Bait and switch

Last night, we tried giving Kate formula for the first time in her life. It reminded me of another experience I had several years ago with my dog Jackson.

When Ben and I were still just a hot young couple in love (not the current semi-hot late 20s couple in love with a mortgage and a baby) we often took walks in our neighborhood with my dog Jackson. He always knew that likely the walk would end in his favorite park, where we would throw the tennis ball for him until our arms got tired. Because, he never EVER tired of chasing the tennis ball.

So one Saturday morning, after my annual pumpkin carving party (I've mentioned how I totally geek out for Halloween haven't I? If not, you now know my dirty little secret) Ben and I took Jack to the park. Being the responsible early 20s version of my current self, I a) was hungover and b)couldn't find a tennis ball, so instead of actually MAKING AN EFFORT and going to buy one, Ben and I grabbed a small mini-pumpkin about the size and heft of a ball. Genius right?

As soon as we got to the park, Ben let that pumpkin fly. Jack caught up with it just as it was hitting the ground and when he pounced and closed his mouth around the foreign pumpkin instead of the familiar tennis ball, he reacted like he had been soaked with a hose and then attached to a car battery. In one fluid OH SHIT moment, all four paws left the ground as he leaped straight into the air like he had pogo sticks for legs. The look on his face was priceless. I laughed my ass off.

It was a classic case of bait and switch. And it just shocked the hell out of Jack.

Last night, Kate experienced our bait and switch tactics, and she was none to pleased. Finally at rest with the idea of supplementing with formula, we decided to try her first bottle before she went to bed. Ben bathed her, read her a book, got her all snuggly in her footy pajamas and settled down in the rocker where I normally nurse her. When I handed Ben the bottle she looked a little nonplussed that she wasn't getting the boob, but since she is a greedy little thing she lunged for the nipple and began boisterously sucking away.

You could see in her face the exact moment she got a mouthful of formula. If she had the required muscle control she would have leaped straight of Ben's lap, grabbed the bottle and possibly bitch slapped him for putting that CRAP in her MOUTH.

I guess you could say it didn't go well.

She jerked with shock when she first tasted the formula instead of the milk she expected. Her eyes widened, her mouth opened, she spit out everything she could and began crying. I had to leave the room. This continued for maybe three minutes while I sat on the sofa in the living room in the fetal position and rocked myself. When I couldn't stand it any more, I went into the nursery, scooped Kate of a miserable Ben's lap and popped her on the boob. She began to eat furiously, making grunting, snuffling noises and if she could have talked I swear it would have sounded something like, "Oh, hm, yeah, oh yeah, um, this is good, snarf, this is really good, this is what I wanted, what is that other crap, keep that other crap away from me, bullshit I say, oh, God, yum, yes, this is the ticket, hmmmmmmmm, miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiilk."

So I'm a formula failure. In my defense, Kate had a rough day with her shots and wasn't feeling great, so I decided that it wasn't the time to insist on formula. She needed both food AND comfort and I knew I could give them to her. I plan on trying again today though. Jackson ended up playing a nice long game of catch with the pumpkin once he recovered from the shock of it all, and I have high hopes for Kate too.

An important milestone

One of the milestones I'm going to mark for Kate is when she actually gets her whole fist in her mouth, because God knows she tries on a daily basis. This photo was taken right after Dexter licked her hand, and if I thought THAT would be any kind of deterrant to her, I was sorely mistaken. I would be worried about germs, etc., but I'm pretty sure he already gave her face a tongue bath yesterday while I was taking a shower. What can you do?

Third trimester blahs

So I'm feeling it... the third trimester blahs. It isn't the bone crunching sleepiness or the "if I smell one more person wearing perfume I'm going to lose lunch" feeling of the first trimester, but rather a slowing down of all bodily functions. My brain is becoming sluggish, I've started waddling rather than walking, and getting up and down out of anything (a chair, the car, the bathtub) has become a miracle if I can do it on the first try. I just feel big and... well... blah.

I feel so blah in fact, I'm not sure what to share with everyone. I'm fairly certain my stories of waking up in the middle of the night because Baby E is performing Riverdance on my bladder is the sort of thing you tune in to read about. Or the fact that 9 p.m. is getting to be my GOAL for how late I stay awake on a week night, or that I have to stare at documents I'm reviewing for a good 30 minutes before being able to take action and I'm fairly certain I'm forgetting something for at least one of my four clients, but I'm just NOT ABLE TO REMEMBER WHAT THAT IS.

I think (from what I've heard/read) that this is fairly typical, but then I have this weird feeling that I shouldn't be feeling this way just yet -- that if I'm this tired and fuzzy headed now, in about a month I should probably have my drivers license taken away and when the baby is due a month after THAT I may just be barely functioning.

Last night I had a dream about Baby E. I dreamt that the birth was really easy and I had TWO baby BOYS (so much wrong with this dream already -- right?) But the thing was, when I had the babies, the nurse told me that they had gotten it all wrong, that they were actually a month overdue because I was much further in my pregnancy than they thought. My interpretation of this dream is that I'm worried about another two full months of pregnancy and my subconscious is telling me to suck it up. My subconscious is great at giving pep-talks.

I also owe everyone a third trimester photo, so I'm making a promise that I'll try to get one taken and posted this week. If I don't, I'll post a cute picture of our dogs so you get distracted and don't remember I haven't posted a photo of myself. Tricky, eh?

My own personal cookie monster

Leading into week 29, I've hit a new low. I'm telling you about it to avoid having my husband disgrace me publicly, which he threatened to do this weekend. So here goes...

I dug cookies out of our trashcan and ATE THEM.

Now, in my defense, they are my favorite cookies in the whole, wide world and Ben FORCED me to throw them away to keep me from eating the whole box. Okay, well, he didn't actually force me into it, but more shamed me into it by throwing away HIS baked goodies with a vow to be more healthy this year. So I followed suit... and then regretted it. A lot.

You know those fantastic sugar cookies with thick, sweet icing and sprinkles that can be found in just about every grocery store bakery section? Well I found MINIs in our local grocery store last week --tiny little bites of heaven you can just pop in your mouth and let melt like butter. And then wash down with milk. And repeat. A few 5 or 10 times.

So, after my tossing of the cookies (where I could have sworn a tear escaped and ran down one cheek) I thought I was cured of my insane sugar craving. I had will power. I had enough will power to throw the equivalent of baked gold in the trash, which obviously meant I was ready to be on the straight and narrow, the healthy eating path.

I was wrong.

Left unsupervised for the day while Ben went to class, I found myself itching for a fix. I packed away Christmas ornaments and decorations. I did laundry. I watched some TV, ate a healthy lunch and cleaned the kitchen. And then the afternoon lull came. That time when I REALLY need a pick me up. Normally in my old life I'd have two cups of coffee and be off and running. But now, sweet LORD all I needed was a cookie. And as I'm finishing up in the kitchen, I go to throw away a paper towel and right there, right on the top in their perfectly sealed plastic cookie container, are my cookies. I stared at them for probably 30 seconds before digging them out of the trash and popping one in my mouth. Then I felt guilty about it, so I ate another one. I started thinking about how I should probably get rid of ALL the evidence, and I finished the box while wandering aimlessly through the house, moaning and dropping crumbs all over the place. My dogs thought they had hit the jackpot and I was fairly certain I had lost my mind.

When it was all said and done, my stomach hurt and my teeth ached from all the sugar. I felt so guilty I actually CONFESSED ON PURPOSE to my husband, who stared at me for a good minute before just shaking his head and saying "Lizzy, that is just gross." I argued with him that he had no IDEA of the power of cravings but try as I might, I couldn't get him to believe for one second that it was a rationale decision to dig pastries out of the trash for a snack.

I guess I might see his point (although I believe the dogs were on my side as I've seen BOTH of them pick out a select morsel or two when they think no one is looking) and now I know the power of my dark side. New low or not, I now understand that I have very little control over myself in certain situations, and to avoid dumpster diving again during my pregnancy I vow never, EVER to throw away a good treat or sugar filled snack. That is my promise to unborn Baby E, who likely doesn't want to eat anything out of the trashcan either, but sure did love those sugar cookies.