Weaning baby girl was easy, from a logistical standpoint. I was already pregnant again. I went through a couple of months both being pregnant and nursing, and my milk supply just dwindled down to nothing all on its own. We made it to 14 months. Letting it go was hard, but I knew I had another little one on the way, that the baby growing inside deserved the uncontested resources of my body, that I'd be nursing again soon enough.
But this time is different. There's no new baby on the way. My supply is fine. We've been nursing only morning and night for a couple of months now, and it's easy. First thing in the morning. Then again right before bath time. And honestly, I like that I've been able to go longer this time. Little man turned 15 months over the weekend, and I'd love to be able to say that we went 16 months, or 18 months.
But I'm wondering if I'm just getting the itch for a break. I've been either pregnant or nursing for more than 3.5 years. That's how long it's been since I've had my body to myself. And with my new photography business, of course the prime time for summer sessions is right through bedtime. I've been lucky that I've been able to schedule morning sessions for the most part, but do I want to keep being restricted like that? And if I have to drive to San Antonio or Houston or Dallas for a session, I have to make it a day trip unless I want to bring at least him along with me, if not both of them.
Sometimes, I think longingly of just being . . . free?
And then, man do I feel like a selfish cow. I know that breast milk is still good for him, even at this age. I know that it helps keep him healthy, and with as rough a winter as we had last year, I feel like weaning him right before winter rolls around is foolhardy. And it would be different if he were fighting it, if he were disinterested. I thought he might be getting to the point where he could take or leave it, but then one morning I had to get up to help baby girl with something halfway through our morning nursing session, and he lost.his.mind. He thought I was ending the session and cried so hard that big, fat crocodile tears rolled down his sweet cheeks. He kept pointing back to the room and crying. We, of course, went back to his room to finish off, and once he'd nursed on both sides, he was happy and ready to go play.
So . . . it's hard. I'm not sure what the right thing to do is. It seems appealing in some ways to have the freedom to be able to miss an evening for work, or be gone for a night. But I still enjoy the cuddles, the quiet time we have, and he still enjoys it to.
Sometimes I wish he'd self-wean, but then I think about how that would hurt, feeling like he didn't want me anymore. But then I think about me weaning him before he's ready, and I think that would hurt even more.
Still waiting on that magic 8 ball of parenting to arrive and answer all my questions for me.
Sigh.
Monday, August 27, 2012
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
News
I'm a utter failure at blogging lately. It's not only that I feel bad that some of you have really taken the time to become vested in our lives, read what I write, comment on it, think of us, etc., but that I had really high hopes of being able to use this blog as a quasi-baby book since I knew ahead of time I would NEVER get around to making and keeping up with an actual physical book. This blog is my history, my stories, my memories, and there are growing gaps that I will never be able to go back in and recover.
BUT. I have a really good excuse.
I started a business.
A photography business, to be exact.
Check it out: www.happysoulphotography.com
It had long been in our plans for me to do this when the kids hit school age as a way for me to earn an income while still having more flexibility than my office job allowed me. With the events of this spring, and me leaving my job much sooner than we'd planned, we had to step up the pace a bit and get this thing going. I worked all spring and summer finding people to be my test-subjects, learning the editing process, researching small business law and how to build websites.
Oh, and actually taking pictures. Lots and lots of pictures. And editing them. And re-editing them some more until I started to get the hang of it and started liking what I was seeing. This was while finishing out my full-time job, while staying home with the kids when they're sick, while working part-time from home now (b/c I have to have SOME income while this all gets going!). I've actually been much, much busier than I ever was while just working my 40 hours.
But the stress is gone. Totally gone. The days I spend shooting and editing and blogging pass so quickly, and I feel so challenged and fulfilled and like I'm really doing something for people that will make them happy. And that makes ME happy.
So yeah, blogging here has fallen by the wayside, and I'm sorry for that. Sorry for my readers and sorry for myself, for my own memories that didn't get captured. I hope to be able to find a nice balance now that the business has launched.
And maybe you'll just have to add my new photo blog to your reader, and keep up with me there. ;)
Thanks for coming back to read, interwebz, every time I pop up after a long time away.
(Oh, and OBVS you need to come like me on FB! www.facebook.com/happysoulphotography)
BUT. I have a really good excuse.
I started a business.
A photography business, to be exact.
Check it out: www.happysoulphotography.com
It had long been in our plans for me to do this when the kids hit school age as a way for me to earn an income while still having more flexibility than my office job allowed me. With the events of this spring, and me leaving my job much sooner than we'd planned, we had to step up the pace a bit and get this thing going. I worked all spring and summer finding people to be my test-subjects, learning the editing process, researching small business law and how to build websites.
Oh, and actually taking pictures. Lots and lots of pictures. And editing them. And re-editing them some more until I started to get the hang of it and started liking what I was seeing. This was while finishing out my full-time job, while staying home with the kids when they're sick, while working part-time from home now (b/c I have to have SOME income while this all gets going!). I've actually been much, much busier than I ever was while just working my 40 hours.
But the stress is gone. Totally gone. The days I spend shooting and editing and blogging pass so quickly, and I feel so challenged and fulfilled and like I'm really doing something for people that will make them happy. And that makes ME happy.
So yeah, blogging here has fallen by the wayside, and I'm sorry for that. Sorry for my readers and sorry for myself, for my own memories that didn't get captured. I hope to be able to find a nice balance now that the business has launched.
And maybe you'll just have to add my new photo blog to your reader, and keep up with me there. ;)
Thanks for coming back to read, interwebz, every time I pop up after a long time away.
(Oh, and OBVS you need to come like me on FB! www.facebook.com/happysoulphotography)
Monday, July 30, 2012
Smile
Yesterday, baby girl was sad about something about bedtime. I can't even remember what it was--the things that make a 2-going-on-3-yr-old sad are so quick to come and go that the best thing I've figured out to do is honor her sadness while it lasts and move on. So, last night, maybe she remembered that we hadn't gotten to play hide-and-seek that day as we'd planned. Maybe she realized that her sunglasses had been left in the car. Maybe the itching mosquito bite on her leg was making her sad. No matter. She said, "Mommy, I'm saaad!" and I said, "You are? I'm so sorry!" and gave her a big hug. As I was hugging her, she breathed, "I wonder if I'm ever going to smile again."
I don't think I was altogether successful at stifling my laugh. My girl, my baby, my 2-yr-old, wondering if she's ever going to smile again. I pushed aside the thought that holyhell, we are IN for it when she's a teen, quickly hid my smile, and turned to her, stroking her hair out of her face.
"You will smile again," I told her as I drew her onto my lap, wrapping her in my arms. "I know you feel sad right now, and that's okay. But pretty soon, you'll find something to be happy about again. And you'll smile, and laugh, and whatever it is that's bothering you right now won't bother you so much anymore. And until that happens, you can stay right here with me and I'll make you feel better."
"Okay," she said and let her head rest of my chest.
And I wanted to tell her more. I wanted to tell her that there will be so many moments in her life where she'll feel sad, where she might feel like her heart is breaking, where she might wonder if she'll ever smile again. That life is hard and not always fair, and that as much as I wish I could protect her from ever being hurt, or sad, or scared, I couldn't always do that. And that that feeling, that feeling of sadness, or pain, or fear, that feeling hurts and that it will feel like it's suffocating her, or drowning her, or pulling her down, so heavy that she might believe she couldn't possibly move beyond it. But that she can. She can move beyond it and she will move beyond it, and no matter the hurt, no matter the sadness, she will always smile again.
Its' amazing to me how early life's lessons begin. Her sadness at 2 is no less significant to her than her sadness will be at 15, or than my sadness is to me as an adult. And to that sweet 2-yr-old, and to her future beautiful 15-yr-old self, and to myself, and to my mother and my sister and my grandmother and my friends, and to all women and men everywhere, remember: You will always smile again.
I don't think I was altogether successful at stifling my laugh. My girl, my baby, my 2-yr-old, wondering if she's ever going to smile again. I pushed aside the thought that holyhell, we are IN for it when she's a teen, quickly hid my smile, and turned to her, stroking her hair out of her face.
"You will smile again," I told her as I drew her onto my lap, wrapping her in my arms. "I know you feel sad right now, and that's okay. But pretty soon, you'll find something to be happy about again. And you'll smile, and laugh, and whatever it is that's bothering you right now won't bother you so much anymore. And until that happens, you can stay right here with me and I'll make you feel better."
"Okay," she said and let her head rest of my chest.
And I wanted to tell her more. I wanted to tell her that there will be so many moments in her life where she'll feel sad, where she might feel like her heart is breaking, where she might wonder if she'll ever smile again. That life is hard and not always fair, and that as much as I wish I could protect her from ever being hurt, or sad, or scared, I couldn't always do that. And that that feeling, that feeling of sadness, or pain, or fear, that feeling hurts and that it will feel like it's suffocating her, or drowning her, or pulling her down, so heavy that she might believe she couldn't possibly move beyond it. But that she can. She can move beyond it and she will move beyond it, and no matter the hurt, no matter the sadness, she will always smile again.
Its' amazing to me how early life's lessons begin. Her sadness at 2 is no less significant to her than her sadness will be at 15, or than my sadness is to me as an adult. And to that sweet 2-yr-old, and to her future beautiful 15-yr-old self, and to myself, and to my mother and my sister and my grandmother and my friends, and to all women and men everywhere, remember: You will always smile again.
Friday, May 25, 2012
{one}
My sweet little man,
Today, you are one year old.
A year. 365 days. Since we first met you. Since I first held you. Since I first stroked your hair and told you what a good, brave boy you'd been (I still remember your birth like it was yesterday). A whole year.
I don't know that there's anything so amazing as the first year of a child's life. You start the year tiny and helpless, unable to control your own body, unable to lift your head, focus your eyes, do anything, really, other than recognize your own hunger pangs or your need for security and closeness. And at the end? You laugh at jokes. You make funny faces in order to make others laugh. You take steps. You throw balls and catch them. You say dog and woof and meow and hi and hello and bye-bye and agua and all done and ball and apple and balloon and book. You give kisses. You feed yourself. You put yourself to sleep without so much as a whimper and actually sleep well. You have a lovey, a stuffed elephant that you hug to the side of your head and say "awww." You love being rough and tumble and like nothing more than to go down the biggest slides at the playground (again and again and again).
How is that possible? To go from where you started on your birth day to where you are today, your birthday? What an amazing thing it is, and how lucky am I to have gotten to witness every single day of it? The luckiest.
To be honest, this is one of those years where I wonder, "where did the time go?" I felt it, as the days passed, that so much of our first year together would be lost to the mute fog of forgetfulness. I knew I would forget so much of our time together that I made a point to be wholly IN as many moments with you as possible. I know, in those early days, how I sat and breathed you in as you slept on my shoulder, your warm breath on my neck. I know I reveled in the feel of your body in my arms. I know I drank up the site of your face, your smile, the brightness in your eyes. As easy as it was this year to be distracted, to be tired, I tried every day to give you 100% of my attention while I could, to watch you learn about the world, to see your firsts, to celebrate you and love you.
And even now, even with your first year so close to me, I know I've forgotten moments. Already. Forgotten them to the dimness of sleep deprivation and exhaustion. How paradoxical that we don't remember more of your first year--we were, after all, awake for most of it. Already, despite my determination to imprint each moment permanently onto my mind, my heart, already I look back and see only big pictures, the details blinking out one by tiny one.
What do I see, when I look back on your first year, then? There is, of course, the potential to only remember the challenges. Your last five months have been challenging, to be sure. There is the potential to remember only the illnesses, only the sleepless nights, only the tears and the frustration and the worry over your weight and your health. It would be so, so easy to have that be the overarching tone of our memories. But that's not it. Not for me.
I remember your smile. Your never-ending, ever-ready smile. Have I already told you that you were (are) the happiest baby I've ever known? You started smiling back at us at just two weeks old and haven't stopped since. No matter what day it was, no matter how bad you felt, how sick you were, how tired, you were always, always smiling. Even at the hospital, struggling to breath, you were smiling and trying to flirt with the nurses. The ER doctor called you a "happy wheezer." Through all the tests, the blood draws, the x-rays, the doctor visits, all of it . . . you smiled.
And your laugh? Oh, silly boy, your laugh is as easy and infectious as your smile. Your favorite thing to laugh at is still your sister, though I'm getting pretty good with your tickle rib and my funny faces and fake-out belly raspberries, and you and your dad like to make funny noises faces and laugh riotously at each other. You look for the delight in the world, and you always have. I don't even have to hope that you never lose that because it's just in you. You could no sooner lose the sparkle in your eyes or your funny big toe as you could your sense of humor.
You are my sweet, sweet, happy boy. Your sister can do no wrong in your eyes. Your daddy is your favorite play mate. And me? Oh, my boy, how you love on me. I am the one you seek for the hugs, the snuggles, the security of being held and loved and safe.
Today you are one and no longer a baby. With the steps you are taking now (up to four in a row!), I can no longer deny the "toddler" label. You play and you eat real food and you talk to us and tell us what you want. And you smile. And laugh. And bring us more joy than we've ever known. And this first year? With all its challenges and scares and long nights . . . it was full of so much delight. So many happy moments for me. So many times I froze time and shut the world out and existed with just you, just the two of us.
I know the second year is amazing. I know how much fun it is, and with a boy like you, a boy who finds the humor and delight in everything around him, I know that we have so much to look forward to together. I look forward from today and smile and know that we have something wonderful in store for us. And I know that our first year, though it's over and done, was the most wonderful first year we could have asked for.
Thank you for being you. Thank you for giving me the chance of a lifetime, to be your mommy, to experience your first year with you, to witness the wonder of you becoming you.
I am so, so proud of you. And oh, my sweet boy, how I love you.
Happy, happy, happy birthday.
Love forever and ever and a day,
Mom
Today, you are one year old.
A year. 365 days. Since we first met you. Since I first held you. Since I first stroked your hair and told you what a good, brave boy you'd been (I still remember your birth like it was yesterday). A whole year.
I don't know that there's anything so amazing as the first year of a child's life. You start the year tiny and helpless, unable to control your own body, unable to lift your head, focus your eyes, do anything, really, other than recognize your own hunger pangs or your need for security and closeness. And at the end? You laugh at jokes. You make funny faces in order to make others laugh. You take steps. You throw balls and catch them. You say dog and woof and meow and hi and hello and bye-bye and agua and all done and ball and apple and balloon and book. You give kisses. You feed yourself. You put yourself to sleep without so much as a whimper and actually sleep well. You have a lovey, a stuffed elephant that you hug to the side of your head and say "awww." You love being rough and tumble and like nothing more than to go down the biggest slides at the playground (again and again and again).
How is that possible? To go from where you started on your birth day to where you are today, your birthday? What an amazing thing it is, and how lucky am I to have gotten to witness every single day of it? The luckiest.
To be honest, this is one of those years where I wonder, "where did the time go?" I felt it, as the days passed, that so much of our first year together would be lost to the mute fog of forgetfulness. I knew I would forget so much of our time together that I made a point to be wholly IN as many moments with you as possible. I know, in those early days, how I sat and breathed you in as you slept on my shoulder, your warm breath on my neck. I know I reveled in the feel of your body in my arms. I know I drank up the site of your face, your smile, the brightness in your eyes. As easy as it was this year to be distracted, to be tired, I tried every day to give you 100% of my attention while I could, to watch you learn about the world, to see your firsts, to celebrate you and love you.
And even now, even with your first year so close to me, I know I've forgotten moments. Already. Forgotten them to the dimness of sleep deprivation and exhaustion. How paradoxical that we don't remember more of your first year--we were, after all, awake for most of it. Already, despite my determination to imprint each moment permanently onto my mind, my heart, already I look back and see only big pictures, the details blinking out one by tiny one.
What do I see, when I look back on your first year, then? There is, of course, the potential to only remember the challenges. Your last five months have been challenging, to be sure. There is the potential to remember only the illnesses, only the sleepless nights, only the tears and the frustration and the worry over your weight and your health. It would be so, so easy to have that be the overarching tone of our memories. But that's not it. Not for me.
I remember your smile. Your never-ending, ever-ready smile. Have I already told you that you were (are) the happiest baby I've ever known? You started smiling back at us at just two weeks old and haven't stopped since. No matter what day it was, no matter how bad you felt, how sick you were, how tired, you were always, always smiling. Even at the hospital, struggling to breath, you were smiling and trying to flirt with the nurses. The ER doctor called you a "happy wheezer." Through all the tests, the blood draws, the x-rays, the doctor visits, all of it . . . you smiled.
And your laugh? Oh, silly boy, your laugh is as easy and infectious as your smile. Your favorite thing to laugh at is still your sister, though I'm getting pretty good with your tickle rib and my funny faces and fake-out belly raspberries, and you and your dad like to make funny noises faces and laugh riotously at each other. You look for the delight in the world, and you always have. I don't even have to hope that you never lose that because it's just in you. You could no sooner lose the sparkle in your eyes or your funny big toe as you could your sense of humor.
You are my sweet, sweet, happy boy. Your sister can do no wrong in your eyes. Your daddy is your favorite play mate. And me? Oh, my boy, how you love on me. I am the one you seek for the hugs, the snuggles, the security of being held and loved and safe.
Today you are one and no longer a baby. With the steps you are taking now (up to four in a row!), I can no longer deny the "toddler" label. You play and you eat real food and you talk to us and tell us what you want. And you smile. And laugh. And bring us more joy than we've ever known. And this first year? With all its challenges and scares and long nights . . . it was full of so much delight. So many happy moments for me. So many times I froze time and shut the world out and existed with just you, just the two of us.
I know the second year is amazing. I know how much fun it is, and with a boy like you, a boy who finds the humor and delight in everything around him, I know that we have so much to look forward to together. I look forward from today and smile and know that we have something wonderful in store for us. And I know that our first year, though it's over and done, was the most wonderful first year we could have asked for.
Thank you for being you. Thank you for giving me the chance of a lifetime, to be your mommy, to experience your first year with you, to witness the wonder of you becoming you.
I am so, so proud of you. And oh, my sweet boy, how I love you.
Happy, happy, happy birthday.
Love forever and ever and a day,
Mom
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Blaring and Bright
I know, I know. Long time no blog.
Things have been . . . well . . . challenging.
I know, if you're a faithful reader, you've noticed a trend in my posts over the last several months. Posts about finding out how hard things can be, posts about burning out. Being a full-time working mom with two young kiddos and a husband who travels frequently for work is tough shit.
But what about when one of those kiddos doesn't sleep? When one of those kiddos gets sick so often that he misses weeks on end of school? When he stops eating and his already low weight plummets off the charts and you spend most of your waking hours (a) trying to feed him, or (b) feeling your stomach in knots over his health, his weight, all of it. When that happens, the situation becomes one of survival.
Little man got sick. Again. And, like before, it was one thing after another, one thing on top of another, one virus taking advantage of an immune system left weakened by the virus that had come before. A tummy bug (terrible for weight maintenance, by the way), an ear infection, a resulting c-diff infection from the antibiotics for the ear infection. And no sleep. Sleep that came in 1-2 hour chunks all night long. Sleep that was worse than he ever was as a newborn.
Of course (of course!) this all hit at the worst possible time for TH to take off work, so the burden of care for little man . . . week and weeks of care . . . fell on me. We were zombies. The days I was able to work, I'm amazed I drove to the office safely. One day I couldn't remember how to spell "motor"--I was insistent that it was spelled m-o-t-e-r, and when my computer kept telling me that was wrong, I broke down into tears at my desk. TH and I sank, disconnected. We bickered. We fought. We resented each other--me for having so much of the waking responsibility, for having to miss so much work; him for having so much of the nighttime responsibility, something he took on himself out of guilt and responsibility but ultimately couldn't keep up with. Understandingly so. Baby girl kept asking why Mommy was mad at Daddy, why Daddy was mad at Mommy.
And through it all, little man was sick. Sick and happy. Always happy, that guy. He had so many tests run. Blood work and x-rays and cultures. Everything came back perfectly, wonderfully normal, meaning that there wasn't really any REASON he kept getting sick, he just had bad luck.
And one day I realized he was just spending too much of his short little life feeling bad.
So we pulled him out of school. He'd already been out for several weeks of April, and our pediatrician said the best thing we could do is have him out a couple of months, to give his immune system time to reboot and strengthen. I found a friend to come to the house to watch him in the mornings, and my boss allowed me to work half-days in the office and then the other half from home, which meant that suddenly I was working 8-hr days AND caring for little man an extra 4 or so hours a day. I would make up my hours during his nap times (which were woefully unpredictable) and then after the kids went to bed for the night. My life became even more stressful. The hour or so I'd previously had to myself in the evenings--to catch up on chores, dishes, laundry, spend time with TH, watch TV, whatever--was gone. I knew we had no other choice--we couldn't afford a full-time nanny and I had to come home to feed him anyway since he won't take bottles--so I tried to grit my teeth even harder than before and just.keep.surviving. The house fell into disarray with no one left with any time to keep it up.
Our lives fell into disarray.
And that's when we decided I'd quit.
My job. The thing that has given me part of my identity, that has challenged me intellectually, let me feel like a successful professional, brought me joy, allowed me to be the grammar nerd I love being . . . it had to go. Something had to give. Somehow we had to find more hours in the day, more time to take care of the things we weren't able to take care of anymore. We couldn't have it be so stressful every time a child got sick, especially if we have a child who tends to get sick frequently.
Two days ago I gave notice.
We don't have it all figured out yet. Little man is still not in school. I've lined up a part-time work-from-home job, so we'll have to figure out something for his care at least for the hours I'm supposed to be working. I'd love to have him back in school. LOVE it. I feel terrible for him that he isn't getting to spend his days playing with his friends anymore. But he hasn't had so much as a sniffle since being pulled out, and we're a little gun shy. So we're not really sure what to do there. Put him back in full time? Part time? Have someone at the house for the few hours a day I'll be working and then just continue to keep him home with me?
How will we adjust to the loss of income? I'll be making significantly less now.
We don't know. We don't know the answers to a lot of these questions. But we do know that in a couple of weeks, I'll suddenly have a lot more time to help us figure them out. The stress of "who stays home this time?" will be gone. The stress of "when do we find the time to do the chores?" will be gone. The stress of "when will I ever have a moment to myself again?!?!?" will be gone.
We aren't solving all our problems. We're just trading our old ones in for some new ones. And that's okay. We were pretty sick and tired of our old ones.
So how do I feel about all this? Mixed. I feel a sense of loss from quitting my job. I feel a bit panicked that I will go crazy staying at home. I feel guilty. Guilty for quitting. I feel like a quitter. I feel like I could have just kept surviving, putting one foot in front of the other, and then I wouldn't have to let my boss down, my team, my family's finances. I feel like I'm disappointing everyone. Like I'm tapping out. Like I couldn't cut it.
And then I think, who cares? Why am I so insistent on NEVER taking the easy way out? How many rounds did I go in this? Isn't it okay to tap out with my head held high after everything we fought through?
And I feel absolutely beside myself, giddy with excitement that things might actually, suddenly, very soon, be a whole helluva lot easier.
An email from a friend is helping me focus on that last one. She said, "the light at the end of the tunnel is blaring and bright!"
That was one long fucking tunnel. We crashed and burned so many times along the way. But my friend is right. The light at the end is blaring and bright. And so, so close.
We don't know what we'll encounter in that light, but thank God for the light at all.
(Oh, and hey, I'll be able to get back to blogging! HooRAY! Just in time, because little man turns ONE in two days, and I think my heart might explode from all the bittersweet.)
Isn't it amazing how quickly life can change?
Whew, what a ride it is. I'll take a smoother stretch for a while, thankyouverymuch.
Let's see what the light brings.
Things have been . . . well . . . challenging.
I know, if you're a faithful reader, you've noticed a trend in my posts over the last several months. Posts about finding out how hard things can be, posts about burning out. Being a full-time working mom with two young kiddos and a husband who travels frequently for work is tough shit.
But what about when one of those kiddos doesn't sleep? When one of those kiddos gets sick so often that he misses weeks on end of school? When he stops eating and his already low weight plummets off the charts and you spend most of your waking hours (a) trying to feed him, or (b) feeling your stomach in knots over his health, his weight, all of it. When that happens, the situation becomes one of survival.
Little man got sick. Again. And, like before, it was one thing after another, one thing on top of another, one virus taking advantage of an immune system left weakened by the virus that had come before. A tummy bug (terrible for weight maintenance, by the way), an ear infection, a resulting c-diff infection from the antibiotics for the ear infection. And no sleep. Sleep that came in 1-2 hour chunks all night long. Sleep that was worse than he ever was as a newborn.
Of course (of course!) this all hit at the worst possible time for TH to take off work, so the burden of care for little man . . . week and weeks of care . . . fell on me. We were zombies. The days I was able to work, I'm amazed I drove to the office safely. One day I couldn't remember how to spell "motor"--I was insistent that it was spelled m-o-t-e-r, and when my computer kept telling me that was wrong, I broke down into tears at my desk. TH and I sank, disconnected. We bickered. We fought. We resented each other--me for having so much of the waking responsibility, for having to miss so much work; him for having so much of the nighttime responsibility, something he took on himself out of guilt and responsibility but ultimately couldn't keep up with. Understandingly so. Baby girl kept asking why Mommy was mad at Daddy, why Daddy was mad at Mommy.
And through it all, little man was sick. Sick and happy. Always happy, that guy. He had so many tests run. Blood work and x-rays and cultures. Everything came back perfectly, wonderfully normal, meaning that there wasn't really any REASON he kept getting sick, he just had bad luck.
And one day I realized he was just spending too much of his short little life feeling bad.
So we pulled him out of school. He'd already been out for several weeks of April, and our pediatrician said the best thing we could do is have him out a couple of months, to give his immune system time to reboot and strengthen. I found a friend to come to the house to watch him in the mornings, and my boss allowed me to work half-days in the office and then the other half from home, which meant that suddenly I was working 8-hr days AND caring for little man an extra 4 or so hours a day. I would make up my hours during his nap times (which were woefully unpredictable) and then after the kids went to bed for the night. My life became even more stressful. The hour or so I'd previously had to myself in the evenings--to catch up on chores, dishes, laundry, spend time with TH, watch TV, whatever--was gone. I knew we had no other choice--we couldn't afford a full-time nanny and I had to come home to feed him anyway since he won't take bottles--so I tried to grit my teeth even harder than before and just.keep.surviving. The house fell into disarray with no one left with any time to keep it up.
Our lives fell into disarray.
And that's when we decided I'd quit.
My job. The thing that has given me part of my identity, that has challenged me intellectually, let me feel like a successful professional, brought me joy, allowed me to be the grammar nerd I love being . . . it had to go. Something had to give. Somehow we had to find more hours in the day, more time to take care of the things we weren't able to take care of anymore. We couldn't have it be so stressful every time a child got sick, especially if we have a child who tends to get sick frequently.
Two days ago I gave notice.
We don't have it all figured out yet. Little man is still not in school. I've lined up a part-time work-from-home job, so we'll have to figure out something for his care at least for the hours I'm supposed to be working. I'd love to have him back in school. LOVE it. I feel terrible for him that he isn't getting to spend his days playing with his friends anymore. But he hasn't had so much as a sniffle since being pulled out, and we're a little gun shy. So we're not really sure what to do there. Put him back in full time? Part time? Have someone at the house for the few hours a day I'll be working and then just continue to keep him home with me?
How will we adjust to the loss of income? I'll be making significantly less now.
We don't know. We don't know the answers to a lot of these questions. But we do know that in a couple of weeks, I'll suddenly have a lot more time to help us figure them out. The stress of "who stays home this time?" will be gone. The stress of "when do we find the time to do the chores?" will be gone. The stress of "when will I ever have a moment to myself again?!?!?" will be gone.
We aren't solving all our problems. We're just trading our old ones in for some new ones. And that's okay. We were pretty sick and tired of our old ones.
So how do I feel about all this? Mixed. I feel a sense of loss from quitting my job. I feel a bit panicked that I will go crazy staying at home. I feel guilty. Guilty for quitting. I feel like a quitter. I feel like I could have just kept surviving, putting one foot in front of the other, and then I wouldn't have to let my boss down, my team, my family's finances. I feel like I'm disappointing everyone. Like I'm tapping out. Like I couldn't cut it.
And then I think, who cares? Why am I so insistent on NEVER taking the easy way out? How many rounds did I go in this? Isn't it okay to tap out with my head held high after everything we fought through?
And I feel absolutely beside myself, giddy with excitement that things might actually, suddenly, very soon, be a whole helluva lot easier.
An email from a friend is helping me focus on that last one. She said, "the light at the end of the tunnel is blaring and bright!"
That was one long fucking tunnel. We crashed and burned so many times along the way. But my friend is right. The light at the end is blaring and bright. And so, so close.
We don't know what we'll encounter in that light, but thank God for the light at all.
(Oh, and hey, I'll be able to get back to blogging! HooRAY! Just in time, because little man turns ONE in two days, and I think my heart might explode from all the bittersweet.)
Isn't it amazing how quickly life can change?
Whew, what a ride it is. I'll take a smoother stretch for a while, thankyouverymuch.
Let's see what the light brings.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
11 months
Sweet boy,
Today, you are 11 months old.
And momma's in total denial.
Total denial about all the subtext and context that goes along with "11 months." Total denial that that means you'll be ONE in just one short month. Total denial that this is the last month I can call you a "baby" (though the title "toddler" is appropriate this month, too. More on that and other random heart attacks you give me later). Total denial that, despite my yearning for a super power that allows me to stop time whenever I like, days pass in a blur and it has already been 11 MONTHS since we first met.
Where last month was calm and stable, this month was back to your wild, exciting, keep-mom-and-dad-on-their-toes ways. In the biggest news of all, you took your first steps!!! You had had one or two here and there, but nothing consistent. And then one evening we were trying to get your to take steps to Dad, and you turned mid-attempt and took two solid steps over to the coffee table. I knew something was likely coming soon, because you went from standing on your own for 3-5 seconds to standing on your own for a minute or more in about three days. I love those developmental leaps. I love the excitement of seeing you master big new skills in such a small amount of time! So you have gotten great at standing, and I knew the steps were coming. After you took those first two to the table, you've done it again and again. The most we've seen in a row is four, and you have to be very distracted and motivated to do it (otherwise you just drop down and crawl your little speed crawl), but it's real and legitimate and I can't believe you started walking at 10 months. (Looks like your dad won the bet with Granddaddy afterall!)
You are still a climber, which continues to give me heart attacks on a daily basis. You are very close to being able to climb out of the pack-and-play that we keep you in for CONTAINMENT purposes. Once you figure out an escape from there, we are done for. And you're still fearless. The other day you climbed up a stool, onto a chair, stood up, turned around, and dove off. I have to be on my toes with one eye on you at all times so that I can keep catching you as you dive headfirst off things. Crazy boy!
Your verbal skills are also developing rapidly. You are starting to mimic our intonations and words. Animals sounds like "meow" and "woof woof" are met with adorable attempts to repeat, which usually results in a close semblance of the intonation, but nothing really close to the actual sounds. But I know what you're trying to do, and I think it's pretty much the cutest thing ever, so we spend our day with you pointing to things--trees, doors, cars, birds, cats, books--and me telling you their name and giving you a sound if it fits. You've added "uh oh!" to your verbal repertoire, and I can't even be mad when you drop something for the gazillionth time because it's always followed with the sweetest "uh oh!" and a totally pleased-with-yourself smile. I swoon. And give you thing item back so that you can drop it and charm me again.
You've been sick again this month--picked up another something or other at school, which then proceeded to snowball into picking up more and more things as your immune defenses were low. We've decided to pull you out of school for a while to try and get your system strengthened, which means that I'll be staying home with you. It was never in my plans to stay home. I have always loved working, have always loved the extra challenge that has nothing to do with my role as a mother or wife. But these last few days with you, where we have time to have picnics by the lake and watch the ducks, run errands, play, practice walking, and jabber back and forth to each other, have been so delightfully refreshing and easy compared to my usual frenzied pace. I know we won't have a lot of time home together, and I know it wasn't in my plans, but I think this change is going to be just the thing we need and that we're going to love this new arrangement.
In one month, you're going to be one. One whole year old. You'll be walking and talking and officially a toddler and not so much a baby anymore. So for this month, I'm going to soak you up in all your sweet baby glory. I'm going to burn into memory the feel of your small baby body in my arms as I rock you to sleep. The perfect way you fit on my hip as I carry you. The way your tiny hands and fingers feel as they hang onto my shirt. Your sweet voice, your sweet baby "uh ohs" and "woahs!" The sight of you as you speed crawl across the floor, putting your head down to focus on moving your limbs as fast as you can get them to go. The look of delight on your face when you feel the wind or see a bird take off in flight or hear your sister's voice and come crawling through the house searching for her. Next month will begin a new chapter, but this month . . . this month I'm just going to enjoy THIS chapter for all it's worth.
Loving you from the tips of your toes to the top of your sweet blonde head,
Mom
Today, you are 11 months old.
And momma's in total denial.
Total denial about all the subtext and context that goes along with "11 months." Total denial that that means you'll be ONE in just one short month. Total denial that this is the last month I can call you a "baby" (though the title "toddler" is appropriate this month, too. More on that and other random heart attacks you give me later). Total denial that, despite my yearning for a super power that allows me to stop time whenever I like, days pass in a blur and it has already been 11 MONTHS since we first met.
Where last month was calm and stable, this month was back to your wild, exciting, keep-mom-and-dad-on-their-toes ways. In the biggest news of all, you took your first steps!!! You had had one or two here and there, but nothing consistent. And then one evening we were trying to get your to take steps to Dad, and you turned mid-attempt and took two solid steps over to the coffee table. I knew something was likely coming soon, because you went from standing on your own for 3-5 seconds to standing on your own for a minute or more in about three days. I love those developmental leaps. I love the excitement of seeing you master big new skills in such a small amount of time! So you have gotten great at standing, and I knew the steps were coming. After you took those first two to the table, you've done it again and again. The most we've seen in a row is four, and you have to be very distracted and motivated to do it (otherwise you just drop down and crawl your little speed crawl), but it's real and legitimate and I can't believe you started walking at 10 months. (Looks like your dad won the bet with Granddaddy afterall!)
You are still a climber, which continues to give me heart attacks on a daily basis. You are very close to being able to climb out of the pack-and-play that we keep you in for CONTAINMENT purposes. Once you figure out an escape from there, we are done for. And you're still fearless. The other day you climbed up a stool, onto a chair, stood up, turned around, and dove off. I have to be on my toes with one eye on you at all times so that I can keep catching you as you dive headfirst off things. Crazy boy!
Your verbal skills are also developing rapidly. You are starting to mimic our intonations and words. Animals sounds like "meow" and "woof woof" are met with adorable attempts to repeat, which usually results in a close semblance of the intonation, but nothing really close to the actual sounds. But I know what you're trying to do, and I think it's pretty much the cutest thing ever, so we spend our day with you pointing to things--trees, doors, cars, birds, cats, books--and me telling you their name and giving you a sound if it fits. You've added "uh oh!" to your verbal repertoire, and I can't even be mad when you drop something for the gazillionth time because it's always followed with the sweetest "uh oh!" and a totally pleased-with-yourself smile. I swoon. And give you thing item back so that you can drop it and charm me again.
You've been sick again this month--picked up another something or other at school, which then proceeded to snowball into picking up more and more things as your immune defenses were low. We've decided to pull you out of school for a while to try and get your system strengthened, which means that I'll be staying home with you. It was never in my plans to stay home. I have always loved working, have always loved the extra challenge that has nothing to do with my role as a mother or wife. But these last few days with you, where we have time to have picnics by the lake and watch the ducks, run errands, play, practice walking, and jabber back and forth to each other, have been so delightfully refreshing and easy compared to my usual frenzied pace. I know we won't have a lot of time home together, and I know it wasn't in my plans, but I think this change is going to be just the thing we need and that we're going to love this new arrangement.
In one month, you're going to be one. One whole year old. You'll be walking and talking and officially a toddler and not so much a baby anymore. So for this month, I'm going to soak you up in all your sweet baby glory. I'm going to burn into memory the feel of your small baby body in my arms as I rock you to sleep. The perfect way you fit on my hip as I carry you. The way your tiny hands and fingers feel as they hang onto my shirt. Your sweet voice, your sweet baby "uh ohs" and "woahs!" The sight of you as you speed crawl across the floor, putting your head down to focus on moving your limbs as fast as you can get them to go. The look of delight on your face when you feel the wind or see a bird take off in flight or hear your sister's voice and come crawling through the house searching for her. Next month will begin a new chapter, but this month . . . this month I'm just going to enjoy THIS chapter for all it's worth.
Loving you from the tips of your toes to the top of your sweet blonde head,
Mom
Sunday, March 25, 2012
10 months
My sweet, sweet boy,
Today, you are 10 months old. Double digits!! It's bittersweet to know you'll never be a single-digit month-age ever again in your entire life. Yes, I think about things like that. Yes, I'm a sap. And ten months? Do you even realize how close that is to a year?
This month has been amazing in a way that's totally different than the last couple of months. Those months were marked with a flurry of new skills and abilities and experiences, new teeth and new charms. This month, though? None of that. You had no new teeth (hallelujah for a teething break!!). You had no new big skills. You had no illnesses. You were just steady and sweet and happy. It was a calm month, a welcome month of tranquility after the flurries of the months before.
You ate great this month! We are finally, finally not having to worry about your weight. You are nursing well and eating solids with gusto. I can't wait to get you back to the doctor to see how much you've gained, but each night when I rock you and sing to you, I can feel your weight in my arms. I look down at you and you suddenly seem like such a big boy, no longer the little baby you used to be. You have just about outgrown your infant car seat, but for some reason, I'm dragging my feet on moving your into your big boy chair. Maybe it's one of those last little vestiges of infancy that some deep part of me is sad to cut loose.
Your communication abilities are really developing and it's so amazing to see. You surprise me daily with how much you really understand. In fact, the other day you were playing with a water bottle and were going to leave it behind as we left the room. I turned and told you to go get the water bottle . . . and you know what? You crawled right over to it and picked it up. You do the same thing when I tell you to go play with a ball, or go get a book. And you seem to have an insatiable desire to learn more. You are constantly pointing at different things and saying "da!" (which I interpret as "that!" as in, "what's the name of that thing?!") and you and I walk around naming all the different things in our house. I had forgotten how mind blowing it really is to watch someone figure out the world.
You are an incorrigible flirt. You love girls of all ages and have learned to smile and babble and give kissies, much to the delight of girls young and old. We are going to have our hands full with you for sure.
You are still waking once a night to eat. I have loved our quiet nighttime moments together, and loved knowing that I've been able to feed you as much as you want to help you gain weight. But as soon as I can get confirmation that your weight is back on track, we're going to work on getting you to sleep all the way through the night. I don't know how yet, but I know that it's important for you to learn, one way or another. I'm still waiting on you just dropping that night feeding on your own when you're ready. So . . . you know . . . whenever you're ready. . . .
You are standing on your own for longer and longer stretches now. It still works best when you're distracted. You pull up on something and then let go, and if we can keep you distracted, you'll stand there for a good 10 seconds before slowly dropping down to sit. You're a cruising machine and as much as I know how much more complicated our lives will get when you take that big first step, I know how much you want to be able to move and play and keep up with your sister, and I know how happy you'll be when you're finally able to do that. So, for your sake, baby boy, I hope you're walking soon. (For my sake, though, I'm happy happy happy that you're not quite there yet!)
I know next month will bring big things. I assume our teething break will come to an end. You'll learn more words (right now you're saying "ball," "book," "dada," "Ah-ya" (Ali), "ow," "hi," and "all done"). You might learn to walk. You might learn to sleep all the way through the night. I kind of feel like this last month was our last smooth month of things as we know it before you suddenly become a big boy.
This month has been easy and smooth and relaxed. You've been your wonderful, sweet, happy, laughing, smiling, babbling, snuggling self.
This was a good month.
Thanks for letting me be here to share it with you.
Love forever and ever and a day,
Mom
Today, you are 10 months old. Double digits!! It's bittersweet to know you'll never be a single-digit month-age ever again in your entire life. Yes, I think about things like that. Yes, I'm a sap. And ten months? Do you even realize how close that is to a year?
This month has been amazing in a way that's totally different than the last couple of months. Those months were marked with a flurry of new skills and abilities and experiences, new teeth and new charms. This month, though? None of that. You had no new teeth (hallelujah for a teething break!!). You had no new big skills. You had no illnesses. You were just steady and sweet and happy. It was a calm month, a welcome month of tranquility after the flurries of the months before.
You ate great this month! We are finally, finally not having to worry about your weight. You are nursing well and eating solids with gusto. I can't wait to get you back to the doctor to see how much you've gained, but each night when I rock you and sing to you, I can feel your weight in my arms. I look down at you and you suddenly seem like such a big boy, no longer the little baby you used to be. You have just about outgrown your infant car seat, but for some reason, I'm dragging my feet on moving your into your big boy chair. Maybe it's one of those last little vestiges of infancy that some deep part of me is sad to cut loose.
Your communication abilities are really developing and it's so amazing to see. You surprise me daily with how much you really understand. In fact, the other day you were playing with a water bottle and were going to leave it behind as we left the room. I turned and told you to go get the water bottle . . . and you know what? You crawled right over to it and picked it up. You do the same thing when I tell you to go play with a ball, or go get a book. And you seem to have an insatiable desire to learn more. You are constantly pointing at different things and saying "da!" (which I interpret as "that!" as in, "what's the name of that thing?!") and you and I walk around naming all the different things in our house. I had forgotten how mind blowing it really is to watch someone figure out the world.
You are an incorrigible flirt. You love girls of all ages and have learned to smile and babble and give kissies, much to the delight of girls young and old. We are going to have our hands full with you for sure.
You are still waking once a night to eat. I have loved our quiet nighttime moments together, and loved knowing that I've been able to feed you as much as you want to help you gain weight. But as soon as I can get confirmation that your weight is back on track, we're going to work on getting you to sleep all the way through the night. I don't know how yet, but I know that it's important for you to learn, one way or another. I'm still waiting on you just dropping that night feeding on your own when you're ready. So . . . you know . . . whenever you're ready. . . .
You are standing on your own for longer and longer stretches now. It still works best when you're distracted. You pull up on something and then let go, and if we can keep you distracted, you'll stand there for a good 10 seconds before slowly dropping down to sit. You're a cruising machine and as much as I know how much more complicated our lives will get when you take that big first step, I know how much you want to be able to move and play and keep up with your sister, and I know how happy you'll be when you're finally able to do that. So, for your sake, baby boy, I hope you're walking soon. (For my sake, though, I'm happy happy happy that you're not quite there yet!)
I know next month will bring big things. I assume our teething break will come to an end. You'll learn more words (right now you're saying "ball," "book," "dada," "Ah-ya" (Ali), "ow," "hi," and "all done"). You might learn to walk. You might learn to sleep all the way through the night. I kind of feel like this last month was our last smooth month of things as we know it before you suddenly become a big boy.
This month has been easy and smooth and relaxed. You've been your wonderful, sweet, happy, laughing, smiling, babbling, snuggling self.
This was a good month.
Thanks for letting me be here to share it with you.
Love forever and ever and a day,
Mom
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
A Cinderella Story
It's hard raising a girl. To be sure, it's hard raising any child, regardless of sex. But with a girl, there's a lot of extra "stuff" you have to navigate through--things like body issues, safety issues, sexual discrimination, wanting her to know it's okay to be smarter than boys, etc.
I've already written about making sure that my daughter knows that she's smart and funny and beautiful and nice. I make sure to reinforce this message with her daily. But sometimes it's still hard to know if all the messages that she's getting from society are overriding my daily efforts. If the "Princess phenomenon" will prove too strong for us to defeat.
Every time I tell her a story, I am careful to emphasize that it's often the girl doing the saving, not the boy. My stories have strong heroines, women who feature the personality traits I'd like to see developed in baby girl. But when she requests certain stories, like Cinderella, it's sometimes hard to work those angles in. Unfortunately, Disney stories are a wealth of females who are judged by their looks and need rescuing by men. So when I am asked to tell these stories, I try to mold the story a bit to avoid those less-than-desirable messages.
The other day, I was telling her Cinderella. I got to the part where Cinderella goes to the ball, saying, "And when Cinderella walked in, the Prince saw her and though, 'Wow! She's beautiful! I definitely want to get to know her better.' So he started talking to Cinderella, and do you know what he discovered? He discovered that not only was she beautiful, she was also really smart!"
"Just like me!" my daughter interrupted.
I could not possibly have smiled any bigger. "That's right!" I said. "She's smart just like you!"
"Yeah, I'm the smartest of all!" she said proudly.
"Yes, you are," I told her.
"Is Cinderella funny like me, too?" she asked.
"Yes, of course! She's smart and funny and nice, just like you!"
"Yeah. I'm the nicest, mommy!"
"Yes, you are!"
And I finished telling the story with my feet about ten feet off the ground.
Parenting is hard. Parenting a girl is harder. It's so great when you have these little flashes that let you know you're doing something right.
I've already written about making sure that my daughter knows that she's smart and funny and beautiful and nice. I make sure to reinforce this message with her daily. But sometimes it's still hard to know if all the messages that she's getting from society are overriding my daily efforts. If the "Princess phenomenon" will prove too strong for us to defeat.
Every time I tell her a story, I am careful to emphasize that it's often the girl doing the saving, not the boy. My stories have strong heroines, women who feature the personality traits I'd like to see developed in baby girl. But when she requests certain stories, like Cinderella, it's sometimes hard to work those angles in. Unfortunately, Disney stories are a wealth of females who are judged by their looks and need rescuing by men. So when I am asked to tell these stories, I try to mold the story a bit to avoid those less-than-desirable messages.
The other day, I was telling her Cinderella. I got to the part where Cinderella goes to the ball, saying, "And when Cinderella walked in, the Prince saw her and though, 'Wow! She's beautiful! I definitely want to get to know her better.' So he started talking to Cinderella, and do you know what he discovered? He discovered that not only was she beautiful, she was also really smart!"
"Just like me!" my daughter interrupted.
I could not possibly have smiled any bigger. "That's right!" I said. "She's smart just like you!"
"Yeah, I'm the smartest of all!" she said proudly.
"Yes, you are," I told her.
"Is Cinderella funny like me, too?" she asked.
"Yes, of course! She's smart and funny and nice, just like you!"
"Yeah. I'm the nicest, mommy!"
"Yes, you are!"
And I finished telling the story with my feet about ten feet off the ground.
Parenting is hard. Parenting a girl is harder. It's so great when you have these little flashes that let you know you're doing something right.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
So this what burning out feels like.
I'm in a bad place.
I want to quit my job. And not even necessarily pull the kids out of school. Really, what I want is the freedom to stay home, pursue my little passion project that has started to gain momentum, keep our house in order, and go to the gym. From looking at my list of short demands, it's pretty clear that I'm craving something that I have absolutely zero of right now: time to myself.
If you're a stay-at-home mom, you might be thinking, "pshhh. You work. That IS time to yourself." But it's not. No really. For the last five years, our company has had lay-off after lay-off. That has amounted to fewer and fewer people left to do the same--no, more--work. Often with smaller budgets and shorter project timelines. From the second I get here, I am stressed and grumpy. I sit through meeting after meeting and listen to decisions being made that are the WRONG decision, but all our hands are tied because of time constraints or budget constraints or staffing constraints. Then my lunch break rolls around and I go nurse baby boy because he won't take a bottle anymore. Then I come back and eat my lunch at my desk while I work. Then I rush out at 4 to go nurse baby boy again. Then I get home with both kids and feed baby boy immediately, then cook dinner for everyone, then we eat together and play until bath time. Then I nurse him again and do baths and books and bedtimes, and then when they're both sleeping, I have a choice: laundry? kitchen? bag/freeze milk? wash pump parts? put away dishes? pick up the house? spend time with my husband? watch TV? get on my computer and veg out for 30 minutes? One of those options--ONE--is time just spent on myself, and I have to rotate nightly which one I pick so that our house and my marriage doesn't fall into disarray. Then I pump once before bed and try to be in bed by 9:30 or so so that, despite the fact that I'm still getting up at night with little man, I can function at a somewhat human level the next day.
The only downtime I get is on weekends, during the afternoon nap window when both kids are sleeping. And baby boy sleeps anywhere from 30-90 minutes, so it's kind of a crap shoot.
Don't misinterpret things. I LOVE my lunch dates with baby boy. His smiles and coos and giggles are the total bright spot between 8 and 4. And our evenings are not just on me--TH helps out with everything listed as soon as he walks in the door.
But still,y'all. I feel like I'm drowning in life. Losing myself. I can keep everything above water but my own head.
And I know it's temporary. Really I do. I know in three months or less I'll have my lunch breaks back. That will help. I know at some point I'll stop getting up in the middle of the night. That will help. But I don't see how there will ever be more hours in the day, more hours for me to take care of all the chores around the house so that the limited time that I DO get with my kids is spent enjoying each other and relaxing and playing rather than trying to pick up and keep up. So that I can start doing things like working out again without having to sacrifice something else in order to do it, like time with my family.
I just feel stuck.
I'm even considering quitting and pulling the kids out of school (the only way we'd be able to afford me not working) so that at LEAST I'd get nap times, once a day, where there was just quiet, where nobody needed me for anything, where I could just sit.and.be.still. All by myself. A once-a-day break seems like such an incredible luxury to me.
Like, actually considering it.
First world problems, eh? Not enough time for me.
I'll go ahead and give myself the ol' violin.
I want to quit my job. And not even necessarily pull the kids out of school. Really, what I want is the freedom to stay home, pursue my little passion project that has started to gain momentum, keep our house in order, and go to the gym. From looking at my list of short demands, it's pretty clear that I'm craving something that I have absolutely zero of right now: time to myself.
If you're a stay-at-home mom, you might be thinking, "pshhh. You work. That IS time to yourself." But it's not. No really. For the last five years, our company has had lay-off after lay-off. That has amounted to fewer and fewer people left to do the same--no, more--work. Often with smaller budgets and shorter project timelines. From the second I get here, I am stressed and grumpy. I sit through meeting after meeting and listen to decisions being made that are the WRONG decision, but all our hands are tied because of time constraints or budget constraints or staffing constraints. Then my lunch break rolls around and I go nurse baby boy because he won't take a bottle anymore. Then I come back and eat my lunch at my desk while I work. Then I rush out at 4 to go nurse baby boy again. Then I get home with both kids and feed baby boy immediately, then cook dinner for everyone, then we eat together and play until bath time. Then I nurse him again and do baths and books and bedtimes, and then when they're both sleeping, I have a choice: laundry? kitchen? bag/freeze milk? wash pump parts? put away dishes? pick up the house? spend time with my husband? watch TV? get on my computer and veg out for 30 minutes? One of those options--ONE--is time just spent on myself, and I have to rotate nightly which one I pick so that our house and my marriage doesn't fall into disarray. Then I pump once before bed and try to be in bed by 9:30 or so so that, despite the fact that I'm still getting up at night with little man, I can function at a somewhat human level the next day.
The only downtime I get is on weekends, during the afternoon nap window when both kids are sleeping. And baby boy sleeps anywhere from 30-90 minutes, so it's kind of a crap shoot.
Don't misinterpret things. I LOVE my lunch dates with baby boy. His smiles and coos and giggles are the total bright spot between 8 and 4. And our evenings are not just on me--TH helps out with everything listed as soon as he walks in the door.
But still,y'all. I feel like I'm drowning in life. Losing myself. I can keep everything above water but my own head.
And I know it's temporary. Really I do. I know in three months or less I'll have my lunch breaks back. That will help. I know at some point I'll stop getting up in the middle of the night. That will help. But I don't see how there will ever be more hours in the day, more hours for me to take care of all the chores around the house so that the limited time that I DO get with my kids is spent enjoying each other and relaxing and playing rather than trying to pick up and keep up. So that I can start doing things like working out again without having to sacrifice something else in order to do it, like time with my family.
I just feel stuck.
I'm even considering quitting and pulling the kids out of school (the only way we'd be able to afford me not working) so that at LEAST I'd get nap times, once a day, where there was just quiet, where nobody needed me for anything, where I could just sit.and.be.still. All by myself. A once-a-day break seems like such an incredible luxury to me.
Like, actually considering it.
First world problems, eh? Not enough time for me.
I'll go ahead and give myself the ol' violin.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
9 months
Dear baby boy,
Today, you are nine months old! It's interesting--when your sister was a baby, I always thought she seemed so grown up, even when she was younger than a year. You, though . . . you're my baby. Even when you learned to sit up, crawl, eat real table food, wave . . . all of it . . . you still seemed so young. But nine months? Nine months sounds so old. You're not a little baby any more. You're a big boy, doing big boy things. I'm both excited and saddened beyond words that, day after day, you keep growing up.
I've said it before and I'll say it again, the first year is SO amazing! Nine short months ago, you were a tiny, wriggly, snuggly, sleepy, helpless little newborn. Now? Now, baby boy, you are amazing. The things you've learned this month have left me shaking my head and smiling and laughing in bewilderment and amazement. You do adorable things like clapping and pointing at things. Your communication has exploded this month--you are starting to sign "more" and "all done." And, most amazing of all, you have started to talk!!
I first noticed when you were done nursing. You'd wave your arms to sign "all done" and then you'd say something that sounded remarkably like "ah-dah." I thought it was a fluke the first time, but after hearing you say it two, three, five, ten times, I knew it was true. You were saying "all done!" I told your daddy about it and that I didn't really want your first words to be "all done," and you know what he told me? "He's been saying 'ball' for a couple of weeks now." WHAT?! And then when I was telling your day care teacher this story, she said, "Oh yeah, he's been saying 'duck,' too." WHAT?!?!!? And then today, I swear I heard "book." It's still mostly babbles, but I'm so excited and amazed at how communicative you are already--even your babbles sound like full-blown conversations, complete with facial and vocal expressions. You are brilliant, baby boy.
Not only are your communication skills growing by leaps and bounds, but your physical skills continue to amaze (and scare!) me. To start with, you are, apparently, a climber. You show no fear in things that are too high or too low for you to reach--we've caught you climbing on top of toys, benches, steps . . . really anything you can get your little legs up onto. And if you are sitting on the couch (with me or Dad, of course) and you see something on the ground you want, you just go for it. There's no thought to "I'm about to fall off a piece of furniture." You just lunge your body at the ground and trust that we'll catch you. You do the same when I sit you at the top of the little plastic slide in the back yard--immediately thrust yourself down the slide with a huge smile on your face, trusting that I'll catch you. I have a feeling you're going to keep us on our toes, little boy.
And then there's the standing. That's right. Standing. At 8 months. I first noticed it when I was walking by one evening and you were standing between your dad's legs, both hands on a toy you had crammed into your poor teething mouth. "Um, look at Sam," I said to your dad. Of course, right then, you fell. When I told him you had just been standing there, not holding onto anything, he laughed and said I needed more sleep. And then you did it again, the next day. And you've continued to do it ever since. You are most stable when you're distracted and not thinking about it, but sure enough, you are standing on your own. When you combine that with the speed at which you are cruising along furniture now and moving back and forth from the coffee table to the couch, and I see the writing on the wall. Your dad and granddad have a bet about when you'll be walking: Dad thinks 10 months, Granddaddy thinks 11. I think mom wins if you're doing it at NINE.
Notice above where I said "poor teething mouth"? You broke another three teeth this month, bringing the grand total to six. Six teeth in seven weeks. You really don't have to do it all at once, you know. I believe that you're a big, strong boy even without you proving it like this.
The ultra-teething, combined with your continued on-again, off-again illnesses this month, have continued to do a number on your sleep. The last couple of weeks have been much better, though. You are going to sleep without too much of a struggle and are back to waking once a night to eat. We are still rocking you to sleep. I know we're going to have to break ourselves of that habit here pretty soon, but in all honesty, I have really loved rocking you to sleep every night. Most of the time it's easy, and I love holding your sweet sleeping form in my arms, love hearing your slow, deep, sleeping breath, love how at peace and comfortable you are in my arms. I know it's important that you learn to put yourself to sleep, but I will be so sad when the day comes that we have to start working on that. Until then, I will just soak up those dark, quiet, sleepy moments we still have.
Your pediatrician has also said that we really don't need to be feeding you at night anymore, but the thing is, your weight gain really suffered from the long months we tried to get you to take bottles and from the sick stretch this winter. Not only did you not gain as much as I'd like, you actually lost weight while you were sick. You are back on track now, and your eating is going great, but until I'm more comfortable with where you are, weight wise, I'm going to just keep on feeding you whenever you wake up hungry.
As for food, you are really doing great! We're on about half purees, half finger foods now (when you were six months old, you would NOT let us feed you purees, so we started with finger foods; then you got sick and stopped eating finger foods and started liking purees; now we are working you back toward finger foods again! You sure do keep us on our toes.). Your favorites are black beans, green beans, wheat bagel, graham crackers, apple slices, and veggie puffs. Oh, and meat! You LOVE meat! Any kind of meat so far has been a win . . . you even loved gnawing on the rib bones from our local barbecue restaurant. You still won't take bottles, so we've just stopped trying. I use my lunch break to nurse you every day. I know our nursing relationship is another thing, like the rocking to sleep, that won't last forever, so I'm trying to savor every moment while it lasts.
You are nine months old. Cruising. Talking. And still the cutest little boy that anyone's ever seen. Strangers come up to us all the time and tell us how adorable you are. Especially your eyes. Your dark, twinkly, gorgeous eyes. You smile at anyone and everyone, and love to talk-talk-talk in your special baby language. And still, still you snuggle me, bury your face in my neck, touch your forehead to mine. You are such a sweet boy, and you make every day sweeter for me, your sister, your dad.
Love you to the ends of the universe and beyond,
Mom
Today, you are nine months old! It's interesting--when your sister was a baby, I always thought she seemed so grown up, even when she was younger than a year. You, though . . . you're my baby. Even when you learned to sit up, crawl, eat real table food, wave . . . all of it . . . you still seemed so young. But nine months? Nine months sounds so old. You're not a little baby any more. You're a big boy, doing big boy things. I'm both excited and saddened beyond words that, day after day, you keep growing up.
I've said it before and I'll say it again, the first year is SO amazing! Nine short months ago, you were a tiny, wriggly, snuggly, sleepy, helpless little newborn. Now? Now, baby boy, you are amazing. The things you've learned this month have left me shaking my head and smiling and laughing in bewilderment and amazement. You do adorable things like clapping and pointing at things. Your communication has exploded this month--you are starting to sign "more" and "all done." And, most amazing of all, you have started to talk!!
I first noticed when you were done nursing. You'd wave your arms to sign "all done" and then you'd say something that sounded remarkably like "ah-dah." I thought it was a fluke the first time, but after hearing you say it two, three, five, ten times, I knew it was true. You were saying "all done!" I told your daddy about it and that I didn't really want your first words to be "all done," and you know what he told me? "He's been saying 'ball' for a couple of weeks now." WHAT?! And then when I was telling your day care teacher this story, she said, "Oh yeah, he's been saying 'duck,' too." WHAT?!?!!? And then today, I swear I heard "book." It's still mostly babbles, but I'm so excited and amazed at how communicative you are already--even your babbles sound like full-blown conversations, complete with facial and vocal expressions. You are brilliant, baby boy.
Not only are your communication skills growing by leaps and bounds, but your physical skills continue to amaze (and scare!) me. To start with, you are, apparently, a climber. You show no fear in things that are too high or too low for you to reach--we've caught you climbing on top of toys, benches, steps . . . really anything you can get your little legs up onto. And if you are sitting on the couch (with me or Dad, of course) and you see something on the ground you want, you just go for it. There's no thought to "I'm about to fall off a piece of furniture." You just lunge your body at the ground and trust that we'll catch you. You do the same when I sit you at the top of the little plastic slide in the back yard--immediately thrust yourself down the slide with a huge smile on your face, trusting that I'll catch you. I have a feeling you're going to keep us on our toes, little boy.
And then there's the standing. That's right. Standing. At 8 months. I first noticed it when I was walking by one evening and you were standing between your dad's legs, both hands on a toy you had crammed into your poor teething mouth. "Um, look at Sam," I said to your dad. Of course, right then, you fell. When I told him you had just been standing there, not holding onto anything, he laughed and said I needed more sleep. And then you did it again, the next day. And you've continued to do it ever since. You are most stable when you're distracted and not thinking about it, but sure enough, you are standing on your own. When you combine that with the speed at which you are cruising along furniture now and moving back and forth from the coffee table to the couch, and I see the writing on the wall. Your dad and granddad have a bet about when you'll be walking: Dad thinks 10 months, Granddaddy thinks 11. I think mom wins if you're doing it at NINE.
Notice above where I said "poor teething mouth"? You broke another three teeth this month, bringing the grand total to six. Six teeth in seven weeks. You really don't have to do it all at once, you know. I believe that you're a big, strong boy even without you proving it like this.
The ultra-teething, combined with your continued on-again, off-again illnesses this month, have continued to do a number on your sleep. The last couple of weeks have been much better, though. You are going to sleep without too much of a struggle and are back to waking once a night to eat. We are still rocking you to sleep. I know we're going to have to break ourselves of that habit here pretty soon, but in all honesty, I have really loved rocking you to sleep every night. Most of the time it's easy, and I love holding your sweet sleeping form in my arms, love hearing your slow, deep, sleeping breath, love how at peace and comfortable you are in my arms. I know it's important that you learn to put yourself to sleep, but I will be so sad when the day comes that we have to start working on that. Until then, I will just soak up those dark, quiet, sleepy moments we still have.
Your pediatrician has also said that we really don't need to be feeding you at night anymore, but the thing is, your weight gain really suffered from the long months we tried to get you to take bottles and from the sick stretch this winter. Not only did you not gain as much as I'd like, you actually lost weight while you were sick. You are back on track now, and your eating is going great, but until I'm more comfortable with where you are, weight wise, I'm going to just keep on feeding you whenever you wake up hungry.
As for food, you are really doing great! We're on about half purees, half finger foods now (when you were six months old, you would NOT let us feed you purees, so we started with finger foods; then you got sick and stopped eating finger foods and started liking purees; now we are working you back toward finger foods again! You sure do keep us on our toes.). Your favorites are black beans, green beans, wheat bagel, graham crackers, apple slices, and veggie puffs. Oh, and meat! You LOVE meat! Any kind of meat so far has been a win . . . you even loved gnawing on the rib bones from our local barbecue restaurant. You still won't take bottles, so we've just stopped trying. I use my lunch break to nurse you every day. I know our nursing relationship is another thing, like the rocking to sleep, that won't last forever, so I'm trying to savor every moment while it lasts.
You are nine months old. Cruising. Talking. And still the cutest little boy that anyone's ever seen. Strangers come up to us all the time and tell us how adorable you are. Especially your eyes. Your dark, twinkly, gorgeous eyes. You smile at anyone and everyone, and love to talk-talk-talk in your special baby language. And still, still you snuggle me, bury your face in my neck, touch your forehead to mine. You are such a sweet boy, and you make every day sweeter for me, your sister, your dad.
Love you to the ends of the universe and beyond,
Mom
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Inside Out Day
Last Friday was your inside-out day, baby boy.
The day that marked the tipping point between time spent growing inside me and time spend growing outside me.
268 days inside me. 268 days outside me.
I didn't get to write your blog post on the actual day, but I looked up when your inside-out day was a few days before, and on Friday, I paused for a moment and smiled. I thought of all that time you were inside me, and all this time you've been outside. I paused and I smiled and I marked the day in my heart of hearts.
What on earth did I ever do before you were an outside baby, before you graced my days and hours and minutes with your sweet smile and your easy laugh and your twinkling eyes? You filled a part of my life that I never even knew was missing. The last 268 days really have been the happiest of my life. No matter how harried I get at work, no matter how tired I am from lack of sleep, there is a level of permanent contentment deep in my soul that no temporary feelings of stress can touch.
And you are such a big part of that contentment.
For the last 268 days, I've been able to kiss your elbow dimple and say "ma-ma-ma" against your cheek and feel your breath on my neck as you sit and quietly snuggle with me. I've heard you squeal with delight and heard your first words. I've seen you crawl and throw a ball and stand and walk along furniture. Inside babies are nice, but outside babies fill your heart and your arms and your eyes in the most delicious ways possible.
But the first 268 days were their own kind of special. You grew perfectly inside me. You and I were never apart. I was never alone. I could reach down at any point, in any mood, and feel a bulge that belonged to you, and love you and know that you were right there with me. But more than the constant companionship, I knew that for those 268 days, you were protected. I could keep you safe and healthy. No cold would touch you, no germs, no illnesses. You never cried. You never needed anything.
In a world where mothers want nothing more than to love and protect their children, those first 268 days were our honeymoon.
I guess growing up is a gradual movement from safety to vulnerability, but also from passivity to interactivity, to fun. That is to say, the older you get, the harder it is to take care of you but the more fun it is at the same time.
So happy inside-out day. You are now more a child of the world than of the womb. 268 days from now and you'll have likely had your first scrapes and bruises. You'll probably have gotten sick a few more times. You might even start to have tantrums, begun those battles with feelings of frustration and injustice. We'll probably have had to start some kind of limitations, some kind of discipline. But you'll also be walking (running!) and talking. You'll know how to play games. You'll be learning your letters and colors and shapes. And you and your sister will be able to play together for hours and hours and hours.
I wish I could protect you forever.
But always know that we mothers let go so that you can experience the thrill of flight for yourself.
The day that marked the tipping point between time spent growing inside me and time spend growing outside me.
268 days inside me. 268 days outside me.
I didn't get to write your blog post on the actual day, but I looked up when your inside-out day was a few days before, and on Friday, I paused for a moment and smiled. I thought of all that time you were inside me, and all this time you've been outside. I paused and I smiled and I marked the day in my heart of hearts.
What on earth did I ever do before you were an outside baby, before you graced my days and hours and minutes with your sweet smile and your easy laugh and your twinkling eyes? You filled a part of my life that I never even knew was missing. The last 268 days really have been the happiest of my life. No matter how harried I get at work, no matter how tired I am from lack of sleep, there is a level of permanent contentment deep in my soul that no temporary feelings of stress can touch.
And you are such a big part of that contentment.
For the last 268 days, I've been able to kiss your elbow dimple and say "ma-ma-ma" against your cheek and feel your breath on my neck as you sit and quietly snuggle with me. I've heard you squeal with delight and heard your first words. I've seen you crawl and throw a ball and stand and walk along furniture. Inside babies are nice, but outside babies fill your heart and your arms and your eyes in the most delicious ways possible.
But the first 268 days were their own kind of special. You grew perfectly inside me. You and I were never apart. I was never alone. I could reach down at any point, in any mood, and feel a bulge that belonged to you, and love you and know that you were right there with me. But more than the constant companionship, I knew that for those 268 days, you were protected. I could keep you safe and healthy. No cold would touch you, no germs, no illnesses. You never cried. You never needed anything.
In a world where mothers want nothing more than to love and protect their children, those first 268 days were our honeymoon.
I guess growing up is a gradual movement from safety to vulnerability, but also from passivity to interactivity, to fun. That is to say, the older you get, the harder it is to take care of you but the more fun it is at the same time.
So happy inside-out day. You are now more a child of the world than of the womb. 268 days from now and you'll have likely had your first scrapes and bruises. You'll probably have gotten sick a few more times. You might even start to have tantrums, begun those battles with feelings of frustration and injustice. We'll probably have had to start some kind of limitations, some kind of discipline. But you'll also be walking (running!) and talking. You'll know how to play games. You'll be learning your letters and colors and shapes. And you and your sister will be able to play together for hours and hours and hours.
I wish I could protect you forever.
But always know that we mothers let go so that you can experience the thrill of flight for yourself.
Friday, February 17, 2012
Ditto.
Read this.
Especially moms of girls.
But really, if you have a kid, or know someone who has a kid, or ever interact with someone who has a kid or with that person's kids, read this.
http://viewsfromthecouch.com/2012/02/12/you-didnt-thank-me-for-punching-you-in-the-fac/
I give it a big, fat DITTO.
Especially moms of girls.
But really, if you have a kid, or know someone who has a kid, or ever interact with someone who has a kid or with that person's kids, read this.
http://viewsfromthecouch.com/2012/02/12/you-didnt-thank-me-for-punching-you-in-the-fac/
I give it a big, fat DITTO.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
The King and Queen of Drama
A coworker and friend of mine just started her little boy at my kids' day care. She actually had her older son there first, and recommended the place to me when I was pregnant with baby girl, so she knows all the teachers already.
She came by yesterday to chat about how the first couple of days back at work have been for her. She always lets me know when she sees little man when she's there visiting her son and often gives me little updates on what he was doing. One time he was irate because one of the other boys had done something or other to him. We laughed about how he and that baby don't really get along. Well, yesterday she told me he had been playing quite happily with the other boy.
"Oh, good!" I said. "No drama." And I smiled. Because I am the first to admit my kids are, well, dramatic.
"I know!" she exclaimed. "Ms. Teacher told me they don't even call him by his name. They just call him 'Drama King' and everyone knows who they're talking about. She said they don't call his sister by name, either. They just say, 'Drama Queen' and everyone knows who they're talking about."
I smiled through all this. Laughed at the end of it. But inside my stomach shrank to an ice cube.
The teachers at my kids' school call them the "Drama King" and "Drama Queen"? They don't even refer to them by name anymore?
My initial reaction to this was indignation. Aside from the fact that this teacher is talking about my kids with another parent, they don't even refer to them by name anymore . . . they just call them "Drama King" and "Drama Queen."
Indignation and anger.
But then, there was a little voice in my head that said . . . "so what?"
Yes, my kids are dramatic. But you know what that means? That means that they are passionate and expressive. That means that they are confident enough to stand up for themselves when they feel they've been wronged.
Do I really want to raise children who are passive and meek, children who quietly follow others because they lack the guts to blaze their own trails?
Hell no.
If I could pick attributes for my adult children to have, passion would certainly be near the top of the list. To raise a child who is passionate, who thinks for him or herself, who is strong enough to stand up for him/herself, who isn't afraid of expressing him/herself . . . if I can do that then I know I'll have been a successful parent, will have set my children up as best as I could for success.
Strength. Passion. Expressiveness. Confidence. Spirit.
Yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes.
So go ahead. Call my kids Drama Royalty.
I'm damned proud of them for it.
She came by yesterday to chat about how the first couple of days back at work have been for her. She always lets me know when she sees little man when she's there visiting her son and often gives me little updates on what he was doing. One time he was irate because one of the other boys had done something or other to him. We laughed about how he and that baby don't really get along. Well, yesterday she told me he had been playing quite happily with the other boy.
"Oh, good!" I said. "No drama." And I smiled. Because I am the first to admit my kids are, well, dramatic.
"I know!" she exclaimed. "Ms. Teacher told me they don't even call him by his name. They just call him 'Drama King' and everyone knows who they're talking about. She said they don't call his sister by name, either. They just say, 'Drama Queen' and everyone knows who they're talking about."
I smiled through all this. Laughed at the end of it. But inside my stomach shrank to an ice cube.
The teachers at my kids' school call them the "Drama King" and "Drama Queen"? They don't even refer to them by name anymore?
My initial reaction to this was indignation. Aside from the fact that this teacher is talking about my kids with another parent, they don't even refer to them by name anymore . . . they just call them "Drama King" and "Drama Queen."
Indignation and anger.
But then, there was a little voice in my head that said . . . "so what?"
Yes, my kids are dramatic. But you know what that means? That means that they are passionate and expressive. That means that they are confident enough to stand up for themselves when they feel they've been wronged.
Do I really want to raise children who are passive and meek, children who quietly follow others because they lack the guts to blaze their own trails?
Hell no.
If I could pick attributes for my adult children to have, passion would certainly be near the top of the list. To raise a child who is passionate, who thinks for him or herself, who is strong enough to stand up for him/herself, who isn't afraid of expressing him/herself . . . if I can do that then I know I'll have been a successful parent, will have set my children up as best as I could for success.
Strength. Passion. Expressiveness. Confidence. Spirit.
Yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes.
So go ahead. Call my kids Drama Royalty.
I'm damned proud of them for it.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Happy
Yesterday, when I picked you up from school, as I buckled your brother into his car seat, you begged to go play in the soft motor room.
"Okay," I told you, "you can go down there and play for one minute. But when I come down with Sammy, it's going to be time to go, okay?"
"Okay!" you squealed, running off. You only got about two steps away before you turned around to give me the book you were holding. "I'm going to go play now!" you said again, turning to run. You got about four steps away and then returned, bringing me your stuffed bunny to hold. With your hands now empty, you told me, "I'm going to go down to the soft motor room to play!" and turned once again to go. But then you paused, the excitement of special playtime shining in your eyes. "I'm going to go play, but then I want you and baby Sammy to come down and play WITH me for just one minute!"
How could I say no? "Okay," I smiled, "but just for ONE minute. Now go, hurry! Run, run, run!"
You turned to run, and then looked back again. "You . . ."
"Yes, Sammy and I are going to come down and play with you."
"Okay," you smiled. And then you turned and ran. You were wearing a purple track suit with aqua stripes. You looked like a tiny little track star. Your hair was falling in a curly mess around your head, half of it loose from the pony tail I had put in neatly that morning. As you ran, I stopped and watched. You ran down the hall, your tiny, 2-yr-old legs working hard. When you run, you lift your right leg up higher than your left, resulting in a bouncing trot that makes all the curls on your head bounce and sway.
You ran away down the hall, and suddenly I thought of all the halls I'd watch you walk down in your life, all the times you would head off independently to live your own adventure. I saw you walking away from me to the safety of your classroom in elementary school, to dances in middle school, to your friends in high school. I wanted to freeze time, right then, capture you running, the pumping legs, the bouncing curls, the joy splashed across your face.
You turned at the end of the hall and saw me watching you, and you called out, your face etched with excitement, "Come play with me, Mommy!
"Come play with me!"
I smiled and picked up your stuffed bunny, your book, my hands and heart both full of the trappings of toddlerhood.
"Come play with me, Mommy!"
I am, baby girl. I'm coming to play with you. To dive into your world of magic and make-believe and the thrill of playing in the soft motor room at the end of the day.
I am coming to play with you, basking, bathing in the moment, the glory of your youth and your innocence and your exuberance and your desire for me to share it all with you, your need to have me close, to have me join you in your bliss.
In knowing that I am part of your bliss.
I wish I could have grabbed that moment and put it into a charm to wear around my neck for the rest of eternity.
You are my joy, my blessing.
And I'm thankful for every moment when the world around us stops and our hearts connect and your sweet voice rings in my ears (Come play with me, Mommy!) and my happiness swallows me up.
"Okay," I told you, "you can go down there and play for one minute. But when I come down with Sammy, it's going to be time to go, okay?"
"Okay!" you squealed, running off. You only got about two steps away before you turned around to give me the book you were holding. "I'm going to go play now!" you said again, turning to run. You got about four steps away and then returned, bringing me your stuffed bunny to hold. With your hands now empty, you told me, "I'm going to go down to the soft motor room to play!" and turned once again to go. But then you paused, the excitement of special playtime shining in your eyes. "I'm going to go play, but then I want you and baby Sammy to come down and play WITH me for just one minute!"
How could I say no? "Okay," I smiled, "but just for ONE minute. Now go, hurry! Run, run, run!"
You turned to run, and then looked back again. "You . . ."
"Yes, Sammy and I are going to come down and play with you."
"Okay," you smiled. And then you turned and ran. You were wearing a purple track suit with aqua stripes. You looked like a tiny little track star. Your hair was falling in a curly mess around your head, half of it loose from the pony tail I had put in neatly that morning. As you ran, I stopped and watched. You ran down the hall, your tiny, 2-yr-old legs working hard. When you run, you lift your right leg up higher than your left, resulting in a bouncing trot that makes all the curls on your head bounce and sway.
You ran away down the hall, and suddenly I thought of all the halls I'd watch you walk down in your life, all the times you would head off independently to live your own adventure. I saw you walking away from me to the safety of your classroom in elementary school, to dances in middle school, to your friends in high school. I wanted to freeze time, right then, capture you running, the pumping legs, the bouncing curls, the joy splashed across your face.
You turned at the end of the hall and saw me watching you, and you called out, your face etched with excitement, "Come play with me, Mommy!
"Come play with me!"
I smiled and picked up your stuffed bunny, your book, my hands and heart both full of the trappings of toddlerhood.
"Come play with me, Mommy!"
I am, baby girl. I'm coming to play with you. To dive into your world of magic and make-believe and the thrill of playing in the soft motor room at the end of the day.
I am coming to play with you, basking, bathing in the moment, the glory of your youth and your innocence and your exuberance and your desire for me to share it all with you, your need to have me close, to have me join you in your bliss.
In knowing that I am part of your bliss.
I wish I could have grabbed that moment and put it into a charm to wear around my neck for the rest of eternity.
You are my joy, my blessing.
And I'm thankful for every moment when the world around us stops and our hearts connect and your sweet voice rings in my ears (Come play with me, Mommy!) and my happiness swallows me up.
Monday, January 30, 2012
We're Alive. Barely.
Sorry for the long blog silence. We've had a rough start to 2012.
Little man got a tummy bug. Threw up on me in the middle of the night and then proceeded to have projectile diarrhea for the next four days. Lovely.
He was better for like a day, and then baby girl AND little man came home from school with identical wet, hacking, gunky coughs. Which then proceeded to turn into RSV for little man. We spent an afternoon with him in the hospital, and about 8 days total with him not eating or sleeping.
Oh, speaking of his eating, have I mentioned that he's on a complete bottle strike? He absolutely REFUSES to take one. Which meant there were two or three days he ate NOTHING at school. All day. Just waited for me. And then nursed. A lot. All night. I have worked out where I can go during my lunch break at noon to nurse him. It's five hours after feeding him at 7 a.m. for breakfast, but I figure if he can hold out all day, he can last five hours.
So back to healthy issues. What with his tummy bug, bottle strike, and RSV, he lost weight.
My parents came down for the week to help us out because TH had to go to Chicago on a business trip. Where he came down with the dreaded man cold. His voice dropped about three octaves. He spent days in bed. Even when he came back from his trip, he was not really much help because being out of bed for more than 30 minutes or so made him dizzy. He just slept a lot. Which I mildly struggled with because I was NOT sleeping a lot. Thank God my parents were around to help me out and give me some time to rest and recuperate, too.
Anyway, our whole family finally, finally seemed to be feeling better this weekend.
And then baby girl threw up her lunch yesterday.
And then TH woke up this morning with half of his face swollen and one of his lymph nodes swollen out of his neck about the size of a baseball.
EFFFFFFFFFFF.
So we're here. Limping along. I have no time for blogging because I don't pump at work anymore and because every second of my evenings is spent for caring for my sick family or collapsing in bed myself.
I will (WILL) write little man's 8-month letter soon. Illnesses aside, he's had a totally mind-blowing month.
Until then, stay well.
Oh, and so far, 2012 can suck it.
Little man got a tummy bug. Threw up on me in the middle of the night and then proceeded to have projectile diarrhea for the next four days. Lovely.
He was better for like a day, and then baby girl AND little man came home from school with identical wet, hacking, gunky coughs. Which then proceeded to turn into RSV for little man. We spent an afternoon with him in the hospital, and about 8 days total with him not eating or sleeping.
Oh, speaking of his eating, have I mentioned that he's on a complete bottle strike? He absolutely REFUSES to take one. Which meant there were two or three days he ate NOTHING at school. All day. Just waited for me. And then nursed. A lot. All night. I have worked out where I can go during my lunch break at noon to nurse him. It's five hours after feeding him at 7 a.m. for breakfast, but I figure if he can hold out all day, he can last five hours.
So back to healthy issues. What with his tummy bug, bottle strike, and RSV, he lost weight.
My parents came down for the week to help us out because TH had to go to Chicago on a business trip. Where he came down with the dreaded man cold. His voice dropped about three octaves. He spent days in bed. Even when he came back from his trip, he was not really much help because being out of bed for more than 30 minutes or so made him dizzy. He just slept a lot. Which I mildly struggled with because I was NOT sleeping a lot. Thank God my parents were around to help me out and give me some time to rest and recuperate, too.
Anyway, our whole family finally, finally seemed to be feeling better this weekend.
And then baby girl threw up her lunch yesterday.
And then TH woke up this morning with half of his face swollen and one of his lymph nodes swollen out of his neck about the size of a baseball.
EFFFFFFFFFFF.
So we're here. Limping along. I have no time for blogging because I don't pump at work anymore and because every second of my evenings is spent for caring for my sick family or collapsing in bed myself.
I will (WILL) write little man's 8-month letter soon. Illnesses aside, he's had a totally mind-blowing month.
Until then, stay well.
Oh, and so far, 2012 can suck it.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
8 months
Dear Little Man,
You are 8 months old. I swear the last month lasted more than 31 days. There's no way that everything that happened in your 7th month, the milestones, the growth, the illnesses, all of it, all fit into 31 measely days. I think it must have been at least 74 days. At least.
Your 7th month was the most amazing, challenging, mind-blowing month yet. I cannot even begin to tell you all the things you suddenly mastered in your seventh month.
Crawling? Check. You went from rocking on all fours at the beginning of the month to being a total speed demon all over the house by the end. The first thing you crawled toward was your sister. My god it makes my heart burst every time I see how smitten with each other you are.
Pulling up? Check. You now stand in your crib. Pull up on our end table. You have even (:::dropping my voice to a whisper:::) started to take tiny little baby steps along the edge of the couch. Pretty much all you want to do is stand, stand, stand. Stand holding onto chairs, onto your activity table, onto our fingers, onto the wall. You love to stand, and the way I see your knee twitching, itching, aching to move forward, I know it's only a matter of time before you take that very literal and very metaphorical first small step.
Teeth? Check, check, and check. That's right. THREE teeth this month! Forget casual teething. Once you decided to get some teeth in, you pretty much decided to do this teething thing like it's your job. You broke your first two on bottom back-to-back, then took a week or two off, and then started to break your next FOUR on top. Only one of those is already through, (top center left), but the next one is close on its heels (top left canine). Not only do I think your two bottom teeth are the sweetest, most adorable thing I've ever seen, you are going to make me positively faint from adorableness when you have your left front teeth in but not your right. I can't wait to see your sweet, lop-sided smile.
Interactive play? CHECK! You know what you learned how to do this month? Wave. Is there anything better than seeing your full-armed wave coupled with your adorable smile? How about hearing your husky little voice babbling "ba-ba" while you wave?? I don't think I'm counting it as your first word yet, because I don't think you know what "bye-bye" means, but you definitely know that "ba-ba" goes along with waving and your favorite thing to do whenever you see anyone is wave and say "ba-ba!" over and over again. I think you like it because the recipient of the wave inevitable turns into a big, smiling, blubbering, waving pile of goo, and I think you like watching people have that reaction to you. And you know what else you can do? Play ball! I don't know how on earth you are old enough to do this already, but you will sit and roll a ball back and forth with us. We'll roll it to you, you'll pick it up and throw-roll it back to us. Rinse-repeat again and again and again. I don't know who laughs more, you or us. And your throw? I'm not kidding when I say that you throw better than your sister. Already. And at school apparently one of your favorite games is to take a toy and play "keep away" from your friends, twisting your body and reaching your hand all around, just out of their reach. I think you probably learned that from your sister. Stinker.
You have shown us this month how fearless you are. Your dad had you and your sister in the swing-set clubhouse one afternoon, enjoying the unseasonably warm winter we've had. This was probably right around the very day you became mobile, so we weren't really used to you being able to move around yet. Anyway, your dad turned his back for a second, and BAM! Down the slide you went, head first. You weren't happy about eating all the grass when you landed face-first at the bottom, and I wasn't happy to realize that little boys really do give their mommas heart attacks way more than little girls do. And now that I see you on the brink of walking, running, throwing, wrestling, and everything else, I know that there are a million heart attacks just waiting in the wings. Take it easy on me, you brave boy.
This month was also a month full of illnesses. You caught a random tummy bug early in the month and lost your appetite. You were better for about a day and then came down with a nasty, gunky, wet cough which developed into RSV. Your sleep disintegrated into nothingness. Your eating diminished into basically nothingness. You struggled to breath and all you wanted was to be held, something I was more than happy to do as much as I could. That one night last month when you had croup? That was child's play compared to the ten-ish nights we battled it out with RSV. One Sunday afternoon, after your dad got back from driving you around for two hours in the car so that you'd sleep, we decided to take you to the hospital. You and I both cried the entire drive there. They admitted you and monitored your oxygen levels. I held you in a hospital gown and sang you to sleep on my chest. I never want to dress you in a hospital gown that small again. (I never want to dress you in a hospital gown of ANY size again.) Unfortunately, RSV is a virus, and though you were breathing twice as fast as normal, your oxygen levels were fine and we were sent home with a sympathetic "there's nothing to do but wait it out" pat on our backs. The next Friday, we took you back to the pediatrician for a follow-up, and she was amazed to see a rash on your torso. She said you likely had a secondary viral infection at the same time. She said she was amazed that with the RSV and the secondary infection, you had never needed breathing treatments or any other serious care. She said you must be a very strong boy. She has no idea. You are the strongest boy I've ever met, and I will hold you every second of every illness, every moment you are too sick or weak to be strong on your own.
With a return to health came a rebound of your appetite! Whereas before you had zero interest in letting us feed you purees, now you will let us feed you and will eat with gusto. Thank god! You lost weight from being ill for so many weeks, so we have to feed you for about a week with your new, healthy appetite and take you in for a weight check to make sure you are back on track. At the beginning of the month, you loved sweet potato bites! You'd pop them into your mouth about as fast as we could get them on your tray. You haven't really reacquired your taste for them since your three-week solids hiatus, but your new love is apples. Real, sliced, raw apples. You use your new teeth to scrape off shavings and seem to be just as delighted with the sound and feel of the motion as you are with the resulting apple bits in your mouth.
Like I said. No way all of those things happened to you, to us, in only 31 days.
You are 8 months old now, and in a corner of my heart, I'm in denial. In that corner of my heart, you'll always be my snuggly newborn, my smiley 4-month old, my happy 6-month old. In that corner of my heart, I don't understand how you can be closing in on walking and talking already.
This morning I put you on the ground in the hallway and went to wake up your sister to get ready for school. You crawled right in after me, babbling what I swear for all the world sounds like "ah-na-na." You sister rubbed her eyes in her sleepy, slow waking, saw you, and her face broke into a smile. She squirmed to get down, went over to you on the floor, said, "Awwww, Sammy!" and gave you gentle, all-encompassing hug.
You bring such light to our lives. Such love. Happy 8 months to everyone's favorite sweet little boy.
Love,
Mom
You are 8 months old. I swear the last month lasted more than 31 days. There's no way that everything that happened in your 7th month, the milestones, the growth, the illnesses, all of it, all fit into 31 measely days. I think it must have been at least 74 days. At least.
Your 7th month was the most amazing, challenging, mind-blowing month yet. I cannot even begin to tell you all the things you suddenly mastered in your seventh month.
Crawling? Check. You went from rocking on all fours at the beginning of the month to being a total speed demon all over the house by the end. The first thing you crawled toward was your sister. My god it makes my heart burst every time I see how smitten with each other you are.
Pulling up? Check. You now stand in your crib. Pull up on our end table. You have even (:::dropping my voice to a whisper:::) started to take tiny little baby steps along the edge of the couch. Pretty much all you want to do is stand, stand, stand. Stand holding onto chairs, onto your activity table, onto our fingers, onto the wall. You love to stand, and the way I see your knee twitching, itching, aching to move forward, I know it's only a matter of time before you take that very literal and very metaphorical first small step.
Teeth? Check, check, and check. That's right. THREE teeth this month! Forget casual teething. Once you decided to get some teeth in, you pretty much decided to do this teething thing like it's your job. You broke your first two on bottom back-to-back, then took a week or two off, and then started to break your next FOUR on top. Only one of those is already through, (top center left), but the next one is close on its heels (top left canine). Not only do I think your two bottom teeth are the sweetest, most adorable thing I've ever seen, you are going to make me positively faint from adorableness when you have your left front teeth in but not your right. I can't wait to see your sweet, lop-sided smile.
Interactive play? CHECK! You know what you learned how to do this month? Wave. Is there anything better than seeing your full-armed wave coupled with your adorable smile? How about hearing your husky little voice babbling "ba-ba" while you wave?? I don't think I'm counting it as your first word yet, because I don't think you know what "bye-bye" means, but you definitely know that "ba-ba" goes along with waving and your favorite thing to do whenever you see anyone is wave and say "ba-ba!" over and over again. I think you like it because the recipient of the wave inevitable turns into a big, smiling, blubbering, waving pile of goo, and I think you like watching people have that reaction to you. And you know what else you can do? Play ball! I don't know how on earth you are old enough to do this already, but you will sit and roll a ball back and forth with us. We'll roll it to you, you'll pick it up and throw-roll it back to us. Rinse-repeat again and again and again. I don't know who laughs more, you or us. And your throw? I'm not kidding when I say that you throw better than your sister. Already. And at school apparently one of your favorite games is to take a toy and play "keep away" from your friends, twisting your body and reaching your hand all around, just out of their reach. I think you probably learned that from your sister. Stinker.
You have shown us this month how fearless you are. Your dad had you and your sister in the swing-set clubhouse one afternoon, enjoying the unseasonably warm winter we've had. This was probably right around the very day you became mobile, so we weren't really used to you being able to move around yet. Anyway, your dad turned his back for a second, and BAM! Down the slide you went, head first. You weren't happy about eating all the grass when you landed face-first at the bottom, and I wasn't happy to realize that little boys really do give their mommas heart attacks way more than little girls do. And now that I see you on the brink of walking, running, throwing, wrestling, and everything else, I know that there are a million heart attacks just waiting in the wings. Take it easy on me, you brave boy.
This month was also a month full of illnesses. You caught a random tummy bug early in the month and lost your appetite. You were better for about a day and then came down with a nasty, gunky, wet cough which developed into RSV. Your sleep disintegrated into nothingness. Your eating diminished into basically nothingness. You struggled to breath and all you wanted was to be held, something I was more than happy to do as much as I could. That one night last month when you had croup? That was child's play compared to the ten-ish nights we battled it out with RSV. One Sunday afternoon, after your dad got back from driving you around for two hours in the car so that you'd sleep, we decided to take you to the hospital. You and I both cried the entire drive there. They admitted you and monitored your oxygen levels. I held you in a hospital gown and sang you to sleep on my chest. I never want to dress you in a hospital gown that small again. (I never want to dress you in a hospital gown of ANY size again.) Unfortunately, RSV is a virus, and though you were breathing twice as fast as normal, your oxygen levels were fine and we were sent home with a sympathetic "there's nothing to do but wait it out" pat on our backs. The next Friday, we took you back to the pediatrician for a follow-up, and she was amazed to see a rash on your torso. She said you likely had a secondary viral infection at the same time. She said she was amazed that with the RSV and the secondary infection, you had never needed breathing treatments or any other serious care. She said you must be a very strong boy. She has no idea. You are the strongest boy I've ever met, and I will hold you every second of every illness, every moment you are too sick or weak to be strong on your own.
With a return to health came a rebound of your appetite! Whereas before you had zero interest in letting us feed you purees, now you will let us feed you and will eat with gusto. Thank god! You lost weight from being ill for so many weeks, so we have to feed you for about a week with your new, healthy appetite and take you in for a weight check to make sure you are back on track. At the beginning of the month, you loved sweet potato bites! You'd pop them into your mouth about as fast as we could get them on your tray. You haven't really reacquired your taste for them since your three-week solids hiatus, but your new love is apples. Real, sliced, raw apples. You use your new teeth to scrape off shavings and seem to be just as delighted with the sound and feel of the motion as you are with the resulting apple bits in your mouth.
Like I said. No way all of those things happened to you, to us, in only 31 days.
You are 8 months old now, and in a corner of my heart, I'm in denial. In that corner of my heart, you'll always be my snuggly newborn, my smiley 4-month old, my happy 6-month old. In that corner of my heart, I don't understand how you can be closing in on walking and talking already.
This morning I put you on the ground in the hallway and went to wake up your sister to get ready for school. You crawled right in after me, babbling what I swear for all the world sounds like "ah-na-na." You sister rubbed her eyes in her sleepy, slow waking, saw you, and her face broke into a smile. She squirmed to get down, went over to you on the floor, said, "Awwww, Sammy!" and gave you gentle, all-encompassing hug.
You bring such light to our lives. Such love. Happy 8 months to everyone's favorite sweet little boy.
Love,
Mom
Friday, January 6, 2012
I took a pregnancy test this morning
It was negative.
Just like it was supposed to be.
To be clear, we're 99.9999% sure we are d.o.n.e. If it were only up to me, I'd probably have the guts to go for three eventually, but the transition to two has done such a number on my husband that there's really no way we're going to choose to go through this again. We're not making a final decision for a while yet--we figured there's no point in making our decision while we're still sleep deprived and waking at night and probably only operating at like, 80% capacity. And I'm not going back on hormonal birth control. I'd like to say "ever," but at least until I'm all the way done breastfeeding. So we're using condoms and being very careful about things. In my husband's words, "I'm probably more afraid of getting you accidentally pregnant right now than I was in high school."
I'm not charting. I'm not doing anything to keep track of my cycles. I notice my fertility signs throughout the month, but that's based more on habit than anything else. And my cycles are normally long. 32-35 days each. And breastfeeding can make things wonky as well.
All that to say is that I can't remember how long it's been since my last period. So this morning, I took one of the dollar-store tests we have stashed under my sink for this very reason: my peace of mind.
It was negative. Of course it was. And I wasn't sad. I was relieved.
But when I picked it up, when there was that moment of actually checking to see if there was a second line, I was taken back in time to two other times I did the same thing. I remembered, for a moment, the thrill, the elation, the stopping of my heart, the feeling of screaming and crying and going hot and cold at the same time, of hearing my blood rushing in my ears. I remembered what it was like to see a second line there. Remembered what it was like to be totally overwhelmed with emotion, awash with joy and elation and excitement and fear.
I wasn't sad the test was negative. I was sad that that moment of seeing a positive test, that moment of the most intense emotion washing over your body, that moment when your entire life changes . . . sad that THAT moment--those moments--are forever in my past.
January 1, 2009 and September 8, 2010 . . . those were good days.
And the me that was there those mornings? The me that saw those second lines? She was a lucky gal.
Just like it was supposed to be.
To be clear, we're 99.9999% sure we are d.o.n.e. If it were only up to me, I'd probably have the guts to go for three eventually, but the transition to two has done such a number on my husband that there's really no way we're going to choose to go through this again. We're not making a final decision for a while yet--we figured there's no point in making our decision while we're still sleep deprived and waking at night and probably only operating at like, 80% capacity. And I'm not going back on hormonal birth control. I'd like to say "ever," but at least until I'm all the way done breastfeeding. So we're using condoms and being very careful about things. In my husband's words, "I'm probably more afraid of getting you accidentally pregnant right now than I was in high school."
I'm not charting. I'm not doing anything to keep track of my cycles. I notice my fertility signs throughout the month, but that's based more on habit than anything else. And my cycles are normally long. 32-35 days each. And breastfeeding can make things wonky as well.
All that to say is that I can't remember how long it's been since my last period. So this morning, I took one of the dollar-store tests we have stashed under my sink for this very reason: my peace of mind.
It was negative. Of course it was. And I wasn't sad. I was relieved.
But when I picked it up, when there was that moment of actually checking to see if there was a second line, I was taken back in time to two other times I did the same thing. I remembered, for a moment, the thrill, the elation, the stopping of my heart, the feeling of screaming and crying and going hot and cold at the same time, of hearing my blood rushing in my ears. I remembered what it was like to see a second line there. Remembered what it was like to be totally overwhelmed with emotion, awash with joy and elation and excitement and fear.
I wasn't sad the test was negative. I was sad that that moment of seeing a positive test, that moment of the most intense emotion washing over your body, that moment when your entire life changes . . . sad that THAT moment--those moments--are forever in my past.
January 1, 2009 and September 8, 2010 . . . those were good days.
And the me that was there those mornings? The me that saw those second lines? She was a lucky gal.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
2nd Child in Full Effect
The 2nd-Child Syndrome is in full effect at our house.
With baby girl, I made all her food her first year. I'd spend hours steaming, blending, and freezing perfect little serving-sized portions of only the freshest organic foods.
Last night, I handed little man a chunk of bean burrito from Taco Bell to gum on while I cooked dinner.
*sigh*
Go ahead and judge. I did, too.
With baby girl, I made all her food her first year. I'd spend hours steaming, blending, and freezing perfect little serving-sized portions of only the freshest organic foods.
Last night, I handed little man a chunk of bean burrito from Taco Bell to gum on while I cooked dinner.
*sigh*
Go ahead and judge. I did, too.
Monday, January 2, 2012
It's been a big week
In the last 8 days, my baby boy has learned how to sit up on his own from lying down, crawl, and has gotten his first two teeth.
If he weren't still waking up every night for nursing and snuggles, I'd seriously be wondering where my baby went.
If he weren't still waking up every night for nursing and snuggles, I'd seriously be wondering where my baby went.
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