Newest Nilsen

1. Ollie is a little person. Like a REAL little person. He understands things. He communicates. He knows and remembers. And just this week he said a real sentence using words, sounds, and signs. He put together a complete thought the only way he knew how and I understood him. He held up a car, made the sign for “thank you”, said “MiMi”, and then “Broom-broom.” Which meant that he said thank you to his Grandmom for the car that she bought him last week. Such a beautiful moment for me.

2. I love the dopey grin that spreads across Ollie’s face each time he hears one of his favorite songs. And then he starts in with the hand flailing and deep knee bends. Totally stealing my dance moves…

3. Why is it that I finally feel like a woman when I have shaved legs, curled hair, and mascara on? And more importantly, what does that make me for the other 29 days out of the month? A mammoth? A man?

4. I probably kiss Ollie a hundred times a day without even realizing it. Mostly on the top of his head. That is my love language. So, I will probably be sad when he is older and shrugs me away cause I embarrass him. I know it’s coming. It’s just so hard to find ways to say “I love you” that don’t involve big sloppy kisses. And he’s just so kissable!

5. Since the movie Cars (by Pixar) has come out, the are now many toy cars in the stores that have names. Ollie owns two of those cars, and the rest of his cars are…well….just boring, unnamed cars. But this is not okay with him. He has requested that they ALL be named. So I have done my best to oblige. However, this exercise has made me realize that I am a dreadfully boring person. What made me think “blue car” and “number 9″ we’re good names?

6. For some reason, Ollie usually has a “wet dog” smell after his baths. And I can’t figure out why seeing as I use all the yummy baby lotions and potions…

7. He also has boat feet.

8. The other day I asked Ollie, “Who drives a bus?” to which he replied, “MiMi” (which she does). Then I asked, “Who drives a truck?” to which he replied, “Papa” (which he does). I asked, “Who drives a car?” and got, “Mama” (which I do). I then when out on a limb and asked, “Who drives me crazy?!” and without skipping a beat he quietly uttered, “Me.” So true my child. So true.

9. I heart Wegmans. Like really, really heart it. It’s a magical land where they hand you snacks and smiles while you shop. I randomly went there last Saturday (with Ollie) to pick up a few things for dinner and I was greeted by life-sized smiling vegetables holding balloons. Ollie got free grilled cheese, a smoothie, and a fake tattoo. Seriously my favorite place on earth. I will no longer grocery shop anywhere else.

10. Regardless of how difficult or how easy my days are, I need to remember to be thankful for my family every day. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

Whipped cream and strawberries for dessert!

My turtle hat!

Mr. Cool

There are so many things to report as of late. First off, it’s been so long since my last post that Ollie’s haircut, which is what I last posted about, has now grown out again. So its been a while. And I’ve decided not to hold myself to blogging deadlines or expectations anymore. Being a full-time mom is enough work for me…so I’ll blog when I can. And that’s that.

About fifteen minutes away is an area of our town called Constant Friendship. I’ve passed it a million times but the other day I actually read the sign and thought about it…constant friendship. It kind of sums up my current mom status. I have a constant friend. Everyday. Every minute. Ollie is my constant companion. My constant sidekick. I don’t eat alone. I don’t pee alone. I’m not alone. Except during naptime. But even then, I’m not alone. At first, this was really hard to get used to. The freedom to come and go whenever I wanted had been completely compromised. I found that I needed to ask permission to do the things that I never thought I would need to. Asking for a shower was a big deal in the early months of motherhood. There wasn’t much I could do without asking someone for help. Which I truly suck at. I thought it was because I was a nursing mother. I thought that my boobs were the reason that I was so tethered to this kid. But I later came to the realization that that was not it. And as time has ticked on, I have come to embrace my constant friend in an amazing way. I actually look forward to seeing his little face every morning when he wakes up. Surprisingly, I miss him when I am away (even for short periods of time), and I often wonder what he is doing, eating, etc. And when we are together…we have a good rhythm. Because he’s my constant friend. And I don’t ever have to be alone. Now does this mean that I have lost the desire to be truly alone at times? Hardly. It’s just that somewhere in the craziness of being a stay-at-home-mom, I’ve come to treasure the fact that I get to have a sidekick. I’m Batman. And he’s my Robin.

And as far as what my Robin is into these days…well… He loves spoons. And cars. He usually has one of those two items in one or both of his hands at all times. Ironically, he isn’t a big eater. He just really enjoys the utensils. But cars are truly the current love of his short-lived life. He points out cars when we are out driving, so the majority of our rides are filled with emphatic “Broom-brooms!” (he can’t actually say the word “car” yet) from the backseat. The toy car has become a staple in our home as well, and most days I narrowly escape death as I navigate the gauntlet of wheeled vehicles strewn about my kitchen floor. And if that wasn’t enough, my mom (“Mimi” to Ollie) has been a school bus driver for over 20 years and has proudly given Ollie a number of bus books and toys. Now, whenever he sees buses on our street (which is EVERYDAY, multiple TIMES a day), he shouts, “MIMI! MIMI!!” thinking she is driving every single one. He stops playing to watch car commercials. And when I ask him if he wants to go to the gym with me, he immediately responds with, “Broom-broom!” because he likes to play with the toy cars in the daycare there. I can’t quite remember when this happened. When his love for spoons and cars developed. But all of the sudden, he’s become a junkie…and I’m his dealer.

It kinda makes me wonder what my “thing” was as a kid. What toys was I obsessed with at this age? And as I ponder that, I am off to go pick up the spoons and cars that are scattered throughout my home, so I can wake up tomorrow and redistribute them as needed.

And if you don’t believe me…watch this!

After just over 16 months of life, it was time. Ollie needed a haircut. So after much deliberation and a little internet research, I whisked my tiny ball of wild curls to a local establishment (that shall remain nameless) where I could get the job done. When we walked in, the place was completely dead – almost like a sad, deserted fairground. I’m sure it would have been awesome if there was any life in the walls, but sadly, there was not. And Ollie was definitely picking up on the somewhat creepy vibe, because I felt him slowly move in closer and gently wrap his arm around my knee as if to say, “Hey Ma…maybe we should get outta here…” The intended concept for this place was colorful and fun, chocked full of animal faces and zany fonts (which I could only imagine was to aid in distraction from the actual hair-cutting), but it was all poorly executed. For one, there was hair EVERYWHERE (which is sort of understandable) and it looked dirty and unkempt. The helium balloons at each cutting station were faded and losing air as quickly as Ollie was losing confidence. There were cardboard boxes stacked on the floor, old tattered signs and decorations, and VERY outdated TVs running VERY outdated movies. The older woman who greeted me seemed to be running the whole show as there was no other sign of life in the place. Her hair was badly colored (I would call it “creamsicle”) and her skin had a very unnatural quality. After signing us in (why?) she took us back to the first chair and asked me to sit in it with Ollie in my lap. This was one aspect of their system that I really liked, seeing as Ollie almost always does better with me than complete strangers. She clothed me in a smock as if I was one getting the haircut, and then wrapped some of it around Ollie’s upper body, fastening it with a hair clip. Once the crying and fidgeting began, he was out from under the smock in no time…and so was I. The next five minutes were filled with scenes from Disney’s The Little Mermaid (and they just happened to be some of the scarier scenes in the film – FAIL), Ollie’s screams and wails echoing throughout the empty store, my reassuring coos in a desperate attempt to get my son under control and hold on to an ounce of my dignity, tufts of hair flying everywhere – sticking all over my fleece jacket, my corduroy diaper bag, Ollie’s entire outfit and mine, and so on. Oh, and during this crazy process I was finally able to put my finger on why our hair-woman’s skin looked so funny. It was an over use of self-tanner, given my peeks at her vibrantly orange palms. To her credit, she did a good job, and she did it fast. I could tell that she wasn’t a rookie in the business. So I was thankful for that at least.

Once I wiped the tears off my newly-trimmed munchkin, I gathered my hair-covered belongings, paid our bill, and slipped out the door, heaving a sigh of relief. As we walked away, hand-in-hand, I decided that the next time this needs to be done, I will most likely be doing it myself at home. I’m pretty sure Johnny and I can recreate a similar experience. And we can do it for free.

Ok, my dear blog readers…I imagine that after my exponentially long holiday hiatus that you’ll all be expecting some kind of holiday catch up post where I will talk about how delicious our turkey was, how much Ollie enjoyed the holidays with family, the number of gifts Ollie received, just how much sugar I consumed in the last two months, etc., etc. But in the true spirit of Sabrina, I would much rather start off 2012 right…with an awkward and controversial topic. Because let’s be honest…it’s a tad more interesting than detailing the specifics of my first fruitcake sampling (in a word: Blech). So let’s return to boobs, shall we?

By next week, Oliver will have reached the ripe old age of 16 months. He is growing and changing faster than we can follow…but it is so exciting to watch! While he has graduated to a big boy carseat, big boy clothes, and big boy foods, he has still managed to hold on to his favorite baby past time…breastfeeding. I have been extremely fortunate to be able to nurse Ollie at all, let alone this long, and I fully realize that. I know the amazing benefits of breast milk and the positive outcomes that result from extended nursing – but this Mama is tired. I considered weaning Ollie around his first birthday, having put in what I thought was more than enough time for him to receive all the breast-milky goodness. Ollie, however, had different plans. He not only showed no signs of weaning at 12 months, but he was refusing nearly every other kind of milk (and even juice) that I would offer him in place of nursing. He wasn’t even interested in pumped milk from a bottle or sippy. I felt trapped.

If you ask anyone in my family about the measure of my patience, they will most likely laugh and respond, “What patience?” So, you can imagine my *strong* desire to expedite the weaning. But I just couldn’t quit cold turkey…I couldn’t do that to my boy seeing as he was still so strongly attached to the boob (both literally and figuratively). Eventually, I decided on a slow approach, dropping one feeding at a time over the course of months. Which he was not entirely happy about, but he eventually SLOWLY came around.

Throughout this process I’ve had TONS of input about whether my choice to wean is right or wrong. I’d get into conversations with friends, family, acquaintances, and sometimes even strangers about how they thought it was weird to nurse a kid for so long. Some would even say, “Yeah…I just saw this Mom breastfeeding her kid at the mall the other day…and he was like…walking…and talking! Can you believe that?! That’s just gross.” While others, upon hearing that I was still nursing, would scrunch up their noses and grimace, “Really?! Oh.” And sometimes, as a mom, it is hard to block those voices out. And I began to feel like a creepy mom who was nursing a ten year old or something. It didn’t feel good. And I let this sway me into thinking, “Yeah kid. This is getting uncomfortable…you know, for strangers. So, we’ve got to wean you!” And then I would turn around and read an article or talk to other family members or friends that would be totally supportive of nursing to age two and beyond. And THOSE folks had some really convincing arguments too. And then I would think, “Well, he’s not hurting anybody by continuing to nurse. Maybe we can keep going a little longer. I mean, who cares if people think I’m creepy? It’s not like he’s 16.”

But at the end of the day, when I thought about just US – just ME and OLLIE – I decided that it was time to very gradually begin the process. For one, Ollie has molars. And yikes! Being bitten in that area by an almost full set of teeth feels a lot like getting kicked in the balls (or so being kicked in the balls has been explained to me). Two, I really desire to have my body be my own again for a little while. I gave a solid 9-10 months to pregnancy and then 16 months to nursing. And before I commit to having a second little bundle of joy, I’d really like some time to have my body be my own – just for a little while. Otherwise, I am considering charging rent for future baby number two. Third, Ollie is now making great progress with his eating and drinking of “big boy” food and seems to be at the point where nursing is just a comfort that he enjoys. So, because I am not a heartless wretch, I am making it a point to continue our sweet snuggle times throughout the day so that he knows that I am still his Mama and that I am by no means going anywhere.

So as of today, we are down to only nursing in the morning and at bedtime. Next week will more than likely be when I start to phase out the morning feedings, and then the nights will follow in the weeks after that. I am feeling confident about my decision, though I still waffle back and forth sometimes after I talk to others. In the end, my message here is simply that it’s important to do what’s right for you and your baby, regardless of what the world has to say about it. I hope that other mothers out there reading this will not feel judged nor judge me based on what’s written here. As always, I find it important to share the honesty in my story in hopes that someone will be encouraged. It’s SOOOOOOOOO not easy being a mom (or dad for that matter), but it is easy to constantly second guess yourself and wonder if you are doing or have done the “right” thing. I must be reminded daily to be gentle on myself and my son as this is a huge learning process for both of us.

Until next time, dear friends, may your hearts be happy. And may your boobs be…well…whatever you need them to be!

Who in the world has the time to blog during the holidays? Not this girl. Forgive my tardiness. I’ll be back in action soon.

What can I say? I just love this little face.

1. I’ve eaten a lot of baby food this year. Between setting a good example for my son (Mmmmm, don’t you want to try this?!), avoiding wasted food, and sometimes just jonesing for a puréed snack…I’ve definitely had a good amount of it. At least most is pretty low cal.

2. Brushing Ollie’s teeth has become quite a chore. He doesn’t like it all that much. So, most nights I simply choose not to brush them. My logic is that these little ones are just gonna fall out anyway. That’s bad, right?

3. I can NOT cut Ollie’s hair. It is too precious. And I am so afraid that once I cut it his adorable curls won’t come back. But if one more person in the grocery store calls him a girl…

4. Ollie is very helpful around the house. His latest favorite chore is unpacking bags. He unpacks my grocery bags by chucking each item over his shoulder as he pulls it out of the bag. It’s super cute to watch until he grabs for the carton of eggs.

5. And this week, after spending a romantic weekend away with my husband, Ollie helped me unpack my overnight bag. Also very cute until I turned around to find him playing with condoms. Oy.

6. Not sure where Ollie picked this up, but instead of saying “no” with a long “o” sound, he says “noo” (like “moo”) with a slight British accent.

7. When I spend the night at my folks’ house with Ollie, we share the same room. So when he stirs in the middle of the night, it is extremely important that I don’t move around in bed or else he will realize that I am there and cry for me. So, when this happens, I end up literally holding my breath until he falls back to sleep on his own. Last time I damn near passed out.

8. I’m so glad that Ollie’s baby book has finally gotten out of the month by month updates. Don’t get me wrong, I think it is so great that I will remember so many of his firsts because of this accurate method of record-keeping. But as of late, I’ve gotten very weary of transcribing his every fart.

9. I should be more of a germaphobe I guess, but I’m not. I read an article recently about the dirtiest places that we come in contact with everyday – mailboxes, escalator rails, ATMs, etc. I realize that germs are dangerous – but if Ollie can’t hit the ATM, he won’t have cash for bingo night.

10. Before having my own kid, I used to love to listen to mothers talk to their very young children. I could never understand what it was that they were saying, but it was so cool how the mother always could. And I would think, It will be so great to understand my own child’s unique way of speaking when I’m a Mom. Yeah, about that…I have been racking my brain for a week trying to figure out what the heck a “doot” is…and I’ve still got nothing.

At current, Oliver has about 4 or 5 main words in his vocabulary, but interestingly enough there is only ONE of those words that actually holds meaning for him. Much to our dismay, that word is neither Mama nor Dada, though he can say both. No, the word that is so often cruising from his lips these days is a reflection of his deepest and most treasured passion to date. It is a word that he gleefully screams in the produce department at our local Wegmans, the produce department at our local Target, the produce department at our local Safeway, and as of late, the counter at our local Starbucks. So what is the big mystery word, you ask? Nana…which is short for Banana. At every meal time and throughout the day when I invite him to the kitchen, the first word exclaimed is Nana! He loves them just that much. I swear, this kid could spot a banana at 100 paces. He has such a knack for finding them that I couldn’t possibly believe that he was actually saying the word banana until I would turn and see them on the other side of his outstretched pointer finger. He has even begun melding the word with my name so that when I ask, “Ollie, what’s my name?” he replies, “Ma-nana.” I’m not entirely sure how to take this. At any rate, it is so wonderful to see him using language even if it is squawking out Nana in every banana-wielding public place. And because we are so proud of our little guy, we are happy to fork over banana after banana as he asks for them…which has seemed to have stopped his lower intestines from working all together…but that is another day’s post.

In other news, I experienced such a sweet moment the other day. Back in college, when Johnny and I were singing together in our band, we used to get all kinds of comments about how lucky our future children would be that they get to be serenaded by such talented parents. I would politely blush and think, Yea, that will be such a cool thing to sing our baby to sleep every night and write him tons of sweet little songs on guitar. But what I didn’t know then was just how busy we would be as parents, and just how few times we would chose playing music over any other host of daily activities (i.e. eating, showering, zoning out in front of the TV…). We certainly play and sing together a lot less than we used to. But a few nights ago, as I was getting Ollie into the tub for his nightly bath, my ears perked up at the sound of Johnny softly playing guitar in the next room. I yelled for him to come join us in the bathroom…and to bring his guitar. I’m sure it may have sounded odd, but he did as I asked and perched himself on the sink while I sat on the edge of the tub. He began playing some old familiar songs and as if no time had past at all, the lyrics began to melt off my tongue. Ollie halted all bathtub shenanigans at the sound of us. He sat and watched Johnny play. He looked up at me a few times with inquisitive eyes and a few tiny smiles. He sat perfectly still for quite a while (which, if you were a regular bath time spectator, you’d find unbelievably odd). I’m not sure how Johnny felt about all of it, but for me, it was one of the sweetest moments of motherhood to date. A prophecy fulfilled, you might say.

Sometimes it’s the simplest little things that make you smile.

I imagine that when the child sleep experts coined the term “cry it out”, that they didn’t mean me. As in, I should not be the one crying all night. And yet, there I was, in a sobbing heap on the floor in Ollie’s room while he peered down at me from the rails of his crib, whimpering and wondering why I was so upset at 3:00am. If you’re reading this and feeling confused, you should be. I bet you’re thinking, Didn’t she already do sleep training? I did. And wasn’t Ollie sleeping through the night? He was. So how did we get here? Great question.

So, the first time I sleep trained Ollie, I used the Pantley method or “The No-Cry Sleep Solution”, which was helpful and did seem to work in only a few short nights. However, it is an extremely slow and progressive plan that involves continued strides toward phasing out parental involvement at bed time. But I’m an impatient person. And when I saw that he was more or less sleeping through the night in the early stages of this whole plan, I got lax. I didn’t follow the rest of the plan. I continued to rock him to sleep during nap time. I continued to bring him into bed with us when we traveled (since he was unfamiliar with his surroundings), and as his good habits dwindled, so did my consistent routine. I slowly began rocking him to sleep again on nights where I just didn’t feel like bending over his crib and working with him to fall asleep on his own. And before I knew it, he was waking again at night, and I was rocking and nursing on demand all over again. So the amazing things that happened in two months, were COMPLETELY undone in only one. Now, as a sidebar, Ollie did come down with a crazy cold virus and slight ear infection around his birthday, so that certainly complicated things. Since he was very congested and couldn’t breathe, I did tend to him as needed because I knew he wasn’t feeling well. But ultimately, after about a month, I found myself on the floor, in the middle of the night, burnt out, beyond frustrated, and soaked in my own tears.

Last week was particularly bad. In the mornings, I could only describe my nights to my husband as “medieval torture” – it was just that bad. Not only was he waking up a few times a night, but he was STAYING up. For HOURS. He would sleep for five hours and then be awake for three. And then sleep another four or five. Not restful. For any of us. And Johnny, bless his heart, even with his crazy travel schedule and overwhelming workload, pitched in as often as I asked (which last week was pretty often). We were both running on fumes all day and it was neither productive nor pleasant.

When he left for his business trip this past Tuesday, I was nervous. But thankfully, my wonderful aunt had taken off work and planned to come stay with me while he was gone. The first night she was here was my breaking point. Ollie and I were up for FOUR hours (from 1:30 to 5:30) and I completely LOST it. He was certainly feeling better by this week, and from what I could tell was not in any distress or pain. He just wanted to be with me. And wasn’t okay with the fact that I didn’t want to be with him during those ungodly hours! In the morning, to my relief, I found out that my aunt didn’t hear us at all that night. But she could tell that I had had enough. So she suggested the very thing I have had in the back of my mind since Ollie was four months old. Cry. It. Out.

Now back when I was a glowing pregnant lady, with no real children rearing experience, I had made up my mind that I would not sleep train, and I certainly would not let my precious baby cry in his crib all night. How inhumane! I thought. Certainly, MY baby will learn to sleep on his own and I will never have to do that. I mean, how long can a kid really go without learning to sleep through the night? I almost want to laugh in Pregnant Sabrina’s face. She didn’t know jack. One-Year-In Sabrina is a bit more knowledgeable and a LOT more experienced in this department. So, having tried all else that I could up until this point…I agreed that it was time to let my baby cry.

The first night was hard. It was really hard. But my aunt sat by my side while my sweet baby screamed, reminding me that I wasn’t hurting him, that I was still a good mother, and that I was teaching him something important. She wouldn’t let me watch him on the video monitor, but instead, kept an eye on him herself. I checked on him at increasing intervals to let him know that I loved him and he was okay. She waited with me for 45 minutes until my poor, tired, raspy-voiced boy finally succumbed and went to sleep. I exhaled. He woke only once that night, at which point my aunt joined me again for 45 minutes, until he went back to sleep. And we didn’t hear from him again until 9am. When I went in to get him in the morning, I have to admit that I felt a little bad. I was reading all kinds of things into his big-eyed stare. Was he mad at me? Did he resent me for leaving him? But ultimately, he still reached out his arms for me. He still leaned in close for morning kisses and snuggles. He still played and smiled all day, like nothing had happened the night before. He even fell asleep ON HIS OWN at nap time, only crying for a total of 3 minutes. Night two was even better, with only a minute and a half of crying before he fell asleep, waking only twice during the night for two short ten minute whimpers. And I’m happy to report that night three (tonight) went almost as well, with him only crying for 12 minutes at bedtime. I’m beyond pleased that we are moving back in the right direction, and that this time, mommy is sticking to her guns.

So, I hope that this post comes across the way I intended it. Only as my story and nothing more. I’m sure that some will disagree with my methods. But as always, each family is different. Each child is different. And parents need to make the choices that work best for their family and their situation. I am just amazingly happy to be getting some much needed sleep once again.

This is a strange post to write. I began this blog shortly after I found out I was pregnant with Ollie, and it is such a strange and wonderful feeling to be posting about Ollie’s first birthday party. The year absolutely flew by. Faster than I could catch it. Even some of the hard things about motherhood, which should have seemed like they’d last forever, have also somehow made only a small blip on the radar. It’s been an amazing and challenging year, full of more joy than I can even begin to describe. Oliver has gone from a tiny, wrinkly, little guy, who couldn’t do much, to a walking, babbling, giggling BOY. I look at him and think How is this not a miraculous work of God? His sweet personality is shining through more each day and Johnny and I are just drinking him in. I still can’t believe we made him. ::sniff::

So to celebrate this anniversary of his birth, we had a couple parties (and we’re still having one more!). Here are some pictures from Ollie’s big day. I doubt he will remember the flavor of the cake (vanilla with rainbow sprinkles) or the fun theme (surfing) or the outfit he wore (luau shorts!), but my hope is that he will look back someday and see all the people that surrounded him with love, who drove great distances and went to great lengths to make his birthday special, and smile knowing he was the reason for it all.

Hey! The cake's on fire, Ma!

What? Was I not supposed to do this?

And here is a bonus photo that Johnny took of Ollie at the park on his first birthday…