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Jan 29 2013

Feeding My Daughter Bathtub Peanut Butter

By at 2:37 pm

Our 16-month-old daughter has always been on the low end of the weight percentile scales for her age. She dipped down to 0-3% a few months ago, but averages around 9%. She’s normal if not a tad above average for her height.

She’s a noodle. We get really excited when she moves up a diaper size. She’s up to size 4. As if I didn’t have enough to be anxious about as a new mom, the percentile game added a number value to my self-perceived success as a parent. Though a bit underweight, the doctors assure us that she is doing just great developmentally, and suggest we mix butter into her food to get some extra calories into her. Read the rest of this entry →

May 3 2012

Help! My Baby’s On a Hunger Strike

By at 3:03 pm

picky eater babyYou all know that I’m a third time mom, completely enamored with Baby G.

Except for one thing.

For the past week or so, this kid’s entire eating ethos has totally changed. It’s no longer the blissful, “Here comes the train!” bird-feeding like endeavor it was a week ago. Now, every meal is a war. She turns her head away from incoming spoons with horror. The ground is strewn with the hopeless carcasses of Cheerios, small noodles, what have you–fruitless attempts at finger food. Out of nowhere, she looks down on baby food jars–even sweet potatoes, once the sure-fire end-all and be-all meal of champions–with something closely resembling disgust. It’s a little foreshadowing of the look I’m going to get in 12 years, when she yells, “I HATE YOU! You RUINED MY LIFE!” and slams the door in my face.

Ahem. Back to our present day eating dilemma. Read the rest of this entry →

Jun 27 2011

My Nervous Breakdown. Let Me Show It To You.

By at 2:19 pm

So, in order to throw a little more excitement into the equation–because Heaven Forfend we should only deal with one crisis at a time–I stopped sleeping.

At first, it wasn’t anything I could control. The kids were waking up. Like constantly: Little Homie for boob and a mini-monologue about his preference for the left breast over the right, and M. for a litany of desires including but not limited to:

Ima!!!” (again with the Ima? Can’t you just call me Mama!) Ani rotsah lirot et Cinderella!  I want to see Cinderella!”  (At 1:46, and 3:32, and 4:51 in the morning. Now if she had asked to see Arrested Development or Weeds, I might be down.)

For the first two weeks, I was exhausted. Like, body slammed against the wall, shooting extra-shot latte straight into my veins to keep my eyes open exhausted. While normally, I’d have taken a little nappy nap after ditching the kids at gan and woken up just fine thank you, Little Homie and M. were taking turns playing catch with a few nasty viruses, so they were home.

For 10 days.

(B. works during the day, and as a freelance writer, I have the flexibility (oh joy!) to be home with the kids when they’re sick. Which is exactly what happens. A lot. )

Mama nappy-nap fail.

And then, as soon as their fevers broke M. started getting stomach aches. So she stayed home some more, lying on the couch, reading books, watching Sound of Music, (and making a miraculous recovery every afternoon when B. would take her to the kibbutz swimming pool). Read the rest of this entry →

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