I've always been a proponent of putting the babies down "sleepy, but awake." And for the most part, we've avoided CIO. (That's cry-it-out, Kelly!) But lately, Charlotte has been throwing little hissy fits at bedtime. Tonight she even started crying before I put her in the crib, during our rocking/story/singing. She may just be overtired, because as I've mentioned before, my babies don't nap. I guess she could be getting a tooth, because she has none and Gavin has four, but I've been blaming everything on teething lately, and her gums still feel flat as ever. I think what's going on is that she just realized: Hey. I kind of like this lady. I like when she's kissing me, and tickling me, and telling me how cute I am. I don't want to be alone in my crib, in the dark. Get me out of here!
But the thing is, even when I give in and rock her, she still screams and cries and arches her back. Tonight she even flailed and clawed at my eye. I look like I got in a minor scuffle. So when the options are: (1) Charlotte screams alone in her crib, or (2) Charlotte screams in my arms and nearly blinds me, well then-I'm going to choose the first option.
Has anyone else had this happen? When their baby originally was going to sleep on his own, and then decided to cry at bedtime? What do I do?
Friday, December 28, 2007
Monday, December 24, 2007
Unhinged
I had some friends over for dinner on Friday night. These are two of my closest friends - one has known me since middle school, and the other since junior high. I was frazzled. Lately I've been getting pretty good at juggling both babies while doing other tasks, like cooking dinner. But the babies were extrememly cranky on Friday, heightened by the fact that they hadn't had a good nap and both were coming down with a cold. So the vegetable lasagna that I hoped to have baking away was still just ingredients in my pantry by the time they arrived .
By nature, I'm a pretty anxious person. I can keep this in check on most days, but when things aren't going according to plan, I lose it. Friday was one of those days.
So perhaps it was my high level of anxiety, and perhaps it was the wine, but I became a little unhinged. Spilling my guts. Losing my cool. Sweating.
It's a good thing that these girls have known me forever and won't judge me for becoming a raving lunatic once in a while. They constantly reassure me that I'm a mother of young twins, for Pete's Sake, and I'm allowed to have days like that. Thank goodness for old friends. You're the best, A and S.
Now off to tend to whichever baby is babbling through the monitor. He/she wasn't supposed to wake up for another half-hour! This is NOT part of my plan today!
By nature, I'm a pretty anxious person. I can keep this in check on most days, but when things aren't going according to plan, I lose it. Friday was one of those days.
So perhaps it was my high level of anxiety, and perhaps it was the wine, but I became a little unhinged. Spilling my guts. Losing my cool. Sweating.
It's a good thing that these girls have known me forever and won't judge me for becoming a raving lunatic once in a while. They constantly reassure me that I'm a mother of young twins, for Pete's Sake, and I'm allowed to have days like that. Thank goodness for old friends. You're the best, A and S.
Now off to tend to whichever baby is babbling through the monitor. He/she wasn't supposed to wake up for another half-hour! This is NOT part of my plan today!
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Too Much TV?
I try not to leave the TV on too much during the day, I really do. But it can be nice at times just to have the background noise, and also just to feel a little more connected to the outside world. Honestly, I feel so cooped-up and trapped on some days, especially because it's so cold that I can't really take them out for nice long walks anymore.
But I have to wonder if I have the TV on too much lately, because every time the "800-588-2300, Empire!" jingle comes on TV, the babies literally stop in their tracks, turn to look at the TV, and start gyrating their torsos in what I can only surmise is their first baby dance. (Although it looks a little like an upright version of The Worm. Maybe they're trying to breakdance?) Either way, it's freakin' hysterical. One of these days I'm going to take a video and upload it for you all to see.
But I have to wonder if I have the TV on too much lately, because every time the "800-588-2300, Empire!" jingle comes on TV, the babies literally stop in their tracks, turn to look at the TV, and start gyrating their torsos in what I can only surmise is their first baby dance. (Although it looks a little like an upright version of The Worm. Maybe they're trying to breakdance?) Either way, it's freakin' hysterical. One of these days I'm going to take a video and upload it for you all to see.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Holiday Shopping
I really, really hate the mall this time of year. I hate it mostly because people are stressed, and when people are stressed, they tend to be nasty and unappreciative. And when people are nasty and unappreciative, it puts me in a foul mood. And when I'm in a foul mood, no one's happy.
Last year at this time I was pregnant. And deliriously, unapologetically happy about it. I was really starting to show, and I had just begun to feel the babies move, and after all that I had been through, I couldn't (and wouldn't) contain my excitement. Nothing was bringing me down; not even tired, stressed-out, grumpy holiday shoppers.
I went to the mall about a week before Christmas last year. I was having some difficulty with my maternity pants, and by that I mean I was having trouble keeping them up for some reason. A pregnant acquaintance at work told me about "belly bands," which are basically like tube tops that fit over your pants to keep them up. I was braving the holiday crowds and making my way to the maternity store in the mall to buy one.
First of all, the maternity store in the mall is literally the size of a postage stamp. Whoever drew up the plans to this store was obviously male, because there is no room for pregnant ladies to maneuver without bumping into the racks and/or each other. Forget strollers. And a double stroller would have been downright comical. Anyway, immediately after entering this store, I knew something was very, very wrong. There was a man in there who was clearly mentally ill. He was rambling and wandering around the racks, and I could tell the cashier was nervous. I don't remember the details of the conversation exactly, but for some reason the cashier was requesting his address and typing it into the computer. I'm not sure if he was charging clothing on some sort of store credit, but he wasn't making much sense. He was telling the cashier that he lived in California, and his !#$&! ex-wife took the house, and he was homeless, etc... She couldn't get a straight answer out of him. Adding to the tension was the fact that his sentences were completely peppered with expletives. And I mean the dirty ones; the kind I can't type here now for fear that my 10-year-old nephew is reading this blog. At one point he even asked the cashier for scissors. (Which, to my horror, she gave him, and he proceeded to cut some tags off of his shirt. That's probably a whole other story.) So needless to say, I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable in that confined space, and the cashier was as well. She was the only employee in the store.
After a while the man turned his attention to me. He wanted to know what I was buying (and I wasn't about to tell him a belly band and maternity tights!) and also wanted to know if he could buy some things for me. Ew. I ignored him as best as I could, and tried to avoid eye contact while smiling politely. He seemed to be getting more and more upset and agitated, and I didn't want to do anything else to set him off.
I found what I was looking for as quickly as possible, and was already completing my transaction at the register when he grabbed my hand. I was shocked, and rendered completely immobile for the moment. And I was scared. At first I thought he was searching for a wedding ring, but after a second or two it became apparent that he was reading my palm. "What are you having?" he asked. "Twins," I replied. "A boy and a girl." Now, in hindsight, I probably should have told this guy where to go, or at least have told him to let go of my hand or I would call the authorities. But I was scared. So I answered his question. "They're not going to be born," he told me. "Neither one will make it."
Alright, I'm a rational person, and I know this guy was crazy. But I cannot tell you how much that encounter unnerved me. As someone who struggled with infertility for 2+ years, that was precisely the opposite of what I needed to hear. I was visibly upset. The cashier was whispering that he was crazy, that he didn't know what he was talking about, and not to worry. But the damage had been done. I left the store, sat on a bench in the middle of the mall, and sobbed. Talk about putting a damper on my holiday spirit.
Obviously, the story ended well. Charlotte and Gavin are here, and are perfectly healthy. But I think about that day often; not about the man (I'd like to forget him), but about the cashier. I regret that when I left the store I was too shaken to have the common sense to go get a security guard, and she was left alone with him. I hope she is okay as well.
Post Script: I have been sitting here for upwards of 20 minutes, precious time for any mother, trying to think of how to wrap up this post in a way that will tell you the moral of the story. I can't think of anything. I'm not sure there is one. If any of you can think of one for me, help me out and comment. And incase you were wondering, the belly band worked out well. Kept my pants in place on most days.
Last year at this time I was pregnant. And deliriously, unapologetically happy about it. I was really starting to show, and I had just begun to feel the babies move, and after all that I had been through, I couldn't (and wouldn't) contain my excitement. Nothing was bringing me down; not even tired, stressed-out, grumpy holiday shoppers.
I went to the mall about a week before Christmas last year. I was having some difficulty with my maternity pants, and by that I mean I was having trouble keeping them up for some reason. A pregnant acquaintance at work told me about "belly bands," which are basically like tube tops that fit over your pants to keep them up. I was braving the holiday crowds and making my way to the maternity store in the mall to buy one.
First of all, the maternity store in the mall is literally the size of a postage stamp. Whoever drew up the plans to this store was obviously male, because there is no room for pregnant ladies to maneuver without bumping into the racks and/or each other. Forget strollers. And a double stroller would have been downright comical. Anyway, immediately after entering this store, I knew something was very, very wrong. There was a man in there who was clearly mentally ill. He was rambling and wandering around the racks, and I could tell the cashier was nervous. I don't remember the details of the conversation exactly, but for some reason the cashier was requesting his address and typing it into the computer. I'm not sure if he was charging clothing on some sort of store credit, but he wasn't making much sense. He was telling the cashier that he lived in California, and his !#$&! ex-wife took the house, and he was homeless, etc... She couldn't get a straight answer out of him. Adding to the tension was the fact that his sentences were completely peppered with expletives. And I mean the dirty ones; the kind I can't type here now for fear that my 10-year-old nephew is reading this blog. At one point he even asked the cashier for scissors. (Which, to my horror, she gave him, and he proceeded to cut some tags off of his shirt. That's probably a whole other story.) So needless to say, I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable in that confined space, and the cashier was as well. She was the only employee in the store.
After a while the man turned his attention to me. He wanted to know what I was buying (and I wasn't about to tell him a belly band and maternity tights!) and also wanted to know if he could buy some things for me. Ew. I ignored him as best as I could, and tried to avoid eye contact while smiling politely. He seemed to be getting more and more upset and agitated, and I didn't want to do anything else to set him off.
I found what I was looking for as quickly as possible, and was already completing my transaction at the register when he grabbed my hand. I was shocked, and rendered completely immobile for the moment. And I was scared. At first I thought he was searching for a wedding ring, but after a second or two it became apparent that he was reading my palm. "What are you having?" he asked. "Twins," I replied. "A boy and a girl." Now, in hindsight, I probably should have told this guy where to go, or at least have told him to let go of my hand or I would call the authorities. But I was scared. So I answered his question. "They're not going to be born," he told me. "Neither one will make it."
Alright, I'm a rational person, and I know this guy was crazy. But I cannot tell you how much that encounter unnerved me. As someone who struggled with infertility for 2+ years, that was precisely the opposite of what I needed to hear. I was visibly upset. The cashier was whispering that he was crazy, that he didn't know what he was talking about, and not to worry. But the damage had been done. I left the store, sat on a bench in the middle of the mall, and sobbed. Talk about putting a damper on my holiday spirit.
Obviously, the story ended well. Charlotte and Gavin are here, and are perfectly healthy. But I think about that day often; not about the man (I'd like to forget him), but about the cashier. I regret that when I left the store I was too shaken to have the common sense to go get a security guard, and she was left alone with him. I hope she is okay as well.
Post Script: I have been sitting here for upwards of 20 minutes, precious time for any mother, trying to think of how to wrap up this post in a way that will tell you the moral of the story. I can't think of anything. I'm not sure there is one. If any of you can think of one for me, help me out and comment. And incase you were wondering, the belly band worked out well. Kept my pants in place on most days.
Monday, December 17, 2007
But Who's Counting?
Number of bottles mixed and fed today: 8
Number of Meals Fed to the Babies Today: 6, three each
Number of diapers changed today: 14*
Number of Times I Washed My Hands: 20*
Number of clothing changes today: 9; one outfit in the morning per baby, another outfit per baby when they each pooped all over the first outfit, and a one pair pajamas per baby. One outfit in the morning for me, another outfit for me when Gavin spit up lentils and vegetable stew on my cords, and a pair of pajamas for me. (Sidebar: Why is it called a pair of pajamas?)
Number of snaps on Gavin's overalls, onesie, and shirt that required unsnapping and resnapping any time I changed his diaper: 14
Number of times I ascended or descended a pair of steps today: 25-30* (Our kitchen refrigerator went kaput...I kept having to run downstairs to the one in our basement).
Number of Times I Sang "You Are My Sunshine": 6 (twice before each of two naptimes, and twice before bedtime, as part of our sleep routine)
Number of Almond Raspberry Shortbread Thumbprint Cookies I Made Yesterday: 36
Number of Almond Raspberry Shortbread Thumbprint Cookies I Ate Today: 6*
Number of Dollars Spent at Target Today: $53
Number of Kisses Given to Charlotte and Gavin Today: 200, each*
Number of Kisses Given to Michael Today: 1
Number of Minutes I Had For Myself Today: 8, when I was in the shower
*Numbers are approximate.
Number of Meals Fed to the Babies Today: 6, three each
Number of diapers changed today: 14*
Number of Times I Washed My Hands: 20*
Number of clothing changes today: 9; one outfit in the morning per baby, another outfit per baby when they each pooped all over the first outfit, and a one pair pajamas per baby. One outfit in the morning for me, another outfit for me when Gavin spit up lentils and vegetable stew on my cords, and a pair of pajamas for me. (Sidebar: Why is it called a pair of pajamas?)
Number of snaps on Gavin's overalls, onesie, and shirt that required unsnapping and resnapping any time I changed his diaper: 14
Number of times I ascended or descended a pair of steps today: 25-30* (Our kitchen refrigerator went kaput...I kept having to run downstairs to the one in our basement).
Number of Times I Sang "You Are My Sunshine": 6 (twice before each of two naptimes, and twice before bedtime, as part of our sleep routine)
Number of Almond Raspberry Shortbread Thumbprint Cookies I Made Yesterday: 36
Number of Almond Raspberry Shortbread Thumbprint Cookies I Ate Today: 6*
Number of Dollars Spent at Target Today: $53
Number of Kisses Given to Charlotte and Gavin Today: 200, each*
Number of Kisses Given to Michael Today: 1
Number of Minutes I Had For Myself Today: 8, when I was in the shower
*Numbers are approximate.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Thursday, December 13, 2007
What Does Your Christmas Tree Say About You?
Swistle's post about Christmas Tree Toppers got me thinkin' about Christmas trees in general. Everyone has such strong opinions about what constitutes the perfect tree. Colored lights vs. white lights; real tree vs. artificial tree; star tree topper vs. angel tree topper... These are serious decisions, people! Many of you have a tree with a theme. This can be a color theme, as in: "We only decorate with red and gold ornaments," or an ornament theme, as in: "We only use glass balls." (Even as I typed that, it sounded dirty. Stop snickering.)
One of my sisters decorates her tree with snowmen. Okay, one or two other ornaments may have snuck in there undetected, but for the most part, it's snowmen as far as the eye can see. Another sister's tree has a "Robot Theme." I have yet to see it, but from what I understand, it's decorated with white lights and robot ornaments. (You are probably asking the same question I asked: Where would one purchase an assortment of robot ornaments? Why, Old Navy, of course. Who knew?) When I think about those sisters and their respective personalities, those trees happen to suit them perfectly.
One of my sisters decorates her tree with snowmen. Okay, one or two other ornaments may have snuck in there undetected, but for the most part, it's snowmen as far as the eye can see. Another sister's tree has a "Robot Theme." I have yet to see it, but from what I understand, it's decorated with white lights and robot ornaments. (You are probably asking the same question I asked: Where would one purchase an assortment of robot ornaments? Why, Old Navy, of course. Who knew?) When I think about those sisters and their respective personalities, those trees happen to suit them perfectly.
So what does my tree say about me? Observe:
I have lots of things around the house that say "Believe," including ornaments. These things spoke to me during my days of infertility, I think, because it reminded me to remain hopeful:
I'm also a fairly patriotic person, and I love the Fourth of July, which would explain these beauties:
So what's this one doing on my decidedly American tree? (I received it from a student who visited Canada and thought of me. Adorable!)
Which brings me to the, um, lovely ornaments from students....and there are many....
And I have some Noah's Ark ornaments, which I find quite amusing. I had a thing for Noah's Ark ornaments long before I had twins. A sign, the whole two-by-two thing, don't you think?
And then there was the year I tried to go all vintage (or reproduction vintage)....
And the year I tried to go all rustic...
And then there are some ornaments that are just plain puzzling, like "The Green Pickle" and the one I like to call "The Double-Eyed Cowboy":
So, in summary, what does my tree say about me? That I'm a patriotic-teachery-strangely telepathic-vintage-rustic-pickle loving (again, sounds dirty)-cowgirl? Or perhaps it just says that I'm eclectic. Yeah, we'll say that. Eclectic. At any rate, I think it turned out just beautifully; the perfect Christmas tree. And it personifies me to a T.
Oh Christmas Tree
We got our Christmas tree the other night. It was bitter cold and the twins didn't seem to be too into it, but it was fun nonetheless. Of course, I had to document it. Their first Christmas tree!
Gavin checked it out too, but still found his pacifier to be much more interesting!
Charlotte gave this one the thumbs-up:
Gavin checked it out too, but still found his pacifier to be much more interesting!
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
The Missing Sock...
The wait is over. It looks like Aunt Sessy really knows her nephew...
By the way, only 5 of you guessed? What about my friends and family who tell me, "I read your blog all the time!"? Time to delurk and comment! :)
Monday, December 10, 2007
Let's Play a Game...
Where is Charlotte's sock? Add your guess in the "comments" section, and I'll let you know in a day or two. Oh, and no fair guessing if you already know...
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
more sleep blogging
You are probably all so sick of hearing me gripe and complain about the twins' sleeping situation, so if you've had enough, go read someone else's blog today. I'll recommend Jane over at Baby Squared.
I know I'll catch heat for saying this, but Gavin is a Momma's Boy. He's happiest when I'm holding him and kissing him and generally just loving him up. Which is nice. Most of the time. But not at 4 am.
I'm lucky in that my babies go to sleep at around 7 pm with little intervention on my part. Charlotte, as I may have already mentioned, will usually sleep through until about 7 am, barring any stuffy noses or messy diapers. And Gavin wants to sleep until 7 am, I'm sure of it. (Perhaps it's a bit of wishful thinking on my part, because I want to sleep until10 am, er, 7am, but I really do think he needs that sleep). For the past few weeks he's been forcing himself to wake up early just so I'll come in, pick him up, and snuggle/rock him back to sleep. He chatters and grumbles and whines (but never really cries) until I come in and pick him up. This goes on for HOURS. This morning, he started chattering around 4am, stopped for about a half hour, and then continued until I finally went and got him at about 6:15 am. I know, I should have just kept him awake at that point, but as soon as I picked him up, he laid his head on my shoulder and went right to sleep. So I did what was probably the worst possible thing I could do: I brought him into bed with me and let him sleep until 7am when Charlotte woke up.
Dr. Weissbluth claims that if I ignore Gavin for a few nights, he'll stop. As I see it, there are two problems with this approach: (1) I've tried ignoring him for several nights. Not only has he not stopped, but now he is waking up even earlier. And he doesn't go back to sleep. Honestly, the kid will chatter and whine for hours. (2) Charlotte and Gavin share a room. It isn't fair to her to have Gavin keeping her awake. For the most part, she seems to sleep through it, or at the very least she doesn't cry. I can just picture her in her crib, wide awake, a look of total annoyance on her face as she rolls her eyes in Gavin's direction, thinking, "I need my beauty sleep, for Pete's Sake!"
I think we might have to stick Gavin in the pack-and-play in another room for the time being, turn off the monitor (can I admit that?), and just let him chatter and whine for as long as it takes. If he was hungry or something, that would be one thing...but he just wants to cuddle! Am I being mean?
I know I'll catch heat for saying this, but Gavin is a Momma's Boy. He's happiest when I'm holding him and kissing him and generally just loving him up. Which is nice. Most of the time. But not at 4 am.
I'm lucky in that my babies go to sleep at around 7 pm with little intervention on my part. Charlotte, as I may have already mentioned, will usually sleep through until about 7 am, barring any stuffy noses or messy diapers. And Gavin wants to sleep until 7 am, I'm sure of it. (Perhaps it's a bit of wishful thinking on my part, because I want to sleep until
Dr. Weissbluth claims that if I ignore Gavin for a few nights, he'll stop. As I see it, there are two problems with this approach: (1) I've tried ignoring him for several nights. Not only has he not stopped, but now he is waking up even earlier. And he doesn't go back to sleep. Honestly, the kid will chatter and whine for hours. (2) Charlotte and Gavin share a room. It isn't fair to her to have Gavin keeping her awake. For the most part, she seems to sleep through it, or at the very least she doesn't cry. I can just picture her in her crib, wide awake, a look of total annoyance on her face as she rolls her eyes in Gavin's direction, thinking, "I need my beauty sleep, for Pete's Sake!"
I think we might have to stick Gavin in the pack-and-play in another room for the time being, turn off the monitor (can I admit that?), and just let him chatter and whine for as long as it takes. If he was hungry or something, that would be one thing...but he just wants to cuddle! Am I being mean?
Monday, December 3, 2007
Bittersweet
I stopped breastfeeding.
I feel surprisingly emotional about it; I'm much more emotional than I thought I would be. In the beginning, I hated it. But now that I'm able to step back from my experience with a little perspective, step back from pumping every three hours while they were in the NICU, and from pumping for the first three months that they were home, and from the frustration I felt from having to use the nipple shields, I realize that my experience was not exactly typical. I'll bet most people don't hate it as much as I did at first. Once the babies grew (and more importantly, their little mouths grew) everything just sort of fell into place. At first, I was all, "You have got to be some kind of masochist to enjoy this. Who are these women? It's the worst kind of torture I can imagine!" And then I was more, "Hey! I can do this! This is easy! This is nice. I get it!" I've learned some things from this experience; to give myself a little credit when I deserve it, and also to be kind to myself. I allowed myself to hate it in the beginning, and I allowed myself to supplement with formula, too, without feeling guilty about any of it (on most days). I muddled through the postpartum and managed to nurse premature twins for 8 1/2 months. That's something!
Which is why I'm so sad that I had to stop. Those first few months of pumping really gave the babies a *taste* of how easy it is to drink from a bottle. Charlotte never really loved nursing. From the start, she would only want to nurse on occasion, when she was in the mood and when I really had a good supply to offer. (This has given me a little insight as to what she's going to be like as a teenager). Gavin was a little more willing, but now that he has four teeth, he thinks it's really a lot of fun to bite. I've tried all the tricks: pulling him off, sternly saying "NO!", not allowing him to nurse for a few minutes. He thinks it's all funny. Like: "Look at Mommy! She's trying Tough Love! Isn't she hysterical? I'm going to bite her again to see what she'll do next!"
So, between Charlotte arching her back and screaming almost every time I try to nurse (which does nothing for my milk supply, causing her to want to nurse even less) and Gavin using me as a teething ring (ditto on the milk supply) I realized that I would either have to quit or pump every few hours to rebuild my supply. And quite honestly, the thought of pumping again after doing it for four months solid was, well, less than appealing.
So I stopped.
But I really wasn't ready. I wanted to continue at least through the winter, and I honestly thought I'd nurse them for even longer. It just wasn't in the cards.
Times they are a-changin'.
I feel surprisingly emotional about it; I'm much more emotional than I thought I would be. In the beginning, I hated it. But now that I'm able to step back from my experience with a little perspective, step back from pumping every three hours while they were in the NICU, and from pumping for the first three months that they were home, and from the frustration I felt from having to use the nipple shields, I realize that my experience was not exactly typical. I'll bet most people don't hate it as much as I did at first. Once the babies grew (and more importantly, their little mouths grew) everything just sort of fell into place. At first, I was all, "You have got to be some kind of masochist to enjoy this. Who are these women? It's the worst kind of torture I can imagine!" And then I was more, "Hey! I can do this! This is easy! This is nice. I get it!" I've learned some things from this experience; to give myself a little credit when I deserve it, and also to be kind to myself. I allowed myself to hate it in the beginning, and I allowed myself to supplement with formula, too, without feeling guilty about any of it (on most days). I muddled through the postpartum and managed to nurse premature twins for 8 1/2 months. That's something!
Which is why I'm so sad that I had to stop. Those first few months of pumping really gave the babies a *taste* of how easy it is to drink from a bottle. Charlotte never really loved nursing. From the start, she would only want to nurse on occasion, when she was in the mood and when I really had a good supply to offer. (This has given me a little insight as to what she's going to be like as a teenager). Gavin was a little more willing, but now that he has four teeth, he thinks it's really a lot of fun to bite. I've tried all the tricks: pulling him off, sternly saying "NO!", not allowing him to nurse for a few minutes. He thinks it's all funny. Like: "Look at Mommy! She's trying Tough Love! Isn't she hysterical? I'm going to bite her again to see what she'll do next!"
So, between Charlotte arching her back and screaming almost every time I try to nurse (which does nothing for my milk supply, causing her to want to nurse even less) and Gavin using me as a teething ring (ditto on the milk supply) I realized that I would either have to quit or pump every few hours to rebuild my supply. And quite honestly, the thought of pumping again after doing it for four months solid was, well, less than appealing.
So I stopped.
But I really wasn't ready. I wanted to continue at least through the winter, and I honestly thought I'd nurse them for even longer. It just wasn't in the cards.
Times they are a-changin'.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
A-Ha!
From www.ehow.com:
These gingerbread ornaments look and smell like edible gingerbread - but don't eat them! They become very hard after they are baked and are meant to be painted and then hung as Christmas ornaments.
Ingredients:
6 tbsp. shortening
1 cup sugar
1 cup molasses
2 tsp. baking soda
2 tsp. ground cloves
2 tsp. ginger
2 tsp. cinnamon
7 cups flour
1 1/2 cups water
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Beat shortening and sugar together in a large bowl. Stir in molasses.
Sift baking soda, ground cloves, ginger, cinnamon and flour together in a large bowl. Stir this mixture plus water into the sugar and shortening mixture, alternately adding the water and baking soda mixture to the shortening mixture.
Stir until mixed thoroughly and refrigerate 6-8 hours.
Cut dough into three equal pieces, knead each piece lightly and then use a rolling pin to roll out each piece to a 1/4-inch thickness.
Use holiday cookie cutters made in the shapes of gingerbread people and houses to cut shapes out of the dough.
Use a medium- to large-sized drinking straw or the end of a wooden chopstick to make a hole at the top of each shape.
Put cookies on cookie sheets and bake for about 20 minutes. Turn oven off and allow cookies to cool in the oven. This will help harden the cookies.
Place cookies on racks to completely harden. Place racks in a cool, dry place and let sit for two to three days.
Coat cookies with clear acrylic or varnish and allow cookies to dry thoroughly.
Paint cookies with acrylic paints as desired. Allow paint to dry thoroughly.
Thread a 5- to 6-inch length of narrow ribbon or cording through the hole at the top of each ornament. Knot ends and hang ornaments.
Tips & Warnings
This recipe can be halved. The recipe above makes approximately 30-40 cookies; the number of cookies you actually get will depend upon the size of your cookie cutters.
String gingerbread people together to make a gingerbread garland or a gingerbread wreath.
Coat cookies with an additional layer of clear acrylic or varnish to protect paint.
Explain to small children that these cookie ornaments are not to be eaten.
These gingerbread ornaments look and smell like edible gingerbread - but don't eat them! They become very hard after they are baked and are meant to be painted and then hung as Christmas ornaments.
Ingredients:
6 tbsp. shortening
1 cup sugar
1 cup molasses
2 tsp. baking soda
2 tsp. ground cloves
2 tsp. ginger
2 tsp. cinnamon
7 cups flour
1 1/2 cups water
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
Beat shortening and sugar together in a large bowl. Stir in molasses.
Sift baking soda, ground cloves, ginger, cinnamon and flour together in a large bowl. Stir this mixture plus water into the sugar and shortening mixture, alternately adding the water and baking soda mixture to the shortening mixture.
Stir until mixed thoroughly and refrigerate 6-8 hours.
Cut dough into three equal pieces, knead each piece lightly and then use a rolling pin to roll out each piece to a 1/4-inch thickness.
Use holiday cookie cutters made in the shapes of gingerbread people and houses to cut shapes out of the dough.
Use a medium- to large-sized drinking straw or the end of a wooden chopstick to make a hole at the top of each shape.
Put cookies on cookie sheets and bake for about 20 minutes. Turn oven off and allow cookies to cool in the oven. This will help harden the cookies.
Place cookies on racks to completely harden. Place racks in a cool, dry place and let sit for two to three days.
Coat cookies with clear acrylic or varnish and allow cookies to dry thoroughly.
Paint cookies with acrylic paints as desired. Allow paint to dry thoroughly.
Thread a 5- to 6-inch length of narrow ribbon or cording through the hole at the top of each ornament. Knot ends and hang ornaments.
Tips & Warnings
This recipe can be halved. The recipe above makes approximately 30-40 cookies; the number of cookies you actually get will depend upon the size of your cookie cutters.
String gingerbread people together to make a gingerbread garland or a gingerbread wreath.
Coat cookies with an additional layer of clear acrylic or varnish to protect paint.
Explain to small children that these cookie ornaments are not to be eaten.