My sort-of kid

About five years ago, my husband Stormy and I decided it was time to have children of our own. It didn't take long for me to get pregnant, but our happy plans were spectacularly dashed, and eventually we learned that it was very unlikely that I would ever be able to carry our children to term.

That was devastating.

When George was pregnant with Gaz, we joked a lot about me becoming Auntie Lisa, and when it was time for George to go back to work, my own freelance work schedule made it very easy to slip into that role. I had no idea how profoundly my life would change.

Gaz isn't my niece, really, and she isn't my daughter either, but she is my sort-of kid. Three days a week, on average, I get the enormous privilege of being one of her parents. We have our own rhythms and routines, our own jokes, our own games. When she naps next to me, she reaches out to me in her sleep. When I walk in the door, she bounces and giggles excitedly until I get my coat off and pick her up for a hug.

I thought this relationship with Gaz would be a little sad for me, because she's not my daughter and I don't know if I'll ever get to meet the daughter in my heart, but that's not the case at all. Gaz isn't a stand-in for the child I don't have. She's her own person and a very special member of my family. I will always be her Auntie Lisa, and we will always have each other, no matter what.

Thanks Gaz, for being my sort-of kid. And thanks George and Mitch, for adopting me into your family.

I love you guys! ::grin::

It's all about the earplugs

At various times in my life, I have been a caregiver for other peoples' children. I've learned a lot and had a lot of fun, but the most important thing I've learned is how to be mean.

Let's face it, children cry. They cry about lots of things - bumped knees, teasing on the playground, brushing their teeth. As adults, it's our job to figure out why they are crying and what needs to be done about it. That's the easy part.

The hard part is when they cry because they don't want to do something we know they really need to do, or because we won't let them do something that we know is a bad thing. For those moments, you need earplugs, and the guts to be mean. (There is nothing so terrible to one's ego than being called mean by a child. I'm serious - I've had terrible relationship breakups that were less painful.)

You cannot make a child stop crying. You can distract them, cuddle them, soothe them, make it stop hurting, make it stop being scary - but ultimately, you cannot make them stop crying. So stick in those earplugs and move along with whatever it is they have to do.

I'm lucky with Gaz. She doesn't have that particular pitch of jet plane howl that would force me to break out the earplugs. I can just set the TV to closed captioning and ignore it, or strap her into the bouncy chair and leave the room for a few minutes if I really need a break. She's a happy baby and really doesn't cry that often or for that long.

But right now she DOES NOT WANT THE BOTTLE. In any form - bottle, sippy cup, or other milk-giving mechanism. Nope, nuh-uh, not gonna have it. So she cries, because she's a baby and that's really the only way she can express her annoyance.

I sympathise, really I do. Her little gums hurt, and anything not as soft as Mom's breast hurts them more. Her little teeth hurt my fingers, so I'm trying to convince her that we don't really need to break out the supplemental feeder and attach it to my finger. But I'm the adult, and I know that she needs to eat even when Mom's not around to nurse.

So yesterday we spent most of the day crying and rocking. Me, rocking and holding a bottle or sippy cup in her mouth, and her crying and resisting it. There were many breaks for cuddling and soothing and naps and playing, but still. It was rough. I hate to cause her so much distress.

We did discover that the gum pain is not so bad as to wake her if she sucks in her sleep, so the most successful feeding was accomplished while she slept. This is very good, if hard on my arms. Holding a bottle in perfect feeding position for an hour and a half may well qualify as torture under the Geneva Conventions. I think I'll work on making a bottle suspender system to take the weight off.

Grandma and Grampa, thank you so much for helping out while I went on vacation! We had a perfectly wonderful time visiting with my family and friends, and I'm so glad we got to take one last vacation before Stormy heads for the wilds of Seattle. Gaz sends you cuddles and smiles!

It had to happen sometime...

Not ten minutes after I thought, "Gee, Gaz hasn't pooped much at all today. Maybe she's saving it all for Mom and Dad tonight," it happened. I'd just fed her, so I waited through the first one. Yup, there's more. Ok, I'll wait till the next commercial and change her then.

Suddenly, all heck broke loose. She overflowed the diaper, and then my lap too. All over herself, me, and the couch. Even the size 3 diapers could not contain the wrath of Gaz. ::sigh::

To make matters worse, I had shorts in my stash of emergency clothes, but not pants. Fortunately Roger was giving me a ride home today, and was kind enough to bring me pants.

The moral of this story? Put a cloth diaper under her butt for feeding, as well as under her chin. Baby goo can come from both ends. You have been warned.