Checkups, blood tests and crying - oh my

Ava had her 9 month check up this week and she's doing great for the most part, but there was one thing to keep an eye on for later. First the good news though. Developmentally she is right on track: pincer grasping like a pro, following objects with her eyes, pushing and pulling and rolling rather than crawling. She's a motor skills dervish! We'll be breaking out the baby gate from the baby shower in no time.

She didn't have to get any immunizations this time around, but she did need a blood test just to check some things out. Not the relatively painless heel or finger prick she had as an infant, but a full on vein draw! This is probably one of the worst parts of being a parent: watching your baby deal with pain that can't be avoided and that they're too young to understand the need for.

As the burly male lab technician and female lab tech worked to draw Ava's blood, the pain, betrayal, confusion and anxiety on her face killed me. They had to draw from both arms because she was fighting so hard they couldn't get the vein to stop rolling in the first arm.I distracted her the first time but it wasn't working by the end. Finally, the guy held her arm with both hands while I laid across her body and the woman drew a sample. All while Ava screamed at the top of her lungs! He marvelled: "She is STRONG!" Uh, yeah. A tiny force to be reckoned with who is already testing her strength, as also shown in the video below, which ends with a special "gift" for Dad.

I worry what the teen years will bring if we don't get a handle on how best to manage her in the coming months. And tiny is the operative word: only 5th percentile for weight, which was the other thing that was a concern. But the doc says she's just long and skinny, like her mom.

Still, we had been getting her to try more jar baby food, and she's been really taking to them. Apples and blueberries, squash, sweet potatoes, oatmeal, banana and peach blend: she hasn't said no to anything, although the first bite still elicits a scrunched face, followed by bleating for more. And she wants some of whatever we're eating. Sugar snap peas, rice, grapes: she tried it all this weekend. Instead though, the doc said to help her continue to get most of her calories from breastmilk and formula rather than solids until she's a year, to help with the weight.

We'll have to let the relatives know: some of them keep pushing to give her solids, as in "She'd put on weight if you gave her some chicken and potatoes." Hmm. Maybe, but I'm going to trust my doc and baby and gut on this one. We'll keep working our way through the fruits and veggies for now, along with the milk.

Each week is something new with this little girl and it is amazing to watch her learning and making connections. She's pulling up on things and taking steps that way. I think she may skip crawling altogether and just get to walking. Even in this she's all about efficiency. Again, like her mom. I'll await her first temper tantrum and attribute that to her dad. ;-) More later!

Who you callin' a baby? I'm nine months old

Ava hits nine months this week and it's hard to believe she was a helpless seven and a half pounder not that long ago. Every week there's some new motor or physical development with her and she seems more and more like an actual little girl instead of a baby. That goes for her diaper as well. Uh, suffice to say, the introduction of several real foods over the past two and a half months has also meant the introduction of really awful diapers. Really awful. It's got me wondering: can't we just feed her breastmilk or formula until she's potty trained? Okay, maybe not, but the new moms and dads out there know what I'm talking about.


So the latest advances are clapping, playing peek-a-boo on her own, and the appearance of two upper teeth poking through to join the two little Tic-Tacs on the bottom. And now: standing! This week, she pulled herself into a standing position in her play yard and later pulled up on the laundry basket.

Note the baby junk in the trunk. Finding pants to fit is already a challenge. I'm telling you, Baby Apple Bottom pants are a clothing niche that needs to be filled.

In the video below, Ava has just pulled up on her changing table. What's hilarious is that after the screeches of triumph at being up, she seems to decide, "While I'm up, I'll just rearrange this blanket. Who put this here anyway?"

I am loving being a mom to my growing little girl. Putting her down at night is still challenging sometimes: she goes down for an hour or two at 7:30pm, then wakes up and hangs with us for another hour or two until we go to bed. But after spending a few minutes nursing while fiddling with my chin, cheeks and lips, and trying to stick her fingers up my nose, she soon drifts off to sleep and basically sleeps through until morning.


Compared to the nights, the start of the day is wonderfully languid as I wake up and spend a few moments watching her sleeping and breathing lightly before I get up and rolling. She looks so deliciously cute and plump with her curls alternately matted to her forehead or sticking up wildly in all directions, I could just dunk her in milk and eat her like a cookie.


She is more and more of a hoot every day and J. and I feel very blessed to have her.

Storm game!

Ava gets the high view with J. enroute to the game. Go Storm!

Quaint reminder

I took my car in for service and had to get a rental car (they don't have loaners). In looking around the Chrysler Sebring convertible they gave me, I realize I can't remember the last time I saw this: an ashtray in a car. It's like seeing an 8-track tape in the backseat.

When you see crazy coming, cross the street

I had the most bizarre experience at Fred Meyer tonight. I had Ava in her car seat on top of the basket's child seat and was in line waiting to put my groceries on the belt. Inadvertently, I bumped the cart of the person in front of me with my cart. Literally, I made about as much contact as brushing against someone in an elevator. His cart didn't even roll. Feeling the contact, I peered over Ava's head and said, "Oh, I'm sorry about that," and went back to fiddling with her feet and keeping her entertained.

If everyone in this little saga were normal, that would be the end of it, right? Yes, well this was Bizarro Fred Meyer and Mr. Cart Tappee apparently felt our carts touching was an affront equal to the Janjiweed torching his home and killing his family in a spate of civil unrest.

He turned to me with this put upon expression and said, "You just don't care about anyone else, do you? You just sit there and don't even care that you bumped my cart." Surprised, I reiterated, "Uh, I said 'I'm sorry' but I guess you didn't hear me. Again, I'm sorry about that."

Again, this should end now, right? Oh, you and I both wish. No, Mr. Cart Tappee then continues, "Well sorry isn't good enough! What if I had been standing there? (When I arrived, he was already standing near the front of his cart about to load groceries onto the belt) I wouldn't even have room to stand behind my cart because you're so close. As a matter of fact, you need to back up! I could pull my cart but I don't want to. I want to push it the way it's supposed to be pushed! As a matter..."

He continued blathering on in this vein but I tuned him out because I realized I was experiencing a moment that former Oprah guru Iyanla Vanzant described as "When you see crazy coming, cross the street."

This was clearly not about me or my cart. This guy had to be dealing with something bad in his personal life (I know: shocker considering his lovely attitude). But clearly, something was seriously loco about this guy's way of handling rather innocuous situations. Like scary loco.

So I went over to a store employee and asked him about opening another check stand. He couldn't but came to stand nearby just in case. When I came back, the guy was just getting to the checker. Grrr. So I simply gave him a wide berth and gap on the belt ahead of me as I started to unload my groceries. He continued muttering to the checker, pointedly ignoring me.

As if to prove the point that this could have been a non-event had the guy had an even rudimentary grasp of appropriate social cues and responses, seconds after returning to the line, a lady behind me bumped my arm reaching for a grocery belt divider.

"Oh, I'm sorry dear," she said. "No problem," I replied, without hesitation. I went back to unloading my cart, and she did the same. See? That's how NORMAL people react, as opposed to Mr. Hair Trigger Anger Bomb.

When I told J. about it later that night, he was understandably outraged and said, "Why didn't you go off on him?" "Uh, because I generally don't just unload on bystanders, no matter how deserving they are." Only later did it occur to me that my gut told me to let it go, which in hindsight was the right thing to do with Ava sitting there inches away. What if I had returned the vitriol and escalated the situation? What if the guy, who was 6' to my 5' 4," had gotten physical or waited for us in the parking lot to continue the rant?

Ultimately, I didn't go off because A) it's not my style (public shouting match and/or fisticuffs? How uncouth!) and B) because every time I look into my daughter's eyes as she absorbs experiences each day of her still-new life, I'm reminded that I am her first and most powerful role model. And while I want her to stick up for herself when bullies raise their slimy heads, she also has to know how to assess situations, pick her battles and know that sometimes when you see crazy coming, it's better to just cross the street.

What would you have done?