Parks: 4
Onsies: 0
Monday, August 17, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
Dear Parks,
You are currently asleep beside me on the couch. It's Friday night and your father went to the liquor store. That's how we roll around here. We currently need lots of alcohol in this house and I'm going to tell you why. See, Parks, you are A Screamer. You scream-A LOT. It certainly doesn't mean I love you any less as I'm your mom and, well, I'm obviously going to love you no matter what. Afterall, just last week I shoved a supository up your butt and lovingly caught the poop that shot out afterwards. If that doesn't say "I love you dearly" what does? NOTHING.
Back to the screaming...
See, you scream. Did I mention that you scream? You do-A LOT. Around four weeks ago we went to the doctor to find out why you screamed and she told us you had reflux. We started adding rice cereal to your bottles and that seemed to help. It seemed to help you scream only half the day instead of the whole. Awesome. Your father and I immediately returned to the pediatrician to get half of our money back. She then told us that having the reflux under control finally allowed us to see you also had colic. I was pretty surprised by this news as I hadn't been informed there was an eight level of hell. Turns out there is...and it starts in my house around 5pm.
But, Dr. V had the magical fix for what ailed you..."Colic Drops". Your father and I have been kissing the bottle of "Colic Drops" every day, fifty times a day, for the past two weeks. I had no idea what was in the teeny tiny little bottle but we begin calling it "The Elixir of Magic Fairy Dust". It seemed to be a cousin of the Magic Fairy Dust your Nana keeps at her house that lets you sleep, not scream, and come home with your hair perfectly combed every time you stay over there. Thirty minutes after having some "Colic Drops" you would stop screaming, start smiling, giggle, coo, blow bubbles and just in general be the most pleasant acting baby I've ever seen. I finally read the bottle tonight and realized the magic "Colic Drops" were five percent alcohol. Seems all those dreamy smiles you've been giving me after being "dosed" the past few weeks were because you were totally stoned. Your father and I keep waiting for you to wake up from this colic drops-induced nap and ask for a big glass of sweet tea, some ibuprofen, and a Whataburger. Lord knows your father and I have needed that trifecta a time or too.
This week I went back to work and enjoyed it a really lot more than I thought I would. Admittedly, I was completely torn. But the fact that your GiGi is keeping you during the day means that after your father drops you off in the morning I don't have to worry about you one lick at all while I'm working. I can never repay her for this favor and I'm not sure she understands what load she removes off my mind every morning when she takes you in her arms and proceeds to keep a "log" of your activities all day long. Yes, even your poops. She even writes down what color they are and whether or not you had to "strain" to take them. Don't know what that means? Well, honey, when you have to "strain" you make your "poo face". Don't know what your "poo face" is? This is your "poo face":
You have a poo face, a "wakey-up" face, a smiley face, a screaming face. Hell, its like you became a real live baby in the past few weeks. That's a good thing as that's what the doctor told us was going to happen just eleven short months ago when we started this party.
Sometimes I look at you-even when you are mad as hell-and I am totally amazed that I made you, you magnificent, angry, wailing beast.
Love,
Mama
Back to the screaming...
See, you scream. Did I mention that you scream? You do-A LOT. Around four weeks ago we went to the doctor to find out why you screamed and she told us you had reflux. We started adding rice cereal to your bottles and that seemed to help. It seemed to help you scream only half the day instead of the whole. Awesome. Your father and I immediately returned to the pediatrician to get half of our money back. She then told us that having the reflux under control finally allowed us to see you also had colic. I was pretty surprised by this news as I hadn't been informed there was an eight level of hell. Turns out there is...and it starts in my house around 5pm.
But, Dr. V had the magical fix for what ailed you..."Colic Drops". Your father and I have been kissing the bottle of "Colic Drops" every day, fifty times a day, for the past two weeks. I had no idea what was in the teeny tiny little bottle but we begin calling it "The Elixir of Magic Fairy Dust". It seemed to be a cousin of the Magic Fairy Dust your Nana keeps at her house that lets you sleep, not scream, and come home with your hair perfectly combed every time you stay over there. Thirty minutes after having some "Colic Drops" you would stop screaming, start smiling, giggle, coo, blow bubbles and just in general be the most pleasant acting baby I've ever seen. I finally read the bottle tonight and realized the magic "Colic Drops" were five percent alcohol. Seems all those dreamy smiles you've been giving me after being "dosed" the past few weeks were because you were totally stoned. Your father and I keep waiting for you to wake up from this colic drops-induced nap and ask for a big glass of sweet tea, some ibuprofen, and a Whataburger. Lord knows your father and I have needed that trifecta a time or too.
This week I went back to work and enjoyed it a really lot more than I thought I would. Admittedly, I was completely torn. But the fact that your GiGi is keeping you during the day means that after your father drops you off in the morning I don't have to worry about you one lick at all while I'm working. I can never repay her for this favor and I'm not sure she understands what load she removes off my mind every morning when she takes you in her arms and proceeds to keep a "log" of your activities all day long. Yes, even your poops. She even writes down what color they are and whether or not you had to "strain" to take them. Don't know what that means? Well, honey, when you have to "strain" you make your "poo face". Don't know what your "poo face" is? This is your "poo face":
You have a poo face, a "wakey-up" face, a smiley face, a screaming face. Hell, its like you became a real live baby in the past few weeks. That's a good thing as that's what the doctor told us was going to happen just eleven short months ago when we started this party.
Sometimes I look at you-even when you are mad as hell-and I am totally amazed that I made you, you magnificent, angry, wailing beast.
Love,
Mama
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Parks Elizabeth Garrott: 6/16/09
Just because Mama is lazy it took her six whole weeks to get pictures of you on here. This is in no way a reflection of how absolutely beautiful you are. We aren't trying to hide you because you look funny...you know, like Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes did with their adopted Asian baby Suri. One day I'll tell you all about them-and this weird white guy named Michael Jackson. He died when you were four days old. One day mom will play "Thriller" for you and do the dance that goes along with it. Preferably when you are twenty-five, going on your FIRST DATE, and there is a guy at the house that wants to see you naked. Hopefully this will have the desired effect of making him rethink his choices. Your father is also purchasing a shotgun for this occasion which he will be cleaning on the couch NAKED-save a do-rag and a belt holding a bowie knife.
This is you when you were two days old.
This is you when you found out we couldn't put you back in.
These are your feet. You can blame your father for these gargantuan things. Don't worry, mama will help you find shoes later that make them look somewhat smaller and less flipper like. Mama is good at this. I'm still amazed by how the toes on your right foot curl exactly like your fathers. The added bonus of these being that you will never have to actually bend down to pick up anything...your toes can handle the job.
This is mama in labor with you. Its after they gave me drugs. I know this because I'm not screaming, crying, throwing things at your father, or on my knees begging the nurse for heroin-all of these things actually happened. That's your Nana at the end of the bed looking amazingly NON-FLUSTERED.
This is you with Nana. She teaching you to pick your nose. And, no, there was nothing wrong with the filter on the camera...you're yellow. You were a little jaundice and for three whole days we called you "Our Little Asian Baby".
This is you right now in bed with me. In the words of your Nana, "JESUS CHRIST, YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL!" (And see, your color returned quite nicely)
This is you when you were two days old.
This is you when you found out we couldn't put you back in.
These are your feet. You can blame your father for these gargantuan things. Don't worry, mama will help you find shoes later that make them look somewhat smaller and less flipper like. Mama is good at this. I'm still amazed by how the toes on your right foot curl exactly like your fathers. The added bonus of these being that you will never have to actually bend down to pick up anything...your toes can handle the job.
This is mama in labor with you. Its after they gave me drugs. I know this because I'm not screaming, crying, throwing things at your father, or on my knees begging the nurse for heroin-all of these things actually happened. That's your Nana at the end of the bed looking amazingly NON-FLUSTERED.
This is you with Nana. She teaching you to pick your nose. And, no, there was nothing wrong with the filter on the camera...you're yellow. You were a little jaundice and for three whole days we called you "Our Little Asian Baby".
This is you right now in bed with me. In the words of your Nana, "JESUS CHRIST, YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL!" (And see, your color returned quite nicely)
Dear Parks,
You are currently asleep beside me on the bed-on your STOMACH (gasp!). Your Nana placed you that way this morning when you were fussy and fidgety. Once she rolled you over, you immediately let out a huge BURP and fell fast asleep. Sometimes Nanas know more than the Academy of Pediatrics-I promise. Especially your Nana.
You will quickly learn-once you have a rudimentary understanding of english-that your Nana pretty much knows everything. You will also be told over and over again about the one time in my entire life I have ever seen your Nana flustered. I haven't managed to do it in my thirty two years of living but-somehow-at only six-weeks-old you've mastered the art. I knew there was a reason I loved you so much.
It was yesterday and you were very loudly screaming-as you are wont to do. She was running back and forth frantically asking me what you needed, what I needed, what anyone needed in order to stop that loud screeching. She kept asking me, "What does that cry mean?" (as everyone knows that all baby cries actually have a meaning). I very calmly informed your Nana that scream meant, "I'm pissed as hell, bitch" and went about my business. Nana was not pleased.
I'm pretty sure your Nana wanted an organizational chart created and some sort of focus group formed outlining exactly how to deal with that scream.(If there was an application on her IPhone that might help-all the better). And, if all that failed, she would probably get you to sign a behavior contract assuring her that you would never scream that scream again if you were-perchance-actually forced to scream again at some point before your 21st birthday at which point all aforementioned screams would become your own business and handled under your own volition. This course of action is only valid unless said screams are-at some point-caused by someone of the male persuasion at which point they fall under the jurisdiction of your father and his previously mentioned shotgun.
There are definitely times when I am happy that Nana doesn't live with me and your Dad. Nana might lose her shit. Because, see, sometimes when you scream like that...your dad and I laugh. There's probably not a way I can explain it to you that will make you think that we are in any way suited to raise you except that sometimes-when something you love more than life itself is in pain-a pain that you don't know how to stop...Well, we have to laugh or we'd just start screaming with you.
You turned six-weeks-old yesterday and I'm still amazed at how it seems I've known you forever but at the same time hardly know anything about you. Like, do you like corn dogs...or coconut-flavored candy? I HATE banana-flavored things. Grape is my favorite. Your Daddy likes pretty much anything formed with flavored and processed sugar. We both have an unnatural affinity for bacon. When you were inside me you loved it when I ate peanut butter and chocolate-not separately-but together. I wonder if you will love it that much now that you are here. All I know is that I can't wait to get to watch you figure all these things out.
I can't imagine what I would be doing today if it wasn't watching you sleep and wiping your ass. Your father is currently in Denver for three days. I've counted and that's a full 24 hours of sleep he is getting-ALL IN A ROW. He better have bought me jewelry...or a nanny...while he was gone. I can't wait to tell him that you almost rolled over this morning. Or, that yesterday you actually laughed and smiled at the same time. This morning alone you've done about twelve hundred cool ass things that I know it breaks his heart to miss. But, I want you to know that he calls at least six times a day just to hear about every poot, cry, sigh, and pee-pee diaper because he misses you so much.
Overall, kid, minus that time I hugged Morgan Freeman, you're about the coolest thing I've ever done.
Love,
Mama
You will quickly learn-once you have a rudimentary understanding of english-that your Nana pretty much knows everything. You will also be told over and over again about the one time in my entire life I have ever seen your Nana flustered. I haven't managed to do it in my thirty two years of living but-somehow-at only six-weeks-old you've mastered the art. I knew there was a reason I loved you so much.
It was yesterday and you were very loudly screaming-as you are wont to do. She was running back and forth frantically asking me what you needed, what I needed, what anyone needed in order to stop that loud screeching. She kept asking me, "What does that cry mean?" (as everyone knows that all baby cries actually have a meaning). I very calmly informed your Nana that scream meant, "I'm pissed as hell, bitch" and went about my business. Nana was not pleased.
I'm pretty sure your Nana wanted an organizational chart created and some sort of focus group formed outlining exactly how to deal with that scream.(If there was an application on her IPhone that might help-all the better). And, if all that failed, she would probably get you to sign a behavior contract assuring her that you would never scream that scream again if you were-perchance-actually forced to scream again at some point before your 21st birthday at which point all aforementioned screams would become your own business and handled under your own volition. This course of action is only valid unless said screams are-at some point-caused by someone of the male persuasion at which point they fall under the jurisdiction of your father and his previously mentioned shotgun.
There are definitely times when I am happy that Nana doesn't live with me and your Dad. Nana might lose her shit. Because, see, sometimes when you scream like that...your dad and I laugh. There's probably not a way I can explain it to you that will make you think that we are in any way suited to raise you except that sometimes-when something you love more than life itself is in pain-a pain that you don't know how to stop...Well, we have to laugh or we'd just start screaming with you.
You turned six-weeks-old yesterday and I'm still amazed at how it seems I've known you forever but at the same time hardly know anything about you. Like, do you like corn dogs...or coconut-flavored candy? I HATE banana-flavored things. Grape is my favorite. Your Daddy likes pretty much anything formed with flavored and processed sugar. We both have an unnatural affinity for bacon. When you were inside me you loved it when I ate peanut butter and chocolate-not separately-but together. I wonder if you will love it that much now that you are here. All I know is that I can't wait to get to watch you figure all these things out.
I can't imagine what I would be doing today if it wasn't watching you sleep and wiping your ass. Your father is currently in Denver for three days. I've counted and that's a full 24 hours of sleep he is getting-ALL IN A ROW. He better have bought me jewelry...or a nanny...while he was gone. I can't wait to tell him that you almost rolled over this morning. Or, that yesterday you actually laughed and smiled at the same time. This morning alone you've done about twelve hundred cool ass things that I know it breaks his heart to miss. But, I want you to know that he calls at least six times a day just to hear about every poot, cry, sigh, and pee-pee diaper because he misses you so much.
Overall, kid, minus that time I hugged Morgan Freeman, you're about the coolest thing I've ever done.
Love,
Mama
Monday, June 29, 2009
Changes
There is currently vomit on my pillow. Vomit that wasn't placed there by me after a night of shooting tequila with my hairdresser-like the LAST time there was vomit on my pillow.
Surprisingly, I totally don't mind and plan on sleeping on it without washing it.
Surprisingly, I totally don't mind and plan on sleeping on it without washing it.
Dear Parks,
You're currently napping in your bassinet while your father watches and your mother takes a pain killer and has a glass of wine. If it was Saturday night I'd totally breast feed you just so we could have some good times together. But-since its Monday-I'm going to let you get your beauty sleep as your dad and I expect you to be employed by the end of the week to help out with the $24,000.00 hospital bill we got yesterday.
Tomorrow you will be two weeks old and we are slowly getting to know you. So far we've definitely established that you absolutely hate being naked and this lets me know that you are definitely not 100% my child. I'm pretty sure you get this from your grandmother. Your dad and I can't even wipe your ass without lots of screaming and then a little more screaming followed by some screaming. You scream so much your tongue resembles a tiny baby bird where it just rotates around your mouth without really touching the sides. That's a cool trick that I'm pretty sure you get from me.
One day when I think I can do it without crying, I will write your birth story. The only good part of that experience was when they finally let me see you thirty six hours after labor began and a full sixteen after they cut you out of me. For now, I will tell you that when they finally handed you to me-after a night in the NICU because you weren't breathing properly-my first instinct was to strip you completely naked and look at all your tiny little parts. I promptly did this and ascertained you came with everything required and it was all perfect. That and you had a full head of black hair. Your father and I marveled at this as we pretty much assumed we were having a blonde-headed blue-eyed Aryan baby that actually somewhat resembled one of us. This was not the case. You have curly black hair that seems to be some throw back gene from my Italian side. When your great-grandmother held you today for the first time with her still black hair at the age of almost eighty-it seemed to make sense.
After two short weeks I can't say that I've mastered all your moods or faces yet. But, I can say that your dad and I are learning a lot. And, I will never be able to explain to you how much more I've fallen in love with him over the past two weeks just watching how he cares for you. Maybe even as much as I've fallen in love with you after all the hours I've spent simply staring at your sweet face.
Love,
Mama
Tomorrow you will be two weeks old and we are slowly getting to know you. So far we've definitely established that you absolutely hate being naked and this lets me know that you are definitely not 100% my child. I'm pretty sure you get this from your grandmother. Your dad and I can't even wipe your ass without lots of screaming and then a little more screaming followed by some screaming. You scream so much your tongue resembles a tiny baby bird where it just rotates around your mouth without really touching the sides. That's a cool trick that I'm pretty sure you get from me.
One day when I think I can do it without crying, I will write your birth story. The only good part of that experience was when they finally let me see you thirty six hours after labor began and a full sixteen after they cut you out of me. For now, I will tell you that when they finally handed you to me-after a night in the NICU because you weren't breathing properly-my first instinct was to strip you completely naked and look at all your tiny little parts. I promptly did this and ascertained you came with everything required and it was all perfect. That and you had a full head of black hair. Your father and I marveled at this as we pretty much assumed we were having a blonde-headed blue-eyed Aryan baby that actually somewhat resembled one of us. This was not the case. You have curly black hair that seems to be some throw back gene from my Italian side. When your great-grandmother held you today for the first time with her still black hair at the age of almost eighty-it seemed to make sense.
After two short weeks I can't say that I've mastered all your moods or faces yet. But, I can say that your dad and I are learning a lot. And, I will never be able to explain to you how much more I've fallen in love with him over the past two weeks just watching how he cares for you. Maybe even as much as I've fallen in love with you after all the hours I've spent simply staring at your sweet face.
Love,
Mama
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Child Birth Is Gross
There's really nothing like waking up at 5:30am to an enema, is there? That indignity ended up being a little LESS disgusting then I assumed. Easy in, easy out. I then got to bathe (somewhat), had pitocin put into my IV and the doctor walked in and broke my water. Now, with every contraction, a slow steady warm trickle of water comes out of me making me think that I'm peeing myself and can do nothing to stop it.
Hold on...contraction. SON OF A BITCH. Those do hurt. Thank God they aren't too close together yet.
I cannot WAIT until they will let me have drugs. I'm pretty sure they would give me drugs now...but I want to make sure that I have enough drugs to make it through this experience. The nurse was careful to tell me that the IV pain meds only really worked well the FIRST TIME. After that, all bets were off until you were 4cm and could get an epidural.
After the last contraction....I WANT AN EPIDURAL.
I must sign off to moan. This sucks.
Hold on...contraction. SON OF A BITCH. Those do hurt. Thank God they aren't too close together yet.
I cannot WAIT until they will let me have drugs. I'm pretty sure they would give me drugs now...but I want to make sure that I have enough drugs to make it through this experience. The nurse was careful to tell me that the IV pain meds only really worked well the FIRST TIME. After that, all bets were off until you were 4cm and could get an epidural.
After the last contraction....I WANT AN EPIDURAL.
I must sign off to moan. This sucks.
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