The "Good Days"

I have this terrible compulsion to read every single parenthood/motherhood/toddler town article on Facebook.  Articles about how fast the little kid years go by.  About how tough it is now but someday, those articles promise that I will look back at this time and miss it.  I will miss the little messes.

The messes that are easy, although maddening when done 50 times per day, to clean up.  The tiny, high-pitched voices that echo through the halls screaming, "MOMMY!?!"  Gallons of bathwater on the floor.

Tiny sticky hands constantly reaching for me.  Countless nights of mombie-ing through the house tending to baby people that are scared/sick/lonely/hungry/just plain not tired.  Crates overflowing with teeny tiny shoes.

Finding half eaten chicken nuggets/breakfast sausages/pieces of gum strategically placed behind chairs so I don't find them until days later.  Never getting to eat a full, warm meal or drink an entire coffee while it is still hot because there is always 1-5 other needs that require attention.  Sippy cups strewn throughout the house that you hope to God are not days old with curdled milk.

I certainly cannot contest the fact that time really is flying by at the speed of light.  I don't know how my first baby is almost 5 and my littlest baby is almost closer to 2 than 1.  I don't know how the hell I got to be closer to 40 than 30 but I am.  Time is sneaky like that.  Just keeps going on and on regardless of what you are doing.  

But I find it impossible that I will be upset by being needed just a smidgen less every moment of the day and night.  I truly find it hard to imagine how having just a few more moments of time to myself would be so bad.  But they all say its true, I will soooo miss these "good days."  

So I am trying.  Really trying to see these days as beautiful messes and maybe even live in the beautiful mess for just a bit before quickly sweeping, collecting, wiping and mopping it up.  Maybe even capture the beautiful messes with my camera and keep these moments forever.  Or better yet, share more of them here on the blog.  I mean, you would love to see a days old chicken nugget perfectly hidden behind an ottoman, right?

Moms

There is no "holiday" that tears me up more than Mother's Day.  I can barely read the cards at the store before my vision becomes fuzzy and blurry with tears.  I just can't hold it together.  It all started during my pregnancy with Sully.  I thought it was just pregnancy hormones that had me fast walking out of Target wiping my eyes only to get to my car and ugly cry after reading 5 Mother's Day cards.  But every Mother's Day since then, the same thing has happened.  I used to think it was funny to get my parents super mushy cards on Mother's Day and Father's Day as to leave them all choked up and red-eyed.  Now I try to get nice, simple, to-the-point cards.  Because, frankly, I just can't get through them without being in a puddle of my own tears.

Take the "card" I got from Sully this year.  Card is put in quotes because it was 2 pieces of lined paper that Clayton wrote Sully's responses to questions on.  It read:
Dear Mommy,
My favorite part of you is your foots.
(illegible scribble)
I also love your eyeballs.
I love that your are fun.  Here is a truck:
(illegible scribble)
I liked when your teached me about lightning.
(illegible scribble)
And taked me to the zoo.
(illegible scribble)
I love you.
Happy Mother's Day.
Love,
(illegible scribble)

I could have broke out into an ugly cry after that but held it together as to not alarm the poor child.  I don't know, something must be wrong with me...

Or maybe I am just incredibly honored to be a mother.

To join an elite group of women that have helped shape, nurture, care and love me.

Four generations: Caroline, Denise, Tara and Sydney

I could not be more blessed to have such fantastic role models.  Add to them my aunts, sisters-in-law, mother-in-law and my amazing group of friends, and I have to be the luckiest woman on Earth to be surrounded by so much love.

Motherhood has humbled me, frustrated me, given me joy, cut down my confidence then built it back up, exhausted me, given me meaning, made me question all kinds of things about myself, given me more patience than I ever thought I was capable of having, made me laugh, broken me to pieces and then built me up stronger than I have ever been.  It is tough.  Everyday.  But that's OK.  It is not supposed to be easy to love so deeply and unconditionally.  To love tiny tyrants like these:

To allow them to walk around with your whole heart.  Because surely they will bruise it, drop it on the floor a million times, get it all sticky, bury it in the sandbox, cough directly on it, drool all over it and them trip on it.  Your heart takes a beating.  But in the end, it is stronger, bigger and more full than it was before.  Than it ever could have been without that beating.

Thank you to all the mothers, grandmothers and those women who love like mothers.  Thanks for taking a beating.  Thanks for hanging in there when it was really hard.  You are doing an amazing job.  

The right now

I don't know why it is so hard for a person like me to live in the right now.  I have always had so many plans and dreams for myself, realistic or not, that I have been in a constant state of anticipation for the next step in my life.  Always working on advancing my career, the next DIY craft project or making and growing a baby;)  Not that this is always a bad thing, it can propel me forward toward my goals and keep me motivated.  However, living this way has caused me to stop enjoying the present because I was always reaching for the future.

This maternity leave has been just what I needed.  Not only do I have the most perfect little girl to get to know as well as spend more time teaching and watching my son grow and learn, I really, for the first time in forever, feel like I am living in the present.  Really feeling it....and enjoying it.

I am finding myself enjoying the activities of daily life that had seemed so monotonous and trivial to me just weeks ago.  Drinking a good cup of coffee, bath time and bedtime routines, making dinner.  I really can't explain or pin point what caused the shift in me.  Maybe I was waiting and longing for my daughter to join our family and now that she is here, I feel more complete.  Maybe it is the endless hours of nursing her that forces me to slow down.  Maybe it is this break from my job that I so desperately needed.  I don't know.

What I do know is that is feels good to live this way.  To feel everyday instead of rushing, rushing, rushing.  It's not that I don't have goals and dreams for the future anymore, I just don't feel in such a hurry to get there.

What am I enjoying today?  Easter basket shopping:)

 Yes, he has more stuff.  But he is older:)

Done except for a few hair pieces for Sydney that I ordered off of Etsy.

I seriously had so much fun buying Easter basket goodies.  And I realized that one day, my kids will be grown and I won't get to do things like buy Easter basket goodies.  They won't need me to bathe them or make them dinner or read them stories.  They won't wake me up at night or require my attention every second of the day.

Of course, this realization does not make being a mother any easier.  It is hard as hell to be a mom (or a dad).   There are moments that are absolutely maddening or gross (I don't know if my bathroom floor will ever be clean again) or exhausting.  But they are upstaged by the moments that melt your heart and fill you up with joy.

For the first time in a long time, I can say I don't know for sure what my future holds for my career or my family (Are we done having kids or not???).  I am just going to take it day by day and keep trying to live and enjoy the present the best I can.

Well??????

Are you wondering how in the world things are going here with two littles??  To be completely honest with you, I was terrified of bringing baby #2 home.  My experience the first time was really difficult.  I was beyond emotional, in a lot of pain with a c-section incision infection and Sully was refusing to nurse making me stress out a lot about breast feeding.  I felt like I was so busy.  I don't think I ate the first week I was home and I honestly did not have an appetite anyway.  Between the brand new sleep deprivation which I was not used to and the bottle feeding and then pumping, I felt like my life had spiraled out of control and I would never catch up.  I would never have a string of moments to myself.  I was completely overwhelmed and wondering if I made the right decision in the first place to have a baby.  I felt totally inadequate to take care of this person and that this poor person deserved a mother who was competent to take care of him and not be crying hysterically multiple times per day over absolutely nothing.  I felt like I was drowning in this new life and I didn't like it at all.  

Obviously, as the weeks went on, I did gain confidence with experience and my hormones evened out.  We developed a routine and life evolved.  However, I was still nervous that I was going to feel like this after bringing home this baby and then have a 3 year old to take care of on top of that.  

Luckily, this experience has been a complete 180 from the first time.  

I had very minimal pain from the c-section.  There has been almost no random crying jags for no reason.  Breast feeding is going amazingly well, she is a star nurser.

She is a pretty easy baby.  There is still some sleep deprivation, but it is not so devastating like it was the first time.  Adding another little is not such a lifestyle change like it was the first time.

Big brother has shown no jealousy and is completely smitten with the new lady of the house.  He is eager to help with feeding, burping, bathing, changing and entertaining her.  

So we are doing pretty great here:)  I am soaking up this wonderful, but fleeting, time.  In fact, it is going so well, makes me want to do it again sometime...maybe.

Toddler Town 1, Mama 0

Oh Toddler Town has done it again.  Brought me to my knees.  How can one tiny little human make an adult feel so inadequate?  Parenting in Toddler Town is tough most days.

Now, I know that some people out there would give anything to be in my shoes, living in Toddler Town and expecting another bundle on the way.  I know, I have been there.  Which is why I continue to have an internal struggle between posting whiny parenting posts or only posting the positive parenting posts.  But even though I am so grateful for my blessings and sensitive to others who dream of the same fate for themselves, I try to remember that that does not make parenting any easier some days.  It is not all daisys and butterflies everyday.  Parenting a child is tough...and parenting a toddler it tougher.  And today was tough.  So this is a whiny parenting post, you were warned.

Exactly what set off the most recent round of toddler meltdowns is insignificant.  What is significant is the fact that my toddler is contrary to the nth degree.  He is so contrary that even when I get him what he just asked for 3 seconds prior, he suddenly does not want it and is utterly offended by my offering.  So contrary that he screams "NO" in my face two seconds after I tell him that it is not ok to scream in your mother's face while in the grocery store, just to see what I will do about it.

My toddler does not just observe life, he does not just live life, he feels life.  His emotions are so strong, sometimes I wonder if he is the pregnant one with out of control hormones.  He feels all his emotions to the nth degree.  Whether it is joy, anger, fear, happiness, sadness, love...they are all equal and all consuming.  Every cell in his body feels his emotions.  Sometimes I can't help but feel a bit bad for him.  Because he gets that from me.  Come to think of it, he gets most of his undesirable qualities from me, lucky him.  I know what he is in for.  It took years for me to calm my feelings enough so that they did not consume me and eat me from the inside out.  But it can be done.

And of course, like any toddler, he is trying to do everything "by myself" and exert his independence. He is testing his boundries...and pushing my buttons daily.

And sometimes, Mama just snaps.  And when Mama snaps, it is not pretty.  There may or may not be foot stomping and yelling and forced time outs.  There may or may not be banging of dishwasher trays and doors.  There may or may not be cabinet slamming while putting dishes away.  The dog may or may not be scared to leave her kennel.

But boy is it effective.  Some one was an angel the rest of the night.  Don't worry, we made up with me saying, "I love you" and him saying, "Lets be happy.  I am happy now."  And M&Ms.  M&Ms always help.

But we are ok.  We survived another day.  And we will continue to do so.

Bravery

“Bran thought about it. 'Can a man still be brave if 

he's afraid?'

'That is the only time a man can be brave,' his father 

told him.” 

― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

I have recently seen my hubs teaching my son about "bravery."  Although you may not think picking up a bug, trying a new food or allowing your Mama to leave the room without you, trusting her to return to you, fits your definition of bravery, it certainly does in our house.  

But conversely, my toddler is teaching me some lessons on "bravery."  

This little man recently went on his first field trip, it was to the "farm."  I had talked it up all week.  Talked about how he would go to the farm and how fun it would be and about all the cool animals he would see.  When that Friday rolled around, he woke up that morning and said, "I go to the farm today."  I said, "yes, yes Sully.  You will go to the farm today."  But as I drove to him to school/daycare, he started to melt.  He started crying when I stopped in front of the familiar building saying, "No, I want to go to the farm!"  And no matter how many times I assured him that he would go to the farm that day, he didn't believe me.  Even  when Miss Deb told him that they had to wait for the bus to pick them up later to go to the farm, he looked dubious.  As if we suddenly changed our minds and scratched the whole trip.

I could hardly stand to envision him sitting, so little and sweet, on a big yellow bus.  Probably a big yellow bus identical to the ones that we see every morning, when discuss all the kids that must be on those buses.  I would imagine him sitting next to another little friend or a teacher, because I do not dare to imagine him sitting all alone.

I was told by his teacher (because I called as soon as I thought they would be back to ask about it) that he "had a really great time."  I was told that he played on the slides and swings and loved all the animals.  I was told that he "of course feel asleep on the bus ride home."  Which made me smile because he almost always falls asleep in the car.

Later, at home, the little Mister himself told me, "I feed the goats. Miss Kim hold the cup with food.  I feed the goats food."  And 2 weeks later, he still recalls this experience.

He took on this experience without batting an eye, without thinking twice about "what if."  He trusted that everything was going to be "ok" and "fun."  Like when he does trust falls off of the counter at home (and Thank God I always have been able to catch him).

Without his Mama or Daddy holding his hand.  What a champ.

And I let him go.  It is the first of countless field trips and adventures that he will take without me.  And I have to be alright with that.  It was great practice for me.  I did ok:)

We were both brave, and will continue to be brave.  Each in our own way.  Him pushing his way into this large world, seeking knowledge and experiences and trying to figure out just were he fits into it.  Me letting him do this, many times without me.

For now, I am going to enjoy when he comes home and tells me all about what he saw and what he did.  Because there will come a day when he won't tell me all about what he did and what he saw during his adventures.

And I will be ok with that.  But I will still be be there in case he does.

Epidemic

I am sick of it.  Seriously.  If only there were a vaccine against it.  Because just knowing it exists does not protect you from it.  It is such an epidemic and I just don't know what to do about it anymore.  It consumes me and exhausts me.

It is Mom Guilt (or Dad Guilt for you men).

You know, that voice that screams, "All good moms/dads stay at home with their babies", "Good moms/dads don't have to drop their kids off at daycare and watch as their kid cries and throws themself across the floor because they don't want you to go", "Good moms/dads cook a healthy, homemade dinner every night", "Good moms/dads don't watch any TV and play constantly with their children", "Good moms/dads never check their iPhone in front of their children", "Good moms/dads would make homemade Valentines and not cop out and buy them from Target"...and I could go on and on with working-mom Mom Guilt assaults.

Now, I know that I am a good mom.  I love my child with every fiber in my being and try to make the best choices for him.  I hug and kiss and tell him I love him constantly.  We laugh and chase and tickle often.  He is happy and thriving.  I can see that.  Why do I still have Mom Guilt????

Crazy thing is, despite the literal hours of my life I have spent berating myself for being a working mom, I am pretty sure I would be a lousy stay-at-home-mom.  I am positive I lack the patience, creativity and inspiration to be a great stay-at-home-mom.  And what is worse, I don't think that stay-at-home-moms are immune to Mom Guilt either.  So in the event that I could be a stay-at-home-mom, the damn Mom Guilt monkey would still be present!  Problem not solved. 

I have never had the opportunity, but I can imagine the stay-at-home Mom Guilt assaults, such as "Good moms/dads have a cleaner house", "Good moms/dads cook a healthy, homemade dinner every night", "Good moms/dads don't watch any TV and play constantly with their children", "Good moms/dads would always have the laundry done", "Good moms/dads never check their iPhone in front of their children", "Good moms/dads would make homemade Valentines and not cop out and buy them from Target", "Good moms/dads would volunteer their time more in their child's classroom", "Good moms/dads home school their child(ren)", "Good moms/dads can handle more than 1 or 2 children"... and on and on.

But here is what I am really afraid of, if I have more children, does the intensity of Mom Guilt double for 2 kids, triple for 3 kids, and so on?  God, I hope not.  I may be physically and mentally paralyzed.  Instead, my only hope is that it only adds like 10% extra guilt per child.  I think I could handle just a bit more before it breaks me in half.  That is the best case scenario.  I am sure I am greatly underestimating that, too.

What about you?  What do your Mom/Dad guilt assaults sound like?

Every little thing he does is magic...

Stolen from Pinterest.

I just can't get enough of this little Mister!

Judgements, Expectations and then Reality

Before I had a child, I was a fantastic judge of others parenting styles.  So quick I was to internally (and sometimes externally) shake my head (smh- you're welcome).  I was so sure I would do it differently, correctly.  I was silently, methodically cataloging all the errors I saw other parents making and righting them in my brain, sure that I would do it better.

When I would talk to my brother and he would excitedly tell me, "Yeah Jack was hungry today, he ate 3 hot dogs!"  I would respond, "Wow, he was hungry!"  But in my mind I was thinking, why are you feeding a 16 month old 3 hot dogs?!


And I could go on and on about all the other times I silently judged, taking mental notes for when it was my turn and I could do it perfectly.

I was positive that I would be able to magically will my child to never have a tantrum in public, to go to bed without a fuss, to sleep seemlessly throughout the night, to eat healthy foods, to play quietly by himself, to not go through separation anxiety, to keep my house clean despite having a child and two pets, to make time for myself and my friends, to not disappear from the little social life I had, to not be a slave to a schedule, to still go on vacations and not feel bad about being away from my child because it is healthy to have time alone with your hubs, to not constantly bombard people with pictures of my kid, to be able to talk to my husband when we are alone and not have the conversation centered around what our baby did that day...all these things I knew for sure. 

(So delusional, I know)

And then it was finally my turn. 



It was here.  It was my turn right now.  To do everything perfectly, just as I had planned.

And after a very short time, this little nugget grew into this little man...



A little man with his own agenda that does not always jive with his Mama's. 

He throws tantrums in stores, throws most of the food I offer him onto the floor, refuses to eat anything but the occasional hot dog or PB&J and Goldfish crackers, HATES all fruit, has a set nap/sleep schedule that I do not want to mess with, throws his little body on the floor and wails like some one is murdering him if I leave the room, I have passed up opportunities to go on vacation so I can stay close to him, my kitchen floor will be sticky for another 18 years, my house looks like a daycare, I post pics of him to fb and here almost daily and all my conversations with my hubs start and end with Sully.

I let him eat chips, I hover over him sometimes, I don't always mean no when I say no, I buy him too many toys, I let him go outside without a hat on.  If he wanted 3 hot dogs in one sitting, I would happily oblige.

Basically I look at him through rose colored glasses.

The old me would have seen lots of mistakes, mentally righted them and promised to never do those things.  The old me would continue to judge others parenting, seeing only their errors (or what I perceived as errors) rather than seeing all the sacrifice and love.

Thankfully, that is not me anymore.  I give all parents a break, including myself, now.

So lets all go eat some hot dogs.

Stay-at-home-mom Mondays

Mondays are my stay-at-home-mom days.  As the rest of the working world starts their work week, I get to pad around the house hang out with my little Mister (and catch up with whatever housework is left over from the weekend).  I get a little taste of what it would be like to be home with him everyday. 

Most Mondays are great.  We play and eat and nap and everything falls into place.  On those days, the housework may or may not get finished, we may or may not get the grocery shopping done if it was not done over the weekend, we may or may not have a cute photoshoot.  Whatever we do or don't do, it is ok and we just live and enjoy the day. 

However, some Mondays are incredibly difficult.  There may be endless whining, temper tantrums, he is unable to play independently, bored and he needs to be on my hip at all times.  It is on these days that I look forward to Tuesday when I can go to work.  I feel terrible about that but I am trying to cut myself some slack and not beat myself up about it.  Not all days are supposed to be easy and simple.  It makes the days that are easy and simple so much more enjoyable. 

I have learned much about myself and it is obvious I would not survive the full time stay-at-home-mom job.  This was made painfully clear to me during my maternity leave.  I don't have the creativity, patience or discipline for it.  I had a lot of anxiety about this in the beginning of my return to work.  Was there something wrong with me that I was ok with going back to work?  Was I a terrible mother because I did not cry after leaving him that first morning?  I truly struggled with these feelings of guilt of not feeling what I thought I should have been feeling. 

Luckily, time and experience have allowed these feelings to fade and I was able to gain confidence in my abilities as a mother.  I am now able to not feel so guilty about everything, but it did take awhile.

Whatever Monday we have, come Thursday, I am already anticipating my three day stretch of Sully 24/7.  I know I am incredibly lucky to have my one stay-at-home-mom day and I wouldn't change it for anything...except maybe 2 stay-at-home-mom days per week...maybe?

Honesty

There have been a few happenings in my life lately that have got me thinking back to when I was a brand new mom.  It was a time that was supposed to be so joyous, so glorious...but was really rough.  For all of you brand new moms, semi-brand new moms or soon-to-be moms, this post is for you. 

I really wished someone would have told me how difficult having a baby would be.  Oh, maybe they did but I just didn't believe them, didn't really listen or just didn't think I would have a difficult time.  I mean, I am a nurse practitioner, in my 30's and tried so hard to get pregnant at all, of course it was going to be easy and fantastic, right?

Not so much.  This is not going to be a post about postpartum depression, don't worry.  No, this is simply an honest post about my adjustment to motherhood.  I know there are those people out there who transitioned seemlessly into motherhood on a cloud of love and joy and ease and I really thought I would be one of them.  But I wasn't, here is how it went...

If you read Sully's birth story, you will see that things kind of dragged on and did not go as I had hoped.  Truly, I was hoping for a very natural birthing experience without drugs or a c-section but I ended up getting it all.  I really can't explain why that made me so disappointed or upset but it did...and I never really told anyone that, at least not right away.  For some reason, that nagged at me those first few months.

Next, the hormones were raging.  And I mean raging.  I knew this would happen, I mean I am a nurse for God sakes, of course I knew that.  But I really didn't know.  It first happened when I was still in the hospital and by it, I mean my first crying jag for no reason.  I was just sitting there, pumping, letting it all hang out and it just came upon me, like a tidal wave of emotion that I could not stop or explain.  I was not sad at all, but it was a sad sight to see (I am sure Clayton can attest to that).  It got more severe and much more often after we got home and the hormones tag-teamed with the lack of sleep to really get me good.  I simply had to look at my husband, whom I felt like I loved more than I ever had before, or my new baby, whom I felt deserved a much more stable mother, and I would completely break down.  And once the waterworks started, they just would not stop!  All day long!

On top of that, Sully would NOT breastfeed at all.  We had supplemented him in the hospital with a bottle as he was deemed a "lazy eater".  He would latch and start to suck only to have a complete meltdown 2 seconds later when there was no milk.  I never even wanted to breastfeed before I had him.  I was totally turned off by the notion but I found that after he was here, I really wanted to make it work.  In my hormone and lack of sleep induced haze I really tried to make the breastfeeding thing work for 3 long weeks.  I tried it all:  the nipple shield, dribbling formula or breastmilk over the shield, priming with the pump so he would not have to wait for the let down, absolutely withholding the bottle, giving the bottle first so he would not be so ravenous hungry, calling the lactation consultant but it just was not in the cards for us.  He just wasn't a breastfeeding baby.  I pumped religiously, every 3 hours, day and night, and still I could not make enough to feed him soley breastmilk, without supplementing with some formula.  At the 3 week mark, I gave up the dream and ALL of our lives got exponentially better.  Despite doing exactly what my baby wanted, I would constantly beat myself up about not being able to breastfeed with every bottle I gave him.  And every "So you are breastfeeding then?" comment stung terribly.

As luck would have it, I got an infection in my c-section incision a week after I had Sully which earned us a midnight trip to the ER with body aches and a temp of 102 F on a snowy cold December night with a crying newborn.  I had a CT scan with contrast so I had to pump and dump for 24 hours.  Ugh!  Then I was put on antibiotics for 10 days which, via breastmilk, gave Sully constant diarrhea and subsequent diaper rash (the only diaper rash he has ever had).

And so, it was rough.  I was pretty sure I was going to have to ship the kid to my mom so she could raise him for me.  But things turned around at the 6-7 week mark.  Sully started sleeping better and smiling, I started feeling more normal-physically and emotionally, I started sleeping when the baby slept and we sort of got into a routine.  I am not telling this to you for sympathy because I am very aware of just how blessed and fortunate I am to have a happy, healthy baby and supportive husband.  I am not telling you this to scare you.  It is just an honest account of my first weeks of motherhood and it might be comforting to know that you are not alone, you are not crazy, you are perfectly normal and you will be fine.