And hopefully, it's still there Sunday...
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Showing posts with label cherishing moments. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cherishing moments. Show all posts
Friday, August 26, 2011
Cape Lookout
It's a vacation within a vacation. My absolute favorite place in the world.
And hopefully, it's still there Sunday...
And hopefully, it's still there Sunday...
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
One of Those Moments
I knew we had made a mistake within three steps.
It was a rare night in our household, where it was nearly 9PM and my little guy was still crying in his crib after 30 minutes. My husband had just come upstairs to find me at the computer, trying to shut out the crying, nerves frayed, and gave me some much needed relief when he said, "this isn't normal...we should go check".
So we walked in, and I saw Jacob turtled on his "pillow" in the corner of the crib, not standing as I'd expected. ::sigh:: Wrong move, mom. Confirmed after he sat up, glared at us, and shouted "No, Mommy! No, Daddy!" before continuing to sob.
But, we were in, and there was no turning back. So I shooed daddy out, picked up my sweet baby boy, and sat down in the rocker as he frogged me, his sobs turning to gentle hiccups as he relaxed. We sat like this for a long while, me just smelling his hair and kissing him way, way too much above the ear.
After a little bit (who is to say, time was standing still), I whispered to ask if he was still awake, he lifted his head and just looked at me, exhausted.
"Do you want to get back in your bed?" I tried gently. He shook his head no. "Do you want me to hold you like a baby?" This is our code for his favorite pre-bed position since he was six weeks old, roughly. He didn't answer, but leaned as far to his right (facing me) as he could, and I let him relax. Holding him in my lap, his head on my left arm, with my right arm supporting his legs, his left arm draped over mine, he finally succumbed.
And for the first time in over a year, I got to watch my baby fall asleep.
Y'all, nothing else matters. This was a gift, and I would have gladly given up chocolate and cheese for a year of holding this child while he slept in my arms.
It was a rare night in our household, where it was nearly 9PM and my little guy was still crying in his crib after 30 minutes. My husband had just come upstairs to find me at the computer, trying to shut out the crying, nerves frayed, and gave me some much needed relief when he said, "this isn't normal...we should go check".
So we walked in, and I saw Jacob turtled on his "pillow" in the corner of the crib, not standing as I'd expected. ::sigh:: Wrong move, mom. Confirmed after he sat up, glared at us, and shouted "No, Mommy! No, Daddy!" before continuing to sob.
But, we were in, and there was no turning back. So I shooed daddy out, picked up my sweet baby boy, and sat down in the rocker as he frogged me, his sobs turning to gentle hiccups as he relaxed. We sat like this for a long while, me just smelling his hair and kissing him way, way too much above the ear.
After a little bit (who is to say, time was standing still), I whispered to ask if he was still awake, he lifted his head and just looked at me, exhausted.
"Do you want to get back in your bed?" I tried gently. He shook his head no. "Do you want me to hold you like a baby?" This is our code for his favorite pre-bed position since he was six weeks old, roughly. He didn't answer, but leaned as far to his right (facing me) as he could, and I let him relax. Holding him in my lap, his head on my left arm, with my right arm supporting his legs, his left arm draped over mine, he finally succumbed.
And for the first time in over a year, I got to watch my baby fall asleep.
Y'all, nothing else matters. This was a gift, and I would have gladly given up chocolate and cheese for a year of holding this child while he slept in my arms.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
"Discipline" Success!
I mean, my kid is 22 months old, so there's really no such thing as discipline right now. I'm still figuring out how I feel about the whole "discipline" thing with a toddler. I've been reading up and I guess I fall somewhere in the middle: I don't think he "gets it" all of the time, but I do feel that in my home it's important for us to start laying the foundation of what is acceptable and what is not early.
I have a few friends that are all about the "redirection only" methods and to be honest, it just sounds like they live in households centered around their child and what he wants. For me, that feels like it would create a kid a few years down the road that would have a really tough time accepting rules and boundaries and other people's wishes.
So far, discipline has been frustratingly exhausting, mentally, physically, and emotionally. Jacob either doesn't realize he's being punished and sits in time out chattering to himself and playing with his shoes until I come over to have our "follow up", where he looks me in the eye and tells me what I want to hear so he can go play, or I get all-out tantrums complete with hitting, kicking, screaming and wailing. Neither is fun, or feels like we are getting anywhere.
But yesterday, I MIGHT have had a breakthrough!
Lately he wants us to carry him ALL.THE.TIME. He has begun refusing to walk on his own to/from daycare or anywhere, and just whines and tries to block our way until we cave. So I didn't cave. The process looked a little like this:
"Mama, hold again," while reaching up.
"No, we're going to hold hands and walk today," so I take his hand, and he instantly becomes a sack of potatoes, throwing himself to the ground and trying to wrench his shoulder out of socket. So I let go, let him tantrum, and say "I'm going to keep walking now".
"Bye," he screams at me through tears, until I get too far for comfort, then he runs towards me crying hysteerically as if I have just dropped him off at a baby insane asylum, never to return.
I stop, let him catch up, say, "are you ready to hold hands and walk now?"
"No, hold again," and lather, rinse, repeat.
This was our process all the way from his classroom to the front door. It took over 10 minutes.
I finally carried him outside and we sat on the bench. We had a nice chat while he was sitting in my lap about how I needed him to be a big boy and walk, and how I was never going to leave him behind, but I couldn't always carry him. And then I made a deal. "How about you hold my hand and we walk all the way across the parking lot, and if you can walk with me like a big boy, we'll go look at the bus up close?" THAT got his attention. And then we did...walk all the way across the parking lot. He was awesome, and I told him so.
And then I picked him up and carried him to the car. As a reward for both of us for staying calm (me) and listening to mommy (him).
I have a few friends that are all about the "redirection only" methods and to be honest, it just sounds like they live in households centered around their child and what he wants. For me, that feels like it would create a kid a few years down the road that would have a really tough time accepting rules and boundaries and other people's wishes.
So far, discipline has been frustratingly exhausting, mentally, physically, and emotionally. Jacob either doesn't realize he's being punished and sits in time out chattering to himself and playing with his shoes until I come over to have our "follow up", where he looks me in the eye and tells me what I want to hear so he can go play, or I get all-out tantrums complete with hitting, kicking, screaming and wailing. Neither is fun, or feels like we are getting anywhere.
But yesterday, I MIGHT have had a breakthrough!
Lately he wants us to carry him ALL.THE.TIME. He has begun refusing to walk on his own to/from daycare or anywhere, and just whines and tries to block our way until we cave. So I didn't cave. The process looked a little like this:
"Mama, hold again," while reaching up.
"No, we're going to hold hands and walk today," so I take his hand, and he instantly becomes a sack of potatoes, throwing himself to the ground and trying to wrench his shoulder out of socket. So I let go, let him tantrum, and say "I'm going to keep walking now".
"Bye," he screams at me through tears, until I get too far for comfort, then he runs towards me crying hysteerically as if I have just dropped him off at a baby insane asylum, never to return.
I stop, let him catch up, say, "are you ready to hold hands and walk now?"
"No, hold again," and lather, rinse, repeat.
This was our process all the way from his classroom to the front door. It took over 10 minutes.
I finally carried him outside and we sat on the bench. We had a nice chat while he was sitting in my lap about how I needed him to be a big boy and walk, and how I was never going to leave him behind, but I couldn't always carry him. And then I made a deal. "How about you hold my hand and we walk all the way across the parking lot, and if you can walk with me like a big boy, we'll go look at the bus up close?" THAT got his attention. And then we did...walk all the way across the parking lot. He was awesome, and I told him so.
And then I picked him up and carried him to the car. As a reward for both of us for staying calm (me) and listening to mommy (him).
Thursday, February 10, 2011
And Now We've Cooooommmmeeee....
To the end of the road. And I just can't let go.
No, seriously: and here we are.
Tomorrow morning I will nurse my baby boy for the last time.
Honestly, I think that I am doing pretty well this week: I have cherished each wake-up nurse to the best of my ability, and even though I don't know how much he can understand I have talked LO through them, saying things like "this is your last week of mama milk, buddy, are we going to be ok with that?" He either doesn't understand or couldn't care less: he's much more interested in running to the window and saying full sentences like "There goes the bus!"
No, seriously: and here we are.
Tomorrow morning I will nurse my baby boy for the last time.
Honestly, I think that I am doing pretty well this week: I have cherished each wake-up nurse to the best of my ability, and even though I don't know how much he can understand I have talked LO through them, saying things like "this is your last week of mama milk, buddy, are we going to be ok with that?" He either doesn't understand or couldn't care less: he's much more interested in running to the window and saying full sentences like "There goes the bus!"
Overall, I have an overwhelming sense of pride and accomplishment in the bond we've managed to create over the last almost 18-months. Or technically, the last 27 months, as I kind of see breastfeeding as an extension of that "part of each other" bond that started as soon as I began carrying that little zygote way back in November of 08.
I hearken back to a conversation my sister and I had when I was 7 months pregnant. "Are you going to breastfeed?" she asked. "I think I'll try to go until at least 6 months if it works out, but it will be hard to make it after I go back to work full-time." Her response with a sneer: "Why would you only go 6 months? You KNOW 12 months is better!" I'm sure she understands now how frustrating it is to get parenting/pregnancy advice from someone who is not even a parent or pregnant herself, but then I just let it go.
I approached breastfeeding as a good part of our bond, but I had watched too many of my friends beat themselves up when they had a low supply or something prevented breastfeeding from working out for them. So my tactic was "I will try my best, and if it doesn't work out, I'm not going to stress about it." Luckily my guy had a great latch from the first time out of the gate, and I didn't have any issues until I had been at work full time for a few months.
As I got into it and really began to enjoy the ease, the bond, the simplicity of the task of breastfeeding my child, I decided that best case scenario would be for him to self-wean around 18 months. And here we are. Two weeks shy of 18 months and he's no longer asking for it and hasn't batted an eye since his last bedtime nurse two months ago. So it's time for my baby love to be my little boy.
::sigh:: Hopefully I won't be a total hot mess after tomorrow's nursing, but even now just thinking about it is making me cry.Thursday, January 27, 2011
I'm an Old Lady Now?
So, I can excuse the few instances of "excuse me, ma'am" that I've gotten since I hit my mid-twenties a few (several) years ago. I can excuse not being carded anymore at the ABC store or when buying beer. And I can even forgive my cousin's 8 year old daughter who answered "um, 40?" when she was asked how old I looked. She doesn't know any better, bless her heart.
I work in an industry where I can see people and their birthdates all the time to compare, and while sometimes I think "wow, she does not look a day over 26" when I see a particularly well-kept middle ager, a lot of times I am surprised to look down and see someone younger than myself who looks pretty ragged. For reference, I am 31 (and a half). And I think I look pretty spot-on early thirties.
But recently two occurances have happened that make me think that the stress of life as a mom must really be dragging me down. First, there was that phone call a few weeks ago from a friend at church who needed advice. Now, I'm very flattered that anyone looks up to me when it comes to spiritual/marital advice, truly I am. And I'm very happy to lend an ear and the best advice I can muster when someone trusts me enough to share a tough life situation with me. Especially for this particular person, who I have grown close to.
But the dagger really felt deep when she said, "I mean, I'm so young, I'm only 29, and I really am glad I have an older woman who has experienced so much to confide these things in." My husband can attest that for one of the few times in my life, I was rendered speechless for a moment, almost like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on me and it jumbled my poor, senile brain. How old does she think I am? was the question on my mind, then and now. I'm scared to ask her.
I had just recovered from this incident when my dear loving husband told me as we were lying in bed last night, "I was looking through so many old photographs from when we first started dating and our honeymoon, and man we look so much older now," he paused briefly before continuing, "I mean, you've aged a lot more than me in that time, but..." ICE WATER IN THE FACE AGAIN. As soon as I could speak without spitting fire at him I said, "yeah, you can file that statement right under 'things you should never, ever say to your wife under any circumstance." He needed more explanation. So I said, "babe, it's right there with 'yes, sweetheart, those pants make your ass look 10X bigger'."
After he tried arguing with me for a while, I finally just had to say "Well, fine then...the only reason you haven't aged as much as me is because all of our friends have told you for 10 years that you look like a 40 year old."
That "don't go to bed angry" rule? Yeah, not so much last night.
I work in an industry where I can see people and their birthdates all the time to compare, and while sometimes I think "wow, she does not look a day over 26" when I see a particularly well-kept middle ager, a lot of times I am surprised to look down and see someone younger than myself who looks pretty ragged. For reference, I am 31 (and a half). And I think I look pretty spot-on early thirties.
But recently two occurances have happened that make me think that the stress of life as a mom must really be dragging me down. First, there was that phone call a few weeks ago from a friend at church who needed advice. Now, I'm very flattered that anyone looks up to me when it comes to spiritual/marital advice, truly I am. And I'm very happy to lend an ear and the best advice I can muster when someone trusts me enough to share a tough life situation with me. Especially for this particular person, who I have grown close to.
But the dagger really felt deep when she said, "I mean, I'm so young, I'm only 29, and I really am glad I have an older woman who has experienced so much to confide these things in." My husband can attest that for one of the few times in my life, I was rendered speechless for a moment, almost like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on me and it jumbled my poor, senile brain. How old does she think I am? was the question on my mind, then and now. I'm scared to ask her.
I had just recovered from this incident when my dear loving husband told me as we were lying in bed last night, "I was looking through so many old photographs from when we first started dating and our honeymoon, and man we look so much older now," he paused briefly before continuing, "I mean, you've aged a lot more than me in that time, but..." ICE WATER IN THE FACE AGAIN. As soon as I could speak without spitting fire at him I said, "yeah, you can file that statement right under 'things you should never, ever say to your wife under any circumstance." He needed more explanation. So I said, "babe, it's right there with 'yes, sweetheart, those pants make your ass look 10X bigger'."
After he tried arguing with me for a while, I finally just had to say "Well, fine then...the only reason you haven't aged as much as me is because all of our friends have told you for 10 years that you look like a 40 year old."
That "don't go to bed angry" rule? Yeah, not so much last night.
Monday, December 27, 2010
This Proves My Legitimacy, Right?
You know, a legitimate wordsmith, reader, literary soul?
Two things: number one, I got a book reader for Christmas. How exciting is that? My mom just bought it for me without asking, and when I opened it she said "have you ever thought about getting one of those?" Well, not really, because they're so ungodly expensive that I just figured that was not something I would put on any list to ask someone to buy me. But now that I have it, I'm so excited for the possibilities.
It would have helped me avoid the debacle I currently find myself in. The one where I'm sitting at work, alone, for 2 hours because we got 8" of snow and apparently I'm the only person in my office that A) has a 5-speed Mazda that can handle anything, B) didn't make the boss' list of people to call to inform we were on delay, and C) didn't feel like digging around to find the emergency voicemail number to find out for myself.
Also, my secret plan was to escape for 2 hours by myself and read one of my new books (or a tabloid mag) at Barnes and Noble, Starbucks bought with a giftcard in hand. I really mean this was my plan, to show up at work, see if anyone was there, and then backtrack 2 miles to B and N and just enjoy my own company, ALONE, after the hubbub of the past 5 days.
Except that sitting in an iced over parking lot, phoning the bookstore to find out they didn't open until 10 threw a wrench into that plan, so that didn't happen either. Oops. So you get a long overdue blog post, totally on the fly, instead.
*Sidenote: to anyone who was actually reading my "12 Days of Christmas" posts, I do still intend to highlight a charity each week from now until I've run out of places to give my money to. I just assumed that no one was reading it due to lack of comments, and also my life exploded with work stress and Christmas prep all at the same time, so I kind of just lived blog-free for a while.*
But the second reason that proves I am bookworm? My son has my genes. Through and through. After receiving a myriad of presents, most of which light up and sing to him, including a mini 4-wheeler and a life-size tool bench, he cried at bedtime last night over one toy. A Book. My dear, sweet, 16-month old budding wordsmith cried because I would not let him take his new favorite book to bed with him.
It may have been the proudest I have ever been as a mother.
Two things: number one, I got a book reader for Christmas. How exciting is that? My mom just bought it for me without asking, and when I opened it she said "have you ever thought about getting one of those?" Well, not really, because they're so ungodly expensive that I just figured that was not something I would put on any list to ask someone to buy me. But now that I have it, I'm so excited for the possibilities.
It would have helped me avoid the debacle I currently find myself in. The one where I'm sitting at work, alone, for 2 hours because we got 8" of snow and apparently I'm the only person in my office that A) has a 5-speed Mazda that can handle anything, B) didn't make the boss' list of people to call to inform we were on delay, and C) didn't feel like digging around to find the emergency voicemail number to find out for myself.
Also, my secret plan was to escape for 2 hours by myself and read one of my new books (or a tabloid mag) at Barnes and Noble, Starbucks bought with a giftcard in hand. I really mean this was my plan, to show up at work, see if anyone was there, and then backtrack 2 miles to B and N and just enjoy my own company, ALONE, after the hubbub of the past 5 days.
Except that sitting in an iced over parking lot, phoning the bookstore to find out they didn't open until 10 threw a wrench into that plan, so that didn't happen either. Oops. So you get a long overdue blog post, totally on the fly, instead.
*Sidenote: to anyone who was actually reading my "12 Days of Christmas" posts, I do still intend to highlight a charity each week from now until I've run out of places to give my money to. I just assumed that no one was reading it due to lack of comments, and also my life exploded with work stress and Christmas prep all at the same time, so I kind of just lived blog-free for a while.*
But the second reason that proves I am bookworm? My son has my genes. Through and through. After receiving a myriad of presents, most of which light up and sing to him, including a mini 4-wheeler and a life-size tool bench, he cried at bedtime last night over one toy. A Book. My dear, sweet, 16-month old budding wordsmith cried because I would not let him take his new favorite book to bed with him.
It may have been the proudest I have ever been as a mother.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Working Mommy Wednesday: Pushups? FML...
(*Disclaimer: I know that what FML stands for is not befitting of the Christian example I am trying to set and follow, but I just discovered the phrase and you know what? It fits. Jesus is the only perfect one, the rest of us are just trying.*)
I open Julia's prompt today and see a post about PUSHUPS. Really? I'll have to admit, I was pissed. First of because I used to be able to do pushups, the strong-man kind, back when I could also do a split and call myself a dancer, but now I must resort to the wall-kind or the knee-kind, if I am even attempting them at all. Which makes me feel like a fat cow. Second, because even with my newfound discovery of SparkPeople, my commitment to eating better, taking in more water, and trying to be less sedentary, the last thing I want to do is turn my blog into diet central. Luckily, her reasons why and how to do push-ups provided me with a goal: 20 a day for the rest of the month. This is great because I can't commit to walking every day, but I can commit to 20 pushups and walking at least 3 days a week. And small, attainable goals are good.
And then I continued reading and noticed that today's prompt is actually just a Top 10 list. Man, I LOVE me a Top 10 list, from David Letterman all the way to my blog friend Kelley, Top 10 lists are AWESOME. And I wish that mine was going to be just that awesome, but I guess since I have free reign and I don't want this to be about being healthy, I will take this moment to return to the roots of this blog and make a list of my Top 10 Favorite Things About My Son.
10) He is a genius. I mean, I know every mom says that about their kid, but what 13-month old do you know that can say "go-gurt" to his daycare teacher every day at 4:30 because he knows it's snack time and he's about to get his favorite. thing. ever. Or how about how yesterday he was "reading" his Maisy's Favorite Toys book in the car and turned to the page with the Tractor and Train on it (vehicles with wheels) and shouted "CAR"? Can your baby do that?
9) He chooses edamame over grilled cheese. Now I KNOW he nees to fatten up, but you have to appreciate a child who learns early to love his veggies. (This will come back to bite me in about 3 months when he suddenly starts to refuse to eat anything green.)
8) He still is an open-mouth kisser. Even though we're starting to get just the teensy-weensiest bit self-conscious about this in public, there's nothing cuter than when you say "can I get a kiss?" and his little toddler mouth comes towards you wide open and raring to go and plants a big smacker on your lips.
7) Except maybe sitting on the floor next to each other while brushing your teeth. We got the grins and giggles toothbrush not long ago and his little fingers wrapped around that fat little toothbrush is so adorable I want to die.
6) He is totally fearless (and reckless). This guy loves to climb anything, and his favorite game is getting on the couch or bed and throwing himself against the pillows. Sometimes I swear he's going to fly right off.
5) He already knows to look up to older kids. He follows his nearly 3-year old niece around like she is the best thing in the world (I mean, I can't blame him) and has so much fun playing with older kids.
4) But he'd still rather play with Mama or Daddy any day. His new favorite thing is to bring us a book, yell "BUH", and let us read about 2 1/2 sentences before grabbing it, and closing it while saying "ALL Done."
3) The kid loves to be naked. After his bath, he will play "catch me if you can" as long as possible, and there is nothing I love more than chasing a naked toddler around the upstairs part of the house, especially if he leaves the hooded towel on like a superhero cape.
2) He makes me better. I want to be more patient, I want to cook more nutritious meals, I want to exercise more, and I want to spend more time with my family (immediate and extended) because of him. He led me back to God and Christ. What could be better?
1) His laugh can change whatever I'm feeling into pure joy. Seriously, when that little sweet blondie smiles at me with love, what do I have to be angry/stressed/upset about? Absolutely NOTHING!
Thanks to anyone who joined up from Working Mommy Wednesday, and feel free to join us today or any time!
I open Julia's prompt today and see a post about PUSHUPS. Really? I'll have to admit, I was pissed. First of because I used to be able to do pushups, the strong-man kind, back when I could also do a split and call myself a dancer, but now I must resort to the wall-kind or the knee-kind, if I am even attempting them at all. Which makes me feel like a fat cow. Second, because even with my newfound discovery of SparkPeople, my commitment to eating better, taking in more water, and trying to be less sedentary, the last thing I want to do is turn my blog into diet central. Luckily, her reasons why and how to do push-ups provided me with a goal: 20 a day for the rest of the month. This is great because I can't commit to walking every day, but I can commit to 20 pushups and walking at least 3 days a week. And small, attainable goals are good.
And then I continued reading and noticed that today's prompt is actually just a Top 10 list. Man, I LOVE me a Top 10 list, from David Letterman all the way to my blog friend Kelley, Top 10 lists are AWESOME. And I wish that mine was going to be just that awesome, but I guess since I have free reign and I don't want this to be about being healthy, I will take this moment to return to the roots of this blog and make a list of my Top 10 Favorite Things About My Son.
10) He is a genius. I mean, I know every mom says that about their kid, but what 13-month old do you know that can say "go-gurt" to his daycare teacher every day at 4:30 because he knows it's snack time and he's about to get his favorite. thing. ever. Or how about how yesterday he was "reading" his Maisy's Favorite Toys book in the car and turned to the page with the Tractor and Train on it (vehicles with wheels) and shouted "CAR"? Can your baby do that?
9) He chooses edamame over grilled cheese. Now I KNOW he nees to fatten up, but you have to appreciate a child who learns early to love his veggies. (This will come back to bite me in about 3 months when he suddenly starts to refuse to eat anything green.)
8) He still is an open-mouth kisser. Even though we're starting to get just the teensy-weensiest bit self-conscious about this in public, there's nothing cuter than when you say "can I get a kiss?" and his little toddler mouth comes towards you wide open and raring to go and plants a big smacker on your lips.
7) Except maybe sitting on the floor next to each other while brushing your teeth. We got the grins and giggles toothbrush not long ago and his little fingers wrapped around that fat little toothbrush is so adorable I want to die.
6) He is totally fearless (and reckless). This guy loves to climb anything, and his favorite game is getting on the couch or bed and throwing himself against the pillows. Sometimes I swear he's going to fly right off.
5) He already knows to look up to older kids. He follows his nearly 3-year old niece around like she is the best thing in the world (I mean, I can't blame him) and has so much fun playing with older kids.
4) But he'd still rather play with Mama or Daddy any day. His new favorite thing is to bring us a book, yell "BUH", and let us read about 2 1/2 sentences before grabbing it, and closing it while saying "ALL Done."
3) The kid loves to be naked. After his bath, he will play "catch me if you can" as long as possible, and there is nothing I love more than chasing a naked toddler around the upstairs part of the house, especially if he leaves the hooded towel on like a superhero cape.
2) He makes me better. I want to be more patient, I want to cook more nutritious meals, I want to exercise more, and I want to spend more time with my family (immediate and extended) because of him. He led me back to God and Christ. What could be better?
1) His laugh can change whatever I'm feeling into pure joy. Seriously, when that little sweet blondie smiles at me with love, what do I have to be angry/stressed/upset about? Absolutely NOTHING!
Thanks to anyone who joined up from Working Mommy Wednesday, and feel free to join us today or any time!
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
I Spent $18 Ruining a $30 Pedicure
And it was worth every sweet penny!
I am back from my OBX vacation with lots to tell, most importantly extolling the benefits of taking a vacation with a child and assorted family members willing to fight over who gets to feed him, play in the sand with him, change poopy diapers, etc. This allows you and the hubby to choose how much time you want to spend with the dear child, but also escape for a late night walk on the pier, a date night, or even just escaping into books. (I almost finished 2! That's 2 more than I've finished since he was born.)
There were definitely some frustrations about beach vacationing with a wee babe. Mostly because the hubs and I are beach vacation people, but not necessarily beach people. The whole sand thing is a problem. Plus our little man's skin is fairly sensitive, so the daily sunscreen/sand/sun/shower routine was not kind to us last week. Luckily he only gets the baby excema, not the full-blown, painful kind, and most of it seems to be clear this week after reverting back to the unscented lotion and Aquaphor routine. The amount of STUFF required to stay away from home for a week, as well as what is required just to go down to the ocean for an afternoon, was astounding. Our poor sedan was packed to the gills, with our furry black baby resigned to make the trip with only about 2 square feet of backseat to herself.
Also, our little guy is a poor daycare napper, which means he spends his weekends catching up on sleep, with a two hour morning nap and a two hour afternoon nap. This was exacerbated (wink, Anne) even more by the activity level he put out during his waking hours on vacation, and the fact that he shared a room with us. A given schedule on vacation: up at 5:30, nurse, back down for an hour if I was lucky, then a 2 1/2 hour nap from 9-11:30, and an afternoon nap beginning around 2:30 that sometimes lasted so long we had to wake him just to ensure he didn't sleep through dinner. There was a lot of waiting involved in this vacation. I didn't mind: see, I read 2 books!
The highlight of the trip by far, though, was our jaunt to the same waterslide where I spent my own childhood summers building my love affair with any kind of water activity. I spent $12 so I could ride the big-kid slides, hubby spent $3 so he could hang in the kiddie pool, and our tiny tot was free. We spent nearly two hours hanging in the kiddie pool letting Jacob "swim" back and forth between us, walk through the water, and sit in our laps while we went down the easy slides. This excursion was such a delight, I could have cared less that my new perfect pedi got scraped to all hell in the pool. My mother exclaimed "I guess we're going to have to install a slide on the pool next summer" with excitement. I would have gladly done it over and over to watch his laughing face as we hit the water.
I think we're even considering going again later this summer! Lucky for us, we only live 3 hours away!
I am back from my OBX vacation with lots to tell, most importantly extolling the benefits of taking a vacation with a child and assorted family members willing to fight over who gets to feed him, play in the sand with him, change poopy diapers, etc. This allows you and the hubby to choose how much time you want to spend with the dear child, but also escape for a late night walk on the pier, a date night, or even just escaping into books. (I almost finished 2! That's 2 more than I've finished since he was born.)
There were definitely some frustrations about beach vacationing with a wee babe. Mostly because the hubs and I are beach vacation people, but not necessarily beach people. The whole sand thing is a problem. Plus our little man's skin is fairly sensitive, so the daily sunscreen/sand/sun/shower routine was not kind to us last week. Luckily he only gets the baby excema, not the full-blown, painful kind, and most of it seems to be clear this week after reverting back to the unscented lotion and Aquaphor routine. The amount of STUFF required to stay away from home for a week, as well as what is required just to go down to the ocean for an afternoon, was astounding. Our poor sedan was packed to the gills, with our furry black baby resigned to make the trip with only about 2 square feet of backseat to herself.
Also, our little guy is a poor daycare napper, which means he spends his weekends catching up on sleep, with a two hour morning nap and a two hour afternoon nap. This was exacerbated (wink, Anne) even more by the activity level he put out during his waking hours on vacation, and the fact that he shared a room with us. A given schedule on vacation: up at 5:30, nurse, back down for an hour if I was lucky, then a 2 1/2 hour nap from 9-11:30, and an afternoon nap beginning around 2:30 that sometimes lasted so long we had to wake him just to ensure he didn't sleep through dinner. There was a lot of waiting involved in this vacation. I didn't mind: see, I read 2 books!
The highlight of the trip by far, though, was our jaunt to the same waterslide where I spent my own childhood summers building my love affair with any kind of water activity. I spent $12 so I could ride the big-kid slides, hubby spent $3 so he could hang in the kiddie pool, and our tiny tot was free. We spent nearly two hours hanging in the kiddie pool letting Jacob "swim" back and forth between us, walk through the water, and sit in our laps while we went down the easy slides. This excursion was such a delight, I could have cared less that my new perfect pedi got scraped to all hell in the pool. My mother exclaimed "I guess we're going to have to install a slide on the pool next summer" with excitement. I would have gladly done it over and over to watch his laughing face as we hit the water.
I think we're even considering going again later this summer! Lucky for us, we only live 3 hours away!
Monday, August 2, 2010
And in the End, I Have No Control.
When we last "spoke", I was trying to make the decision as to whether to keep pumping or give up the fight. After pumping so much that last week and having a wonderful week breastfeeding my son (my walking, talking, almost no longer a baby, son), I lugged the monstrous Medela and associated accoutrements, ice packs, and cold bag back to work today.
After an extremely hectic morning that included a new hire that I had no idea was starting today at the door at 9AM, I finally sat down about an hour ago and prepared myself, only to find after sitting half exposed in my freezing office that my pump is broken. This moment could not be any more anticlimactic if I tried. I fumbled around for a few minutes, trying to figure out if the plug or something was just messed up. It may be the A/C adapter, and it may work in my car at lunch. But as of right now, the word is no more full time pumping.
I should be overjoyed. Lord knows I have done nothing but complain about it for the last 6 or so months. Here, in my online mom group, to my husband, family, co-workers. All they have heard is what a drag it is and how I can't wait to be done with it. But now that the choice has been taken away from me, I'm left only with the thought of the impending weekend and my probable inability to nurse my son more than twice a day.
I tried to cherish every moment of nursing over the last nine days, knowing that we would likely be cutting back. But I am a very sentimental, nostalgic person inside, and all I can focus on now is how my baby is not a baby any more. He is now walking 75% of the time, and the crawling is really only to find something to pull up on so that he can walk. No more watching a crawling, naked baby following me down the hall to fold laundry. No more soothing at the breast. No more naps with mommy...he has trained himself well to sleep in a crib in a room on his own. He is growing more independent by the day, and with the countdown to his 1 year birthday at 23 days now, Mama is growing weepier and weepier at the loss of her wee babe.
I thought I got it before, when everyone told me it flies by. But I am only now beginning to understand...
After an extremely hectic morning that included a new hire that I had no idea was starting today at the door at 9AM, I finally sat down about an hour ago and prepared myself, only to find after sitting half exposed in my freezing office that my pump is broken. This moment could not be any more anticlimactic if I tried. I fumbled around for a few minutes, trying to figure out if the plug or something was just messed up. It may be the A/C adapter, and it may work in my car at lunch. But as of right now, the word is no more full time pumping.
I should be overjoyed. Lord knows I have done nothing but complain about it for the last 6 or so months. Here, in my online mom group, to my husband, family, co-workers. All they have heard is what a drag it is and how I can't wait to be done with it. But now that the choice has been taken away from me, I'm left only with the thought of the impending weekend and my probable inability to nurse my son more than twice a day.
I tried to cherish every moment of nursing over the last nine days, knowing that we would likely be cutting back. But I am a very sentimental, nostalgic person inside, and all I can focus on now is how my baby is not a baby any more. He is now walking 75% of the time, and the crawling is really only to find something to pull up on so that he can walk. No more watching a crawling, naked baby following me down the hall to fold laundry. No more soothing at the breast. No more naps with mommy...he has trained himself well to sleep in a crib in a room on his own. He is growing more independent by the day, and with the countdown to his 1 year birthday at 23 days now, Mama is growing weepier and weepier at the loss of her wee babe.
I thought I got it before, when everyone told me it flies by. But I am only now beginning to understand...
Monday, July 19, 2010
Travelling...With Children
I guess I've been reflecting a lot lately on before and after mom-dom because I'm nearing that one year mark ever so quickly, and since little man is now starting to talk, walk, and be generally more self-sufficient than I think I'm ready for, I have more time to reflect on just how different reality versus my expectations of parenthood are.
I think I feel the opposite way of what I heard before having a kid. I heard a lot of "you will never sleep/eat/have a romantic date again" and while I get that for some people looking back at their child's first year, that may be what it feels like. But I feel so much more fulfilled, settled, and just right. I'm pretty sure I underestimated my own abilities as a mother before my son was bored. I had a lot of "wow, is this really going to work" moments during pregnancy. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed it and I basked in the attention, the coddling, the thought of those last few months to be a family of two and a dog, but I also wondered what would happen when my monthly "free" nights to have a bath, order Indian takeout, and watch a chick flick alone in my house disappeared. I feared that I would be resentful to my son for this loss of freedom and personal space.
While on vacation at the beach last summer, I watched other mothers as they chased their kids around, making sure they had sunscreen on and/or didn't poop in the sand. They couldn't kick back and read a book while catching some rays. They had to drag so much more crap down to the beach...umbrellas and cabanas and cooler bags and extra towels and beach toys and a hat and a rash guard and...it was never ending. At night, I took as much time reading in the recliner as possible because I just knew it would be the last vacation where I would be free to do that all I wanted. I thought I would dread this year's vacation because I would finally realize how much my mom's "vacations" had really been harder work than she did at home all these years.
But, as we're getting ready to take one of these beach trips soon, I find that I am in a totally different place than expected. The thought of 9 days with my son, husband, parents, and sister's family sounds amazing. I may be more excited for this vacation than any other. My son is going to hang on the boat with Pops. I will have built in babysitters for the evening that my husband and I choose to go out for a nice dinner and walk on the pier. I get to take my baby to Cape Lookout and show him the fun I enjoyed growing up. We can play in the sand (which I've always secretly loved to do anyway, even after I was kind of too old to do it alone). I don't care that I have to load a pack n play, high chair, and other assorted baby junk into the trunk of our sedan.
And, after he goes to bed exhausted at 8:30 each night, I can spend all the time I want in that same recliner, reading a new book.
I think I feel the opposite way of what I heard before having a kid. I heard a lot of "you will never sleep/eat/have a romantic date again" and while I get that for some people looking back at their child's first year, that may be what it feels like. But I feel so much more fulfilled, settled, and just right. I'm pretty sure I underestimated my own abilities as a mother before my son was bored. I had a lot of "wow, is this really going to work" moments during pregnancy. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed it and I basked in the attention, the coddling, the thought of those last few months to be a family of two and a dog, but I also wondered what would happen when my monthly "free" nights to have a bath, order Indian takeout, and watch a chick flick alone in my house disappeared. I feared that I would be resentful to my son for this loss of freedom and personal space.
While on vacation at the beach last summer, I watched other mothers as they chased their kids around, making sure they had sunscreen on and/or didn't poop in the sand. They couldn't kick back and read a book while catching some rays. They had to drag so much more crap down to the beach...umbrellas and cabanas and cooler bags and extra towels and beach toys and a hat and a rash guard and...it was never ending. At night, I took as much time reading in the recliner as possible because I just knew it would be the last vacation where I would be free to do that all I wanted. I thought I would dread this year's vacation because I would finally realize how much my mom's "vacations" had really been harder work than she did at home all these years.
But, as we're getting ready to take one of these beach trips soon, I find that I am in a totally different place than expected. The thought of 9 days with my son, husband, parents, and sister's family sounds amazing. I may be more excited for this vacation than any other. My son is going to hang on the boat with Pops. I will have built in babysitters for the evening that my husband and I choose to go out for a nice dinner and walk on the pier. I get to take my baby to Cape Lookout and show him the fun I enjoyed growing up. We can play in the sand (which I've always secretly loved to do anyway, even after I was kind of too old to do it alone). I don't care that I have to load a pack n play, high chair, and other assorted baby junk into the trunk of our sedan.
And, after he goes to bed exhausted at 8:30 each night, I can spend all the time I want in that same recliner, reading a new book.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
I Had a 4 1/3 Day Weekend!
And I have to say, despite an occurrence that could have sucked big-time, I made the most of it.
So let's get the assorted happenings of my trip to see my sister and the site of our country's first Independence Day going.
First of all, the plane flight was fantastic. My baby was an absolute doll, charmed everyone on the plane around us, and settled in for a snack as the plane was being secured. He recognizes the nursing cover now, so my plan to "get ready" early was thwarted when he just couldn't wait five more minutes to begin his meal. So of course, who popped up from under the cover about 15 seconds before takeoff? That's ok, because daddy had the paci handy and my little guy drifted off to sleep instantly. It used to be that I looked forward to the 51-minutes of peace and quiet and my gossip magazine on this flight to Philly, but I have to tell you, the 51 minutes I spent with Jacob asleep on my shoulder, nuzzled into my neck with his arms tucked in between us, was 167 times better than if Jake and Vienna were standing in front of me arguing themselves. It reminded me that things we are scared of before we become parents maybe aren't as bad as we think. I used to nervously eyeball frantic moms with babies on the plane thinking, "yikes! That must suck for her." But no more...now, I get it.
I also learned just how proud my hubby is of the fact that I made a commitment to breastfeed our son as long as possible and stuck to it. When the security person checking the diaper bag pulled out the bottle and said, "um, this is empty?" My husband looked at her and said proudly (and really, almost bordering on snobbishly) "my wife breastfeeds our son". I might have been more in love with him at that moment than ever before!
I'm going to enliven you with a few pics from our trip. First up, we visited a city park. Now, us being Southern suburbian-country folk, a city park is a new experience. I like how this pic says, "We bad...don't mess with us, son, or we'll jack you up."
Of course, there was also a parade. A parade that was interrupted when I foolishly tried to support more weight than I should have at an awkward angle as I was hoisting my fat ass up onto a ledge. That ended with my knee buckling (I actually felt my kneecap slip out of place and back in) and me bruising my tailbone, crying on the sidewalk for nearly a half hour. Luckily I wasn't holding Jacob when it happened. The pain was literally as bad as labor...I had to breathe through it to keep from passing out. I can't believe that
1) I am able to walk, and
2) I was able to walk an hour later
I thought for sure we were going to be wheelchair/emergency room bound. But, while sitting on the sidewalk I happened to snag my new favorite pic of my little guy. Tell me what pain this face couldn't erase:
We tried really hard to watch fireworks. They were supposed to start sometime between 9:30-10:30 and I was really excited because with a birthday of July 7th, you kind of grow up obligated to assume that the fireworks are for your birthday. And I knew Philly would have big ones. Unfortunately, we spent over an hour camped out in a field waiting before finally packing it in at 10:45. Jacob had fallen asleep after being cranky for a half hour. I knew as much as I wanted to see fireworks, it wasn't fair to him. We had to get up early for our flight the next morning, and he hasn't gone to bed past 10 since infancy. There were definitely good times in the field, though! And he loves his aunt and uncle. Until we see them at the beach in three weeks, they will just have to remember this:
I'm going to enliven you with a few pics from our trip. First up, we visited a city park. Now, us being Southern suburbian-country folk, a city park is a new experience. I like how this pic says, "We bad...don't mess with us, son, or we'll jack you up."
Of course, there was also a parade. A parade that was interrupted when I foolishly tried to support more weight than I should have at an awkward angle as I was hoisting my fat ass up onto a ledge. That ended with my knee buckling (I actually felt my kneecap slip out of place and back in) and me bruising my tailbone, crying on the sidewalk for nearly a half hour. Luckily I wasn't holding Jacob when it happened. The pain was literally as bad as labor...I had to breathe through it to keep from passing out. I can't believe that
1) I am able to walk, and
2) I was able to walk an hour later
I thought for sure we were going to be wheelchair/emergency room bound. But, while sitting on the sidewalk I happened to snag my new favorite pic of my little guy. Tell me what pain this face couldn't erase:
We tried really hard to watch fireworks. They were supposed to start sometime between 9:30-10:30 and I was really excited because with a birthday of July 7th, you kind of grow up obligated to assume that the fireworks are for your birthday. And I knew Philly would have big ones. Unfortunately, we spent over an hour camped out in a field waiting before finally packing it in at 10:45. Jacob had fallen asleep after being cranky for a half hour. I knew as much as I wanted to see fireworks, it wasn't fair to him. We had to get up early for our flight the next morning, and he hasn't gone to bed past 10 since infancy. There were definitely good times in the field, though! And he loves his aunt and uncle. Until we see them at the beach in three weeks, they will just have to remember this:
Monday, June 21, 2010
A Mother's Letter
Dear Jacob,
I am writing this letter to you tonight on my blog because I can't find your baby journal that I've been keeping since before your birth, and you have just created a wave of emotions in me so huge that I need to let it all out to keep from bursting. I am crying and smiling and at the same time, aching that I can't go crawl into your crib and curl up around your little turtle body as you fall asleep. For I have just had an amazing Mommy Moment.
For me, it's the smallest things that bring me joy. Today, and for the whole weekend really, you have been a little down, clingy yet distant, and nonchalant about Mama. When I picked you up from daycare today you were happy to see me, but then you turned and reached for your teacher. At my parent's house, when I picked you up you would turn and cry at Nonni, wanting her to hold you instead. I have to admit, I felt a little jealous, a little jaded. Little babies are supposed to want their mommies above anyone, and I was rejected. When it comes to you, though, I know I can never hold on to that jealousy long because you are a fickle creature, and sometimes you just don't know what you want.
Tonight, you happened to just want home. Your dog, your toys, your room, and your parents all to yourself. Despite being tired, you played and smiled and danced and cruised all around the living room, reaching for me and daddy from time to time, happy to have our undivided attention. And when I got ready to put you to bed, something happened to erase all of my rejection anxiety. Lately, I've been holding you a little before bed, and you've allowed yourself to doze in my arms. I really lucked out to get such a good sleeper: for a long stretch, you would actually cry to be put in your crib at bedtime and it's only recently that you will let me hold you after nursing. I usually stand by the window and stare at your precious face, whispering to you how beautiful you are and how much I love you. Then I lay you gently in your crib and you flip right over and curl into a ball.
But tonight, you stretched out on your back, opened your eyes, and grinned up at me. Full open mouth, teeth bared grin. And then in the light of your seahorse, you sucked a little air in while smiling, like a teeny little gasp-giggle, what I've come to know as your contentedly happy noise. I smiled down at you and whispered "I love you soooo much" and then crouched, putting my face next to your crib. You stared at me, smiling, and stretched your hand out through the slats of your crib and touched my mouth. The look in your face as I kissed your fingers is something that I will cherish as long as I live, son. Such trust, and love, and joy at seeing your mom smile and whisper good night. I couldn't help but start crying, which seemed to get you even more excited. I didn't want to leave, but I knew the longer I stayed the more awake you would become.
Thank you, Jacob, for giving me such an overflowing feeling of love tonight. And keep up those good sleep habits so that in a couple of years, every now and then at least, I really can climb into your little toddler bed, curl myself around you, and stroke your hair until you are deep into sleep.
I love you more than life itself.
Love,
Mama
I am writing this letter to you tonight on my blog because I can't find your baby journal that I've been keeping since before your birth, and you have just created a wave of emotions in me so huge that I need to let it all out to keep from bursting. I am crying and smiling and at the same time, aching that I can't go crawl into your crib and curl up around your little turtle body as you fall asleep. For I have just had an amazing Mommy Moment.
For me, it's the smallest things that bring me joy. Today, and for the whole weekend really, you have been a little down, clingy yet distant, and nonchalant about Mama. When I picked you up from daycare today you were happy to see me, but then you turned and reached for your teacher. At my parent's house, when I picked you up you would turn and cry at Nonni, wanting her to hold you instead. I have to admit, I felt a little jealous, a little jaded. Little babies are supposed to want their mommies above anyone, and I was rejected. When it comes to you, though, I know I can never hold on to that jealousy long because you are a fickle creature, and sometimes you just don't know what you want.
Tonight, you happened to just want home. Your dog, your toys, your room, and your parents all to yourself. Despite being tired, you played and smiled and danced and cruised all around the living room, reaching for me and daddy from time to time, happy to have our undivided attention. And when I got ready to put you to bed, something happened to erase all of my rejection anxiety. Lately, I've been holding you a little before bed, and you've allowed yourself to doze in my arms. I really lucked out to get such a good sleeper: for a long stretch, you would actually cry to be put in your crib at bedtime and it's only recently that you will let me hold you after nursing. I usually stand by the window and stare at your precious face, whispering to you how beautiful you are and how much I love you. Then I lay you gently in your crib and you flip right over and curl into a ball.
But tonight, you stretched out on your back, opened your eyes, and grinned up at me. Full open mouth, teeth bared grin. And then in the light of your seahorse, you sucked a little air in while smiling, like a teeny little gasp-giggle, what I've come to know as your contentedly happy noise. I smiled down at you and whispered "I love you soooo much" and then crouched, putting my face next to your crib. You stared at me, smiling, and stretched your hand out through the slats of your crib and touched my mouth. The look in your face as I kissed your fingers is something that I will cherish as long as I live, son. Such trust, and love, and joy at seeing your mom smile and whisper good night. I couldn't help but start crying, which seemed to get you even more excited. I didn't want to leave, but I knew the longer I stayed the more awake you would become.
Thank you, Jacob, for giving me such an overflowing feeling of love tonight. And keep up those good sleep habits so that in a couple of years, every now and then at least, I really can climb into your little toddler bed, curl myself around you, and stroke your hair until you are deep into sleep.
I love you more than life itself.
Love,
Mama
Friday, June 11, 2010
Family. The Kind I Didn't Come From.
While I cannot be as specific as I'd like at this time, I am having overwhelming feelings of love for my Mother-In-Law today. What a truly great person. And although I know my mom is my favorite, my husband's mom is a close second. I really lucked out, as we have all heard the jokes and complaints before...they eye-rolling "in-laws" comments, the rants, the family implosions. Hell, I honestly believe that I have better in-laws than some people have actual blood-relatives. (Oh, and don't get me wrong, somewhere down the chain of my husband's family are people I'd like to spend less alone time with Joran Van der Sloot at this point.) But luckily, those are few and far between and I totally lucked into some really great relatives that have adopted me as one of their own.
Today, however, is my mom-in-law's turn. When DH and I got too sick to take care of ourselves earlier this year, she didn't ask but informed us that she was on her way to pick up little man from daycare and keep him for the night so that we could recover. She brought us gatorade and chicken soup, had prescriptions filled, and just took care of it so that we didn't have to. No guilt, no questions asked, just an honestly selfless act. And this was before we sent him on overnight trips because he was still waking at least once or twice a night. No complaints from her.
This is a woman that had my entire family rolling in laughter as she told the story of how at 3 years old, my husband discovered his "junk" for the first time. He was riding his little tricycle around the kitchen naked before bathtime (the love for naked baby time runs deep in our family) when as he was getting off, he spotted "IT". He looked up at his mother with horror and said, as if a pest had attached itself to him, "What ISTHAT?!"
In fact, all of her stories have us laughing when she tells them and my own mother always talks about how she has such a knack for storytelling. And how you can hear the love for her children in her voice when she talks about them. Her sons are somehow both Mama's boys, but not the annoying, always have to call their mom before making a decision kind. More like they respect their mother's fairness and seek her opinion for important things. She somehow is able to give advice without being intrusive.
I don't want to share too much because some of our family is, in fact, private, but she is just a wonderful person. I remember being so scared to meet her when hubby and I had been dating for about three months. Would she judge me? Would she think I was too slutty for her son? Too loudly, obnoxiously flamboyant? (If Jacob brought home a girl like me that's what I'd be doing.) Would she spend our dinner's together Bible-thumping and feeling like I wasn't good enough for her son because I didn't believe in the religion they did? None of those things occured.
In fact, she has been a big part of my journey back to Christianity. Never judging, never pushing, never telling me I was wrong or ridiculing me, just being there in case I had questions, and using her own life to demonstrate a non-hypocritical Christian.
So today, I am celebrating the fact that I have two awesome mothers to look up to, to go to for advice and love and comfort, and to show my son what growing up with two of the most awesome grandmothers in the world feels like. I had that growing up, and I'm so glad that he will experience the same. Instead of having favorites, he will love his grandmothers as equally as I did, because they both love him so much!
Today, however, is my mom-in-law's turn. When DH and I got too sick to take care of ourselves earlier this year, she didn't ask but informed us that she was on her way to pick up little man from daycare and keep him for the night so that we could recover. She brought us gatorade and chicken soup, had prescriptions filled, and just took care of it so that we didn't have to. No guilt, no questions asked, just an honestly selfless act. And this was before we sent him on overnight trips because he was still waking at least once or twice a night. No complaints from her.
This is a woman that had my entire family rolling in laughter as she told the story of how at 3 years old, my husband discovered his "junk" for the first time. He was riding his little tricycle around the kitchen naked before bathtime (the love for naked baby time runs deep in our family) when as he was getting off, he spotted "IT". He looked up at his mother with horror and said, as if a pest had attached itself to him, "What ISTHAT?!"
In fact, all of her stories have us laughing when she tells them and my own mother always talks about how she has such a knack for storytelling. And how you can hear the love for her children in her voice when she talks about them. Her sons are somehow both Mama's boys, but not the annoying, always have to call their mom before making a decision kind. More like they respect their mother's fairness and seek her opinion for important things. She somehow is able to give advice without being intrusive.
I don't want to share too much because some of our family is, in fact, private, but she is just a wonderful person. I remember being so scared to meet her when hubby and I had been dating for about three months. Would she judge me? Would she think I was too slutty for her son? Too loudly, obnoxiously flamboyant? (If Jacob brought home a girl like me that's what I'd be doing.) Would she spend our dinner's together Bible-thumping and feeling like I wasn't good enough for her son because I didn't believe in the religion they did? None of those things occured.
In fact, she has been a big part of my journey back to Christianity. Never judging, never pushing, never telling me I was wrong or ridiculing me, just being there in case I had questions, and using her own life to demonstrate a non-hypocritical Christian.
So today, I am celebrating the fact that I have two awesome mothers to look up to, to go to for advice and love and comfort, and to show my son what growing up with two of the most awesome grandmothers in the world feels like. I had that growing up, and I'm so glad that he will experience the same. Instead of having favorites, he will love his grandmothers as equally as I did, because they both love him so much!
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
"Your life will change, you know."
Man, if I had a dollar for every time I heard that while pregnant with this child, I could have quit my job and been a Stay at Home Mom. And I totally agree.
But what people don't tell you (or maybe they forget because life gets busier along the way) is that it changes in such amazingly good ways that you cannot fathom until your child is born. Or maybe you can't even fathom it until your baby is a little older and a little less needy. When he crawls over to your husband, pulls up to stand in front of him, and opens his little mouth like a bird waiting for Daddy to share his breakfast.
I am one of the lucky moms: I have tons of trustworthy family in the area that practically are begging to babysit, yet my husband and I feel like we get so little time with Little Man due to two full time jobs that our problem is letting him out of our sight enough to satisfy said family. People ask me all the time when they will get to babysit, and I think about the Strawberry Festival I want to take him to that weekend before giving an answer. Still, every now and then I get a surge of "rat-race" emotions and I just wish I could have a night off (this usually comes on a Tuesday afternoon when there is no one volunteering to babysit).
Twice since he has been born (nearly nine months ago) I have thought about life without baby in a somewhat rosy way. The most recent was when a co-worker bought lunch and mentioned that her husband was out of town, so she would be going home to leftover take-out, her lapdog, and a bottle of wine. What freedom, I thought. I forget what it's like to go home and have the house to yourself, enjoying Indian food (which my hubby can't stand) and a chick flick all by myself. Staying up until 2AM because I had no intention of waking up until after 9. When I was pregnant, I was afraid of what would happen when I didn't have any of those nights to myself anymore. Could I live like that? I tend to be a person who likes to have some "alone time" at least twice a week. My husband and I already fought about the times when he wanted me with him and I wanted to be selfish, soaking in the tub for an hour or two with a book.
Well, I drove home from work slightly jealous until I got to daycare. And my little boy beamed at me with such joy and pride that any feelings of "me time" just slipped away and I instantly slipped back into full-on MOM mode. As I played with him for the tiny hour I could, fed him his dinner, and nursed him to sleep around 8:30, I couldn't help but feel as though I was the luckiest woman on earth. And I laughed a little at myself. Because, honestly, a glass of wine and take-out could never compare to the feeling I get when I'm rocking quietly with a little being that likes to reach back and stroke my hand where it's cupping his little body next to mine.
But what people don't tell you (or maybe they forget because life gets busier along the way) is that it changes in such amazingly good ways that you cannot fathom until your child is born. Or maybe you can't even fathom it until your baby is a little older and a little less needy. When he crawls over to your husband, pulls up to stand in front of him, and opens his little mouth like a bird waiting for Daddy to share his breakfast.
I am one of the lucky moms: I have tons of trustworthy family in the area that practically are begging to babysit, yet my husband and I feel like we get so little time with Little Man due to two full time jobs that our problem is letting him out of our sight enough to satisfy said family. People ask me all the time when they will get to babysit, and I think about the Strawberry Festival I want to take him to that weekend before giving an answer. Still, every now and then I get a surge of "rat-race" emotions and I just wish I could have a night off (this usually comes on a Tuesday afternoon when there is no one volunteering to babysit).
Twice since he has been born (nearly nine months ago) I have thought about life without baby in a somewhat rosy way. The most recent was when a co-worker bought lunch and mentioned that her husband was out of town, so she would be going home to leftover take-out, her lapdog, and a bottle of wine. What freedom, I thought. I forget what it's like to go home and have the house to yourself, enjoying Indian food (which my hubby can't stand) and a chick flick all by myself. Staying up until 2AM because I had no intention of waking up until after 9. When I was pregnant, I was afraid of what would happen when I didn't have any of those nights to myself anymore. Could I live like that? I tend to be a person who likes to have some "alone time" at least twice a week. My husband and I already fought about the times when he wanted me with him and I wanted to be selfish, soaking in the tub for an hour or two with a book.
Well, I drove home from work slightly jealous until I got to daycare. And my little boy beamed at me with such joy and pride that any feelings of "me time" just slipped away and I instantly slipped back into full-on MOM mode. As I played with him for the tiny hour I could, fed him his dinner, and nursed him to sleep around 8:30, I couldn't help but feel as though I was the luckiest woman on earth. And I laughed a little at myself. Because, honestly, a glass of wine and take-out could never compare to the feeling I get when I'm rocking quietly with a little being that likes to reach back and stroke my hand where it's cupping his little body next to mine.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Soo.....Mothers Day. About that...
I've been thinking a lot about Mother's Day this week, since so many people have reminded me (as if I could forget) that this is my first one. Something I guess I don't get is the whole "mom's day off" concept. Maybe six years down the line when I'm driving a minivan with a booster and a carseat to soccer practice and ballet class and life seems like it couldn't possibly be more busy or stressful, I will understand, but for now, I just don't.
Because I don't want a day off! I just feel like the whole point of Mother's Day is for me to celebrate the life I helped create and the bond that I share with my son. I have spent a good deal of my day caring for him: feeding him, spreading a blanket out in his room so he could hang around diaper free and climb stuff, urging him to follow me crawling around the house as I folded laundry and washed his dishes, giving him part of my lunch to eat/play with, sharing in his bathtime, more naked time with him shaking his head and grinning at me, now down for another nap. Why would I need time off from that?
I looked at my husband earlier this week and said incredulously, "can you believe we thought we may be bored after our kid was born?" We get home from work and just do nothing, but everything. Just sitting in the living room playing with little man and fur princess is enough to fill up the all too short hour of our time before feeding, bathing, and bedtime begin. Jacob is getting to the age where I can give him a tupperware bowl and wooden spoon and he will amuse himself happily while I do some kitchen work, as long as I'm watching him.
My favorite part of watching him grow right now is his independence that still mixes with the need for mama's safety. When he crawls down the hall and every few feet stops and turns to make sure I'm still there, still watching, just melts me. (Almost as much as I melt when he crawls towards me saying "MaMaMaMaMah".)
So, for Mother's Day, no day off for me. I want to soak up every spare second I can with my son, and give him as many cuddles, hugs, and kisses as he will allow.
Because I don't want a day off! I just feel like the whole point of Mother's Day is for me to celebrate the life I helped create and the bond that I share with my son. I have spent a good deal of my day caring for him: feeding him, spreading a blanket out in his room so he could hang around diaper free and climb stuff, urging him to follow me crawling around the house as I folded laundry and washed his dishes, giving him part of my lunch to eat/play with, sharing in his bathtime, more naked time with him shaking his head and grinning at me, now down for another nap. Why would I need time off from that?
I looked at my husband earlier this week and said incredulously, "can you believe we thought we may be bored after our kid was born?" We get home from work and just do nothing, but everything. Just sitting in the living room playing with little man and fur princess is enough to fill up the all too short hour of our time before feeding, bathing, and bedtime begin. Jacob is getting to the age where I can give him a tupperware bowl and wooden spoon and he will amuse himself happily while I do some kitchen work, as long as I'm watching him.
My favorite part of watching him grow right now is his independence that still mixes with the need for mama's safety. When he crawls down the hall and every few feet stops and turns to make sure I'm still there, still watching, just melts me. (Almost as much as I melt when he crawls towards me saying "MaMaMaMaMah".)
So, for Mother's Day, no day off for me. I want to soak up every spare second I can with my son, and give him as many cuddles, hugs, and kisses as he will allow.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Life is short, but oh so sweet!
Today was Senior Day at church. I don't know if every church does this, but it's kind of a day where the elders of the church take over the service. They plan the service, the songs, invite a speaker, do the children's sermon, etc. The whole church service is run by a group of Seniors.
Ours sang funny songs for their specials, about their hair being white and their eyesight going bad, that got some laughs and livened us up. They also sang about being ready to go Home and meet the Saviour. It got me thinking about Jacob, and how short life is already! (Imagine, one day his children are going to think about the 80's the way I think about the 30's!)
Everyone tells you before you have kids that life will seem to fly even faster, and they are totally right. It seems as if every time I have started to get tired of the "stage" he's in (sleep deprivation and constant nursing, then not being able to put him down all day, now the separation anxiety) he has flown right through it into something else, making me want to scream "STOP! Stop growing so darn fast!" This weekend, I had to lower his crib after going in to his room for the second time to find him standing and holding on to the waist-high crib rail. So now, I can no longer lean down into his crib and kiss his sweet little head goodnight. A moment that I have taken for granted the last six months is now gone.
I also tried to spend a few extra minutes with him by rocking him after nursing him tonight, which turned into a meltdown. My sweet little baby that cries when I go around a corner of the room is too big to be rocked when he's tired. He wants the routine of being placed gently in his crib drowsy so that he can take his Mickey blanket, flip onto his tummy, turtle his butt up, and put himself to sleep. .::sigh::. It's a good problem to have, but maybe we did too good of a job teaching him to self-soothe, because now I look back over the last 8 months and a week and wonder if it would even take two hands to count the number of times I rocked my son to sleep?
Life is just flying past at warp speed. Two and a half months ago, my guy was tripod-sitting for a few seconds before tumbling over...now he's pulling up and trying to test himself by letting go of me when he's standing up. He's babbling "da-da", "ba-ba", and "ma-ma" almost constantly, and I'm starting to believe he even knows which one I am. Where did my little baby go? And will I cry every time he reaches one of these huge milestones the way I am as I'm typing this? Every stage is so beautiful and so fleeting that I have to just remind myself to cherish it, to find ways to fit more in and yet stop to enjoy my son's life.
I vow to never again utter the words "it's been a long day", because now that little man is half way between half a year and his first birthday, I know that our days are far too short.
Ours sang funny songs for their specials, about their hair being white and their eyesight going bad, that got some laughs and livened us up. They also sang about being ready to go Home and meet the Saviour. It got me thinking about Jacob, and how short life is already! (Imagine, one day his children are going to think about the 80's the way I think about the 30's!)
Everyone tells you before you have kids that life will seem to fly even faster, and they are totally right. It seems as if every time I have started to get tired of the "stage" he's in (sleep deprivation and constant nursing, then not being able to put him down all day, now the separation anxiety) he has flown right through it into something else, making me want to scream "STOP! Stop growing so darn fast!" This weekend, I had to lower his crib after going in to his room for the second time to find him standing and holding on to the waist-high crib rail. So now, I can no longer lean down into his crib and kiss his sweet little head goodnight. A moment that I have taken for granted the last six months is now gone.
I also tried to spend a few extra minutes with him by rocking him after nursing him tonight, which turned into a meltdown. My sweet little baby that cries when I go around a corner of the room is too big to be rocked when he's tired. He wants the routine of being placed gently in his crib drowsy so that he can take his Mickey blanket, flip onto his tummy, turtle his butt up, and put himself to sleep. .::sigh::. It's a good problem to have, but maybe we did too good of a job teaching him to self-soothe, because now I look back over the last 8 months and a week and wonder if it would even take two hands to count the number of times I rocked my son to sleep?
Life is just flying past at warp speed. Two and a half months ago, my guy was tripod-sitting for a few seconds before tumbling over...now he's pulling up and trying to test himself by letting go of me when he's standing up. He's babbling "da-da", "ba-ba", and "ma-ma" almost constantly, and I'm starting to believe he even knows which one I am. Where did my little baby go? And will I cry every time he reaches one of these huge milestones the way I am as I'm typing this? Every stage is so beautiful and so fleeting that I have to just remind myself to cherish it, to find ways to fit more in and yet stop to enjoy my son's life.
I vow to never again utter the words "it's been a long day", because now that little man is half way between half a year and his first birthday, I know that our days are far too short.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Joyous Occasion, Part Deux.
I've shared what led up to his birth...let's see if I can squeeze out the rest of his first week before thinking of all of the other subjects I want to write about. This is the best part, so it shouldn't be too hard.
So, Jacob was born relatively healthy, although there was some aprehension caused by his small size to be a past-term baby. He was breathing when born, but did have some trouble clearing his lungs on his own, so the doctors had to do extensive suctioning and as a result, his APGAR scores weren't as high as I would have liked. Of course, I really didn't find any of this out until well afterwards, so I didn't have to be in worried-mom mode while I was stitched back together. Most of what I remember was hearing him cry in the next room and at first being happy to hear that sound, and then instantly having the maternal instinct to feel sad that he was crying for his mommy and that this was the first time he was ever separated from me.
What an amazing week in the hospital we had...it was like a little hotel vacation for us to bond as a family, with occasional help from his many grandparent's stopping by. There were moments when I couldn't wait to get him home and away from the intrusions by doctors, nurses, and bill collecters (seriously, they try to get you to pay while you're still laid up in the hospital...FYI, you can decline and ask them to send an invoice after they file your insurance). There were other moments where I couldn't imagine how we could do it without a full medical staff there when we needed them.
The hospital photographer was a disastrous experience, yet one that taught me about my own maternal instinct. Baby was gone the second morning for his circumcision and Hep B vaccine, and I was alone for the first time and blissfully taking a nap. We would be going home the next day and based on what everyone with kids had told me the previous 8 months, I would never sleep again. When Jacob came back, he was sleeping, so I was excited for the quiet, cool, dark room and just the two of us snoring away. Within 30 minutes, the photographer showed up. I told her that I really didn't think it was a good time and that I hadn't really prepared, and she brushed me off breezily, explaining that she wouldn't bother him too much.
Um, yeah, then she spent the next ten minutes trying to get him to wake up for the picture as I stood behind her explaining that I really didn't care if his eyes were closed, and that he needed his rest after his "surgery". I think she was disappointed, but I really didn't care how good her stupid picture was at that point. She was disturbing MY BABY. When she came back a while later, I just pretty much gave her the stank eye when she tried to coerce me into buying photos. I have to say, she was such a b*tch about it anyway...she came to show me the proofs and snottily said, "sorry he looks so unhappy." Um, yeah, he looks unhappy because you poked and prodded him for half an hour, lady. (I have to admit, he is the most beautiful unhappy newborn I've ever seen in those photo proofs. I'm glad I have them so I can tell this story for years to come.)
Wow. Big diversion. That's what happens when you have to work on a post a little at the time for three days. Anyway, my point is, despite my birth story lacking the surprise element, the excitement of "I think it's time", and was not what I planned, what is important and what matters is that I healed in miraculous time, and three days later went home with a beautiful, sweet, wonderful baby with a cute little cry and humongous hands and feet.
And I have never felt more blessed.
So, Jacob was born relatively healthy, although there was some aprehension caused by his small size to be a past-term baby. He was breathing when born, but did have some trouble clearing his lungs on his own, so the doctors had to do extensive suctioning and as a result, his APGAR scores weren't as high as I would have liked. Of course, I really didn't find any of this out until well afterwards, so I didn't have to be in worried-mom mode while I was stitched back together. Most of what I remember was hearing him cry in the next room and at first being happy to hear that sound, and then instantly having the maternal instinct to feel sad that he was crying for his mommy and that this was the first time he was ever separated from me.
What an amazing week in the hospital we had...it was like a little hotel vacation for us to bond as a family, with occasional help from his many grandparent's stopping by. There were moments when I couldn't wait to get him home and away from the intrusions by doctors, nurses, and bill collecters (seriously, they try to get you to pay while you're still laid up in the hospital...FYI, you can decline and ask them to send an invoice after they file your insurance). There were other moments where I couldn't imagine how we could do it without a full medical staff there when we needed them.
The hospital photographer was a disastrous experience, yet one that taught me about my own maternal instinct. Baby was gone the second morning for his circumcision and Hep B vaccine, and I was alone for the first time and blissfully taking a nap. We would be going home the next day and based on what everyone with kids had told me the previous 8 months, I would never sleep again. When Jacob came back, he was sleeping, so I was excited for the quiet, cool, dark room and just the two of us snoring away. Within 30 minutes, the photographer showed up. I told her that I really didn't think it was a good time and that I hadn't really prepared, and she brushed me off breezily, explaining that she wouldn't bother him too much.
Um, yeah, then she spent the next ten minutes trying to get him to wake up for the picture as I stood behind her explaining that I really didn't care if his eyes were closed, and that he needed his rest after his "surgery". I think she was disappointed, but I really didn't care how good her stupid picture was at that point. She was disturbing MY BABY. When she came back a while later, I just pretty much gave her the stank eye when she tried to coerce me into buying photos. I have to say, she was such a b*tch about it anyway...she came to show me the proofs and snottily said, "sorry he looks so unhappy." Um, yeah, he looks unhappy because you poked and prodded him for half an hour, lady. (I have to admit, he is the most beautiful unhappy newborn I've ever seen in those photo proofs. I'm glad I have them so I can tell this story for years to come.)
Wow. Big diversion. That's what happens when you have to work on a post a little at the time for three days. Anyway, my point is, despite my birth story lacking the surprise element, the excitement of "I think it's time", and was not what I planned, what is important and what matters is that I healed in miraculous time, and three days later went home with a beautiful, sweet, wonderful baby with a cute little cry and humongous hands and feet.
And I have never felt more blessed.
Monday, April 5, 2010
A Divine Experience
Yesterday was Easter. Now, a brief history for those that do not know me in real life or have followed my blog since the beginning: I am a Christian, but my Christianity is something that has taken a long, slow wagon wheel journey to arrive at. Religion is something that I hold very personally dear to my heart, and I do believe it should be a personal experience for everyone. Most of the time I try to do right by my Lord, but it is a struggle.
Yesterday was one of the days it was easy. I went to a sunrise service with my mom and little sister. At a black church. (I use the term loosely...the service was held at a worship center with a congregation that is mostly African American.) I have never been to such a place before, but I've always kind of wanted to...what I've heard about traditionally black churches has definitely had my curiosity piqued for a while. Us Southern Baptists (which I'm still not sure is where my own religious alliances lie, but the church I attend is of this denomination) tend to like our worship on the serious side. Nothing wrong with that, reverence has it's place. But part of me has always felt like church lacks some of this "joyous noise" I've always heard about.
We drug ourselves into the sanctuary around 6:30AM, after a bone-tiring day of hot sunshine and Easter egg hunts and grilling and basketball the day before, grumbling about why weren't we having sunrise service outside where we could see the sunrise, not knowing what a surprise this church had for us. At promptly 6:48, four women stood up at the front and sang a song that was loud, exciting, and accompanied by a band. Immediately we all sprang to our feet, clapping and swaying to the music. One of my first thoughts was, "wow...how can you not feel good about God when you start your day this way?" We sang three songs total, with free reign to dance, clap, shout, sing, whatever we felt like letting out. It was such a release for me to be able to be joyous about every miracle God has placed in my life this past year.
The rest of the service was just as enlightening. I finally realize why people murmur during the sermon or a prayer. It just shows your agreement, your appreciation for what the speaker and God have done for you. It just made me feel so present and alive. And after the service was over, the congregation served breakfast and were the most welcoming people I have ever met. Genuinely welcoming and wanting to get to know us. It set the tone for the rest of my Easter Sunday, and what a day it was. Happiness abounds!
And as promised, the yearly Easter family portrait:
Hot mama dress and all.
Yesterday was one of the days it was easy. I went to a sunrise service with my mom and little sister. At a black church. (I use the term loosely...the service was held at a worship center with a congregation that is mostly African American.) I have never been to such a place before, but I've always kind of wanted to...what I've heard about traditionally black churches has definitely had my curiosity piqued for a while. Us Southern Baptists (which I'm still not sure is where my own religious alliances lie, but the church I attend is of this denomination) tend to like our worship on the serious side. Nothing wrong with that, reverence has it's place. But part of me has always felt like church lacks some of this "joyous noise" I've always heard about.
We drug ourselves into the sanctuary around 6:30AM, after a bone-tiring day of hot sunshine and Easter egg hunts and grilling and basketball the day before, grumbling about why weren't we having sunrise service outside where we could see the sunrise, not knowing what a surprise this church had for us. At promptly 6:48, four women stood up at the front and sang a song that was loud, exciting, and accompanied by a band. Immediately we all sprang to our feet, clapping and swaying to the music. One of my first thoughts was, "wow...how can you not feel good about God when you start your day this way?" We sang three songs total, with free reign to dance, clap, shout, sing, whatever we felt like letting out. It was such a release for me to be able to be joyous about every miracle God has placed in my life this past year.
The rest of the service was just as enlightening. I finally realize why people murmur during the sermon or a prayer. It just shows your agreement, your appreciation for what the speaker and God have done for you. It just made me feel so present and alive. And after the service was over, the congregation served breakfast and were the most welcoming people I have ever met. Genuinely welcoming and wanting to get to know us. It set the tone for the rest of my Easter Sunday, and what a day it was. Happiness abounds!
And as promised, the yearly Easter family portrait:
Hot mama dress and all.Wednesday, March 24, 2010
A Husband Hallelujah!
I am attending a work workshop this week (and will soon have a funny story from that to post) that leaves me with little time for blogging. Especially since the kid has been a-w-e-s-o-m-e this week and I cannot seem to tear myself away from him or wonderful husband without feeling lost, guilty, and devoid of human connection (sorry, internet friends, but you cannot replicate the joy my family gives me)!
So on that note, a short post on why everyone reading this, especially those of you with a spouse and child(ren), should be completely jealous of my home situation.
My husband makes baby food.
Now, I know someone whose husband does not change diapers. Someone else whose husband engaged in inappropriate activities while she was carrying his child. And several people who have husbands that take their mothers' sides in the dreaded "wife versus in-law" arguments. (Luckily, with my awesome parents and in-laws, I am blessed not to have those.) My husband has had his moments of cluelessly holding down the recliner and remote as I put the babe to bed and return downstairs to clean the kitchen and prepare bottles for the next day, all the while proclaiming, "why don't you sit down and RELAX a little?" But those days are long gone!
I went to a work outing last night, and got a text around 7:40 after guiltily leaving father and screaming child and hour and a half earlier. It said:
Baby is in bed after eating all of his fresh pears.
.::Swoon::. I had sliced and baked 3 pears the night before (three pears that hubby had peeled after pureeing the peas we steamed) and then run out of enough energy to puree and freeze them. So what did hubby do? After calming lovely child down a few minutes after mommy left, he sat him in the high chair with his toys and proceeded to puree the pears, filling our 1 oz trays, freezing, and feeding the leftover ounce and a half to dear child.
I am in love all over again!
So on that note, a short post on why everyone reading this, especially those of you with a spouse and child(ren), should be completely jealous of my home situation.
My husband makes baby food.
Now, I know someone whose husband does not change diapers. Someone else whose husband engaged in inappropriate activities while she was carrying his child. And several people who have husbands that take their mothers' sides in the dreaded "wife versus in-law" arguments. (Luckily, with my awesome parents and in-laws, I am blessed not to have those.) My husband has had his moments of cluelessly holding down the recliner and remote as I put the babe to bed and return downstairs to clean the kitchen and prepare bottles for the next day, all the while proclaiming, "why don't you sit down and RELAX a little?" But those days are long gone!
I went to a work outing last night, and got a text around 7:40 after guiltily leaving father and screaming child and hour and a half earlier. It said:
Baby is in bed after eating all of his fresh pears.
.::Swoon::. I had sliced and baked 3 pears the night before (three pears that hubby had peeled after pureeing the peas we steamed) and then run out of enough energy to puree and freeze them. So what did hubby do? After calming lovely child down a few minutes after mommy left, he sat him in the high chair with his toys and proceeded to puree the pears, filling our 1 oz trays, freezing, and feeding the leftover ounce and a half to dear child.
I am in love all over again!
Saturday, January 23, 2010
So, So Thankful Beyond Words, But I'll Try...
As I've mentioned before, I participate in an online message board forum with other women that are new moms. Most of the time, it is for entertainment and to pass the rare down time at work, but sometimes we actually discuss meaningful topics about child-rearing and life as a mother. This week, the main topic of conversation has been the controversial debate about whether it is harder to be a Stay at Home Mommy or a Working Mommy. Obviously, having been a working mama for the last two and a half months, I have my place in that discussion.
But as I sit here this morning with my sweetheart in my lap, nursing and watching me type, all of that conversation pales in meaningless comparison to the struggle that my fellow blogger is going through. Laura over at Embracing Elijah, if you are not already following, is doing the hardest thing I can imagine after the meager loss I suffered before conceiving Jacob. She is 24 weeks pregnant with her second child, her first son, who has been diagnosed with Trisomy 13. (For those that aren't familiar, a fatal congenital defect that usually causes a miscarriage somewhere in the first two trimesters.) I encourage you to read her blog because it will stir the kind of emotions that can only be felt when you are so, so very thankful to be holding your own child.
This morning, I woke up feeling immense pressure to "get things done". I still have a Christmas tree (barely live and a total fire hazard) fully decorated and sitting in my dining room. I need to bake a cake for my dad's birthday. My house has not been vacuumed or mopped in over two weeks. There is so much on my to-do list that I was hoping Jacob would take a very long nap this morning.
Instead he napped for 30 minutes while I cleaned up breakfast, and then I brought him upstairs to get my blog on. I read Laura's recent post just as Jacob got full, and as I read about her struggle, I looked down at my son and noticed how very alive he is. How his cheeks are perfect and rosy, his eyes are so wide open, how he is now totally enamoured with his very own tongue, and I cried. These things that make my life more difficult are also the things that make it so worth living, the things that so many women will not have with their children.
So today, I will get done what I can get done, and I will hug and play and kiss Jacob as often as humanly possible, because I have a sweet baby that can do those things, and her blog reminds me that I never know just how long I have with him.
But as I sit here this morning with my sweetheart in my lap, nursing and watching me type, all of that conversation pales in meaningless comparison to the struggle that my fellow blogger is going through. Laura over at Embracing Elijah, if you are not already following, is doing the hardest thing I can imagine after the meager loss I suffered before conceiving Jacob. She is 24 weeks pregnant with her second child, her first son, who has been diagnosed with Trisomy 13. (For those that aren't familiar, a fatal congenital defect that usually causes a miscarriage somewhere in the first two trimesters.) I encourage you to read her blog because it will stir the kind of emotions that can only be felt when you are so, so very thankful to be holding your own child.
This morning, I woke up feeling immense pressure to "get things done". I still have a Christmas tree (barely live and a total fire hazard) fully decorated and sitting in my dining room. I need to bake a cake for my dad's birthday. My house has not been vacuumed or mopped in over two weeks. There is so much on my to-do list that I was hoping Jacob would take a very long nap this morning.
Instead he napped for 30 minutes while I cleaned up breakfast, and then I brought him upstairs to get my blog on. I read Laura's recent post just as Jacob got full, and as I read about her struggle, I looked down at my son and noticed how very alive he is. How his cheeks are perfect and rosy, his eyes are so wide open, how he is now totally enamoured with his very own tongue, and I cried. These things that make my life more difficult are also the things that make it so worth living, the things that so many women will not have with their children.
So today, I will get done what I can get done, and I will hug and play and kiss Jacob as often as humanly possible, because I have a sweet baby that can do those things, and her blog reminds me that I never know just how long I have with him.
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