I'm typing this on my phone at 6 am, because I can't leave the bedside. In a good way. I still have to use the bathroom at least once a night. Old habits die hard. Typically, when I get up, Bean notices immediately, and will fuss until I'm back in bed. This morning, I came back to him peacefully sleeping. Which is why I'm typing this at 6am, standing beside my bed. I can't stop staring at his sweet face. I wish I had a photographic memory. *click!* It's incredible to me still just how quickly babies grow, particularly mine. He's already looking so much more like a little boy than an infant that it makes my heart ache a little. A week from today, he will be 4 months old. Where does the time go? Recently, he's been trying harder and harder to sit up on his own. He'd rather be sitting up than laying down, most of the time. He's no longer interested in just his own hands, but in mine and Bear's hands, too. He grabs on to individual fingers and moves them around, bending and turning them with intense interest. He has also been studying how and what we eat. He hasn't shown any interest in any for himself yet (thank goodness!), but he intently watches every bite we take. I think he's trying to figure out what that stuff is and why we put it in our mouths. With the exception of a few bottles of expressed breast milk, the only things he's had in his mouth are boobs and his own hands! While eating dinner last night, Bear mentioned that he thinks Bean is going to wean early. I sure hope not! I'm willing to start him eating food, if he is ready, at 6 months, but I still want to breastfeed at least a year. My heart will break if this part of our relationship ends sooner. He is almost double his birth weight now, several inches longer. If you had asked me a month ago if I wanted him to stay that little, I would have (laughingly) said no. However, if you were to ask me now, I would give an emphatic YES! He's just the perfect size, and the exact mix of dependence and independence that makes me feel needed but not overwhelmed. Unfortunately, I cannot stop it, so I will crawl into bed and snuggle my little man for as long and as much as I can. <3
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When we go grocery shopping, we buy large packs of chicken breast and ground turkey, then divide and freeze it when we get home. I realized yesterday mid-afternoon that I hadn't taken any meat out to defrost. This means I had to rush something for dinner. It needed to be something easy, too, because Bean hasn't been in the best mood since his shots on Wednesday. I pulled up my Pinterest boards, and settled on the Slow Cooker Garlic Butter Chicken with Cream Cheese Sauce by Our Small Hours. It takes VERY little prep, and only a few ingredients, which was exactly what I wanted. I threw the bags of chicken in a sink of hot water to defrost, then grabbed my ingredients. The recipe says optional on the onion, but yum! Besides being delicious, onion and garlic are excellent anti-cold and flu foods. And they're healthy, right? So it rules out the stick of butter and full pack of cream cheese in the back, right? A quick slice-and-dice is all these bad boys needed. Then I threw the defrosted chicken in the pot, plopped the stick of butter on top, and covered the chicken in the garlic and onion (I forgot the dash of salt). Set it and forget it. (Bear tells me that was from some infomercial a while back, but I've never seen it.) Man. Six hours is a long time to wait. I made up some rice to go with the chicken. I'm sad that I forgot that we were out of veggies, but onion and garlic, right? When I pulled the first chicken breast out, it fell apart. It took quite a bit of maneuvering to keep the rest of the chicken intact. Oh my. My mouth was watering. All that was left was to add the cream cheese. I cranked the crock pot on high, added the cream cheese, mushed it around with a wooden spoon, then whisked it in real good. Probably not the quickest way, but simple enough and I didn't have to dirty another pot. From the time he came home from work, Bear kept asking to check on the chicken. The look on his face with his first bite was pure bliss. And why wouldn't it be, with a full stick of butter and a full pack of cream cheese :P He gave this a 10 out of 10, and begged for it to become a regular. I had to agree with him, it was super delish, rich, and the chicken melted in my mouth. This will definitely be a regular.
*******Trigger warning: traumatic birth story*******
A few days ago, something happened. It wasn't out of the ordinary, though it wasn't expected. It wasn't horrible and, in fact, was easily fixable. A few claims in my son's name from our hospital stay and subsequent pediatrician visits immediately after his birth had been denied coverage by his insurance. This is, unfortunately, not uncommon; but, as mentioned before, solved fairly easily. It would only take a simple phone call to his insurance and have the activation back-dated to his birth. But I couldn't do it. Instead, I spent the rest of my day in tears, sobbing and cuddling my sweet boy, my little Bean. You see, I couldn't get it out of my mind, the circumstances of his birth, and how I still wish so desperately that they could be different, the way I had planned for so long. Imagined him born naturally at home, that rush when I would hear, "It's a boy!" Holding him to my chest and hearing his first cries. Resting after birth in our own bed, quiet. Cocooning with Bean and Papa Bear in the days after, all 3 of us snuggling into our little family unit. And, instead, being left to imagine his first cries as he was cut out of me. Him, surrounded by strangers and bright lights and cold air and needles everywhere. Being told the day before we're to be released that we have to stay a whole week so that he can continue an antibiotic regimen due to an infection contracted in the hospital. Myself confined to a narrow, hard hospital bed and Bear sleeping in the visitor's chair that entire week, together but separate. Being dependent on a catheter to empty my bladder. Being unable to walk without the assistance of my IV pole, or pick up my tiny son if he was crying, or even shower on my own. And to this day, three and a half months later, having pain and a strange numbness both radiate from my incision sites. These bills would take a single phone call (okay, maybe two) to resolve. It's not the money that's an issue. But every time I went to pick up the phone, the tears would start flowing again. So instead, I snuggled my boy and breathed in his sweet baby scent and thanked God we're together still. I kicked myself so hard for allowing myself to feel this way. Told myself I needed to get over it. But I couldn't help it, and that's okay. I've been doing really well, and am so blessed to not have Post-Partum Depression. I can't help what could trigger my grief, though, and I'm learning to allow it to work itself out. Maybe tomorrow I'll be strong enough to make the call. There will probably be many more triggers in my future, but already they are becoming fewer and further between. And when they come, I will hold my son and thank God that we're still together. |
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AuthorMama Bear of one Baby Bear, Bean, who both love Papa Bear, and live in a crafty, gluten-free cozy den. Archives
June 2017
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