Archive for July, 2009

Back in June, Ava had her One Year checkup.  Everything looked good – weight, height, development, etc.  Since she was now 12 months old, the doctor felt it was time to move her from her formula to whole milk.  “Yippee!” I thought.  No more expensive cans of formula, no more mixing up powder and hot water at 6 am, when I’m barely awake enough to find the kitchen, much less correctly guage the temperature of the water from the sink.

Off to the store I went, to purchase some organic whole milk for my baby girl.  The doctor said we were free to make the switch cold turkey, no gradual tapering off of formula needed.  The next morning, instead of a bottle of warm formula, Ava awoke to a sippy cup of cold milk.  She happily slurped it down, handed me the cup when she was done, and burped.  So far, a normal morning.  I was ecstatic.  Look at my big girl drinking milk from a cup!

All went well for a few days, then the diaper rash from hell arrived, and along with it (and here’s where it gets pretty TMI) diapers full of the liquidiest, foulest, muoucus covered poop I have ever in my 36 years encountered.  I have a pretty strong stomach, but this made even me gag.  It’s like the poop was covered in watery cottage cheese.  It’s ok, go throw up now, I’ll wait……….Ok, back?  Good.

We called the doctor’s office, who seemed very unconcerned about the whole situation.  Just watch her, they said, it’s probably nothing, but if she gets worse, bring her down. It happened to be a Friday, the day of the week that my husband works from home and keeps our daughter.  I left for work, advising him if anything got any worse, to take her in.  Don’t call them, just go.

About 2pm he called me to let me know her butt was now bleeding and painful to the touch and he was on his way to the clinic.  I sat and worried for an hour, waiting to hear back.   Finally he called to say they still didn’t think it was serious,  but did give us some cream for her bottom.  They did not think it was the milk, but to take her off of it and when she is put back on, if there is an issue at that point, bring her back in.

So for two weeks, we slathered up her little bum with creams, fed her formula and kept her on the BRAT diet (Bananas, Rice, Applesauce and Toast).  Gradually, the rash went away, along with Poopapalooza.

So I put her back on milk.  Only one bottle a day this time, instead of a 100% switch.  That was Monday of last week.  By Friday, the bleeding rash was back, along with the Hershey Squirts.  More cream,more doctors, appointment made for yesterday.

What it boils down to is this:  the doctors seem to think her tummy is unable to correctly process the change from formula, which is a highly refined, and processed product.  Formula is designed especially to NOT upset tiny tummies.  Milk, on the other hand, seems to be an instrument of Satan an unprocessed product, and her tummy is confused by it.

For now, we are back to formula, at least for a couple weeks, until her body decides to cooperate again.  Then we re-introduce milk into her formula, 1 oz at a time.  If that doesn’t do the trick, we are back to square one.  And I will be considering taking up drinking as a competitive sport.

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This morning as I was getting ready for work, Ava came into the bathroom and handed me my cell phone.  She likes to play a little game that consists of her handing me the phone, I slide it open and hand it back to her.   And repeat.  And repeat.  And repeat.

This morning I noticed how sticky my phone has become from grubby little hands.  It started me thinking about the things you never realize about having kids until you have one.  Yes, I know there are thousands of books on parenting and childhood, and every parent you will ever meet will have tons of “wait until THIS happens” stories.  But every kid is unique, and therefore each experience will be different.

I wanted to put together a list of things that I have discovered thus far about life with Avacakes.  I know this list will continue to grow along with her, and I look forward to adding things to it daily.

I never realized my cell phone would constantly be sticky.

I never realized I would have to bare-handedly pull a turd out of a bathtub.

I never realized a blanket could induce so much joy.

I never realized that leaves and rocks could be considered such treasures.

I never realized I would eat dozens of cold meals and not really care very much.

I never realized I would have to give my daughter her own purse at age 1 because she loves mine so much.

I never realized shoes and socks were the enemy.

I never realized how hard it is to say “No” sometimes.

I never realized that EVERYTHING is meant to be climbed, including Mommy.

I never realized how much a kiss could melt my heart.

I never realized how much I would miss her when I’m not with her.

Computers are without question a wonderful invention. They’ve made life much easier, and certainly more fun. We can talk to people far away, make new friends, meet members of the opposite sex, spend hours upon hours lost in mindless entertainment.

But there is a dark side. An evil side. The side the trolls live on.

I’ve been fortunate so far. I haven’t attracted the attention of the trolls yet. Mainly because there’s only about a dozen people who read anything I write. However, so many of my online friends have been viciously attacked by people who hide behind a mask of anonymity and spew forth vile, disgusting, hateful things.

But WHY?

Why is it fun for anyone to purposefully, intentionally hurt or demean others? I know many people go through stages of this behavior as children, taunting other kids. Then of course, there are the teen years, where insults are taken to a new art form.

But as adults, who are supposed to know better, why does anyone do this? What is missing in your life that you get thrills from making someone else feel bad? What has warped your brain to the point that you would tell someone already in the midst of the worst pain they could ever imagine, to just “get over it”. Why would you tell a mother that has lost her child that she’s somehow to blame, when you have no firsthand knowledge of this person’s actual life.

I realize that you are comfortable doing this online is because you have no fear of repercussion. You know that the target of your venom does not have the ability to punch you in your stupid face. Your friends or family won’t stop speaking to you. You won’t lose your job. In short, nothing happens to you. You live with your dirty little secrets. Do you sit around giggling to yourself about how you made someone cry? Do you feel important because you were able to provoke a reaction? Tell me why. What do you get out of it that you keep doing it, over and over. Do you have no friends? Did your mother not love you enough? Did your Dad walk out on you? Did your siblings beat you up? What happened to the part of your brain that censors what you say? Were you perhaps dropped on your head? Because honestly, nothing, NOTHING justifies this kind of behavior. I don’t care if you just had the worst day ever. I don’t care if you yourself are dealing with loss – YOU SHOULD KNOW BETTER!!

Bringing someone else pain will not lessen yours. Oh you might giggle, laugh, snicker, whatever. But I will bet you that eventually your nasty side will leak out to your real life. You’ll hurt people you really care about. You might even end up alone. When you are lying on your death bed, and you look back at your life, I’ll bet this will be a part you will wish you could change.

And if you don’t, look out. There is a comment mafia. They will find you.

I’m pretty excited this week. You see, my mother is coming to Oregon for a visit.

She lives in Mississippi, where I grew up, and lived for 23 of my 36 years. We’ve tried to keep her updated as much as we can on the growth and development of my offspring, but pictures can only say so much. My mother is not computer savvy, and cannot even turn one on, much less surf the internet, email, or any of that sort of thing. We did send her a VHS tape of two hours worth of video clips that we had taken of Ava. She watched it over and over again.

The one and only time my mother has seen Ava, she was 3 weeks old. Ava, that is, not my mother. As referenced by the Wordless Wednesday picture below. A beautiful, sleeping, cuddly, snuggly newborn. My mom came out for a visit last June, 3 weeks after Ava’s birth by C-Section. I wasn’t even driving yet, and developed a nasty infection that netted me daily trips back to the hospital’s outpatient facility for I.V. antibiotics. So she didn’t get to spend much quality time with either of us, especially with Ava.

Ava is now a very active 1 year old. She is walking, almost running. She can feed herself with a spoon. She can mimic actions. She says a few words. She knows her name, and will respond to it. She laughs, she dances to music. She has developed a personality all her own. My mom has not been witness to any of that. I cannot imagine how mind-blowing it will be for her to see how much Ava has changed in one year.

My mom’s plane gets in Friday night. I plan to break my strict bedtime rule just this once, so that my mom can have the memory of her granddaughter running up to meet her at the airport. I hope it’s a good visit. I hope it’s filled with fun, and love that will create memories for years to come.