No idea where this has come from, but Little O has officially decided he's a Mama's Boy. Well... yes, actually I do know where it's come from because I spend almost 24 hours a day with the chap, but this latest desire to be-with-you-Mama-all-the-time-where-are-you-going-don't-leave-me-waaaaaaaaaaaaah! is somewhat unexpected nonetheless.
Little O has never shown any signs of being clingy towards either me or Mike until recently. I have always attributed this good fortune to several factors: a) he was in the NICU for three and a half weeks, so apart from the 10-12 hours a day I was up there by his bedside, he had to get used to not being around his parents pretty quickly; b) he spends a lot of time with therapists, doctors, nurses, and other 'important' people, so being handled by strangers seems very normal to him; and c) I'm always with him! He has never HAD to be clingy, because he's always been assured that even when I leave him to shower or make some lunch, I'll be back very quickly.
I've been a member of the local gym for two weeks now and I'm starting to get a bit fitter. One of the reasons I keep going back (been six times in ten days so far) is not that I'm immune to being lazy or sore, but that you have to book childcare 24 hours in advance. They organise their staffing ratios around how many kids will be there, so if you fail to show up they charge you anyway. It's only $1 a time, but it's MY $1 and I want to make use of it! So I've started scheduling gym sessions for 10am fairly often, and Owen has been attending childcare every time. Recently he's begun to cry... not when I leave him... but when I return. It's as though he's just figured out I've left him for a period of time and he wants to let me know he's annoyed at me. He's also started crying when I leave the room he's in at home, even if it's only for a few seconds. I think being separated from me at the gym is started to affect him, and he's getting concerned that I'll be leaving him for longer and longer.
While I think it's rather nice to be needed (and I do enjoy the fact that a kiss and a cuddle from me can calm him instantly), this has had a rather unpleasant side-effect. Little O has started to nap during his lunch, which means he's tube fed for a few hours while he sleeps. Now, putting him in to his bed at nighttime is never usually an issue, because he's tired and it's dark, and I sing to him and talk to him before closing the door and going downstairs. It's exactly the same routine, every night, and he's reassured and comforted enough to just lay his head down and send himself off to sleep. Naptimes, however, are sporadic and stressful, and he's awake enough to think, "She's not coming back. It's daylight and I don't want to be alone", so he's started a pattern of sleeping for ten minutes, then waking up and yelling, then being soothed back to sleep by me, then sleeping for ten minutes, then waking up and yelling, then... you get the picture.
I swear upon my bar of Cadbury's Dairy Milk lurking in J's suitcase that this is all, ALL, to do with putting him in childcare. But the kid has to get used to me not being there at SOME point. It might as well be for a few hours a week while I'm getting healthier not 30 feet away. I do wish he'd start napping properly though. It's very hard to keep his lunch inside him at the moment, because he usually yells hard enough to make himself throw up, but I can't just stop the pump running and let him go without. I just hope the extra few mls we're adding to his overnight feed are enough to compensate for all this nonsense and he starts gaining weight again soon.
In fact, he can gain all the weight I'm losing! That would be awesome. Freaky, but awesome.
Tina.
Showing posts with label Gym. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gym. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Mmm... thanks for that, Bob
After all the drama at the weekend, I'd like to present to you some more... normal... stuff.
Owen woke up at 4.45am to cry, throw up, and generally annoy both himself and us. All the commotion woke up our cat, Bob, who decided that this was the perfect time to bring us a 'present'. As we settled back down to get another few minutes of kip, Bob was out hunting. And catching. And mauling. At about 5am, I was just nodding off again when the rather alarming sound of a bird twittering and tweeting very close to me brought me to my senses. Now, we had an amazing thunderstorm last night, so my first thought was that we had a hole in our roof and a bird had somehow managed to get inside the attic and couldn't find a way out again. Anyway, it stopped shortly after and as there was no water dripping on to the bed, I figured I'd just deal with it when I got up.
The alarm went off at 5.30am and Mike got up. Now, yesterday he had some minor surgery on his toe (more on that later), so he was kinda hobbling about and knocking shit over in an attempt to re-dress the bandage. So he turned on the light to see all the shit he'd knocked over. And saw instead, horror of horrors, that Bob had not only brought a live bird in to our home, but that he had chosen the spot just outside our bedroom door to play with it and kill it. There was blood and feathers and dead bird carnage EVERYWHERE. Bob, meanwhile, was nowhere to be found. He was obviously very pleased with his offering and had gone off to bother some more of Wisconsin's wildlife, and we were so mad at him that we closed his cat flap and locked him outside for a bit.
That poor, poor birdie. It's Bob's fourth present snce we've allowed him outside: three birds and a baby bunny rabbit. The rabbit was very sad, but at least it was a swift, clean kill. This latest one was obviously very distressing for the birdie because I could hear all its twittering as it died. I have no idea if, had I gone to investigate the noise, I could have saved the birdie, but I think it would have been even worse. Bob would have probably released it, and then we would have had a flying, twittering bird in our house with severe injuries. Poor little birdie.
Stupid cat.
So, Mike's toe surgery was to FINALLY fix a problem he's had for eighteen months. Christmas 2008 he went out in the snow to get something from the car, and decided flip flops were the sensible footwear of choice. As the snow was coming down thick and fast, he ran back up the steps to our (then) flat, and slipped on some ice, slamming his big toe into heavy-duty concrete. It's never been right since, and all attempts to help it heal haven't worked. Until yesterday he had a pretty serious ingrowing toenail, and an infected site that oozed pus every day. Well, the doctor whipped that sucker out and GOUGED OUT THE OVERGROWN FLESH that was trying to compensate for a poorly toenail, so that Mike is now left with two-thirds of a big toenail, and two open wounds on each side of the nail. He's pretty miserable and hobbling around with one toe stuck straight up in the air. Also, he can't wear open-toed shoes to work (oh, that he were a woman!), so he's planning some covert operation where he slides his shoes off under his desk and goes barefoot all day. Lol. We'll see how well that goes...
I've also joined a gym where childcare is only $1, but the free weights instructor completely kicked my arse today and I can't be bothered to type any more. Besides, there's still some blood on the carpet upstairs and it's not like I can ask Bob to clean it up.
Tina.
Owen woke up at 4.45am to cry, throw up, and generally annoy both himself and us. All the commotion woke up our cat, Bob, who decided that this was the perfect time to bring us a 'present'. As we settled back down to get another few minutes of kip, Bob was out hunting. And catching. And mauling. At about 5am, I was just nodding off again when the rather alarming sound of a bird twittering and tweeting very close to me brought me to my senses. Now, we had an amazing thunderstorm last night, so my first thought was that we had a hole in our roof and a bird had somehow managed to get inside the attic and couldn't find a way out again. Anyway, it stopped shortly after and as there was no water dripping on to the bed, I figured I'd just deal with it when I got up.
The alarm went off at 5.30am and Mike got up. Now, yesterday he had some minor surgery on his toe (more on that later), so he was kinda hobbling about and knocking shit over in an attempt to re-dress the bandage. So he turned on the light to see all the shit he'd knocked over. And saw instead, horror of horrors, that Bob had not only brought a live bird in to our home, but that he had chosen the spot just outside our bedroom door to play with it and kill it. There was blood and feathers and dead bird carnage EVERYWHERE. Bob, meanwhile, was nowhere to be found. He was obviously very pleased with his offering and had gone off to bother some more of Wisconsin's wildlife, and we were so mad at him that we closed his cat flap and locked him outside for a bit.
That poor, poor birdie. It's Bob's fourth present snce we've allowed him outside: three birds and a baby bunny rabbit. The rabbit was very sad, but at least it was a swift, clean kill. This latest one was obviously very distressing for the birdie because I could hear all its twittering as it died. I have no idea if, had I gone to investigate the noise, I could have saved the birdie, but I think it would have been even worse. Bob would have probably released it, and then we would have had a flying, twittering bird in our house with severe injuries. Poor little birdie.
Stupid cat.
So, Mike's toe surgery was to FINALLY fix a problem he's had for eighteen months. Christmas 2008 he went out in the snow to get something from the car, and decided flip flops were the sensible footwear of choice. As the snow was coming down thick and fast, he ran back up the steps to our (then) flat, and slipped on some ice, slamming his big toe into heavy-duty concrete. It's never been right since, and all attempts to help it heal haven't worked. Until yesterday he had a pretty serious ingrowing toenail, and an infected site that oozed pus every day. Well, the doctor whipped that sucker out and GOUGED OUT THE OVERGROWN FLESH that was trying to compensate for a poorly toenail, so that Mike is now left with two-thirds of a big toenail, and two open wounds on each side of the nail. He's pretty miserable and hobbling around with one toe stuck straight up in the air. Also, he can't wear open-toed shoes to work (oh, that he were a woman!), so he's planning some covert operation where he slides his shoes off under his desk and goes barefoot all day. Lol. We'll see how well that goes...
I've also joined a gym where childcare is only $1, but the free weights instructor completely kicked my arse today and I can't be bothered to type any more. Besides, there's still some blood on the carpet upstairs and it's not like I can ask Bob to clean it up.
Tina.
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