The weekend that wasn't

I have to confess that I'm feeling a bit sorry for myself this morning. At the beginning of last week, things were really looking up. Morgen was eating and sleeping better. I made some plans to see friends from school, to go out for dinner to remember my friend Amanda (it would have been her thirty-second birthday on Saturday), and to take Morgen out to see her adopted Aunt Nicole for a nice brunch with some new friends. And then, Morgen, Gavin and I picked up some sort of little cold virus complete with the highest fever she's had to this point. A doctor confirmed our suspicions that the soy formula we've been giving her to help her gain weight may be making her eczema worse. I cancelled my plans, and Morgen has since been eating and sleeping really poorly. If she were a very fat happy little girl, I wouldn't be so worried about it - but she's a slightly skinny girl on doctor's orders to bulk up as much as possible, so I'm a bit concerned. As this photo shows, she is unhappily smearing most of what we offer her on her face. We're trying to find this cute instead of troubling.

I know that parenthood will often require us to change plans, and Morgen is probably fine - just transitioning into the next phase of eating by protesting the night weaning and her stuffy nose so that she gets more mommy during the daytime. I'm doing my best not to lose that sense of forward momentum that had me smiling at the beginning of this week. But I'm not entirely succeeding. 

Strike Two

Having declared the solid food strike officially over before we had our agreement in writing, I (Management) unintentionally forced Morgen (the Union) to file a grievance.  Preliminary expressions of displeasure included small spit ups, fussiness, a moderate temperature, and refusal to sleep. The Union escalated the conflict yesterday, refusing solid food in a final bid to force Management to relieve her over-worked stuffy nose and to halt discussions over quantities of food consumed and prospects for dietary expansion.

Negotiations produced a small compromise in the form of a milk-free organic rice rusk cracker, offered by Management and deemed acceptable by the Union. Investigation by Management revealed this to be slight, if any, progress, as the aforementioned cracker contains a mere seven calories, and only .15 grams of protein - insufficient nutrition for any infant worker, even with frequent liquid refreshments. 

Advice from a pediatrician (newly appointed by the General Practitioner to mediate for the better interest of both parties) has led to the cessation of  any attempts on behalf of Management to offer the Union soy or milk-based products. Management is currently researching goat's milk and hypoallergenic formula, and, being assured that the latter tastes like bile and the former is slightly difficult to digest given the age of the Union, we are confident that food strike number two will be concluded once the offending stuffy nose subsides and hunger asserts itself. 

Missed it by a day

This is what happens when you think you've read the flyer that was dropped into your mailbox when in fact you've only skimmed it: you miss the local winter carnival by one day. After stuffing Morgen into her pink snowsuit and jaja hat, trudging up the street and braving the rivers of water that were streaming into the intersections, we arrived at the junction square on Sunday only to find this ice sculpture, and a very small slushy ice rink. Still we enjoyed it. The sun was out, we were out, all in all it was a nice afternoon walk. 

We finished our little outing with a trip to the local video store, where I used some Christmas coupons to buy a stack of girly movies. Despite Gavin's complaints and ignoring his suggestions, I selected six films. As something of a crappy movie connoisseur, I have to tell you that I nevertheless passed on the opportunity to buy "Kate & Leopold" for less than seven dollars. My taste must be evolving. Someone out there must be proud of me for that. Anyone? Well, I'm proud of me, any way.

Eight Months

Morgen is eight months old now. Well, actually she is eight months old and three days. This is her belated month-a-birthday post. I'm happy to say that her food strike appears to be over, and she is regaining some of the lost poundage with the assistance of a large silicon spoon that she teethes on in between bites. It's pretty cute. She still demands iron-fortified oatmeal and rice cereal at every meal though, so let's hope she keeps her fruit and veggie intake up or, well never mind.

With this latest birthday comes a few mixed feelings. On the one hand, I'm having some nostalgia for the first few weeks of Morgen's life, when we were lost in a hazy, sort of mystified and sleep deprived fog and could carry her around all day and let her sleep on our stomachs as we lay on the couch.  She was so little then, and she seems so big now. On the other hand, I'm looking forward to the next stages of Morgen's life. She'll start feeding herself soon, maybe even with her favourite orange spoon. She'll start talking. She'll start chasing after the cat, and becoming the aggressor in the battle for daddy's lap. I'll return to school and get as much done as I can before Gavin finds a job. But lest I leave out the beauty that is the present: right now Morgen is giving big kisses and smiles, learning to give us high 5's, and stubbornly refusing to play on her tummy by exercising her right to roll over at every opportunity. She's thinking about adding some consonants to her vowels and squeaks. She's growing out of most of her 6 to 9 month outfits and spends most of her playtime demanding to be helped up onto her feet so she can tip forward in that adorable baby walk that for some reason reminds me of a zombie's stagger. Our lives are becoming a bit more balanced these days. Ever so slowly, we're starting to fall into our new family routine. What took you so long, you ask? I don't know. I can only repeat what a friend wrote to me recently - sometimes you never know how you will handle something until you actually live through it. There is still some headway to be made to make sure that Gavin and I find the time for each other that we need. But the babysitters are coming forward, and we're looking forward to showing them the diapers and heading out for a few hours of adult time. I'm loving Morgen at eight months. Yes, I loved her during months one through seven as well, but I'm feeling more myself these days. It's a bit of a relief. 

The New Normal

Morgen is quite literally looking at things from a new angle these days - a 15 degree angle to be precise. As some of you know, Morgen has been putting her parents through their nighttime paces lately, waking up every 1 1/2 to 2 hours and demanding to be soothed back to sleep. Well, after several weeks of this, we finally had a visit with a pediatrician - a woman whose brusque manner and combative responses had me a little on edge ... and don't even ask Jessica about the experience unless you want a full-blown tirade - and it was determined that propping up one side of Morgen's bed might help. That way, if her waking was being caused by acid reflux or some other digestive issue, gravity would help keep things in their place. The doctor suggested that we place a brick under the bed. Well, being humanities graduate students rather than bricklayers or construction contractors, we didn't really have any bricks just lying around, nor were we entirely certain where one procures said bricks (Home Depot?) or whether it was even possible to buy 2 bricks rather than, say, 200. So instead, we used what we had to hand. And I am thrilled to announce that I have finally found a worthwhile use for all those (mostly unread) back issues of the American Historical Review! As for Morgen, time will tell whether this new sleeping arrangement, combined with a fairly rigorous (and exhausting) sleep-training program, will help promote better sleep patterns for both her and her parents. But even if it doesn't work and her parents are forced to remain sleep-deprived zombies, it's hard to get too upset ... I mean, look at that face!