Who doesn't love T&A?

Mud Flaps

2012-01-30T13:29:00.001-08:00

My brain is a highly-functioning self preservation organ.

Here I am, 7 months post-partum and I can’t remember feeling this awful about the state of my body at 7 months postpartum with Charles. Oh, I know I probably did, as I have agonized over my weight and appearance most of my adult life (there was a nice period right before I got married and then until I conceived Charles during which I was at what I consider to be my ideal weight). But, you know what? I don’t actually remember it. I don’t remember what my body looked like at that stage, when Charles was chubby and learning to crawl. If I looked then like I look now, then I can tell you that I felt awful about it, so it’s just as well that I don’t remember.

I didn’t work out then like I do now. Though I was about to start, since when Charles was 7 months old it was the beginning of summer and I could go for long runs with the dog and I started doing The 30-Day Shred and I walked all the time. I also don’t have many photos of myself before about 9 months postpartum, since that’s when I started to feel good enough about myself to not duck out of them.

So I don’t know if I am on track to get back to that size 6, that 135 lbs, or not. The body in the mirror does not look anything like the picture of me in my head. This is, for all intents and purposes, a good self-defense mechanism (thank you again, brain). When I go out, I don’t think about how jiggly I am. I forget that every item of clothing I own has spit-up stains on it. I’m merely focused on getting the kids where they need to be, swim lessons or gymnastics or various appointments, or going to the grocery store, or getting as much work done as I can in the time allotted, or going back to work with the kids because there’s always more to do, or thinking about what to make for dinner, what order to do the laundry so we have clean diapers to get through the night, who needs a nap and who needs a snack, and so on, and so on, and so on.

But when I’m in my room, having torn off my sweaty running clothes before I get in the shower, I look at my body and I don’t even recognize it. And it is so ill-proportioned, and so flabby, and just so wrong that I’m hit with a wave of futility. What’s the point? What’s the point of all the running if I am still so far from looking like me? Why do I have a gym membership if there’s no hope of me losing any weight before Jamie is done nursing? Is it even possible to lose the extra stomach skin/fat after two babies?

Also, I have very little willpower when it comes to food – oh, I eat well, I don’t eat junk, but I can’t limit myself. And I can’t eat only veggies. I just can’t. You try nursing a baby and dieting at the same time. Probably not impossible, but it is miserable.

*Sigh* There’s just no winning this right now. I know that I have to keep going, keep working out, keep ignoring the jiggle when I’m out, because only time is going to help me lose weight and inches. Still, it’s hard to have your worst fears about how you look confirmed by your child. This morning, Charles said, “Mommy, you got a BIIIIIG butt!” Yeah, sweetie. I know. I’m working on it.

Not Quite Seven Months

2012-01-19T19:45:00.001-08:00

Jamie:

He used to sleep well, and now he doesn’t.

He still doesn’t have any teeth, but he worries his gums as though all sixteen will come in tomorrow.

He likes bananas and squash and green beans and bell peppers, but not applesauce.

But he loves apples, preferably shared with his big brother.

He loves his big brother.

He kicks and flails his feet madly whenever someone he likes comes near.

He likes everyone.

He especially likes the dog.

He pulls hair, so I never wear it down.

He goes to daycare three days a week and never cries.

He can sit up without support, but he can’t get there on his own.

He’s not nearly as loud or expressive as Charles was at this age.

Which is not to say he isn’t expressive, quite the contrary.

He’s just not so… exuberant.

He’s a snuggler, except when he’s not, and then he’s not happy unless he has his space (frequently in the middle of the night).

He looks really great in all shades of blue.

His hair has a dark red tint.

He’s really ticklish.

He makes faces when he eats, even if he likes what we give him:

He’s hitting all the milestones there are for kids his age, and he’s on the big side (16.5 lbs, 27 in).

He’s mellow.

He’s happy.

He’s up for anything.

I love him so, so much.

There’s no business like SNOW business!

2012-01-15T13:05:00.000-08:00

This morning we got a pretty good bit of snow…about 2-3”. Not a lot, but enough to use the sled Grampa Joe gave us for Christmas. I must say: He hit it out of the park on this one! Evidence below…

That Makes Me SICK.

2012-01-09T11:58:00.001-08:00

So much has happened recently that I don’t know where to begin. And yet, it’s all boring, run-of-the-mill stuff that goes along with kids getting older and new jobs and new years, except for the fact that I got horribly ill this weekend. That wasn’t normal at all.

I had a pretty nice Saturday. I took Jamie to a baby shower in Bellevue, and the drive both ways was nice (if a bit lonely, but hey, I don’t get much alone time, so I’m not complaining). I went on a 2.25 mile run when I got home and then we ate a “whatever” dinner (as in, eat whatever you want to eat). I had cereal, because my stomach had started to feel a bit loopy, but I thought it was just the rich shower food getting to me. My in-laws showed up and we all went to bed. Not an hour after lying in bed, I got up for the first of many times and proceeded to spend the entire night clearing out my digestive system from both ends.

I think I told Tony at an early point in the evening (before things got violent in the bathroom) that this felt an awful lot like food poisoning. I didn’t really chronicle it much at the time, but Tony and I both got sick from something horrible at his office party a couple of years back and frankly, I’m glad we have more than one bathroom. I just can’t imagine the kind of carnage that night would have seen otherwise.

Fortunately for our bathrooms, this time it was only me. And I’m pretty sure it was from the cream cheese I had on my bagel that morning. It tasted pretty awful, but I sorta thought that was just because it was the WalMart store brand, and I figured that I would use the rest of it in a recipe where I could cover it up with some extra garlic or something. I guess even WalMart cream cheese isn’t supposed to be that bad. (Worry not, it’s in the trash now.)

I missed out on Sunday in its entirety, as I confined myself to my bed. I missed my kids. I thought about how we haven’t taken enough photos of Jamie and he is really getting big. He goes to daycare now, three times a week for about four hours at a time. I miss him then, too, but he likes it there and besides knowing that the socialization is good for him, the concentrated time at work is good for me.

Charles gets bigger every day, too. He had to get a new bike helmet because his helmet from this summer is now too small. He’s all legs, lanky, strong legs that like to jump and run and bounce off of things. We are starting gymnastics tomorrow because he is MUCH too big for the watertots swim class we were attending (though Jamie is now old enough, so he and I will keep going when we can) and he will start real swim lessons in February, and I just really need to keep him active. I’m hoping new, strenuous activities will help with his half of the sleep thing because…

Neither of the boys is sleeping. Jamie faked us out with almost two weeks of sleeping 11 straight hours right around Christmas, but now he is up all night long, in our bed because he screams as soon as he is put into the crib, and still crying plenty in our bed and with a nipple in his mouth most of the night. I think it’s teething, but who can tell? Tylenol helps some, but I don’t really want to drug him into sleep for eight hours. And his cries wake up Charles, who also wants to crawl in with us and snuggle up. It’s a sleepless world around here, folks. And Tony, oh. He gets so frustrated with the not sleeping.

So that’s it, internet friends. Fun times. Let’s hope this week includes less illness, hmm?

Lost & Found – An Obligatory New Year Post

2011-12-31T14:05:00.001-08:00

I think I found it. I didn’t really know it was missing.

I spent all of 2011 pregnant or with a baby attached to me. I had a couple of good friends with whom I hung out tons last year and they’ve drifted away. A baby can be pretty isolating. Not being able to run races, dance, drink, stay out late, or even shop on my own has kept me at home, tending my family. It has led to frustration with my life and myself (too much alone time is bad for me), and frustration with Tony, even though he is supporting me the best way that he can (he can’t feed the baby, but he sure does try to let me have a walk with the dog every night or other such quick sans-child activities).

But what I really needed, what has really changed my whole perspective in just a few short hours, was some fun girl time. It started with a quick dress shopping trip on Wednesday to attire myself and two others for a wedding tonight and continued with a bachelorette party on Thursday. I was sober sister, which can be frustrating, but it wasn’t. It was a whole ton of fun, and I danced and sang and squealed and loved my friends and it was a total blast and I now feel refreshed. I’m all right again.

I tried to explain all this to Tony and he said, “Why do you think I would rather play basketball than work out at the gym?” It seems that this communion with other men, sweating and jamming elbows into each other and exchanging new swear words or whatever is the equivalent to me spending time with the girls, just being a girl. For a few hours, not being someone’s mom or wife, but just another girl, out to have fun.

So that’s it. That’s the only resolution I really have for 2012: to have more fun with the girls. Oh, there are all the other things we will do anyway and for which I don’t need a resolution, of course. I will love my boys, we will take more vacations, we will fly to Phoenix just the three of us, Tony and I will take the boys to France, I’ll lose the baby weight, etc. - but those are all plans. There are big things in store for the Cooks.

I’m a bit sad to see 2011 go. I turned 30. I had a beautiful, healthy baby boy (who is now sitting up unsupported and is still so, so happy). My other little boy turned three. Sometimes I wish I could just stop the clock and have more hours in the day to play with them. Of course, other times, I wish I could speed up time to get to bed sooner. All in the life of a mother of young people (I was going to write “young mother” but that isn’t true, really), I suppose. At any rate, I can’t change it, so I’d better roll with it.

Cheers to 2011! Welcome 2012!

Christmas in the Northwest

2011-12-27T14:50:00.001-08:00

Isn’t that the worst Christmas song you know? Ugh.

Fortunately, the scenery isn’t nearly as tragic as those lyrics:

Gah

2011-12-27T11:53:00.001-08:00

I have no idea where the camera is, but I’m pretty sure it doesn’t have even one photo of Charles during the Christmas present-a-thon. It does, however, have about a thousand photos of him playing on the beach. He now tells anyone who will listen, including me, “we live at the beach.” No, honey, we do not. “Let’s go home to the beach, mommy.” Sorry, kid, our home is in Mount Vernon, where there is no beach and currently no snow, but where I don’t have to keep the dog tethered to a stake in the yard and I don’t have to live out of a suitcase, so I think we’ll stay here, thanks.

The decision to NOT live in the Ilwaco/Long Beach area was not one we made lightly – after all, both my and Tony’s parents are there, it’s a beautiful part of the country, and we really like it there. But also, there is no symphony. There is no college. There is no array of AP courses and millions of clubs and YMCA and oh so many other things that we can easily get here. There is also not the same standard of living for CPAs.

We had a chance to revisit the decision this weekend in light of some friends who live there and, we suspect, at least one party is no longer happy with it. Maybe. We don’t know, but we’re speculating that the insular nature of the beach might be at the root of their marital problems, and isn’t it interesting that they probably had the same conversation we had about living there but came to a different conclusion?

Anyhow, Christmas. Too much sugar, delight on Charles’ face, no injuries. Pretty much a win. I spent a considerable portion of the drive home pulling myself out of the pits as I thought about this whole gift-giving process. I am a giver, and I take time to try to find the “perfect” gift for people, one of many reasons that the number of our gift recipients has diminished in recent years; I only have time to find the “perfect” gift for close family and friends. And I don’t hit it out of the park every time, but I get more hits than strikes, overall.

I think I’ve figured out that I feel love when I get gifts and praise. So, you know, when I don’t get a gift at all from someone I really care about, it makes me feel pretty worthless, as though the gift, or lack thereof, is a comment on how little that person loves me. Or maybe a comment on how I am not a good mother or wife and I am still so fat and I got an ill-advised haircut and I don’t dress well because everything gets spitup-stained and nothing fits and I don’t contribute enough to the family that I don’t deserve a present. Now, I KNOW this is bogus – the person in question is not a giver, never has been, never will be, and I should suck it up and get used to it. Random, non-birthday, non-Mother’s Day, non-Christmas gifts are all the more special that way, right? Well, not really. I mean, of course they’re special, but well, I’m trying to explain feelings here and I’m not doing a good job, so suffice to say I felt a bit like shit yesterday for a good while. And then I felt even shittier for feeling like shit about a goddamn gift when I know I have it so much better than so many, many, many people in the world. And wasn’t I the one to make a promise to God that if my kids turned out healthy, I would be happy to be a fat, ugly, worthless nobody for the rest of my life?

And, on top of it all, is Christmas about the gifts? Well, no, of course not.

So, I sucked it up and made cinnamon rolls for the boys for breakfast and then did my workout and then promptly ate the two remaining cinnamon rolls thus ensuring that I stay fat and slobby and gross so that I don’t get any future presents. I will just have to work harder at the office so that I can make enough money to buy my own presents in the future. I think I’ll develop a shoe habit, just as soon as I have the cash and am not carrying around a ticking time bomb of spitup anymore.

Glad That’s Out of the Way.

2011-12-18T11:37:00.001-08:00

It occurred to me, sometime on Friday morning, that this is likely to be the first Christmas in FOUR YEARS that I will not be sick or otherwise suffering.

Three years ago, Charles was 6 weeks old, had colic and horrendous diaper rash, and I was so sleep deprived that I didn’t know which way was up.

Two years ago, I caught a stomach bug that had me moving from bed to bathroom and missing out on all Christmas goodies, family, and friends. And then my poor brother caught it after Christmas.

Last year, I was pregnant and very, very ill. Christmas was the last straw before I called my doctor and sought drugs to tame the misery that was Jamie’s growing body.

On Thursday night, I got sick. Pretty violently, actually. Not stomach sick, thank goodness, but I woke up around midnight shivering uncontrollably. I was shaking so hard I thought my teeth were going to crack against one another. I forced myself out of bed to put on socks (I NEVER wear socks to bed) and a sweater and down some Tylenol – the rational part of my brain knew that I must have had a fever. An hour later, Jamie woke us up by vomiting the entire contents of his stomach all over me and Tony. I cleaned him up and then almost passed out.

Friday I spent in bed, Jamie with me. I lost my voice. My skin and muscles ached something awful. I am still hacking like a 30-year smoker. But. But! I am feeling much better AND I got the illness out of the way before Christmas, which means I will likely enjoy this Christmas more than any since four years ago.

Hooray!

Boooorrrriiinng!

2011-12-12T14:53:00.001-08:00

I feel so boring lately. Life continues apace, with Christmas presents piling up under the tree and outdoor lights up on the house (which add to the chaos surrounding people who drive through our neighborhood reaaaaallllyyy sloooooowly and always freak me out because for a minute I don’t know what they’re doing and I think maybe they’re casing our house). Tony took his Master’s in Tax class final the other day and then finished the outdoor landscaping project I strong-armed him into doing, riiight before it got too cold to mix cement. The nights are long and the days are short and I struggle with keeping everyone doing something until it’s time for bath.

Does anyone else have this problem? It used to be that we’d go outside after dinner and at least take a walk as a family, if not play in the yard or something, but it’s too dang cold for that now. So now what? If we don’t have some sort of activity, Charles gets steadily crazier until I’m worried he’ll give himself another black eye (yes, another. Yes, I have photos. No, I will not post them – they’re hideous) or knock down the tree or launch a toy through a window or something, while Tony grabs the nearest newspaper (we get two, and there’s always a backlog) and checks out for a bit. My impulse is to clean when there is nothing else going on, but cleaning doesn’t exactly involve “minding the children,” so I can’t do that.

But oh, when bathtime does come? It’s awesome. (These photos pretty accurately capture the differences between Charles’ and Jamie’s temperaments.)

Yeah, we got a bath seat. And we love it.

(But maybe Jamie will be more of a giggler later? I just can’t remember when Charles decided that life was one big ball of awesome, meant to be seized with both hands and adorned with shrieks of laughter.)

******

I was so excited that Charles was singing on stage in the church Christmas program this year. Inordinately excited. Stupidly excited. And you know what? He didn’t sing, but he also didn’t cry. And if you ask him, he sang REALLY LOUDLY.

Everyone else enthusiastically jingled, and he just sort of stood there.

I am really proud of him. He’s clearly the best looking kid up there, but he’s also really afraid in new situations, and I know that was really scary for him. But he stayed up there, anyway.

We try to give Charles gentle pushes to try new things, but we never force. He usually comes around. We went to the YMCA Christmas party for kids the other night, and they had a “Santa’s sleigh” paddle boat in the pool with lights and dry ice and several teenaged lifeguards ferrying the kids around the pool. We waited a LONG time in line. And when we got to the end, he was too scared to get in the boat. So we left, it’s cool, we didn’t push. About 15 minutes later, he started to cry because he wanted to ride the boat. So back we went, to wait some more. He was still too scared to get on it, but he likes to look, and that’s okay.

One of the hardest things to do as a parent is to just let your kid go at his or her own pace, I think. So many of us try to make our kids do things, or do them the way we think they should be done. One of the activities at the Y was making a reindeer bag – basically, decorating a paper bag with sticker eyes and nose, drawing on a mouth, and adding pipecleaner antlers. I handed Charles the sticker eyes and said, “you can put them wherever you want, Charles, it’s your reindeer.” The woman helping at that table looked up and said, “wow, that’s really nice to hear.” I guess other parents were putting the sticker eyes in the “right” places for their kids? How sad, to squelch their creativity, to undermine their developing motor skills.

I remind myself on a regular basis that the experiences we have when doing an activity with Charles are not about me, they’re not about “doing it quickly” or “right,” they’re about Charles learning. And so I have to check myself. I can explain to him that Santa is kind, Santa is funny, we love Santa, but if that kid does not want to sit on some strange man’s lap, who am I to push? If he doesn’t want to do every single activity at a free YMCA event, what do I really care?

I think it is easy to get frustrated with children when their feelings and impulses run counter to ours as adults, but they have to learn, and we have to be patient. And I think Charles is pretty well adjusted because he doesn’t have unfair expectations put upon him, and he enjoys things like the zoo even more because we don’t make it a point to see everything, only the things that he loves. Which usually means we end up spending a lot of time in the reptile exhibit.

I guess what I want to say to all those parents I see pushing their kids around out there is, chill out! It might not be fun for you to watch a paddleboat go around and around a pool while listening to the same 10 Christmas carols on repeat, but to your kid, it’s magical.

Can I Open It, Pleeeeeease?

2011-12-05T15:02:00.001-08:00

A package just arrived in the mail. A big package. A package that I did not order. It is not addressed to me.

But still.

I want to open it. I want to OPEN IT NOW.

I love Christmas for a lot of different reasons – and not one of those reasons is “getting presents.” But one of those reasons is “receiving mail.” It doesn’t matter to me if I am the one who ordered the contents of the package, or that the contents are a gift for someone else, I love mail. I love opening mail. Letters, boxes, magazines, catalogs. Oh, this time of year is so awesome for all the mail it brings.

Hmm, I should probably get to work on my Christmas cards, send a bit of mail myself.

***

Wanna see my little piglet? He is such a squealer!

Okay, okay, here are some more adorable photos:

Because He Could, I Guess?

2011-11-28T16:02:00.001-08:00

Sometimes you look up from where you re enjoying you breakfast on a wintry Sunday morning to see puzzling things. Or, at least, you do when you live with Charles:

Worries and Woes

2011-11-21T12:44:00.001-08:00

Sometimes, I feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders. Kids, you know? Feeding, clothing, cleaning, developing them. There’s just so much, and it barely leaves room for me, and I sure as hell don’t think I deserve to think much about me during this season of my life.

Tony and the boys went to Leland’s to watch football yesterday, while I took two hours to clean the whole house (much of which was dirty again by the evening because of dirt on shoes and dog feet), do laundry, dishes, and go to the store. You know the story: mom gets time to herself, mom does nothing but work for other people. Anyhow, so I was called back to feed the kid in the middle of the shopping trip, which caused me to forget several items on my list. Tony, bless his heart, doesn’t mind taking the kids for the afternoon, but he gets so engrossed in the football game that he doesn’t pay attention to them. So, I’ve been notified that we are no longer welcome for football games if I’m not there to take care of the kids. There goes my two hours of “me time” (and by “me time” I mean, working for everyone else rather than doing something that is selfish and just for me) every week.

And Charles is so clingy right now – when he gets hurt (which is six frajillion times a day), he screams/whines “I wan’ mine mommy!” Simultaneously heartwarming (he wants me!) and annoying, because no one else will do, even if I’m nursing Jamie or making dinner or going pee, it never fails to make me feel a twinge of guilt. Is he getting enough love? Is he secure enough? Does he fall and get hurt and then look around and worry that I’m not there to comfort him? And then, when he’s going to bed at night, he begs me to sleep with him. “Nuggle me, mommy. Seep wif me. Jus for a little while.” If I lie down with him, I can’t do the household chores that need doing or spend time with Tony. If I don’t lie down with him, he cries softly, eventually falls asleep, and I feel like a wicked person when I check on him and see his angelic face snoring into his pillow. What kind of an asshole am I that I can’t lie down and snuggle my son to sleep? Do I think that this will last forever? Do I honestly believe I have all the time in the world to do this? We all know he’s going to wake up tomorrow and be over it, over me, over us. And then, when he’s 30 and has kids of his own, he won’t hug me anymore.

Jamie eats so much and SO frequently these days. We’re both recovering from a nasty cold (yesterday, Tony said something about how it sounds like I smoke twelve packs a day, and even though neither of us knew how many cigarettes are in a pack, we’re pretty sure that a person would have to smoke one after another 24 hours a day to make it through twelve packs a day, but yeah, the cough sounds that disgusting) and that really threw his sleep schedule off. No longer does he sleep for three to five hours for the first chunk of the night, oh no. Now he is awake and hungry every 45 minutes ALL DAY LONG. I am exhausted, and when I am exhausted, I forget things.

I’ve been pumping one side while Jamie nurses on the other every morning, resulting in about 5 ounces of milk that I bag and freeze every other day. It’s a good system, and I’m hoping it will keep me from having supply woes later when he is in daycare. Here’s how it goes: I sit down with the pump on one side, start nursing on the other and then attach the pump to my breast with the hand that isn’t holding Jamie. I pump until he de-latches, set the bottle back on the pump, put myself back together, grab a burp rag, and burp the baby. Then, I usually find somewhere to set Jamie down while I clean up the pump and either stash the milk in the fridge for the next day or transfer the contents to a bag and then the freezer. Except for when I am tired and forgetful, and then I leave FIVE WHOLE OUNCES of pumped milk (liquid gold!) sitting on the pump because I am too caught up in getting teeth brushed and clothes changed and backpacks together and coffee in my to-go mug and I FORGET THE MILK. I forget the precious milk that is so hard to pump and costs me so much in energy and calorie usage (dear Lord, why have I not skinnied up already?) and brain cells and I LEAVE IT THERE to go bad and be thrown away when I get home from work. And then I hate myself a little bit, do a lot of mental self-flagellation, and die inside.

I forgot the milk this morning.

Seriously, why am I so forgetful about this? Do I have some sort of mental block? I don’t forget to put on mascara. I don’t forget to feed the dog. But I forget the pumped milk, which I know I will pay for later when I am pumping all day and all night long just to get enough to sustain Jamie during part-time daycare.

Also, do you think babies can be bored? I get the distinct impression that Jamie is bored out of his skull with us. He really loves his exersaucer, so thank God I decided to get that out from the garage, but if I lay him down under his jungle-gym thingy, he plays for a bit, grabbing at stuff, and then settles down with his thumb in his mouth, looking at me expectantly. We play, we read stories, we go for walks, and he couldn’t care less. He sucks his thumb and falls asleep. He only gets really jazzed when Charles is around, kicking and gooing (probably trying to ask me, in his baby language, for protection from the unintentional violence of Charles’ affection). My baby is bored with me. Gol-ly, I knew I was getting old, but this is ridiculous. It only makes it worse when I take five minutes to stuff lunch in my pie hole and Jamie is just looking at me, waiting for me to entertain him. I would almost prefer wailing.

Four (and a half) Months!

2011-11-18T14:25:00.001-08:00

The other small person in our family had a checkup, too. Healthy, happy Jamie weighs in at 15 pounds, 8 ounces, and is 26 inches long.

He’s only rolled over, like, twice. Too much work, you know?

He’s his own boy with his own personality, but it sure is tough to keep from comparing him to Charles at this age. I guess that’s normal, when you have more than one child. As much as you totally understand that they are completely different, you still search your memory and your blog archives to see how they track compared to the other(s). And it says a lot about how skewed our perception of infants was when we had Charles; I mean, I know he was a big boy, but Jamie is top-of-the-charts and still comes nowhere near Charles’ stats. Charles was 19 pounds at four months of age. NINETEEN. Makes our chunk of Jamie seem small.

I tell you what, though: I can’t find those 3.5 pounds in photos at all.

The same rubber-band arms, the same chubby cheeks.

Jamie has really perked up in the last month, as one would expect a four-month-old to do. Well, really, he’s almost five months old, now, but we were late with the doctor appointment so we could combine the kids’ checkups. Anyhow, Jamie has started to recognize people and things, and he’s moved onto that stage of what Tony calls “It Doesn’t Exist Until I Put It In My Mouth.” He’s also laughing and smiling a ton, which is just so rewarding.

I’ve fallen into the trap of babying him a bit more than I probably should just because, well, he’s the baby. With Charles, as the first, I was constantly reading and researching the stages of development, moving him and challenging him to do the next thing. This time, I’m not working as hard, and so I haven’t, perhaps, kept Jamie as engaged as I could have. He’s just so mellow, it seems sort of natural to let him play with his toys. Not to mention that it’s convenient – the fact that he plays alone while Charles never really did makes it easier to take care of Charles, the dog, dinner, laundry, etc. But last night, after pouring over blog archives (what a great resource), I realized that at 4 months was about when we started putting Charles in the exersaucer and scooter. So, I got those toys out. And Jamie loves them, of course.

It’s really great how you get just what you need. We had a horrible experience as new parents with Charles. Tony doesn’t remember most of his first six months. I remember lots of good times, but also lots of tough nights. Colic, chronic diaper rash, lots of feedings for a growing boy. But Charles is a really fantastic kid, and if all those experiences were what was needed to add up to the three-year-old I have today, then I wouldn’t want it any other way. And the fact is, we were NEW. We didn’t have other kids who needed our attention. We had nothing but time and energy to devote to Charles’ needs.

Now? We have Jamie. And he’s easygoing, mellow, sure, but he’s not lacking in interest. He’s silly and funny, vocal and active. He’s cuddly and self-soothing. He sleeps a lot better than Charles did (even if he still wakes up every two hours to be fed, he doesn’t fuss as much as Charles and he goes to bed for his first 2-hour chunk early), he doesn’t have the colic or diaper rash (thank you, cloth diapers), and it is such a relief. What do people do when they have their easy baby first and their tough baby second?

I’m glad I don’t know. I’m glad I have Jamie. What a love he is.

Antici…

2011-11-16T16:01:00.001-08:00

“"Well," said Pooh, "what I like best -- " and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn't know what it was called” –A.A. Milne

It’s no secret that I like surprises, and I like parties, and I like holidays. It’s the planning, rather than the realization, however, that really turns my crank. For this reason, I always thought that a fun job would be Event Planner, but I am not foolish enough to think that it doesn’t come with several huge downsides, including the loss of weekends forever and bridezillas and crazy people.

The downside to this personality trait is a bit of a let-down when things are realized. Are you following? Because big things have happened in my life lately, and now that I’m on the other side, I feel a bit, well, not anticipatory, and I LIKE to anticipate.

It’s not that I’m not happy I’m here, it’s just that one of the things that makes me really happy is missing.

It might also have something to do with the fact that in my big anticipatory states, I have been the center of attention. I’m not naive; I know that one can only be the center of attention a few times (really) in one’s life, and most of those acts necessitate turning the spotlight on someone else shortly thereafter, but it’s tough when you experience a bit of loss, a bit of mourning for that attention.

When Tony and I got married, it was all about us, and mostly me. I loved it. I loved planning it, I loved living it. And then, I went to school and I missed it. Nearly a year of preparation and then it was done! And it was marvelous, and we had photos and gifts, but it was over. Fortunately, I had graduate school to work on and look forward to, and that filled some of the void.

But the bigger struggle for me has been babies. Once again (well, twice again, now), for the better part of a year, I planned for and anticipated having a new baby. And then he was here! In my arms! And suddenly, all that planning is put to the test and we get to live it and breathe it and clean it up every single day and it is truly fantastic. Oh, I love my boys.

But I miss being pregnant. Not for the soul-crushing morning sickness, or the weight gain (it’s nice to see the scale inch in the other direction), or the stretch marks (I got ONE GIANT ONE, which just isn’t fair, I’m telling you, as it is a monster that will eat your face if you stare at it long enough and will be the bane of my bikini existence assuming I ever get back to bikini size), or the pressure on my ladybits, or the huffing and puffing up flights of stairs, but for the air of excitement. Preparing for baby! People asking me when I was due, how far along was I, did I know if I was having a boy or a girl! Anticipating labor. Anticipating a squishy, million-degree, mewly newborn. Folding adorable tiny clothes that you dream about remembering your child wearing, even though you know from experience that sleep deprivation will cruelly rob you of the best memories.

And now that’s gone. And I fill my days with work and household chores and kids and it’s not about me and the life I am creating anymore, but rather the boys.

That’s as it should be, of course. Ask me about my boys! Do it! I’ll tell you how awesome Charles is lately, and how Jamie has started to recognize people other than me and thus lights up with a big, open-mouthed smile when they enter the room. Those kids deserve all the attention they can get because they are seriously cool and I never thought that having them around would be this much fun.

And Tony, too! He just got a new job that will mean great things for his career and work/life balance! Attention to him!

But what about me? I have nothing interesting to tell you about me. So I guess I kinda miss being pregnant because it gave me something interesting to talk about, it meant that I was more than just the drudgery of daily life. And before I got pregnant, I had activities and events, fun things to anticipate. Now, I anticipate trying to lose the baby weight and that makes me sad.

I think that most people like anticipating great things, even if they’re small things. Do you anticipate new movies in the theaters? New books? I anticipate new books because I don’t have time or babysitters for new movies, but then I usually talk myself out of buying the new books I want to read because I’m too frugal for my own good. Or maybe you are lucky enough to have a date night with your sweetie once a week or once a month (we don’t do this. Should we? Well, probably, but the kid won’t take a bottle, so our together time is limited to Netflix after the kids go to sleep and a little “How tired are you? *wink, wink*” “Too tired and I smell like baby vomit.”).

I know how Huey Lewis feels… I want a new drug, too.

Three

2011-11-11T11:02:00.001-08:00

This cake was agony, from the beginning. Charles HAD to have a dinosaur driving a car. There was a choice between new or old buttercream frosting – and I chose poorly (if you’re getting a cake a Haggen, go for the old, the new is pretty gross in large quantity). Another kid stuck his fingers in the cake (right under the 3 candle) and nearly caused a meltdown.

When all was said and done, however, he was completely enamored with it. Success!

The past year has brought some major changes to Charles’ life. Potty training, a new baby brother, the resulting potty regression, eventually figuring it out again. First plane ride, a ton more awareness of things around him and experiences. Trips to the zoo, aquarium, kite festival, and countless adventures to the beach, the park, the swimming pool.

He’s still in the 90th percentile for growth at 38 inches tall and 39 pounds, just barely under the weight limit for our old Britax Roundabout car seat. I figure that just about the time we transition Jamie from the infant carrier, we’ll upgrade that seat for Charles (it’s in the truck – he has a Graco Nautilus for the car). He’s in the EXACT same size of clothing that he was at this point last year, but he sure fills it out differently. He’s longer and leaner, though still sturdy. His speech expands every day, and almost everything is understandable now, with very few words in an alternate toddler language.

He loves to run. He knows how to ride a bike (with training wheels). He jumps and swings and is generally the most physical kid I know. He’s learning his letters, though it’s slow going, and he knows his shapes very well.

I’m so proud of him. I couldn’t have asked for a more loving, silly boy. Charles is so happy all the time, he makes me happy and keeps me positive. How lucky we are.

Doing My Part to Prop up the Economy

2011-11-04T14:14:00.001-07:00

I will admit it: I have gone completely overboard for Charles’ 3rd birthday. Watch while I try to rationalize it:

If we’d just done a small party at the house, I would have ended up cooking and cleaning for any number of people who came. I would spend money on the food, and LOTS of time on the cooking and cleaning.

It’s cold outside (really cold) and so an outdoor party for a November birthday just isn’t in the cards. For Jamie’s birthdays, we’ll go to the park or something every time.

The kids at Charles’ preschool love the opportunity for a party, and the piñata was a great way to use up all the rest of our Halloween candy.

Jungle Playland will be fun for everyone, and Charles will burn off all the cake he eats playing all afternoon.

Do you want to know the real reason, though? I love birthdays, and I think a big deal should be made out of everyone’s birthday. It’s amazing to make it through another year! For me and Tony and for Charles. I love making him happy and I love celebrating his life and another year of joy and fun. Will he remember this birthday? Maybe. Will I? You bet.

For all I am extremely frugal, and for all the planning I do for the future, saving and allotting and working, I also try to live my life thinking, if I were to die tomorrow, did I do the best that I could while I was here? And we have the means to throw a pizza party at a fun location for Charles and ten of his friends, so we’re going to do so. And his cake will have a dinosaur driving a car, just like he wants. And he won’t even care, at this age, that our “present” to him is a weekend revolving around him having fun and celebrating his life, and not a tangible item.

And maybe, someday in the future, I will tone down birthday celebrations. After all, when my boys are teenagers, they probably won’t want a party like I like to throw. That would be uncool.

So, for now, let’s have piñatas and brownies, cake and pizza!

Storybook Ending

2011-11-03T12:50:00.001-07:00

“Don’t take Jamie,” Charles tells me as I wander in during Daddy Stories (Mommy Stories are first, followed by bellowing “Daddy’s TURN!” as loudly as possible down the stairs). “Just leave him right there,” he says to me, insisting that the only place James belongs is right next to him in bed.

The boys stare at Tony with rapt attention, Jamie contorting his little body to get a better view of the book.

Tony whispers, “Look at this,” as if to say it louder would break the spell.

I pick up the camera. Charles spies it and says, loudly, “CHEESE!”

“Oh no!” I think, as I snap the photo, “I’ve ruined it.”

But I didn’t. They turn their little heads back to daddy and proceed to listen to the rest of the story.

A Little Privacy, Please, And Also, I’m Tired

2011-11-02T19:58:00.001-07:00

I just picked up about ten pounds of dog poop from the back yard. I’m estimating, but I think that’s pretty accurate. After all, it was less than my sixteen-pound baby but more than a five-pound sack of sugar.

I’m on intimate terms with the bodily functions of the majority of my household. I can tell you how Charles, Jamie, and Buster are feeling just by how often they’ve pooped or peed and what the consistency and color of their excretions were. And that is something I just never realized went hand-in-hand with motherhood. I mean, I wipe three asses in this household and physically pick up poop from another! Thank God Tony can handle his rear end himself, right?

The truly ridiculous thing about it is that, in teaching Charles how to take care of himself, he now wants to “help” me in the bathroom. This imitation is, of course, all part of normal preschool development, but it’s still weird. I can’t honestly think of the last time I went to the bathroom alone for any reason, but Charles wants to turn it into a party. He’ll open the door and ask, “Are you going poop, Mommy?” Then, he’ll say, “Tell me when you’re done, I’ll help you wipe.” Oh, sweetie. The last thing you want to do is volunteer to wipe someone else’s ass. Save up your turns for when you have kids.

That reminds me: is it in boys’ genes that they must take a long time in the bathroom? Seriously, Charles will sit for ages on the toilet, doing his business. Tony once said that sometimes it just takes awhile, but I don’t find that I ever need more than a couple of minutes. So maybe it’s just boys? By the time they’re teenagers, I will have to claim a toilet as mine and mine alone just so I don’t get locked out of all three toilets in our house at once for half an hour while they do their marathon poops. Sheesh.

***

I’ve been on the phone for most of the day, fighting with phone companies about getting phone and internet to our new office building. As it turns out, business phone/internet is LOTS worse than residential utility services but the same sort of scheduling: instead of “We’ll be there between 2 and 8 pm,” they say, “We’ll be able to do that between 2 and 8 weeks.” Well, that’s not f**king good enough. Our business runs on a website, internet-based credit card processing, and VOIP phone and fax lines. Without internet, we are screwed. I have been on the phone many times a day for weeks now. But today, today, I feel like crying each time I talk with someone. Our installation is currently set for December 6, and there is so little communication within the utility company that no one can get ahold of the construction people to escalate my order. Will we lose so many customers due to down internet and phone that we have to close? Only time will tell! Step right up and enjoy the ride!

Add to that the fact that the ONLY thing Charles wants for his birthday is a cake with dinosaurs driving cars and flying airplanes on it, and even though I thought I had this one covered, it fell through. At ALMOST the last moment. I have until Friday to make this happen, so I’m scouring the internet for a decent photo and working within the many suggestions people have given me, which include gluing toys together and taking a photocopy of a shirt.

What’s really hurting about that right now is that I just want to do this one thing that he wants for him. He couldn’t care less about new toys, but he wants dinosaurs driving cars and airplanes on his damn cake. It’s his exuberance for life that frequently keeps me afloat, and I want to make him happy. But no! In addition to all the crap at work and frustrated phone calls, I now have to scramble on the cake, something that was already on my “done” list! Oh, baby Charles. His dancing put a smile on my face today when nothing else could. I’ll get those dinosaurs driving cars, I swear.

Do you ever just feel ineffectual and unappreciated? For all I know of my family’s poop habits, I don’t get a whole lot of praise for what I do. And if you’re a mom, you know how much that is. Me, all I want is some extra love and thoughtfulness – the same sorts of things I give everyone else in my family – but for all the nice things I do for them, I’m feeling like there isn’t much done for me. Certainly no one is making me feel any better about the size of my ass, which, at my rate of weight loss, looks like it’s here to stay. I guess I have to wait until Mother’s Day to get any love and appreciation. But then again, probably not, because children don’t understand that holiday and Tony doesn’t believe in it.

And that brings me to the great unjust rule of parenting: your kids will never know how much you did for them or appreciate it until they have kids of their own. Mom and dad, I love you. Thank you for everything you did for me, every sacrifice you made. I get it now, and I know it was difficult. I’m sorry.

The Scary Squad

2011-11-01T22:51:00.001-07:00

This might come as a surprise to some of you, but I did not dress up for Halloween. Perhaps the first time ever?

Let’s face it, I’m not doing so hot right now. I am still 25 lbs up from pre-pregnancy weight. I’ve been losing weight at the rate of 0.5 lbs per week since my six-week postpartum checkup, which is not very fast at all, when you think that in ten weeks I have only lost five pounds. I look hideous, even though I do a pretty hardcore workout two or three times a week, plus running and walking when I can fit it in, which is less often than I’d like because now it is cold and dark and cold and cold. The pressure of work is nearly too much for me; we have been in the process of moving Goodwinds to a larger location for a couple of months now, and what started out as negotiating leases (no easy task) has turned into managing cash flow (moving can sink you, and leveraging ourselves further is not something I want to do) and construction and fighting with the utility company to get phone and internet service. You know, because we run a web-based business and it would be “helpful” or something. Or vital. Or impossible to continue doing business without. Take your pick, I guess. Before then, Leland was out on vacation and then Paul, so September was crazy, too.

There are the cakes to bake for school and church parties, there’s Charles’ 3rd birthday to plan. There are my parents and their dog to host while they’re in town helping us move, and there’s the horrible eating I do while they’re here – we eat lunch out every day and dinner isn’t nearly as lean and easy as I would normally make it. Then, next week, we have LOTS of people in town for Charles’ birthday, and isn’t it so wonderful that he has family that is willing to travel to celebrate with him? But what am I going to cook?

And then there’s the sleeping. I don’t get much. James goes to bed early these days, waking up for the first time around midnight. From that point on, he wakes up every one to two hours, which is a lot, especially after four months of this. And I shouldn’t complain because I know it could be worse; it was SO MUCH WORSE when Charles was this age. But still. AND he is a champion pee-er, soaking through diapers and clothes several times each night, throwing the whole get up-change diaper-feed-sleep thing off a bit. Woe is me if Jamie wakes up completely during any of those stages, and a full outfit change will do it.

Long story long, I haven’t had the brain power to devote to a costume.

My how things change. The week before Charles was born, I wore two costumes for Halloween.

At least the kids dressed up. And we don’t have to do any work with trick-or-treaters anymore. Charles took right over in that arena and it was adorable to watch.

Here’s Train Engineer Jamie:

And Spiderman Charles with a whole bunch of cake on his face:

I told Leland that I was just going to go as “Harried Mother” and he asked me what I was the other 364 days of the year. I guess it’s not a costume if you wear it all the time, huh?

My Real Job

2011-10-30T18:21:00.001-07:00

Re: my last post…

Did you (like the rest of the world) read this compelling, tear-inducing article in the NY Times?

Sometimes, like everyone, I imagine, I need a giant smack on the head about priorities and overthinking and worrying and spirals of doom. This was that smack.

My real job with these boys is love. I guess everything else will work itself out. No, I won’t stop obsessing, I’m sure, but maybe I’ll tone it back a bit and focus on the loving just a little bit more.

Scary

2011-10-28T11:22:00.001-07:00

Charles was too scared to go into the dark garage this morning to get into the car. He had a nightmare last night, the details of which are unclear, but must involve a monster of some sort.

“Remember when I saw a giant green monster upstairs and it was scary, mommy?” (“Remember…” is how he starts every sentence these days.)

***

While Charles almost-three-year-old brain is busy grappling with what he saw in his dreams and the concepts of “imagination” and “not real” (just think about how tough that would be to understand if you just started dreaming for the first time), Tony and I have found ourselves in many, many, many conversations lately on subjects that are much scarier in reality. I think that’s something that must happen to everyone as a parent, the gradual realization that as your children grow, so must your role as parent, and lo! there are many more things to worry about than just nutrition and playtime and sleep schedules and growth charts.

I recently read this article on empathy and reading, turning my ambition to read novels with my kids (Harry Potter, Chronicles of Narnia, Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, etc) as they get older into a true goal. Can’t you just see it? The whole family snuggled on the couch or in bed, reading a chapter or two or three a night in some of the most fantastic books every written for children, talking about the feelings the main character has and the situations with which he is faced and how he deals with them? Idyllic, certainly, but not unreasonable if you make it a priority to read with your kids throughout their kid years (it probably is unreasonable to expect this to go on in high school).

Then, there is the concept of mixed dominance and what it means and how to spot it and what to do about it. This is something that was just brought to my attention that I’m glad I heard and investigated because awareness of it now, fixing it early if it manifests in Charles or Jamie could save us a lot of heartache down the road.

Do you eat dinner together? We do, and I now know that it is something that we can never, ever give up, even when things get crazy busy. After all, kids who eat dinner en famille are more secure and therefore perform better in school, are happier, and more successful, etc, etc, good things.

The schools in our area have stopped teaching cursive, and I understand their position. In this age of technology, papers will be typed and submitted via email by the time a kid gets to middle school, so the resources to teach cursive writing are better spent elsewhere. But what about the cognitive function that cursive supports? I’ve also heard evidence that learning cursive can help with visual-cognitive development and stave off certain learning disabilities. So, that settles it, I’m going to teach the boys cursive; it’s a huge undertaking, I’m well aware.

Then, there are the other monsters in our lives: the sex offenders, the drunk drivers, the gangs, the kids who “aren’t very nice,” as Charles puts it whenever someone pushes him on the playground or acts out violently (there are lots of kids like this – fortunately, Charles doesn’t act out in that way yet. I worry that the example from other kids might rub off on him, however).

We have a lot to deal with as parents. I have many goals for myself as a parent and many goals for my kids: to teach them well, to equip them for life, to make sure they have the best chance of success, to help them become independent and self-sufficient, to help them become good citizens of our world. What this will mean for me and for Tony is being extremely involved in our children’s lives and arming ourselves with knowledge to fill in the gaps where the schools can’t go. It means teaching cursive, and looking for mixed dominance, and reading together, and cooking together, and eating together, and playing together, and keeping the TV off, and essentially committing to home-school my kids in addition to their public school education.

***

Charles cried when I dropped him off at preschool today. He is still scared of the giant green monster, even though I told him that it was imaginary and that Buster would bark and protect us from monsters, and mommy and daddy are always available for hugs to vanquish monsters, too. I can keep the TV off at home, but I can’t control what the other kids say to him, and I think some of them are either better equipped to talk about scary things or they’re desensitized. Either way, I think we’ve entered into a new season of understanding for Charles and we’ll have lots more talks about imagination and real vs. not real in the immediate future.

Boy, I wish there was a handbook for this parenting thing.

Tidbits

2011-10-23T14:50:00.001-07:00

I’m sensing a recurring theme: Jamie tolerates Charles. Oh, he bestows many of his smiles on his gregarious older brother who tries to involve him in everything, but he is wary (and with good reason – Charles wouldn’t deliberately hurt him, but he doesn’t know his own strength and frequently tries to pick up Jamie). Every night, every single night, Charles asks for Jamie to sleep with him. We agree to let Jamie lie in bed with Charles until story time is over, at which point, Charles says “leave, Mommy, let Jamie stay with me. Go downstairs.”

I am thankful for Charles’ doting on Jamie. But I am also watchful.

*****

Who can help me? I’ve been doing Baby Boot Camp for several weeks now, and it is a HARD workout. Not such that it hurts at the time, and the exercises are gentle so as not to harm my postpartum body, but I am frequently sore the next day and I definitely sweat during the hour-long class.

Here’s the problem: although I drink what seem to be gallons of water before, during, and after the class, I almost always get a killer headache the next day. Last Wednesday (class is on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday mornings), I ended up in bed with a migraine most of the day. Luckily, Jamie is going through a bit of a growth spurt (his cheeks have become so chubby in the past few days!) and he wanted to sleep most of the afternoon with me. Today is Sunday, and I fought off a headache this morning.

So what’s going on? I’d really rather not be trapped into a cycle of work out – get headache the next day – take drugs in increasing quantities until they work or I fall asleep – workout again. Do any of you moms workout and nurse and if so, how are you eating to keep up your strength? Do I need more carbs in my protein-and-veggie heavy diet? More beer? More chocolate? Do you think the headache is something other than diet-related? Perhaps I need more massages… yeah, that’s probably it. Someone tell my husband!

*****

This is what he does all day lately. Sleep and sleep and sleep and sleep. If I sleep with him, he won’t even wake up when his diaper is soaked and leaking through. Sometimes, as long as I keep hold of him while I’m doing it, he won’t even wake up when I change him and bring him back to the couch or chair with me. I’ve had a lot of naps and read a lot of books lately.

*****

Charles took this photo.

But I took this one.

*****

And this guy rolled over from this position the other day! Happy milestone!

I Still Haven’t Got the Hang of It.

2011-10-14T13:28:00.001-07:00

Having already experienced years one through three with a boy child, I thought I might be better prepared for this second baby. But oh, rookie mistakes abound.

For instance, we have tried to have the babysitter give Jamie a bottle exactly twice, which is exactly the number of times we have left the house without him for a “date” (quotes because the “dates” were fundraising events for local good causes, and we didn’t exactly have QT together). Both of these “dates” were past the three month mark and were made possible by the best babysitter ever, no I don’t want to share, don’t ask me for her number.

Perhaps predictably, Jamie refused the bottle both times. I say “predictably,” but what I mean is, “I had no f***ing clue this would happen, Charles always ate no matter the delivery method.” But other people predicted it for me. “You mean you have never given your son a bottle? I bet he won’t take it from the babysitter.”

In a DUH moment, I realized that his summary rejection of all things pacifier probably translates perfectly to his rejection of the bottle. After all, they are pretty much the same thing, only one dispenses milk, while the other frustrates the hell out of hungry babies (what? Does your baby use a pacifier for soothing? I don’t want to hear about it). So, I had myself a good cry after Jamie drained me when I got home last night, thinking that he might never let us have a night out alone because he can’t drink from a bottle. And by “never” I mean “until he eats solid food, which I realize isn’t that far away but still seems like a really long time.”

What I should have done was give him one bottle a week from the very beginning just to get him used to it. Instead, tonight we are taking Jamie with us out to dinner while Charles stays home with the babysitter. Let this be a warning to any new moms: start a bottle early lest you be permanently attached to your infant. Unless, of course, you have better, more considerate children than I do who easily switch from breast to bottle at any point in their development.

Another rookie mistake: not recognizing the signs of teething. Increased drooling and slobbering? Check. Change in poopy diapers? Check. Gnawing on everything, from shoulders to fingers (his and others’) to toys? Check. Fussiness complete with shrieking that redefines the word “shrill?” Check. Little tooth nubbins? I didn’t notice those until the fourth or fifth day of all the other symptoms. Mom of the Year. My poor kid could have been spared the pain of teething with liberal doses of infant Tylenol, but no.

Get it together, mom.

This Guy

2011-10-11T20:09:00.001-07:00

… has gained 7 pounds since birth. He now weighs 15 lbs, 3 oz.

He’s got a ways to go before he catches up with this guy, however:

Storytime

2011-10-06T20:35:00.001-07:00

After nearly three years, I thought I had my kid figured out. But then, that’s what they do, they keep changing, evolving, growing up. Their personalities change, if not their temperaments.

Now, I have known, ever since I was hit with a little perspective during Charles, ahem, trying infant months, that he is a sensitive guy. He wants people to be happy. He genuinely cares about others. He’ll likely grow up to be very thoughtful and empathic, much like his uncle.

But the care he has for Jamie? I was, and still am, blindsided by it.

You see, friends of mine have kids who hit and kick their younger siblings, who saw them as rivals from day one. Not Charles. No, he seems to understand that Jamie is, as much as anyone will ever be, his companion for life. You’ll never know anyone as long, or share as much history with anyone, as you will your sibling(s). And as Jamie grows and is more obviously a little boy every day, Charles has taken on an almost caregiver role with him.

I left Jamie on the floor and Charles playing with toys the other day to troop downstairs with some laundry. When I came back five minutes later, this is what I saw. I don’t expect anyone but grandparents to watch a full minute and a half of Charles reading to his brother, but the whole video is adorable.

P.S. Charles dresses himself.

Three Months Old Photo Roundup

2011-09-29T09:26:00.001-07:00

We are busy, busy, busy, busy here, what with having a three-month-old, going back to work, entertaining an almost three-year-old, doing Baby Boot Camp, travelling, and just generally keeping house. But you know what? It is totally worth a few minutes of my day (and, I hope, a few minutes of yours) to take a look at this awesome kid who is growing so fast and is so super cute and ILOVEHIMSOMUCH, OMGxinfinity.

“What’re YOU lookin’ at?”

The fine art of couch-sleeping (I was right there the whole time, don’t get your panties in a bunch about improper infant sleep arrangements).

“Sigh… the car seat again.”

“Wait, are we going somewhere cool? Maybe to pick up my big brother? I love that kid!”

Bedtime! The only way Charles will go to sleep anymore is if Jamie joins him for at least a little bit. I can’t decide if we should buy bunk beds next or just a big bed for them to share.

Look at that chub!

Mixmaster Charles

2011-09-19T19:41:00.001-07:00

Exhibit A: Perhaps he has a future in drumming.

Exhibit B: He’ll have to overcome the giggles if he ever wants to DJ, though.

But I get it; that scratching record sound is hi-lar-i-ous.

Remarriage

2011-09-16T13:13:00.001-07:00

I think that one of the best indicators of success in marriage is staying married, in choosing to stay married every day, every month, every year.

Marriage is so much more than it seems at the outset. It is taking on another person’s life and making it your own. It is melding their fears, aspirations, anxieties, travails, personality flaws, strengths, screw-ups, careers, tastes, preferences, foibles, health, beliefs, values, and talents with your own. It is accepting and embracing their differences on a level you had never experienced before marriage and then finding a way to work with those differences so that they are not roadblocks on your journey. Before marriage, you might know that it is work, but you don’t understand. Much like you might know that you will love your children, but you can’t possibly understand what it is like to live that love every moment of every day.

And the love between spouses, when they choose to continue to be married every day, month, and year, is like that, too. So much so that you would give your life for them, that you give your life to them every day, month, and year. You do, truly, compromise to meet their needs, much as they compromise to meet yours.

And it’s more than choosing brands of toothpaste or choosing to use separate showers (we do); it’s supporting someone else 100% even if you might do things differently if you were in that situation. It’s choosing to take on roles that you might never have imagined for yourself because the situation demands it.

It is choosing to put your needs second to the needs of the unit.

Tony and I have been a unit for six years on Saturday. I am a different person than that girl who married that guy six years ago. Tony is a different person, too. But if someone asked me today if I would marry Tony, the Tony he is right now, again on Saturday, I would wholeheartedly say yes. The decision to join our lives six years ago was not one I made lightly, and it was absolutely the right decision at the time. Recommitting myself to that marriage every day has also been, without doubt, the right decision.

And I plan to make that decision again and again for the rest of my life.

Oh, doesn’t that sound romantic? But in choosing Tony, and in choosing him as he is, right now, I am choosing to move ahead with him – it’s not so much romantic as a heavily weighed decision. I am choosing to take a swing at life’s curveballs with him. I am choosing to keep him as my partner and make whatever changes are necessary to keep our marriage intact. I love him dearly, and I am choosing to continue to grow that love, rather than try to live on the love of yesterday.

I wouldn’t mind fitting into that dress again, however.

Fortunately for me and for Tony, the work of marriage and choosing to stay married has rewards. There is the reward inherent in hard work, of being proud that we have worked through every problem and made those compromises to stay together, as well as the rewards of growing close, of having a true best friend, of knowing someone so intimately that your humor and their humor intertwine, of being companions, true companions, who can make any situation, if not good, at least tolerable. Let’s face it: life sucks sometimes, and a good marriage means that someone is always in your corner, ready to work through things with you.

And tomorrow night, we’ll celebrate our love the only way we can at this point in our lives: a brief dinner out with the baby in tow, then putting our kids to bed and watching a movie. Unless Tony has schoolwork to do for his master’s program, in which case, he’ll do that and I’ll read. Do you pity us because we aren’t having a grand anniversary night out? Don’t, please. We have built a fabulous life together with two wonderful children and an exasperating, yet lovable, dog. We are so happy right here, doing something low-key. Maybe we’ll get a bit more crazy next year when the infant has turned into a boy.

My dear Tony, thank you. Thank you for re-marrying me every single day. I love you.

Office Baby

2011-09-14T21:47:00.001-07:00

I went back to work this week, and it has consumed my energy to the point that when I come home in the afternoon (I work part-time – one of the great benefits of owning your own business, having a business partner who is stupendous, and employing a great team of people), I just sack out on the couch with Jamie.

Is it the fact that I am still up multiple times a night with him? Totally normal, that, but still hard. He is sleeping in his own room for the first 4 hours or so of the evening, but I don’t usually get to bed until the first hour or two of that is over, so the remaining five or six hours of sleep time are interrupted by multiple feedings; it seems as though after four hours of sleep, he must eat every hour to refill his system.

Maybe it’s the breastfeeding that’s knocking me on my butt. After all, it’s a calorie burn, not that it seems to be helping my butt size at all. I’m going to a wedding in 10 days, and I had hoped to be down another 10 lbs, but if the scale at the office (which we use for large packages) is even remotely correct, I actually weigh more than I did at my six-week checkup. Boo. And my pants size hasn’t changed in the previous six weeks, either.

It’s also possible that the exhaustion is due to hauling an infant around with me, the screaming he does in the car, and the heaviness of that car seat. Or, it could be the workouts I do twice or three times a week, plus running. Then again, maybe it’s that I’m not eating well or enough.

I don’t know. Suffice to say that I am tired, sore, have frequent headaches, and face a wardrobe crisis every morning.

Perhaps more shocking than the loop this week of work has thrown my body is the way it has sent my mind reeling with regards to the behavior of my baby. Who knew a baby could be so content at an office? Oh, sure, I had heard of people who take their kids to work with them, but Charles made it very clear during the month that I tried that that it would not work for him. I got nothing done, he screamed nearly the whole time, and ultimately, it was one giant hassle.

Jamie? He’s different. He likes his pak-n-play. He likes his mobile. He doesn’t mind chilling out for up to 45 minutes all alone. And that makes it possible for me to do meaningful work.

I think we’re going to be very happy at the office for quite awhile… which means, of course, that we’ll save quite a bit of money on daycare this year.

Snorfle: the sick, snoring sound a baby makes.

2011-09-07T11:11:00.001-07:00

Oh, friends, there is nothing more pathetic than a sick baby, and it’s not what anyone wants, but there we are. Jamie and I have colds. For me, it’s just annoying and makes me sound like I have had a two-pack-a-day addiction for the past 30 years, but for Jamie, it’s pathetic.

He’s snorfley, and sad. His cute baby voice (which is much sweeter than some other babies I’ve heard – seriously cute) is hoarse, and he isn’t sleeping very well. It’s just a head cold, and he’s probably already on the mend, but it breaks my heart to see him ill.

Still, though, he is a mellow child. He even allows me to suction his nose without protest. You guys. This is huge. Charles would act like it was the end of the world and his whole head would explode all over me if I went for him with even a kleenex, let alone the bulb suction. Jamie just lies quietly and lets me do my thing, then smiles when he can all of a sudden breathe better. Hmm, something tells me this kid has a better grasp on cause and effect than Charles does.

So maybe Jamie will be my clean kid, but I’m not totally counting on that, because, well, he’s a boy. And if there’s one thing I have learned about boys, it’s that they are dirty. Charles gets a bath every night, which might seem excessive for a small person, but oh, you don’t want that little boy in clean sheets without bathing. Head to toe, he is covered in sweat, sunscreen, bug spray, and several layers of dirt every single day. And bruises! And scrapes! Goodness, gracious, this kid just beats himself up running into things, sliding on things, falling off of things. His legs look like he’s been in a street fight where the weapons were pieces of chain link fence.

So yeah, a sick baby and a kid so scraped up and dirty (especially his face because his nose runs and, well, see previous comments about his abhorrence of kleenex) that he looks like a motherless urchin, and we fair draw the eyes of passersby when we are out. Perhaps I should have more mom guilt over this, but I am really more focused on getting in, getting out, and oh, yeah, is that a Thomas the Tank Engine sticker on my butt? Baby barf on my shoulder and in my hair? Peanut butter and jelly smeared on my pants?

It’s a good thing we don’t go anywhere fancier than Costco.

*****

We had a fantastic weekend with Liz here to visit. I’ve been trying to think of a nice recap of our great weekend, but we really didn’t do anything spectacular. I guess it was just the company that was spectacular, and I feel so blessed to have friends with whom we can pick up right where we left off, with whom we can stay home and do essentially nothing noteworthy and still have a good time. So thanks, Liz, for making my weekend awesome by just being here. I’m totally looking forward to next April/May when we jump on an airplane and visit her in Phoenix.

Slightly Greenish Thumb

2011-09-01T11:44:00.001-07:00

The spinach seeds I planted this year were duds. I did not replant because, you know, I had a baby.

The lettuce plants were eaten by birds. Lesson learned, next year they will be encased in mesh while sprouting and shiny ribbons will be tied to the fence around my garden.

I gave up on squash after they all died last year.

I have begun to think I need a “garden consultant” – someone who can show me how and where to plant things in my garden, and visit it periodically to show me how to grow them. After all, as I walk through the neighborhood, I see magnificent gardens with giant assorted squashes, huge lettuces, corn, beans, raspberries… so many good things.

Actually, I did successfully grow beans last year, but no one eats them but me, and there were too many beans for me. So, no more beans.

I had one raging success this year, however: my tomatoes. I started them inside, and now have 14 plants going strong (in the interest of full disclosure, only 12 of those were from starts… I also bought one plant and my mom bought me one plant). They are beautiful, and laden with tomatoes in varying stages of ripeness.

The cherry-sized tomatoes are all starting to ripen, and the beefsteak-sized ones are still light green and growing. Next year, I hope to plant heirlooms, too.

I love the idea of eating things I grow myself, mostly because it means I don’t have to go shopping. How great would it be to go and pick lettuce right before you make a salad? I don’t know, but I hope to find out next year, when I WILL grow lettuce plants successfully. Maybe I’ll get my mom to help me with my garden – she seems to have a killer one at the beach. You’d think that with our amazing Skagit weather, I’d be able to grow all sorts of awesomeness. Conclusion: the problem is me. So! I’m going to learn. Any recommendations on vegetable garden books?

Stats

2011-08-29T14:44:00.001-07:00

Head Circumference: 15 inches

Length: 24 inches

Weight: 13.5 pounds

Cuteness: off the charts

Str-eeetch!

Resurfacing

2011-08-26T21:13:00.001-07:00

I’ve sorta felt like throwing myself a pity party for a couple of days now, but seem to talk myself out of it with my mother’s no-nonsense statement-of-the-obvious: I chose this.

I chose to have a baby, and it’s a choice I would make again if I had the last year to do over, regardless of the repercussions.

You see, this time last year, I felt like I had two friends that were on their way to becoming my best friends. And they are, probably, still my best friends. They threw me a birthday party. They tell me I look great (I don’t, from the greasy hair to the flabby butt). They encouraged me to dance all night at 7 months pregnant (I made it to midnight, but hey, that’s pretty awesome in it’s own right. I mean, SEVEN MONTH PREGNANT. It wasn’t pretty, but it was fun). They are some of the greatest people I know, and their husbands are my friends and Tony’s friends, too, and it is so, so good. Except.

Except that they are, due to my long absence while dealing with being very, very sick and then tax season as a pregnant sole caretaker of a crazy child while also working lots, and then having a baby, now better friends with each other than with me. And I am happy, because they are my friends and I want them to be happy, but I feel so left out.

Sure, I have a baby, a new one, at home. Sure, I can’t go running with them yet, and by the time I can, they’ll be training for a marathon and I just don’t have the time or stamina. Sure, I would probably turn down invitations to girls’ nights right now. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t wish I was asked, that I don’t pine for my girlfriends. What if, after having been gone for so long, they never ask me again? And I’m jealous. Jealous of the bond they have with each other and fearful that even when Jamie doesn’t demand 24-hour care that I will ever be on the outside of that bond.

I’m a social person and I think I need close friends. But maybe I don’t, and I will learn to live without that in my life for awhile.

So I have to remind myself that I chose this, and try to forget how long it takes to find and build friendships. A person has to choose her family, of course. I guess I’m just always hoping that I can have it all.

Those kids, though. They make up for a lot:

There’s Still Sand in My Hair

2011-08-25T15:17:00.001-07:00

After leaving my aunt and uncle’s house in Sumner, we pretty much drove straight to the beach, with one extended stop in Montesano for gas, nursing, diaper changing, and a potty break. I was thoroughly impressed that James slept the whole way – during short trips around town, he sleeps in the carseat about 50% of the time. The other 50% is spent screaming.

Charles also did very well, and, true to form, he had to go potty about ten minutes from my parents’ house. The kid’s getting to be an expert in side-of-the-road peeing. This is significant because he did not pee his pants, not even a little bit, during the whole trip. He CAN be potty trained when he wants to be.

Monday was filled with fun at the beach as dad and I tried to fly the kite we brought for Charles… we were unsuccessful, so he made a kite at the kite-making tent that flew beautifully and held his attention for all of five minutes. Much more interesting? The elephant ears.

Why don’t elephant ear vendors at fairs and other locations sell them with a variety of toppings? Everywhere else besides Long Beach seems to sell elephant ears with either cinnamon and sugar or jam. You know what the best topping is? Maple. Sweet, delicious maple. A maple elephant ear is like a maple bar without all that useless donut taking up space. Actually, it’s probably good that you can’t find maple elephant ears everywhere – the only time I ever buy one is at Kite Festival.

On Tuesday, between the hours of 7 am and 11 am, Charles peed through every pair of shorts and underwear we brought with us. Why? I have no idea. He knows when to go potty, he just ignores it. He also had lots of juice boxes, something we don’t have at home.

To say I was frustrated was putting it lightly. I had a complete meltdown. I was dealing with children all alone (my dad was there, but he doesn’t so much parent as grandparent, which is totally different, is done mostly from the couch, and does not include diaper changing or preemptive potty visits), I hadn’t had much sleep, and I just couldn’t handle it. I was thisclose to packing up and going home, but we had laundry in the wash, and mom came home to convince me to stay until the next day. She, of course, knew that I would calm down by the morning. So we took Charles to the beach for the afternoon, and things got much better. But he didn’t get any more juice boxes the whole trip.

There was a guy with big beach ball flowforms set up and he was letting the kids play with and in them. Charles was really frightened.

You see that big flowform in the background? Kids were playing in it. If that’s not a kid’s dream come true, I don’t know what is. But Charles was scared, and he refused to even look at the cute frog on the ground.

But then! Then, we walked about a hundred feet farther and Charles suddenly realized, “Hey! That could have been awesome! I want to go to there!” So he ran back to play in the flowform. We had to physically pull him out to leave awhile later.

The moment of realization

Running back

So rad.

The next day, Charles got to go to the beach early with grandma and have breakfast (where everyone was impressed with how much he can pack in), ride in the golf cart, and play in the bouncy house:

We hung out with Ruary and Milo (“My friends!” says Charles) and my parents and Tony’s parents got some time with Jamie:

On the way back, after stopping to see a friend in Hoquiam, we hit the worst traffic ever on I5. I’m used to backups at Fort Lewis, but this traffic jam lasted from Olympia to north of Everett. My boys, though? They were ANGELS. The one slept, the other sang, and ate snacks, and talked a blue streak, and watched “WoodyBuzz” on the iTouch.

We will not be visiting the Kite Festival without Tony ever again, though I’ve been spectacularly calm this week because, really, it can’t get much worse than last week.

Week 8 Asides

2011-08-23T12:04:00.001-07:00

I will write about our vacation, I will post photos, but first, a few 8-weeks-old updates.

This is where Jamie is right now:

That’s right. In his crib. Napping. For more than 5 minutes. Hell, at this point, it’s more than 20 minutes. I did the dishes, started a load of laundry, and cleaned out the entry closet.

For those of you familiar with our sleep issues with Charles, this is a revelation. A baby who sleeps. Without fuss, without fight. As late as last night, Charles put up a screaming fit to get to sleep. Mom, Dad, I am so sorry for those years of sleep problems. I now know what you went through, the agony of “just go to sleep, child, OMFG.” And I know Tony and I are not alone in this issue, not the least because both of our parents dealt with it (I was a bad sleeper, sometimes screaming for hours, and I’m told that Sarah was as well), but also because of the existence of this book. I want to read it, but I’m not sure if it will make me laugh or cry…

Jamie is smiling now, and often, too. He’s just so chill and happy. He wants nothing more in life (so far) than to have his diaper changed, be fed (all the time), and be held by mom. I’ll take it.

My days are just awesome right now.

Schmaycation Part 1

2011-08-22T11:39:00.001-07:00

We’re baa-ack! A full week of vacation for the kids, parenting away from home for me. Was it relaxing? In a way. Was it stressful? Yes. But I’m glad I went, and I’m glad I didn’t take the dog. I’ve a new appreciation for my involved-dad husband, and I learned that I can do this alone if and when I have to. And though they weren’t really home all that much, I was glad to see my parents. Since Jamie was born, I haven’t been able to see much of my mom, and even though she was working, we got to have some time together, and she got time with her grandsons. All good things.

On the Saturday before last, Tony and I loaded the kids into two cars (because I was heading to the beach and Tony was heading back home) and drove down to visit my aunt and uncle, my cousins, and my cousin’s new wife in Sumner. We only had to stop twice during the (normally) two hour drive to change diapers, feed, and have potty breaks, so I call that a win. Once we were there, Charles demonstrated his vast ability to get hurt even when there are no obstacles nearby and everyone loved on Jamie.

And then we pushed Charles waaaay out of his comfort zone and my cousins took him tubing:

Charles called them “the boys” and probably would have tried to get them to take him with them to college if he knew what college was.

That is a look of sheer terror on his face, but if you ask him, he wants to go again. Now. Anytime. C’mon, boys!

Tony also got a chance. I understand he also attempted wakeboarding with less successful results.

You can totally tell which one works inside all day every day.

It was a beautiful weekend filled with great family and hot sunshine. Charles only got a few owies (he smacked into Tony’s knee and his tooth, the latter resulting in a bruise on his forehead that has yet to fade), only choked on his peanut butter English muffin once, and didn’t have any major meltdowns. I call it a win.

Charles took this out-of-focus photo.

Truthfully, there’s something just nice about not being in your own home for a bit. For the most part, the new environment helps Charles to behave himself – largely because he is unsure of everything. And my aunt and uncle are fantastic hosts who made us feel so welcome. By the time we finally left on Sunday, Charles was fed and ready to zonk out in the car, Jamie had been held by someone the entire time, and Tony had been good and beat up by the water.

When I get another chance, I’ll tell you all about the trip to the beach, during which I almost gave up and drove home three days earlier than planned. Who had a meltdown? I did.

A Fair-ly Good Time

2011-08-12T12:56:00.001-07:00

Oh, the puns one can make with “fair.” A Fair Assessment, Fair Weather, etc. Tony would probably have some better ones, as puns are his métier. After nearly 6 years of marriage, I have heard them all a bunch of times.

The Skagit County Fair is exactly what you might expect: a whole bunch of 4-H, some rides, and some overpriced vendors. Great for an hour or two of entertainment. In the future, I imagine that Charles will spend lots more time on the rides, but for now, the animals hold his interest.

Oh. Em. Gee. three-day-old piglets. Thank God children don’t mature that quickly – those things were already running around like crazy, and poor mama pig looked pooped.

Have I mentioned that Charles, for all his Tasmanian-devil activity level, is pretty introverted? He’s scared to try new things unless he has a member of his peer group along with him. He’ll try anything with the preschool kids, who are mostly older than he is, or if he is the older kid and leading a younger friend by the hand. But with us? Or all alone? He tucks his chin to his chest and backs away if he can.

Here he is not touching the calf and leaning heavily on dad:

And here he is not enjoying his pony ride:

Well, maybe he enjoyed it. He spent the whole time with his head turned to the side and his hands in a death grip on the saddle horn, but if you ask him, he wants to do it again and again.

The part of the fair that needs no bravery? Ice cream made with local milk.

Yeah, that’s the good stuff.

And here is Bubba, who is patiently awaiting confirmation from Guinness that he is the world’s largest bull at some 3000 lbs:

Charles might have thought we wanted him to share his ice cream with the big guy when we sent him over to pose.

****

And the small one? How does he fare (fair!) these days? Well, Jamie sleeps. And eats. And sleeps more.

He is in mortal danger of being over-loved by his big brother, who wants nothing more than to keep Jamie with him at all times.

Several times a day, heck, several times an hour, Charles says, “I love mine baby brother.” It would melt my heart if he could control his strength such that his affection wasn’t so dangerous. I have to be ever-watchful, and I can never leave James alone in a room when Charles is in the house because Charles will try to pick him up and cuddle him or feed him something.

I suppose it’s a damn sight better than those children who hate their newborn siblings and try to hurt them on purpose. Can you imagine?

Does anyone else have a gap between their abdominals? No? Just me?

2011-08-11T12:12:00.001-07:00

It wasn’t so bad, really. Tonight, it will probably be worse.

I felt the first step in my abs. The abs that have been stretched out beyond belief. The abs that still have a half-inch gap between them running up my midline. The abs that are clearly not ready for anything so vigorous as running. And then I did situps afterward, just to punish myself (I only did, like, five).

I felt ALL of the next steps, over the course of 1.52 miles (thank you, MapMyRun) in my legs and hips. It seems that those muscles have downright atrophied during a long and brutal pregnancy.

The mile-and-a-half went by pretty quickly, actually, as it is a route I walk frequently and, oh yeah, it was only a mile-and-a-half. At about a 10 minute per mile pace. I’m planning to continue this exact route for the next couple of weeks until my legs don’t hurt quite so much anymore, then I’ll start adding miles.

I think the last time I ran at all was when I was about 10 weeks pregnant. I was so sick from the afternoon until I passed out at night that I had to do my exercising in the morning. There comes a point when you feel like you’re going to pee your pants on your run, and that point was at 10 weeks, so I stopped. It seems like forever ago.

I might try running in the morning again, but it will take some willpower. I like to be up before Charles so I can have his breakfast ready for him as soon as he wakes up to counteract the low blood sugar freak out that often happens in the morning before he gets a first bite of eggs or peanut butter or whatever. So I’d have to get up even earlier, and let’s be honest, we’re not sleeping through the night or even close at this point.

But, I imagine I would frequently come back from a run to scenes like this, and that would be nice.

Cookies and “My Cookie”

2011-08-09T16:00:00.001-07:00

Hey! Guess how many cookies I’ve had today? Well, not cookies, per se, but raw cookie dough frozen into balls so I can make cookies by just turning on my oven and laying them out on a sheet. WHICH WILL NEVER HAPPEN LET’S JUST FACE IT THOSE COOKIES DOUGH BALLS WERE DOOMED FROM THE OUTSET.

Four. Four cookie dough balls. This is bad for two reasons: my tummy is a bit mad at me for the low level of nourishment it has received this afternoon, and my six week postpartum doctor appointment was this morning.

I’ve been declared healthy, so now the burden of weight loss is on me… no more can I claim that I can’t work out because it’s too soon. Oh no. Now, the only things getting in the way are my willpower, the dishes, the laundry, the vacuuming, brushing the dog, cuddling a sweet and squishy newborn, changing his diaper, cooking, playing with Charles, hanging out with Tony, sleeping, grocery shopping… Hmm. When does a mom have time to work out?

I guess I should start eating better, too, but I suffer from the lack of appetizing one-handed meal availability. And a sweet tooth.

I have 30 lbs to lose. I guess that’s what happens when you gain 55.

I also cleared the air a bit with my doctor (whom I adore). It seems he thought I might harbor a bit of anger towards him for letting James sit with his head half out of my vag for a nightmarish 15 minutes while I pushed. When I think about the pain of those 15 minutes, as I cried, told the nurses I couldn’t do it, and very nearly vomited, sure, I shudder a bit. It was, honestly, the worst pain I have ever felt. But I’m not angry. If anything, I am thankful. Take it from a mother who has had it both ways: you DON’T want an episiotomy if you can help it. Once Jamie was born, the pain was gone. That was not the case the first time around, and I lived in mortal fear of pooping until Charles was about 8 weeks old.

The doc also told me that the other doctor did “too good” a job of stitching me back up last time, which is why I wasn’t stretching nearly as well as I probably should have. That’s an old-fashioned man doctor for you; take an extra stitch for the husband’s pleasure. Sorry, Tony, but Doctor B said he sewed me up a bit looser this time so if we decide to have more kids, it’ll be easier next time. I love a doctor who is on my side!

Acceptance Speech

2011-08-08T10:10:00.001-07:00

You like me! You really like me!

Or, at least, you like my ramblings. So I will continue to rant and complain and post photos and I’m promising myself to make a solid effort to talk about some of the fun and good stuff that happens as well.

As I told my sister-in-law, I sometimes feel like I am the only one in my peer group to admit to insecurities and “failures.” I look around me and see a whole lot of people who seem to have this parenting thing down. They have their kids under control, they make dinner every night, and they are not crumbling under the pressure or near tears or about to strangle anyone and they are certainly bouncing back from pregnancy a heck of a lot better than I seem to be. And that’s hard for me, because I know, rationally, that everyone has struggles. Maybe everyone does not obsess about their bodies like I do. Maybe everyone does not have a dire need to get the dishes clean every night. Maybe everyone does not have world’s most strong-willed toddler. But we all have something. (Right? Right?)

I think it is perhaps tougher if you know me in person. This is the place where I vent, where I air almost all of my problems, at least those having to do with parenting, body image, weight-loss, and other life things (there are some things that are sacred, of course, and some things I have trouble writing about simply because you all know me; I sometimes think that if I were a famous blogger with a wide readership, I’d be inclined to be much more personal and, perhaps, gruesome, just because I probably would never meet you). If you meet me, I am bubbly, kind, and very patient with my child (I’d say children, but Jamie is not terribly demanding in a way that requires patience… yet). I probably appear to have it all put together. And the trick is, that’s likely how you appear to me.

What is it about human nature, about motherhood, that makes us wish to cover our weaknesses and struggles, to put on a happy face, to pretend like nothing is bothering us, nothing is throwing us for a loop, nothing is getting us down? Wouldn’t we be better off if we shared more of what’s really going on? Shouldn’t we be more transparent? At the very least, in knowing that other people struggle, I think I would gain some close friends, close friendships that I think I am missing out on right now.

The most stunning realization for me about motherhood are its inherent isolation and loneliness, followed closely by the lack of time – time to work, time to myself, time to do anything. I shouldn’t feel so all alone all the time, especially since I KNOW plenty of other mothers. But when you can’t count on getting out of the house at any specific time (I meant to go to work today after I dropped Charles at school, but he threw a monster tantrum and we ended up being an hour late. I was drained and just threw in the towel and came home) and you need to pack diapers and snacks and extra clothes and the activity and the friends need to be amenable to stopping and going home if the shit hits the fan (or the diaper blows out), well, it all seems like a lot, you know?

I think that’s why I keep this blog, really. To reach out and touch somebody. To not feel so all alone. To air my dirty laundry in the hopes that when I bring it back inside it doesn’t stink so much. As a coping mechanism, I suppose it is as good as any.

*****

All through our childhood, Leland and I teased our mom about her singing voice. She’s a bit tone-deaf, and without rhythm, but she does love music. And who’s to say she shouldn’t sing loudly and often if she wants to?

Thanks to many years of music lessons, I have rhythm. However, I have inherited my mother’s awful voice (it’s a lovely voice when she speaks, though I still think my voice sounds like that of a 12-year-old boy). And now my kid is the one who tells me to “stoppit! No singing, mommy!” The only time mommy singing is acceptable to Charles is when he requests a specific song out of one of our songbooks, usually a Christmas carol, but also Elmo songs (which drive me nuts, as all of the Elmo songs are classic/traditional songs like “She’ll be Coming Round the Mountain,” but with Elmo lyrics).

Well, I’ll tell you what. At least for now, Jamie likes my singing. I can get him to calm down with just one round of “I’ve been Working on the Railroad.”

Sorry for all those years of being a pain in the ass about your singing, mom.

*****

I think we’re going to start a new lawn service in town: Naked Toddler Irrigation.

*****

Seriously, though, thank you, everyone, for your kind comments. I wish we could all have coffee and bitch together. We’d be much happier, dontcha think? You make my day with your words.

Things I know about myself.

2011-08-03T19:44:00.001-07:00

I require positive reinforcement. It’s like air for me- without it, I am pretty melancholy. I think, lately, that a bit of “baby blues,” or the never-ending post-partum hormone soup that is my body, is making such reinforcement even more necessary to keep me from just, well, quitting. Not quitting life or anything dramatic like that, but rather quitting being social at all.

I am a mess of contradictions. I admire my body for carrying two large, healthy babies to term and then nourishing them. I hate my body for how it looks, how the lumps and the flaps and the sags all come together to make something that is so much less than it used to be before kids. I love spending time with my two boys. I hate that since I don’t go anywhere or do anything other than be “mom” anymore, I have nothing to talk about, nothing to contribute to conversations. I love my job, but I hate that I have been so easily replaced and that it has become ever so obvious during my leave that not only am I not needed there, but that someone else could do my job so much better than I can.

I frequently write little notes and give gifts because that is the kind of attention I crave. I feel slighted that the people most important to me in my life can’t give me the same attention (two of them are much to small – I don’t begrudge them this, and it is wonderful that Charles has started to spontaneously say “I love you.”).

I pour my troubles out into this blog, but I can’t think of how to cleverly portray all the wonderful things that happen everyday, so you might think that life always sucks around here. I assure you, it is only I who sucks.

But the fact remains that this highly personal blog is a vehicle for me to interact with people, to be social in a way that I can’t at work and at home. It’s supposed to be the trusted friend who can help me through my problems even if I don’t have a close friend to confide in over coffee (I don’t).

But you’re not doing your part, internet friends. I have two family members and one friend who routinely comment, and a few who stop by. Where are you? I think I need you.

But maybe not. So I’m going to stop letting it all out here. Maybe I’ll post once a week, maybe not. Is it even a good idea that I put photos of my kids on the internet? I don’t know. With all the evil people out there, maybe this blog has inadvertently exposed my boys to some awful maliciousness that will cause me to regret these years of posting about our lives.

I have never been good at keeping a diary. What’s the point of writing when no one else will read it? What I need is fulfillment, a good diet, and someone to lie to me and tell me I’m wonderful.

From the Mouths of Babes

2011-08-02T11:47:00.001-07:00

Charles, recently:

“Mommy! Mommy! I have peanut butter!” Oh yeah? “In mine MOUTH!”

“Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” Yes, Charles? “Kangaroo! Kangaroo! Kangaroo! Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday!”

Charles, what kind of ice cream do you have? “BROWN.”

“Mommy, I kiss James. Mommy, I hug James. Mommy, I take James’ diaper off.”

“Hands up, TOUCHDOWN!”

James, recently:

Sunday, Better Sunday

2011-08-01T20:03:00.001-07:00

I have a vague memory of pulling the camera out of my bag after we decided not to go see the airplanes Saturday… but where did I put it? Thus, no recent photos.

My mom thinks that I am letting Charles make decisions for our family by letting his misbehavior dictate what we do and don’t do. I’ll have to ponder this for awhile. The fact is, he doesn’t have a lot of privileges (we don’t watch TV, his bedtime is firm, etc) to revoke, and he doesn’t actually care if his toys are taken away. On Saturday, he had to go to bed without stories because of misbehavior, and he then continued to tantrum for another hour or two… sooo, I just don’t see how I can give him consequences other than not letting him do what we all wanted to do. Thoughts?

My mom also mentioned that I was similar to Charles in that she would have to tell me the plan for the day, and if the plans changed, she would have to tell me as soon as possible so I could process it. It’s nice to know that even though the kid doesn’t look like me at all, he carries some of my personality traits.

Bottom line, Sunday was a much better day. Charles slept, and I think he might have finally burned off the bug that kept him home from preschool last Wednesday. He did this all day (I uploaded the photo before losing the camera, obviously):

Couch, TV, Gatorade. His fever broke within 24 hours, but maybe he was still feeling out of it on Saturday?

The holy terror that was Charles on Saturday turned into a smiling angel on Sunday, and the whole day was fantastic. We were motivated to clean inside and out because we made plans with friends to barbeque at our place (yes! We did it! And it wasn’t so bad! Everyone else brought the food so we didn’t have to cook! Except that I have yet to do the dishes! But oh well!), so the backyard looks great. We first went to the spray park with our friends and their kids and then we all ate and chatted until an appropriately late time for three couples with young children (7:30 pm – we are laaaaame). It was refreshing and so much fun. I think I forget how much I love friends. Small children make keeping them a bit difficult, but at least friends with other small children forgive you when you text them last minute to say that your kid isn’t up from his nap yet and you’ll be late.

We’re having more company tomorrow – and they’re bringing dinner.

Normal or Not?

2011-07-30T17:53:00.001-07:00

As I sit, Charles is moaning in the bathroom, refusing to use the potty, though he clearly needs to go. He has been doing so well lately, but his refusal right now is more due to temper than a denial of bodily function.

It has been quite a day.

One thing I try hard to do is use plausible consequences as threats with Charles. I can’t threaten that I’m going to go somewhere without him if he won’t get his shoes on – one can’t leave a two-year-old alone at home. But I can threaten that we won’t go. The unfortunate part is that I then have to follow through, and often I really wanted to go wherever it was we were meant to go. Like today, the Naval Air Station on Whidbey Island was celebrating 100 years of Naval Air Force with a fly-in. Military helicopters and airplanes on display and doing demonstrations. It’s been a beautiful day, not too scorching, but clear and sunny. We would have had so much fun.

Unfortunately, Charles took every opportunity to throw a tantrum. He didn’t want to eat his vitamins, which, fine, I don’t care, but we took them off the table to put away and he freaked out. He didn’t want to get dressed and ignored our requests until he got a time out. He refused to go potty before getting in the car. He didn’t want to brush his teeth. After and hour and a half of fighting with him over many, many stupid little things like this, I called it off. No helicopters, no airplanes.

The worst part is, I don’t know if we will ever get another opportunity to see some of these cool machines up close and in action. They were going to have the Growler on display, even, and we know a pilot; we were hoping to see him there and get special treatment.

The afternoon has pretty much continued apace. He’ll be fine for quite awhile and then something will set him off and he is out of control. He refused to nap (though we did spend a nice couple of hours playing in the backyard while Tony got a nap, until Charles didn’t like the way I set up the sprinkler and proceeded to go out of his mind with rage and anguish).

I’m beginning to wonder if this is normal or if Charles has some issues we need to address. Change, unless we properly prepare him for it, sets off attacks of temper. And by change, I mean, taking his plate of food away when he has said he is done. I move the plate after he says he’s done, and he freaks out. If I ask him if I can take his plate first and he says, “yes,” then everything is fine. Everything is like this. He cannot stand it if Buster east anything he drops on the floor. If I ask him to open the door or do some other small task and he refuses and I do it instead, he loses his shit, screaming “mine turn! mine turn!”

I can’t get a handle on this behavior, because it is just so irrational. And yeah, toddlers are irrational, but come on. If you drop food on the floor (the dirty, dirty floor), the dog is going to eat it. That’s just how it is. If you don’t want to dog to get it, don’t drop it on the floor.

Is there anything we can do, other than what we’re doing? I admit that I need to be a more attentive parent sometimes – we should have asked him to go potty earlier, instead of letting him get to the point where he had to go, but was in the middle of a tantrum about something else. I also should have rallied the troops earlier this morning, but it is Saturday, and I love sleeping in (finally, I have a good excuse with James – he eats and sleeps with me in bed in the morning, so I get to sleep with him). If I had gotten everyone out the door before Charles’ blood sugar crashed, things would have been better. Hell, if I had monitored his breakfast instead of sleeping, I would have known that he didn’t eat and then would have prevented a blood-sugar crash that only made the tantrums worse.

Gar. Sometimes I think everything comes back to my failings. This day of trials, combined with the fact that I purchased the largest pair of jeans I have ever owned in my life last night just to have something other than yoga pants to wear, has got me pretty low.

One Month

2011-07-28T10:54:00.001-07:00

One short, short month. Oh, where does the time go? Why couldn’t it go this quickly when I was pregnant?

This morning, Jamie and I went for a 45-minute walk. And I am now exhausted, possibly useless for the rest of the day (though that statement implies that I was useful before, and that is certainly up for debate). I seem to remember doing this exact walk several times with Charles, starting when he was about a week and a half old and continuing until the cold snap hit. I do not, however, remember being tuckered out at the end of those walks. Or feeling like I might not make it up the hill and home. What has changed? Oh, yeah. 30. Damn.

Here we are, Jamie about to freak out because we are home and we stopped, don’t ever stop, woman, you know I need to keep moving!, and me, all sweaty:

I would write more, mostly stuff about how wonderful my second child is and how I am forevermore cropping myself out of photos, even though I frequently complain that there are very few photos of me, perhaps I will complain no longer now that I see a few in the most recent set, I can’t even show you, they are that bad, let’s just say I am going to wear thigh-hiding sweats for the rest of my life, and don’t count on more children because Tony won’t be able to stand to ever even look at me again, let alone touch me, but that’s all beside the point… the point being that I love this little bundle, even when he’s angry with me for stuffing him in a carseat. And the impediment to writing more being that he is displeased that I am not holding him.

Miscellaneous Jibber-Jabber

2011-07-26T11:20:00.001-07:00

So a lot of people are pretty vocally upset about Netflix raising prices and splitting plans. And I think it’s pretty funny, and also indicative of a weird sense of entitlement in the U.S. that causes people to think that they should get something for nothing. Or, in this case, that they should have streaming video and DVDs by mail even if the company that’s doing so isn’t making enough money to sustain those services. Oh, I could go on, but it’s been said, like here and here.

That’s not what I want to talk about, though, really. Tony and I are fairly new to the Netflix thing, and even at $9.99 (current price) for streaming and DVD, it’s cheaper than our previous Blockbuster service, which we clung to because we could exchange mailed movies at the Blockbuster in town for free. But the streaming is so stinkin’ awesome with Netflix (do you know that Blockbuster streams, too, but it is a separate plan and twice as expensive? Or, you can rent all sorts of movies from Blockbuster to stream for full price like pay-per-view? These are not great alternatives) that I mentioned to Tony mere days before they announced the plan change that I would gladly pay $25 a month for what we are getting.

I spent the last 3 weeks of my pregnancy on the couch. Tony and I made it through 4 seasons of Psych during that time. We have since watched a season and a half of Better Off Ted and are sporadically watching such shows as Numb3rs, Pawn Stars, Man Vs. Food, and more.

But the greatest part is that I can get full episodes of Sesame Street, Thomas & Friends, and any number of kids shows for Charles instantly! Do we live in an awesome age or what?

*****

In this layout in Blogger, I can’t really get my Google Reader to show my public shared pages as anything other than HTML (or is it XML? I don’t know!). Anyone know how to fix this? I’d like to link to articles I find interesting, but I don’t want to shove them down your throat in a blog post.

*****

Jamie slept in 3 hour bouts last night! Yeah! I feel great today, best I’ve felt in awhile, even if Charles woke up at 6:30 am and joined us in bed – a queen sized bed for all four? So cramped. Tony also didn’t have to go in so early, so the crying and screaming on Charles’ part was somewhat limited. He still seems to hate mornings, though.

*****

We’re going home for kite fest, sans Tony. Anyone have any advice for me as I agonize over a long (5 hours without stops) trip with a toddler who needs to have a potty stop every hour, a newborn who needs to feed every 2 hours, and a dog who needs a walk at least once during the trip? We’ll stock up on snacks, I’ll make sure the gas tank is full, but other than that, how can I keep my sanity (what’s left of it, that is)?

*****

We’re considering hosting a barbeque in August. Given my extensive complaining yesterday about the mess in the house and being unable to cope with standard mother/wife duties and also cooking for guests, this seems like a bad idea, no? I’ll add to that the fact that I have accomplished very little weeding this summer and things are going quite crazy. But! We put in new grass in the back yard and it seems a shame to not show it off, not to mention show off James. Am I nuts? Do people do potlucks anymore? Do you think anyone would be annoyed if I invited them to a potluck barbeque? Do you think I could get away with enlisting others’ help for cleanup? No, that last one probably won’t work at all… I’ll end up cleaning, no matter what. Perhaps we’ll just stick with smallish dinner parties and do a barbeque next year.

Speaking of, does it ever feel to anyone else like we are building and developing for fun in the future but are foregoing it today? I mean, sure, that is the essence of the Protestant-American work ethic: sacrifice for the future, work hard for tomorrow, etc. But what I mean is that I feel like Tony and I look forward to when we will be able to go camping with the kids, and fishing with the kids, and have friends over to barbeque without insisting that everyone go home by 8 pm so we can start bathtime, and we don’t find ourselves enjoying the current time. In truth, we’re just exhausted by the end of the day. What’s the cure? As long as we keep having more kids, we keep putting off those great times. Jamie won’t be ready to camp until next summer, maybe – probably the summer after. I won’t be able to go anywhere overnight without him until next summer. Tony and I won’t be able to go out alone for another couple of months (our anniversary? I anticipate taking the baby, and that’s IF we actually go out anywhere) or later.

Oh, I chose this (my mom’s always reminding me, “you chose this, no one forced you to have kids,” which is true, but does that negate my feelings? Does that make my complaints invalid?), and I love James, and I love Charles, and I wouldn’t change them for anything in the world, I’m just wondering if anyone else has found a good balance. And I guess I know, underneath all my “looking forward,” that I will truly miss this time, this RIGHT NOW, and that when the kids are finally old enough to camp and to go someplace without a diaper bag, I’ll look back to their babyhood and be sad and nostalgic. I think I read an article once about how people with kids are more fulfilled, but are not necessarily happier, chiefly because they cannot satisfy their own cravings and spontaneity, be those cravings for travel, food, activities, or any number of things.

So the question is really, how do you find contentment? How do you keep from feeling like the grass is greener elsewhere? I’m teary-eyed just thinking about how Jamie is already four weeks old (four weeks!) and I won’t ever get those first weeks back, but I also can’t help but think how awesome it will be when he sleeps through the night and walks and talks. Oh, bother. Way to make myself bawl. This hormonal woman needs chocolate.

And, good God, I wish I could eat cheese right now.

Now I complain. But I also give you photos.

2011-07-25T13:59:00.001-07:00

I’ve started this post, I dunno, a bunch of times in my head (look at me dialing down the hyperbole. YOU’RE WELCOME, Tony). But something about having an infant keeps me from sitting down and writing. How do all those bloggers do it? Oh, right, they’re paid to. Just like celebrities are paid to be gorgeous and lose the baby weight in two months or less.

I’d like to show this photo to teenagers: you see that ass? I used to be a size six. Teen pregnancy is a BAD idea, you will never get your cute butt back. Also, for the record, Tony bought those shorts himself.

Speaking of, I am still pretty fat, and I seem to remember that I couldn’t fit into my rings until about 5 weeks postpartum with Charles, and normal jeans a week or so after that. But the thing is this: it still sucks, even knowing that I have 2 or 3 more weeks before my pelvis contracts enough to button real pants. You see, the knowing only helps a little bit. Add to it that I have a wedding to attend on August 20th and literally NOTHING to wear, and I am pretty bummed. Who has time to go shopping with a newborn? Or a newborn with toddler? Who knows how to dress flabby arms and giant thighs and a flabby belly in August?

James gets an abundance of kisses from Charles.

The toddler. Oh, God, what were we thinking? Charles is so wild and so rambunctious and he loves Jamie, but he is so, so difficult right now. As easy as he was to potty train, ever since the last few (really tough) weeks of my pregnancy, he has regressed big time (thankfully, he still manages to poop exclusively in the toilet – except for that one time that he was sick, which happened to be at a friend’s house and about which I am still totally embarrassed, and I wasn’t even there) and I am loathe to admit this, because he is only two, but I am completely disappointed in him and me. Every time I pick him up from preschool and he has had potty accidents, I almost cry. I have moved beyond bribery and encouragement to threats. After a full week of multiple wet accidents at preschool, I told him that he would have to go back to the toddler room, that he wasn’t a big boy anymore if he couldn’t use the toilet. I think this motivated the preschool teachers more than anything, and they now take him to the bathroom more frequently and stand and watch him go, instead of just sending him in (where he presumably played with water in the sink or something). On the days he has potty accidents, he doesn’t get to ride his bike.

You see, the thing is that he knows. He knows when he has to go and he used to tell us. Now he doesn’t tell us and just goes in his pants, I don’t know, for fun? Attention? Whatever, the threats seem to be working. And, of course, we give him lots and lots and lots of positive feedback when he succeeds.

My feelings of guilt, however, abound. Did I push him to potty train too soon? Is he feeling neglected? Now I have to pack extra clothes in the diaper bag, oh why can’t anything be simple or easy with this child?

I’m not getting much sleep. Charles is the cause of some of that, though we have reintroduced white noise into his bedtime routine, merely because it’s so hot in the summer that we need fans, and that seems to help a bit – certainly it was better last night that the previous few nights when he cried and got out of bed and asked for more stories and drinks of water and potty breaks (he is totally potty trained at bedtime because he knows I will let him out of bed to go) and then cried more until about 10:30 pm. Not that he didn’t scream for a full 45 minutes after he woke up this morning. When he flies into a rage like that, I don’t even know what’s wrong. I offer him a bite of my cereal, he says no, I eat the bite, he freaks the hell out. Honest-to-goodness, he will try to pull the cereal out of my mouth, all the while screaming “Mine! Mine!” then throw himself on the floor in a fit of rage. He would fling the bowl of cereal on the floor, but I know that attempt is coming, so I move the cereal. I had a headache before 8 am today, and it’s still not gone.

And that’s because the sleep deprivation associated with a newborn’s sleep schedule is brutal, magnifying any headache or backache times ten. I don’t know if I told you, but I spent both nights in the hospital by myself because Tony was with Charles, meaning I did all diaper changes and swaddles and, of course, feedings, which are fast and frequent during the first few days. Then, the night before my milk came in, I nursed and nursed and nursed until Jamie finally crashed around 4 am. I really hit the ground running with the lack of sleep thing. I even made a martyr-like deal with Tony to take care of all Jamie’s needs during the night on work nights so Tony could sleep – you see, Tony seems to be much more sensitive to sleep deprivation than I am and than he ever was before. Hard to believe, since he used to routinely stay up late and then get up at an unGodly hour to fish, but it’s true: he’s cranky and misses things (like taking a diaper bag or feeding Charles) when he is tired.

Tony is a great father. And while Jamie’s hair is dark, they look so much alike!

So, anyway, the martyr thing lasted about two weeks until Jamie had a terrible night and I ended up grabbing what little sleep I could on the recliner. When Tony woke up, my resentment of him had grown to such a degree that I lambasted him for every little thing that had sucked over the past few months: terrible mother’s day, disappointing birthday, not telling me he loves me often enough or reassuring me that he thinks I’m beautiful even though I know he is repulsed by my giant ass and backfat and the stretch marks (didn’t get them with Charles, but the extra two weeks of gestating James really did a number on my under-belly). And gifts. I need gifts. But Tony’s not a giver, he is a receiver, and he received my gift of letting him sleep without even questioning it or telling me that it was unnecessary or offering to let me get an hour or two on the night when our child was super cranky. And so, seething resentment and tears. Now, the deal is off and Tony changes diapers before I feed James every two hours (at most – often it is every hour) at night. A shared burden makes me less stabby. Although, he’s now going to work before 7:30 every morning, so I get to deal with Jamie and Charles all by myself, and as I’ve noted, Charlie is not a morning person.

I have to say, though, that I find myself going back and forth between anger at myself for being upset that the family breadwinner doesn’t let me relax more and anger that I frequently buy into the “man makes money, woman makes home” social norm. I mean, Tony shouldn’t have to do any of this daily drudgery, changing diapers or vacuuming or feeding the dog or grocery shopping or laundry. After all, he works all day and he does bathtime and storytime with Charles every night. On the other hand, I am physically and emotionally incapable of doing it all myself and I need help and I should be more modern than to believe that I should do it all just because he makes the money. It makes me think that if I made real money instead of peanuts, maybe I could ask for more help from Tony, but then I would have to give up time with my kids, whom I love dearly. Which is more important? My sanity or time with my babies before they are grown? I think I have shown that my decision is my babies, every time. I could go make a bunch of money (I am educated enough to get a real job, I swear), but I have the opportunity to stay home with my kids during the first year of their lives, and I choose that. And I know that when Jamie gets into daycare full-time, I will be able to handle the homemaking and make a little bit of money, but right now it’s just overwhelming. There’s got to be a better way, you know?

When I think back to right after Charles was born, I am reminded that we had so much help then. Loris came to stay for a whole week. My parents were in town for a whole week. They all did laundry and dishes and vacuumed and made meals, including Thanksgiving dinner, and they took the baby while I napped. I had none of that familial support this time – we have had family visits (a lot while I was in the hospital and would have liked to sleep but instead had visitors for hours on end), but I have had to cook and clean for these visits. For goodness’ sake, I only gave birth 4 weeks ago! I’m not technically cleared for physical activity for another two weeks but I have to lug huge baskets of laundry up the stairs and pick up my toddler and unload groceries and vacuum and cook for visitors.

I guess people expect me to be much better equipped for the second child. And as soon as I drop Charles off at preschool, I breathe a sigh of relief and I usually sneak in a nap, but that doesn’t mean that the laundry or dishes get done. Or the dinner prep. Oh, crap. What are we going to eat tonight?

The truth is, I am a mess. The saving grace is the adorable bundle of boy in my arms all day. Sure, my back is sore from holding him, but he is so dang cute.

So gorgeous.

Not Much to Complain about.

2011-07-19T20:09:00.001-07:00

Well, that post title’s not true, obviously. I am very good at complaining. But I think I’ll just let it all go and show you photos of this guy instead:

Eyes open!

He spends a lot of time like this.

Both asleep!

Cuddle time!

Maybe I’ll get back to snarky tomorrow.

Trains, Planes and Automobiles

2011-07-17T18:26:00.001-07:00

Okay, so maybe there won’t be any planes, but I digress.

Last Saturday, Charles and I went to see a full size Thomas the Tank Engine at the Snoqualmie Train Museum. He loved it.

We left Friday afternoon to spend the night at our friends Brandon and DeAnna’s, who live in Kent. They used to live a few blocks from us before they moved and Charlie had a great time playing with their son Ethan, who is about 3 months younger. They used to play all the time and hardly missed a beat when we showed up. Here is a picture (the only one I got) of the two of them brushing their teeth just before bedtime.

The trip to the Train Museum was only about 45 minutes from Kent. So in the morning, after being treated to a great pancake breakfast, we headed to Snoqualmie.

At the event, they had a stage where several performers played children’s songs all day, and tents where you could meet Sir Topham Hatt, get a Thomas temporary tattoo or play with model trains a bunch of little tables with train tracks on them.

We got the obligatory photo in front of one of the several giant diesel engines there. He is busy blowing his Thomas whistle here.

The chief activity of the day was taking a real train ride. We all loaded on a train that went by Snoqualmie Falls. Here is the river below the falls.

Here is Charlie as we were waiting for the train to get going.

…and various pictures while we rode the train.

After our train ride, Charlie spent some time playing with the model trains…

…and the crown jewel of the event: the bouncy castle!

I have never seen more pure joy on Charlie’s face as he had in the hour or so he spent as a human jumping bean. It was pretty cool.

I’m looking forward to taking both boys next year.

Filler

2011-07-11T11:16:00.001-07:00

Tony and Charles went to a really awesome event on Saturday, Day Out With Thomas, and there are lots of adorable photos to show you from that, but I don’t know anything about it, so Tony will have to take the wheel and drive the blog for that sometime soon. In the meantime, here is Charles on his bike, a la Ricky Bobby (he’s always saying, “I go fast!”):

****

Does anyone else have a cord problem? We have a basket with cords for various electronic devices so that we can, I guess, hook them up to the computer and upload or download or charge them. Also, plugin cables for outlets. The problem is, I don’t know what half of them go to and there are so many that I end up digging forever to find the one I want. Which is what is currently happening with the camera cord, so I give up. No, wait, I just spied it on the floor, of all places. The point stands, the basket is annoying and it is time for a concerted cleanout effort. Also, since I can now upload photos, it’s time for a Jamie-at-13-days photo. This is what he is doing right now:

I could feast on those cheeks, I could.

One Week

2011-07-06T08:50:00.001-07:00

It would appear that James is one week (and one day, as of this morning) old. Where does the time go?

We “celebrated” with a minor surgical procedure. I was kicked out of the doctor’s office, but I made Tony stay (he volunteered, but I wasn’t going to let him get out of it). By all accounts, Jamie did better than most boys, nearly sleeping through the operation after anesthesia was applied. And a bonus, I didn’t cry at the first diaper change. Well, maybe, but only a little bit.

We also went to Target and had dinner at Red Robin. When we got home and I had a monster headache and there were still dishes in the sink and a toddler to bathe and read to and a baby to nurse, and a dog to feed, and the garden to weed etc, etc, I was reminded that just because Jamie sleeps so much better than Charles did at this point, doesn’t mean that it’s “enough” sleep for me (he’s totally a “typical” newborn, eating and getting changed every 1.5-2.5 hours at night). Oh, and I also pushed him out of me a week ago, an event from which I am not fully recovered. That’s why I’m not allowed to do anything for six weeks, why do I keep forgetting this?

Anyhow, today, we’re taking it easy.

Some people seem to be disappointed that James is a boy. Not me. I love this little boy and I am so excited to double our fun boy activities. And Charles is thrilled to have a baby brother. It will be tough to be the second boy, I’ve no doubt, but he’ll never have to worry about whether or not his mother adores him. I adore him buckets full.

James DeWiley Cook*

2011-06-30T21:13:00.001-07:00

Born 10:29 am on June 28, 2011. 8 lbs, 3 oz, 21.5 inches long.

I woke up on Tuesday with a PAINFUL contraction at 6 am. At 7 am, I had another. By 7:15, I called Tony at basketball and made him come home because I’d had three more. We got to the hospital by 8 am.

Things were less chaotic at the hospital this time, compared to Charles’ labor and delivery. I had time to get checked routinely and get an IV locked in. Even though the contractions were much more painful than Charles’ ever were, I handled it all just fine through breathing. I managed to get one bag of Penicillin through the IV before contractions were going so quickly that the doctor suggested that I try to push at 10 am.

Last pregnant photo!

It was so weird – the contractions really hurt, but I didn’t have the “urge” to push like I had with Charles. I mean, if someone had told me not to push with Charles, I would have laughed. When you have that urge, you can’t NOT push. This time, though, my water hadn’t broken and I didn’t feel like I was having to bear down. But I got into bed, got my feet up, and tried anyhow.

Then my water burst like a balloon. Wow.

I got to use the squat bar, or whatever they call it. My arms, shoulders, and back are still sore from that workout.

I pushed. And I pushed. Then, the baby’s head got lodged in my vagina, about a third of the way out. That’s when I started crying and invoking God. I’m pretty sure I told the nurses that I wanted to stop, that I just couldn’t do this. I had never experienced pain like that, ever. I wanted to vomit, it hurt so badly. I pushed for 15 minutes with the baby’s head lodged there before he finally slipped out, after a bit less than a half hour of total pushing and, if you’re keeping track (I certainly was), four and a half hours since the first contraction.

The nurse said that in her 20+ years of being an OB nurse, she had never seen a head lodged like that for so long.

But! Recovery this time has been soooo much better. The afterpains have been worse, but overall, I don’t feel like I have been hacked with a chainsaw in my nether-regions (isn’t the miracle of life lovely?).

Jamie looks so much like Charles did at birth.

Baby James on the left, Baby Charles on the right.

James eats all the time, nursing like a champ, cluster feeding for hours until he passes out for a few hours (sleep time for meee!). He is content to be placed on his back in a bassinet, sometimes for hours. Hours! Charles couldn’t stand to be on his back and didn’t sleep alone until he could roll over on his stomach. Also, Charles didn’t really sleep. Jamie sleeps. He’s mellow. Of course, I feel like I paid my dues with a tough pregnancy and oh, also, a first child who was so hard on us, but really, this is just so awesome, I can’t even describe it. With Charles, we were already sleep deprived upon leaving the hospital. Right now, two-and-a-half days after birth, I feel great (you know, for an immediately post-partum woman). I didn’t know it could be like this.

I am so in love with Jamie. He’s so beautiful, so sweet. And Charles is such a great big brother, it’s made me fall in love with him all over again.

*DeWiley was my paternal grandfather’s name.

Plus 1

2011-06-27T09:21:00.001-07:00

A whole 40 weeks spent counting down to yesterday.

Today begins a new count: Due Date + 1

And a new set of fears. The fear that I won’t go into labor at all and will have to be induced. The fear that, by being induced, I won’t progress, and will have to have a caesarian section. Or, given the genetic predisposition for large babies in this family, that the kid is now getting too big to be born vaginally (this is no dis on those of you who have been induced or had c-sections; but I’m guessing that probably wasn’t what you wanted, right?).

Worse, that the baby will run out of room and break limbs (or its neck), the placenta will detach, or the cord prolapse and I will deliver a dead baby. Probably there are other scenarios related to past-due pregnancies in which this happens – please allow me to stay in the dark on those, as I can barely handle thinking about the ones I know.

And the guilt. Oh, what part of motherhood is without guilt? Except for my mom, of course (who is so damn sure of everything that I am convinced she has never experienced guilt over her decisions), I think all moms experience guilt in some fashion, but it has sure come to head for me this past week. I do nothing. I mean it. Nothing. Tony works full time and is now the #1 parent. I don’t clean. I don’t cook. I don’t even brush the dog. I didn’t go into work today because I am so swollen and tired that I can’t concentrate, and besides, the intern is doing fabulously. I feel guilty for checking out. I feel guilty for being incapable of more. I feel guilty for taking Charles to preschool and then coming straight home to relax.

*******

We had an eventful Saturday, one that ended with a trip to the hospital – but not for me/baby. Rather, for Charles.

We went to a birthday party and he and a friend were playing with a large, round sandbox toy. Charles tried throwing it like a frisbee, so his friend tried to do the same thing. Only, the friend didn’t let go of the disc and smacked it straight into Charles’ face, where it shattered. He had all sorts of cuts across his nose, but he calmed down after being cleaned up and we couldn’t see anything wrong with his eyes, so we sent him back to play.

He fell asleep on the way home (of course. It’s really the only way he naps on the weekends anymore).

When he woke up, he screamed and screamed, and wouldn’t stop screaming. Tony managed to see a quick glimpse into his swollen right eye and thought he saw a cut or a flap across the cornea, so off to the ER we went. 2.5 hours, some luminescent eye drops, some antibacterial opthalmic ointment, and a dose of ibuprofen later, and we were back home with a diagnosis of a corneal abrasion. This type of injury usually heals within 48 hours, and we have a follow-up this afternoon to check progress.

I think I lost a few years of my life in the ER as I flashed back to my brother’s eye injury. I had visions of going down to Seattle Children’s for eye surgery, of having to deal with a newborn and a kid getting used to operating with one eye. Oh, God. It’s amazing how fast my brain can get to the worst possibly outcome.

In the ER, feeling much better after some drops in his eye and a snack (we were way past dinner time).

Couch cuddles (pre- eye injury).

A New Day; Links

2011-06-23T11:03:00.001-07:00

Still here, no baby yet. Every evening, I have a series of contractions that make me think, “Is this it?” and then… sigh… they go away. But maybe I’m warming up?

Anyhow, I’m feeling a bit brighter today, perhaps because of all the sleeping I did yesterday. And I’m feeling brighter despite the epic tantrum Charles threw this morning (of course Tony had already gone to work). The boy is impossible sometimes. But! We made it through, he’s at preschool now, his favorite place in the whole world, and I got some important work done at the office before taking my leave to put my feet up.

Also! I just found out via a lovely email from a dear friend/sister that we have cause for visiting France next year! Yes! May 2012, and you can bet that I’ll be excitedly planning that trip for the several months leading up to it. More details to follow, I’m sure.

***

With that, I’d like to link you to some of the things that keep me occupied for as long as I can sit at the computer during the day. Oh, I have my Kindle, and I breeze through books very quickly (speaking of, any book recommendations will be highly valued at this point, so bring ‘em on), but I also read other things, too.

I’ve been working my way through this list of “Nearly 100 Fantastic Pieces of Journalism” and they’re really quite interesting. Especially this one about spies written by Malcolm Gladwell. By the way, I really like the name Malcolm, but it was rejected by Tony.

Do you like random YouTube videos, weird stuff, pop culture news? Check out The Daily What.

I like Top Ten type lists, especially when I learn something weird (and often totally useless). Cracked is a pretty good resource for such nonsense.

And this just makes me laugh: http://literallyunbelievable.org/

My Blog, My Soapbox

2011-06-22T15:01:00.001-07:00

I don’t have a whole lot of dignity left. Perhaps that’s a good thing, as I know that a whole team of people will be in my junk sometime soon, watching me do one of the most horrifying things a person can do (Tony’s rule: shoulders and up are safe).

People are pretty rude when you’re pregnant, seeing it as license to ask all sorts of questions. And even when the questions really aren’t that prying, they are rude and prying if you’re a full-term pregnant lady who is in pain and can only focus on one thing: getting that baby out.

Take the due date question, for example. “Hi, nice to meet you (I’m exaggerating this here, because no one says that, even if they have seen from across the street that you are massively pregnant and are shouting through traffic). When are you due?” I sometimes feel like this conversation has multiple sides, none of which are good at this point. You want to know how many weeks ago I slept with my husband and conceived a child. You’re asking me when I had sex last fall, if you think about it. You want to know when I am going to push a giant baby out of my vagina. My vagina! You want to be able to say something like, “Oh, I thought you looked about due! Get your sleep now!” Thank you for the wild compliment, stranger. You want to speculate on the sex of the baby. Guess what? You, along with everybody else, have a 50/50 shot at being correct. Don’t act so smug. If I don’t have a clue, how can you?

First of all, I have looked “due” for the past two or three months, but I’ve dropped recently and now I waddle, so yeah, there’s no mistaking that I’m due. Secondly, who sleeps when they’re this pregnant? I went into work for an hour this morning and I’ve been napping uncomfortably pretty much ever since and I am STILL EXHAUSTED. Finally, June 26th is not a magic date. I will not suddenly give birth on June 26th because that is when the baby is finally ready. I HAVE BEEN FULL TERM FOR A WEEK AND A HALF NOW. I am THERE. DONE. A due date is 40 weeks from supposed ovulation and conception (which is an educated guess anyhow), and a healthy baby is born two weeks on either side of this date. Will everyone please stop telling me I am almost there?! I am there.

And if I give birth tonight, the baby isn’t early. Charles was born almost two weeks before his due date, but I think we can all agree that he wasn’t early. Hell, at 9 lbs, 3 oz, if he had been any later, he might have had to come out through a window instead of the front door.

And yes, I know I should enjoy my Charles every day and savor these last weeks with him as my only child. What do you think I have been doing? I love the little punk, much as he throws epic (and typical) two-year-old tantrums, but you know what? I don’t think a new baby is going to make me love him less. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to give him more “lap, mommy, lap” when I am done birthing his brother or sister. Right now, I am so uncomfortable and so huge that I can’t exactly give Charles the kind of attention he craves. When the baby’s finally born, at least I will be able to hand it off to Tony every once in awhile to dote on my firstborn.

Honestly, he’s one of the biggest reasons I want to give birth already. Can you imagine his fascination with a baby? I can, and I want to witness it.

But right now I’m just so damn tired. Please baby, I can’t handle much more of this. I am a currently a horrible mom and wife due to the exhaustion and pain, and I don’t get to do anything fun anymore, so just, please. Any time now.

Dese Guys

2011-06-20T20:19:00.001-07:00

Charles is hoping for a spot on the Seahawks’ roster:

The neighborhood kids enjoy dogpiling on our front lawn, especially when Tony is in the mix (I think because he throws them around – at one point he had a kid hanging from each arm and was spinning).

And this is what happened on Father’s Day:

The boys slept in, I made blueberry banana pancakes for everyone, and then I went to church alone. A nice, little Sunday.

Still no baby. But I do have sausage fingers, incurable heartburn, and I can no longer sleep in my own bed because my hips and pelvis are threatening to disintegrate, so I’m on the couch. Think good thoughts for me, I am unsure as to how much more I can handle before giving up sanity entirely.

The Difficult

2011-06-15T20:49:00.001-07:00

There’s a kid at Charles’ school named Nicholas. He has some problems… I don’t know what his home life is like, but I do know that his parents smoke and that he entered preschool at age 3 with some severe social problems and speech delays, and he is now almost 5 years old. Nicholas has decided that he doesn’t like Charles.

Everyone likes Charles. Charles is the kid in school who makes friends with everyone, and I hope that never changes. It’s tough to keep that up, but I honestly hope he will forever be a social chameleon, finding ways to relate to anyone in any situation. It’s a trait Tony has and that I envy (I’m a bit socially awkward, whereas Tony will eagerly enter into conversation and find common ground with ANYONE). Charles is, for the most part, a great playmate. He’s happy to follow others’ leads, he’s not bossy, and he doesn’t steal toys… much. I am really proud of him, but also a bit annoyed that the only place he seems to act out is at home. I mean, really, kid, cut me some slack. I weigh a million pounds, I’ve been pregnant forever, and you just told me you wanted chocolate milk. Now you’re throwing a fit because you don’t want chocolate milk? Time Out.

I picked Charles up from school yesterday and he was outside with his class running around playing “fishing.” The playground at his school is fantastic: 2 play structures, an old speedboat filled with sand, an airplane-shaped teeter-totter that seats, like, eight kids and teeters and totters in multiple directions, some climbing tubes, logs, and two playhouses. Charles had finished playing fishing and ran over to one of the playhouses where Nicholas was playing with another little boy (the other little boy is a particular friend of Charles’ – close in age and energy level, from what I gather). Nicholas closed the half door in Charles’ face and said, “Go away! I don’t like you!”

Charles’ posture slumped, his smile wiped right off his face, and his feelings crumbled. He started to cry and run toward me. This was crying like I have never seen him do before – his feelings were hurt and he didn’t understand. He buried his face in my shoulder and after trying to get Nicholas to apologize, the teachers explained a bit about what was going on and we left. I felt like my heart would break.

It’s impossible to explain to a two-year-old that some people aren’t very nice. That some people are mean to others because of various reasons. Maybe Nicholas’s parents are mean to each other or to him. Maybe he is mean because he doesn’t have any control at home. Maybe he has a chemical imbalance.

Oh, but I wish I could take the hurt away. I wish that wiping his tears was enough. Because I can’t be sure that Nicholas won’t be mean to him every day, and even though I know he has to learn to deal with kids like that, I wish he didn’t have to. And I hope that it doesn’t turn him into a mean kid in turn.

Hot Fun in the Summer Time

2011-06-14T13:36:00.001-07:00

Thank God for this lovely weather, am I right? Somehow, things are just easier when we can be outside and my small person can wear shorts and run around (Charles loves shorts – at first, he called them “daddy underwear” because daddy wears boxers).

And also, this happens, because being a kid outside in good weather is exhausting (so is being dad):

And yes, I’m still pregnant. 38 weeks, 2 days. Which is further than I got with Charles, and I don’t think I like it. This baby is much more active in the womb than Charles was and it is OUT OF ROOM, completely. Feet in ribs, nose rubbing cervix, other limbs pushing out with alarming strength. This is not comfortable at all. I try to tell myself that it will all be over soon, but each day is an achy, exhausted eternity of creaky hips, nausea and indigestion, sugar and fruit cravings (seriously, it is not fair that I want to eat all the fruit that I can get my hands on because I always suffer unpleasant consequences!), naps, and trying not to complain too much. Could this really go on for another THREE AND A HALF WEEKS?

Still growing…

Oh, Baby

2011-06-10T14:29:00.001-07:00

There’s this point in late pregnancy where you almost can’t stand it anymore. The wanting. The needing to have your arms filled with the one that is still in your belly GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT. But you don’t really have a choice in when this baby violently pushes its tiny self (except when you’re thinking about head-to-vag ratio, and then babies are NOT TINY, NOT AT ALL) out of you in a burst of wrath fit for a, well, a two-year-old, now that I know what two-year-old wrath is like. And you really want and need this baby right now, even if you are scared sh*tless about having another child in your life, another needy newborn who will suck all your time and don’t you have another kid to love and parent and a business to run and a household to keep O. M. G.

I think that last time, my thoughts ran much more to the “oh holy jeez, what am I going to do with a baby” variety that they overshadowed the want and need for the baby in my womb. Now, not so much. Observe:

Crib fixed: check.

All gender-neutral clothes washed and folded: check.

Car seat clean and ready: check.

Nursery complete: check.

Nursing clothes clean and ready: check.

Hospital bag packed: check.

Diapers cleaned, resized, folded: check.

Bottles, nipples, pump ready to be sterilized last minute before use: check.

Garage remodel finished: check.

BABY IN MY ARMS: …

I’d like to be able to tell you that I feel like it’s going to happen soon, but labor doesn’t work like that. At least in my (one) experience. I didn’t have a days-long buildup to expelling Charles. I felt a bit funny a few times earlier in the day, but didn’t know I was in labor until contractions started around 4pm, and hey, he was out before 10pm. So the inexperienced guys at my office keep asking me if I will be there tomorrow, or Monday, or next week for a meeting, and How Should I Know? should probably just be written on the front of my t-shirt at this point. I do know that the baby has dropped a bit, but sometimes he or she likes to creep back up, so that’s not definitive or anything. I do know that I can’t wear my wedding rings anymore, but that might have more to do with the hot weather than the impending doom of late-onset pre-eclampsia. I do know that I have days when I am so exhausted and achy that it would seem I was mere hours away from going into labor (yesterday), but I also have days like today, in which I feel relatively good and cheery and awake.

The point of this all is that I am mentally and emotionally as prepared as I could get for this child. If only that were enough.

Here’s what 37 weeks, 5 days looks like:

whoa, mama!

And here’s what Charles looks like, in case you forgot:

sleeping after a long day in the sunshine…

A blur of activity at Jungle Playland

And a few sidenotes:

Today is my mom’s birthday! She is so wonderful, I had kinda hoped I could give her a grandchild for her birthday, but she’ll just have to wait, I guess.

My nephew, Jack, broke his leg. In Sarah and Andy’s position, I would probably welcome prayers (my guess is that they need them more than Jack, who will likely heal quite nicely). Head on over to Landonville to show your support.

My poor intern. So much has been thrown at her in the past few days that I am left feeling very sorry for her and also hoping that she doesn’t end the summer (or even the month of June) by regretting her decision to work for us. If there’s one area of my life that could use more time before baby, it’s work and training her up. She starts fulltime on Monday.

Video Monday

2011-06-06T08:27:00.001-07:00

This is a couple months old, but still funny (and still a marvelous example of Charles’ spirit), so here you go:

And our young man is talking ever so much more since he moved up to preschool. Full sentences, nearly all the time. A vocabulary explosion (which leads me to believe that he always knew these words, just wouldn’t say them). He’s still defiant and strong-willed, but better communication on his end has sure helped us to anticipate and meet his needs and wants a bit better, making things slightly less stressful as we prepare for a new helpless being.

Is It Friday Yet?

2011-06-02T10:45:00.001-07:00

The days are crawling by soooo sloooowly… I can hardly stand it. I am uncomfortable, as you might imagine one would be at 36 weeks pregnant, I am tired, and I am experiencing the worst heartburn ever. I know I’ll make it, but I might be a royal mess if I carry this baby to June 26, or (horror of horrors!) beyond. No one wants a pre-term baby, but right at 38 weeks would be lovely.

There are a few really unattractive times during pregnancy. The first is when you are green and barfing all the time. Then, when you are fat, but don’t quite look pregnant yet. For a while you have the “cute” stage where even though your arms are getting flabby, you have this nice, not-too-huge baby belly to rub and have people exclaim over and all your maternity clothes fit and you are “glowing” and happy. Then, you reach the stage I am at now. None of my clothes fit, they are all too short in the tops and too gappy in the bottoms. My face is huge and my eyes have dark circles under them. I look wan and wasted, I can’t eat a full meal, and very few things taste good. People look at me as though I am a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at any second. It’s awful.

Our garage project was pushed back to next week (inciting only momentary panic! because I don’t honestly think I’ll have this baby before it’s done, but we’re still cutting things awfully close), but I did get the carseat cleaned and another base ordered. I have started packing my hospital bag, which has begged the question: what can I possibly wear post-partum that will not make me look like I am wearing a giant diaper walking out of the hospital? Oh, it’s incredibly vain to be thinking that, but seriously, the pads they give you after birth are MONSTROUS. I think I am settled on a comfy skirt, nursing tank, and light overshirt. It is, after all, June. The crib is now at the correct height, but we lost the bitty parts needed to make it safe for the baby, so we’ll have to get those sent in soon – Tony’s on it, I believe. And now I have to find an adorable unisex outfit for the baby to wear home. I also need more “other” clothes for the baby, as Charles’ hand-me-downs are still MIA. Time for onesie shopping!

There’s just too much to do, in between shopping and doctor’s visits and entertaining a toddler… all I want to do is sleep and eat leftover birthday ice cream cake.

Here’s a question for you, friends: should I go swimsuit shopping now for post partum swimwear and guess at a size, or should I wait until afterward, when I will be in hate with my post-partum flab? I can’t quite determine which would be less bruising to the psyche.

Jurassic Park or Woodland Park?

2011-05-30T08:37:00.001-07:00

For future reference: 2-year-olds are afraid of life-sized dinosaurs.

Save me, Daddy!

Also worth noting: going to the zoo on a day forecasted to be rainy, but which you know in your heart will be glorious, is a GREAT IDEA. I’ve never parked so close to the entrance of a zoo in my life.

Feeding the birds…

And at the opposite spectrum of the animal kingdom, feeding an elephant…

Birthday Belly!!! (36 weeks)

35 Weeks and Change, Can the Days Go Any Slower?

2011-05-26T12:58:00.001-07:00

Oh boy, oh boy, it’s the third trimester and it is AWESOME. Not.

What’s going on lately? Why haven’t I kept up with posting this past week? AM I OKAY?

Yes, yes, we’re all fine here. Hmm, except for the fact that I now have a distinctive waddle. And that Charles is throwing tantrum after tantrum that Tony suspects are caused by 60% new molars and 40% SOMETHING’S WRONG WITH MOM, NOOOOOO! He’s clingy and obstinate, and I had to call Tony to come rescue me from his wrath at preschool yesterday because instead of sitting in his carseat like normal, he wanted to wail and scream and thrash about on the floor of the car for half an hour. HALF AN HOUR PLEASE FORGIVE THE ALL CAPS BUT HOLY GOD, I CAN’T TAKE ANOTHER EPISODE LIKE THIS HAVE YOU ANY IDEA WHAT HALF AN HOUR OF SCREAMING IS LIKE? Tony took him to swimming lessons, I picked up a pizza and sat on the couch.

In fact, I do a lot of couch sitting/napping these days. My tremendous will to exercise regularly has waned mightily in the past week, and I haven’t been to the gym in about 10 days. Which is probably fine, since more exercising did NOT equal less weight gain this time, and if this baby doesn’t come early like Charles did, I will surpass my 1st pregnancy weight gain. Maybe I’ll surpass it by next week, who knows? I told myself that anything under 50 pounds of weight gain this time was a win, but now that I am almost there, I feel like I lose. But really, my friends and family lose, because they have to look at my fat ass all summer. Sigh… an entirely new wardrobe to accommodate post-birth body. Oh, sure, I have fat jeans from last time, but nothing that will do in 80+ degrees all summer long.

Also, and if you’ve been pregnant you know what I’m talking about here, I have reached that point where I feel like if I stretch too much, I might permanently dislocate something. Or if I lift too much weight, my joints might irreparably freak out or SOMETHING BAD, I don’t know what, but it doesn’t feel great to be this loosey-goosey all the time. No more weights, only cardio at the gym from this point forward. 35 weeks and change and I am ready to be done.

My couch time has been augmented by an early birthday gift from my dad and father-in-law, a Kindle. I have been downloading e-books like crazy, which might turn into a pretty expensive habit. I downloaded a bunch of free (since they’re public domain) classics that I have never read, but then I got into this mystery series, and every time I finish a book, which takes on average 2 days, I feel I simply MUST purchase the next in the series to find out what adventures lie ahead. Also, the Kindle is just so damn convenient. I take it everywhere, which has made waiting in doctor’s offices so much more relaxing and feeling somehow productive (yes, I know reading mystery novels is not productive in that I am not producing anything, but it is recreation, which is something I don’t get to do very often, so it is productive in that it produces feelings of relaxation, thus keeping my blood pressure from creeping up) and I get to read a lot more than I used to.

My birthday is on Monday, the dreaded 30, and we are doing a game night in a local restaurant. I have some really awesome friends who have worked hard to plan a fun night for this oh-so-pregnant lady who can’t drink and can’t dance and can’t stay awake very late, and for that I am quite grateful. I plan to enjoy myself with Italian food and good dessert and try not to cry when people say nice things (see how I am assuming nice things will be said I AM AN OPTIMIST). We are also going to the zoo on Saturday morning, and I’m pretty sure I’ll need all day Sunday to recover, so pray for my sanity because I took a toddler to the zoo a couple months ago and it was fantastic but also exhausting and I am much more waddle-y and tired now than I was then.

Also? Also? I am not ready for this baby. I don’t have newborn clothes, I loaned everything to a friend whose baby was extra-small (or within the range of normal, while Charles was extra-large) and I have yet to get them back. The crib needs a bit of repairing (it is one of the recalled drop-down cribs that I bought NEW when Charles was born and instead of replacing the crib, the company sent out little parts that have to be screwed on somewhere, I’m not sure where, Tony knows, he just hasn’t done it yet and OHMYGOD WHAT IF THE BABY COMES EARLY AND HE/SHE CAN’T SLEEP IN THE CRIB FOR FEAR OF SUFFOCATION GET ON THAT TONY). I haven’t switched all the diapers over to newborn size yet, I don’t have a bring-baby-home-from-the-hospital outfit yet, I don’t have my bag packed yet, I haven’t sterilized my pump yet, I haven’t brought the swing or bassinet down from storage and cleaned them yet, I haven’t washed the car seat or the stroller yet, I haven’t bought a humidifier yet, AAAAAHHHH PANIC ATTACK.

Ugh. Time for a nap. Who’s with me? Oh, wait, I need to iron some shirts this afternoon, lest Tony go to work naked tomorrow. Shirts, then nap.

35 Weeks and Stuff

2011-05-22T12:35:00.001-07:00

I am so stinkin’ proud of Charles, and I probably have been bragging to random people on the street a bit too much these past few days, but I can’t help it. Charlie has been moved up to PRESCHOOL.

Okay, yeah, it’s preschool. But! The daycare center where Charles has gone since he was a baby has a toddler program until age 3 and then a preschool program that is truly meant to be a preparation for kindergarten for ages 3-5. According to the daycare/preschool professionals there, Charles is not getting enough stimulation in the toddler area and he’s so developmentally advanced, that he now NEEDS to be in preschool in order to keep on truckin’ at an awesome pace. Wow.

I’ll tell you something, the art projects he’s bringing home are way more recognizable now than they were a week ago, so that’s a bonus. Also, he’s exhausted come bedtime, so he’s been sleeping a bit better.

Time flies, you know?

****

A friend, who owns JB Expressions, took some maternity photos of us last weekend. Except for my double chins and the fact that photographic evidence totally makes me realize just how large I am (side note, every time I see a very pregnant woman who has clearly stayed within the boundaries of “recommended weight gain”, I seethe with rage at my genetics), they turned out pretty well. Though I would have liked to do some outdoors, it was raining that day :-(

We’re the hunchback family. I can’t believe she didn’t tell us to sit up!

Once again, barefoot and pregnant.

Typical.

Wherein We Renege on Our Public Declaration to Not Engage in Any Remodels During This Pregnancy

2011-05-16T21:03:00.001-07:00

I said, at one point, right here in this ol’ blog, that we would not be doing any major remodels in anticipation of this baby. Painting? Sure. Landscaping? Well, that needed to be done anyhow. Bathroom remodel? Not until next year or the year after that.

But! Then, I got to thinking about how unfortunately sized our garage is. I mean, it’s a two-car garage that only ever fit two cars once, and neither of us could open our doors to get in or out. But that isn’t the biggest issue (because now we have too much stuff to fit another car in there, even if we had an extra foot on either side). The problem is this:

Do you see that big, ugly, awfully-placed post right next to my car? I can’t open the back door to get groceries or packages or, you know, a baby out of there. Someone once said that maybe when the house was built, cars were smaller. In 1978. I don’t think so.

So, the post has to go. The workmen were here today, measuring and calculating, and it will take them about 2 weeks to gear up for the project so, yes, we will be having major remodeling work done while I am 36 weeks pregnant. Good planning or what!?! This, my friends, is the epitome of The Crazy.

We are also moving ahead on Charles’ room, turning it from a sterile spare bedroom into a kids’ room in baby steps. This weekend, Tony finished painting, and I put up stickers:

I think his bed-cubby looks great, personally. I plan to get some star-shaped mirrors and a dresser for the other side in a couple of weeks, which should round out the rest of the decor. He also gets a Van Gogh print and a plant in a yellow pot that he picked out himself:

The bedside table will eventually move to Uncle Leland’s spare room, and the rocker will move closer to the bed.

It’s fun to decorate and remodel, but oh, it is exhausting. Particularly because Charles slept with Tony this weekend while I slept on the couch (let’s be fair, I might end up on the couch permanently if this heartburn doesn’t subside… ugh). I look forward to not doing the bathrooms anytime soon.

Don’t Get Mad, Get Naked

2011-05-13T11:43:00.001-07:00

Note: I posted this yesterday, but blogger crashed and removed posts – so I lost any comments! Sorry!

In the midst of our hour-long battle over bedtime with Charles last night, Tony mentioned to me that it will be pretty amazing to see what that kid can do when he puts his force of will to something positive. In short, he is stubborn. Which is why we try to exhaust him every day. Unfortunately, just like conditioning for a race or playing on a basketball team for an entire season, Charles is in great shape and what wore him out a few months ago doesn’t seem to make a dent in his overall energy level now.

As you might recall from the first 21 months of Charles life, he has always been a horrible sleeper. He wakes up in the middle of the night, lately with nightmares and a need to go potty. And he fights going to bed, I think because he assumes we throw a party as soon as he dozes off. He rarely naps on the weekends (he always naps at daycare, but so do the other kids, hence, no while-you-were-sleeping party). He tries everything he can think of to keep from having the lights turned off: “Mommy story. Potty, mommy! Daddy’s turn stories. Potty, daddy.” Then, when we have each read two stories and told him in no uncertain terms that it is time for bed, he cries those pathetic, fake-cries of frustration and anger (as opposed to pain, hunger, or sadness) that allow me to easily slip out of the dark room and ignore him.

Last night he was still going at 9:30. Ugh. We got him settled one more time (“nose wipe, mommy!”) and went downstairs to veg on the couch for 45 minutes before we turned in.

Now, I always give Charles a kiss before I go to bed. I love his sleep-sweet breath right after he drops off (before he develops morning breath – seriously, that kid could kill a small animal with his morning breath), I love his sweaty head, and I love the way he contorts his tiny body over his covers. But last night was good, better than usual. Last night, the goodnight kiss rewarded me with this sight:

Oh, yes. He was so angry with us at leaving him to sleep that he took off his pajamas and his night diaper. Also, he was snoring. We managed to get him re-diapered and re-clothed without even waking him up, laughing the whole time.

Oh, kid. I couldn’t possibly love you more.

The Awesome Week Got Awesomer

2011-05-10T11:41:00.001-07:00

Forgive my endless complaints, but geez, I have been killed with misfortune over the past week. Some of it is my own anxiety over my continued increase in girth, not only in my belly (see last post), and my increasing exhaustion, and my ever-present feelings of being NOT READY while simultaneously being too wan to prepare for… something. What is that we are supposed to do? Oh yeah, a baby. This thing kicking my ribs all the time.

But okay, then I went and got into a car accident and had an extremely busy (yet nice, as I love my family, but still busy, as I am 8ish months pregnant and exhausted all the time) weekend.

So, the car accident. No one was hurt. It was not my fault. As in, clearly not my fault, and the claims representative even said so, as did the police officer. But! Because of the layout of the street and the fact that I was leaving a parking lot while the other driver was entering a parking lot and still on the street, she apparently had the right-of-way, even though she zipped around a corner, didn’t see me, and tried to occupy the same space I was occupying at that very moment. In broad daylight. I had my lights on. She didn’t see me. I am still baffled.

There goes $1000 for the deductible because we will end up paying for some (not all, because, again, NOT MY FAULT) of the damage to her car and (obviously) all of the damage to my car. Grrr. So that put me into a tailspin mood on Friday about finances, which is probably everyone’s favorite hypertension-inducing subject. It turns out we are able to absorb the blow, no huge deal worth getting worked up about, but still, would I have rather spent that $1000 another way? Yes, preferably by saving it for an additional cushion for when I go on maternity leave and for the hospital bills, etc, etc, blah, blah, blah. Or maybe on chocolate. Either way.

It just galls me, and I could go on about this for days, that this had to happen and that I am being held partially responsible. I’d like to paint you a diagram of what happened, but I am not sure how to do an acceptable computer-rendering of the accident scene, so let me just say that EVERYONE, including police and insurance agents, I have talked to about this completely agrees that it was her fault and not mine, and I don’t know why I am still saying that, except that, seriously, it pisses me off. IF IT IS HER FAULT WHY AM I PAYING??? At least I have moved beyond melancholy into anger and frustration, right?

So, yeah, big weekend, taking care of lots and lots of family, eating badly, lots of dishes and cleaning, not enough attention given to Buster, impending doctor’s appointment tonight, I’ve started to waddle, I can no longer cross my legs when I’m sitting, and no Mother’s Day celebration for me, boo-hoo. I’m over it now, I guess. A new week, a new start, and my house gets cleaned today. Also, I think I’ll go to Target and buy myself something for the baby to make myself feel even better. At least until I start thinking about all the things I need to do over the next 7-plus-or-minus-2 weeks before baby, like train my work replacement who can’t start until June 13 (oh, God, that is cutting it close, what if this baby is early?), or my big, huge, ginormous, milestone birthday at the end of the month, or more family in town (who would say “don’t clean for my sake!” but how can I not? Like I’m going to put the air mattress on a floor that is strewn with nursery things or not do the dishes so you have no clean forks?), or what in the world I should wear for my maternity photos next weekend… oh, I think I need to lie down now.

Some Days are Better than Others

2011-05-05T10:40:00.001-07:00

For a few weeks, I have been in denial about just how fat I’ve become. Partly, I’m sure, because when I’m looking for affirmation and fishing for compliments, my husband and brother always oblige. “You’re not fat, you’re pregnant!” they’ll, say. Neither of them really say that I look good, they just try to imply that I shouldn’t worry.

Impossible. How can a girl in our society not worry about her weight?

I tore my jeans this morning. I wiggled into the jeans that I wore without trouble just this past weekend (they had been newly washed yesterday, so the part of my brain that specializes in denial has been telling me all morning that jeans always shrink back in the wash and get bigger after you wear them awhile), and just as I got them to my hips, R-I-I-I-I-P! I am too fat IN MY HIPS for them anymore. My thighs, my butt… all are getting larger by the day.

Yes, I know I am supposed to gain weight, but I am already 40 lbs up from pre-pregnancy (5 lbs over the recommended weight gain range and 10 lbs over where my doctor said he wanted to see me) and I have, at minimum, 6 weeks to go (to gain more, that is). And the weight gain is not in my belly, it is in my thighs, my butt, my hips, my arms, my face, my feet, my legs. Oh, and my under-belly, that part that becomes that hideous mom-belly, highlighted by mom-jeans, just above your pelvic bone. Gross!

So yeah, with six weeks to go, I need to go shopping. Again. Because, as I sit here in my other size-M maternity jeans, I am unwilling to kid myself about fit any longer. These alternative jeans are tight as well. Time to go up to a size Large, something I swore I wouldn’t do.

I try to eat well, I really do. Cereal with yogurt and herbal tea for breakfast… and then I go off the rails. By 9:30, I am hungry again, so I eat an apple, and then a muffin, and then a granola bar, and then by 11 or 11:30, I am hungry for lunch. Lunch is often leftovers. Then I slow down a bit, and snack after I do my workout (yes, I still go to the gym 3 times a week and do a workout video at home the other days – the weight gain is in spite of the working out!), and then eat a smallish dinner, and then snack again before bedtime. I am hungry ALWAYS. My only hope now is that this incredible, ever-present, gnawing hunger disappears somewhat after I give birth.

That, however, is the hard part about all of this. I can do something about this weight, but not until 6 weeks post-partum. Do you know how far away that is? I have to endure at least 6 more weeks (could be 10!) of getting steadily fatter, and then 6 weeks of sitting around, not exercising, waiting for my body to recover. I don’t want to be fat over the summer. I don’t want to have my thigh chub rub together and give me a rash under sundresses. I don’t want to cringe when I look at photos of me in a tank top with a new baby. I don’t want my face to continue to look like my new driver license photo, large and round, my eyes sunken behind fat deposits, making them look even smaller.

Pregnancy is supposed to be beautiful? Pregnancy is fat an ugly on this girl, and I die a little bit every time I see another pregnant woman who has somehow pulled it off and kept her legs and arms and hips and butt relatively thin while her belly pops out like a cute basketball. Not I. I’ve even got a photo of me (taken by someone else) from last weekend that clearly indicates that I have back fat for the first time in my life.

I guess all I can do is spend money on new clothes and pray that I will be able to lose all of this weight, instead of ending permanently higher on the scale as I did after Charles. And cry. I can do that, and do it well.

Super Weekend

2011-05-02T17:34:00.001-07:00

I won’t lie, our lives mainly consist of trying to exhaust Charles by any means possible. Oh, sure, those means are usually somewhat “character building,” as they say, but nonetheless, the end result is a tired (hopefully napping/sleeping through the night) toddler.

Some of you might think this is bad parenting. After all, shouldn’t we be working to expand his horizons, engaging him a variety of “downtime” activities like puzzles and books and crafts? As it turns out, Tony and I (regardless of my ever-increasing bulk) are pretty active people, so I like to think of our parenting method as “training” for future activity in this family. Also, as Kelli recently pointed out to me, some kids are sleepers, in the way that other kids are eaters or talkers. Well, Charles is not a sleeper, a struggle I have documented extensively and one we still battle today. If our activities are sufficiently stimulating, Charles sleeps more and I sleep more, end of story.

But also, we do play with puzzles and read lots of books. Just so you know.

This weekend, our activities were perhaps a bit over-the-top. I don’t think I have ever seen that child so tired as I did on Saturday and Sunday nights. After all, he got to meet Santa in the off-season. And Santa rides a giant tricycle. Who knew?

They’re a bit scary in person, as you can see…

And then, he got to ride on Grandpa’s boat (well, the boat that Grandpa is running for the summer, at any rate):

Thumbs up!

Charlie’s turn to drive (I think they were still in port)

Ahh, the open ocean. This boy is definitely a Cook.

It’s tough work, running around like this all day.

We’re starting the musical education young… can you see me as a Tiger Mom, cracking the whip to keep him practicing? No? Me, neither.

And then came one of those things that only happens in small towns… a Fire Truck Ride. Capitalized because this is a Big Deal. I can’t imagine how many rules were broken and insurance violations were made when the Ilwaco Fire Department (it’s volunteer) took group after group of small children on 15-minute engine rides, but it must’ve been more than a few.

Charles and Tony got to sit in the front seat without seatbelts and work the airhorn for the whole ride. None of the kids were belted in, for that matter.

And then came the parade. During which I didn’t take any photos because, really, they would not have been that great. Charles had a minor meltdown as he got too tired towards the end, but we stuck it out and he rallied, and then slept halfway home.

Oh. And? We all got sunburns. Hooray May!

I Want a New Drug*

2011-04-26T11:36:00.001-07:00

As I reach the end of pregnancy (TODAY is TWO MONTHS until due date, but I’m hoping I’ll deliver early, as I did with Charles), I find myself less and less inclined to do any activities. Especially ones that require physical output. Read books to Charles on the couch? Sure. Do a puzzle? Of course. Make dinner? Hmm, that would require standing, and chopping, and mixing, and serving, and setting the table… is there any way I can get out of it? No. Fine. But don’t expect me to do laundry. Oh, crap. I’m out of maternity shirts/pants (you know, because there are only a few that even fit anymore, and Oh, God, what am I going to wear for the rest of this pregnancy!). Well, fine, I’ll do laundry, but that’s it. I am mush for the rest of the night. Oh. Oh. You want to ride your bike around the block/draw with chalk on the sidewalk/go to the park. Sure, let me get my coat.

What I’m saying is that I am pooped, so that when Charles is finally in bed and asleep, I would like to spend 30-90 minutes vegging out in front of the TV with my husband every other night (because the other nights, I need to sleep early, or I’m reading an interesting book, or I really do have to get more laundry done). But therein lies the two-fold problem: one, we don’t have cable or satellite television; two, Tony doesn’t like to turn movies off in the middle to save the second half for the next night (I have no problem with this). We’ve never had TV, and I can only imagine the thousands of dollars we have saved over our 6-year marriage (no doubt Tony has it calculated somewhere). Our substitute has always been TV-on-DVD. We have watched all 9 seasons of Scrubs, all 4 seasons of 30 Rock, all 6 seasons of The Office, the first season of Glee, the first 2 seasons of House, all 3 seasons of Arrested Development, and probably a few others I am forgetting over the past six years. When I’m not pregnant, we really don’t watch too much at all, which is why the one-DVD-by-mail-with-in-store-trade-ins via Blockbuster works for us.

Except, lately, we have been trading in A LOT. Like, every time we get a new DVD in the mail. So. We have seen a lot of movies. And we have exhausted what I know about good TV shows out there. This is where you come in. We need a new show, something we can watch over the next couple months of evenings to rot my brain and keep me from thinking about how everything I eat or don’t eat gives me such horrible heartburn that I think my esophagus is going to shrivel and die. This is also a good chance for those of you who read this blog but NEVER comment to weigh in. I know there are a few of you, I’ve been told. You’re being watched.

So, Tony and I like comedies for the most part, especially clever ones, or dramas that have some degree of suspense-and-resolution to them (CSI, House, but NOT Law & Order) and we’re not big fans of prime-time soap operas or HBO dramas. What should we watch next?

Hey, I just thought of something awesome. Wouldn’t it be great if Jeopardy! were on DVD? So one could fast-forward through that awkward and annoying Alex Trebek-gets-to-know-the-contestants part (because they’re all goobers, aren’t they). That would be cool. I’ll have to check that out.

Please, help us!

*One that makes me feel like I feel when I’m with yooooooouuuu!

Oh, Sunny Day

2011-04-25T13:44:00.001-07:00

Once, when Charles was small(er), I had a mantra that went something like, “Someday, he’ll be able to play on his own for five minutes – maybe more! – and I’ll be able to finish reading the paper/going to the bathroom/making dinner/brushing my teeth/etc.”

Friends, that day has finally arrived (though we don’t have too many of them, just a day here and there, I consider it progress):

Said progress toward “playing alone time” also includes significant mess-making. Here, it appears that he wanted to know what was on the bottom inside of the box.

Also! Do you know what just happened? We got our Tony back! For the first time in months, we lingered in our pajamas and ate breakfast as a family. Also, Tony was bedeviled by Charles’ curiosity about his guitar:

And then the neighbor kids all played light sabers (which made me think about how, if we have another boy, it will be all swords and trucks and guns and chasing and EXHAUSTION all the time*):

*Which is probably okay, considering the high quality of little boy kisses I get, and the amusing moments like when he sees a fire truck and screams “FIIIIIIIRE TRUUUUCK!” from the backseat, which sets him off on a yelling-out-every-truck/boat/tractor-I-see tangent until we get to our destination. God forbid his enthusiasm for life is every quashed.

Water Baby

2011-04-20T19:38:00.001-07:00

Splish! Splash! Every Wednesday, Charles and I have been attending a waterbabies swim class at the local gym. It has been quite the workout for both of us, and a fantastic way to burn an hour or so in the evening. I put dinner in the oven on time-bake and when we return, exhausted from our swimming efforts, dinner awaits.

This time, Tony got to go (perks of the end of tax season numbers one and two: Tony gets to be more involved in family fun, and I get a much-needed break from throwing a squealing, swimming toddler in the air this week. Though I think I will get in the pool next time – it is quite warm and humid sitting on the sidelines, I was beet red and uncomfortable) and enjoy the swim class.

Charles has the greatest time. He went from shy and reserved the first class to laughing with delight, splashing, jumping in from the side of the pool, kicking, and swimming on his own with a noodle within a few weeks.

Charles is a lot like I am in new situations: he wants to know what’s going on and what’s going to happen before he participates fully. It’s not that he doesn’t like surprises or group activities, it’s just that he feels shy if he hasn’t done something before. And that’s okay.

He’s already excited about going back next week.

Tulip Time

2011-04-19T20:18:00.001-07:00

Every year, the Skagit Valley holds a Tulip Festival, and I’m pretty sure that MILLIONS of photos are taken of flowers here in the month of April. I chose to capture Charles and the flowers for a change of pace:

The festival is really just a bunch of art galleries, wine/cider tastings, events, and store openings after a long winter coinciding with the blooming of over 900 acres of tulips throughout the month of April. There is a street fair (mostly high-priced crafts), several hundred thousand tourists over the course of a month, and a lot of mud. You don’t so much tiptoe through the tulips as wade around the troughs of mud. But it is gorgeous nonetheless.

Charles and I got to visit a local grower as a part of his preschool’s field trip. He only tried to run away from the group a few times, so I consider that a win. I must say, childcare workers have my respect and admiration.

Here’s a flower-photo-taking tip: to get your toddler to look like he’s smelling the flowers, ask him to give the flower a kiss.

“Fast running, mommy!”

I’ve got my helmet on, nothing can do me wrong…

2011-04-11T16:01:00.001-07:00

For all the anguish, tears, and setbacks of last weekend, this weekend sure went well. Charles hasn’t had a potty accident in a week, his tantrums have been manageable, and he’s completely enamored with his new bicycle (potty training reward), which has kept him worn out enough to nap. It rained a bit yesterday morning, so he started out riding in the kitchen:

Later, we rode outside on a trail, but it was cold, so I moved the car out of the garage and he rode in there for what seemed like hours. He is undoubtedly sore today. He fell asleep with his helmet on (he wouldn’t take it off for Church, either) and later rode some more up and down the sidewalk and in the garage and around the kitchen. What a kid.

Chatterbox

2011-04-06T12:22:00.001-07:00

I don’t spend as much time thinking about this new baby as I did thinking about Charles before he was born. I suppose that’s normal, as there is a lot more on my plate now, what with running a business and raising a child and caring for an ailing dog… daydreaming about the child in my womb is pretty far down the list of “things to think about,” like, maybe right after “do dishes and laundry and figure out something for dinner.”

I have everything I need for a new baby, though I should probably adjust that assessment after I sort and wash all of Charles’ newborn and 0-3 month clothing that I just can’t bring myself to take out of the garage because, helloooo, 10-14 more weeks to go over here! I have a short list at Target and Amazon (the Amazon Mom thing is so cool, but I still feel sort of lost with the obscene variety of ill-organized products one can browse at Amazon) that is slowly being purchased. I take my vitamins. I have a “birth plan” (get to hospital in time for the birth). Leland will watch Charles while I deliver. We’re set.

But one thing this pregnancy has thrown into sharp relief is how big Charles is. He is such a big boy. I find myself, instead of daydreaming about the new one, looking longingly at Charles’ baby photos when I pass them in the house, or thinking about how he was once small enough to fit into all those onesies I have to wash again. I pine to hold him in my arms again, the soft baby whose breath was so sweet (now he has full-on, grown up morning breath, phee-ew!).

One of the biggest growth areas in the past six months for Charles has been language. And I don’t take video of him speaking as often as I should, and I’m afraid I’ve already forgotten the adorable ways in which he would pronounce words, so here is a short list of my favorites to remind myself:

Eeen! = train

Buboose = Buster (still says this one)

Ni-Ni = pancakes

Beeoo = fork

Mi-mi = ice cream

Didoo = yogurt

Dah-Dah = chocolate

Peese = police (one of his first words, much to my embarrassment – for a bit I worried that other people would think we had lots of run-ins with the Police that that was one of his first words)

Eeean = Leland

Onion = Leland (more recently)

Minimals = animals

Dewey = smoothie

Eeeos = orange

Poot = soup/soap

Oh, there are so many more, but these are the, hmm, most bizarre? I mean, probably every toddler says “simming” before “swimming,” but “Onion” for Leland is pretty great. He’s already starting to replace his first words/pronunciations with the correct ones, and I can’t help but feel that I am losing my baby. And what if this new baby just isn’t as fun?

It’s fear of the unknown, more than anything. Yes, I’ll love my new baby, even if he or she has Down Syndrome and we have to change our entire lives around. Yes, this new child will be a joy. But if only I could birth another Charles, I would be the happiest parent in the world. I think when I was pregnant with Charles I worried a lot about how I would do as a mother, how I would handle getting my child to sleep through the night, keeping him safe, making sound parenting decisions. Now that I have my happy, lively boy, I worry that I’ll have a sullen, boring child for the next one. They are out there, those joyless children, those kids who don’t laugh much, who are too quiet, who are precocious and annoying. I know some of them personally. And while I’m sure their parents love them, do they like them very much? I truly like Charles and I hope I will like the next one, too.

Oh, someone tell me I’m not the only one who thinks like this.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

2011-04-05T10:24:00.001-07:00

I don’t know what it’s like to raise a child who consistently sleeps through the night. Once we entered potty training, Charles started waking himself up to pee once a night. Now, he wakes up to come into our room in the middle of the night, waking later to pee. I don’t know how well Tony sleeps with a toddler snuggled in his arms; maybe he is just so exhausted from working long, hard hours that he doesn’t notice. But Charles does not snuggle with me… instead, he prefers to sleep on my face, or put his feet into my back, or scootch into me until I practically fall off of the bed. Needless to say, I am getting pretty tired of this.

Some babies are born who sleep through the night easily from day one (or almost sleep through the night, as my friend’s 7-week-old now only gets up once per night to feed – I can’t even imagine how heavenly that would have been). Charles never did this, and we continue to have our ups and downs with sleeping. I imagine that there are people out there who think that we, as parents, are doing something wrong, and at times I have struggled with this thought myself, but that simply isn’t the case. We aren’t teaching Charles to get up multiple times per night. He just does. And so we guide him back to bed after letting him get in with us for a bit (because I don’t know why he wandered into our room, and if it’s for comfort, I want to give him some before sending him back to his bed). Or, if it’s late enough in the morning, we let him fall back asleep with us, where he will usually remain until well past 7 am:

I was so proud and excited for a couple of weeks that once Charles decided to potty train, he just did it, with no accidents and no fuss and no problems. And then, this weekend, he regressed a bit. We went to McDonalds (there is a playplace where he can wear himself out because, let’s face it, I’m not up to chasing him around in the backyard, and it was raining, so please don’t judge me for feeding my child crap) and he went to the playplace while I stood in line. He had gone potty before we left and as soon as we got there I asked him if he needed to go. “No potty, mommy!” As soon as I got our food, he came up to me, absolutely soaked. The poor kid. I took our food to go and broke down into tears as soon as we got to the car. Because he didn’t get to play at McDonalds and he loves it there, and because he didn’t take a nap because he wasn’t worn out, and because I had just spent good money on food I don’t really like because of the benefit of the playplace which we would not get, and because I didn’t really know what to do with him for the next couple hours or really even the rest of the day because my plan had included lunch, wearing out at the playplace, and nap in the carseat before we made it home, thus leaving me time to clean my filthy house and prepare dinner.

The next day we went to Jungle Playland, armed with two changes of clothes, and it was a disaster of a different kind (the potty thing worked out okay, though we did go through one extra pair of pants). Charles is small and loves running around there, but I lose track of him and I don’t fit. I can’t go up into the play structures and find him to make sure he’s okay. Turns out he got stuck at the top of a very fast, very dark, very long slide for, like, 20 minutes on Sunday. Finally, some older child helped him down. But still, I can’t go there anymore alone.

The potty training thing has to do with him ignoring his bladder until the last possible second. Then he rushes to the potty and goes a little bit in his pants, the rest in the potty. The pants, though, are wet enough to need to be changed. Which then puts him into a frenzy because he would rather play, he doesn’t care about being wet.

Overall, though, he is doing super well. I think I have to be more vigilant about taking him every hour or so until he gets the hang of it even better. He has mastered pooping in the potty because he likes to look at his “big poops, mommy! Two big poops!” So at least there aren’t any smelly pants to change.

In all, I am still very proud of him and I recognize that this is a process more than a feat to be accomplished in one attempt. Overall, though, it leads to frustration for me because I am going it alone and I find myself more limited with every day. I want to enjoy my son, not resent that he won’t do things exactly as I want him to, that he’s not perfect every second.

Except that he is perfect.

He told me this morning that he wants a baby sister.

Buboose a Owie, Too*

2011-04-01T20:13:00.001-07:00

Poor Buster Bear. Through some act of rambunctiousness, he has pulled a tendon and a small piece of bone off of his left shoulder. He is in pain and has been limping for weeks.

A couple of weeks ago, we had his teeth cleaned. While he was under sedation, the vet took x-rays of the affected shoulder and sent them to a veterinary radiologist and then a veterinary surgeon to have a look. The verdict: Not Good.

We’re going the conservative route first, which is to keep Buster on a lead in the yard, in his kennel, or in the house at all times. Essentially, he is to have as little activity as possible. He is on a reduction diet to try to drop about 10 lbs. In 4 to 6 weeks, we’ll see how he’s doing.

If he limbers up and the limp goes away, then we can gradually increase his activity level while monitoring his shoulder until he is back to normal. However, the fear is that the joint (and the broken piece of bone with now-detached tendon) with begin to calcify as opposed to heal, impairing his movement even further.

That brings us to the big money resolution, which is surgery. He’ll have to have an MRI beforehand and then a long period of recovery afterward, on a lead in the yard, in the kennel, or in the house at all times. It could be a very tough summer for Mr. Buster Bear Cook.

My hope is that he will be able to run with me again by next summer, one way or the other. Until then, I’m giving him all the love I can, sedately.

My poor Pooh Bear. He’s like one of my children, and I so wish I could make it better.

*”Buboose” is how Charles says “Buster.” And lately, Charles adds “too” onto the end of every declarative sentence.

This is Something, This is Nothing, This is Something, This is Nothing.

2011-03-30T12:08:00.001-07:00

Behold, in a rare glimpse into my uterus, my breech baby:

Sucking his or her thumb, maybe?

Baby face…

We had another ultrasound this morning because the baby has a spot on his/her heart. This spot is a small calcification that could be nothing at all, but also could be correlated to Down Syndrome. Considering that my quad screen was normal and that I don’t have other risk factors, the likelihood that I would have a Down Syndrome baby is low. However, stranger things have happened.

The radiologist still has to look at the images this week to see if it’s anything further than just a spot (like an actual threat to heart function – though that seems unlikely as it was beating at 144 bpm during the ultrasound and the baby was lively), and then my doctor will discuss the results. He has already offered that I could have an amniocentesis if I am worried, but I really don’t like needles. And I know someone who miscarried after an amniocentesis, so I’d rather not go there; losing a baby at nearly 28 weeks is not part of my plan.

So. Now we wait, hope and pray for a healthy baby in 3 months, and move on.

Planes, Trains, and Animals

2011-03-29T15:01:00.001-07:00

We did it! Charles and I survived our first airplane ride together (and second, and third) this past weekend when we visited my dear friend Liz in Phoenix.

Here’s the thing about traveling with a toddler (especially if you’re pregnant and want to not only get to sleep earlyish but also must avoid alcohol – combining those restrictions, of course, makes getting a babysitter and going to a wine bar difficult to justify): the trip is all about him. You can’t go somewhere far, far away and think that you’re going to schedule relaxing time to catch up with one of your best friends. The best you can hope for is some quality catching up while you herd the toddler to various toddler-friendly activities.

Fortunately, Liz, while she does not have children of her own, is a friend to kids and seemed to understand this from the get-go. She accommodated my requests to get takeout as opposed to sitting in restaurants, she plied Charles with toys and sweets as soon as we walked in the door, and she had fantastic toddler-friendly activities planned for us. In return, Charles only broke one glass and only dropped about 60 goldfish crackers in her previously immaculate car.

The flights to Phoenix were a dream – I’m sure the people on the flight thought I was some sort of supermom. That is, of course, if they didn’t see us struggling before the flight. Sure, we killed a lot of time in SeaTac’s atrium watching planes land and take off,

but once we arrived at the gate, all our gear in tow, Charles did not want to stand in line and he was overtired, so he began throwing tantrums. God bless all the wonderful people who said things like, “What is he, about two? I have a three-year-old at home, I know exactly what you’re going through.” Unfortunately, Southwest does family boarding after the A boarding, so we had people in front of and behind us. Thankfully, some of them helped us on (for the return trip, I asked for preboarding and got it not because of having a toddler and all the stuff that goes along with him, but because I am pregnant. Because pregnancy counts as a disability while kids, disabling though they may be, do not). Charles thought that takeoff was scary (the first thing I have ever found that frightens him!) and had me hold his hand, but then he promptly fell asleep. He woke up when we landed in Salt Lake City, had his first peeing-in-an-airplane-bathroom experience (he loves flushing toilets, so flushing that one with the noise and the blue stuff was awesome for him), and got settled for the last leg, during which we sang songs, ate junk, and read books. He was quite the delight.

Our first day in Phoenix, Liz took us to the zoo. It was a nice 75 degrees and super dry and we enjoyed every minute of it.

The zoo is thirsty work.

“Pet GOATS, mommy!”

The next day, we went to the train park. I don’t know what you picture when you read “train park” but believe me, it is cooler than your wildest imagination. Here is the website. Charles never wanted to leave, and in fact coerced us into going again the next day. So yeah, aside from the time spent at meals and watching movies and hanging out, we were mostly at the train park for the rest of the weekend.

He’s a climber.

First ride in the train and we’re not sure what to expect.

The Carousel, aka, “Horses, Mommy, Horses!”

The photo that made me realize that, whoa, I am getting really big.

The little train.

We also took an afternoon trip to Sedona, because mommy wanted to see things like this:

Charles was not so interested in the red rocks, so after some mandatory photos, we took him to a park.

We returned from Phoenix with similar airport troubles as in SeaTac, and Charles was awake the entire flight, but life was made so much easier by this contraption. I wouldn’t consider flying without it – keeping him in the carseat during the flight made everything so much easier, and if he wasn’t being towed through the airport, he wanted to do the towing. Everyone needs a task, you know. I also will not consider flying by myself with Charles and the next baby. Our next family trip will have to include Tony, there is just no other way.

All in all, it was a wonderfully relaxing time, and Liz and I did get to catch up in between chasing after Charles. I tend to think that anyone who is around Charles for extended periods of time probably comes to think of him as good birth control, but I was very proud of him. He wasn’t too cranky and he’s always been very adaptable to different situations.

Oh! And do you see that last photo? It is the last time you will see that diaper bag until the new baby comes along – I realized yesterday that being diaper free means we are also diaper bag free! Hallelujah!

Last Week’s Belly

2011-03-21T15:25:00.001-07:00

Bam! Who wants to have a belly fight?