Here's a Keeping it Real moment. I keep a journal for my son to read one day (who am I kidding? I'll be happy if his wife even reads it.)
2 years, 10 months, 9 days 9-16-12 My
son. Some moments you make me beam with pride, astounded at how much your
little sponge brain absorbs. Some moments you make me absolutely crazy, not
seeming to listen to a single thing I say. Yesterday was the typical mix of the
two. Some phrases you would’ve heard me say were, “Don’t stand on the couch!”,
“Why is there pee on your shirt?”, “Don’t touch your penis and then go touch
your sister.”, “Get your foot out of your cup!”, “Why is there blue crayon on
your teeth?” You get the idea. I do NOT understand most of your little boy
antics but I have to remind myself that they are a result of your mind figuring
out this complex world of weird smells, textures, emotions, etc. You’re doing
great, big boy, even if it seems I’m always lecturing you. Last night was one
of those wonderful never-want-to-forget memories that I had to include in your
journal. One of those fleeting, please, God, don’t let me forget a thing about
this moment. We were in your sister’s nursery around 8 pm. The room was dim,
lit by one lamp. I was attempting to nurse your sister.
As you will realize, I
nursed you without a single problem for your first full year. You had not a sip
of formula. I will do this for your sister too. During my pregnancy, my
determination to repeat this was clouded with doubt. How could I possibly have
another child with no “latch” issues, the same enthusiasm for nursing, etc? I
just didn’t think it was possible to have two years worth of easy, painless,
blissful nursing experiences. Lightening surely wouldn’t strike twice. However,
she was born and we have had, virtually, no problems. One “issue” we’ve had
that I cannot solve though is your sister’s CONSTANT motion. Even while
nursing, I feel like I’m wrestling a cat on speed. I feel like I’m chasing her
around with my boob like a crazy person. Usually she’s oblivious and gets her
nourishment regardless of the fact that, when finished, I’m sweating, my
ponytail is sideways, shirt is backwards, and left eye has developed a twitch.
It seems to bother only me.
Well, last night, something was bothering
her. I was, as usual, chasing her around but she was screaming. She would latch
on, suck for 3 seconds, let go, scream, and then root around to latch on again.
Rinse and repeat for 30 minutes. I had tried the “low stimulation environment”
(aforementioned dim nursery) despite wanting to watch my football. I had even
tried unbuttoning her gown and placing her skin-to-skin. I had tried Mylicon and
burping her about a million times. Nothing. was. working. You walked in and caught
me crying along with your sister. I so rarely get frustrated breastfeeding as I
have the confidence of your year under my belt. Perhaps, though, it was the
fact that, when I woke with her 4 am feeding that morning, your Daddy and I
chatted easily until you woke up. Those are some of my favorite moments of the
day and “just us” moments that we so rarely get. However, now we were both
going on about 5 hours of interrupted sleep. Not a good combination. Anyway,
you looked at me with a shocked expression. I so rarely cry and you didn’t know
what to think about this change in roles. You patted me on the back and asked
what was wrong. I told you, “I’m just frustrated because your sister doesn’t
feel good and I can’t fix it. It makes me sad when I can’t make you guys
feel good.” You nodded your head, so wise beyond your two and five-sixth
years. About that time, your Daddy brought in 3 ounces of my previously pumped
liquid gold. “This will give you both a break. We have plenty,” your Daddy
said. I took it, put it in your sister’s mouth, and she began greedily sucking
it down. You asked to help and held her bottle for about ten seconds. “Here,
Mommy, you can feed her. It is frustrating feeding her.” (Though she was
doing nothing but eating at this point.) You started rocking on her rocking
horse (yeah, the one that’s actually yours but you don’t have space in your
room for it.) You looked over, rocking gently, and said, “You’re strong, Momma.
I know you can do it.” I couldn’t do anything but laugh (and ask you if
you were going to be a motivational speaker when you grew up.) You wanted to
know, “What’s so funny?” I took a deep breath, looked at my two healthy kids,
and smiled. Perhaps I would, in fact, survive another day of raising an infant
and toddler. Thank you, my boy. Now, go get your helmet out of the toilet.
So, Baby Girl is 7 weeks old and I'm back to my pre-pregnancy weight. A little running and a LOT of breastfeeding. 20 calories/ounce! Holla! Anyway, that's good and all, right? Well, I've got a problem. Something has happened to my body. I fit in exactly one pair of jeans from pre-pregnancy. Any other moms out there with this problem? I'm trying to lose just a few more pounds (to be below pre-pregnancy weight) in hopes of squeezing into my skinny jeans but I'm starting to think it's futile. I'm refusing to wear maternity jeans so my one pair is wearing out fast. I'm up for ANY advice, even if it's just to inform me that it will take a while longer. Just tell me that I won't have these "child bearing hips" the rest of my life. If that's your advice, than I advise you to zip it. I'm still hormonal, after all.
1. The temperature has dropped a bit, football has begun (Thank you, Lord!), and leaves are slowly starting to change. To me that means one thing---it's time for candy corn.
2. Ev remains a work in progress with potty training. He has about 1 accident every other day but hasn't pooped his pants in many, many months. He won't even poop in his diaper if he's wearing one after nap/when he wakes in morning. The other day, I picked him up from preschool and his "dirty Ziploc" was filled with the clothes I sent him in. On the bag were just a couple simple, disgusting words: "Undies had to be thrown away." Bless them. Whatever it is, I feel certain these teachers don't make enough.
3. I was recently given a Baby Bjorn from a friend. I never wanted one when I just had one child but now that I have two kiddos, I wish I had a few more arms. With the BB, at least I have two to work with. That'll have to do. Who says "Sister Wives" is so bad?!
4. Is it just me or is there a baby boom right now? Where I work, there were 11 of us pregnant at one time. In my cul-de-sac, there will be 6 babies born in 8 months, 4 within one month (and that's only between 7 houses). We are a fertile bunch, I tell ya.
5. I have been okay sleep-wise up until this point even though baby girl wakes at least once every night to nurse. However, my doc just went way down on my Synthroid dose since I don't need as much as I did when I was pregnant. Thyroid hormone is responsible for metabolism, energy levels, etc. I have a feeling I'm about to hit a wall.
6. My mother-in-law rocks. Like, seriously, rocks. That might be another blog post in itself.
7. The other day, C was crying on our bed. Ev climbed right up there, started rubbing her head, and said, "Don't cry. I'm Everett, your big brother. We're best friends. There's nothing to be afraid of...Daddy killed all the monsters." As it turns out, Homet Man is a hero to more than just this exhausted Momma.
8. The other day, I sent Hom to the grocery with a list. Among other things, it said:
--Cantaloupe/Strawberries/Pineapple/Blueberries/Apples (To me, this indicated that he should get grapes and bananas, then chose one or two of the others.) He got every single item in the "/" line. So what do you do when your husband hands you lemons, or in this case, 7 different fruits? You make Fruit Face for your 2 year old. I felt like such a kindergarten teacher.
9. Baby Girl spit up three days in a row right into my belly button...and I had a shirt on. I didn't know whether to be grossed out or down right proud of her aim.
10. My Mom is a quilter. Like could-quilt-24/7-with-only-a-Diet-Coke-break-and-no-sleep quiler. She has a church quilting group every Monday, takes what seems like at least a class/week at her local Bernina, and actually goes to quilting retreats. That's right. Quilting retreats. Who knew they had those?!?! And I promised her I wouldn't talk about her latest sewing machine purchase but lets just say you could buy a small car for the price (and it's her fifth machine.) I told Homet the other day that I guess there are worse things she could be addicted to and he stated, "Yeah, like crack." Alrighty then.