Teething Bites

Go ahead. Ask me the question I get asked by family, friends and complete strangers at least a couple times a month….

“Are you going to have another baby?”

My answer today: Nope! Two is plenty.

Shocked? Puzzled by my lack of hesitation? Don’t understand how I couldn’t possible want to bring a third child into this world?

I’ll give you my reason in one word: TEETHING.

Yuck. Yuck. Triple Yuck.

There is nothing fun about it. And how quickly we parents forget what an awful time it is. Sure, there are those lucky few who barely know what hit their child who one day was giving that gorgeous gummy grin and the next flashing a mouthful of teeth.

I have to admit, I thought I WAS one of those lucky ones. I don’t remember Ella having a difficult time of it…maybe a handful of rough nights…a few runny diapers... but nothing to bat an eye at. Or is that just because my brain doesn’t let me go there? You know, kind of like what happens with child birth? After a year or so, we foolishly say, “Eh, it wasn’t so bad.” And then comes baby #2, and we say, “What the heck was I thinking—2 am feedings are SO not cool!”

Why don’t we accurately remember these trying events?

Well, this time, I’m not forgetting. No foggy recollections or sugar-coating reality. I’m going to remember exactly what it was like at this exact moment if and when I get that itch.

Here’s the story. Jaisa is not having an easy time of this teething business, and hence, neither are Matt and I. In fact, the past few weeks have been a nightmare, as a whole crop of teeth have been popping up in Jaisa’s mouth all at once. Poor thing. We’ve tried everything to ease her pain—Orajel®, ibuprofen, chilled teething rings, cold meals—but when it comes to teething, there’s only so much a parent can do, and then you’re left to let it run its course.

Unfortunately, the worst is always at night. We’ve reentered the infant stage, awakened by shrieks and hollers at least a couple times a night. Against my better judgment, I’ve been reduced to rocking Jaisa back to sleep, which I’m pretty sure I’ll be paying the price for once the teeth come in. But, desperate times call for desperate measures. This mama needs some sleep!

On top of the sleepless nights, the poops are on the loose and the bottom is red. Can you blame me for not wanting to go through this all over again?

Yes, teething bites. Thankfully, that adorable little smile is coming in quite nicely, and Jaisa sure loves showing it off. But if that “million-dollar question” comes up six months from now and I pause to consider the idea, please send me to this blog post to refresh my memory.

'Twas the Night Before Race Day

'Twas the night before Race Day and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, except our “little mouse”
That mouse was Jaisa crying upon each hour
I quickly realized sleep was out of my power.

At 3 am I was still awake, having not yet slept a wink
Forget about running a race—I wouldn’t be able to think!
Now it wasn’t my back in pain
So much as the throbbing on my brain.

And then the clock struck four…
My alarm would go off in an hour more
Finally, I passed out from sheer exhaustion
At that point I might as well have forgotten.

There I was on Race Day
Dead as a door nail you might say
With just one hour of sleep in me
This race nearly brought me to my knees.

Each mile was a mighty struggle
When all I wanted to do was snuggle
Beneath the sheets and start all over
Thank goodness more races come in October.

Sadly, my time I did not beat
One minute more I pounded the street
But I FINISHED and made it alive and well
And have this dreadful story to tell.

What was bothering Jaisa so?
At the time I did not know
Later it proved to be a cold
How dare that virus be so bold!

To drag me down in such a way
Alas, I will have the final say…
On this, my next big Race Day!

A good poop story goes a long way

When I entered motherhood, never did I think a conversation starting out as “You’ll never guess what happened last night,” would end with “There was poop everywhere!” and consider this the most hilarious event of my husband’s and my weekend. But, hey, poop happens. And when you have an infant, it happens a lot, and can sometimes make life a little messy.

As my husband Matt and I began talking to friends who are parents as well, we were surprised at how freely poop stories such as ours entered their way into conversation. Soon, we’d find ourselves in a back and forth competition of sorts, saying, “You think that’s bad, wait till you hear this!” Four years ago, I never would have thought my daughter Ella’s unpredictable bowel movements would be a source of entertainment. But as those Johnson & Johnson® commercials remind us, “Having a baby changes everything.” And with the addition of our youngest, Jaisa, who's now almost one, those poop stories keep coming and never seem to get old.

A bonding experience
As strange as it sounds, these little (and not so little) poop stories had helped lighten up our marriage during the often trying times within the first years of our daughters' lives. To this day, we still bring up our first “projectile poop” experience with Ella and how we just both stood there surrounding her, surveying the after-math, and laughing harder than we had laughed together in a long time. With Jaisa, we were armed and ready...or so we thought, until that first explosion. Then, somehow it felt like we were transported back in time, not sure whether we wanted to brave the storm or duck and take cover.

Throughout the trials and tribulations of parenthood, when things get messy laughter is sometimes the best medicine. My one piece of advice to any new parents, always open with caution.

The day I became a MODO

Happy New Year!
With today being the first day of the New Year, what better day to finally get my blog up and running. January 1st marks a day of new beginnings, so for my first blog entry, I'm going to tell the story that made MODO Moments possible. The day I became a mother to my second daughter. It goes something like this...

Three days before my due date, I wasn’t feeling quite right. It was a Friday, I was at work, and I remember telling my co-workers, “I don’t think I’ll make it through the weekend.” Those who placed bets with their “best-guess” dates approaching grew hungrier for the winnings. It was just a matter of time. That night the dull cramping persisted, but not enough to start counting the minutes—just a constant ache that made it difficult to get a sound night of sleep.

By day break, I knew this was the “real deal” as the pain became more intense and I was able to clock it. By 8 am, the contractions were 8 minutes apart. Still not knowing how long this could go on for, I assured my husband that he could go help with his mom’s rummage sale, but to keep the phone at hand. Meanwhile, I tried to keep our 3-year-old daughter Ella occupied with an art project as I winced through the periodic pain and got the remains of my hospital bag together. With the passing of each half hour, the contractions got closer and closer together. Just two hours later, they were 5 minutes apart. I called the doctor to share the news.

It was “time.”

Ella was thrilled when I told her the baby was finally coming. Little did she know, it still might be hours before she could find out whether she’d have a little sister or brother. To tell you the truth, I’m not so sure she cared. She was more excited to get to spend the night with Grandma.

So my husband got called home, we gathered up our bags, dropped Ella off at Grandma and Grandpa’s and headed to the hospital—a short 5 minute drive away—when things really kicked into gear. Once we arrived at the labor and delivery room, had my vitals checked, got attached to all sorts of tubes and was interrogated with a thousand questions, I was begging for an epidural. Finally, after two agonizing hours the anesthesiologist came with relief in hand. I just hoped I could remain still long enough for him to jam that foot-long needle into my spine. Heaven followed.

After about an hour, my water finally broke and it was time for me to start pushing. I pushed and pushed and still no baby came. Two hours of this and tears started to roll down my face uncontrollably. Not again! I thought. I pushed for two and a half hours with Ella and was assured by countless friends that the second child would be easier. What happened to the stories about only having to push a few times before the baby popped out? You can imagine my disappointed when I reached that two-and-a-half-hour mark and nothing…. Three hours…nothing… Finally, the doc came in to help me along—forceps at the ready. He must have known that somewhere deep inside me I could muster up a few more good pushes before using other means. So there I went, giving it one last try. One…two…three…and after 9 ½ hours of labor (sure beat Ella’s 16!) and 3 hours and 15 minutes of pushing…there was my preciously stubborn baby girl.

Jaisa Mae was born at 6:36 pm weighing 7 lbs, 5 oz, 21 inches long. And of course she was worth every last push.

A few hours later, big sister Ella came to meet her new little partner in crime. We took this picture of Ella proudly holding Jaisa for the first time. A picture says a thousand words. And the adventure continues…