Baby steps

A week ago today, Gabriel took his first wobbly step.  Since then, he’s continued to gain strength and confidence, working up to six steps at a time.

After more or less shelving the whole pottying thing for a few months there, I couldn’t help but give it another whirl when I realized I would be home with him all day, every day.  No more blaming daycare as the excuse for Elimination Communication (EC) not working, though I feared the time away from EC attempts might have ruined any potential progress we’d made early on.

At Matthew’s suggestion, I agreed to a small reward system for peeing in the potty.  I balked at the idea because it smacks of bribery and traditional potty training to me, and thus seems anti-EC, but sometimes you have to compromise.

Although some days are all puddles, Saturday was a three raisin day, which gives me hope.*  Ever the optimist, I guess, we biked to the store and bought some toddler underwear (after my attempt to contact a Craigslist seller with some gently used ones went nowhere).  If nothing else, he looks adorable in them.**

Gabriel isn’t the only one taking steps though.  I realized at some point last week that I’m getting into a rhythm with the SAHM thing — really enjoying my time with my little  Pookie (now also known as Snuggle Puppy) — and maybe I can do it after all.  At this point I’m still job hunting, but it may be with more mixed feelings than I would have expected if/when I get a job offer.

*We’re using raisins as the “reward.”  One raisin every time he pees in the potty.  I know, I know, using food as a reward is kind of a no-no, but at least it’s not M&M’s, right?

**In the interest of full disclosure, he made a huge puddle on the floor two minutes after I took the above photo.  Also, why must everything for boys have either motor vehicles or super heroes?  I was rather tempted to buy him some of the nice, flowery “girls” underwear.

I’m hungry

The title of this post is often, though not always, the answer to the question posed in the title of the last post.  Little Pookie likes to eat.  Because of this, he is not so little anymore.

He still breastfeeds four times a day, but I’m not sure that mama’s milk is his favorite food anymore.  Tomatoes have stolen his heart.

Saturday night we had a garden fresh dinner of steamed edamame, braised fingerling potatoes, and gazpacho.  Pookie chowed down big time on the potatoes and edamame, eating almost as much as I did.

Chowing down on birthday cake

He uses his height to good advantage, getting up on his tip toes and stretching out his little arms to procure items of interest off the table.

Is this how it works?

He snagged a banana and chomped down, peel and all.

But the real trouble started when Matthew returned from the garden with a boatload of tomatoes (which I had foolishly offered to turn into sauce and can — more on that in a later post).  We used our table to spread out the tomatoes, but realized our space was limited the center of the table after we found him double fisting fresh tomatoes.

Appeased, for now

I missed the actual photo op, but snapped the above after the fact, once I removed the smashed tomatoes from his fists and offered him a few cut-up bites as a replacement.

Unfortunately, the tomatoes on the table proved such a distraction at meal times that he had a hard time focusing on the food on his plate.  Oh, little Pookie.

What’s wrong little Pookie?

A few weeks ago, I stopped into the library when I had a few minutes to kill before an interview.   I headed to the children’s section to pick out a couple of books for Gabriel and discovered What’s Wrong Little Pookie? by Sandra Boynton.  It’s a cute book, and ever since then, I’ve been referring to Gabriel as “Pookie” almost as often as I call him Sir.

Anyhow, two weeks ago, I took Pookie to the doctor for his twelve-month “well baby” visit.  I use quotes here because a few hours before the appointment, he had a massive diarrhea explosion that was the prelude to a four-day gastrointestinal bug, and, when we saw the doctor, we found out that his ear infection, diagnosed at a sick visit two-and-a-half weeks prior, had not cleared, despite the antibiotic.

This was his second diagnosed ear infection, but the previous one, back in February, was mild and cleared without antibiotics.  With the news that the first-line drug hadn’t knocked out this infection, along with the fact that he had lots of fluid in both ears, my mind immediately spiraled to a series of infections with progressively stronger, nastier antibiotics, culminating in tubes for my poor little Pookie.

We had our follow-up visit yesterday, and I held my breath as the doctor looked in Gabriel’s ears and declared that not only had the infection cleared, but both ears were completely free of fluid already (something he had not expected, as the fluid can often take quite awhile to drain from little ears — hence the infection issue in the first place).

I restrained myself from doing a happy dance right then and there.  While the antibiotics no doubt worked on the infection, I credit the warm compresses that I applied to his ears while nursing (and perhaps the milk itself) with really sealing the deal.

Of course, his clean bill of health meant that he received his postponed twelve-month shots, so  in addition to the immediate pain, he woke up this morning with a bit of a fever.  I’m hoping that abates soon and we’ll have a happy, healthy little Pookie.

Happy birthday baby

We spent the Fourth of July holiday sweating it out in Iowa with my family.  Our time there included Sir’s first time in the swimming pool and an early birthday celebration.

Due to the extreme heat, we opted to avoid turning on the oven to make a cake.  Instead, we made delicious chocolate birthday waffles, served with a variety of delicious ice creams.  Sir thoroughly enjoyed the treat.

Ice, ice baby

Duh, duh-duh duh dunna duh duh.  Now that I’ve got that stuck in your head . . .

The plan for Gabriel’s milk feeds during our three-day separation last week involved frozen breast milk (fortunately, I had plenty stockpiled) and dry ice to keep the milk frozen during the eight-plus hour car ride.

Given the early Sunday morning departure time, my only option was to purchase the dry ice on Saturday night.  A bit of research suggested that somewhere between 10-20 pounds of dry ice would do the trick, and, with the heat wave in full force, I called Ted Drewes Frozen Custard (our dry ice source) four days ahead of time to make sure that picking up 20 pounds of dry ice on Saturday night wouldn’t be a problem.  The person on the phone said I couldn’t reserve it, but it would be no problem.

Worried that I would get there and find them out of dry ice, I called again on Saturday morning, hoping they would set some aside with my name on it, but again, no dice, with the same line that they would be able to fill my order when I arrived.

After we put Gabriel to bed on Saturday night, I drove over, expecting to wait in an insane line.Continue reading “Ice, ice baby”