Slacking

I'm sorry it's been crazy busy and I have yet to finish writing any pieces to share! Maybe this sweetness will help. 

I know we should say yes tonight.

I hate hearing about how women are needy and more complicated than men. How, women are so complex and men so simple that they only need food and sex to feel loved and be happy. And, I swear for Jesus that those lists suggesting 5 ways for me to please my man...definitely leave me less than inspired.

I freaking need food and sex too, dang it! Just make me feel sexy and let me get some rest, then it will be so much easier for everyone to get happy. Word?

I  am thinking about this as I stand over the kitchen sink to scrub 20ish bottle pieces and tackle the dinner dishes.

Women need to feel wanted, sexy and appreciated before we feel like giving it to you. I am done with the "your duty is to make your man happy and keep him happy" or "you have two jobs -- tend to your kids and have sex with your husband."

And then, I am still thinking about this when I run to change the laundry loads, after I stop to add another item to the grocery list that has been accumulating on the counter for 2 weeks.

Seriously, who doesn't love sexy time? Why is it always blamed on the women when the sex life sucks? Maybe guys should try a little harder to tackle the little tasks - in a timely manner - and help get things going again.

Shit, I better puree more food for my hungry kid and pack dinner leftovers for our lunches (that my husband never takes with him.)

If I hurry to get my things ready for my 6 am "real" job...maybe we can have a little fun together and I can surprise him.

"Honey, it's 9:27, you have 3 minutes!"

Yeah, he doesn't take me seriously when I say that, or when I give any other hints for that matter. I don't think he likes my sweatpants, sweaty sports bra or pureed berry blush. What a relief though, I'm too tired for extra work, no matter how much better I might sleep.

There's always Sunday.

Good thing we laugh about that too.


Also, we went on our first family vacation last week. It was perfect and I thought that I should share a few pictures with you:

I sat on this turtle when I was drunk last year, right before I found out I was pregnant.

The. Best. He loved seeing dolphins.

Party Time.

I lost my flip-flop right after this.

We did get to have an AMAZING date night.

What is this stuff?

Identity.

People ask us all the time how it feels to be parents and I always say the same thing, "Crazy. Amazing. Fun -- we get peed and puked on and it's totally OK!"

I really don't mind when my baby pees in his bath water, or down my shirt, or across the floor as I carry him to the bath, or in my face when I can't resist kissing his tummy during a diaper change. Though it is gross (I'm not that crazy), my baby's pee is the least gross kind of pee there is. I swear.

You really know it's love when you don't mind some puke and pee.

I also have a whole new interpretation of cannibalism because I could eat my baby any day of the week. He is so sweet and delicious looking that sometimes a million kisses are just not enough. I have to have a whole foot and one finger, right now or I might die.

And, oh my goodness, you should see the way he smiles and laughs at people and then hides his head on my chest.

Or, when he is tired and you try to get him to look at you and he just turns his head side to side, ignoring you.

When he cries for an hour at bedtime and you have to shut the monitor off to handle it, and then all of a sudden he is out cold. You smile at how well it went and go look at him in the crib just as he flops over on his back and opens his eyes one more time and smiles at you as if to say, "Haha, I got you fucker."

Or, when you try to give him kisses and he tries to eat your face with his slobbery, little mouth.

Oh, and he sits up now! Babies have this remarkable way of getting you to clap and cheer like a freaking lunatic. Your eyes get all big and you talk to them like...a baby. We all know what that sounds like, right?  And when he topples, it's even more adorable.

But, the absolute best...is the baby giggle. Mack's even sounds like mine, except it's adorable. And without a snort. Though, I have heard him snort.

These are just some of the best things of my new life that have me giddy with love and excitement...and all those things that people love to hate on.**

But, it's the other side of things that can be really hard to accept some days.

The side that is still trying not to feel left out of my old world. I was very naive in thinking that I would still be able to play sports a few times a week, or use free tickets to the comedy club on a Thursday night, or make it to book club for happy hour, or even the one making plans for everyone else.

It can be lonely sometimes, and frustrating. When you just want to go to dinner or not rush around Target so you can keep to the feeding and bed-time prep schedule. When you work SO hard to figure out a schedule that really helps your baby grow and be happy, you get really anxious about straying because you see the effects for days. 

Some days it is hard to accept my new identity because my old one seems too lost and far away. I was comfortable in that old skin. I knew what I was doing, what I wanted, how to have fun and let go, and had the security and means to be a little selfish. Now my selfish ideas revolve around wondering when I can sleep rather than returning a phone call or trying to meet a friend for dinner. Now, every day is filled with what ifs and then what ifs to those what ifs. 

Becoming a parent has been the best thing to ever change us, and also the hardest. No one really ever tells you how bad it can really feel at times, especially those first 3 months. No one tells you how dark some of those beginning days can be. It's definitely a topic that you are careful about who you say that around. No one admits to those things out loud. Some people are too judgmental and others really can't understand because they haven't been there.

I'm here to tell you that you can admit it, and you should talk about it, and know that you are not alone. But, also know that feeling that way does not mean that you are selfish and ungrateful, or that you don't love that tiny human with all of your being. You have been thrown to the wolves with 5 billion people and websites telling you what is right and offering advice, and then saying to just trust your gut and you will figure it out.

If I have learned something though, it is true that you will figure "it" out just as it's time to. All babies are different no matter how many times your baby gets compared to other babies. And, as soon as your baby knows that you figured them out, they will have something new for you to tackle. That is the only thing you can count on. But it makes you laugh and reward them with more snuggles and kisses for being the cutest and smartest baby alive.


** Don't you hate those people that always post on Facebook the annoyances of all the babies and weddings in their newsfeed? See ya ahole, not sure why or how I am friends with you, but you have been removed.

Why I took my boobs back.

Boobs and breast pumps. 

(That really caught your attention, right?)

Well, I took mine back -- my boobs, not my pump -- I don't think the store would take the pump, though I'd gladly get rid of it. 

That little chant that I used to find hilarious (read Things I've learned), yeah, it became my arch-nemesis. 

Pride kept me going when I would hardly pump half of what my kid demanded. I'd sit by lamplight in a locked room at work, trying to relax and envision the milk-rivers of my past. I would watch Mack videos and look at Mack pictures. I would cry, stress out and feel guilty. I even brought a blanket to the room to rest my head on while I would try to relax enough and maybe even doze off and wake up to magic milk. I didn't want to quit. 

I was determined to supply - even when I had to supplement with formula. It made me feel better knowing that I could still give him half of me (breastmilk) and by doing so I could make it last longer. I built my freezer supply back up and kept chanting and pumping. 

I could say that I didn't want to quit because I didn't want to pay for formula. But really, it was my crutch. And, it is so much easier to whip a boob out at 2am rather than making up a bottle. But really really, I didn't want to quit because I wanted to win. I wanted Mack to win. I would not be defeated by the pumping game, or my job, or the call of freedom.

But, I did feel defeated. It was exhausting pumping before bed and in the middle of the night when I work at 6am, and taking 2 breaks at work.  And, it was stressful not getting enough for him and still being told how down my numbers are at work (really I can't hate on this balogna because I did work less, I was away 5 hours a week to try and provide for my kid, why should they care about breastmilk).  And then there is the planning that it takes to go away. The stress caused by not being able to feed him and put him to bed at the one time of day that I could feed him directly, and help my body understand what we needed, was torture. Really the list of stressors goes on and on, and maybe I brought them on myself. 

Shit. Is. Hard.

Then I quit. Gave up. Stopped. Whatever you want to call it. 

And the first full bottle of formula that Mack had...he couldn't have cared less, and I bawled. 

Part of me was hurt that he didn't mind where the food came from -- he is such a greedy little nugget. 

Part of me was - is - proud that he is so strong, trusting and determined.

I no longer feel defeated, though. I feel blessed and proud that I could give him all of me that I did, for as long as I did. I never really had a goal or length of time that I planned to breastfeed, but I feel like I exceeded most expectations, and, I have definitely won. 

Definitely, definitely, won.

And this video is certainly entertaining, if you like spit and adorable baby chatter.

4 years attached.

I met this guy 12 years ago and I told my mom I was going to marry him after just one month of dating. She looked at me as a mom might look when talking to a dramatic psycho, and said with a sigh, "Oh Janell."

Our 4 year wedding anniversary was last week, so, I feel like giving you a throw back read to this blog post, It's sickening how cute we are.

I love how our story has turned out.

We celebrated at a Luke Bryan concert and came home with some crazy stories.

He stayed home with Grandma and slept. This kid should be seen by everyone, everyday.

UPDATE: Butt problems

Last Friday, things got progressively worse for my little man. He didn't eat or really drink at all. He slept from 6 pm to 6:30 am...and had a dry diaper. He seemed like he wanted to eat in the morning so we tried to give him a few ounces of milk, but it all came back up.

His butt problem had become the least of our worries for now.  Mack had no smiles to share and it was heartbreaking...and we were panicked.

Dehydration had set in after days of little food and not much to drink. So, we went to see the doc as soon as their doors opened.

Doc said it was time to syringe feed him and it didn't matter what we got down his pipe, we just had to get it in there because there was nothing else that we could do yet. He was not bad enough to get blood work or an IV, we just had to ride it out. So we did. And we pushed Pedialyte every hour and finally got him to keep some of his bottle and a little oatmeal down.

Sunday went even better and we are feeling relieved.

I'm sure we will have many more scares in our future, but we are so grateful to be on the up and up.

Thank you for all of your love, encouragement and advice!

Butt problems.

Sixty dollars and some change in butt creams. Two soaks in Epsom salts. Ten soaks in Baking Soda. Eleven baths with Aveeno baby wash. Eleven nights of cleaning up a "sleeping" baby in the middle of the night...and today is finally my breaking point.

Recently I prided myself that we had gone 7.5 months without a diaper rash. In the next .5 of this month, my kid gets a 101 fever, the poops, and a tooth popping in. He won't eat his food and only drinks half of his bottles. In one day of this crap (everywhere), everything under his diaper looks like sun poisoning. We let him roll around for days without a diaper, swapping out they messy towels and throwing them in the wash. We have tried every butt cream in the store aisle, every home solution and have followed the doc's advice since no one is worried until he has been shitting his brains out for 14 days.

Well on this 11th day, he began puking in the middle of the night. Hopefully, they are worried today.

Originally, I intended to write a funny post about baby poops and the asinine amount of money we have spent on diaper cream options for my kid's ass. But, I don't feel very funny today. I feel sick and I feel worried. This was my happy baby Mack last week: Sad.

 

Though this week, either he is sadly used to the monkey butt and upset stomach and torturous tooth pain, or he just decided to live life and have some fun:

 

He is the sweetest.

Rapper's Lullaby Delight.

I sing to my child for my own amusement. Though, he seems to like it.

It usually goes something like:

"Twinkle twinkle little star, who that who that, that do that, do that? Shimmy shimmy co co what and dried up all the rain and the itsy bitsy spider's gonna love you, gonna love you, black widow baby! Who that, who that, that do that, do that." And repeat. With different lyrics. Except for "who that, who that, that do that, do that." 

Go ahead, lose your place in nursery rhymes -- you know that you don't know all the words anyway. Rapping and improvising are invaluable tools for that kid to learn. 

And, it works like a charm:



 

In more news, you can now find me on Fudged Facebook and Twitter, so follow me there if you are social media whore and don't want to miss my stuff! It's a work in progress people!

 

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Invasion and insight.

Last year our family room fell victim to tiny black bugs with fat hairy legs. We found out that they fed off wheat, rice and corn products.

If you know us, you know that we are little anal about keeping the home tidy. It's embarrassing, but Ryan might follow you around with a dust-buster. (It's also a bit tough to keep up now with all my other priorities, like a baby for example.)

After cleaning every single thing for two weeks and digging through anything that we could think of, we found the source -- an infested bag of birdseed in the garage. Seriously. The m f'ers found their way through the wall. So, we plugged any possible cracks and eliminated the food source. Done and done.

Imagine our dismay when the little m f'ers made an appearance earlier this week and seemed to grow exponentially as the days passed.

Everywhere we looked fell tiny black bugs, but mostly along our back patio door. The buggers look like they are dead, but as soon as you scoop them up their nasty little legs start truckin'.  So when I found one in the diaper bag, and then my work bag, I swear for Jesus that I was about to go insane.

The only thing I could think of was that Mack is eating rice cereal and oatmeal and has an abundant spit-up problem so maybe that could be a food source. Ha. Crazy, I know. But seriously, we went through everything.

In the meantime, my job was to pack up the entire freaking house for a weekend getaway to make sure Mack has everything he needs.

Ryan's job was to pack up what we need: beer and cornhole boards. Seems fair, believe me, I know that too. (Though, I made him go to the store for me twice.)

And if I find one more freaking bug I'm going to break something.

And sure as shit, I found one more bug.

But, I managed not to break anything and started up the vacuum at 10pm.  And after moving all the furniture I felt a little better, like I bought us some time.

All of a sudden Ryan yells at me to put my shoes on and come outside and think about what possible food source that we could possibly have stored in the garage.

There, locked in ziplock bags, inside a huge toolbox, are nasty-ass-infested cornhole bags. What. The. F.

Good thing we were bringing cornhole. Ironic eh?

Eliminated.

So, we found out that the m'fers are actually called "corn weevils" and not "m'fers." But they are some sort of beetle.

Some tips I found that you might want to take note of when buying/storing corn-filled bags:

1. Make sure the corn has been inspected by the bag maker for the m'f'n corn weevils.
2. Bags can become infested if they are stored in damp areas or left setting for too long and, once infested, the weevils lay eggs in the corn and will want to join the party. Gross. 
3. To prevent weevil issues, store the unused whole kernel corn in a freezer if you make cornhole bags. This will kill weevil eggs that may already be in the corn.
4. Already have bags? Store your cornhole bags in rubbermaid containers and put them in the freezer for a day or two just to be safe and then keep them in a dry place.

Seriously, can I type "weevil" one more time?

And, not to gross you out, but you should know what they look like:

I still have the heebie-jeebies so you can Google the shits yourself if you want a bigger image.

And, just to be done with bugs, you might want to spend your Friday watching a video of my super-cute kid who is just watching the trees:

He is amazing entertainment.

The Daily.

Some birthday fun with the hubs.
We still try to get out.

WARNING: This details the minutes of my day that most of you won't care about. Feel free to stop reading here.

It's comical how long it takes to try to write something new now that I have the wee one.  I have accidentally created a schedule that starts the moment I speed out of work and race towards the smiles and giggles of my Macklin. The marathon runs as follows:

• 4pm, three trips to and from the car to unload work bags, pump bag, milk bag and Macklin.
• Race to put the day's gold booty of breastmilk in the fridge and throw all the bottles and pump attachments in the sink before someone becomes too anxious to get out of the car seat.
• Hurry to entertain Mack with the ceiling fan while I change clothes, wash off the day's makeup, brush my teeth (Someone gets a little bored with this part of his day.)
• Try to get him to let me snuggle him, which instantly results in milk factory action.
• Play time is next: practice rolling over (not me, Macklin), grabbing toys, sitting up, etc.  He quickly tells you when he is done with it (there is a theme here.)
• Wash all the bottles and pump attachments and begin steaming them, which goes on through the evening.
• Start dinner prep and explain the hows and whys to cutting vegetables and thawing meat. He loves to help and really hates having to sit in his chair while I do all the work.
• Someone gets hungry. I have chips and salsa and feed Mack rice cereal.
• 5:45-6:15pm we go outside and sit on the porch or walk around the backyard to feel the breeze, touch the flowers and giggle on the hammock. Someone gets bored and cranky.
• Bedtime routine begins.
• 7pm, someone is sleeping like a baby. I wish it were me.
• Lay out frozen breastmilk for the next day's bottles and sigh at the depleting stash. 
• Finish steaming all the baby's china. 
• All that dinner prep we started, yeah, I usually put it back in the fridge and pour a bowl of cereal.

I'm sure I am missing some things, like there has to be some poopy diaper changes, but what does it really matter?

If it was a really good day, I get a load of laundry in and it's almost dry. And on amazing days I get to have dinner with my husband or go to the grocery store.  He usually pays me on those kinds of days, and you better believe that I take what I can get for my services while he is out landscaping.

(Really though, the money usually gets left on the counter and he takes it back to go and get us takeout.)

My bedtime is 9pm and I always plan on getting up twice during the night and then out the door for work by 5:30am. There is no room for running off the baby weight or reading a book anymore. 

And still, each day I am so excited to get to the sitters. Just thinking about it makes me smile. I can't wait to get to him and do it all over again.

P.S. Sorry this has turned into a mommy blog. It's my life.

P.P.S. I have no idea how multiple children fit into this schedule, but we can't even talk about that out loud yet. My husband would kill me.

P.P.P.S. I spent so much time filling you in on the comics of a breastpump in Things I've Learned so let me tell you that I now feel like a prisoner to it. More to come on that later.



He is the cutest chubbawub.

See! Totally the cutest.

Pressure cooker & Baby Mack has lots to say.

Remember when I said that I may be ready to go back to something that I am sure of?

Yeah, well it seems that hasn't worked out so far.

You work your ass off through sleep deprivation and trying to stay afloat in your new identities, but it seems like nothing is getting your all. When I let someone down, I agonize over it for days. It's my nature. And lately, my 110% is divided amongst too many things so that every one, and every thing, gets the shaft. It's a crappy feeling.

The pressure is on to succeed...at everything...is that super-mom syndrome? Whatever it is, I hate making mistakes and feeling sub-par. While you know everyone understands that it's hard with a new baby and juggling roles, it's not an excuse and you don't want sympathy. To say so implies that I don't love the way Macklin's little body curls over my shoulder after another middle-of-the-night feeding. Or, the way his plump little cheeks feel against my face when I smother him in kisses. Or a million other things that make me want to make sure he gets my 110%.

I'll figure out the juggling act eventually. I will just have to ride out the lows until then and keep trying.

I'll just watch this insanely adorable video a few hundred more times. You should too.

Bringing it back.

Summer Tourney Champs & last game at 19 weeks pregnant

• 14 weeks after a cesarean birth 
• 5 Jillian Michaels workouts
• 3 volleyball games
•  6 (maybe) total hours of sleep each night

That is all the preparation I accomplished before getting back on the football field last Saturday. 

The morning began with a puking baby (it can really happen), a race around the house to find my cleats, my receiver gloves and clothes that fit...and then not getting to pump my boobs dry before heading to the field. 

At the time I didn't know Macklin really had a nasty flu bug, so I turned up the stereo bumps on the way to the game and got excited. It felt good (as long as I could ignore the little voice in the back of my head worrying about my mobility, skill-set revival and 15 lbs. of extra boobage.)

I stretched and played catch distractedly as I chatted with all my friends about my new life and what I've missed with theirs. Man, I really missed them. This felt right. I sure as shit could do it all and I was a freaking rockstar.

And then we took the field.

My legs were like lead. Every "fast" movement yanked at the bowling balls I was carrying and everyone kept saying, "let Janell stay in!" I seriously don't want to know what I looked like awkwardly running around out there. Actually, I don't think "running" is the right word but "heavily stomping" might be more accurate. I remember thinking that it was smart to only play one team until Mack is bigger.

But, then I had an interception and everyone goes crazy. Even though I didn't make it too far running down the field, it felt pretty damn sweet. I'm hopeful for the mojo to seep back into my blood, it's like riding a bike.

Last season pre-Mack and one of my favorite pics.

Last season pre-Mack.

Things I've learned.

Maybe these things are only funny to me, but I get so much laughter out of the what I am about to tell you, that I think it's time to over-share and let you in on the daily "holy-crap-that-shiz-is-funny" stuff.

One.
Using a breast pump is hilarious, I really don't care who you are. Suctioning funnels to your boobs is the most insane and amazing invention ever. Milk the freakin' cow baby. It took awhile for me to get comfortable with the breast pump, and I praise the Lord that I get to plug this thing in rather than slowly extract the milk-river manually like some of our mothers did. BY FAR my favorite tip shared with me has come from my sister -- to cut holes in my old sports bras so that the task is hands-free (you do not need the $45 bra.) Now I can scroll Facebook and Instagram, write this blog post, read my book on getting a baby to sleep through the night (which is a whole 'nother list by the way), flip pancakes, whatever I want, you get the picture, inappropriately of course. It is marvelous.  Even the sound the pump makes is hilarious. There is no secrecy and you know exactly what I am doing if you call me during a pump session. Also, I take so much pride in my milk collection that you can bet it makes me extremely happy to add up the saved ounces daily.

Two.
When you are trying to put the baby down for the night, and it's been over an hour, and you put him over your shoulder after nursing him, and he spits up in your hair (that you haven't been able to wash since Monday and it's Thursday), and is then wide awake all over again, and you go downstairs to get your husband to take a turn but you see he has had three beers and is chatting away on the phone, a little blip of rage courses through your exhausted body. This rage is natural.

Two-1.
OK, so said husband also did two loads of laundry, washed the dinner dishes AND was scheduling the pick-up of a hot tub so maybe he isn't so bad and I can still give him a kiss goodnight, nix the silent treatment and apologize for the temper tantrum.

Three.
You will begin to hear little chants slurring out of your breast pump, mine says, "Mack-lin, Mack-lin, Mack-lin..." and I swear the chant makes me push more milk out. Sometimes I try to get it to say other things but it always goes back to "Mack-lin, Mack-lin, Mack-lin." Try listening to it some time.

Four.
Buy one of those roller eye de-puffer things. I have the Garnier anti-puff eye roller and even though it doesn't crack the mountain of my eye puff, it sure feels damn good rolling that cold silver ball around your red-rimmed eye balls.

Five.
You will do many many dumb things. Several times I have thawed milk and made up Mack's bottles and then put them in the pantry instead of the fridge. Oops. I also lose my train of thought every 10 seconds and consistently forget where I put my car keys or the binky. Actually, I open a pack of pacifiers every other week because I can't find them in the diaper bag pockets where I was sure I put them. I did however, find one in the bathroom medicine cabinet, that was a good 5am chuckle. And, actually, my list of dumb things I've done could go on forever and should probably be it's own post.

But so should all my notes on the breast pump.

Six.
Every move you make begins with a baby feeding, this becomes the top priority and the timer starts soon as he finishes. From there you hear the clock tick its seconds as you race through Costco (no more two-hour strolls and taste-testings on Saturday). You have a short window unless you want to try out that leather recliner that you've been trying to convince your husband to buy.

Seven.
Invest in flashy scarves and other awesome accessories because when you put your hair in a ponytail, wear cardigans and stretchy pants every day, they make you look and feel a whole lot more fancy schmancy.

Eight.
Sorry, but I'm back to the breast pump. Buying the car adapter or putting batteries in it will be the best idea ever at the best times. On my first socializing evening without Mack, I sat in the back of the car and pumped for relief. Pump and dump took on a whole new meaning once the milk-river was left flowing down the side of the road in downtown Columbus.

Nine.
When you have a baby boy be very careful when changing his diaper. He will pee on himself, you, the wall or the couch, especially when you've just changed his clothes. Hand him to his father and pretend it didn't happen. Give it a minute and then take the baby back and pretend you just noticed he was wet. Dad should offer to change him since you just had a turn. Hey, its worth a try.

Ten.
I know my baby loves me now but in the beginning I wasn't so sure. I even made up a song (one of the many that you will make up) and it goes, "Mommy loves Macklin. Daddy loves Macklin. Macklin loves his Wubby (aka binky). And this song made us laugh through some of his frantic crying through his over-tiredness. The key was being tone-deaf and pitchy.

I could go on and on.

Becoming a parent is as funny as it is scary and wonderful. Every day we say "welcome to our new world" and chuckle. It is so hard to get out of bed in the morning but you jump up, walk into the nursery and sing "good morning." You begin to do anything to get giggles and smiles, and when you do, your world feels like it's the best its ever been.

Devotion.

As I sit here watching my baby nap...tortured that I had to put him down on my last day home with him...I just want to tell all my mommy friends how sorry I am if I wasn't there for you when you went through this because I feel heartbroken and panicked.

 

The onset of tears starts anytime, anywhere. It catches in my throat first and I try to swallow it down but I stare at his little face and have never felt so much love and astonishment in my entire life. You truly can't know how it feels until you feel it. It is magic.

 

While I may be ready to get back to do something that I am sure of, I am not ready to not spend the day encouraging and soothing Macklin. I barely put him down this week, and he seems to sense my angst because he is letting me snuggle him for hours and nothing else matters.

 

I believe that up until the day that I gave birth I worried too much about not giving enough to my family and friends. I never want anyone to feel like they aren't important enough to me. But, now it's about my sweet little family. I can't worry about a party I am missing, or a dinner date long overdue. Well, I will still worry, but those times will come again and this time will not. I  am struggling with that balance right now because I don't think there can be balance yet. I have a baby boy who looks to me for every part of his existence and I need to show him that he can always trust his mommy and daddy.

 

I will get through this going back to work thing just like every other working mother. But I just want to tell you all that the courage,  strength, love and devotion does not go unrecognized.

For today I will hold him, nuzzle his tiny nose, go for a walk in the sunshine, give him billions of kisses and tell him how handsome and wonderful he is. And, I will just have to double and triple all of these things when I get home from work tomorrow.

Macklin #babymack

When you spend 40 weeks planning, surviving, loving and daydreaming about your child, you know what you are asking for and have an idea about what to expect. However, no amount of any of these things can really prepare you for how bad it can feel at times.

When you have only slept for an hour and can't figure out how to calm your crying baby, or get them to eat, or hardly get past your pain after a major surgery, are questioning your ability and adequacy to do this...

But, then you stare into his eyes and at his little lips, and kiss his tiny little fingers, and hear and feel him calming against your heartbeat, you know that you can figure it out together...and nothing could feel better.

Macklin William O'Loughlin
12/19/13 @ 07:59

I thank God for my mother and amazing husband for helping me through. As Macklin and I struggled through his feedings and my pain, my mom sat beside me wiping my tears and softly giving encouragement and advice. Ryan knelt in front of us to help keep Mack and I both calm and able to keep trying.

Through those tears I felt so much love, humility, adoration, and a million other emotions that I could never explain.

And then, just when I thought that I would never be able to sleep in bed again or get off the couch, I was pumping breast milk and flipping pancakes at the same time. Hellz yes you read that correctly, I became a true multi-tasking mother and my abilities are growing every day. True pride and accomplishment.

That was the first two weeks, and here we are, Macklin's one-month birthday and I can't believe how much we have learned about one another. His snuggles are the best and nothing feels better than kissing the top of his head and smelling his baby scent as he sleeps on my chest. The up and down of his little body as he breathes and the little squeaks that escape his resting lips will forever melt my heart.

Now, if he would just begin to like having his diaper changed or give us a steady four hours of sleep at night...