Dad: No, we are not hippies

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What if I told you that for the next five months, you were going to eat the exact same thing for breakfast, lunch and dinner? What if I told you that every single one of those meals would come from a bottle? Unless your name is Charlie Sheen and your drink of choice is Tiger Blood, you’d probably tell me to go away. Well, since Susan can’t form words and has yet to master the Heisman stiff arm, she hasn’t really had much of a choice when it comes to what we feed her.

For the first five months of her short life, every one of Susan’s meals has consisted of formula in a bottle. Because that’s all she really knows, she hasn’t gotten tired of it (yet). In fact, every time she sees the bottle, she opens her mouth and lunges for it like Gollum biting into a nice, juicy, live fish. If we don’t give Susan the bottle immediately, she freaks out and starts crying. That’s led to a lot of panicked “OMG JUST THROW THE BOTTLE IN THE MICROWAVE AND SCREW THE BOTTLE WARMER AND THOSE DAMN SCIENTISTS WITH THEIR RESEARCH AND CONCLUSIONS” moments on mom and dad’s part. 

Like this, but cuter.

Nine ounces of formula four times a day was Susan’s only source of food for those first five months. Whatever’s in it is obviously working because at the doctor’s office last week, she checked in at a solid 19 lbs. and 27 inches long. The problem is that four 9 oz. bottles aren’t keeping her full anymore. So on her five-month birthday about two weeks ago, MJ and I decided to feed her her first dose of solid foods. We were wary at first if it was the right time to give it to her, if she was ready, if it would increase the risk of allergies, and all the other uncertainties that come along with EVERY DECISION YOU WILL EVER MAKE FOR YOUR CHILD. Luckily, it turns out we were right this time. Not since Steven Segal discovered all-you-can-eat buffets in the late 90’s has a human being taken to food so well.

We made the decision before Susan was born to make her food ourselves instead of feeding her the jarred stuff from the store. No, we are not hippies who cultivate our own organic vegetables in the back yard and then hawk them at the farmer’s market to the other semi-hippies who for two hours every Saturday morning walk around and squeeze squash and zucchini like they know what a ripe squash or zucchini actually feels like. (We are actually the latter). In actuality, we wanted to make her food ourselves because a) it’s cheaper; b) it’s more nutritious; and c) it’s a hell of a lot of fun (and therapeutic) to throw something in the Baby Bullet and just grind the shit out of it until it’s so pulverized that you can suck it through a straw.

 

So far, Susan’s eaten bananas (good), peas (not so good) and pears (jury is still out). You would think by how she lunges for the bananas that they were liquid gold. Remember Gollum and the fish? That’s Susan and bananas, too. The peas, however, are a different story. Let’s recap: bananas = sweet. Plain peas = flavorless mush. Have you ever seen a frozen pea smoothie? You probably won’t. Ever. Who would want to eat this?

It looks like garbage juice. And the bubble is a nice touch.

Here’s a picture of Susan eating peas. 

These are NOT bananas.

 And here’s a video of Susan voicing her displeasure in regards to eating said peas.

And here's Susan eating bananas like it's the last meal she'll ever have.

Still trying to teach her that snorting the food up your nose is
not an acceptable way to eat at the table.

Next up is squash. It's yellow like bananas, so maybe we can trick her into thinking it's actually good. We just have to pick out a good one from the farmer's market on Saturday, or at least pretend like we know what a good squash feels like.

Mom: It's Hard Out Here for a Baby

A few years ago, there was a movie about a pimp who was struggling to make it as a recording artist.  I never saw the movie,although I do remember that Terrence Howard was nominated for an Oscar.  I also remember the song "It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp" by 3 6 Mafia (Sp?) won the Oscar for Best Song.  Now, I am sure that the song has a serious message, but the title has always struck me as funny.  So since the song's release, there have been various times in my life where "It's Hard Out Here for a 1L" or "It's Hard Out Here for a Pregnant Lady."  Well, as of late, it has definitely been "It's Hard Out Here for a Baby."

It is a tough life.

Many of you may be thinking, Gosh MJ, why has it taken you so long to post?  Your husband, the extremely talented and hilarious writer, has managed to write no less than THREE posts since y'all returned from Florida.  Well, Chris also failed to mention during his posts all the things that have taken place since that fateful afternoon at Target.

First, the day after we returned home from Florida, Susan woke up at 6 a.m. (a little early for her) due to an explosive poop.  This was weird because 1) she had almost always slept til 6:30 or 7 a.m. and 2) she really only ever pooped with her bottle.  What followed was a four-week long stomach bug.  The first week was actually the worst.  She pooped about 7 times a day.  That first week, we had to give her a little pedialyte to make sure she didn't get dehydrated because she even had a little diarrhea.  How did she seem?  Happy as a lark!  You wouldn't have known she had a stomach bug except for all of the extra poop.  By the second week, her poops had toned down but she got a MAJOR diaper rash.  We have always been really cognisant about slathering her with butt paste before all naps and  nigh time sleep.  And when the bug started, we slathered her with every diaper change.  It didn't matter.  By week 2, she had a pretty bad rash.  So bad that we had to put Lotrimin plus butt paste and let her play around on towels naked from the waste down.  We have some pretty adorable pictures.  The rash cleared up by her 4 month visit (which Chris chronicled in a previous post), and she had quit pooping quite so much.  But the early morning wake up poops did not clear up until Monday, July 30. Four weeks to the day that the bug started.

We were so excited!  Finally, it was over!  On Tuesday, I stayed home with her and worked from home.  It was Chris' first day back to work and my Dad was coming the next day to watch her for a week and a half.  That day, she secretly, ninja-style rolled over back-to-tummy twice.  I never saw her do it, but she did.  On Wednesday morning, before work, she showed her new trick to both of us.  And I looked at Chris and said "She is going to start doing that in the crib."  Oh yes.  On Wednesday, August 1, Susan became the back-to-tummy rolling champion.  She was a back sleeper.  That day, my poor Dad's first day baby-sitting, she slept maybe 30 minutes at each nap because she would roll to her tummy in her crib and was pretty ticked off about it.  It was like she couldn't control herself.  Now that she could roll over, she had to do it at all possible occasions.  And we didn't care if she slept on her tummy.  Once baby can roll, you can't really worry about "Back is Best" and SIDS as much because they are going to roll whether you like it or not.  But Susan was not loving tummy sleeping.  It didn't affect her at night, just naps.  By the following Monday, she was sleeping on her tummy some of the time.  By Tuesday, I put her to sleep at night on her tummy because she was rolling around the crib like a rolling pin.  And then she was fine.  She was comfortable sleeping on her tummy.

I love being on my tummy...except for in my crib.

However, her naps still seemed a little "off."  Some days she would nap great with Dad, others not so much.  We all just chalked it up to getting used to sleeping on her tummy.  HA!  My mom came over one afternoon (Thursday, August 9) to hang out with Susan and Grandaddy.  Susan put mom's finger in her mouth and mom felt something. 

SIDE NOTE:  Susan has been drooling heavily since she was two months old.  Of course, everyone in the older generation (our parents and grandparents) said she was teething.  In Naples, over the 4th of July, she learned how to reach out and hold things.  As soon as she did, she put EVERYTHING in her mouth.  Of course,  anytime they saw her, our parents and grandparents said again that she was obviously teething.  We did our best not to roll our eyes (sorry y'all).  Susan wasn't teething.  She may have been showing signs that teething was close, but all babies put stuff in their mouths and all babies drool.  It is just what they do.

And I mean everything.

Anyway, that Thursday, Susu (what Susan will be calling my mom) felt something in Susan's mouth.  My dad called that afternoon and said "Susan might be teething."  I rolled my eyes and said ok.  Pretty sure my dad heard the eye roll on the phone because when I came home, both of  my parents said "we felt a tooth."  Well that was pretty exciting.  Susan was napping but as soon as she woke up, I stuck my finger in and BOOM.  Tooth.  She was 4.5 months old.  Yep.  It was her right lateral incisor.  I called Chris and told him the news.  He felt it too!  We are pretty sure the tooth "erupted" (which is the name some terrible person gave it for when the tooth breaks through the gum) on Wednesday, Aug. 8 (one week to the day from becoming the rolling champion) but honestly, we don't know.  We thought must of her fussiness and bad naps were the result of sleeping on her tummy, not teething. 

By that Sunday, the tooth was really poking through.  And when the tooth erupts, the baby is supposed to feel better.  The part that makes baby feel so yucky is how swollen and tender the gum is right before the tooth erupts.  Well, still Susan seemed a little unhappy.  So, I put my finger in her mouth, and next to current Tooth 1 was a tiny swollen bump.  Yep, Tooth 2 is currently on its way.  It still hasn't erupted, but her gums are pretty swollen. 

So, yes, its hard out here for a baby.  There is just so much happening!  It is  also hard out here for a parent.  But so so so worth it.  On Sunday, August 19, she turned 5 months old.  We decided to start solid foods that day.  It has been great so far.  I'll let Chris really break it down because his version will be far more entertaining than mine.

I freakin LOVE bananas!

Dad: The ALL IS WELL Alarm

SIDS is a serious thing, and it is easily my biggest fear as a parent. The trouble is, marketers of baby sleep products know this. And they will exploit your fear so you buy their products. Case in point: baby monitors. For the record, I think it's a good thing to own a baby monitor as long as you don't run into the nursery at every little peep the baby makes. There are several types of baby monitors; some come with a video camera; some with motion sensors; some made by Skynet come with a robot nanny who soothes your child to sleep, so long as your baby isn't named John Connor.

Just as a general rule, I don't buy anything made by Skynet.

The one we use is called the Angel Care monitor, and I highly recommend it. I also highly recommend reading the instruction booklet. Let me explain why.

The Angel Care monitor has a motion sensor that you place under the baby's mattress that responds to the baby's breathing. In theory, if said baby stops breathing, the monitor lets you know. But it doesn't do it calmly, like "Oh hey guys, I think your child might have stopped breathing. Probably a false alarm, but you might wanna go check it out. Just a suggestion."

No, the Angel Care monitor freaks the eff out. It's like the sound of your alarm clock, if your alarm clock were forged in the fires of Mordor. And if you don't know how to adjust the monitor, you're going to be in for a lot of false alarms, like we were.

Angel Care's corporate headquarters.

The problem lies in the motion sensor's sensitivity control. Turn it up too high, and you can swap your baby out with a stuffed animal without the monitor catching on. Turn it down too low, and Susan could be springing backflips on the mattress and the monitor would still think she's down for the count.

As it turns out, we had ours turned down too low. Waaaaaay too low.

Picture this: mom and dad sleeping in their warm cozy beds, dead to the world since they get far less sleep than they need. Mom is dreaming about Susan. Dad is dreaming about dinosaurs because (as his wife tells him to make him feel better about the fact that he is really a five-year-old at heart) he has a "vivid imagination." The dog is in the middle of the bed dreaming about owning a pet lemur named Larry. It's 2:00 a.m. It's quiet. It's dark. It's peaceful. And then this happens:

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

Mom and dad jerk awake, and before mom can even yell "OMG SHE'S DYING!!!!!", dad has jumped out of bed like Usain Bolt from the starting blocks in the 100 meter. He cuts left through the hallway, right into the living room and bolts up the stairs, bounding up to the second floor in just four steps with a level athleticism that is completely absent in any other endeavor of his life. His adrenaline is pumping, and he throws open the door to the nursery expecting to find his baby blue in the face. He tries to remember if infant CPR requires 20 chest pumps or 30, and how many times you're supposed to blow air into her mouth. Or no, do you blow air first, and then start the chest pumps? And when should he call Addison Shepherd?

Except when dad looks in the crib, baby is sleeping peacefully. And breathing. She just shifted off the motion sensor pad. By this point, mom has made it up the stairs. Even the dog came along to check on baby Susan. Everyone's relieved that things are OK, and now they can all go lie awake in bed for the next two hours.

In summary, none of this is conducive to a good night's sleep.

So what was the beeping about? Apparently the Angel Care monitor's sensitivity control ranges from "YOUR BABY IS DYING" to "ALL IS WELL" modes. As we had it set, our monitor, instead of telling us when there IS a problem, told us when everything was OK. When it went off in the middle of the night, what it's really saying is this:

ATTENTION COOK FAMILY. ALL IS WELL. I REPEAT: ALL IS WELL. 

YOU HAVE NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT. SUSAN IS SLEEPING. SHE IS NOT DYING. DO NOT PANIC. I REPEAT: DO NOT PANIC. IF SHE STOPS BREATHING, I WILL LET YOU KNOW BECAUSE I AM THE ANGEL CARE MONITOR AND I GIVE YOU PEACE OF MIND. CONSIDER YOUR MIND EASED. YOU MAY NOW GO BACK TO SLEEP. I REPEAT: GO BACK TO SLEEP. SHOULD YOU NEED A LULLABY, I WILL CONTINUE BEEPING. PLEASE TURN ME OFF ONCE YOU ARE ASLEEP. THANK YOU. 

On the plus side, I've gotten really fast at running up the stairs. I can consistently go first floor to second floor in under 4 seconds, which is probably an Olympic record if they keep track of such a thing.

Dad: The Shot Lady

Parenting has many joys, but watching your kid gets shots is not one of them. Susan got her second round of shots on Thursday, and I think it was even more painful for her parents than it was for her. You know that whole thing about repressing childhood traumas without even knowing it? Well, I had a major flashback.

When I was a kid, my doctor’s office had a designated shot lady. This woman’s sole purpose was to stick little kids with needles, repeatedly and all day long. The character Nurse Ratchett was based in part on The Shot Lady.

Worst. Villain. Ever.

My doctors’ appointments started out the same almost every time. The doctor would do his usual routine, all chummy like he was your pal. Then he’d say something to my mom or dad and walk out of the room. Then the silence crept in. Whichever parent was in the room would try small talk in hopes of distracting me, but it was pointless. We both knew what was about to happen, we both knew that all the screaming in the world wouldn’t get me out of it, and we both knew that all the cheap candy suckers in the world wouldn’t make me happy about it.

The Shot Lady would enter carrying a light blue basket, not a shred of emotion on her face. In fact, I don’t recall her ever speaking a word. When you looked into her eyes, it was like staring into the face of Satan himself, if Satan were a massively built, middle-aged woman with a bad perm wearing nurse scrubs with happy bullshit trains saying stupid things like “Choo choo!”

She had a grip like a vice, and once she clamped onto your wrist, there was no escape. I think she was a brick layer before she got into nursing, or maybe she dabbled in competitive powerlifting. Either way, she liked to start things off slowly, warming you up with an annoying, but plenty painful, finger prick. She would take this tiny yellow thing with a metal sticker at the end of it, grab your index finger by the last knuckle and jam the needle right into the tip. Then she would squeeze your finger until blood ran out into this clear tube. I clearly recall her salivating and licking her lips while she did it, or maybe that’s just part of the recurring Shot Lady nightmares that plague me to this day. It all blends together now.

How the shot lady trains in the off-season.

 After the finger prick came the shot, or shots depending on how in debt you were to the ka,rma police that year. She used some sort of mind control to get me to voluntarily roll up my shirt sleeve and then she rubbed my arm down with this grainy alcohol swab that felt like sandpaper. Then came the needle, which she took out of a plastic wrapper. I can still hear the ripping sound as she opened the package. Nails on a chalkboard never bothered me, but that sound sure as hell did.

As a kid, you have the option of looking away during the shot or looking straight at it. I always chose to look straight at it, not because I’m some crazy masochist (although it’s a wonder that as an adult, I’m not more emotionally scarred from this), but because I just knew that if I looked away, The Shot Lady would start stabbing and stabbing and stabbing. Because that’s what The Shot Lady did and it’s what she was paid to do: walk into rooms, stab little kids with needles and walk out. You know who has a worse job than The Shot Lady? NOBODY.

Once I outgrew the vaccine era of my childhood, I figured I’d never have to see the shot lady again. I was wrong. We were on family vacation at Disney World one summer, probably on the way back to the line to ride Splash Mountain, when who do we see? Yup, The Shot Lady and her Shot Family. I was old enough to know that her powers had no effect inside The Happiest Place on Earth, but my younger brother Zack – who was probably between four and six years old – hid behind my father immediately.

To the amazement of both my brother and me, our parents went up to The Shot Lady and talked to her. At first I was astounded that they were engaging in friendly conversation with the sworn enemy of every kid that ever went to see a doctor, but I realized later that they were sacrificing themselves to protect us. Zack and I were both sure that The Shot Lady had two MMR vaccines in her pocket with our names on it, but with mom and dad blocking her path, she couldn’t get to us. That day, my mom and dad did their jobs. Last week, MJ and I didn’t.

On Thursday, Susan became acquainted with her own Shot Lady. Our sweet, happy, bright little baby got her second round of shots last week at her four-month appointment, and the lady who administered them looked remarkably familiar to the aforementioned demon of my childhood. Somewhere deep inside me, a tiny voice from my youth cried out, “RUN SUSAN RUN! GET OUT OF HERE WHILE YOU STILL CAN!”

Just as we predicted (based on the results of the two-month appointment), Susan did NOT like getting shots this time around, either. She got stuck twice, one right after the other, and screamed for almost 10 minutes straight. Mary Jane was able to calm her down, but she was left sniffling and red in the face as we exited the building. The whole ordeal went something like this:

If you think the shots were traumatic for her, think about her parents! Sure, she got stuck with a couple needles and screamed like a banshee for about 10 minutes, but then she slept for most of the day while her mother and I were left trying to convince ourselves that our daughter didn’t hate us

Dad: Vacation Part 3 - Saving Baby Susan

Mary already filled you in on how awesome our vacation was. I can’t disagree. I was actually surprised by how great it went. I figured at some point, Susan would either:

a)  Absolutely lose her shit on the airplane, thereby making us “those people.”

b)  Freak out in the new environment and not get a wink of sleep, making her and everyone else tired and miserable for the entire vacation.

c)   Get sunburnt, making us terrible parents of a lobster baby.

Miraculously none of those things happened. She was an angel on the airplane. She slept through the night the entire week. She escaped without a sunburn (Mary Jane and I, regrettably, also escaped without getting one inkling of a suntan because we are pale like vampires and allergic to sunshine). In summary, everything was dandy. Until the day we went home.

A trip that began with Susan laughing and playing on the way to Florida Tuesday ended with our baby screaming her head off in the car – like she never has before – on the way home Sunday. It was kind of like our own version of Saving Private Ryan, except instead of getting Matt Damon out of Nazi Germany alive, we were just trying to get our screaming baby home without losing our sanity.

It all started the second Mary Jane and I woke up on Sunday, which was the day vacation ended. Actually, no, it started 51 minutes before that because my alarm never went off and we overslept by almost an hour. That should have been our first hint that things would soon unravel that day, but alas, MJ and I were too busy passing blame back and forth (calmly and rationally of course, as most pre-6 AM discussions always are) to notice the signs. So because I blew the wake-up call, neither one of us had time to shower.

Susan woke up about 30 minutes after us, and by that time MJ and I had made up (it was all my fault…that’s all I had to say). Things were good again, and from then until we got to the airport, they stayed that way. We curb-checked all seven of our bags without any trouble, but as Mary was getting our boarding passes, I got the feeling that I’d forgotten something. We had all four suitcases, the Britax baby carrier, diaper bag and the baby carry-on with toys, diapers, change of clothes for mom, dad and baby. Cell phone? Check. Driver’s license? Check. Book that I had no chance of reading? Check. Still…I couldn’t help but think that something wasn’t right. It wasn’t until I strapped on the baby carrier that I realized I didn’t actually have anything to put IN the baby carrier. I turned around to see my father-in-law waiting by the car, just staring at me. “OK, now I’m ready for Susan!” I said. I'm not sure he bought it. 

When we got to the security check (Susan facing out in the carrier, bobbing in front of me), we ran into even more trouble with TSA. Let me backtrack a sec – when we went through our airport in Raleigh, Wife just told them that we had some baby formula in our bag. They said ok great, you go right on and board then. We could have also had liquid explosives and cocaine, but I guess we looked trustworthy enough to the RDU security crew to get the green light. The folks at the Fort Myers airport, however, take their jobs REAL serious. They pulled every single item out of our diaper bag, ran it through their bomb machine and tossed it all back in once it cleared (thankfully we’d gotten rid of the explosives and cocaine by that point). If you don’t know my wife very well, I’ll just say that she’s very “organized” and that every compartment in that diaper bag is for a VERY specific item. So 10 minutes later, after she put the bottles in the bottle pocket, the butt cream in the butt cream pocket and the random shit in the random shit pocket, we went on our way.

The flights home were fine. Susan played or slept the whole time and never cried. Then we deplaned in Raleigh, and I got the bags and left Mary and Susan at baggage claim with the bags so I could bring the car around and pick everyone up. I got the car and circled back around to the terminal, only to then find Mary clutching Susan at arm’s length in the universal “this baby just took a monster dump” hold. Mary waved me over and showed me some serious poo stains on her shorts. Susan was very proud of her work and gave me a big smile. Mary took off for the bathroom with Susan and left me with the bags. It took me three trips to get everything in the car, but it took Mary even longer to rid herself and the baby of the doodie. It turns out that Susan smuggled her own bomb through security.

Thankfully, TSA is prepared for in-flight diaper bomb emergencies.

We eventually got moving and headed back to Durham. We managed to weather the minor inconveniences with grace and dignity to this point in the journey, but the real problems started right about here. We had to pick up our dog from the vet at 6:30 p.m. SHARP, but it was only 4:30 p.m. when we left the airport. Mary Jane and I thought it would be a GREAT plan to stop by Target and get our weekly groceries while we waited, thus killing up to seven birds with one stone. As Mary would so eloquently put it later, “This was a good idea, in theory.”

I said earlier that Susan slept through the night in Florida. What I didn’t say was that she napped terribly. To a baby, naps are just as important as night sleep, and less of one or the other will eventually compound and turn your sweet happy baby into a fussy, crying siren. We failed to realize the level of sleep deprivation that Susan was dealing with, and she decided to let us know about five minutes after we finished shopping.

Literally the second that Mary Jane wheeled Susan out of Target, our baby lost it. She screamed. And screamed. And screamed. There was no soothing her. Pacifiers were powerless. Beautiful melody from mom? Might as well have cranked up Ashlee Simpson's greatest hits. A light, soothing touch? "DON’T TOUCH ME, ASSHOLE," Susan said. Then we figured if we started driving, she’d calm down. She didn’t.

At that point we still had about 45 minutes before we could get Oscar, and he was only 10 minutes down the road. So what do you do with almost an hour to kill and a screaming baby in the back seat? You drive around the Target parking lot, of course. And you drive in circles. But not regular circles. They have to be like special circles where the car doesn’t stop, but doesn’t jerk too much, either. Oh, and also, it’s Target so you’re going to have to dodge traffic and pedestrians, too.

Here is the plan my wife envisioned:

And here’s what I did:

Needless to say, I did not meet the stated goal of calming our baby. The conversation between my wife and I got steadily heated until it resembled something like this:

Baby: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

Husband: What do we do?
Wife: Just drive in circles!

Husband: I am driving in circles!

Wife: NO! Not like that!

Husband: I’m driving in circles like you said!

Wife: WHY ARE YOU STOPPING!?

Baby: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

Husband: BECAUSE THERE’S A CAR COMING AT ME!

Wife: WHY ARE YOU GOING THIS WAY!?

Husband: YOU SAID DRIVE IN A CIRCLE!

Wife: THIS ISN’T A CIRCLE!!

Husband: I CAN’T JUST DRIVE AROUND IN A CIRCLE IN THE TARGET PARKING LOT LIKE AN IDIOT!!

Wife: TURN HERE TURN HERE TURN HERE WHY DIDN’T YOU TURN THERE!!??

Baby: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

Husband: WHERE!?

Wife: BACK THERE YOU MISSED IT!!!

Husband: OK LIKE THIS??

Wife: WHY ARE YOU STOPPING!? WHY DO YOU KEEP STOPPING!!!

Baby: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

Husband: THERE ARE CARS!! THIS ISN’T GRAND THEFT AUTO!!!

Baby: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

Wife: IF YOU WENT OVER THERE LIKE I TOLD YOU TO, THERE WOULDN’T BE ANY CARS!!!

Baby: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

Husband: SCREW THIS WE’RE STEALING THE DOG AND GOING HOME

So we probably lost our cool a bit, but I think we did great under the circumstances. In all honesty, the whole scene could have been avoided if I'd followed my wife's instructions from the get-go, but I digress. Susan screamed the entire way home until we got her out of her car seat and into the house. It was like everything she was supposed to do on the plane – and for some reason didn’t – she saved up for the last two hours of the trip.

In the end, she really just experienced what we've all felt at one time or another, which is that coming home from vacation sucks. So let's be honest...all three of us were all feeling it; Susan was just the one who said something about it.

Mom: Susan's First Vacation - Part 2 - Enjoying Naples

For this part of the post, I am just going to do a photo dump.  The vacation went really well!  We had a great time.  Susan's naps were a little off, but she still managed to sleep through the night for most of the vacation.  One night we had to have a "special treat" and she didn't fall asleep until 10:30 p.m. but you can chalk that up to parent error.

One thing we both learned is that as Susan's parents, it really is our responsibility to speak for her.  When she was 6 weeks old or even 10 weeks old, she could go out later in the evening and nap almost anywhere.  Now that she is older, her bed time is around 8 p.m. and she likes for us to stick pretty close to that.  It makes going out to dinner with her a little tricky, but it can be done.  It is our job, though, as her parents to remind everyone else that while she is flexible, she is still a baby and likes to stay on her routine.  When it's time to wind down before a nap or before bed, that means little to no stiumlation so that she stays relaxed.  But it was a good lesson to learn.

All in all, it was a wonderful trip!  As you can see from the photos below, Susan had a great time!

Susan in her swimsuit and hat

Just relaxin' on the beach

In the ocean!

Having a great time on the beach!

Fine dining with her Uncle Philip



Her new favorite toy we found at the condo



Playing in the condo while it rained

With great grandmother Gig

With her great grandparents, Gig and Papa

With mom and dad on the deck

Smiling in her pretty white dress

Chris will be blogging tomorrow about what happened on Sunday (departure day) and what happens when Susan basically has no naps.

Mom: Susan's First Vacation - Part 1 - Arrival Day

Last week, we took Susan to Naples, Florida for her first real vacation.  She actually went to Charleston when she was 6 weeks old for a quick visit, but that doesn't really count.  She was still a newborn!  Very different from the alert, active and involved baby that she is now!

Anyway, we were very prepared.  I read up on all this tips for flying with an infant and how to make the trip enjoyable for her.  The main reasons that babies scream and cry on the airplane is because their ears are bothering them.  So the trick is to feed them if it appears that their ears are going to bug them.

Our flight left at 2 p.m. on Tuesday.  We were flying Southwest from Raleigh to Orlando and  then Orlando to Florida.  I wanted to make sure we had plenty of time to get through security (especially since we overpacked by about 3 bags - lesson learned there.)  Chris dropped us and the bags off at the terminal and left to park to the car.  Susan was napping in her carseat but woke up fairly quickly.  She and I started playing.  Once Chris arrived, we inserted Susan into the new Britax baby carrier (Chris will have to blog later about his new love for our new baby carrier) and we made our way to Check-In. 

Once at the booth, we gave the Southwest Lady our preprinted boarding passes and this is how it went from there.

SW Lady:  Is she flying in her carrier?

Me:  No, she will be sitting in our laps.

SW Lady:  Alright.  I need her birth certificate.

Me:  Um, we don't have that with us.  (UM, "we" haven't walked the three blocks from our downtown office building to even pick it up yet.)

SW Lady:  You really need to be in the habit of bringing something with you with her name and date of birth on it when you travel with her.  That is our policy.

Me:  Ok....

SW Lady:  Ok so what is her name and date of birth?

Obviously, this was a SUPER strict policy.  NOT.  And thanks for the lecture SW Lady.  I love Southwest, but she was just a tad bit rude.  I am sure we looked a sight with the 4 month old strapped in the carrier and our 9 bajillion bags behind us.  But come on.

Anyway, we got Susan a lap boarding pass and made our way to security.  I was all prepared to be pulled aside because we had so many questionable things in our diaper bag.  I even told the guys at security "I have formula, medicines, and other baby items in this bag."  The guy just smiled, said ok and put everything through the scanner.  I guess they weren't too concerned about bombs in our stuff.

Once we reached the gate area, we had lunch.  Susan played in the carrier and basked in all the attention she was getting.  After lunch, I took her to the bathroom for a quick diaper change.  After this, she started getting  a bit sleepy.  And cranky.  So I held and swayed her at the gate and she immediately passed out. 

So far, this is pretty awesome!

Sleepy girl!

We were allowed to board early with this flight.  It was practically empty.  We snagged a seat near the very back (everyone else was about ten rows in front) and settled in.  I had read it was good to be close to the bathroom in case of an incident.  Susan stayed asleep until the flight attendants began  shutting the overhead bins.  She woke up a little after that.  But she still kept dozing.  As the plane began to take off, her eyes got HUGE as the engines started.  I was holding her and Chris was armed with a small bottle of formula (a 2 oz. nursette.) So I just started talking to her and telling her that it was okay.  And she didn't make a sound.  She kept trying to fall back asleep.  But then the attendants kept walking by with drinks and finally she woke up.

AND SHE HAD A BLAST.  Seriously, she woke up and started playing, smiling and just having a ball.  We couldn't believe it!  We were so prepared for her to just lose it on the plane!  But she didn't!  We even fed her at 3 for her regular bottle.  She took the whole thing and had great burps.  Thankfully, she didn't have any movements. 

This is so awesome!!!

Why were my parents so worried?

Surprise face!!!

Once we landed in Orlando, we knew she was pretty tired.  So Chris put her in the carrier facing his chest and we went off to the food court for a snack and celebratory vacation beer.  But Susan wasn't having it.  She is just so alert and aware now.  And she  wants to be able to see it all!  When she was younger, she had no problem just dropping off anywhere.  But now its a little harder for her to block out all the stimulation.  After our snack, we made our way to the gate and she started getting fussy.

Our second and last flight was short - only 30 minutes.  And it was FULL.  We grabbed a seat in the back again, just in case.  And Susan started getting cranky.  It was super hot and taking everyone WAY too long to board.  And everyone kept passing our row like we were lepers.  Eventually, I started swaying with her and that seemed to help.  As the plane began to take off, she finally fell asleep.  (Chris was still armed with a bottle just in case.)  She slept for the entire flight and woke up after we landed.

Once we landed, we made a beeline towards that baggage claim.  We knew my brother was waiting (we hadn't seen him since April) and I couldn't wait to see him.  And Susan was fine.  She was fine until it was time to get in her car seat.  By this time, it was about 7:00 p.m. which is usually when she has her last bottle of the day.  My grandparents keep two cars in Naples and my parents had driven both to the airport to pick us up.  They had already installed the car seat base in the CRV so Susan,  Chris and I piled in.  I decided to sit in the back with her (something I quit doing after she was about a week old - and after we bought the mirror so we could find the paceys and insert them if she needed them)  She was fine until we were about 15 minutes away from the condo.  Then she had had enough.  She was hungry and tired.  So I started feeding her in the car.

Riding to the car.  Right before Susan lost it.

 
Once we arrived at the condo, she finished her bottle and went straight for the bath.  After a somewhat strange bath (she is used to her little tub and Chris had to hold her up while I bathed her in my grandparents super deep tub) we put her to bed.  She was in bed by 8:30, only a little bit later than she is used too!

All in all, Chris and I were so proud of her!  She was amazing!  I have decided I don't want to win the lottery anymore.  Because we somehow won the baby lottery.   And that is all I need!