OMG!

Miss Paige slept a miraculous straight 10 hours last night!

Due to my desire to share this news, I’ve been walking around the house saying into the air that I was up nursing all night. I’m hopeful that will counter any jinx effect that my mentioning it will have.

Also, we have saved the diaper she wore to put it on her again tonight. There’s no telling what factors led to this divine stretch of sleep, but God knows we’re trying to recreate as much as we can for a repeat performance.

And Now, All Hell Breaks Loose

Miss Kate turned two-and-a-half today. I realized this a half hour into a duet crying session conducted by her and her baby sister.

Paige was crying because she is a baby, and was hungry, and I was too busy tending to her sick sister who had a 103 degree fever to feed her right away. Kate was crying because of the fever.

And just like that, I buckled. And turned on the TV for Kate. For the first time in her life.

Not only has she never watched a show, we’ve never had TV on when she’s been awake. It’s something some folks have marveled at our ability to do (since, much as I hate to admit it, I can get into a bit of boob-tube watchin’). The thing is, when it’s an absolute and you just don’t do it, it’s kind of easier than, well, than what I have just introduced ourselves to today. From here on out, if TV is even an option it’s one we can easily backslide into, even though we have every intention of being diligent about what and when and how much is watched. (By Kate at least.)

And, let it be known, that–unsurprisingly–the power of TV is mighty. Within literally seconds, a sick and miserable inconsolable toddler was sitting up with her back arched at full attention staring at the screen. She was silent and filled with wonder. It was a staggering shift in the collective mood of just moments before.

So, of course I had to obnoxiously pause the show every 5 minutes to have a conversation with Kate about what was happening down Sesame Street way. “See? Elmo wasn’t good at bowling at first, and he was frustrating, but he kept practicing, and then he got better!”

It’s comforting knowing that at least over time, I’ll likely stop with the annoying animated interjections to Kate’s viewing. See, apathy has its merits.

Product Development Chez McClusky

Yesterday Kate was watching Mark get ready for work and become enthralled with his hair product. I think part of the attraction was that when she asked Mark what it was, he said mousse. As it turns out, one of Kate’s favorite songs is about a moose. I can only imagine how her toddler brain parsed the concept that one word can mean a large horned beast, and a foamy hair product.

Imagine all those poor kids whose fathers aren’t metrosexuals who don’t have these experiences!

At any rate, on our walk yesterday there was much talk and questioning about mousse. “Can I use some?” Do you use it Mama?” “I like mousse!”

Of course, I made up some hooey about mousse only being from grown-ups. Though I guess, with the exception of kids like Jon Benet Ramsey, it really is.

This morning when Mark was again getting ready for work and Kate looked on in the bathroom, her fascination reached a frenzied peak and Mark relented to put some in her hair. (It’s acts like this that will no doubt lead to our financial ruin.)

Kate’s delight in having mousse (or was she thinking if it as moose?) in her hair led to her skipping around the house shouting, “I want Thomas [the Tank Engine] mousse!! I want Thomas mousse!!”

We may just have stumbled onto a brilliant get rich quick scheme. And the best thing is, Kate didn’t even have us sign an NDA.

Sheesh, Already?

Today when I pulled out my cell phone in the car to call Mark, Kate said from the back seat–and this is an exact quote–”Can you buy me a phone, Mama?”

What is the world coming to? My two-and-a-half year old wants a cell phone!

I was hoping that we could hold off at least until she was three.

At the Playground

Kate and I were inside a wooden train structure at the playground the other day with another mom and toddler. The other girl took the steering wheel of the train.

Other Girl’s Mom: Where are we going, honey?

Other Girl: To the beach!

Then Kate took her turn at the steering wheel.

Me: Where are we going, Kate.

Kate: Costco!

Clearly I’m taking my daughter on more enriching afternoon outings than that other Mom. But I’d hate to judge her.

Flying Solo

So, here I am with a baby who is 4 1/2 weeks old, and of course with Miss Kate who is 2 1/2 years old, taking care of them solo for the first time. And wonder of wonders I’m not weeping, freaking out, or calling Mark to come home immediately. But give me time.

As with Kate, I’m once again daunted by the prospect of staying home to care for kids. It’s really a luxury that I realize we are lucky to be able to afford (at least temporarily), but as someone who is addicted to people and action and energy and activity, in my most fearful hours I look at is as a jail sentence.

The thing is, if we lived in some turbo suburbia where there were rows of houses occupied by other stay-a-home moms (and kids), I think it would be easier. Just walk out the door and there’s someone else doing what you are doing–in other words, clutching a latte for dear life and looking desperately for something to do to entertain the kids that is inexpensive, safe, not overly taxing on your own energy, and maybe even somewhat educational. I guess if some were to walk through our neighborhood they’d make the argument that I have nothing to complain about. You can’t swing a dead cat in this town without hitting a $700 stroller.

But invariably it’s being pushed by a nanny. I mean, not that I’m opposed to socializing with a nanny and her charges, but somehow it’s different from conspiring (and sometimes commiserating) with another mom. Probably ’cause we’re not getting paid.

All this thinking has me wondering if a different setting would make the staying home thing more fun. I mean, shouldn’t I be springing from bed each day delighting in the fact that no part of my day will involve saying my name when I answer the phone, or sitting in a gray cubicle as Outlook tells me where to go and what to do? You’d think.

Oh great. Kate is wailing in her room, “Mama! Mama!” trying to dodge taking a nap, and the lawn/garden guys just pulled up in front of the house ready to turn on their volume 11 weed whackers and whack to high hell any hope of Kate settling down. See? I used to worry about client presentations. Now I fear that my well manicured lawn could result in a cranky over-tired toddler. Sheesh.

Paige, on the other hand, is napping nicely in her carseat bucket. Must remember to relish this early-life sleep ethic.

Okay, call me crazy but I’m “going in” to see if I can settle Kate down into restful slumber. Wish me luck, and see you in the grocery store. I’ll be the one in the $10 Target Mom sweatpants…

Things I Forgot about Newborns

1. It’s nearly impossible to put one of those stretchy hospital-issued baby hats with one hand. That’s one of the main reasons why you need to have someone help out with the new baby. The hat thing is definitely a two-man job.

2. Where toddler poop is discernible through smell, infant poo is audible.

3. Much time is spent deconstructing the newborn face. To wit: There’s consensus that Paige has Mark’s cleft chin, and Kate’s ears (which have a little heart-shaped notch). Thus far no features have been attributed to me–unless people are comparing the fat folds in our thighs behind my back.

4. Baby poop smells like butterscotch.

Baby on the Outside Now

Miss Paige Victoria McClusky made a fashionable and dramatic entrance to the world on January 31st at 2:50PM–12 long days past her due date.

Paige weighed a hearty 9 lbs. 3 ozs. at birth, and is 21.5 inches long. Her Apgar scores were perfect.

Mark, Kate and I are assimilating to life as a family of four, and spending long stretches of time gazing adoringly at Paige. Oddly, but thankfully, Kate finds diaper changing an exciting spectator sport. Thus far she hasn’t asked us to return Paige to the hospital, but God knows there’s plenty of time for that.

Thanks to all for the calls, emails, love, flowers, food and support!

9 Days Late Now

Perhaps this baby will never come out? Or I will give birth to a teenager years from now?

The best way I can describe how I feel is that it’s like when you get really hungry, but can’t get something to eat. You get hungrier and hungrier and you’re totally focused on food, then eventually you get over it and you’re not even hungry any more.

I went from being so anxious about the pain of labor that I had no desire to start the process, to the point of wanting to do it just to get it over with. And in that brief period I was trying to get myself pretty pumped up about it. But now my I-am-woman-hear-me-birth motivation has been depleted by the endless waiting. I feel oddly unconvinced that I’ll be having a baby soon, even though everyone’s been great about assuring me that I will.

What’s a gal to do? Well, considering that at this juncture my pre-labor manicure and pedicure is looking quite shabby, I’m going to the nail salon while Kate’s at school.

Maybe the baby doesn’t want to emerge to this horrible shade of pink I somehow settled on for my toenails last? At least he/she has good taste. His/her lateness is pushing the boundaries of fashionableness though.

Adding Insult to Injury

I just got an email from BabyCenter.com entitled “Your One Week Old.” Yeah, not so much.

Still pregnant here…

I went for “antenatal tests” today that showed that the baby is moving around well and isn’t all cramped up in there (despite how things might feel from my perspective).

Last night I was actually starting to get the impression that this baby was mistaking itself for a bird. The way it was stretching and pushing at every possible angle of my uterus was like a bird tapping away from inside a shell looking for a weak spot to crack its way free. It made me daydream a bit about how much easier birds have it–just sitting on an egg for a while to keep it nice and toasty, then letting the kid do all the work when it’s time for it to emerge.

Anyway, another test today showed that he/she also has plenty of amniotic fluid. I guess that’s what helps keeps babies nice and fresh.

So the outcome of our visit to the hospital was a pat on the back and a directive to go home for more waiting. Of course it’s always best when medical tests reveal that you’re doing well. The Achiever part of me always wants to excel, even when it comes to an ulstrasound. But at this rate I’m fearful that I’ll be giving birth to a one-month old.

I just hope BabyCenter has an email newsletter called “Your Newborn One-Month Old.”