Tara & Darrell's Excellent Adventure, Part 2

For the first time ever, Darrell slept five hours and 45 minutes! Wow! It was actually me who woke him up about 6:30 am when my rock-hard, soaked, engorged right boob woke me up because so much time had passed since his last feeding. If I didn't wake him up or pump, I'd be in pain soon. Of course, he was probably exhausted from screaming for the whole drive the day before, but regardless, I was glad he allowed me the longest continuous bout of sleep I'd had since he was born.

And I needed it! After feeding him, I got up for an early morning chat with my dad and then went back to bed for an hour before leaving for our first visit: my friend Latha at 9:30am. Of course, I was running late because I had to stop at my favorite bagel shop, Iris Bagels, on the way to say hi to the family there and get my once-standard poppy seed bagel - Oh, how I miss those bagels every day! Latha, one of my closest friends, had children before any of my other friends, so she's an old pro at this whole motherhood business with her sons Shrayes and Saurung. In addition to giving us a ton of awesome hand-me-down clothes and supplies, she's also been wonderful at dispensing helpful advice. Her schedule was tight, though, so I just popped in for about 45 minutes so she could meet Darrell and we could catch up.

Then it was off to see family friend Vikki, or "Aunt Vikki" for little Darrell. She just moved into an awesome house in Fort Worth, but she was still at her medical appointment in south Arlington when I called. So, I drove from Latha's in north Arlington to get Vikki and then off to see her adorable, cat-tastic Fort Worth home (the only home of cats I've ever visited that doesn't smell like cats :)

From Vikki's, it was back to east Arlington to see my "daughter" Taylor, a former student who calls me every Mother's Day and rightfully regards little Darrell as her little brother. Then it was back to my parents' in southwest Arlington to pick up Casper and Ghost and take them to Creature Comfort Animal Clinic for their annual shots. After dropping them back off at my parents', I headed to a central Arlington Starbucks to meet up with another former student Fatima and my friends Jaya and Charles with their adorable 11-month son Cayden.

Fatima was apparently stunned at my "transformation" into a mother, complete with "mom clothes." Mom clothes are a practical choice, of course, and I don't fit well or comfortably into much else besides sweat pants and a basic nursing top, so I suppose I look the part! It was amazing to see how big Cayden is - it's hard to believe that Darrell will be about his size and running around within a year... I want him to stay small for much, much longer!

From Starbucks, I swung back home to feed Darrell and then met my friend Jana - another super-close friend and the second of my friends to have kids - at America's Best Coffee before she headed to work. Jana had seen Darrell in the hospital, so she could really appreciate how much he's grown in just six weeks. And at last, after meeting Jana, I was off to the home of my husband's parents, Alice and Russ.

Whew! I was pretty damn tired by this point, so it was nice to just sit and relax at Alice's and have a relaxing dinner there. Khrystal, my husband's brother's fiancé, came with her kids as well, so little Darrell got to meet his cousins Ryleigh and Gabriel. They were utterly fascinated with this tiny new family member of theirs!

Darrell with cousins Gabriel & Ryleigh

By the time I left Alice's, I was definitely ready to crash, especially since the following morning would be the long drive back to Austin. Little D didn't sleep quite as long this time, but we still got in enough rest for the drive. I made sure to stop for my bagel and coffee at Iris Bagels to say hi to Earl and his parents again before getting on the road again. The ride back wasn't quite as harrowing as the drive north: Darrell only screamed for about 50 percent of the time. By now, I had nearly learned to tune it out while still alert for any abnormal or warning sounds.

Of course, central Austin greeted me with Friday rush-hour traffic since I wasn't arriving until nearly 4 pm, so I ended up getting home a little later than I'd planned to meet up with my friend Bridgett and her seven-month old daughter Satya. Bridgett and I had been trying to meet up for ages despite busy schedules, so it was nice to catch up, introduce her to little D and see how much Satya has grown since I met her a few months ago.

And at last, Friday night, we slept in our own bed, thoroughly wiped out from our whirlwind DFW odyssey!

Ryleigh, Darrell and Gabriel

Tara & Darrell's Excellent Adventure, Part I

Or, better named, Tara and Darrell's EXHAUSTING Adventure! But, I'm proud to say I've taken Darrell IV on his first road trip and we both survived, as did Casper and Ghost, our long-haired chihuahuas who accompanied us. I decided to take a trip to Arlington so little Darrell could meet some friends and visit Alice and Russ, Darrell's parents, who hadn't seen him since he was born. I told only a few people I was coming because I didn't want to feel obligated to see a ton of people, especially since I was only going to be there for two days. I also warned people that I couldn't guarantee I'd make it. I figured if I made it to Waco, the halfway point between Austin and DFW, then I could make the rest of the trip, but until I hit that 100-mile mark, I wasn't making any promises.

As I expected, Darrell wailed at the start of the trip. I made sure he had a full tummy, even breastfeeding him one last time at the Riverside service road gas station where I filled up the tank. I also made sure he wouldn't be hot or cold, with the A/C angled toward him and a blanket tucked around him. Nevertheless, a piercing newborn cry was my soundtrack until I was a good 10-15 miles out of Georgetown. Then, suddenly, I realized the crying had stopped. It took a minute for me to realize it because I was used to his occasional pauses, just long enough to take a breath and begin screaming again. So naturally, I breathed deeply and enjoyed the sudden respite, right? Oh no - not me. I was so used to the crying that I worried something was wrong so I arched up high in my seat to take a quick peek over the car seat (the mirror I'd been using to see him in the rear-facing seat in the back had fallen off and I hadn't been able to replace it yet). I saw a foot wiggle and felt relieved. He was alive all right - he just decided to stop screaming.

For twenty minutes. Then it was back to wailing again for over an hour. During the four-hour trip (normally three hours, but I stopped a few times to feed him or comfort him), he DIDN'T cry for one more 15-minute period and one 10-minute period. Beyond that, he screamed the remaining three hours!

To save time on feeding, I decided to pump while I was driving so I could simply pull over and give him a bottle. I use a sports bra to hold the phalanges in place so it's hands-free pumping, and the plan worked beautifully. (Of course, I'm not sure what I would have said had I been pulled over!) During one of our stops, I pulled off at a small gas station to change his diaper and feed him. I walked past the THREE signs telling me that restrooms were for customers only (okay! I get it!), opened the women's restroom... and stared in disbelief and disgust. I've used toilets in over 40 countries, and only once have I seen a bathroom more disgusting than this: an outhouse halfway up Mount Sinai in Egypt that was covered in excrement and swarming with flies. This I-35 gas station bathroom was only missing the flies. The toilet seat and back were covered in diarrhea, as was the floor and wall. There was toilet paper on the floor and every surface - floor, wall, stall, ceiling, sink - was filthy. I didn't want to touch ANYTHING and used my foot to open the door to walk out.

I asked the woman at the register if she had been in the restroom lately. She said no. I said she might want to and told her what I saw. She said the man who cleans it comes once a week and won't be in for a few days. I told her she might want to call him or clean it herself. She said, "I'm not going to do it! I'm a woman!" I just shook my head and walked out, making a mental note never to pull over at that exit again!

About 4:30, I got to Fort Worth and visited my friends Alexis and Greg Gross. Then I dropped off the dogs at my parents' house and visited my friend Jan, recently a grandmother herself. And then just before returning to my parents', I made an unscheduled stop at the home of a former assistant principal who lives just around the corner from my parents and was a wonderful mentor while I taught at Sam Houston. I thought he'd enjoy seeing that I was now a mom, especially since he had once teased me about the idea of me slowing down long enough to get married and have a family. He enjoyed meeting little Darrell and it was great catching up with him, Jan, and Greg and Alexis. At last, I returned to my parents' and damn near crashed. I was exhausted, and I had a busy lineup the next day.

The Feeding Frenzy of Count Suckula!

Oh. My. God. At last I can come up for air because at last my son has finally come up for air! Several friends had warned me that growth spurts are exhausting, and I certainly took their words seriously, but nothing quite prepares you for the six-week-old's growth spurt. With little Darrell, it actually began a little past his fifth week and had I realized what to expect, perhaps I might have invested some time in developing a special contraption that keeps him attached to my boobs 24-7... because that's pretty much the only place he wanted to be!

Every 30 to 90 minutes, he wanted to eat, and my milk bags could barely keep up. In fact, a couple of times, they couldn't keep up and we had to resort to giving him some formula. I remember at least once (though it probably happened a few times), he cleaned out the left side, then the right, then the left again, then the right... and after an hour or so of this I was completely tapped out. So we gave him 3 oz of formula... and he sucked it down! I thought surely it wasn't possible for his tiny stomach to hold all that milk plus the formula, but I guess that's what the growth spurt is all about: an expanding stomach! (I know... just wait til he's a teenager, right?!)

I felt a little guilty about giving him the formula because I want to breastfeed exclusively, but there simply wasn't another option on a few occasions. When your kid is screaming from hunger and there's nothing left in your breasts, but there's a shelf of free formula samples... well, you're not going to let him go hungry! I did call Mom's Place, the WIC lactation center, however, to ask them if they had any suggestions. I began taking fenugreek, a supplement to increase milk production a little over a week ago, and I've been downing water like crazy, so they suggested I come in for a pre- and post-feeding weigh-in.

My appointment is tomorrow, but I'll admit I was a bit annoyed with the woman on the phone. She said it can be tempting to offer formula during growth spurts to "give myself a break," but that it's important he only eat from the breast to stimulate more production. I kept my cool but was angry at the implication that I had any other choice: like I said, if I'm totally tapped out and my kid is hungry and I have the ability to feed him with formula, I'm going to do that before I'm going to let him scream for the next hour while I recharge. We never gave him formula unless my breasts were empty. In any case, I blew her off. I figure I'll do what I feel is right for my child and I'll see what they say tomorrow. Meanwhile, I've give him the new nickname "Count Suckula." After that True Blood marathon with my mother that I mentioned before, I felt like I was being fed upon by a milk vampire all this past week!

A 4 a.m. stroll saves the day, er, uh, night

You know those people who choose career fields because they love a challenge? People like engineers and doctors who constantly seek new situations that require problem-solving and creativity? I have the solution for those people: take care of a baby! After running through the list of usual suspects as he cries - is he hungry? does he need a diaper change? etc. - it becomes increasingly difficult to figure out what's wrong. Last night particularly required extra patience and creativity.

Soon after Darrell III came home from work, Darrell IV was getting fussy. After he had eaten, been changed, burped and farted, I still couldn't calm him down, so my husband took over. It eventually turned out that he was cold! Something so simple that I just didn't think of and wrapping him in a warmer blanket did the trick... for a little while.

He became fussy again, and I just couldn't handle it anymore after being with him all day. So I set him in the bouncer and turned on the vibrator, and suddenly he quieted down. Maybe he just didn't want to be held? That lasted... for a little while. Then the crying turned on again and thank God Darrell III took over. We never figured out what was bothering him - was he in pain? was he overstimulated? was he bored? - but he eventually cried it out as Darrell rocked him and sang to him and gave him the pacifier (after repeated attempts).

At bedtime, he was truly sleeping and nursed only briefly before falling back asleep, so it looked as though it wouldn't be a rough night. Wrong. At quarter to 4 a.m., after nursing (and spitting up a bunch all over mom, himself and the bed as usual), he was still alert and getting increasingly fussier. I tried rocking him in the glider. I tried swaddling. He refused my breasts and the pacifier. He didn't seem cold or hot. His diaper was clean, and he'd burped and farted. What was the problem?!

Darrell loves the Sleepy Wrap!

In desperation, I put on some sweatpants and the Sleepy Wrap and slid him into the kangaroo-pouch-like carrier and then headed out the door. I walked around the courtyard and then in front of our building and then around the courtyard again... he calmed a bit, then a bit more... After about the fifth circuit, he was nearly asleep. I had been super tired, but the walk was actually nice. The loud white noise of the whirring air conditioning fans outside each unit probably helped lull him to sleep, and the temperature was perfect: balmy and breezy with a fresh summertime scent in the air. I made one more loop for good measure and then came inside, slid him out of the pouch and beside me in the bed, and finally laid down to sleep. (For two hours :)

Getting along without Grandma

My mom headed home to Arlington on Sunday night after staying with us just over six weeks, so the past few days have been my first with just Darrell IV and me. I felt bouts of anxiety during the week leading up to my mom's departure, occasionally crying to Darrell that I'm worried about how I would do after she left. She's been a tremendous help, and I've been incredibly grateful for how long she stayed with us. It makes a world of difference when I can hand her the baby and run a quick errand or take a quick shower or, more often, take a nap. Darrell and my mom both told me I was doing great as a mom, however, and that I'd be fine. That feels nice to hear, but I was anxious nonetheless.

Darrell IV & Grandma Haelle

I guess we were all right. I have been doing okay, though it is difficult without my mom. If I can get one thing done each day, I feel a significant sense of accomplishment and I can relax a bit with little Darrell. Monday, I got the car inspected (yay! it passed!). Tuesday, I got an oil change and exchanged some items at Buy Buy Baby. Yesterday and today, I did a little laundry, and today I bought stamps at the post office. I also managed to squeeze in lunch at Nueva Onda yesterday and lunch at Curra's today. I find I need to do at least one outing a day or else I'll go a little crazy. The rest of the time is sleeping, feeding Darrell, changing diapers, and watching Netflix. I actually managed to watch six episodes in a row of the first season of 24. At that rate, it might actually be possible to get through all eight seasons by the end of the summer!

Now that he's a little over five weeks old, Darrell's alert much more of the day than he used to be. His awake-time is often awkward time too, though, because he's still too young to really play with. He's started to coo and gurgle and make all sorts of other adorable sounds, and the rest of the time just sort of stares off, taking in the world. I've been trying to talk to him as much as possible, but even I - famous for being overly talkative - can only say so much to a baby who gives little to no indication that he knows I'm talking to him. It feels just like talking to myself! I told him what I ordered at Curra's, about the fruit I was making myself for breakfast, about how I'm dressing him... I'm sure I'm not talking the supposed "2100 words an hour" that I've read babies need to hear, but I'm doing the best I can.

Grandma and Darrell again

I've also discovered what my friends mean when they talk about how exhausting the growth spurts are. He definitely went through a growth spurt for the past two days: I was feeding him every 45 minutes to an hour with only a handful of longer stretches. I felt like I might as well strap him to my chest and let him feed all day long. Maybe I've been watching too much True Blood (my mom and I watched all of Season Two in just a few days before she left), but I felt a bit like a human being fed on day and night by a vampire - the kid was literally sucking the life out of me!

How is being a mom like being Catholic?

I posted that question on Facebook to see what kind of answers I would get. The question occurred to me as I realized that I was, once again, feeling guilty for something or other. I don't even remember what it was now, but I realized being a mom seems to carry with it a constant sense of guilt. You can never do right enough by your kid, and if you dare try to read about what you should be doing... well, you might as well turn your bathroom into your own private confessional. Every time he cries, it's like a new chance to solve the riddle of the Sphinx. Sometimes it takes a minute or two. Sometimes you never find out what's wrong, and the helplessness is as bad as the guilt that you can't take away whatever the problem is.

I thought about trying to list all the things I've felt guilty about in the past four weeks - everything from not playing with him enough to stimulate his brain growth (honestly, how do you play with a newborn who's not even aware that those flailing limbs belong to him?) to something as simple as needing to put him down (begin wailing soundtrack) so I can use the bathroom. But the post would be long and boring, so I decided instead to list the creative answers I got on Facebook. I still think a constant sense of guilt is the strongest link between motherhood and the Catholic experience, but I was pretty impressed with the answers received by friends below.

It's all about the guilt! - Meggan Vasta

Both are exhausting! - Jennifer Cattes

You're constantly standing, sitting and kneeling to adore a baby. - Carolina Jimenez (this was one of my favorites)

The constant up and down along with the prayers for patience, held and SLEEP! - Kellie Lou Myers

The both require an abundance of imagination. - Jake Hyden

You're constantly looking for answers. - Eduardo Huerta

You are caring for the needy, you are suffering for the greater good, every day is All Saints Day or a day of obligation, you have a good sense of humor, you are the mother of God. - Robert Strachan (another of my faves)

Master of the art of getting things done through guilt trips. - Sam Shrivatsa

Every now and then the experience "stinks." - Eduardo Huerta

And then there's James Ewing's answer, which is really more about how to cope: It's all about drinking wine in the name of God.

Sorry about the waterboarding, kiddo!

I've been known for my clumsiness for most of my life. Like my mother, I always had some sort of scratch or bruise on my arms or legs from bumping my elbow on the wall that jumped out in front of me or tripping over completely solid, flat ground. So now, of course, I find myself apologizing to my son for this or that ever-so-smooth move or else, fortunately more often, thanking his lucky stars for a near-miss.

Case in point: bath time. Darrell already hates bath time. He screams as though I'm torturing him and yesterday, well, I guess I almost did, depending on where you fall on the "is-waterboarding-torture?" debate. I set him in the mini tub that fits into the kitchen sink and this time held him in place enough that he didn't knock his head on either side of it until my mom could place a towel around his head for cushioning. (I learned that lesson on his first bath... twice.) Then I filled a mini pitcher with lukewarm water to pour over his head, except I stupidly poured it too far forward so that his screaming was temporarily muffled by the water I just poured down his nose and throat. Oops. As he began coughing, I immediately picked him up and brought his head forward, patting his back while kicking myself for just about drowning my kid in not even an inch of water. "Sorry about the waterboarding, kiddo!" Yea, not sure he was in the most forgiving mood.

I used my hand to wash him for the rest of the bath since it's gentler (usually) than a washcloth and was a bit more careful not to pour water down his face or on his hair in such a way that the soap would run into his eyes. Of course, when we finished and lifted him out of the tub, I damn near knocked his head on the corner of the kitchen cabinet.

I take comfort in the fact that my mother is as notoriously clumsy as I am. If she managed to take care of me without giving me a concussion or breaking my neck, perhaps there's hope for me too.

This photo pretty much sums up little Darrell's opinion of bath time.

Who said you lose spontaneity?

Before I had kids, everyone told me just "how much!" my life will change when I have them, a fact I never doubted. Many told me my days of globe trotting and international adventure traveling were over - I just ignored them. I met enough parents (including Americans) traveling with children of all ages (1 up to teenagers) to know that my ability to travel has more to do with how I set my priorities than with whether I have kids.

Another thing I was frequently told, by our childbirth instructor and by friends, was that having kids doesn't mean you can't do things; it just means the end of spontaneity. Well, I beg to differ. Of course, it depends on your definition of spontaneity and what it is you want to do, but yesterday was a good example for me of what I have NOT lost. It was the Fourth of July, and we weren't going to battle the crowds and the heat to see fireworks that evening, but I wanted to do *something* in the late afternoon. Darrell had a headache, so I suggested to my mom that we go to South Congress and check out the food stands and the artisan market. She said okay.

So, I grabbed my Sleepy Wrap baby carrier, the diaper bag and the baby, and we were out the door in five minutes. We parked and headed to the Mighty Cone food stand, a place I've always wanted to try, and I ordered an awesome shrimp and avocado cone of goodness. Then we checked out the arts market - not terribly interesting - and then I asked my mom if she wanted to grab a drink before we headed home. We stopped in at South Congress Cafe and decided to go ahead and get a table to order a couple drinks and some appetizers. Little Darrell awoke while we waited for the baked brie and seafood/ceviche parfair, so I nursed him from my Sleepy Wrap in our booth.

The food was awesome, the margarita was great (and not too big fortunately), and it was an overall nice little outing. We returned home, and my stir-craziness was gone. Now, this was obviously not a very elaborate outing, but I guess I don't ask for much with my "spontaneity." As far as I'm concerned, my spontaneous little desires are just as easily satisfied now as they were before. We'll see if that changes as he grows older.

Baptized into parenting

One thing I discovered very quickly about taking care of a newborn is that you end up doing a lot of laundry. A lot. Between the spit-up and milk leaks and diaper-changing accidents, he goes through a lot of onesies, and my husband, mother and I go through a lot of shirts!

Today, however, little Darrell took it to a new level, and I do believe I am, in the words of my friend Vikki Powers, officially "baptized" as a parent. It started this morning when he had a dirty diaper. It was quite an impressive fill, so it was taking longer to clean his cute little butt while I positioned the new diaper under him. I didn't move fast enough. I was mid-sentence asking my mother whether we should give him a bath today when he began peeing all over himself and the couch. (We change him on changing pads on the couch.)

I laughed while I tried to cover him up and my mom got a new changing pad. Yes, it would be a bath day. I figured he had just emptied his bowels and bladder, and we were about to put him in his mini tub, so I held him without a diaper while my mom grabbed the baby soap and fit the tub into the kitchen sink. Poor assumption... his bladder was apparently NOT empty. As I held him against me, he began peeing all over me and the kitchen floor, creating a larger puddle around me than I thought possible from such a small creature! I was wearing only my bra and underwear, it was mostly streaming down my abdomen and legs. My mom mopped up what was on the floor and I figured we might as well get the bath over as quickly as possible so *I* could now shower.

He screamed his head off for the bath - he still hates being on his back and was probably frightened - but we got through it and I wrapped him in a towel as he began calming down. Just as he was good and dry and calm, he spit up all over his just-cleansed arm and chest. After wiping him down with a paper towel (the nearest thing I could grab) and passing him to my mom to put on a diaper and onesie, I headed to the shower. When I returned, my mom described how Darrell had spit up all over the changing pad and himself as she tried to put on his diaper, somehow fortunately missing the not-yet-buttoned onesie he half had on. By this point, we deduced he truly could not have any liquids left in his tiny body to expel and he was getting fussy so that meant only one thing: it was feeding time again!