Mihow » health

Now I Know Why They Call It A “Stress” Fracture.

mihow — Mon, 19 Apr 2010 19:30:39 +0000

I run about 20 miles a week—sometimes more, sometimes less. But that’s been my average for a while. I love running. I run to avoid depression. I don’t take pills. (Not that I’m against doing so!). It’s just that running works for me. I run because it gets me high and makes me unbelievably happy. I can’t imagine not being able to do it.

A few weeks ago, I started to notice some pain at the top and center of my left foot. I continued to run, of course, because, if you know anything about runners, we tend to be a stubborn bunch. It was fine. I mean, it hurt, but I ran through it. I ran and iced and elevated and then last Sunday I hit Central Park for a NYRR 4-miler and finished in great time (for me). I was so proud of myself. I came home and immediately signed up for another race. Sure, I could barely walk at the time, but I figured I had time to get back to normal again. I guessed it was just a bruise but I made a podiatry appointment just to be safe. This time I even stayed off of it. I used the elliptical machine and lifting weights instead.

Today my doctor ran a series of x-rays and I have a stress fracture—a bloody painful one. When she touched the magic spot, I nearly puked. So, she put me in a soft cast and gave me a boot. She told me to stay off of it. (Yeah, right! Have you met my son?) But, worst of all? I can’t run for 8 weeks. I can’t even use the elliptical machine.

Of course, with every fairly uncool event that takes place in my life anymore, there’s always an element of humor involved.

You see, I live in Brooklyn and I have a car, so a depressingly large chunk of my daily life is spent abiding by the alternate side parking calendar. Naturally, I was concerned.

“Can I drive?” I asked her.

“Yeah, because you don’t need that foot to drive.” She joked.

“I drive a stick.”

“Oh gosh. Well, the more you use it, the longer it will take to heal. So, I would suggest you not drive.”

And you know what my first thought was? I wondered if she might write a doctor’s note so I could get out of having to move the car from one side of the street to the other, as if the NYC government was going to take pity on the fact that I am wearing a cast. You could be a headless person without hands and the New York State Department of Transportation would continue to ticket your car. Hell, you could be giving birth and they’d give you a ticket and make you pay it. (YES, THAT HAPPENED TO ME! The birth part, not the headless bit.)

The NYSDOT does not care about my left foot.

When I left the doctor, I couldn’t call Toby because I knew I would just cry into the phone, so I texted him instead. I told him what was going on. Here are those texts:

Me: Stress fracture. I look like a freak. Huge boot and soft cast. WTF have I done? Can’t run for 8 weeks.

Me: Can’t do much of anything. This is going to make me into a crazy person.

Him: Will take care of ya. CAN YOU MOVE THE CAR?!!?

The first thing I did when I got out of the subway was move the car.

But seriously, people: what I am going to do without my antidepressant?

I DID IT! 4 Miles! Central Park!

mihow — Sun, 11 Apr 2010 18:41:54 +0000

Today I ran in the JP Morgan Chase Run as One 4 miler. It was a short one. (I’m starting small this time. Several years ago I signed up for the NYC Marathon and got hurt trying to train. Stupid.) But I have to tell you: I’m pretty proud of myself. It turns out, I’m a bit faster than I thought I was. (Still on the slow side, though. But who cares!)

I’m apparently highly allergic to something in Central Park though; I haven’t stopped sneezing since I finished and my nose is cherry red from all the tissue use. Brutal. How do you allergy sufferers deal with this nonsense?

But: YAY ME!

I’m hooked. I’m going to do the R Baby Mother’s Day Run in May.

The Fevers. They’re Back.

mihow — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 20:39:35 +0000

I have a recipe for today but I don’t think I can give it the time it deserves, so I am going to save it until next week.

Emory is quite ill. The fevers are back.

Last year he suffered from fevers that brought with them Febrile seizures. That duo seems to be making an encore presentation this year. And I hate them. So, I’m trying to keep his temperature down as much as possible, switching between Motrin and Tylenol. It’s gonna be a long day and night. We’re a tired bunch.

Do you have any tricks for fevers and colds? I’m all ears and a little desperate. Or if you wanna come over and keep us company; there’s only so many times a family can watch Night At The Museum and we’ve cruised way past that allotment.

I have heard “Starve a fever. Feed a cold” which is a good thing since he won’t eat anything—not even cookies! Thus far, the only thing I’ve gotten him to eat has been watermelon, which is super since he doesn’t seem to want to drink fluids either.

My poor child.

Itchy Calves

mihow — Fri, 17 Jul 2009 11:32:53 +0000

I can already picture the responses I’ll likely get from this one: “TALK TO A DOCTOR!” I have. In fact, I have talked to five doctors about this and not one person has been able to tell me anything. The best response I’ve gotten is, “Put some lotion on it.”

This post might feature a little too much information. But what’s a personal blog without a little too much over-sharing? Am I right?

Here’s the skinny: My calves regularly itch something fierce. And red raised bumps form because I scratch them so much. And sometimes I scratch for so long, they bleed. It’s not all the time and it has nothing to do with an allergy. Nor does it have anything to do with shaving, the type of razor I’m using or a certain laundry detergent. It just happens for seemingly no reason at all. And I’m sick of it.

I’ve looked it up online and while I’ve found a lot of people complain about this exact problem, they always blame it on excessively dry skin. I am not convinced this is the case even though several doctors (including a dermatologist) have said the same thing.

Here’s why I’m not buying it. I’m blaming it on something bigger, something I refer to as “The Big H”.

One time I was sitting with an endocrinologist discussing my post-pregnancy hyperthyroidism (which is now gone, thank goodness.) He was trying to figure out based on initial tests if I had Grave’s disease. (At first glance people have thought this due to my large and relatively buggy eyes.) He asked me to look certain ways, do certain things with my jaw and facial muscles, and at one point he asked me to show him my shins.

“Why?” I asked as I pulled up my pant legs, which at that point were fairly normal and not covered in itchy red bumps.

He didn’t answer. I continued. “I’m asking because while you can’t see it right now, I get this strange itchy rash on my calves very often and it’s maddening. Sometimes I scratch them so badly they bleed. Is this related to my thyroid? Is this a hormonal thing?”

“No.” He said. “That’s probably due to dry skin.”

We moved on.

I still have no idea why this happens to me and it’s troubling. It still happens almost every evening. I apply lotion and nothing seems to help, in fact some of the mildest of lotions tend to burn.

I’m writing today to find out if anyone out there has ever had this. I know it exists for other women; I have had conversations with people about it, but no one knows why. We all just deal with it.

Here’s what I can offer:

It miraculously stop right at each knee.
It only seems to happen to women.
The red bumps appear at the hair follicles only.
It’s worse along the sides and on my calves, not as prevalent on the shins themselves.
It MAY flare up during certain times of month, I am not sure if I’m making this up or if it’s true.
It happens all year round.

If you have any information at all regarding this very annoying problem, please do kindly share it with me. If you just think I’m some kind of leper, keep that bit to yourself because I already feel that way on my own accord. :]

Type O Negative Blood

mihow — Wed, 08 Apr 2009 14:47:16 +0000

I have type O negative blood. I really gave this little thought up until yesterday when my mother and I started talking about blood type. I told her I was O negative and she remembered something about the negative Rh factor. My eyes glazed over. Rh? Huh? Antigens who? Uncle what?

So last night I started digging around on google (I KNOW!) and discovered all sorts of weird stuff about my O negative blood type and how seemingly incompatible and uppity it is.

Here’s the breakdown of ABO and Rh blood type by nation.

And here’s a laymen’s understanding of my blood type:

I am a universal donor. Anyone can use my blood but I can’t use any other blood type except for my own.
I’m recessive. (Yeah, yeah. I get that a lot.)
Two O positive blood carriers can have O negative offspring. (My brothers and I are proof of this.)
O negative blood carriers cannot take any other blood type because they lack the antigens involved and will therefore fight with it. Or something. (Someone smart needs to mom it down for me.)

Can two O negatives make an O positive? Is that even impossible? Also, are all the negatives eventually going to die off? It appears that way, right? Were there more at one point in time? I need a crash course on blood types. I’m so intrigued.

But I digress. As I was searching and reading and learning about Rh factors and whatnot, I discovered a corner of the Internet dedicated to second and third pregnancies and O negative blood types. Here’s where things get a little wacky. If an O negative woman has a baby with an O positive man, and the baby is O positive, the woman can develop a problem. And since positive blood types are the dominant ones, there’s a good chance the baby will end up positive. A first pregnancy is usually not a problem because the woman most likely hasn’t come into contact with the antigen before. However, during birth, blood types often mingle, causing the O negative carrier to come in contact with the O positive blood type. The O negative person starts to fight said blood type—treat it as a problem, a foreign body. So, any future pregnancies can result in big problems.

The hell is that about? And why didn’t anyone tell me?

Naturally, I’m prematurely freaking out here and my husband is ready to cancel our Internet access. We don’t yet know Toby’s blood type because we weren’t required to have one before we were married. And I am not yet sure of Em’s blood type either. Maybe we’re super rare and all of us are negative? But I’m not holding my breath on that one. (Emory is O positive.)

And I’m assuming my doctors had this in mind throughout my pregnancy and the moment Em was born. (Apparently there are shots mothers are given if the blood is mixed so they don’t develop these antibiotics. Look at me try and pretend I have the slightest idea what it is I’m talking about here.) At least I hope they knew about this. They are incredible, after all.

One thing is for sure, someone should take away my Internet connection.

Edited to add: I feel like such a moron. I’m actually O positive. I just called my doctor to find out why they didn’t give me this shot, ready to lose my mind about it, and she proceeds to tell me that I’m actually O positive. (My brothers, however, are negative.) I feel like the biggest O positive idiot ever.

A Few Things I Learned About Toddler Poop

mihow — Thu, 02 Apr 2009 12:40:56 +0000

It’s been a long couple of months for us health wise. Em has been sick on and off since December. Earaches, asthma and constipation have had Toby Joe and I at a loss for what to do next. It’s been a great big guessing game. We’re guessing more now than we were when he was first born, something I didn’t think was possible.

I wrote about Em’s constipation a while ago. We received a great number of suggestions and we’ve tried many of them. It’s really about elimination so it takes a lot of time and can produce a great deal of mistakes along the way.

I’m a little uncomfortable writing about this solely because it’s about someone other than me. The older Em gets, the more and more I feel that discussing his personal information is just plain unfair. But I also feel that bringing such things to light can help another mother and father in need. I was also really shocked to discover just how common constipation is for toddlers.

So, here goes nothing. (But if I freak out and take this post down in a few hours, you’ll know why.) One thing is for sure, this is the last you’ll likely read about it on here.

Bananas and Apples

Bananas and apples are very fibrous. I know. Everyone knows that! What I did not know, however, was how they work. Apparently, they take double the amount of water for someone to digest. (Something having to do with using two water molecules for their every one. I dunno. I was on about two hours of sleep whenever my doctor explained it to me. Plus, my son was screaming on the top of his lungs at the time.) So, if your kid is like mine and loves apples and bananas, make sure that they’re drinking a LOT of water. And up until recently my son didn’t drink very much water, so we had to cut bananas and apples from his diet.

Milk

Too much milk causes constipation. The hard part is trying to figure what “too much” means for each kid. I was told that 15 – 17 ounces of milk is OK but 20 and more is too much. But that difference seems so small! Nevertheless, cutting down on the milk has been very hard for us because Em loves his milk.

Wheat

Wheat (and wheat allergies) can lead to constipation and, in our case, that’s probably been the culprit. We’ve been feeding Em whole grains and whole wheat and both are extremely fibrous. So, the whole wheat bread I’ve been diligently baking for him might be a little too fibrous for his tummy, which is pretty ironic. When it comes to Em’s digestive system, it probably would have been better all along had we been feeding him the nutrition-less white bread you often find in stores.

The thing is, I always thought wheat allergy meant loose poop. Have I been wrong with that assumption? I have no problem whatsoever with wheat, so this is all very new to me. (Any insight here would be very helpful.)

Antibiotics

Antibiotics cause diarrhea. Most everyone knows this, but oh my goodness.

Antibiotics work by killing bacteria, but they don’t know the difference between the good stuff and the bad stuff. So, they end up killing both. The balance gets thrown off and loose stools are a result. Another result? Smell-less poop! (Which is kind of awful, because scent has always been my cue!)

Suppositories and Laxatives

A few days before Em was diagnosed with asthma, he’d been more constipated than ever before. While we were at the doctor having his chest and ears looked at, we discussed constipation as well. She suggested that we start on Miralax but not until after he was finished with the antibiotics. She suggested in the meantime that we use a glycerin suppository to loosen things up.

The next morning, I gave Em a suppository. Nothing happened.

That night, still nothing. But he was growing increasingly more uncomfortable and let us know by arching his back and screaming. On top of all this, both ears were bursting and he was having trouble breathing. At 9 PM, I called the doctor.

I got in touch with another doctor this time and she gave me a different set of directions. She suggested that I start him on Miralax immediately even though he had just begun the antibiotics. Her biggest concern was that if we don’t get the constipation issue worked out (and the screaming and pain under control) he’d develop a roadblock when it comes to potty training (which we’ve begun but not militantly so).

I gave him Miralax on top of the phantom suppository.

The following morning everything changed. Let’s just say that I ran four loads of laundry, mopped the floor twice. He had three baths, and the carpet in his bedroom had to be scrubbed and disinfected. German fetish jokes were exchanged between Toby Joe and myself (why we pick on Germany when it comes to poop fetishes, I haven’t the slightest clue).

GREENS! AND MORE GREENS!

My kids loves veggies, so we’re lucky here. He will consume an adult-sized portion of broccoli. He loves spinach, peas, carrots, and green beans. We upped these items drastically as of late in hopes of making things easier on him (and us). We’re also offering him more scrambled eggs and a lot more fruits (with the exception of apples and bananas.) I am very much looking forward to berry season which is right around the corner.

Looking Back

I was elbow-deep in poop last week. In fact, just yesterday when I picked Em up from school, he was wearing all new clothes. I was handed not one, but two bags of clothing, which meant he went through the clothes I sent him to school in, his backup pair and was sent home wearing another boy’s backup outfit.

I’m still not sure that we have things figured out yet especially since the antibiotics have pretty much thrown all results out the window. I imagine that there will be some more guessing before we really get it worked out. All I know is that watching your child scream while he or she is trying to use the bathroom is no fun.

Please feel free to discuss poop, lack of poop, or whatever tickles your fancy.

Teething and Traveling

mihow — Fri, 27 Mar 2009 11:33:03 +0000

Happy Friday, my friends! Ready to help out a father in need? I got an email. It read (edited slightly):

”My 5-month old son is cutting 2 teeth and of course goes through bouts of being very unhappy. I was wondering if you gave anything to your son while he was teething? We’re flying from Japan to Los Angeles Monday and we’re worried it will be a very very bad flight. :( Do you have any suggestions?”

There’s so much about those earlier months I have forgotten! For example, I completely forgot that you’re not supposed to give the little people Motrin or Tylenol before they reach a certain age. Quite honestly, I’m not sure how I got through it! Maybe that’s why I don’t remember?

My only suggestions are for older babies since my brain has apparently archived the earlier months. I remember offering Emory pea chips (frozen peas, which he still loves to this day.) I remember that he chewed on our wooden kitchen spoons like a dog with a rawhide. I remember giving him ice cold toys. But that’s all I got and I feel I’m an especially bad person to ask because we never flew anywhere with Em.

So, I thought I’d try and help him by posting his email. Do you have any tricks for teething travelers aged five months?

Breathe Locally

mihow — Wed, 25 Mar 2009 12:00:37 +0000

This post was going to be about organic food and locavores both of which are growing trends here in America. Just last week, Michelle Obama planted an organic vegetable garden on the White House lawn – the first garden at the White House since the FDR administration.

It seems that people are starting to care more about what they eat, where it comes from and who is potentially harmed (or helped) in the process. I like that. I like that more people are curious about and buying locally grown foods. I like the idea of waiting until something is in season before adding it to a shopping cart. I especially like the idea of cutting down on the pollution involved in shipping and producing many of the foods we buy and consume today.

Union Square Green Market

At home, my family tries to buy food grown, produced, caught, and slaughtered locally. I know what some of you might be thinking – how the hell does one do that while living in New York City? I thought that at first, as well. After all – I’m from Pennsylvania. Growing up, our milk was delivered by a local farmer before the sun came up. Our eggs could have rolled themselves over to our house. We got nearly everything locally. (The exception was Tang, which was made on the moon, by astronauts, and mostly of rocket fuel).

In my mind, the term “local” used to mean “in my neighborhood”. That’s not an option for the majority of New Yorkers, as so much of our food travels thousands of miles before it hits our bodegas and grocery stores, our restaurants and street meat stands. Our food is trucked in, shipped in by boat, train or plane and tends to leave behind it a long, dark carbon footprint.

For New Yorkers, “local” is a relative term and has come to mean “within a hundred-mile radius.” Since we have more farmer’s markets than you can shake a stick at, getting to some of those local foods is really easy.

I was excited to cover this topic as my first March Of Dimes Moms post, especially since they wrote an article recently on whether or not organic is better for your baby. Their conclusion seems to be that it’s not necessarily better. But how about trying to buy foods grown locally? I couldn’t wait to tackle this topic! But Monday came along and it had different plans. I was steered onto a much different road. You see, my son was diagnosed with asthma on Monday and that’s all I can think about right now.

Here’s how the last few days unfolded.

My son kept us up all night Sunday. He woke up every hour. His belly was tight. We thought he might have gas and constipation on top of the usual congestive rattle we’d come to know. On Monday morning, I began to realize that things were much worse than I had thought. At 3 PM he was hit with a high fever. I called the doctor. By 4 PM we were in the waiting room.

And by 5 PM we were armed with a ProNeb Ultra II, some albuterol, a more powerful round of antibiotics than he’s yet been given, and a new worry.

At that point, my husband and I did what parents do with an Internet connection: we started researching. I was looking for ways to blame myself. That’s what mothers do, right? And at first glance, my research told me that I was right. I was to blame for this—we were to blame for this. After all we live in a very polluted area. The rates of asthma in children living in North Brooklyn are on the rise.

“Ever look at dirty truck exhaust? The dirty, smoky part of that stream of exhaust is made of particle pollution. More new evidence shows that the particle pollution—like that coming from the exhaust smoke—can lead to shorter lives, heart disease, lung cancer and asthma attacks and can interfere with the growth and work of the lungs.” (American Lung Association: State Of The Air)

Fact: Emory spent the first year and a half of his life living right next to the BQE (The Brooklyn/Queens Expressway). We were so close to it, the trucks used to shake our apartment. We knew all along we were inhaling harmful toxins, but we chose to stay there. We were in a lease and rent was affordable and we thought we were leaving the area at any moment.

Actual view from the back window of our apartment.

We used to clean an alarming amount of dark black soot from our windowsills. And it didn’t take long to build up. A few days would go by and a black film would lazily blanket every surface in our home. We used to joke about how our lungs must look. We were nervous.

Signs of Asthma include:

• wheezing
• rapid breathing
• labored breathing
• gasping
• difficulty breathing when exercising
• chest tightness

Generally speaking, a child must first be vulnerable to airway inflammation. Everyone is vulnerable, to some degree – and often to any number of irritants. Next, the child needs an antagonist or trigger. Triggers can range from a common cold, a sinus infection, or bronchitis, all the way to secondhand smoke, smoking, cleaning agents and air pollutants. Triggers can also be as simple as getting too much exercise or experiencing too much stress, or the absurdly cold air of a NYC March day.

When I started digging in a bit further, I realized that this isn’t specific to Brooklyn. Emory probably would been diagnosed with asthma no matter where we lived especially since almost every place we’ve ever discussed living is also on the highly polluted area list. And that’s not because our list is really short. It’s that the master list is really long. Even the small, idyllic town we’ve been pining over for years has some of the worst statistics when it comes to the two types of air pollution at the root of the problem.

Dare to dream.

In Brooklyn, the biggest asthmatic culprit is exhaust from vehicles. This is why you’ll also find Los Angeles, Chicago, Atlanta, The DC Metro, and a great deal of the Northeastern corridor on that list. Pretty much every city or town near a major trucking route is seeing a rise in asthma, cancer and other related illnesses. And most large, polluting vehicles (as we used to watch from our bed) are used to transfer goods – like food – into our cities.

The New England Journal of Medicine reports:

“Mortality rates were most strongly associated with cigarette smoking. After adjusting for smoking and other risk factors, we observed statistically significant and robust associations between air pollution and mortality. The adjusted mortality-rate ratio for the most polluted of the cities as compared with the least polluted was 1.26 (95 percent confidence interval, 1.08 to 1.47). Air pollution was positively associated with death from lung cancer and cardiopulmonary disease but not with death from other causes considered together. Mortality was most strongly associated with air pollution with fine particulates, including sulfates.”

The simple truth is that asthma rates are on the rise, as is infant mortality and in many cases we have air pollution to blame for that. And we need to do something about it. And I don’t mean we need to come up with more medicine to throw at the problem. (Though, I am really grateful for our new nebulizer.) I think we need a more preventative approach.

So, while buying organic and/or locally grown foods may cost you a bit more monetarily, I think that cost might be worth it when it comes to the greater good. Change won’t happen overnight, but it can happen if we just put our minds to it.

A funny thing happened as I was writing this post, I ended up within a hundred mile radius to the original topic.

Breast-Feeding: It’s OK If You Can’t Do It.

mihow — Fri, 13 Mar 2009 15:37:04 +0000

Friend and commenter, Missy, linked to an article yesterday that stirred up a number of emotions for me.

And in any case, if a breast-feeding mother is miserable, or stressed out, or alienated by nursing, as many women are, if her marriage is under stress and breast-feeding is making things worse, surely that can have a greater effect on a kid’s future success than a few IQ points.

I didn’t have the best time when it came to breast-feeding. Obstacles began piling up for me the moment Emory was born. For starters, my milk never came in. I didn’t experience the engorgement all the nurses and LCs suggested I would. In fact, my breasts got slightly smaller after he was born.

My postpartum experience was not the best. I was depressed. Words can’t do justice in trying to describe that depression. Chemistry took over. Every time it occurred to me that the birth of my first child was supposed to be the happiest time of my life, I felt even worse because I was experiencing quite the opposite. How could I be a good mom when I felt so unhappy? What was wrong with me? The questions mounted unanswered, and while my head felt like it was going to explode, my boobs did not.

There is an alarming amount of pressure put on new mothers when it comes to breast-feeding. It’s so prevalent, that there are actually Web sites where women congregate in order to slam celebrities who did not breast-fed and praise those who have. There are wars waged against and on Facebook. And some of the pro-breast feeding literature out there borders on militant. A late night google search hoping to discover a little leniency can make one feel like even more of a failure.

In certain overachieving circles, breast-feeding is no longer a choice—it’s a no-exceptions requirement, the ultimate badge of responsible parenting. Yet the actual health benefits of breast-feeding are surprisingly thin, far thinner than most popular literature indicates. Is breast-feeding right for every family? Or is it this generation’s vacuum cleaner—an instrument of misery that mostly just keeps women down?

It goes without saying that many women today feel very passionate about breast-feeding. I have seen fights break out over whether or not it’s OK to do in public. Nursing mothers here in New York have been known to make a statement by taking over an entire subway car. I have seen fights break out about whether or not it’s OK to lend your boob out to feed another person’s baby. I’ve seen people go as far to attack a person’s character because they chose not to breast-feed.

Some women experience intense anger when another woman doesn’t breast-feed. And I would find this hilarious if their reactions weren’t so damaging.

Haven’t we heard enough already? Can’t we be proud of our choices without making others feel worse for making another? And why brag? Boasting is ugly.

Furthermore, if feminism is about making choices, and a woman chooses (for whatever the reason may be) not to breast-feed, she should not receive so much as a nasty look from any fellow Sistren boasting the word feminism. And yet, that often happens. Which begs another question: is it the men we need to talk to about equality?

I welcome discussion and debate when it comes to breast-feeding, but this post probably isn’t for those likely to have breast-feeding listed as their religion. This is for anyone who went through (or is going through) what I went through two years ago. This is for all the new mothers out there overwhelmed by their new roles. This is for the new mother wondering why she can’t accomplish something as seemingly natural as breast-feeding.

Here’s how the first few days I spent with my new son went:

The morning he’s born: I try unsuccessfully to get a latch. I summon the help from two nurses and one lactation consultant. He vomits every time I try. I think it’s me, something I’m doing. Am I gagging him?

“Is the vomit green?” They ask. ”No. It’s not green.” “He’s fine then. Keep trying.”

Day one: A lactation consultant comes in to see me. I’m crying. I tell her I can’t get him to eat. I tell her he keeps vomiting. We try again and fail. She asks me how much milk he’s gotten. I tell her none. She inspects my nipples. Says I may have problems but we’ll succeed! We try formula. He vomits that up immediately. I continue to cry.

Later that day: Emory and I try again. I am told I am not vigilant enough, that I’m not trying hard enough. I am told that I need to be more forceful. I need to force my breast into his mouth. He throws up all over me, the color is green. I call a doctor.

Five minutes later: Emory is taken away from me and admitted into the NICU for reasons unrelated to breast-feeding (or lack thereof). I begin pumping around the clock in hopes of getting something, anything to come out of my breasts. This does not happen.

Three days PP: Emory and I are sent home seeing zero success at breast-feeding.

I should have just given up. Had I felt better back then, I probably would have. After all, Emory was doing well on formula. But I thought that I had to breast-feed. We just never did get the latch worked out so I exclusively pumped for 5 months. I supplemented with formula the entire time because my milk and the engorged breasts everyone warned me about, well, that never took place. At five months, I was diagnosed with hyperthyroidism and put on a drug that wasn’t safe for babies. I stopped pumping (or HUTH, for those of us EPers).

During that time, I received countless email letting me know how difficult it was for women when it came to breast-feeding, which helped a great deal. But in the wee hours of the night, when I felt my most insecure, I turned to the Internet, in search of anyone to tell me everything was going to be OK if I gave up pumping and just formula fed my son. (You’d be surprised how little there is out there for people in my situation. On nights when I looked for reassurance, I found I felt worse.) It took me a long time to realize that the only person I needed approval from was the person doing all the searching.

Truth be told, Internet, I still have a lot of pent up anger when it comes to how I was treated by some breast-feeding mamas out there. Usually, I try and focus on all the positive stuff, because I mean it when I say that when I was going through that rough patch, many of your emails got me through it. But that doesn’t mean the judgmental stuff doesn’t stick with me as well.

The biggest problem as I see it, is that so many women are afraid to state outright: Hey, I didn’t breast-feed! In fact, I have met some mothers that whisper such things under their breath at the playground—like it’s some kind of fatal flaw, and I suppose that for some it is. I’ve also seen a few mothers breath a sigh of relief upon discovering that another mother in the room didn’t breast-feed her baby.

What is everyone so afraid of? Judgement? Receiving a failing grade in motherhood? Getting demoted or fired by your boss? There are no grades or graduation ceremonies to speak of. And your boss really just wants to eat, poop, sleep and giggle. So what are we all so afraid of?

Sometimes, all someone wants to hear (or read) is that they’re not alone.

And so. Consider this a small drop of water in a bucket full of oil: It’s OK, new mama, if you are unable to breast-feed your baby. Formula is a wonderful option. You are not a failure. You’re a new mom! Rejoice in that. You are not alone.

If you’re interested in reading the article, please click here. It sheds light on all the medical claims having to do with formula vs. breastmilk. It’s very enlightening. And it’s written by a breast-feeding mother of three.

Ear Infections In a Toddler

mihow — Thu, 12 Mar 2009 16:01:53 +0000

When I dropped Em off at school yesterday, I told the women what I tell them every morning. “If he’s sick or seems sad, tired or cranky, call me. He had a rough night last night and I’d hate for him to be in pain or cause problems for you all.”

They nodded in agreement but then one of them politely said, “Well, I think we’re going to try and keep him all day today if that’s OK. It’s been weeks since he’s been in school for an entire day and he’s missed so many as well! We miss him.”

It’s true. My kid has been in and out of school for almost two months. (Money well spent!) If I do send him to school, I usually get a phone call (or I call) letting me know he’s not feeling well and that it might be wise to come get him. I don’t even question it. I’m there in a heartbeat. But I’m left wondering: what do parents with full time jobs do in this situation? Does their employer get annoyed with them for having to leave to tend to their sick kids? Do they hire on-call nannies for this very reason? Seriously, what happens? Because all toddlers get sick and most schools won’t allow them to stay if they have a fever above 100 and that’s pretty damn common! (Perhaps a topic for another day.)

Anyway, something occurred to me yesterday, clearly so: I’m the mother of The Sick Kid. My son just can’t shake the congestion or cold. His colds move up into his ear canals and Toby and I spend nights on end listening to him scream. We spend days switching between doses of Motrin and Tylenol. We have gone through two rounds of antibiotics which work but then a week after he’s finished, BAM! the mucous builds up and the screams begin.

I don’t want to drone on and on about my ear problems. (If you’re curious, read this post.) But I will say that the moment he was born I began asking doctors, nurses (and whomever would listen to me) to have a closer look at his ears. They all reassured me that ear problems aren’t genetic. But I wondered, How about head shape? How about the size of the ear canal? How about a series of tubes? Could these things be genetic? He did, after all, inherit my eyes, my curly hair and his father’s everything else. But ears are somehow one of a kind? Like fingerprints?

We visited the pediatrician on Monday for the third time in just over a month. And she finally listened to me regarding my ear history. I told her that my hearing has been destroyed due to chronic ear infections. I told her my eustachian tubes never quite did their job properly. I told her I had tubes twice. I told her that the holes never healed. (To this day, I haven’t ever been swimming without earplugs.) I told her my pillows were often stained from ear fluid. I told her about my nephew (who has similar problems).

She listened and stopped suggesting that genetics are an innocent bystander. And I’m breathing a little easier now because that means we’ll get to see an ENT sooner rather than later. It also means that someone finally believes me. And I do hope that this means we can finally put an end to his pain.

I don’t want to be the mother of The Sick Kid. Besides, he’s far too cute to keep inside all the time.

Beat Down And Falling Around.

mihow — Wed, 14 Jan 2009 20:19:00 +0000

I have no idea what’s wrong with Em and I hate that I’m about to post this, because I never wanted to talk about such personal things (about him) online, but I need help.

For a while now, he’s faced a great deal of frustration trying to poop. It can literally take him all day sometimes to get anything out and that’s after a great deal of straining and pain. And when it finally does come out, it’s rather hard. We called the doctor who told us to feed him lots of fruits and vegetables, which is just absurd because that’s all he really eats. (Unfortunately, this was left on a message as she was busy and I haven’t called back yet so I couldn’t then tell her no, that’s not the problem.)

A few nights ago, we woke up to hear Emory SCREAMING from his bedroom. He was making horrible sounds, like a woman in labor. He was trying to poop. He tried so hard, he threw up and it came out of his nose as well. (I am crying as I write this because he’s in school and I want so badly to hug him right now.)

Anyway, I decided that enough was enough, I did some online research. Several people suggested that babies who go through this type of situation often have milk allergies (which they eventually outgrow) and that it’s not often talked about by doctors. So, we decided to give him some soy milk instead of milk milk and see how that goes. We also added flax as well as prune juice into the mix. Things got better. They weren’t perfect, but they were better.

But then last night happened. I stupidly (I think it was the culprit?) gave him a homemade bread and cream cheese sandwich with chopped up dates. He ate it up fast—loved it. He drank some water and then some soy milk and went off to bed.

We woke up at 11 listening to him scream. He continued to go into contractions every 10 minutes until 4 AM or later. It was heartbreaking and there was nothing I could do for him.

I am not sure what’s going on with Emory. I need to fix it. I feel so badly for him. I am tired. I am making mistakes, fighting with my husband, flicking off construction workers, fighting with our passive aggressive previous landlord, discussing things with other mothers—mere strangers to me at his daycare—that I should never discuss. I feel as though I am bordering on that insane, hysterical mother—the one everyone whispers about when she leaves the room.

I have no idea how to control this, how to fix it, how to make him better, us better, me better.

I can’t help me. But maybe someone else can.

The Truth About The MMR

mihow — Wed, 31 Dec 2008 18:20:00 +0000

Emory received his MMR immunization last Monday. We were told that any side effects associated with this vaccine would kick in after 7 to 10 days. We hit day seven and nothing happened and we thought, “Awesome! We’re in the clear!”

We were wrong.

Yesterday I noticed a few red spots on his face—just four—and lifted his shirt to check for more. Sure enough, there were a few more spots on his torso. At that point I took his temperature—a solid 100 degrees.

He was cranky all day, but it wasn’t any worse than whenever he cut his molars. We gave him some Tylenol and he was fine by morning. He’s back to his usual, insane, toddling self.

But we did notice something regarding the MMR and its apparent side-effects. They won’t tell you about this. So I am going to take the opportunity to do so. I hope you’re prepared. You may even want to sit down.

The MMR makes babies speak. It’s true! I watched it happen.

Prior to having been vaccinated, Em said a few words such as Mama, Dada, (a warped version of) Kitty Cat (that sounded like “Keecah”), Night Night (that sounded like this: “Nighnah”) and Hi. That’s pretty much it.

But since receiving the MMR words have been flying out. He’s like a little tape recorder! He now says Cracker, Blue, Blueberries, Mama (clear as day), Kitty Cat, Daddy, Hi, Elmo, Baby, Finished (not very well, however), Bubble and One, Two, Three.

I have deduced that the MMR vaccine makes babies speak. It may sound absurd, but then again, so does suggesting it causes autism.

Speaking of the MMR, there is a fantastic This American Life episode about a family who refused the MMR for their child. At age seven, he traveled overseas and brought the measles virus back home with him. The episode is about how he and his family brought an entire town to a screeching halt.

While all of that may sound really serious, it’s actually very funny. It’s well worth the listen.

(I know! Can you believe how much I’ve changed when it comes to immunizations? I am shocked by my transformation!)

Gattaca: We’re Not Far Off

mihow — Mon, 01 Dec 2008 18:07:00 +0000

The New York Times reported over the weekend that there’s a 149 dollar test for children to determine if they have the sports gene.

My initial thought was, Awesome! We should see what it says about Emory! like we’d be getting a reading from a 15-dollar, storefront fortune teller. After I thought about it a bit more, the idea began to make me very uneasy. I’m asking way too many questions of the “what if? variety.

Can we be trusted with this information? Will it bring more good to the world than bad? Because I’m just not sure.

Haircut 100 and a MOHs Update.

mihow — Thu, 06 Nov 2008 21:22:00 +0000

I got a haircut last night. The woman didn’t even use scissors. Instead, she pulled out that razor thing and went all Edward on me. I generally tell hair stylists to do whatever they want with my hair. (I liken it to doing logo work. Things always work out better for everyone involved if the client trusts that I know what I’m doing instead of try and art direct.) I’ve only had one mishap following this technique.

It’s really short in back. But it’s easy to maintain. This is how it looks today after a torrential downpour.

I think I’m happy with it, although I’m a little shocked with the length. I was also shocked by the price tag. Who knew that taking a razor to someone’s head would cost 100 bucks? This is precisely why I only get haircuts once a year.

As long as we’re on the subject of my face, I would like to take this opportunity and give an update regarding the MOHs surgery I had last November. As I was clicking around on Flickr, it occurred to me that today is the one year anniversary of that surgery. (Nuts, eh? Years fly!) Anyway, I think that it’s a perfect time for an update.

This was taken on November 7th, 2007:

This was taken in January (the redness around my eyebrows is from a waxing, totally unrelated):

This was taken in March after some laser treatment:

I took this shot today:

I am quite pleased with how it’s healed, although it did take a year. Remember, wear sunscreen or you’re an idiot.

In other news, we’re heading to DC tomorrow morning. We’re leaving Em with my parents, which is giving me heartburn as well as heartache. It’s not that I don’t trust them, quite the contrary, it’s that I’m not sure I want to be away from him for two days. I already miss him. I’ve never known love like this before. How do people do this?

Failure.

mihow — Fri, 03 Oct 2008 21:01:00 +0000

I feel awful. Perhaps it’s because of how tired I am. I have no idea. But I just feel terrible. I feel like I have failed miserably as a mother because I have no idea of how to calm my son down. That’s supposed to be my job, right? Calming him down, making him comfortable. And I can’t do it.

Last night was rough. He refused a nap and then at 7 he fell asleep after a fight only to wake up 45 minutes later. Toby was home by then and gave it a go. By 9 PM he was having a full-fledged meltdown. He was screaming like I’ve never heard before. He simply could not relax. We tried rocking him and singing to him. He walked back and forth between us looking for comfort, when he couldn’t find it, he’d go to the other one, screaming the entire time.

At 9:30. He finally fell asleep. He woke up a dozen times throughout the night. We did everything we could to make him comfortable and failed.

This morning he woke up at 6 AM. His eyes were puffy and his nose was running slightly. Of course, we immediately panicked thinking he may caught something from the bird we found. (There hasn’t been any contact, but still.) And then we thought maybe his molars were coming in. Perhaps he just caught a cold.

I want to be able to calm him down. I want to be able to make him happy. But I have been failing for 24 hours straight. This is the toughest job I have ever had. There’s no conversation that begins with a simple, “Hey, what’s wrong? What can I do to make it better?” and then working hard to make that happen.

I have failed at the only thing I am supposed to be doing right now, which is making my son’s life easier, understanding what he needs and making that happen.

What a difficult job!

Now, you may laugh at what I’m about to suggest and I’m no contender, but I think it’s high time the MacArthur Foundation grants a million dollars to a stay-at-home mother. Because, while I may be failing at it myself this week, we work our asses off 24 hours a day, 7 days a week at “building a more just, verdant, and peaceful world”.

Among this year’s winners there was an urban farmer, a sculptor, an astrophysicist, and a violinist. You know what almost all of them had in common?

A mother.

Next year, I’m nominating a stay-at-home mother for the MacArthur grant.

Yeah, you heard me. ;]

Eat The Pain Away.

mihow — Wed, 03 Sep 2008 19:14:00 +0000

Em had his one-year checkup yesterday. We’re a month late. I know. But I wanted to give him time to celebrate having turned one. (If you believe that one, there’s a bridge I’d like to sell you.) I’m not going to lie. It was tough. It was tough because my kid is freakishly strong. I know parents say things like that all the time about their young, but ya gotta believe me. He’s strong.

We got there fifteen minutes early so they could apply some numbing cream to both wrists as well as on the inside of his right elbow. It was then covered in clear plastic which he immediately began trying to rip off. We set him free to play with the plethora of toys they have in the waiting room.

About a half hour later, the doctor called us in. Em was weighed, measured and examined. All was well. We asked our questions. We asked about our giving him milk right before bedtime and we were told to stop that immediately. Milk can rot their teeth in just 3 short months. I hate that we didn’t know that. We gave him a bottle of water yesterday for each nap and at bedtime and it seemed to work out just fine. (Thank goodness.)

Don’t make the same mistake we have.

We also discussed his immunization schedule and the MMR. It’s supposed to begin at one year but can be postponed until 15 months, which we have opted for.

At one point in time, we had discussed separating the vaccine and paying for each one individually and out of pocket if need be. But yesterday our doctor informed us that separating each one is no longer an option. Merck (the only manufacturer of Mumpsvax) has halted production and supplies are running out, which means parents are left with no other choice but to administer the MMR. We’re OK with this. I mentioned a few weeks ago, that we’ve become a lot more relaxed about immunizations. (Research! Research! Research!)

Pediatricians must have a very difficult job right now, convincing parents that the right thing to do is immunize their child. Because before we assured her that we were onboard with everything (more or less, we are still following a modified schedule) she came off as slightly defensive. I imagine they are met with parental roadblocks where vaccines are concerned.

We gave Em his final DTaP yesterday. He’s doing just fine today.

But the blood drawing fiasco? Oh holy hell was it ever brutal. We were given a lollipop, which he’s never had before, and were told to give him it to him whenever she inserted the needle. Well, that didn’t really work out. He did not like being pinned down. We expected that. But this was incredible. It took four of us to hold him down and draw the blood. I know. That sounds absurd. No baby is that strong. And he’s not. One adult could overpower him. The problem is that these little suckers are still fragile, strong or not. So you can’t really put all your force into it. They’re little bones could snap in two. Holding a baby down requires finding that very delicate middle ground, and we were having a great deal of trouble finding that yesterday.

It took her several tries to get the vein. She kept saying, “I can’t believe how strong he is. He’s the strongest baby I think I’ve ever worked with.”

In the meantime, he screamed from the pain. It was the first time I really saw actual hurt in his eyes. I have no idea how the families of truly sick children live through something like that. It must be horrible watching a child experience pain, simply horrible. (Parents with sick children, you are my heroes. I don’t know where you get your strength.)

I did manage to crack up when the doctor went in for a third time and TJ put the lollipop in his mouth said, “Use food to cope.” and “Eat the pain away”

It was a nervous laugh, but a laugh nonetheless and given the circumstances of the situation, we had to lighten it up somehow.

We should find out how much we’ve screwed up his perfect little body in a few days.

Vaccinations Revisited.

mihow — Mon, 11 Aug 2008 22:49:00 +0000

Amanda Peet gave an interview to Cookie Magazine recently. She discussed motherhood, toys and vaccinations. She’s imploring people to vaccinate and isn’t candy-coating her message at all. She tells Cookie Mag, “Frankly, I feel that parents who don’t vaccinate their children are parasites.”

Zing! Snap! Zing! (She later apologized for the harsh delivery but stands behind the idea.)

During a television interview on Good Morning America last week, she said, “I’m not a doctor, which brings me to another point. It seems like the media is often giving celebrities and actors more authority on this issue than they’re giving the experts and that’s a sad fact. And I know that’s a paradox – that’s part of why I wanted to become a spokesperson, so I could say, ‘Please don’t listen to me, don’t listen to the actors, go to the experts.”

I have my own thoughts about vaccinations. I did hours and hours worth of research when Em was brand new. I worried myself silly over them. In the beginning, I actually contemplated not vaccinating Em, an idea I find completely crazy now. I’m not sure if I was merely getting caught up in the wave of hysteria so prevalent these days or if I was just worried about the actual needle-sticking part. But I worried myself sick.

And then he had his first vaccine (we did stagger them) and everything went well. After that, I began to loosen up a bit.

We chose to spread them out not because we thought a vaccine might cause neurological damage, we spread them out because I felt that his body should have enough time to cope with each one. This meant more co-pays, more visits to the doctor, and (unfortunately for everyone) more needle pricks.

We’re waiting on a few and skipping some as well. For example, we opted to wait on Hepatitis B until he is a little bit older. And I decided against the flu vaccine. We’re also waiting a bit to start the MMR—not too long, but a little bit.

We did couple some of them. I made my decisions based on the statistics on the CDC Web site. Basically, the higher incidences of side-effects, the more likely I’d give him that vaccine on its own. The more “easy going” vaccine (for example, Polio) the more likely I’d couple it with another. (If for some reason you are interested in seeing how we spaced them, feel free to email me.)

It’s my opinion that yes, parents should be given a choice as to whether they vaccinate or not. No one should ever be forced to do something to their child because the government says so. However, I think information needs to be made readily available to every American no matter who they are (rich, poor, black, white, purple, old or young). I think insurance companies should cover the cost of classes for parents-to-be. I think this may help correct misconceptions behind vaccines and teach parents why vaccinating your child is important. I was offered (and took) a breastfeeding class and a parenting class. Why can’t hospitals or pediatricians offer a class or two about immunizations? Because I firmly believe that if a parent does the research, if they can ask questions, they will feel better about vaccinating their child.

I think vaccinating our children is the right thing to do and the benefits far outweigh the side-effects. Remember this post? How about this one? It took a hell of a lot of research for me to get to this point. I no longer think that the government is some kind of boogeyman trying to poison our children. And I realize that for some this change of mind may come as a surprise. Believe me, there is still nothing more horrible than taking a newborn to the doctor and watching said doctor insert a needle into his or her leg. All the research in the world won’t make the actual event any less awful. But after a year worth of research, I’m (more or less) onboard with Amanda Peet.

But don’t listen to me either. Do the research yourself. It’s the only way you’ll ever feel better about it.

We’re Sick.

mihow — Tue, 29 Jul 2008 19:37:00 +0000

Em isn’t feeling well. He’s come down with a cold. And I woke up with a sore throat today. We’re dead tired. I am shocked Toby made it to work in any reasonable form this morning. Em was up every hour all night long complaining and unable to breath. He’s really congested. We suctioned his little nose at 4 AM but that didn’t help. I even brought him into the bathroom and steamed him like a baby potato. To no avail.

Anyway, life feels very much the same way it did with a newborn. And I’m sure all our hard work with sleep training is going to be set back. Perhaps this is nature’s way of asking, “Do you really want another baby, Michele?”

The answer is still yes, but I if we’re met with another sleepless night like last night, I may be saying something different.

Tuesdays With Murray will return next week when we feel better.

Weight Loss, etc.

mihow — Mon, 14 Jul 2008 18:58:00 +0000

I signed up for WeightWatchers on May 30th, 2008. As of tomorrow, I’ll be halfway through my trial period. This post is an update to what’s been happening, how much I’ve lost, frustrations I’ve met, and things that have helped me out over the last month and half.

Let me begin by saying that I’ve lost 8 pounds. I expected to have lost more than that by now, and I’ve been fluctuating between a 6 to 8 pound loss for three weeks. Am I experiencing a plateau? I’m not sure. But I’m going to continue and hope that the next couple of weeks bring me higher numbers.

One of the reasons I’m so irritated by the plateau is because I’m working out as well. (Although, I just started with a regular daily routine last week, so perhaps things will pick up?) But I feel like I should have lost more weight by now. Maybe not. Who knows.

All in all, this diet is much easier to follow and stick to than South Beach. I tried South Beach several years ago and while the diet works, I wasn’t able to stick with it and I felt like I was hungry most of the time. I was on it for about 4 months. I lost 19 pounds. The diet was trying, however. And I gained it all back.

The South Beach diet just wasn’t one I could stay on indefinitely. I feel that WW is.

One of the reasons I like WW diet is because of the bonus points you’re given on top of the daily allotment. There have been some weeks where I am doing just great and then BAM! we order pizza and I devour 3 slices in one sitting. There were two days last week where I blew right past my 21-point weekly allotment. One day I consumed a massive 45 points!

But that amount comes out of the weekly “bonus” points. And so you’re not beating yourself up quite as much as you might on other diets.

Another reason I like WW is that the product line is oustanding. Let me begin by saying that I’m not super keen on eating foods with a long list of ingredients, but I decided that this time I’d blissfully ignore my inclinations and just go with it. At this juncture, I have tried several of the packaged meals offered by Smart One’s. (Only the vegetarian ones, however. We prefer our meat come from local farms), I’ve tried several of the desserts, and a whole bunch of bread products. This has helped me get a grasp on point allotment. It also helps me feel full. (Sometime down the road, I plan to take off my training wheels and give up the packaged meals. I may continue to buy their bread products, however. You simply can’t beat a bagel for two points and a whole grain english muffin for one.)

If you don’t mind eating food with a long list of ingredients, I highly recommend trying out their pre-packaged meals.

I’ve learned that foods high in fiber and low in fat are golden. So, cheese glorious cheese? Not so glorious for the midsection. Incidentally, that’s been the most difficult thing for me to give up. I am a cheese lover. But when it comes to hunger and point allotment to fulfillment ratio, cheese ranks as one of the foods to avoid.

I’ve learned that you can have unlimited amounts of vegetables and almost as much fruit as you can stomach. (I love fruit, which could be another reason that South Beach proved difficult for me.)

Wine and beer? Avoid it. It won’t do anything to make you feel full plus, it messes with your metabolism (as does caffeine, actually. But I’m not about to give that up). Beer is higher than wine, naturally. But lite beer is better than regular. (I tend to prefer the dark stuff, so beer hasn’t been something I’ve touched lately.)

Salad dressing is the devil, for the most part. Seriously. In fact, I have joked and said that if every American went into their fridge right now and threw out every condiment, we’d be a lot thinner in only a month’s time. I think there’s truth to that statement.

If you’re a snacker, you have to figure out what type of snacks to eat. I have gotten through some salt cravings by making Newman’s Own popcorn (96% fat free). I usually add Lawry’s Seasoned Salt and I have myself a relatively healthy snack. (Well, if you ignore the sodium content in the Lawry’s. heh.)

My favorite snack, however, is a cucumber salad my mother made us when we were growing up. I’ll cut up one cucumber, add a spoonful of lite mayonnaise (or fat free), and some white balsamic vinegar. Sprinkle on some pepper, and you have yourself a tasty treat. (This has gotten me from one meal to the next dozens of times over the last month. Plus, it’s awesome.)

In a nutshell the diet is working albeit slowly and some days I get really annoyed especially when my weight fluctuates. But putting on weight is much easier (and more fun but not as rewarding!) than losing it.

I am going to stand strong and readdress my situation when my 3-month trial ends. At that point in time, I’ll decide if i want to pay the month-by-month fee and continue, or if I need to figure something else out (like liposuction and a breast reduction). But I’m pretty satisfied with the way things are going, however, I’d be a LOT more satisfied if WW sent me free products and in turn I’ll write reviews and give them free advertising, because buying this stuff costs money we don’t have. I get email all the time asking me to agree to blog post sponsorship and I always say no because I worry about what I’ll have to agree to. But if WW came to me and asked me to do such a thing? I’d do it in a heartbeat.

That’s all for now. As always, feedback and/or suggestions welcome.

Weight Watchers

mihow — Fri, 30 May 2008 20:02:00 +0000

I am looking for information about Weight Watchers. I know I could probably get a very thorough description of how it works on the Web site, but I’m not looking for a sale’s pitch. So, have you ever done Weight Watchers? Did it work? What were the pros and cons? Is it worth the money?

I am considering an online trial. I want/need to lose 20 pounds of weight. I simply have to. I’m tired of saying I’ll do it and then failing miserably. Also, if anyone cares to join me, I’ll be your online dieting buddy!

Any or all help welcome. If you tend to shy away from comments, feel free to email me.

Wither and Age

mihow — Thu, 13 Mar 2008 19:13:00 +0000

The laser work I had done yesterday didn’t hurt nearly as bad as I anticipated. I really worked myself up about it too. I was so freaked out yesterday, I sent a text message from the waiting room letting him know. He wrote back, “Don’t be! I know it’s easy to say. Remember: courage is about facing fears, so you can’t be courageous without fear.”

Whenever she called me in, I was told to lie back in a chair. I put on metal goggles. They looked like the kind you’re given while using a tanning bed. (Believe me, I see the irony here.) Only they’re a lot heavier. The doctor walked me through everything verbally since I was unable to see. The metal gun spit cold ice first and then it hit me with a laser. I smelled burning flesh, but it wasn’t all that bad. It felt exactly like she said it would: like being flicked with a rubber band.

I look like this today. I am told it’s going to get worse before it gets better.

I hope makeup will cover it up until then.

Speaking of things aging, withering and dying, my Hindu Rope plant isn’t doing well. It looks like this:

Last year at this time it looked like this:

What am I doing wrong? This is depressing me far more than it should.

Lastly, if you didn’t see the post from yesterday, please go there now. Write the Mayor of Randolph, Iowa. Let him know what he’s suggesting is wrong.

UPDATED TO ADD: See this link about how you can help reach out to the Mayor of Randolph, Iowa. Apparently they DO NOT have access to email. (I wonder where my email went?) I wonder what happens you call the number? I’d happily call right now but the only sound they’d hear is the sound of a baby SCREAMING his head off because he doesn’t want to sleep. Perhaps that could work? I’ll just hit redial and let Emory scream into the phone.

My day? NOT EVEN CLOSE TO AWESOME.

MOHs: Take 4 (Or 10. I’ve Lost Count.)

mihow — Wed, 12 Mar 2008 18:31:00 +0000

I’m scheduled to have laser surgery done on my face today at 4 PM. (See previous posts here, here, and pictures here.) I’m not at all looking forward to this. Last time I went in for followup, my doctor injected the scar with steroids and it hurt like hell.

Here is what it looks like today:

I am having trouble capturing it and I know I may be more critical than others, however, the scar is pretty damn obvious. It looks like a much enlarged version of what was removed. It’s puffy and white. It looks like a blister or a burn. It’s not pleasant and it’s not easily covered with makeup. They’re trying to remove it, lessen it to some degree.

Anyway, I’m preoccupied because I hate having needles shoved into my face. I hope this doesn’t hurt. I hope it doesn’t actually get worse. I hope I don’t have to walk around again with a big red sore on my face. I hope to one day be able to put this MOHs thing behind me.

I did download the (very few) pictures we took digitally while we were away. There are more of the film variety that we need to get developed. I’d do it myself but they’re color.

Here’s a shot of Emory at The Animal Kingdom. He’s watching kids feed the ducks.

And here’s one taken while we were riding It’s a Small World. (Unfortunately, dumbass me brought only the 50 MM lens making it impossible to capture anything more than close-ups of someone’s face.)

Here’s a picture TobyJoe took of me giving my kid a manicure.

We’ll have more once we have the film developed.

Punctuation.

mihow — Wed, 30 Jan 2008 22:33:00 +0000

I’m still having medical issues and they still haven’t been worked out. In time, I hope that a doctor will be able to help me. I’m currently sorting this out on my own. It’s been hard. I do not trust my emotions right now to know what’s coming or going. I do not know what’s real and what’s thyroid induced so I second guess myself daily at least a dozen times. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to having some trouble adjusting to motherhood.

Emory is changing everyday. That’s normal. I know. But last Wednesday, he threw out all the cute, fake coughs and replaced them with ear-piercingly loud screams. I tend to exaggerate sometimes, but these screams have actually caused the constant ringing in my left ear to worsen. (They are so unbelievably loud.) They’re terrible. He does this whenever he decides that we are not paying enough attention to him. And for Emory, that’s almost always. I am at my wit’s end. If I ignore him for a bit, the screams intensify, he gets worked up, and eventually starts to cry. (That has only happened twice, however, because I can’t let the screams go on for that long. Plus, since he rarely cries, it’s hard to watch that happen.) I usually give in after a few of the screams and pick him up. The screams almost always immediately stop. (Of course they do! He’s getting his way, right?)

I didn’t go to school for this. I went to school for photography, graphic design, and visual arts. I admit it. I have no freaking clue how to be a mother. I have no idea what’s right and what’s wrong. I have no idea how much time I’m supposed to pay attention to him and how much time I’m supposed to let him work it out alone. And I’m his full-time teacher! I am a stay-at-home mom. I have no daily help. I don’t have a nanny or a babysitter. (My mother comes over sometimes to help, but I don’t call her hired help. She’s there for support. She’s not a nanny. I wouldn’t want her to be a nanny. I want her to be my mom). It’s just Emory and me for the most part, which is precisely the way I wanted it to be.

But the last two weeks have been trying. I find myself staring off into space wondering what it would have been like to go back to work part-time, hire someone to look after Emory every now and again. I wonder what it would have been like to drop him off at a daycare every now and again so I can get things done – a haircut, visit the doctor, walk around and get lost taking pictures.

And that makes me feel worse. Selfish. Immature. I feel like I’m failing him and myself. I feel like I’m failing period. People have done this for decades! Women have raised many kids and alone! What is wrong with me? Why am I having so much trouble juggling everything, mentally dealing with the transition into motherhood? How in the hell do you people do this so well!

It troubles me that if I get this wrong, I can’t really go back again and retake the course. This is it. I need to get it right the first time. That’s a little bit terrifying.

I have been self-diagnosing myself lately because I haven’t made it to a doctor and I’m not sure when I’ll do that. I stumbled on a term recently over at Ask Moxie about being Touched Out. Women were discussing the physical relationships (or lack thereof) they have with their husbands after having a baby. Some said they were too tired to snuggle with their husbands. Others said they just didn’t want to be touched at the end of the day. I started thinking about this phrase: “Touched Out”.

I spend every day, all day, with Emory. I am very affectionate with him. He is a very needy and loving little boy. He likes to be near me and he loves to be smooched and tickled. I spend every day giving him all of my physical and emotional attention. Whenever TobyJoe gets home, I barely remember to hug him let alone give him a kiss. I hand the baby over and shower or clean or do whatever it is I wanted to do and couldn’t because I didn’t have the time. And that’s terrible! Am I failing my husband as well? When does everything get back to normal? Ever?

I just feel like I’m failing. I failed at the work I tried to continue with after Emory was born. I barely find time to write and whenever I do, I don’t reread it so it’s strewn with errors and half-thoughts. I barely shower. I barely go out. I barely cook. I barely clean. If I gave myself a grade this week, it’d be a failing grade.

I was joking with TobyJoe about how I currently sum up my daily routine. We live in a railroad apartment. The front of our apartment (our bedroom) faces east and the back (our kitchen) faces west. The sun wakes up every day and greets me through our bedroom window. At the end of the day, the sun sets over Manhattan, saying goodbye outside our kitchen window. That’s my punctuation, my front and back cover. Everyday, I pick up the same book. I read the very first sentence at the beginning of the day and the last sentence at the end of the day. And I know there’s a whole lot more taking place as the sun makes its way from the front of our apartment to the back, but I don’t see it happen. I don’t read that part. I don’t show Emory what the sun does. I know nothing firsthand of its journey. (Does a cloud ever get in its way, a bird? Is there a rainstorm? A rainbow?) I don’t take him to the backyard to show him the sun at high noon because, well, we don’t have a backyard. And the backyard we do have (which is off limits to us anyway) is currently occupied by a very drunk and belligerent hobo.

How am I supposed to teach this little person about what happens to the sun when it’s out of view if I don’t know myself?

I probably have the post-birthday blues or something. I turned 34 yesterday and I repeatedly had to remind myself that it was in fact my birthday. I had a dermatology appointment first thing in the morning, where she stuck a needle full of a steroidal into my MOHs scar/wound because it’s not healing well. That obviously sucked. But what makes yesterday really quite funny isn’t that I had a needle stuck into my face on my birthday, it’s the fact that I got really dressed up in order to do so.

But, hey, at least the sentence that punctuated yesterday morning was different from all the rest.

Waging War Against Bisphenol A

mihow — Mon, 28 Jan 2008 22:28:00 +0000

A couple of months ago we declared war against bisphenol A, an organic compound that mimics estrogen and can mess with a person’s hormones and development. This is especially alarming for babies who rely so much on what they ingest in order to develop.

My understanding is this: bisphenol A was created as a estrogen replacement and/or supplement. At some point, diethylstilbestrol turned out to be more powerful. Bisphenol A was shelved. Later, chemists discovered that it could be polymerized to form polycarbonate plastic. But the bond is not stable so BPA leaches into whatever it’s protecting. The government has tested many of these plastics individually and the amount that leaches out is very little. But as far as I know there haven’t been tests run on the overall usage of BPA leaching components. Basically, the sum is much greater than its parts.

As with anything, the more you know the better off (or worse depending on who you ask) you are. But with bisphenol A the more I find the worse I feel. I started this post a dozen times before now and each time I get so overwhelmed, I give up. There is just too much to find and discover!

Truth be told, bisphenol A has become a bit of a monster here at our house. It lurks everywhere and in an industrialized country like the United States, it’s downright impossible to avoid. It’s something we’re trying very hard to rid our lives of. And believe me, that’s a lot harder than one may think.

I’m not going to mention all the side-effects associated with bisphenol A. And instead of trying to work them into a perfectly packaged paragraph (I am not nearly that good of a writer), I’m going to list a few of them below.

Low sperm count and infertile sperm
bisphenol A during development has carcinogenic effects and produce precursors to breast cancer
neurotoxicity
linked to obesity. (triggering fat-cell activity)
developmental toxicity
damage to eggs and chromosomes
hyperactivity
early puberty

As with many scientific studies conducted today, these are concluded after large amounts are injected into our fuzzy friends. (Thanks for taking a million and one for the team, Mickey and Minnie.) Many supporters of bisphenol A think the results are skewed. Opponents feel the findings are alarming and that the compound should be scrutinized by the FDA to find out if it’s safe for our children.

In a perfect world, a baby would drink only breastmilk straight from the breast for (at the very least) the first year of his or her life. Unfortunately, this isn’t possible for many women. In the states, women are granted 3 months maternity leave, forcing them to hit the pump. Some woman have trouble breastfeeding and turn to the pump and/or formula. Either way, the majority of women in the U.S. are going to give their baby a bottle during the first year of his or her life. Unfortunately, most of the plastic bottles on the market today are lined with bisphenol A.

Before Emory was born I had determined very early on that we would use (glass) bottles. A friend from San Francisco purchased some EvenFlo bottles from our registry. I was so out of it, exhausted and depressed for the first two months postpartum, I used Dr. Brown’s bottles instead, which worked really well with easing gas pains. Unfortunately, they are made with BPA. So, for the first two months of Emory’s life, he was being served pumped breastmilk from a bisphenol A-lined plastic bottle. What’s more, the more you heat them up, the more the chemical leaches from the plastic and into the milk. (I use our electric kettle to heat water. I then dip the bottle into a mug for a few minutes.) Eventually, we remembered all the plans we had and ditched the plastic bottles for the glass ones.

Along with retiring the Dr. Brown’s bottles, we’ve gotten rid of our Brita filter, our plastic french press (replacing it with a glass one). We’ve stopped drinking anything out of plastic that includes all store bought bottled water. I figured the tap water here in Brooklyn will do us just fine. (We do drink it every time we go out to eat and I haven’t ever once used the Brita to filter our ice.) We’ve been drinking tap water for 2 months now and neither one of us has had any unwanted leakage or strange bellyaches.

We now avoid all cans lined with the BPA. (Canned tomatoes are a big culprit.) Thankfully, we never purchased baby formula lined with it, but it is out there. I have read conflicting reports as to whether Medela’s bottles are BPA-free. ~~(I do not think they are entirely BPA-free but I’m hoping someone reading this might be privy to that information.)~~ Medela bottles are entirely BPA-free. Thanks to a commenter for clearing that up.

When you start looking for it, you’ll find that BPA is everywhere. It’s in everything with a recycle number 7 on it. It’s in cellophane, tupperware; It’s even found in pacifiers.

The good news is, many people seem to be catching on. It seems more and more organizations are coming out with alternatives. Born Free makes plastic bottles that are bisphenol A free. (We purchased a few of these bottles just last month.) Natursutten, came out with a BPA-free pacifier. Brita hasn’t caught on yet, which is frustrating. To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure how America got off on such a filtered-water tangent to begin with. I remember when it happened but I’m not sure how or why. It seemed that all of a sudden, people decided the tap water was no longer safe to drink. Perhaps the bottled water corporations such as Pepsi and Coke had a lot to do with it? Either way, drinking bottled water and water pushed through a filter first seems silly and excessive to me, unnecessary even. And wouldn’t it be ironic if we finally discover that the plastic we’re using is more detrimental to one’s health than the water being pumped through our pipes?

By now, I’m certain that many of you have rolled your eyes at least once during this post. And I’m OK with that. I know I annoyed the crap out of some folks after we ordered an organic mattress. But I invite you to take a minute and answer one question:

If we are able to cut down on the amount of chemicals we unnecessarily pump into our children, don’t you think that we should?

It took months worth of research for me to get behind vaccinations. The more research I did, the better I felt about immunizing my little guy. The opposite can be said for BPA. The more I read, the more wary I become of its role in our everyday lives.

I don’t expect everyone to get on the anti-plastic bandwagon. But I might suggest doing the research on your own and then deciding for yourself. After all, the government doesn’t always have the best interest of the individual in mind.

If there is one thing I have learned in the past year that I can state with absolution, it’s that this parenting thing takes constant research.

Safe and Sound Toys.

mihow — Tue, 22 Jan 2008 21:16:00 +0000

TobyJoe and I are shopping around for new baby toys. That sounds pretty easy, right? Well, we’re trying to avoid toys made in China, not because we’re afraid of lead paint, but because we’re trying to support industries we know are ethically sound. (That’s a loaded sentence, I realize. I will go into it if asked in the comments section.) I was hoping that the seasoned parents out there might be able to help some of us rookies.

What toys does your little one like? Have you tried Haba? Emory really likes the triangular Haba toy (shown below) that my sister-in-law sent us. He likes to chew on a wooden rattle Nico gave us. And he digs the Vilac cat below as well.

But soon we’re going to need snuggly stuff as well as educational games and books and I am having trouble finding stuff that isn’t mass produced in China. We’d really like to try and avoid toys made “For Babies By Babies”.

Also, Michelle mentioned in the comments section of the previous post that her 23 pound girl outgrew the Bjorn. Emory is quickly approaching that day. Are there other options out there?

^{P.S. I’m working on Tuesdays With Murray. If the baby cooperates, I will have it today.}

Busy Week Ahead

mihow — Sun, 06 Jan 2008 22:25:00 +0000

I have my first of many medical appointments today. I am scheduled to take some type of ~~hormone dose~~ iodine pill today so they can scan my thyroid on Tuesday. This doesn’t mean a whole lot to me because, well, I haven’t done it yet. But my guess is that by Thursday, when I meet with the specialist again, I’ll know whether or not I have postpartum thyroiditis or if my hyperthyroidism is something I have had for a while. If it’s the former, things may work themselves out over time, although I have read that 30% of those who suffer from hyperthyroidism after they have a baby then get hypothyroidism because their thyroid burns itself out.

I’m not sure what to hope for. There’s a part of me who wants this to make sense of every inexplicable mood swing, every weird night sweat, every anxious moment, every sporadic allergy I’ve had over the last 10 years. There’s another part of me who hopes that it’s postpartum and will go away entirely on its own. Either way, I’m lucky because I live with this person.

This kid loves petting Pookum and she loves when he pets her. I am so very pleased that he seems to love animals. The cats bring him joy.

I’m not sure how much time I’ll have to write over the next couple of days. I’m going to try my hardest to keep the posts and updates coming. (I have an awesome Murray story.) I had to post something because I am sick of looking at the previous, political post. It really went off in the wrong direction. I fear some people totally misunderstood me, that I misrepresented myself. Have you ever drank too much at a dinner party and whenever you wake up the following day you wish you could change things? That’s the way that post makes me feel. And here I thought I moved away from writing things that fill me with regret. Nevertheless, If you came out of that “discussion” angry, you either misunderstood me entirely or the conversation we should have had never took place.

I’m dead tired, which has been the usual hum as of late. I’ve been immersing myself in yoga again and my mood has been elevated because of it. But my body has changed since the last time I practiced regularly. I have discovered that I am no longer very flexible in my back, shoulders or hips. My legs, on the other hand are filled with new muscle. I think it’s from all the squats I do every day while holding an giggling, 18-pound weight!

Also, it’s going to be 60 today. Sixty. That’s some damn fine news, Internet. I’m going to strap my baby to my belly and we’re going to head into the great big city together.

I’m Finally a Crazy Nut!

mihow — Thu, 20 Dec 2007 21:02:00 +0000

I visited the specialist yesterday. I picked up my blood results beforehand from my primary care physician. The levels meant absolutely nothing to me. For example, I had no idea a low something-or-other equalled an overactive thyroid. My laymen guess would have been high equals high but lo and behold, those zany medical people have to confuse us normal folk with their fancy medical terms. Or something.

I began by apologizing. I was supposed to have one more blood test before visiting the specialist. My primary care doctor assumed he had time to do so since he didn’t think that I would get an appointment with the endocrinologist until after the holidays. That wasn’t the case due to a last minute cancelation. So I ended up visiting the endocrinologist before having that blood work done, hence the apologies. He interrupted me after a bit and said, “Well, Michele, say no more, clearly there’s a problem here. This isn’t normal at all.” Someone, other than myself, has finally decided I’m a Crazy Nut!

I had half a mind to have him write it down as such.

He did some testing which consisted of having me look in certain directions, show him my legs, my hands, my eyes. He also made me swallow a lot. He asked me a lot of questions about my behavior and my sleep patterns, my pain and my pregnancy. He prescribed to me some temporary medication in order to keep my manic behavior at a minimum. (Toby thanks him. This morning I woke up and didn’t immediately put him to work cleaning the house.)

The good news is, this could all be due to postpartum. (Just as many of you suggested here and via email.) He said that some women experience this after pregnancy and that it does sometime work itself out by 6 months. So, I may be coming down off crazy. The unsettling news is, if it is due to postpartum, that doesn’t explain the last six years to TobyJoe and, well, the last 10 to me. The doctor is going to run a few more tests to figure out if this is permanent or if it’ll work itself out over time.

The next step is to have a snapshot done of my thyroid, which is scheduled for the beginning of January. My thyroid stimulating hormone levels are low enough that he’s worried about my heart palpitations and my heart rate, hence the drug I was prescribed. It’s only purpose is to keep my heart from exploding. And I do feel calmer today. I haven’t had any sudden jolts or spasms and my heart feels pretty even. I even slept finally. (Usually, I wake up every other hour and have trouble falling back to sleep.)

The bad news (which I have come to terms with) is that I am no longer able to supply breast milk for Emory. But since my supply tanked from an already low supply, it’s not a huge change or surprise. He’s doing well. He’s strong, healthy, and I gave him almost five months worth of milk. I asked the doctor if hyperthyroidism could be responsible for my very low milk supply (10 oz now, 23 at my highest) and he said yes. Granted, things could have been different had Emory and I worked on a latch, but for whatever reason, we never got that worked out. Maybe my supply was too low and he became frustrated. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough (although I tried all the time back then and I continued trying up until about two weeks ago). I realize I have talked about this a lot (too much). I even said it’d be the last time I talked about it a hundred times before now. It’s hard to let go. Plus, I have received dozens and dozens of email (a beautiful one just yesterday) from mothers who have run into problems breastfeeding. Many have met nothing but nastiness from other women. A fact that will never stop shocking me. I can’t figure out why women do this to other women. I am reminded of a paragraph from A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

“Most women had the one thing in common: they had great pain when they gave birth to their children. This should make a bond that held them all together; it should make them love and protect each other against the man-world. But is was not so. It seemed like their great birth pains shrank their hearts and their souls. They stuck together for only one thing: to trample on some other woman… whether it was by throwing stones or by mean gossip. It was the only kind of loyalty they seemed to have.”

Now, even I think that’s a little harsh, but you get the point.

I (what pumpers call) “hung up the horns” last night and I started to cry a little bit. I turned to TobyJoe and said, “If it’s this hard for me to put a pump away, it must be really difficult to wean a child.” (Breastfeeding mamas, you have my sympathies.)

I’ll know more in January. And I’m trying not to think about the possibility of having my thyroid irradiated because the thought of being away from Emory (and EVERYBODY) for several days makes me want to break down and cry in place. Right now. So, in the meantime, I’m going to smooch my baby boy, take care of myself, be nice to my husband and eat as much crap as I want. I fell off my diet due to this ravenous appetite and have managed to stay at 148. (I wonder… if I stay away from entire chocolate cakes, would I actually lose weight from all of this?)

This is so boring, these medical posts. So, I’ll leave you with this adorable picture of my two boys.

Thanks, y’all for dealing with my crap. xoxxo

Hyperthyroidism

mihow — Mon, 17 Dec 2007 21:44:00 +0000

I got my blood work results back today. My thyroid levels are elevated. They are elevated enough that my doctor is concerned. I need to visit an endocrinologist as soon as possible.

This explains so much. I have almost every symptom related to hyperthyroidism except for maybe the rapid weight loss. (Although, I did lose 35 pounds in 3 months.) I am manic. I do have a ravenous appetite. I have trouble sleeping. My muscles ache or don’t feel like working at all. (I think I may be confusing joint pain with muscle pain. We’re going to find out at my next visit.) I am winded walking up stairs. I get depressed too often and easily. The checklist is full of yeses. This explains so much, so very much.

But I’m worried about my future. I have no idea what this means or what drugs I may have to take. I have no idea if I can continue supplying breast milk for Emory. Knowing helps but knowing what to do is the next step and I’m worried about that.

In other news, Emory had another vaccination today. He barely even cried. This might be getting easier. We’ll find out whenever he wakes up from his long nap.

Also! I am proud to report that starting today, I will be writing three times a week for MamaPop. (You may have noticed the banner in the sidebar.) I’m really excited about this even though I am kind of autistic when it comes to celebrities. (I’m not even sure if that means what I want it to mean.) But I think I can hang with the rest of ‘em. I know stuff about other things. Anyway, please check out my first post! It’s about McDonald’s. Y’all know how I feel about McDonald’s.

More on Vaccinations: Hib recall.

mihow — Thu, 13 Dec 2007 20:00:00 +0000

I have written about this before. I’ll probably never stop. This is why we can’t blindly trust our government or major pharmaceutical companies.

“Dougherty could not immediately say whether the contamination seen at the factory involves a virus or bacteria. She said if someone were vaccinated with a contaminated shot, “There is a risk they could develop an infection.” But she did not provide more details”

Thanks for the reassurance there, Dougherty. Thanks for clearing that up. The vagueness can mean one of two things, and both are troubling. Either they don’t know what the “infection” is or they think we’re too stupid to handle the truth. I want to know everything they know. Let me then make an informed decision. We’re not children, but these are our children they’re talking about.

I’m not against vaccines but I’m troubled by the fact that there aren’t perfect measures in place to make sure there are no contaminations, or weird additives. And I find it appalling that any state would make vaccinations mandatory especially if they don’t offer textbook explanations for any problems or side-effects that do arise. It’s no wonder why so many parents are wary of injecting their children with up to 23 shots by age two. Safety is something that needs to be worked out before suggesting it be mandatory.

Happiness and Health.

mihow — Thu, 13 Dec 2007 01:17:00 +0000

I lied about surprises. I planned a party for TobyJoe. It was held at a local tapas restaurant here in Brooklyn. I made a cake and at around 6:30, Emory and I packed everything into the car and headed out for an evening with friends. It was 100% awesome. It would have been 150% awesome had TobyJoe not shown up before everyone else. Guests were to arrive at 7 PM. TobyJoe arrived at 7:01. There were five of us there, five out of the 17 guests who would show up over the next couple of minutes. But none of that mattered because our friends are outstanding. I could not be more pleased with the people in my life. I am so unbelievably lucky. I feel so plump today, so grateful.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to take any pictures because the spot on my body that once held a camera was reserved for our four month old baby boy. Emory was so good. He just sat there and smiled and then he fell asleep in my arms. I could not put him in the stroller without him waking up and wildly kicking his feet until I picked him up again. Emory is a very social baby. He has to be facing out when in the Bjorn. He doesn’t like to lie back in the stroller. A wrap (such as the Moby wrap) will not do. He has to be able to see everyone. (Incidentally, we have one unused Moby wrap if anyone wants it.)

He quickly became the life of the party even though it was meant to be for his father. Our beloved friend, Jen, took the only picture there is featuring all three of us.

I needed last night. I really did. It’s been a crazy couple of weeks for me. And we discovered about two hours ago, it’s about to get even crazier. We might be out of a place to live because our landlord has decided to pull some crap that I still can’t get my head around. I’m actually unable to even write about it just yet. It’s too annoying, too heartless. It has us scrambling, looking at houses in upstate NY and NJ. I can’t think of a better way to spend our holiday. Bastards.

My health has been wacky as well. I visited my primary care doctor on Monday to discuss a few things. I have had some pretty serious joint pain. It began when I was 39 weeks pregnant. It’s gotten worse over the last couple of months. I have trouble lifting Emory, especially now that he’s getting bigger. It’s worse when I’m stationary, like when I first get up. My hands ache. My feet have trouble holding me up. I hobble to his bedroom and then I struggle to lift him. And my hips feel like they’re grinding one another at the bone. It’s not pleasant. And I’m worried that I am inheriting my mother (and grandmother’s) rheumatoid arthritis. The doctor drew blood. He’s checking for everything from Lyme Disease to thyroid problems, from rheumatoid all the way to Hepatitis A through Z. I am crossing my fingers I don’t have arthritis already.

My hair is starting to fall out. I heard that this would happen if I continued supplying breast milk. It’s happening. At the rate it’s falling out, I’m going to be bald by my 34th birthday in January.

The MOHs procedure is done and, yes, I am cancer free. But the stitches have caused me a great deal of frustration. It seems the internal stitches, the ones meant to dissolve on their own, did not. I spent almost a week watching a tiny white thread poke out of my skin. I would pull on it, and it wouldn’t give. I’d then cut it with scissors. Now, most people, most normal people, would have gone back to the doctor. Not me! I am a moron. I’m waiting until my face explodes. Contrary to how it appears in the photo I posted on Friday, my MOHs surgery has not healed as well as it should have. It hasn’t healed entirely at all.

I sound like I’m whining. I assure you, I am relatively happy these days. I could not have asked for a better baby.

I have the most amazing friends. I wish them days, years, decades full of happiness. My family is truly wonderful. And my husband is fantastic even if he does ruin surprise parties by not playing by the rules.

I’m happy. Now, if only we could find a safe place to live near the city, equipped with a pottery studio, a yoga studio, and a Quaker school. Help me get there, sweet life. Willya?

Mihow » health

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