Lots of Laughs

There are few sounds as beautiful as a child's laugh. Think how much richer our lives would be if we delighted in every simple pleasure. 




p.s. Don't worry, honey. I was aware that he had a drumstick in his mouth, and I could feel where it was and knew that my movement wouldn't send it flying into the back of his throat. It only looks scary from the video. Breathe, breathe. See? Everything is ok;)

First Foods

The irony of life. So much thought goes into what baby eats, while the adults sit around munching on hot dogs and chips! Here's Caleb's first taste of anything other than breast milk:

The first feeding session didn't last very long. But we stopped the video camera too soon, and the progression looked a little something like this:

                                  
Thank you Becky, Kevin, Clayton and Brooke for the high chair! It's perfect for our space, and we are going to put it to good use.

Here are some recent highlights in the life of a six month old:


Caleb got a visit from his Grandma Haske when she had a lay-over at O'Hare airport.

 A Curious George monkey sweatshirt arrived in the mail from Aunt Stacey and Uncle Chris.

Still spending lots of time doing his favorite activity - jumping!

Six Months

The joy this child brings to my life is indescribable. Thank you, Lord! What a gift.

Jump, Jump, Jump Around

Babies teach us the joy of new discovery. Today, Caleb learned that he can jump. Once only a toy haven, the jumper is finally getting a chance to do what it does best.

Does it look like he’s doing a jig to you? The Quinn side of Paul’s family are proud Irish folk, so it’s very possible.

The First Born at Four Months

Happy birthday to Caleb’s Grandma Haske! This Caleb update is for you and inspired by my friend Lindsay, who does a much better job keeping her family and friends informed about her little guy. So I’m following her lead and her format to bring you this:

Size: Caleb had his four month check up on December 23rd. He weighed in at 18 lbs 14 oz, which puts him in the 95% for weight. My arms are in the best shape of my life, and I’m pretty sure I can bench press and dead lift more than I could when I was going through Belmont’s training program for the tennis team. Caleb added three inches to his length, officially putting him at 27 inches long (90%). He is wearing 9 month to 12 month sized clothing and will be out to his last snap in his Bumgenius one-size cloth diapers before we know it. I was hoping the cloth diapers would last until it was time for him to start potty training. That was a crazy thought. It’s not going to happen. He’s growing so fast, he might have to wear Depends.

Likes: Like most kids, Caleb likes the things we don’t want him to like; namely t.v. We try to keep him away from the flashing box, but if he catches a glimpse, he’ll twist his head around and fuss to get a good view. He loves smiling, slobbering on things and spitting. He thinks it’s hilarious to make bubbles with his lips and soak his shirt. I do not think it’s hilarious to have to change his outfit five times a day, so I usually slap a bib on him, which saves us from multiple changes. His favorite song is the five little ducks song, which he discovered when our friend Leslee brought him a fisher price seat with a toy that played the tune. I googled the song to learn the lyrics and now we make music together – I sing the words and he makes his toy play the music.

 Dislikes: Taking a bottle, tummy time, being moved from view of the t.v.

Feeding: It’s hard to imagine this child ever had a problem nursing. Now nursing is the only way he wants to eat. At the beginning, when nursing was so painful, pumping and bottle feeding was a relief and something I did daily. Sometimes twice a day. Then it happened. Nursing got easier and less painful, and before I knew it, I had left bottle feeding out altogether. It was a hassle to pump and bottle feed when I could nurse him faster and with less mess. When I headed out for my December book club meeting (which goes late into the night with a fun group of ladies), I left a bottle with Paul. After a few hours of a screaming baby, Paul called me during book club. Caleb refused to eat. For the next few weeks he refused a bottle. But, after researching some strategies and devising my own variation, he is now taking a bottle – reluctantly, and not without letting me know that he dislikes it – but just in time for my January bookclub.

Sleeping: Caleb has been sleeping through the night since he was nine weeks old (don’t hate me other mamas with hungry babies). One of the advantages of being so chubby and on a semi strict Babywise schedule is that Caleb is a great sleeper. Nowadays he goes down to bed at 7:30 pm and wakes up at 7:30 am. He takes a long nap in the morning and a fairly long nap in the afternoon. In between he’s busy playing and being a baby.

Milestones: He has rolled over once, so we think it was a happy accident rather than a milestone. He’s great at arching back, which almost eliminates the need to roll over as he can contort his body well enough to get a good look at whatever catches his fancy. The family jokes that he has inherited the loud DeHaan voice. He makes all kinds of funny noises, including something that sounds a bit like a growl, and all at a very loud volume.

That’s the four month update on Baby Haske. Happy birthday, Momma Barb!

Feeding Baby

Warning: this blog is very personal. The main topic will be my breasts. If you would rather pass on the drama that I have come to know as breastfeeding, and my random thoughts on boobs, please feel free to skip this post.

 

To start things off, I thought I would share a thought that consoled me as a well-endowed teen/early 20 something (to the flat-chested who wished for more, just know that those with more often begrudged your tiny chest). To set the stage, I have always considered myself an athletic person. In fact, physical activity - especially if it involves competition - has defined much of my life, shaping major choices. I love feeling strong and fast. Unfortunately, pretty much every sport involves running, which in turn involves a lot of jiggling. I'm not talking about love handles, my friends; I am talking about tatas. If you have to wear two or more sports bras to keep yours in place when you run, then you know what I am talking about. Many times, especially when running sprints and doing circuits with my college tennis team, I internally cursed my large and flopping tatas. But then, on occasion, this thought would come to mind and soothe my boob anger: "Someday when I am a mom, I will be grateful that I have such large ladies because it will make breastfeeding so much easier."

 

Yeah, so that's not true. Big tatas do not equal easy breastfeeding. In addition, my former cup size seems dainty now that I am in a range not carried by stores. In fact, when I went to Motherhood Maternity to buy a nursing bra yesterday, the nice lady who measured me gave me the card of a custom bra specialist because "our company doesn't even make your size, sweetheart." If I had known the capabilities of my chest, I would have embraced my former self. Discontentment, it turns out, is just a matter of perspective.

 

I have learned, from moms before me, that my breastfeeding drama is not uncommon. I've also learned it's not nearly as bad as what others have endured. Again, perspective. But for a hormonally charged new mom, it seems like enough to push one over the sleep-deprived edge. I didn't stay at the hospital long after Caleb was born, but before I left I had met with three different lactation consultants. The last one, with the help of another lactation consultant, was able to get Caleb to latch on (Paul actually took a picture of this craziness, which I will not post, but I'm basically sitting there while four hands grab me and my baby, working to make the nursing thing happen. Did I mention that I have a goofy grin on my face because I am so relieved to see my child eating?). The thing is, they could only get him to latch on my right side. I went home, hoping that the good feeding session had helped him figure out how to nurse, because I still only had a vague understanding about how to best position him.

 

The thing is, Caleb and I both still needed practice.

 

The first night back home I was able to get him to latch on, but only on the right side, and only every other feeding. He was hungry and screaming - all night. I was exhausted by the morning and in tears. I couldn't even think straight enough to pray. But you know who saved the day? My best friend, Paul Haske. He spoke to me gently and prayed over me and Caleb, and then he got to work. I sat on the bed, with my back facing the edge, and Paul put his arms around me and played the role of the lactation consultant. He positioned the little guy and - as an answer to prayer - got him to latch on to the left side (for the first time!) as well.

 

During the next week and half, latching was improving, but pain was increasing, especially on the left side. Despite using the lanolin and religiously taking motrin, the pain reached an unbearable point. My nipple had split and was bleeding! Horrifying. My mom, in her wisdom, said "Don't worry about nipple confusion. Pump on the left and give him a bottle so it has time to heal." It turns out Caleb loves the bottle, and I love being able to give my sore boobs a break. It is already starting to heal, and my little guy is growing. Now we alternate between breastfeeding on both sides, breast feeding on the right and pumping the left, or pumping both sides for a total break.

 

I feel like we've made a turn for the better. Today is the three week mark and some feedings are even enjoyable. They're not consistently pleasant, but often enough to keep me encouraged. Lamentations 3:22-23 says, "The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." I've learned, during this whole process, that his mercies are new every 2.5-3 hours.

The Adventure Begins . . .

What could be more domestic than motherhood? I picture a serene and showered mother rocking her baby in her arms and singing lullabies as she glances at her perfectly kept home. A smile crosses her lips as she smells her homemade bread baking in the oven.

I’m only in the second week of motherhood and here is my reality. I roll out of bed, hair coming undone from my nightly ponytail. I pick up my screaming infant and hope my morning dragon breath won’t permanently scar his olfactory system. I stumble over to the rocker, “I thought I cleared a path during the last feeding,” and position my child. Then I pray this prayer: “Dear Father, please help this child latch on, and please help me resist the urge to smack his face when he chomps on my bruised and battered breasts. Amen.”

How I came to associate “serene” with motherhood shows just how naïve I was about the whole process. Labor itself is anything but serene, although mine was a close to that as I could hope. For those of you who are interested, here is Caleb’s birth story:

I had a dream pregnancy. No morning sickness; I kept active and feeling good, even through the heat of the summer. Because things had been rolling along so smoothly, I knew something was up in early August when I started to feel crampy – like my period was on its way. At my 36 week check up, the doctor informed me that I was 2 cm dialated and 25% effaced. My initial thought was “Wow, I could go into labor any minute!” After talking with other mothers, I learned that this was not uncommon and many people stayed 2 cm until their due date or were even late. With this in mind, I convinced myself that I would have to be patient until the end of August and maybe even after his official due date of August 31st.

My dad’s birthday was August 13th – a Saturday. We went to the evening service at our church that day, and I left the service because I felt awful. Now that I know what contractions feel like, I can say with confidence that I had my first contraction right then, during the 5:00 pm church service. But it came and went and I started to feel better. We celebrated my dad’s birthday on Sunday night at the Elgin Pub House and came home for ice cream cake. That was, I realized when the nurse asked me, the last thing I ate before I arrived at the hospital.

I started feeling sporadic contractions around 10:00 pm on Sunday evening. I went to bed thinking I was finally getting some Braxton Hicks contractions, which I hadn’t felt at all during my pregnancy. By 2:30 am, I was wide awake and starting to think it might be the real deal. Everyone was asleep, and the house was quiet and dark. I marked a pacing path in the basement and walked back and forth for the next two hours, breathing my way through the contractions and trying to time them. I was feeling good. These were manageable contractions, and I realized I really liked working through them by myself. In the dark. In the quiet.

Paul woke up at 4:00 am and found me pacing. When he asked if I was ok, I told him I was in labor. After a few shocked moments of back and forth: “Are you sure?” “Yes, I’m sure.” “You think this is the real thing?” “Yes, . . . [inhale, exhale] this is the real thing!” Paul realized I was in labor. We had talked about me wanting to do some laboring at home before going into the hospital, so at my request, Paul drew me a bath. The warm water was relaxing, but when I got out, the intensity of the contractions had doubled. I told Paul I wanted to go to the hospital. By that point, my mom was awake (we’re currently living in my parent’s basement) and the three of us grabbed our things (I had only packed my hospital bag the previous night!) and got into the car.

 

When we arrived at the hospital, my contractions were coming quickly – every two minutes. I measured 6 cm at arrival. Once I was on the hospital bed and strapped to the monitors, it took all of my focus to make it through each contraction. I didn’t want anyone to talk to me or touch me. I just wanted to close my eyes and focus on breathing. When the nurse asked if I wanted the epidural, I looked at Paul. (I didn’t have a birth plan, except that I wanted to make it through as much of the laboring at home as I could and then I would play it by ear on pain management). The nurse told me it would take 45 minutes before the anesthesiologist would be in because they had to run labs, yadda, yadda, yadda . . . Yes! Please stop talking, lady, and hustle. By the time the anesthesiologist arrived, I had moved into the groaning stage of labor. They were involuntary, and I tried to focus on my breathing, but I could hear it. I could hear myself groaning when I exhaled.

Of all the impossible things one might instruct, this seems most absurd in the moment: “You need to stay still during your contractions so we can get the epidural in.” No matter how difficult it was to stay still, it was worth the result. Pain free! Unbelievable. Seriously, unbelievable. I could relax. I could hold a conversation. I could enjoy the view of the lake out the window. All while the monitor next to my bed recorded each contraction, contractions that just moments before had racked my entire body. It was the perfect epidural. The pain was gone, but I could still feel pressure, so I knew when I was contracting – this helped immensely at the pushing stage of the game. 

Once I got the ok to push, I refocused my energy, feeling rejuvenated from the rest that came with the epidural. I had Paul on one side and my mom on the other. I pushed for approximately one hour. The pressure increased until Caleb came out. Relief washed over me, and I sobbed when they placed him on my chest. There were too many tears to even see him clearly. It was over. I had a son. My life would never be the same, and the beginning of motherhood would definitely not be easy.