Finding Your Way

Our first pictures as a family of four; way back when.
Thank you to my wonderful friend.

They say you lose yourself when you become a mom. They say your identity changes. They warn you about the confusion, the anxiety, the depression, the happiness, the sadness, the pure love, the loss of oneself as you knew it. You say, "duh." 

You are prepared for this. You want this. You were made for this. 

But what you don't know is how freaking hard that actually is to feel it and live it. 

I have been a stay-at-home mom for seven years now; this is absolutely unreal to me. In this time, my despair has been real. My defeat, my insecurity, and grief has brought me to my knees many times. I was not prepared for this job to feel so much harder than my "real" job. I was not prepared for how hard I missed the things that I used to do so easily. 

To make it more confusing, my absolute pure joy and thankfulness seemed to come hand-in-hand with the latter. In the beginning, I tried to work during nap times and after bedtime, but my work was quite inadequate. I had no room in my brain to turn the smart side on. I was exhausted and failing. It heightened my anxiety and insecurity. But I craved to feel successful, accomplished. 

Little by little, I found my way and realized that I was getting that success that I craved. I earned it, every single day. I let go of everyone's expectations, my expectations. I held on to those little fingers and toes that wrapped around me, that laughed and learned with me. They didn't care who judged me or who asked me what I did all day. When I cried, they hugged me. When I needed to breathe, they let me. We grew together. 

It took a few years to accept that the old me was still a part of me, a part that could occasionally come out and play. I sit here, these seven years in, and for the first time feel like there is room to figure out what more I can do. 

The things I know and Mom-fear.

I know the answer to thousands of questions everyday. I could tell you why the sun was moving so fast through the clouds. I could tell you why the rain washed chalk off the driveway or why we brush our teeth and wear socks. I could explain why ketchup is red, how to get downtown, why scabs peel off boo boos, why we don't pee in the pool or what garbage can be recycled.

I can tell you that I did 9,024 steps today - mostly up and down the stairs forgetting socks, a binky, the nose sucker, laundry or looking for a blanket. You know, the stuff Mom's slay through.

I can tell you what a Gila monster is or when to use a backhoe rather than an excavator. Or, when to use the jock itch butt cream vs. vitamin D.

I can tell you the last time my husband and I had a one-on-one date (December, 29.)

What I can't tell you, is how to hold yourself together when panic snakes through your fingertips, ripples up your arm and grabs hold of your entire being. When your head tells you not to overreact, but you are choked by the panic you fight.

A few weeks ago I had the baby in a shopping cart's seat for the first time. We were in the baby section grabbing diapers, in the back of a store. My son suddenly stops talking and jumping through the aisle. With wide eyes he yells that he has to go to the bathroom, of course. Off we go and he is sprinting - he knows the way well - and I am trying to keep up with the baby in the shopping cart. I can see him straight ahead and we will catch up. My son darts right, towards the bathroom. So far, so good. We will be there in 5 seconds. Except, the aisle is blocked off with boxes of new display items. I look left, I look right and I'm calling his name. He isn't answering and I don't see him. I am by the men's bathroom door, it was closest, did he go in there? I step away from the cart and I yell into the bathroom for him, he isn't there. I push the shopping cart and run to the women's and burst in, he isn't there.

I went cold. I unbuckled my baby and grabbed her out of the seat and ran back and forth around the bathrooms. My eyes darting 360 degrees. I'm calling out for him and swallowing hysteria, trying to remain calm and not draw too much attention to my horrible mom-ness. But I can't find him and he isn't answering me. I threw my vanity to the wind and began asking everyone, "Did you see a little blonde boy, blue coat?" They stop what they are doing and help. An employee goes to page him as I'm squeezing my baby tight to my hip and running around clothes, through clothes and boxes. I hear someone say, "It's OK, I'm sure he is here. It has happened to all of us." (Thank you, kind woman, for the mom support, I really needed it later.)

And then. He is there. He steps into the aisle calling for me with tears in his eyes. I grab him and I'm shaking. I feel my face burning and my blood warming. I drag him into the bathroom to yell at him, I'm so angry.  I begin breathing, heavy, in and out, and let him talk. He got lost because the aisle was blocked off, he couldn't find the bathroom - and then he couldn't find me either. I breathe some more. I grab him, hug him, kiss him, tell him that I am so sorry and that I was really scared. He says, "I love you mommy. I didn't mean to do that, I'm sorry." And then, "I still have to pee."

The whole ordeal spanned about 4 minutes. I know you are thinking that I am the hovercraft kind of mother to flip out like this. But I'm not, I swear. I let my kid play in the backyard with his neighborhood friends and they are not in my eyesight every single second. We have rules and boundaries, and he has earned that. (And, I count on other parents to be watching too.) But something like this is the stuff nightmares are made of on the 6 o'clock news.

We left the store and talked about it the entire way home and on and off throughout the evening. I can't stop thinking about the children and families recently left broken. Who has felt that panic turn to gut-wrenching pain. For two weeks I had nightmares about my 4-year-old in a school shooting, kidnappers in vans screeching to a halt beside my car as I loaded groceries, and break-ins that I threw lamps and underwear at intruders. I think this fear, or not being able to handle this fear, could be reason enough to not have children.

I took a break from going to any store with the kids - until my wine stash was too close for comfort of running out. But here is the thing, I refuse to live in fear. I will love, mold, and grow little people who will persevere...and stop fucking running away from their mother.

Close-calls in parenting.

Newsflash: Being a parent is really just a series of close-calls and lucky-as-shit moments.

If I'm not almost living the worst scenarios, then the absolute even worse scenes flash before my eyes and I can't erase them. As a parent I try to be on guard all the time. I'm scanning the parking lots, looking through car windows, checking behind me, making sure I don't unlock my car too early -- while still being fun, loving and totally awesome whenever I can be. 

But, maybe I shouldn't sit my baby on the couch while I grab the car seat. Duh. Common sense. Some have it, and some just can't be expected to every second of the day.

And maybe never let your moving (running or walking) child out of the car first. Leave them strapped in as long as possible.

Definitely, do not let a dangling spider allow you to set your freshly bathed babe in fleece pj's on a granite countertop. This, my friends, could result in potato pancakes smashed into the once freshly bathed babe as she was saved in the nick of time. (I won't get into the rage over this one.)

Also, you have to be weary of that beeping carbon monoxide detector.  If this ever happens to you, go get your in-laws' device to check against yours, send your husband to Walmart with 20 minutes to closing time and call the fire department to come over for a walk-through while he is gone.

Should I stop with the self-incrimination?

I didn't go through pregnancy for nothing.

The worrying never ends, but at least with it I get to hear the laughter of my littles and feel the best kind of love there is. A parent prays that the laughter lasts forever and ever.

Stay At Home Mom - Reason 100.

I put the baby down on her play mat. I peeked in on my son now playing with hot wheels on a race track and calmly walked up the stairs. I glazed by the family picture frames and wedding photos on the walls and entered the blue serenity of my bedroom, with insanely oversized furniture, and into my tiny but beautiful bathroom. 

I closed the door and screamed. But, I tried to mute myself so I immediately started coughing. And then, sobbing as I slid to the floor against the door.

I can't do this. 

I can't do this. 

Ican'tdothisIcan'tdothisIcan'tdothisIcan'tdothis.

I stood up. I splashed water on my face and patted it dry. I walked back down the stairs lugging the weight of my embarrassing despair and guilt.  

I can try again. Tomorrow I will be better.

And it was. I had coffee sitting on my driveway in the sun, the baby in her bouncy chair next to me (in the shade) and my son chalking in the morning light. It was beautiful. It's why I am here.

Freezer Meal Prep = Nesting, not resting.

38 weeks along and I was determined to get the baby room finished, her clothes washed and organized, diaper stations stocked and family meals in the freezer. I had to take a few days off work to get it done, but LIKE A BOSS, I did it (and thanks to my Mom for helping organize baby clothes).

I really wanted to go the extra mile with this meal prep thing. I have no idea what our life will be like with another little one and it's already exhausting just thinking about what I can make for dinner every day. It's a hot topic in our family since we both work full-time. I get frustrated that dinner always falls on me, which is mostly because I get home first, but also because we insist on family dinner so if I waited on my husband to take a turn the 7:30 pm dinner would not bode well for our toddler's bedtime schedule.

After doing some Pinterest-ing I decided on 8 freezer meals - like some of these taco meat style recipes, Ravioli Lasagna and used spinach ravioli, Tuscan Pasta, Chicken, Broccoli, Bacon & Potato Bake and a few of my own, like Pepperoni Baked Ziti and Lasagna. I was going for "easy to prep" -- multiple dishes that I could cook in bulk -- and sat down to make my grocery list. I like to organize my lists by the direction of food sections that I walk through the store. It is so annoying when I get all the way through the store and realize I freaking forgot the cilantro. 

So, armed with my grocery lists I trekked the aisles. I had to make 3 store stops for the best prices, including buying foil pans to make even cleanup a breeze, and $134.79 later I was exhausted and hurting, but done.

For me it was best to do all the shopping in one day and tackle the cooking the next when I was refreshed.

Beef, Bean, Cheese Burritos

Steps to the finish line:

1. I started with cooking up my chicken and beef and keeping the seasoning simple: garlic, onion, salt and pepper. I was prepared to doctor each up for its recipe as needed.

TIP: One dish called for bacon and I opted to try a pre-cooked bacon package and I would say it was worth it for the major savings on mess and time.

2. Chopped veggies and potatoes and also portioned them out for each recipe.

Tuscan Pasta with sun-dried tomatoes

Chicken, Broccoli, Bacon & Potato Bake

3. Once the meat was off the stove I boiled pasta to stay ahead of the game while I focused on piecing the beef meals together.


TIP: Don't forget to spray the pans!

4. Set up the chicken dishes and added pasta where it was needed. Again, focusing then on one recipe at a time kept it organized.

 4.  Once I had my lineup completed I covered each pan with heavy duty foil.  I placed the full recipe in a sandwich bag and taped it to the top of the pan, with the burritos I wrote the instructions on the freezer bag. Whatever works.

 

5. Into the freezer they went.

All in all, the whole cooking process took 4.5 hours and I still feel damn good about it. #MomGoals.

While you were sleeping.

While you were sleeping, I paced from room to room desperately searching for tranquility.

Instead, I strapped an ice pack on my lower back and picked up race cars in every room. I folded blankets and put them in their places. I straightened couch pillows and emptied the dishwasher. I stocked the toilet paper and put more napkins on the table. I slid garbage trucks and firetrucks into their bookshelf parking garages. I put puzzles back together and stacked them in their assigned places. I folded the towels that were 2 days forgotten in the dryer and washed the sippy cups in the sink.

While you were sleeping, I thought about my guilt.

The guilt, ugh, the guilt. Carrying a life inside of you is so powerful, so beautiful, so overwhelming. I feel guilty when I have thoughts of despair or frustration because my body feels so awful when left to heave into toilets. I hide at work because I can't go far from a trashcan or a locked bathroom stall. I can't wait for it to pass, and I count the days. I feel guilty when I can't find the energy to chase our son and crawl after him to ram monster trucks into one another because all he wants more than anything is for me play with him. The last thing I want is for him to be upset that his new sibling-to-be is changing his mommy.

Or, maybe you ate four mozzarella sticks for dinner, your 3-year-old had cereal, and left your husband on his own....yeah, that was a low day.

I sat on our couch with the freshly punched pillows and stared out the window. The snow floated lazily by the streetlights and I just tried to breathe. It was 3 AM.

I don't remember feeling this much anxiety the first time. Did I? I am so excited to meet this baby. I can't wait to see how our family grows, the personalities that develop and the memories we will make. It is what I have always wanted. Please, just help me find strength right now.

So, while you were sleeping, I cried.

I cried for all of these things and so much more. For our home. For the giggles you generate, the ambition you flourish, the confidence you swag, the eyelashes you gave our son, your gentleness when you teach him, your embellishments when you read to him. And mostly, I feel thankfulness for you, for us. Please know this even when I struggle to speak or put words to my crazy. Our journey is the best journey.

Mom Guilt.

There is this nagging feeling that I'm guilty of something. It sits in the pit of my stomach gasping for air and giving me hiccups. I don't think there is a cure.

I feel frustrated by this. Anger even. Exhausted. The last few months my mental and physical self has been to battle.

I work full-time and when I pick my son up, it's the best part of my day...unless I had an awful day and pick up a tired kid who says "hate you," or won't give me a hug, and doesn't want to wear his shoes...and then he does want his shoes...and then he doesn't... and I have to toss him in the car because he can't walk there nicely like "a big boy" and screams and twists and contorts his body so that I can't strap him into his seat. Unless that.

Usually, though, on those kind of days, by the time we get home he holds on to me so tight and I can get his hugs and kisses and "love yous." So really, he still ends up being the best part of my day.

The problem is that by the time I get to this point I am so fried from my day that I hardly find the energy to really, truly enjoy our playtime. Maybe I'm extra short on patience or short on enthusiasm, and then I feel sick with guilt and non-worthiness. And, we have barely 3 hours to play (or get groceries and go to Target), clean up and make dinner. Some days I feel successful, but it is rare.

So I feel THAT guilt.

And then I love when I'm made to feel like I wouldn't be able to handle being a stay-at-home-mom. So then I have guilt that maybe they are right. Could I handle it?

I do love that work is also my social hour. Honestly, I get to walk to parks on my lunch break, sit by the water, hit up food trucks and sometimes even have work meetings at happy hour.  I also get to finish my whole cup of hot coffee without reheating it. Sounds great. Moms, I know.

But then I miss the giggles, the play, the snuggle nap times, the adventures, the time outs and learning to teach my children myself.

So, could I handle it?

Or, would I love it?

When you can't give 100% of yourself to what you love and instead divide yourself into quarters over and over, you tend to feel a little lost sometimes as positivity vanishes in the translation of all your parts. That is what I can't handle. And, I know that is on me to reboot.

My pledge for a better future.

Defeated. Un-inspired. Buried.

For months I have been struggling to free myself from the suffocation of world news. Tormenting myself with sucking all this evil into my soul. Allowing it to depress me and question everything that lights my world...like bringing more children into this life.

I've found myself engulfed in Syrian refugee news, Russia, Turkey, Egypt, mindless US battlefields...and the despair and hopelessness that I allowed to filter through me has destroyed pieces of my happiness as I've struggled to stay in the light of this heaviness.

Fall day full of happy.

No more.

The best that I can do, that we can all do, is to love, cherish and protect these children so that they do not become the non-accepting, non-forgiving, wounded, and revenge-seeking destroyers.

To instill in them the values of human life and family.

To sculpt their minds and hearts towards kindness and generosity.

To say "I love you" a million times a day.


To ask for forgiveness and say "I'm sorry" when we need to accept our part in controversy.

To feel laughter and warmth.

To make them feel safe.

I pledge to do my best for every child I meet, in hopes that this is how I will make a difference in our future.

5 points on pregnancy weight loss (it blows.)

Let's get real...gaining 60 pregnancy pounds didn't happen from sticking to fruits and vegetables.

+60# on the morning of Mack, and I still love this pic.

Sure I ate a lot of those, I always do. I love making gourmet salads and dressings, then grilling some salmon or chicken to throw over it. But, I also love a good maple creamstick that I never let myself eat anymore...until I was pregnant.

My Amazing Dad would visit with a bag of 5 maple creamsticks from our hometown bakery and I'd be in heaven with the bag, a glass of milk and my feet propped up. To. Die. For. I'd eat one each day and if my husband was fast enough to snag one then he was lucky. (Not one every day of my pregnancy, just when they were available.)

One time, my parents came in on a party bus with friends to tailgate and go to the Browns game, so my husband and I parked at my office and walked down to meet them. (It was so very far for a 7-month prego chick, I'll tell you that.) Everyone held on to their beers, I held onto the donuts my Dad surprised me with. I walked 2 miles for some donuts. That was effing commitment.

Being a food and wine lover and having a body that has to depend on constant calorie counting and everyday workouts, pregnancy brought freedom.

And freedom was soooo tasty.

When you become a vessel that harbors a tiny human, you experience weakness, light-headedness, dizzy spells, and so much hunger. You constantly need water or some sort of nourishment. Usually it's whatever you can grab because you will die if you don't have it RIGHT THIS SECOND. Anyway, you get the picture.

So...my advice from my 15-month journey to lose those 60 pounds:

1. Forget the first 3 months of working on this goal because you are so overwhelmed with overcoming childbirth (a cesarean for me), learning how to take care of a tiny, tiny person, exhaustion, how to manage housework, dinner and no social life.
   
2. Then forget the next 3 months (6-month parental anniversary mark) because you have probably gone back to work and have a whole new set of problems -- like pumping and exhaustion, housework and dinner.  
3. Now forget the next 3 months because you are SO involved with maintaining and preparing for this kid's daily schedule (thank the Lord, you have a schedule), and also trying to find time to see a few friends again. Yep, you probably have a 9-month old.
4. Finally, you might make some natural progress and feel lighter in those post-prego pants and get your belts back out. This was about the time I began to feel encouraged and really got me to start to focus on myself a little bit again.
5. No one is judging you, except you, so relax and find comfort in who you are now and your new life. For the last few months I am again counting everything I eat, doing daily legit pushups and sit ups, and playing sports when I can. I also don't care as much. I love being a Mom and gushing over my kid with my husband, and anyone who offers the conversation.

I still don't quite have a workout routine back like I used to (that would require a 3:30 am wake-up call and I would never be the THAT committed), but I'll take it. Of course, I never imagined the 2 years of pain and trauma that pregnancy and post-pregnancy would inflict on my body. But, down 49 and counting seems to call for reflection and taking inventory of my beautiful life. I choose to believe that this is a huge accomplishment -- despite those lucky and blessed ladies that people like me love to hate. Maybe I really can do it all (with my best partner), and that makes my heart smile.

 P.S. Next post is about my awesome shoe collection.

The stuff dreams are made of.

I tip-toe into my son's room every night and I lean on his crib, gently touch my hand to his back, and I listen. (Risky, I know.) I listen for his sweet, tiny, deep and dreamy breaths. I listen for his legs to wrestle around his soft blanket and the patter of the white-noise machine. I listen for my heartbeat to calm as I breathe him in and rest my chin on the crib. (It begins pounding when I stand outside his door and debate the worthiness of this risk.)

I stand there with the ache in my throat that only this overwhelming and immense love can bring. With my hand on his back I see the sparks of all my mommy magical powers for love and sleep flow into him. And I whisper my magic song, "Sweet baby, sleep so sweet."

How quickly it is that I realize I have no powers. I dive to the floor aiming for the gracefulness of a ninja, and stealthily army-crawl back to the door before he realizes it wasn't a dream. Then I watch the baby monitor and chuckle as he face-plants to the mattress and is again fast asleep.

I have come to realize how lucky we are that we have an amazing child who goes to sleep by 6:30 pm and rarely wakes until at least 6 am. And big star for us, I am so proud of the cues we learned to read in order to understand our kid. Protecting his sleep has given us the sweetest, most generous kisser, wink-er, giggle-er, tractor-loving little boy -- who also somehow still learned to scream with a pitch to hurt your insides and once in awhile throw tantrums like the "bad kid" while we hide laughs behind our hands.

I seriously did not realize how fun this stage of life would be. To see the recognition behind his eyes and his response to our conversation and requests (like giving kisses) is something that I never really thought about. And I know that I promised to devote more time to other things (ahem, writing and working out again) but I am so focused on taking in every moment of all this...and getting back some time to focus on my husband too. 

National Law Enforcement Appreciation Day.

Negative highlights spinning the world in cop-hate have left me sickened by the world's focus.  The hate is overwhelming. I said before that I struggle daily with staying out of it, but I feel the need to lend some air and support when it seems to be needed most.  I desperately want our defenders to know that there are people who understand and support them.

As a family of police officers, fire fighters and soldiers who have faced harsh realities, I can say that their reality means that sometimes evil has to be fought with evil.  When those we love become those who work in the dark to serve us and protect our innocence, they must lose themselves with each bit of hate that they have to smother in order to keep the darkness from reaching those they love, and even those that have no idea what is done every minute of every day to allow us to sleep in our beautiful dreams.

Pieces of their innocence trail in every city, every neighborhood, every street, on every corner and in every unmindful soul as they stand between us and what we are never meant to see.  They sacrifice their security, happiness, families, and sometimes even their humanity, to solve our problems and fight for us so that we do not have to make the same sacrifices. They take the brunt of the abused, the drugged up anger, the bullets, the punches, the ignorance, the "entitled," and they shelter us from that darkness.  They protect your rights, even as you turn your back on them.  And as some even falter in their steps, they still protect our dreams and our hopes.

It is funny though, my brother, the protector -- and one of the funniest humans I know.  After hearing so many tales of community members spitting on police officers, my rage sent me digging for more information.  I sent my brother a message telling him that NO ONE better be spitting on him. Statistics get my blood boiling about the ignorance of this mess, but I won't go there now.  But, in a split second I am ready to punish anyone to protect him.  Yet he offers this protection to everyone, those he loves and even to those who don't deserve his loyalty.  That IS something great. 

So when he says that he prefers that I stay oblivious, I know he means that he does not want me to know the obstacles he faces. If I did, it would break my heart over and over again and he does not want our pity or sorrow.  He loves that his job protects my innocence, and your innocence, and he will carry that darkness with pride despite his sacrifices.

Don't misunderstand me, I do not believe that every officer deserves my loyalty. But, I do believe that no matter what, they have done something to protect my innocence, my family, my security, my humanity, my beautiful dreams. 

Happy National Law Enforcement Appreciation Day to all those that I love, and those that I will never know.

Year-end 2014.

2014 came to a close faster than I could have ever imagined. Birthday parties, holiday shopping, prepping, planning, baking, cooking and wrapping...and it's been exhausting, hilarious and so much fun. I've had so much to say and no time to say it in the last two months, but thank you all for tuning in and I promise 2015 will be the year I get my act together! I'll leave you with some of my favorite pictures to end the year...

Some birthday party crafting.

I have a 1-year-old.

So in awe and loving the CLE Aquarium.

The center of our universe.

The O's and the K's and Rob ;)

G & G with the kiddos.

My sweet little family.

Momma and her angel-pie.

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:



 

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