Awww...Baby's First EEG

Having a baby means lots of new experiences-getting pooped or puked or peed on, the first smile, the first seven-hour scream fest, etc. These new experiences are experiences to learn from or cherish or serve as reminders of why Baby will not be having any brothers or sisters. Ever.
A few weeks ago, an experience I'd dreaded ever since Husband and I even abstractly discussed having kids occurred. When we visited the pediatrician, I'd actually forgotten about the great potential for Baby to have to have an EEG, so when the doctor told us we needed to get one, and the sooner the better, all my old anxieties dropped in for an extended visit.
I had epilepsy as a child. Not the convulsing on the floor type of epilepsy, but the other kind, petit mal seizures. It wasn't a big deal, but it was embarrassing having to take medicine every day, and it was really fucking annoying when I was fourteen, and my mother wouldn't let me go on the Back to the Future ride at Universal Studios. I really didn't want to pass on these little inconveniences to my child, but then it appeared that maybe I did.
I was feeding Baby one Sunday morning, and he relaxed more and more as he ate his bottle. His entire body suddenly started shaking. "Baby," I said. "What are you doing?" He kept shaking. "Baby," I repeated, louder and more firmly. "What the hell are you doing?" He kept shaking, then stopped, glared at me, and finished his bottle.
When the same thing happened the next day, we called the pediatrician, and the told us to come in right away. This visit turned out to be our one non-negative experience with this practice so far. They got us an appointment with a neurologist and got us set up with an EEG the next day and told us not to worry. I worried. A lot. I felt guilty and blamed myself. I thought of all sorts of terrible things that could be wrong with my child, the least of which was mild epilepsy.
At the hospital the next day, I watched my child's brainwaves scroll across a computer screen and wished I knew right then what the squiggles and zigzags meant. The technician put an army green cap on his head, making him look like a little baby bomber pilot (Husband pointed out that similarity). All he needed was the leather jacket. I tried to hold him still as he twisted on the table and cried when the technician put the gel in his hair. Husband and I took turns holding him on the table and then holding his hand as he slept.
We had an angry baby on our hands when he woke up and the test wasn't over, and we had an angry baby on our hands in the neurologist's office the next day, as the doctor told us our child was perfectly fine, he didn't need to see him again, and anyway, he's a baby, so if he did have my kind of epilepsy we wouldn't know it, given the normal results of the EEG.
I was relieved.

Shopping!

Husband's starting graduate school next week, and he decided he needed to upgrade his wardrobe a bit. Going shopping isn't always fun for either of us, and now we have a baby who isn't always patient while in his stroller.
We went to a local outdoor mall, and Husband decided to try jcrew first. I noticed that they were having a sale on polos right away. Husband was clear that he didn't want polos, but I mentioned them anyway. Husband only wanted short sleeved button up shirts. I supported his preference by telling him he should try on polos. He then suggested that I take Baby and wander around outside and leave him alone.
I obliged and went to make an appointment for a haircut. I know I don't need to lose anymore hair, but I haven't had it cut since before Baby was born. It's time. While I was in the quiet salon waiting my turn, Baby decided he was going to hold a protest against his stroller. I hurriedly unhooked him from his shackles and continued to wait. After spending about 10 minutes waiting, Baby and I were able to book me an appointment and leave the salon.
Husband and I met back up, and I learned that he hadn't purchased anything. I was already kind of bored; after all, the shopping clearly was not for me in any way. Husband had been helping me a lot in my classroom, however, so I was happy to be supportive of his need for new clothes.
We hit clothing gold at Eddie Bauer. I spent about 30 minutes in the store trying to bribe a squirmy, fussy baby to shut up and settle down (please, Baby, if you stop making noise, I promise not to get mad in a year or two when you decide to cut your own hair). I was bored and antsy, and Husband found several shirts he wanted to try on. I walked around philosophizing to myself and Baby about what it now means that I like some of the clothes at Eddie Bauer. My mother used to drag me into that store when I was younger, and I still twitch when I pass by. My twitching ceased when I found a pair of cute green pants and a lavender top. I mentioned the outfit to Husband, and he grunted. Then he disappeared for a very long time. I deduced that he was trying on a mountain of shirts and tried to keep myself entertained and patient. Husband emerged from the dressing room triumphant and went back to the racks to select more shirts. He tried to escape the store then. He really did. But the sales-college dropout had commission in his eyes, and I think he had a killer instinct when it comes to picking out people who really want clothes but whose husbands need a laptop for school and whose babies need shots and formula and clothing and toys, and the sales-college dropout asked me if I had seen anything I liked.
"Oh, we're not shopping for me today," I replied, glaring at Husband. He rolled his eyes.
"Really? You're not getting anything?" he asked incrediously.
"Nope," I said. "Even though I'm going back to work this week and haven't had any clothes in such a long time and feel frumpy and ugly." I was no longer talking to the sales-college dropout. "You're not letting her get anything?" he asked Husband. "Let her try something on," he urged. "I'll hold the baby."
"Fine," Husband said. "You can get one thing. And it has to be from the sale rack."
"Six things? Great." I threw Baby to Husband and sprinted to the sale rack. Everything on the sale rack was frumpy. "If I wanted to look like frumpy troll teacher, I could get this t-shirt," I explained to Husband and held up a striped t. "But I don't want to look like frumpy troll teacher. I want to look like hip young mama teacher."
Husband actually agreed with me and gave me his blessing to head to the front of the store. I tried on the cute green pants and a slutty black top and came out of the dressing room.
"Well, I can't wear the top to work," I told Husband.
"No, but you could wear it out to dinner," he replied. Then we broke into hysterics. Out to dinner. Haha.
We decided I'd get the cute green pants, and I was no longer bored with the shopping trip. It was a successful trip for 2/3 of the shopping trio. I had a new pair of pants, and Husband, as he continues to remind me, bought seven shirts for $90. So now I just need to work on getting more pants, some tops, and a skirt or two. School starts in less than a week...

The Church Lady, Part 2

At the beginning of the summer, I vowed to go to church each week. To make myself stomach church each week I viewed it as a social observation/experiment. I went one week, which sucked, and never went again. I intended to go the second week, but apparently I was so tired that I fell asleep on the couch on the way to the shower, and Husband had to put me back to bed. I say apparently because I remember none of this. After that second week, we got busy with moving and unpacking and living between two houses, so church wasn't a priority. Who am I kidding, though? Church hasn't been a priority since I got married.
Church was so important to me in college and graduate school, but it's easy for things to be important when surrounded by others who also find them important. In college and graduate school, I surrounded myself with people who saw their faith as central to themselves. That's not to say that all my friends were Christians, but I had a huge support network of people who'd go to church with me, discuss the Bible and theology with me, pray for me, and challenge me. These were people who weren't of the be a Christian and everything will be great persuasion; they were more of the be a Christian and you may very well be just as fucked up as anyone else, that's right, fucked, but it's important to love God and do your very best to learn about Him, serve Him, and help others learn about Him persuasion.
Church/spending time with God/having a support system for all of that fell apart soon after I left graduate school. That's the tune of so many areas of my life right now. I know it's not an excuse; it's more of an explanation. It became harder and harder to even half-assedly keep up without support, and I quickly gave up. For three + years. I miss it, though. I miss it terribly. I miss having people close by that I can talk theology with in person. I miss being able to tell people I'm praying for them without them thinking I'm weird, or being able to bring God and God's will into a conversation about a decision or life or whatever.
So I've decided I have to get off my ass and find a church. While I doubt I will ever find people who will be as dear to me as Scottie or Caroline and Leighann, I am certain that in this city there are people who love God, and not in a crazy snake handling type of way. I just need to get off my ass and find them. This will be difficult for me, as I lack follow through on pretty much everything I attempt. It will also be difficult because my suspicion is that I will largely be on my own for this.
I'm currently searching the internet for nearby churches. I'm thinking of going to church tomorrow morning, but I'm not sure where to start. Because I'm Catholic, a Catholic church seems like the logical place to start but I'm currently dissatisfied with Holy Mother Church and its entities in Virginia. I'm not ready to say F.U. to the Catholic Church, but I might need a break for awhile and the thought of not being Catholic is often both a relief and crushing to me.
I like the Episcopal church because it's worship style is close to Catholic, but since it's an offshoot of the Church of England, I don't think I could ever be Episcopalian. I plan to try some Episcopal churches, however, because I'm curious to see what a casual service there is like.
I'm also running across a lot of Methodist churches. Scottie and I used to talk about how Methodist churches seemed like the safe churches-nothing crazy in worship, no altar calls, like snakes, or head coverings required. I don't know that I've been to a Methodist church since my uncle's wedding in 1995.
I'm vetting these churches online before vetting them in real life. I'm interested in finding a church that has young families, a casual worship option, Communion every week, and an organized liturgy. The church must also have a website with a decent amount of information about their worship, philosophy, ministries, and overall mission. If a church doesn't have a website, I won't go. It's also unlikely that I'll go to a church that appears to have snakes there, or a church where people speak in tongues. I'm assuming I'm not going to try a church with the word Baptist or Pentecostal in its name.
I'd really like to go tomorrow, go and wear the cute green pants I bought today, but it's probably unlikely.

First Dates

Four years ago, today, I drove my mom's car to a city an hour away to hang out with someone I'd met once, and that was a few weeks earlier on a train. Tonight, I was thinking about that day four years ago when I wore clothes that don't fit me now, when I hadn't ever been in a relationship longer than eight weeks, when I hadn't ever had sex before, when I lived in a different state and didn't plan on living in Virginia ever again, when I hadn't ever thought about what my wedding ring might look like, when I didn't completely loathe myself, when my hair wasn't falling out in huge clumps and my abdomen wasn't covered with a scar and stretch marks, when I didn't even know what stretch marks looked like. Tonight, I was thinking about all that and about how on that day, four years ago, I could have never predicted that I'd be driving down a rural highway with a screaming baby in the backseat.
It's the anniversary of my first date with Husband, and the anniversary of when we got engaged a year later. As far as first dates go, I thought it kind of sucked, but not many first dates end up in an eventual marriage, so we must have done something right. My first date with Husband was basically just an extended afternoon of hanging out at his apartment. Nothing illicit, just two people hanging out and chatting (we also went to lunch). I had really high expectations for this date because we'd been emailing for about three weeks before the date, and I was certain that this guy either liked me (something I'd never been certain of before) or that this guy would be my new best friend. I spent the days before the date talking with my friends about this guy and trying to figure out if he liked me as a friend or as more than a friend. After hours and hours of circular conversation, my friend Tim finally said, "Look. He's 24. Guys that are 24 aren't looking for more friends who live six hours away." Tim, Scottie, and I then proceeded to pick out my outfit for the date and talk more about whether or not this guy liked me.
The date's high point was when Husband told me I reminded him of a college aged guy. By the time the date was over, I was confused and didn't understand what had gone wrong. We'd connected those weeks when we emailed. At least I thought we had. After the date, I was on the phone with Tim by the time I got to the first traffic light. Leighann beeped in while I was in the middle of telling Tim how much the date sucked. "It sucked!" I cried to her.
"What the fuck?" she responded, in typical Leighann fashion. "That's fucking impossible."
"No, it's true. Isn't that fucked up?" I got off the phone and proceeded to bitch to Tim, then Scottie about the fucked-upness of said date. I drove to Fairfax and bitched to Caroline and Leighann about the date, and we discussed how it could have possibly been so painfully awkward. During the four hours it took me to drive home from Fairfax, I berated myself for letting the date be so horrible and talked myself out of liking this guy who was so great. When I got home at 3 a.m., I had an email waiting for me. It was from Husband, telling me how much he'd enjoyed the date and how he thought there was "potential for something more than friendship." Instead of replying with my thoughts, as he requested, I left the computer room and cried in my bed. I didn't reply when I woke up the next morning. Instead, I got up, drove back to Fairfax, and discussed the situation with my friend Kara. Then Kara and I discussed the situation with our friend Shayleen. After I'd said about fourteen self-deprecating comments, Shayleen interrupted me.
"Relax," she said. "This is normal. This is good. Things like this are supposed to happen for you. I cannot believe you left this poor guy hanging all day and haven't responded to his email!" I hung my head in shame and promised her I'd respond as soon as I got home. Later, as Kara and I were driving and discussing "trainboy," as we refered to Husband back then, she had to pull over so I could vomit in front of someone's house because I was so freaked out at the idea of me liking someone and him liking me back at the same time. And that started the series of days I like to call "vomit week," where I couldn't eat and threw up every time I thought about Husband, which was quite a bit.
But that was four years ago. Husband rarely makes me throw up these days, and now it's generally in response to an argument or being pregnant. I don't agonize over what I'm going to wear when he's around because he's around all the time. He's lucky if I get time to shave my legs these days. He's seen me at my best, and he's seen me in labor. There's not a whole lot that's left to be revealed, at least not physically. Conversation got a lot easier the more we talked, and we don't have many awkward moments these days. When we do, we laugh about it, usually. We've said things to each other that are more terrible than I thought possible, and he's built me up more than I ever thought possible. I know it's maudlin and sappy, but I'm glad I went on that crappy date.

Eating My Words, Part 1

When I had a baby, I swore I'd never be the mom who took neck-ed pictures of her baby. I wanted very much to preserve Baby's dignity throughout his childhood and beyond. Well, since the bathtub at the new house has crappy shower doors on it, we've been forced to bathe Baby in the kitchen sink. Sorry, Baby. I held out as long as I could.

Stupid Babies Need the Most Love, Part 3

So Baby can roll over both ways now, and he can scoot himself around in a circle. We're really proud of these new developments, and he's trying so hard to crawl. Baby can do all of the movements individually, but he just can't put it all together. Husband and I continue to encourage him mostly by getting down on the floor and playing with him or putting toys just out of arms reach to encourage him to move toward the toys he wants.
Baby tries so hard. He stretches his arms out and grunts, lifts his knees and pushes off with his feet. And he moves! Backwards. He looks around, confused, and repeats the process, over and over until he's finally several feet away from the toy he wants, is about to crash himself into something dangerous like a fireplace, and is crying that agitated Baby cry that so quickly escalates into full-blown banshee screaming.
My dad says Baby's only going in reverse because he doesn't know he's going in reverse. I don't know if that's the case or not, but it's pretty entertaining to watch.

Gracias!

So I turned 27 yesterday, as someone who is not me posted on here. We all know it was Husband, although he denies it.
I had a good 27th. It was much better than last year, which was spent either vomiting or on the couch trying not to vomit. That totally sucked. Yesterday was pretty low key. We are at my parents' house again, so we all went out to dinner last night. It was a little stressful, and I found I couldn't relax much because Baby acted like he was about to lose it the entire time. I don't think I've relaxed from it yet. It was like he was at Arby's or something.
I got some awesome presents. Husband gave me three graphic novels. I'm not really into graphic novels, but I am interested in these three. He got me Maus II, since I've read Maus, but not the second one, V for Vendetta, since we just watched it and both thought it was fucking awesome, and Y, which I heard about on NPR a couple years ago, and mentioned twice or something that I was interested. Clearly, he knows how to pay attention. My parents got me a gift card to a fabric store so my mother can make couch pillows for us. That's great cause we don't have the money to purchase couch pillows right now, and I can't be bothered to learn how to sew. My parents and Husband also went in together and got me a gift certificate for cooking classes taught by local chefs. I am so excited about that because I love cooking but have only recently gained a bit of confidence in that area.
So yeah, all in all a good day. I also just want to say a big thank you to everyone who left me messages, comments, e-cards, etc. That made my day so much nicer!

Today is Grace's birthday...

Today is Grace's birthday. You should send her emails, leave her voicemails and/or comments. It would be great.
Sincerely,
Not Grace

That Boy's Head's Like Sputnik

When Baby was born, his head was in the 5th percentile. At his one month check up, his doctor sent us to the hospital to get his head ultrasounded because his head circumference had skyrocketed to the 95th percentile. The ultrasound showed no abnormalities, and when I took him back for his two month check up, the doctor said "Well, his head is still on the charts." At his recent four month check up, the nurse practitioner told us that his weighty head is no longer on the chart. It's just that big. A virtual planetoid. For awhile, I was worried that the weight of his head was what was holding him back from being able to roll over, but that theory's been dispelled now. From certain angles, Baby looks like the Brain from Pinky and the Brain.
Husband and I tell people about Baby's head with a mixture of shame, self-consciousness, and amusement. When some people (generally of my mother's generation) hear of this, they say, "It's just because of that big, smart brain of his." Others will respond by joining us in quoting this.
I really don't think Baby's head is that big. It's not like he's a Kennedy. I really wasn't worried until I got this chilling glimpse into Baby's future. Oh my.

Adam did it better...*

*Click
Baby owns an obscene number of stuffed animals. When I was knocked up, almost every gift I got included a stuffed animal of some sort. The smallest is a little teddy bear that was part of a clothing/washcloth/towel/bib/hat set, and the largest is a tall Pat the Bunny. I started unpacking Baby's orange room last week, and I set Baby in his crib to play while I did that. Every time I found a stuffed animal, I threw it into his crib for him to play with. Baby loved on his new friends, and since I can't focus on a task for more than fifteen seconds at a time, I managed to get distracted and name Baby's stuffed animals.
"Okay, Baby," I'd say, "Here's Frog," and pitch the frog Caroline and Leighann brought to the hospital for him the day he was born.
"Here's Chomps," I said, and threw the stuffed alligator my sister bought him.
"Okay, here's Jellycat," I told him and tossed a stuffed monkey into the crib (Jellycat is Baby's favorite, despite my efforts to make Frog his best inanimate friend).
"Baby, meet Frogball." I bounced a ball with a frog's head and body into the crib.
"Here's Eeyore." Then Husband walked in. I introduced him to all the stuffed animals I'd named so far.
"Wait. Aren't I allowed to name anything?" he complained.
"Um, I already named everything. You weren't in here. Oh, wait, you can name this," I said, holding up a ring rattle with Tigger's head on it.
"Okay, that's Tigger."
"No it's not. It's a ring rattle with Tigger's head on it. Think of a different name," I instructed.
"Okay, Cockring."
I glared at him. "MY baby is not having a toy named Cockring." I was firm about this.
"Fine." Husband rolled his eyes and left the room.
I've since unpacked even more stuffed animals, and when I find a working camera and camera cord, I'll post Baby and his inanimate friends. Husband's been allowed to name a couple, so now we also have Athletic Bear and Flamboyant Lion. They're currently living under Baby's crib. Husband also named the ginormous cricket who's taken up residence in our house, and every night we have a loud visit with Hoppy.

Rollover Baby

Baby has been rolling over from front to back for quite awhile. It first happened sometime between one and two months old, and I actually missed the first time. I felt like a crappy mom because not only did I place my baby on his stomach, which he hated at the time, I also left the room to get a yogurt from the fridge. When I came back, he was on his back and yelling. Oops. As he's developed, he's hated being on his belly less and less, until earlier in the summer when he actually started to enjoy being on his stomach. He's trying to crawl and will try to scoot himself to a toy as he gets angrier and angrier until he finally collapses into a pissed little mound on the rug, and I have to pick him up.
For the last couple of weeks, Husband and I have noticed Baby trying really hard to roll over from his back to his front. Like any normal parents, we've put increasing pressure on him. We initially encouraged him by saying things like, "Okay, Baby, you can do it! You're so close," and soothing him. We later encouraged him by saying things like, "Okay, Baby, you're not going to get into college if you can't roll from your back to stomach." He's been really close for about a week and a half. We've been on roll over watch at this house. Every night when my mother came home, I'd tell her that he hadn't done it yet. We had family over yesterday, and Baby still couldn't manage to do it. About an hour after our visitors left, Husband went up to check his email, and Baby finally did it. I was excited and immediately yelled up the stairs. Baby did not roll over again, despite my attempts to get him to do it for Husband.
I thought Baby's latest trick was a fluke until this afternoon. He was a rolling over machine. Since we're still trying to get the house unpacked, Baby spends a lot of time playing on the rug while we talk to him and put things away. Baby rolled over from front to back then back to front over and over and over all afternoon. It's kind of dumb, but I just watched and watched and wasn't bored at all.