"Hello"

She has perfected "hello" and also "bye."  This particular morning she left the room and said "bye" so many times that Sam fell over laughing.  Then she came back and appropriately switched to "hello."

Lanie Tries Out Walking

This was a random occurrence after dinner, although she was trying it out in on a blanket on the grass at the pool today.  She tends to try things one day (like saying a word), then never do it again, so we'll see if she has actually decided to walk or if she's just testing the waters.  Bittersweet to see the youngest turn from a baby into a toddler!  

Lanie and the Water Table

I should just put a little baby soap in here and I'd be all set for the bath for the night since she seems to think it's for washing purposes.

Lanie's shirt

Lanie is not fond of her shirt, or perhaps she is just working on a new skill.

Lanie Trying to Crawl

Peek-a-boo

Cabbage Patch Baby

Then this happened...

Lanie's Feet

She found her feet for the first time yesterday.  Apparently it was so exciting that it made her spit up.

New Sister

Lannin Jane was born on April 2 at 3:21 am.  Stories to come- here is Vivian coming home and holding her sister.

Baby Names

TSo we are expecting another baby at the beginning of April.  The kids are kind of excited/ambivalent/possibly nervous, and depending on when you ask Vivian, in denial.

The subject of names often comes up, usually generated by Sam.  Here are some names that have been suggested:

• Luke Skywalker
• Fastie
• Bright Lights
• Sam
• Robber Boy 
• Batman
• Superman
• R2D2
• Catman (for a girl)

Travel

Well we made it to the Caribbean and back, and had a lovely trip while we were there.  I remember the first flight(s) we took with Sam, I was nervous, apprehensive about how he would do and paranoid that we would be "that family," with the screaming baby.  However, he traveled well, we were okay, with the occasional hiccup.  This trip with the two of them, I just figured would be what it was and it would all be dealt with.  I was more concerned with Vivian ending up jumping in the pool at the house we were staying at then getting there and back on the planes.

The trip from Boston to Tortola, which is a British Virgin Island, requires (if you don't pay thousands of dollars to fly directly to St. Thomas), two planes and a ferry.  Add taxis or cars on either end of that and you end up with a pretty full day of travel.

Going down was manageable.  We were exhausted when we got there, Vivian had one ten minute tantrum on my lap on the plane and then ended up passing out for an hour and a half.  They were both really good considering we started our day at 4:45 am and arrived at the house in Tortola about 5:00 pm.  One reprimand from a fairly rude United Airlines flight attendant for switching seats so that we could sit together (really necessary?), but no other issues.  Oh, except that apparently neither Chris nor I knew what airline we were flying, so at 5:30 am tried to check in at American Airlines.  Oops.  Oh, and we got on the wrong ferry for a few brief minutes, but that was quickly figured out. : 0

Coming back  was an adventure.  We were that family, with that baby.

We had a nice morning, woke up, finished packing, had a swim with the children, breakfast, and Chris's uncle drove us to the ferry terminal.  We just missed the 10 am ferry, which was fine, because the 10:15 ferry went directly to St. Thomas, as oppose to stopping by St John.  They loaded the ten am, and then within a minute told us we were about to miss our 10:15 ferry.  We scrambled, gathered the bags, kids (who were both shoeless and refusing to put shoes on), and jumped up to go through some kind of security.  As we made it through and they loaded our bags on the ferry, they started yelling that we hadn't paid a departure tariff.  I had no idea what they were saying, as Chris went back, Sam tried to go with him (which you can't do through security), we could only pay in cash, then they yelled that we were going to miss our ferry, which I couldn't board because I couldn't carry the remaining bags and Vivian and then we were overcharged or the tariff.  But we made the ferry.

We got through Customs in St. Thomas in a decent amount of time, half an hour or so, and then had a few hours before our flight at 2:30.  So we decided to get lunch, the only place being upstairs at the ferry terminal.  This was fine, bar food, but the kids could watch the boats and it was laid back, so we didn't have to worry too much about them being noisy or unruly.  We ate, watched the boats and a sea plane, and then Vivian decided to run around (still shoeless), while I finished eating and Chris chased her.  While I was trying to figure out the bill, I heard a woman calling, "little boy, little boy, get down!" and turned around to find Sam on top of a table peering over the deck railing to the ferry below.  I grabbed him, and the bill, and paid at the bar, we changed Vivian's diaper and were off.

At restaurant in St. Thomas

2:30 is past Vivian's afternoon nap time, so I had predicted, on a full belly and a morning of traveling, she should fall asleep on the plane.  That was not a realistic prediction.  We weren't seated together and the passengers around us didn't seem eager to move (though I didn't ask them directly, just sort of hinted).  So Vivian and I were tucked back in the corner window seat, in the back row, next to the bathrooms.  Chris and Sam were a few rows ahead.  We boarded at the end of the line so there was less waiting and containing them in the airplane seats.  Vivian was charming and lovely and chatted with the passengers around us, watched as the plane took off, "whoa!  Ohhh….!  Whoa…." and then we got in the air, hit a cruising altitude and she was done.  She started with a whimper and broke into a scream, then a temper tantrum of epic proportions.  Arched back, red face, spittle flying, arms flailing, screaming, crying, the works.  I thought she'd cry and fall asleep.  But as she pulled at my hair and tried to climb over the seat in front of me and banged on the window, I realized she might still be winding up.  I spotted my husband heading the back of the plane where he was trying to throw away his cup and ginger ale so that he could take her.  I had missed drink service completely.  He took her, she immediately stopped crying, and the passengers around us breathed a collective sigh of relief.  I took out a magazine, read a few pages, then fell asleep.  About 20 minutes later I awoke to the sound of a baby crying, more specifically, my baby crying.  A few minutes later she was headed back my way, launching into another delightful round of battling me in the corner seat.  I noticed at some point during this tantrum that there was a baby in the seat in front of me sleeping peacefully on his mother's lap.  Angelic and still.  I figured he had probably been drugged.

Vivian's next tantrum lasted another thirty minutes or so, with thankfully sweet and understanding passengers trying to soothe her, making faces at her, an elephant puppet appeared over the seat in front of us, my seat mate tried to stroke her leg, the stewardess offered to bring her milk or juice.  All attempts failed and finally she passed out, but not before waking up angel baby in front of us (he probably needed to wake up anyway).  I spent the next hour basically trying to not move, or really breath to loudly in case the child woke up.  Angel baby played quietly with cute noises and words and little quiet toys. When I happened to peek, he was appeared to be around Vivi's age, and even donned a little straw hat.  Which he kept on his head.  At that point in time I had no idea where her shoes were, after she had kicked them off in tantrum number 1.  Vivian obviously eventually did wake up, and clearly too early.  She was bleary eyed and pretty angry to find herself on the same plane, in the same spot, and started to wail.  And wail.  Things began to fly.  The understanding passengers were now avoiding eye contact and in general, and not looking our way.  The child was inconsolable.  As the pilot announced it was time to stay seated for landing, I jumped up, hoping walking her would soothe her.  It did not.  Now I was trying to contain her from jumping out of my arms and onto random passengers as I raced up the aisle toward Chris, Vivian still screaming.

"I don't know what to do," I told him.
"Want me to take her?" he asked.  Yes.  Hell yes.  Please take her.  But I knew if I handed her over and then she was crying for me I wouldn't be able to retrieve her.
"I guess not.  What should I do?"
"Hope she stops?" he replied.
I swear Sam was also avoiding eye contact.

I headed back to our seat where a really nice mother asked if I wanted her aisle seat for the final portion of the journey.  I gratefully sat down in it, rearranging three other passengers in the process.  Vivian accepted this arrangement for about 4 minutes, then started up again.  The woman who switched seats with me and her kids tried to entertain her.  Vivian kind of half-heartedly cried, then started up again full scale.  And the plane began to circle.  Because when you have a screaming child who at this point you kind of want to sedate, you need to circle for an additional fifteen minutes before landing.  We finally landed, but don't forget, we were in the last row of the plane.  And despite the fact that Vivian was still hysterical, it's best that every.single.person stands in line in front of me and her (minus the last row of the plane who were helpfully packing up my stuff and kind of pushing us along)  before we can get off.  Angel baby's mom handed me a pacifier that Vivian had thrown and smiled sympathetically (condescendingly?).  All in all, she had probably cried or screamed for 75% of the plane ride.  I apologized profusely to the stewardesses on the way off, who were really sweet.

We raced to the next plane, which, after being in the back row of the first plane, we made by minutes, managing to grab the kids french fries en route.  I didn't look at a single person on the way onto the plane, not wanting to see anyone from the last plane shooting us daggers.  If I had been a passenger who had to ride with this kid twice, I would probably pay to take a later flight, or demand a refund.  I kind of wanted to anyway, and I am her mom.  I also seriously contemplated spending the night in Newark or renting a car, rather then getting on another plane with this child.

This time, as we were seated, I immediately asked the woman next to us to switch seats, which she did without hesitation, even sitting in the middle as oppose to her original aisle seat.  We turned on a movie for Sam, and Vivian climbed up, peered over the back of our seats and made friends with the woman behind us, and was totally fine for the entire flight.  Where was this magical woman on the last flight? Vivian was happy, sweet, and absolutely content.  I think perhaps not being contained in tiny quarters, having both Chris and I there, and being able to climb around (and not land on a stranger), and have her own personal entertainment/admiring audience behind her helped.  She even managed to unfold a table, and sit on it like it was her seat, much to her delight and the amusement of our fellow passengers.  As we descended, I suddenly heard a commotion next to us and looked over to see Sam who looked fairly green, clap his hands over his mouth.  Chris was pulling the iPad off Sam's lap and desperately searching through his seat back and Sam's for an air sickness bag.  Which, just in case you are traveling any time soon, are not readily stocked in the back of everyone's seats.  We managed to rifle up once between our three seats, which was quickly used, and then I started to ask people around us for another one, convinced he would vomit again.  A flurry of airplane magazines, brochures, and air safety guides ensued, until someone a few seats in front of us passed one back.  The woman who switched seats with us turned around, "at least no one was screaming," she said with a smile.
"Oh no," I replied, "we did that on the last flight."

Again, when you have a child who has just been sick and reeks of vomit, no one will move to let you off the plane.  Even when I made loud comments about how he would probably throw up again.  I'm not a pushy person typically, but really…

Looking very innocent and tired as we waited to for bags, but shortly after they were tearing around tripping people up.

Waiting at baggage claim the children were weary and kind of dazed.  At least initially.  Then their next wind kicked in.  It was now 9:30 at night and they were completely overtired.  Vivian got off her chair, kicked off her shoes and began to run.  I grabbed her.  Angel baby walked by in his stroller (they were on the second flight???!), still wearing his straw hat, still in good humor.  His parents looked happy and unfrazzled, possibly even rested.  (I was wearing one earring at this point and my shirt was not entirely buttoned).
"Look!"  I exclaimed to them kind of deliriously, and pointed at Vivian, "not even one tear on the second flight!"
"Amazing!" the husband said (a little sarcastically I thought), "good job, mom!"
I tried not to glare.  Vivian struggled out of my arms and immediately climbed onto the moving luggage carousel and began to shriek in delight, Sam roared with laughter.  I pulled her off and got as far away from the luggage carousel as possible.  At this point both children took off running at top speed, and when they reached Chris, Sam tackled Vivian so that she went flying.  Right in front of Angel baby's parents, whose mom now seemed to be doing some kind of tranquil yoga-like stretch over the top of Angel baby's stroller.

But we made it.  Luggage was collected and Grand-Joe drove us home.  No flight delays, no more puking, everyone sleeping in their own beds.  I think today was the first day we finally all felt back to normal and a little more rested.

Why Aren't These More Common?

Baby seat on the back of a bathroom door.  How many times, in kid friendly places, have I balanced a baby while attempting to undo my pants and use the bathroom?  Or better yet, skipped using the bathroom altogether because of not having a way to hold the baby or corral a toddler who wants to crawl under the stall door?    

 I would love to see more of these (particularly in train stations and airports)!

Why Vivian Shouldn't Take Bubble Baths

Usually she doesn't stay still in baths, she tries to swim with us holding onto her for dear life, and she ends up gulping water, and sputtering or choking.  I guess a bubble bath is a whole different experience!

Phone Calls and Children

My insurance company has this fabulous feature right now, which I assume is to try to reduce the cost of paying for medications.  After refilling a script so many times, it rejects it, and tells the pharmacy to tell you to order it through the mail.
There are several annoying facets to this.
1.)  You find out it is rejected when you are at the pharmacy attempting to pick it up and have like one pill left.
2.)  You usually have a kid or two with you.
3.)  You have to call and override the rejection and tell them you don't want it through mail order.
4.)  The mail order might be cheaper but it takes three weeks to process (by when you may not need the meds anymore) and also, they send you three months at a time and insurance will cover one or two of those months.  Or you have to call the doctor to rewrite the script.
5.)  You have to have the prescription number on hand when overriding which often means calling the pharmacy back again.

Of course I realized all this when I got down to my last birth control pill and remembered vaguely paying out-of-pocket last time and putting the "override" phone call on my to-do list.

So today I made the phone call and remembered why I hadn't done it before.  This time I remembered to get the prescription number ahead of time, when I called the pharmacy to ask again for the number of who I had to call.

I finally get the number and call.
Sam appears, "mama."  I wag my finger at him and shake my head.  It's an automated line.
"Mama."
"Sam, no.  I'm on the phone."
Viv starts whimpering on the rug.
I pick her up and respond to the voice activated prompt.
"Mama."
"Sam, NOT NOW."
"We did not understand your response.  Please listen to your options again."
"Mama.  Am I going to the doctor?"
Viv screeches.
"We did not understand your response.  Please listen to your options again."

I hang up and lecture Sam and try again.

This time Viv continuously does her happy screech which continuously sets off the voice automated machine.  I hang up and stick the binky in her mouth and put her back down.  Sam is still quiet in the corner.

I call back get through the entire menu which of course turns out has no options for wanting to override their stupid system so I end up asking for an operator and getting transferred (five minutes later).  Then I get put on hold while the override is being performed for another 3 minutes.  When the representative returns, I ask her who to call to stop this process from starting.  She doesn't know.  Viv starts screeching which causes Sam to realize he's not making any noise, so he starts playing his instruments, because of course that is not actually talking to me, so it's acceptable behavior.  I attempt to tell the representative how annoying it is to have to go through this process.  She doesn't care or possibly understand.  I hang up, it's been about 25 minutes since I started the phone call and it's now only 9:30 am and I have to take both the kids to the grocery store, plus still don't have my prescription.  Honestly it would probably be easier to get it in the mail, if we received all of our mail and it was covered by insurance.






This is one of her quieter squeaks and is actually her distress call.  She's discovered that her binky is missing.

A Short Run

Going to write a warning here to stop reading if you don't want to know about bodies after giving birth, fluids, etc.  It's not that graphic, but it does involve post pregnancy details.  I spent a long time not writing about all the fun things that occur post pregnancy and refrained from sharing birth stories, but as this is all real, I'll lay it out there.

I'm not a runner and have tried for years to build some endurance running.  Yoga and Pilates are much more my thing, but I do enjoy, or did, running 5k races for a few years, more the camaraderie and enthusiasm of the events and that they typically raise money for a good cause.  After having Sam though, high impact activities and I did not get along. To be blunt, I'd pee a little when running, which made it even more of a not-very-fun activity.  My OB suggested surgery after I'd finished having kids- not currently helpful.  After having another close to 9 lb baby, the situation has not gotten better.

Tonight, it was beautiful out and reminded me of all the nights I would run in college and in years past, and instead of going to the gym, I decided to enjoy the evening and go for a run.  Running used to involve my iPod, a chip in my shoe that tracked my time and could be downloaded, an armband, good running shoes, and water, etc.  Tonight, I was lucky to find a sports bra for this adventure and quickly downloaded a pedometer app to my iPhone (for which I obviously did not have a armband case to strap it safely to my body).  In addition, I threw on a pair of Depends (yes, adult underwear left from all the afterbirth fun), and had my trusty nursing pads since I am breastfeeding.  All in all, it was sexy.  I told Chris I'd probably get hit by a car wearing Depends and nipple pads and would be mortified as well as injured.  

I set out on an old route to see how far I could get.  I have always tracked my runs in the past in miles, this time the ap tracked in kilometers, (I'm sure I could of switched it but not while attempting to run at dusk).  Kilometers turned out to be much more motivating as they go by more quickly than miles, I should have thought of this years ago.  Of course, after .66 kilometers the ap reset, or I hit a button checking how far I had run for the seventeenth time in 3 minutes.  I hate not tracking my runs and felt like the electronics stole my hard earned kilometers.   I ran down to the river, which, as I ran I realized was really mostly downhill.  And the run became this strange place where the younger, pre-kids me ran with the new mother and I felt like I was in a bad pivotal moment in a book.  I ran past places that have been rebuilt in my seven years here and had a series of realizations of how different things have become in my life.

Pre-Kids:

- all my running gear was accessible

- I had running outfits and gear (iPod, etc)

- I had worn-in running shoes

- I had time & could chose my time of day during which to run

- I knew the streets by distance and how much endurance I had

- my roommate and I used to run and get take out for dinner or meet up with people

- I'd often come in, cool down, and have a beer 

Now

- running gear involves fluid leakage guards

- iPod has been missing for at least a year, as has chip to insert in shoe.  iPod would probably also play Baby Beluga and Puff the Magic Dragon if it could be located

- I have blisters on the back of both feet from new sneakers I bought to walk with the kids

- I left when the kids were down for bed and came back to the baby crying to be nursed (as I was melting and ready to pass out from running) and then Sam waking up crying

- I know now the streets by the smoothness factor for stroller friendly travel and where it is safe for a 3 year old to ride a scooter

- above roommate also has a baby and moved out 5 years ago

- when I returned I had a screaming baby and no beer, and unfortunately had drank a glass of wine with dinner, before I knew I was going to run

Also, to complete this weird evening of comparison, I ran by (okay, she ran by me), one of those super sleek runners, probably a college student, who had the whole cute running ensemble going, shoes, spandex, the florescent shirts that are currently in, music device (probably more updated than an iPod).  I swear I got the once over as she sped around the corner- (my Depends were probably visible, they are really high waisted for some reason).  I wanted to tell her I used to be her- minus the sleek outfit and speed, but kind of like her.  On the next block, no joke, I saw myself in twenty years, also sort of.  A women in her late forties, early fifties, had probably had a few kids, power walking, which to be honest, would be much more my thing given that cardio is a necessary evil.  She was also more put together than I was, which I hope when my kids are older I can regain.  I wondered what she saw in me.  Probably just an overheated, panting 30 something year-old trying to get up a hill.

I made it 4 kilometers total, which wasn't bad considering it had been at least a year and a half since I actually ran.  I question whether these aps take into account the fact that most of the way back was uphill, or that there is a staircase mid-run as I cut across campus.   I did run without stopping to walk, or collapse, though my face was a strange deep red and blotchy color when I was finished.  When I was pregnant with Sam, I could run 4 miles in the middle of the summer, and still a few miles when I was 5 months pregnant.  Times have definitely changed.  

Small steps, big blisters, but small steps.

Ahh, These Moments...

After school today, we hung out at the park at Sam's school, getting the last of the warm, sunny weather for a few days.   Sam rode his scooter with his friends and then we stopped for a new helmet at a bike store sale.  When we got home, it was late, and Sam and Vivian were hungry.  I got Sam's dinner together while juggling the baby and decided to let him eat at his little table in the dining room, while I fed Vivian on the couch nearby, instead of trying to push a late family dinner.

Chris arrived home for a short while before going back out to a meeting.  He sat at the dining room table trying to prepare for his meeting, while taking a business phone call.  Meanwhile, Vivian spit up/threw up down my back and over the back of the couch.  I got up and took my shirt off and handed Chris the baby, so I could clean up.  In the kitchen rinsing off my shirt and a couch pillow and monitoring Chris and I's dinner, I heard Sam screaming about being stuck.  I ran back into the dining room, where Chris was trying to pry Sam's feet out of the back of his little chair where they were wedged, still holding the baby, balancing on his non-broken foot.  We got them unwedged and calmed him down, and I asked Chris to wipe the spit up off my back, while Vivian started to cry.

About five minutes later, when all was calm again, we realized Chris's client was still on other end of the abandoned phone, listening to the commotion and patiently waiting for him to return.

First Walk

It took a very long time, and a lot of guidance, but Nana, Sam, Vivian, and I made it around the block for Vivian's first walk yesterday.  Sam wanted to push her.

Vivian Myrra

Vivian was born on March 4 at 4:10, after holding out on us for a while.  I was reluctantly, but luckily induced, as she was another big baby!  Aunty Tess and Chris were there for the birth and all went well, though she entered the world very quickly and not very peacefully.

Sam adores her, taking out his aggressions in behaviors not directed at her (just the cat or his parents).  We're home now and adjusting, trying to sleep and develop some kind of routine.  My mom has a week between jobs so she's been helping a lot.  Should be interesting when she's back at work and there are two children at home!






                         Sam and Vivian meet at the hospital.


Family on the second day home.

Preparing for Baby

Sam seems to be adjusting to the idea that there is a baby arriving soon, in his own way.  I'm sure the reality will be very different, but small steps are good.  He is fascinated with the bassinet, although he calls it a "baby's nest." He puts his own baby to bed in it and tucks it in.  (He also sometimes hides in it when he plays Hide n' Seek).  He has practiced diapering his baby doll too, which is great fun but he wants to throw the "dirty diapers" away when he's done (which will cost a fortune if we let him as he uses the real newborn diapers), as well as the ten tissues he uses to "wipe" the baby.

The names he has picked for the baby are "Rachel" for a girl, which is the name of his best friend at school, if it's a boy, he wants to name it "Santa Claus."  We can't tell if he's joking or not, but why not? Rachel and Santa are both important people.

We get digital albums of photos from Sam's school once a month or every two months.  I thought he talked a lot about school, but I think I hear about the same activities repeatedly (& probably because I know about them so I ask about them).  I was surprised to see photos of him "washing" a baby, with the caption, "Sam washes the baby every day."  When I asked him, he told me, "yep," in that careless tone that means "of course, you should know that."
I mentioned he could help us wash his new brother or sister when he/she arrives.
He said, "no, I don't help, I do it myself, I know how."  (note the baby in the tub is face down).

  

Trying to Figure Out This Baby Thing

Sam knows that I am pregnant, but doesn't really "get it."  If we talk about it, he either ignores the conversation entirely, or lifts up my shirt to look at my belly and see if the baby is coming out.  Now he knows the baby will come when it has finished growing and is ready.
Last night as I was putting him down to bed, he asked me, "Mummy, your baby ready to come out and play yet?"  (The baby is due at the end of February).
"No, not yet Sam."
"Soon?"
"After Santa Claus comes and it gets cold out again."  (I really don't know how to explain long term time to a two year old.)
"Oh."  Pause.  "Yes.  Baby gets hat and mittens on and then comes out."