Wednesday, October 10, 2007

my 300th post, y'all

Oh my, I just noticed that this is my 300th post! 300 posts of my random, often boring, thoughts. Thanks to those of you who read. You know, if you're out there. Hello? Anyone? Bueller?

Unfortunately, this is not a celebratory post. It is, once again, a bit of a venting session on how stressed I am. I go back to work two weeks from tomorrow. I'm not going to get into how I feel about this emotionally; mostly, I just don't want to think about it, although I think about it all the time, because it's hard, way harder than I ever imagined, and if I start blogging about it it's just going to get depressing around here, so let's just avoid that for now. Instead, let me vent about the logistics of getting Jane and I ready to go back out into the real world.

The biggest and most pressing issue is the fact that Jane still sleeps in her carseat because of her reflux. It's not that she's incapable of falling asleep on her back - she can, it's just that inevitably, when she wakes up, she's gagging and choking because she has spit up. We have her on a prescription for reflux, but, to be frank, it ain't doin' s*** for the problem. Sometimes I think it is, and then I have a day like yesterday, when I triumphantly got her to sleep for a half hour on her back, only to have her get up, start the spit up routine, and basically be miserable for the rest of the day. The daycare needs a note from her doctor saying she has to sleep in her carseat, and I'm not sure if the doctor is actually going to give that note - it's not like he said she should sleep in the carseat, it's just what works for us. And then there's the part where, hey, she's a baby, and she's SUPPOSED TO BE SLEEPING IN A CRIB. ON HER BACK. But no. I have heard of many other babies who have had this issue, but I just want it resolved, because the whole thing makes me sad and supremely stressed. I'm going to keep trying until Monday, and then, if no miracle has happened, I'll call the doctor for the note. We'll see what happens.

I also have a huge list of gear that Jane needs to bring into daycare. Since it will basically be her home away from home, she needs nearly the same amount of stuff. I have to take a trip to Babies R Us very very soon to spend very very much money getting her suited up for her first day. In addition, I need to fill out about a gazillion forms for her as well, including one that details her "schedule" - HA! Schedule! This girl is a master of deception and trickery -once you think she's got some kind of schedule going, she upends it like nobody's business. On the Monday before I go back to work, I'm going to go into the daycare with all of her stuff, so I can also go over all of their procedures and rules. Fun times.

Everyone tries to make me feel better about these things - obviously babies don't have real schedules anyway, and of course other babies spit up a lot and have reflux and weird sleeping habits - I just don't want her going in being the strange baby that no one wants to take care of because she's got issues. Look - I've already started to make myself cry. OK - new topic!

Let's talk about getting ME ready for back-to-work. Aside from me feeling like I don't remember how to do my job (although I'm sure it will come back to me - it's like riding a bike!), I also have to go shopping for new clothes. To cheer myself up, I've decided to look at this like it's the first day of school, when you get to wear shiny new clothes. Well, probably not shiny clothes - not my style. But as you know, I've been working hard at eliminating those pesky 10 pounds (I call those pounds "leftover Jane"), and have managed to lose 5 of them. It's been hard work! It is way harder to lose 5 pounds at age 34 than it was 10 years ago, I'll tell ya that. I'm giving myself until next week to get rid of the 2 pounds I'd like to get rid of before going back to work. Then I'll bring my gift certificates to the mall and buy myself some pants that fit. Even my friend Cheryl, who is extremely athletic and fit, and who also had a baby in July but was back to her original weight in, like, five seconds, said that her body has changed too, that clothes don't fit the same. I read a quote from a doctor that said after pregnancy, childbirth and breastfeeding, it's like your body has gone through a major trauma, and that you should look at the changes in your body as badges of honor. It's the stupid celebrities, with their personal chefs and trainers and surgeries, that make us all feel like we should look exactly the same as we ever did, if not better, and fast.

OK, I think I'm done for now. Happy 300th post! Aren't you glad you read this cheery blog?


lgaumond said...

I don't care if she screams all day and throws up on everyone in daycare, Miss Jane is beautiful and wonderful, and one little crooked smile is going to melt the hearts of the daycare folks who will immediately fall in love with her. She worked her baby voodoo on me, she'll work it on them, too. And if not, I'll quit my job and be your nanny. Deal?

Amanda said...

Now YOU'RE making me cry! But seriously, thanks.

Flann said...

I agree with Lisa and I'm even qualified as someone who has worked in daycare! Jane is one of the babies that would have won my heart.

Very few babies are on a strict "schedule." You may know all this but if not, maybe it'll help. The schedules are to help them keep Miss Jane as happy as possible by doing what she's used to.

Honestly, though, Jane is by far not the most difficult baby. We had babies with all different "special" needs-- from needing medical treatments to needing bottles heated to an exact specific temperature. As long as you're friendly and calm-- which I know you are-- Jane will have them wrapped around her little finger.

It's the parents, not the kids, who get labelled as difficult. Parents who show up yelling and screaming because little Brytneigh got ahold of a french fry from another kid's lunch when she's VEGAN for godssakes and don't you people know anything??? They're the ones whose kids the teachers are afraid to care for for fear of getting screamed at.