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.

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.

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.

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. 

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.

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.

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.

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...

Miracle week.

We've made it so very far and I can't believe we are here. I'm not sure which event could top the other more -- my baby brother coming home today from Afghanistan, or that I'm having a baby this week.

Since my baby boy meets the world on Thursday, I will say that for today my brother coming home will come first. For all the faces that have cried and loved him from over the past 11 months, that he has come home safe and sound cannot be beaten.

And, last week I met my new beautiful niece Hailey. My family is abundantly growing and it couldn't be more beautiful to see and be a part of. I'm feeling so incredibly blessed and loved. Christmas really is an amazing time of year.

For all of my family and best friends that have endured so much heartache this year, God really does give back what he takes in one way or another.

But, try getting two words out of me without the tears these days. The lump in my throat is a powerball of happiness and there isn't much time to breathe through the whipping whirlwind. I guess that's good because I get little time to think about being scared shitless.

Fulfilling sigh.

I keep waiting for a day to come that I won't have a moment of panic that I am about to have a baby very soon.

I'm not sure if I ever have moments of clarity or calm, or sighs of relief knowing that I can do this. Though I sigh heavily, all the time, so that must be those moments, right?

Either that, or I just can't breathe with this little guy expertly expanding every centimeter of my body in places that make me waddle, grimace, cringe and limp.

Sighing helps.

Leaving work last week, I stepped into the elevator and joined another woman. I took a place off to the side and leaned against the wall.

And sighed. 

The woman said to me, "Are you very uncomfortable? How long do you have?"

I laughed and replied, "I'm so sorry, did I sigh? I really have a problem with that. I'm doing pretty well, it's the countdown, thank you."

She said, "Well you can sigh all you want my dear and best wishes to you."

And when she walked away tears sprung to my eyes (of course) but I couldn't stop smiling and laughing about it. That is not the first time my sighing has been noticed, but it was nice to hear the fondness in her voice.

I'm not going to lie, I've had moments of breakdown bawling and hyperventilating...which at least end in laughter at some point because it really is hilarious to see "The Belly" jump up and down all at once like a jolly 'ol Santa Claus. I've cried about it all, just as much as we've laughed about it all. 

I honestly didn't think that being pregnant would hurt this much, but I'm sure that I will forget all about that when I finally get to hold my little man.  I know that it's only the beginning of what a Mother will do for her child.

Movie reel.

A few weeks ago I saw a little girl sprint off the school bus and run down the sidewalk to her beaming father. He was taking pictures of her as she ran to him, and I really can't find the words to describe the smiles on their faces. He grabbed her and swung her around, kissed her cheek while she talked at full-speed and he carried her home.

I captured their moment in my head and it spins like a movie reel on repeat.

Two weeks ago, on one of my regular Target visits, I listened to a little boy, who was sitting in the cart, carry on a conversation with his mother. And she spoke to him like an adult, not in baby talk, and he completely understood her. They talked about what kind of pillow to buy, which color of pillowcases he wanted, and what color his daddy would like him to pick.

I absentmindedly seemed to have added this to my movie reel. 

Last week, I rushed to my best friend and sister as it seemed she might be having their baby a little early, and there was no way that I was going to miss it -- I was on her delivery team!  Arriving just after midnight everything had calmed down and we were going to be able to wait. But it was a bit of a scare with her tiny breeched baby.

Because it was such a drive, and I was so afraid to miss anything, I stayed with her for a few days and we waited together. While she was too stubborn to stay on bed rest, we grabbed groceries and movies and tried any which way to get her baby to flip. We laughed our asses off at the things that only happen to pregnant ladies -- like the grunts that escape our lips when we try to get off the couch -- and, we cried about the miracles coming to us. I will forever cherish those days that we spent together.

My nephew, Grady = tiny perfection.

Baby Grady still had to be delivered through c-section but he came out ready to explore the new world. He was so bright-eyed and beautiful. The love I felt for him in that moment was instantly overwhelming. I have never felt so proud of my sister. Their perfect little family is just beginning their adventure.

I could go on and on as the reel keeps spinning as I keep attaching the scenes -- and chokes me up every single time.

Peeing your pants.

When you are pregnant no one tells you to be careful of peeing a little bit every time you cough or sneeze. No, you have to figure it out yourself when you start putting back-up underwear and pads in your purse and then weekly throw a pair or two away because you aren't home to throw them in the washer. And now...I swear for Jesus that I pulled my groin muscles sneezing and squeezing my legs shut to stop it from happening, over and over again. I do kegels all day with this in mind and it doesn't always matter, but it also doesn't help that I have awful allergies to keep this cycling.

Last week I was in my car, that was still parked in the driveway and running late for work as usual. I sneezed 13 times in a row. Imagine what that did to me, or you might not want to.  I swore like a madwoman and went back in the house to change with watery eyes and wet pants.

Not only did my storming into the house and banging drawers awaken my husband, but he knew exactly what happened by which drawer I pulled from. He laughed at me with one eye open and half asleep and when he asked me to calm down and be quiet, I almost punched him.

Are you effing kidding me? He doesn't pee his pants sneezing AND he gets to stay in bed another two hours every day! Seriously, do not say a word.

But fine, it was funny later.

TMI? I don't care. The mommas know what I am talking about and the rest of you have no idea what we really go through. When I feel my baby boy kicking me and moving around, I know that I would pee my pants a million times over to keep this little man growing, and I can't wait to meet him.

Not quite invincible.

I really, truly, thought that I would be invincible as a pregnant chick. There was no way that I could get sick with the amount of vitamins we moms-to-be take.

That is a big fat joke.

In actuality, pregnant women have a suppressed immune system, so they become quite the easy target.

Not only have I been congested with a truck through my chest, I have a cough and more snot coming out of my nose than I have ever had in my life (could be a slight exaggeration but I'm not sure). After double checking with my doc, I could take Tylenol for my aches and pains and hot steamy showers. I was in trouble, and not very happy since I barely slept for three days.

So, I don't think I could be any happier than when I woke up at 4:45am today and I had been breathing through my nose and not my mouth! One, I actually slept AND no more disgusting mouth film and cracking lips. Woohoo! Total celebration.

The best part of this week's trial though, as I seem to have had many pregnancy trials thus far, is my conversation with Ryan yesterday as we stood in the kitchen:

Ry: So are you enjoying your pregnancy so far?
Me: Um, not really.
Ry: Do you want to do it again?
Me: Probably a few times.

All we can do is hug and laugh.

Holy baby.

Big news, I've been overtaken by a precious little life-sucker, so its been really hard to write without sharing!

We found out in May that we were pregnant while on our Florida vacation! After a few too many nights involving wine, vodka, beer and shots of Jameson, I just knew that we had to make sure I was in the clear.
We grabbed a pizza and a 3-pack of pee sticks. I poured a glass a wine and drank it slowly before hiding in the bathroom with the tell-all box.

Each pee stick revealed the same result. Positively pregnant.

I freaked...and Ryan laughed hysterically.

I was so confused by my reaction, but incredibly happy about his. After all, I had my 30th birthday party and a girls trip to Nashville when we got home from Florida, and things were going to go a bit differently than planned.

And then I saw our little baby's heart beating. The overwhelming sense of protection and love that washes over you, easily overtakes you. The shock lasts for quite awhile -- I still look in the mirror after four months and say, "I can't believe I have a little baby growing in there."

Literally until week 12, I was so sick to my stomach, lethargic beyond comprehension and an emotional basket case. I was scared about our future and the drastic changes coming into my life, our lives. I couldn't imagine giving up my competitive hobbies or our quiet time in the evenings.  Not to mention, the weight battle that I've struggled with my whole life that was finally getting somewhere... but all that was put on hold as incubation took over.

I am now the lifeline for a little miracle and my life is no longer my own.

I don't have control over the sleepy-ness -- it's almost like narcolepsy -- and it feels so very good to climb into bed. Which is already my favorite place to be, other than the football fields on a Saturday.

I went through some extreme guilt over dealing, or rather not being able to deal, with my wifely and household duties. I mean, I've cooked dinner maybe five times since May and if you know me, I plan dinners daily. I like to take care of my husband who works his butt off and always takes on extra work, he deserves to have a good meal at the end of the day. That's just one example.

But, I also just had a hard time coping with the loneliness of pregnancy. I say "loneliness" because while there are plenty of friends that have had babies, the roller coaster is all your own. Every time I didn't feel good, I felt like I couldn't tell anyone because no one can really sympathize or understand. I have too many obligations to my sports teams, or work, or my husband that the guilt weighed heavily. Ryan felt like every time he finally came home he had always missed his moment with me...and he did. And I felt the guilt every time he would walk in the door and I was on my way to bed.

Through these things and more, I was still in awe that I had this little tiny human, created with so much passion and love, growing inside me every day. It really is such a beautiful thing.

My doc said it best at the time, "it's really all about survival in the beginning." And how true that was and it really made me feel better.

And, how much that guilt has lifted into excitement.

Our BABY BOY is already bigger than average and I seem to be doing a good job at protecting him so far. It does wonders to hear that I'm doing a good job, and to talk to my sister every day who is so much closer to delivery day than I! Thankful, is an understatement.

Ry and I have turned into this next chapter with googly eyes and smiles, and it feels amazing.