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.