if I would have any energy left to feel any emotions... But that cry. I will never forget that first cry. So small, so seemingly fragile... and yet so powerful in that it was attached to a real life that Wayne and I had created and that God had blessed us with. And then they placed him on my chest... and I can't even adequately explain what that was like, except that it was pure elation. I was laughing and crying and blubbering, "He's perfect!" "He's real!" "He's really mine!" "Hello, Baby!" "It wasn't so bad!" "It was all worth it!"
Annie delivered my placenta next, patched me up from a second degree tear, and that was it. We had our baby! And it was worth it. And he was, indeed, perfect.
Though I was in much agony, I loved every minute of my birth experience, as strange as that may sound. I embraced my pain, as I suppose a marathoner embraces the pain, pushes on, and then rejoices at the finish line, exhausted, slightly wounded, but reveling in the glory of the moment, pumped to do it again. That's how I felt. It was not unlike the races I've completed in the past, except it was infinitely more grueling and exponentially more spectacular... and at the end, against my chest was not a medal, but a tiny, living, breathing baby. MY baby.
Caedmon, this is our story. And though you have no recollection of the events that transpired through the night, I will always remember—for the both of us.
Happy birth day, to us.
Saturday, April 13, 2013
ArtBEAST in Sacramento
I am so excited to have found ArtBEAST in midtown, an open studio art space for kids to explore, make art, make a mess, and have fun. It's also a nonprofit establishment, with ALL proceeds going to Tubman House, a local transitional living program offering coursework, childcare, community support, and counseling to help young homeless parents and their children get back on their feet. What a noble and worthy endeavor that makes me feel that much better about coming here. While Caedmon is having a blast, I also know that we are making a small contribution toward a greater good.
And Caedmon definitely had a blast.
In the courtyard, he was free to play with water, among many things.
I loved this giant wind chime-esque construct that offered raucous clashes and clangs with each satisfying swat of the pole. Still, I wondered... are we just teaching Caedmon to hit things with sticks?
Inside, different rooms invited children to paint on easels, sculpt with clay, crinkle crackly paper, and bake cookies and partake in high tea on play kitchen sets. On the top floor, there was an infant area that was gated off from the rest of the older kids, allowing for safe play for the littlest ones.
A mini ballet barre offers stability...
an opportunity to make funny faces...
and when no one is looking, a comforting snack.
Caedmon loved climbing up this plush jungle gym...
and sliding back down on his tummy.
Even Dad had fun!
Here, Wayne made a game for himself by tossing boiled wool balls into a basket across the room. (There were no other kids in the area.)
While Caedmon was too young to fully enjoy most of the activities at ArtBEAST, I think he still had a rocking good time. This is definitely a place where he can creatively grow, and I am so, SO excited that we have a venue like this in Sacramento! We'll be back most definitely!
Thursday, April 04, 2013
Cloth Diapering: Finally Taking the Plunge
I've been wanting to try cloth diapers since before Caedmon was born. With it being an environmentally-friendly and cost-effective option to disposable diapers, what was there to DISlike? Oh, right... apart from the poop, lots of extra laundering, poop, high upfront costs, poop, higher water bill... and did I mention poop? ... there really shouldn't have been too much standing in my way.
Except disposables are easy. Hands-down, that is the BEST reason to stick with disposables... but I still couldn't shake the desire to at least TRY this new system. Moms who have mastered the learning curve say that it's really not too much work once you get the hang of it... So, after 11 months and nearing the end of a Costco-sized box of disposables, I took the plunge and put Caedmon in his first cloth diaper a few days ago.
And oh, how cute he looks!
Caedmon actually posed like this for a good 10 seconds for me. Look how cute I am, Mom!
... and pose...
... until he was up and running off again.
Shrieking in wild delight...
a blur before the lens...
kaboom! before falling into one more pose for Mom!
Feeling extra domestic and mommy-savvy (and cheap, because the commercial brands were so expensive), I've even ventured in making my own cloth diaper detergent! My first load is in the washer right now... I'm crossing my fingers that the diapers come out clean and odorless!
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Caedmon's Egg Hunt
Wayne and I have often joked that in our town, having a child is your ticket in. That means that when we had Caedmon, we were well on our way to social inclusion and all sorts of raucous carousing. Today, we were invited to participate in an early Easter egg hunt with some moms at our church and their tykes. See? We are living it up!
This was Caedmon's first egg hunt, if you could call it that... more of a reluctant picking, really.
All in all, a very fun afternoon with some fun new friends! What's next on our social agenda, Little Guy? :)
This was Caedmon's first egg hunt, if you could call it that... more of a reluctant picking, really.
Lined up with the other kids, Caedmon is clearly the littlest.
He also clearly has no idea what he's doing here, as he starts to wander away when the leader yells, "Go!"
Still, he ponders an egg in the grass when I lead him to it.
This is how he does his best pondering...
Considering he's not even a year, he actually did pretty well with picking up the eggs and dropping them in his basket/bag... until he got bored and retreated to the cement where he proceeded with his favorite game--dropping items on the ground, the noisier the better.
This is another fun use for your Easter basket/bag.
Hey, Mom! Did you take my candy?
All in all, a very fun afternoon with some fun new friends! What's next on our social agenda, Little Guy? :)
Monday, March 18, 2013
11 Months: From Baby to Toddler
Caedmon turned 11 months on Saturday. Eleven months! And he's growing in leaps and bounds--not so much in stature (he is STILL wearing some size 6-month pants!), but definitely physically and cognitively.
Right after I posted his 9 month update, in which I reported that Caedmon was not yet mobile, he started crawling (tripod style, with his left leg lunged out in front of him--which he still does), and then a week later, before he was even 10 months, he took his first steps! It was while I was taking this photo to send to grandparents for Chinese New Year, that Caedmon decided to walk right to me!
I'm pretty excited that I literally caught his first steps on camera (in a picture, at least), his blurriness being proof of this new mobility. And just like that, my baby became a toddler! Now at 11 months, Caedmon is toddling all over the place, busy exploring the new frontier that is our home and collecting his fair share of bumps and bruises and battle wounds... but nothing so serious as to stop him from getting right back up and plodding right along. That's my boy!
Now that he's fully mobile, my life has changed. Other parents have alluded to this shift in attention to hyper-vigilance, and after 11 months, it's finally come to our household. While I'm not the kind to hover over Caedmon, I can no longer just leave him in one area and expect him to play nicely in that same spot. There has been a lot more chasing around and a lot more "no"s as he gets into everything... and a lot more fun as Caedmon is now able to participate so much more actively in the world around him.
Cognitively, Caedmon is developing right on track, and it's been fun for me to match his new actions with all the information I've gleaned from my extensive reading. I can almost see the cogs in Caedmon's head, spinning and turning as he tries to make sense of our world. He is already a very methodical little scientist, and I have noticed that he proceeds with generally the same course of action when he encounters something new: 1) Put in mouth. Chew for a bit and examine. 2) Scratch at its surface, shake item if able, and if necessary, put back in mouth. 3) Drop on the floor to see what kind of racket it can make. Repeat. ...again and again.
And while just a month and a half ago, Caedmon loved taking things apart (dumping his bucket of toys on the ground, emptying cabinets, ripping paper), he is starting to learn that things can be put back together, and he enjoys putting his blocks back into their box (though he hasn't yet mastered putting paper back together again.) He also enjoys dropping items into other larger receptacles, as evidenced by his work here. That's Lucy's toy squirrel that he stuffed into his diaper champ. Thanks, Caedmon, for trying to clean up.
Caedmon has four teeth now, still loves eating bread (and now cheese), and is still making me pull my hair out sometimes with his picky eating... but he is also still super sweet and cuddly, still has the best belly laugh, and still melts my heart the way he squeals and pumps his fists when I come home, and while before, he was only able to lunge towards me with all his excited might, he now hobble-runs, arms wildly flailing for balance before grabbing my legs as he runs into them. That will never get old. :)
And there he goes...
Some other Caedmon pictures at 11 months...
Caedmon loves scrunching his face up like so, and breathing really hard through his nose so that he sounds like a baby dragon doing his calisthenics.
This picture is blurry, but I like how Wayne is passed out in the background.
Learning how to drink from a straw... I did it!
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