I think my feelings on my prolonged absence can best be expressed in song:

    Maybe I didn't update
    Quite as often as I should have
    Maybe I didn't comment
    Quite as often as I could have
    Little things I should have bitched about
    I just never took the time
    You were always on my mind
    You were always on my mind

    Maybe I didn't tell you
    About my butt in the front
    And I guess I never let on
    that Dr TV is a royal c*nt

    If I made you feel like I'm one of those tools who procreates then forgets her peeps
    Girls I'm so sorry I was blind
    You were always on my mind
    You were always on my mind

    Tell me, tell me that your blog love hasn't died
    Give me, give me one more chance to keep you satisfied, satisfied

    Little things I should have relayed--like how grateful and scared I am to be someone's mother
    I just never took the time
    You were always on my mind
    You were always on my mind
    You were always on my mind

Now that I've groveled a bit, let me throw a pathetic excuse your way. I was fairly disorganized and scattered PRE-Little Limbo. Now any attempt at scheduling (or brushing my teeth more than once a day or finding the damn cordless phone I always seem to misplace just at the moment when I'm expecting a very important call from the pediatrician or my boss) is just helpless. I'm finally coming out of the haze that was the first few months of Little Limbo's life and things are a bit better. But bear with me, because honestly, I suck at this whole doing more than one thing at a time thing. Seriously-- today I congratulated myself on changing out of my pjs before 5pm and I only cleaned up because I had workmen coming over to fix a window in my living room.

Disclaimer; I wrote this ridiculously long update over 2 weeks ago and still can’t seem to focus long enough to edit the damn thing. I’m not a master of transitions (as you may have gathered) and all the frenetic topic skipping you’re about to witness just makes me sound psychotic. The crazy coupled with my usual complainy, negative tone is more than even I can stand and I’m totally self-obsessed.

You’ve been warned.

Ok so you know how on television children can age 10 years in the span of two episodes? That's what it feels like every time I read a blog friend's account of her offsprings latest accomplishments. One post she's having contractions. The next, her child is mastering Mandarin Chinese. Behold, a short list of LL’s recent achievements:

*Proved that like his mother, he's a gainer; LL was 8.9 oz at delivery. Now he's hovering at around 15.5 lbs, which is a damn near miracle since unlike his mother, he doesn't really like to eat. I'm really going to start to wonder about him if it turns out that he doesn't like cheese.  (I joke here but this aversion to eating thing has been a constant source of anxiety for me... much more on this later.)
*Thumb sucking (the little prodigy started that while we were still in the hospital)
*Sleeping through the night. Can I get an AMEN?
*Smiling/laughing (All I have to do to get him to dissolve into hysterics is sing "I beg your pardon, I never promised you a rose garden." In addition to this retrocountry classic, the ever-ecclectic LL also loves "When you're happy and you know it clap your hands!" and "Boom boom boom let's go back to my room..."  and  the sound of me saying  "Mamamamamama." One advantage to working at home is that I have far more time to campaign for LL’s affections than poor Mr Limbo does.
*Head lifting
*Screeching/babbling/moaning to express pleasure, usually when placed under the front hall chandelier. Funny, I have the same reaction when I pass this store.
*Hair pulling (mine):  This is a rawther unfortunate development as LL’s new trick is painful and a bit ick as my hair is falling out at a very rapid pace right now. I should be bald by March. Every time LL sticks his fist into what’s left of my mane, his hand ends up covered in my expensively highlighted strands. His other favorite new pastime is to stick said hair-covered fist into his mouth before I can clean it off. Finger lickin good.

Daily life with LL is amazing and challenging. He's gorgeous and sweet and easy to please and already has such a fabulous sense of humor (read: he thinks I’m a scream.) The hard part has been forcing myself outside of myself. After three years of freelancing from my apartment, where I can go an entire workday without talking to anyone, it has been bizarre to even have another person here, let alone someone who needs my constant attention. I miss my inner dialogue.  I'm sure that connecting with other mothers would do me some good, but honestly I really have no desire to do that. I know how insecure and competitive I can get and I just don't want to put myself in the position of having to worry about whether or not LL is  keeping up with Baby Jones. I only have two friends with children and those kids are considerably older than LL. Perhaps once LL's neck control becomes less precarious I'll sign us up for a music class. Oh but then I’d have to talk to other people. Right. Perhaps there is a music class by correspondence?

Recovery from the crazy delivery and 4th degree tear was slightly less painful yet much more prolonged than I assumed it would be. I kept thinking I was fine, then something else disturbing and exhausting would happen to my body. A few more weeks would pass and I'd think, “Wow, I so wasn't fine. NOW I'm fine!” Wash, rinse, repeat. Only now do I truly feel back to normal. Not that I'm normal.

Breast feeding never quite worked. Little Limbo spent several days in the NICU and I spent several days tethered to IVs and a catheter in my room, so we couldn't even attempt it until he was over a week old. By then he'd gotten so used to a bottle that it would have taken an act of God for him to start eating from the mm buffet...even with the help of two separate lactation consultants (one very granola and NPR tote bag carrying, one very sarcastic and fun. Guess which one I liked better?). Very Cool Lactation Consultant (VCLC) insisted that with a lot of work, we could make boob feeding work. But I just didn't have it in me to finger feed LL for a week as he screamed for food. My body was in crisis mode and I was constantly crying (more from having to live with the Dictator Baby Nurse Mr Limbo refused to fire than from PPD, I think). I'd used all of my energy to bring LL into this world... there was just very little left. I pumped and fed LL mostly breastmilk for 3 loooong mos until my supply took a nosedive around Christmas. I felt so, so guilty to have to give LL Similyak exclusively but sending back that pump I'd rented was the best present I could have asked for. Feeding LL every three hours for an hour at a time, then pumping for 30-45 minutes was a real bitch.

Unfortunately, the feeding situation is only slightly less time consuming and heartbreaking now. LL will eat an ounce or two then arch his back and generally go bonkers if I put the bottle anywhere near his mouth. Multiple calls to the ped yielded nothing but “Look at him, mm. He’s huge. It’s probably gas. He’ll grow out of it,” type responses. It wasn’t and LL hasn’t. Only now is he (the ped) willing to admit that we may be dealing with a silent reflux (reflux without the spitting up) situation. I  tried everything to avoid having to give LL drugs, but I couldn’t stand seeing him in pain every few hours, so I tried Zantac. Might as well have given LL shots of Jack Daniels... Zantac did nothing. I’ve got a call into the ped to discuss the next step (which will probably include switching peds.)

I've just started working out again after not moving a muscle for over a year. I knew I wouldn't be able to motivate myself, so I emptied my Emergency Pretty Dress Fund to hire a trainer. Despite cutting back on the face stuffing, weaning and amping up my physical activity, I've shed only 3 lbs of the 10 extra lbs that are clinging to my midsection for dear life. And don't go being all supportive best friendy on me and tell me that muffin top is just my imagination. Let's just say that while Ass Kicking Trainer was locking my body in place with his during a rather torturous and intimate stretching session, he put his hand down on what he thought was the matt, but turned out to be the edge of my stomach. I can't blame him for misjudging the distance... the rest of me was like 5 feet away. A little red body paint and I could be mistaken for the Kool Aid man. Should you need further evidence of my body's demise, I will have you know that I cannot do even 1 old fashioned sit up. Not a one. I don't know why I'm surprised since I pretty much gave up situps when I started shooting up Lupron for my first IVF. But, holy shit, I’m weak!
Yesterday Asskicking Trainer decreed I’d have to cut out the Joy Trifecta-- alcohol, cheese (even low fat) and bread (even whole grain)-- if I wanted to see results. That conversation pretty much sapped my will to live. I’ve since decided that I can temporarily bid adieu to my beloved bread and possibly even my sweet cheese, but mamma ain’t going without the occasional booze infusion. I have my priorities.

Sometimes still looking pg almost 5 mos after giving birth DOES have it’s advantages. I went to a wedding last wknd and could not get over just how fabulous the service at the reception was. Every time I approached a different station, I’d place my order (mashed potatoes in a martini glass? Yes, please. With bacon? Dyn-no-mite! Scrambled eggs and truffles? That’s what I’m talkin bout.) the staff person would get a glimpse of my rubber tire and go, “Oh please go sit down. I’ll bring this over when it’s ready. No, I insist.” So then I’d waddle my fat ass back to the seating area, feeling a bit mortified that people think I’m pregnant and even more mortified that I was actually taking advantage of their assumption and even more pissed off that the staff would give me (a non pg person posing as a pg person) preferential treatment just for appearing knocked up. Why is a gravid woman more deserving of ass kissing with her mashed potatoes than a non gravid woman? 

What else?? After suffering the wrath of the Dictator Babynurse for a month (yes I know that even an evil babynurse is a good babynurse, esp when the evil babynurse was being paid by one's in laws, but this woman was truly borderline. At one point I thought that I might be showing the beginning signs of PPD, but looking back I realize I was crying all the time because this awful woman was in my house and Mr Limbo and I were too vulnerable/stupid to fire her), I vowed that I would never, ever have another caregiver cross my threshold. While well meaning and heartfelt that vow made it damn near impossible for me to work, go to a wedding or even take a jog. So about a month ago I slowly started making inquiries and seem to have found a really wonderful woman to help me out a couple of times a week as I get back into the swing of things. I love her because she calls LL her boyfriend and tells me over and over again how sweet and easy he is. I'm sure she says that to all the girls, but that's just the kind of stuff you want to hear when someone is taking care of your child, you know? Also interesting; She mentioned reading about egg donors in Brain, Child... after a bit of prodding and careful information sharing on my part, she revealed that she's 45 and tired of waiting for a family. I gave her RE #3's info in case she decides to look into her options.

And yeah, so LL is mostly sleeping through the night. I feed him at 7ish, he sleeps til 11ish and then I wake him up so that he can quickly suck down a few more ounces before he falls back asleep until 7am. This is a beautiful development and such a welcome change from getting up every three hours. If only I could just put LL back in his crib and go to bed myself. It's only then, as I bask in the glow of his crescent moon night light that it hits me. This is it. What I so wanted and never in a million cycles thought I'd get. How am I supposed to put this fat cherub down and walk away?  I can sleep later.

Comments

[DD]

Yeeehhhhh! It all sounds perfectly normal - perfectly. Except the trainer part. You have a personal trainer? And you get to walk by that store with all those purty shoes? I'm jealous.

Of course I'm excited that you finally udpated and that LL has indeed become a baby, and no longer a newborn in my mind's eye, but more than that, a happy, informative post to knock out the last one (thanks again for your support).

As for your next post, I will have to request the obvious and that it NOT be about how LL just received his driver's license and an acceptance letter from Yale.

[Jen]

So with the song, are we thinking Willie Nelson's original version or Pet Shop Boys remake? (Either is fine; just curious.)

Glad to hear you all are doing well. And sleeping so well-wow!

As for the weight loss: I would promptly drop-kick/fire anyone who tried to wean me off of cheese, much less wine & bread too! I don't know if you've had your thyroid tested post-partum, but if not, it may be worthwhile. I can't remember if you're a Hypothyroid Girl or not, but a lot of women have thyroid issues pop up around pregnancy, and it can definitely be an issue where weight is concerned.

Glad to see you back.

[cass]

Welcome back!

Two quick things:
1. Sounds like silent reflux to me. Been there, done that. Yuck. Zantac didn't work for us either (too hard to get M to take it was at least part of the problem) but now she's on Prevacid and much happier. Much. Not all peds will prescribe it, but it's really helped. We have the powder form, and you have to divide the packet (since a full packet is adult-dose) and mix with water. Bit of a production, but it seems to help. They also make it in a dissolving tablet form that I know some peds will use.
2. We breastfeed, but one of the things that was suggested if we were going to use formula was to try different kinds (lacto-free, the one with the added rice, etc.) - you might ask the ped about that, too. But yeah, sounds like a new ped could be a good thing.

Okay, less quick than planned. I'll go back to the original thought - welcome back!

[Anna]

Oh, it's so good to hear from you! That song totally makes up for the lag in posting. I'm glad you're okay, as is LL & Mr. LP. Hey, all you can do is post when you have a chance, and I know how hard that is. I'm so glad you're happy with your fat little cherub! Hope to read from you again soon : )

[Leggy]

Hey dude, she lives...

Glad to hear from you. Love the song. Sorry about the reflux- The Cutie Pie had colic for 4 months straight, so I can sympathize.

I'm with DD- don't make the next update about college, okay?

[T]

The back arching didn't give it away to your ped? I'm thinking yeah on a new one - ouch!

Um, only 10 pounds? Doesn't sound too enceinte to me my cheese, wine and bread indulging one.

Sleep is good - sleep is KING! If your kid is sleeping through the night, who cares what other kids are doing?

[T]

forgot this: ,

[millie]

So I'm picturing you with red hair in pigtails and a gravelly voice. Wait, that's Willie Nelson. Love the song.

It's so great to see a post from you. Poor LL and the silent reflux. Hope you find a new ped 'cuz it sounds like you need one.

[Eva]

Thanks for the updates! I was beginning to worry. I'm glad to see that you are all well and that LL is thriving. Envious on the sleeping; sorry about the eating, that must be frustrating. Looking forward to continued updates perhaps even one in March? ;)

[Eva]

Thanks for the updates! I was beginning to worry. I'm glad to see that you are all well and that LL is thriving. Envious on the sleeping; sorry about the eating, that must be frustrating. Looking forward to continued updates perhaps even one in March? ;)

[Eva]

Thanks for the updates! I was beginning to worry. I'm glad to see that you are all well and that LL is thriving. Envious on the sleeping; sorry about the eating, that must be frustrating. Looking forward to continued updates perhaps even one in March? ;)

[thalya]

It sounds like everything is totally chaotic, and tiring, and occasionally stressful, and often wonderful, and hence utterly normal. Thanks for updating.

[thalya]

It sounds like everything is totally chaotic, and tiring, and occasionally stressful, and often wonderful, and hence utterly normal. Thanks for updating.

[[email protected]]

[email protected]

There are all kinds of reverse positioning clues in regards to favor in this morbidly disfavored age:::Late bloomers have god's favor and are therefore given more time to fix their probelms and get out before puberty. People with infertility problems would be wise to look at themselves in this same light. I'd remind you Italians both bloom early AND had a reputation for breeding like rabbits (blacks bred like rabbits too, but it was to CHEAT the welfare system, yet another thing the gods are punishing them for).
Similarly, women without marriage prospects are receiving extra time as well. If they were to get married later in life the gods would just tell some man, who likely thought he was earning, that he could get divorced in a couple of years anyways.
You don't want this. You would be wise to put that time to good use, fix your problems and get off Planet Earth.

As people begin to age the gods employ corrupting tactics. They ultimately begin to look down on the children and the wisdom they recently understood:::
They voluntarily turn their back on their opportunity to ascend and instead embrace evil.
It's not old people who go to heaven. Old people must come back because of the mistakes they've made throughout their lives. Children are the ones who have the opportunity to ascend.

Children are discounted by adults in society. The gods corrupt people as they age, use trust-building tactics and soon adults view the children as ignorant, yet to understand the god's system, and subsequently look down on the children. This is one of the most bitter, painful ironies the gods employ, for people consciously turn their back on and lose their opportunity to ascend::::
Religions teach that old people to go to heaven when they die. They don't. Old people are reincarnated. It's the children who go to heaven.
The wisdom the gods impart to children, either through their innocence/purity or religious-based educational pursuits are the gods sharing the truth with their most favored people::::It's the children whom the gods teach the right way for it is the children who have a chance. For example, they teach children to have faith, for understanding the god's geographical clues hurts people by illustrating negative things, opening the door for the god's to employ deceptive tactics.
Old people don't go to heaven. Old people must come back because of the mistakes they've made throughout their lives. It's the children who have the opportunity to go to "heaven". They must behave apprioriately, think correctly and be genuinely god-fearing. Their innocence and lack of desensitization ensures they have a real opportunity to achieve this goal.

This is charecteristic of the gods methodology::::The big prize gone early, deception compels people to chase something that has already been decided. They sent this clue with boss as well. It is also a clue supporting my claim RW&B's german is in fact Christianity's Anti-Christ. Logic also dictates, considering the definition.
The confusion over this multi-dimentional positioning will serve as an effective tactic, eliminating many additional disfavored in the process, for positioning states the Apocalypse to be a continuation of WorldWarII's Aryan superrace ideals, positioned as punishment for the 5th century invastion of the Roman Empire:::John's Fourth Reich.
This amounts only to "nested theater":::::Levels of positioning enables the gods to scapegoat:::::RW&B merely is the tool the gods chose to execute the final scene of their scripted theater that is human history.