no ethanol.

We've got gas problems. Baby T is an awesome baby, but he spits up a lot. And he toots a lot. And he has the hiccups multiple times a day. And when he's especially rooty-tooty-fresh-and-fruity, he's miserable. Arched back. Agonizing face. Legs jerked in and then violently pushed back out. It's wearing me out. S had tummy troubles, too, but I took care of hers by eliminating dairy. No dairy isn't helping T.

So, what gives?

I can't tell if gas drops are helping, but they don't seem to be. I looked up what foods might be offending the little guy's sensitive belly, and here's what I found out. I might want to avoid the following:

• dairy,
• caffeine,
• soy,
• nuts,
• shellfish,
• chocolate,
• citrus,
• wheat,
• chicken,
• beef,
• eggs,
• corn, and
• gassy veggies like broccoli, onions, peppers, and tomatoes.

What, pray tell, am I supposed to eat? Plain rice? Boiled potatoes? Bananas? That's about all I can come up with.

Anyone have any brilliant ideas? This mama is going to need some serious help if I'm going to exist on NOTHING INTERESTING OR TASTY. Somebody help me!

For the record, if anyone says it's colic, I'll scream. It's not colic. He doesn't cry nearly enough to qualify it as colic. And as soon as his little gas fits pass (no pun intended), he's fine. Plus, I totally drank the Harvey Karp Kool-Aid, and I don't believe that he could have colic this early...especially as a preemie.

I am about to read up a bit on hyperlactation syndrome. And I'm going to hope that's not the problem.

making the bed.

You know, I have a newborn. Having the newborn made me insanely nervous about how I was going to get things done...things like getting S to preschool on time. Things like laundry. Now that we're almost three weeks into it, I realize that doing those things with a newborn isn't really the problem. Newborns sleep. A lot. And they're portable. A year from now...when T is mobile. Things will be harder then. For now, I should probably just be grateful that a lack of sleep is my biggest obstacle, and we're not really doing so shabby in that department. Other people have it loads worse than I.

That being said, here's what's happening around here. I am desperately trying to get the bed made everyday. Just to feel normal. I'm trying to stay on top of the laundry, but I'm also trying not to do that thing where I decide that every scrap of fabric in the house must be clean at once. Unless there is an emergency involving a stain, I am limiting myself to one load of laundry per day. And since T doesn't fit into his cloth diapers yet, that leaves me a couple of laundry free days a week. We don't go through that many clothes. Yet. We're getting back into the groove of eating dinner as a family. At the table. Like real people. S's bedtime routine has changed in the sense that she generally only gets one parent upstairs. Before baby T came along, her evening routine was a family affair. We'd all sit in her room to read together. We haven't made that work yet, and we might not, but she is still getting the same routine...even if the cast of characters is decidedly smaller.

Beyond that, I'm keeping the house picked up, but I've really backed off on needing things to be really clean. It'll come together someday, but for now I'm cutting myself some slack.

On a more interesting note, S is running around this morning saying, "Guten tag." I don't know where she learned it, but it's cracking me up.

Here are your pictures for the day.

S, who is apparently ready for her close up.

T, the future opera star.

just for kicks.

T wanted to let you know something...

"I've got a mess in my diaper. It's about this big."

"I'm going to let my mommy sleep about this much tonight."

"The Easter Bunny brought S candy. All I got was a stupid rabbit. That's about this fair."

Really, we could keep going with this all day, but I won't. Because I really am going to get just that much sleep, and I need to rest.

what??

My son is two weeks old today. I am not certain that's truly possible, so I'm going to act like it's a bizarre dream...that he's really still only a few days old. And until I can make it true by sheer force of will, I'm going to hide under the covers and eat my weight in chocolate.

That is all.

working on it.

Having two kids is totally different than having one. Totally. Someone once told me that having one child is like having an accessory, and it's kind of true. When it was just me and S traipsing through our days, things were awfully simple. There's a lot more juggling with two. Trying to figure out how to time nursing, diaper changes, clothing changes, preschool drop offs, and all the rest is interesting, but we're hanging in there. At least we are so far. It's only been three days.

Anyway, despite the craziness, I don't believe I'd change a thing. I am so totally in love with both of these gorgeous kiddos. I could eat them with spoons. And maybe a dollop of lightly whipped cream.

Here they are getting ready for soccer practice yesterday evening.

And here's a look at how our day went yesterday. S and I are making Easter grass to decorate the table with. It'll hopefully be more interesting than the bagged stuff...it'll definitely be more ghetto. T was not interested in arts and crafts time...as you can clearly see.

the recap.

The odds aren't great that I'll get through an entire post without one or both of my children needing something, but here it goes.

I don't think the insanity of our recent lives has been communicated here, and I think some things that maybe should have been communicated, weren't. I think everyone knows that M's daddy was ill. It was eight weeks of stress and worry, but he passed away peacefully on March 30th with M at his side, as he had been for most of the eight weeks. We hightailed it out of town the next day, heading to Fort Wayne to arrange the funeral. We were gone from Thursday until Tuesday...driving halfway each time. It was a good trip in terms of being able to spend time with family and friends. Anyway, I'm not sure that many of you knew about that. And I'm certain that some of you would want to know because you love M. He's a lovable dude. At least I think so.

We got home on Tuesday, April 5th. I went into labor on Wednesday, April 6th. T was born on Thursday morning at 2:12. You know that part.

Natural childbirth (or pseudo natural childbirth where your epidural kicks in just before the last push) sucks. That is all I'm going to say about that. I'd rather forget than relive it.

I lied. I'll say this: if you're lucky enough to have a very dear friend go through the pseudo-natural delivery with you as your nurse...and she still wants to be your friend after the fact, count your blessings. You've got a very good friend indeed. I think I'll be thanking her profusely until the end of time. Thank you, L. Thank you. I love you. Get an epidural.

Friday morning M didn't feel well. At all. He thought is was a combination of exhaustion and having eaten out for so many days in a row. He thought wrong. He came down with the plague and was promptly banned from the hospital. Then S got sick, too. The hospital graciously allowed me and the preemie an extra nights' stay. That's one huge bonus of delivering at a local hospital...they aren't churning out babies hourly, so they can be flexible. Thank goodness. Sunday morning my parents came to take me and T home from the hospital. M spent the next day or so in bed. S spent the next day or so mildly sick and supremely whiny.

Having a sick husband and a sick preschooler and a newborn in a house where you haven't spent more than about 12 hours in two weeks is not ideal, but it's life. Things are decidedly calmer now. We're settling into our new normal, and we're loving our lives...even without adequate amounts of sleep.

Anyway...my slightly cryptic comments about quarantining my husband and about our trip to Fort Wayne needed some explanation, and there it is.

Now that it's out of the way, here's my new favorite picture of T. I realize that we're not providing nearly enough photographic evidence of his existence.

I call this one "The Boxer," and I recommend that you sing a little Simon and Garfunkel as you look at it. Or bust out with some Rocky quotes. Or maybe bounce around like Muhammad Ali. Whatever gets you into mood to imagine the Shrimp as a contender.

I should probably stop calling him the Shrimp.

adventures in parenting a male.

It's no shock: I've already been peed on. That happens to everyone, right? This morning was perhaps a teeny bit more unique.

So the rule is to put a diaper or something over the little man's junk before changing a diaper to avoid getting squirted with urine. That's pretty common knowledge. Right now, however, T is healing from his little snip snip procedure. Because of that, I don't want to just put something on his business for fear that it might (yikes) stick. So I've been living on the edge...just hoping he won't pee on me. And he hasn't peed on me today, but he's peed on himself twice. The first time was the good one. I'd just finished getting him all cleaned up...new diaper in place...gauze all ready to reapply...clean outfit underneath him...when...squirt. It didn't look too bad at first. Then I realized that his hair was wet. He'd managed to pee on his own head. I got a warm washcloth and as I was giving him a wipedown, I saw a puddle in his ear.

I realize it's kind of gross, but really it's just funny. Not everyone can pee in their own ear. My son is gifted. I do hope that he develops some other, slightly more conventional, talent.

Beyond that, M and S seem to be recovered from their 3 day stomach bug. No fevers. That is a good thing because it's been a little crazy trying to adjust to life with a newborn when one half of the family is plague-stricken.

baby t, day 2

Here we are...chilling out at the hospital. You get to stay an extra day when your baby is pre-term. I'm not complaining. The nurses, one of whom is especially fantastic, watch baby T at night. And I get all the juice I can drink, which is a lot.

Anyway, things are going well. T almost had to get shipped to Nashville yesterday because his preemie lungs were working a little too hard, but his mama held his hand and he got all better. I like to think it was all me that made him well. Now his lungs are pumping nicely, meaning calmly, and he's waking up to nurse enough that we're able to stop worrying about supplementing. Oddly, we never had to worry about that with super S. She always nursed well, and we never had to think twice about her gaining weight.

So, T is healthy, and I feel great compared to how I felt after S was born. There are loads of pictures of the little heartbreaker, but I'm in the hospital. I can't be expected to deliver the baby and upload pictures. I promise we'll share as soon as we're home.

Thanks everyone for all the well-wishes. We appreciate them all.

Happy Birthday

T surprised us three weeks early, but he is doing great.

Arrived in this world at 2:12AM. 19 inches; 5 lbs, 10 ounces.

Ouiser was awesome.

baby number one vs. baby number two

We've all heard things like, "every pregnancy is different." And, in my now vast experience, that appears to be true. I've carried T differently. The sicknesses were different. It was all just different. But that's not what I'm here to talk about.

What I'm here to talk about is this: when I was pregnant with S, I was convinced that I was going to have her four weeks early. I just knew it. It didn't happen, and that's cool with me. However, I was ready for her arrival six weeks ahead of schedule. It was pretty typical Ouiser. The nursery was ready. The bag was packed. The birth announcements were designed.

Baby T?

Not ready. I am emphatically not ready. My bag isn't packed. The nursery is a mess. The car seat isn't in the car. While I understand that with my second child, I have the necessities: boobs, diapers, car seat, I am ill prepared. And now I'm having contractions. Contractions that are getting longer and closer together and ever-so-slightly more uncomfortable.

I am sincerely hoping that I can jinx myself out of labor by posting this. Really. Because the pajama bottoms that I was planning to take to the hospital are in the washing machine. Because my house is an absolute wreck from all the recent insanity and being in Fort Wayne for five days....and having carpet installed upstairs. Somebody, send me "stop labor" vibes.

Please.