Monthly Musings: July 2015

• Recently, I had the bright idea to make the (literal) first time I took both of my kids anywhere by myself be to take them to visit my family in my home town. It only took listening to my newborn scream for 20 minutes while I drove down the highway unable to make it stop on the first day, and The Bud puking all over me for 6 hours straight in the middle of the night on the last day, to decide never to leave the house alone with them, again. #whatwasithinking

• Loneliness is holding your puking (and resisting) preschooler over the toilet by the scruff of the neck with one hand, while nursing your newborn in the other, at 3 am. #calgontakemeaway

• The tag on a prescription I recently got filled for Lady had her name on the box sticker, in quotation marks. What, do the pharmacists think, she's a tiny, squalling figment of our imaginations? #idontgetit #misplacedquotationmarks

• Motherhood: eating the discarded crusts of someone else's bread for breakfast and calling it 'toast' since the beginning of time. 😝

• Newborn motto: we cry more before 5 am than most people (except our parents) do all day. #beallthatyoucanbe

• Daddy's Jobs:
1. Wrestling with the big kid, upon request.
2. Eating said kid's leftover cereal every day. #wastenotwantnot #gladidonthavetodoit

• I took a trip to the mall with The Artist today. It was so exciting, it felt like a field trip. I was so tired when we got home that I fell asleep sitting in a chair, clutching my phone in my hand, upright. I'm obviously not getting out enough. #babysteps

• The Bud came to me in distress, asking where his Diplodycus was. I was stumped, since I don't make it a habit either to play with, or to lose, his toys. So I said I didn't know, to which he replied, "it's in the fire engine!" #naturalconsequences #ifyouknewallalongwhydidyouaskme

• I love, I mean simply LOVE, HGTV. #fixerupper #DIYordie😍😍

• I don't know about yours, but my newborn has now slept almost 5 hrs in a row between nightime feedings, on two, non-consecutive days. #prodigy #gettingexcited #itsthelittlethings

Welcome to My Circus

It probably surprises no one that it's been a while since I've posted: what, with the whole preemie newborn thing and all. If you've actually felt a hole in your life where my blog used to be (doubtful), I do sincerely apologize for dropping the ball. Things are happening, it just doesn't occur to me to tell anybody, since really, all I want to do is sleep and eat meals with both hands these days.

Anyway, I was talking to a friend who suggested I post a story I'd just told her on the blog, which, in light of my absence, seemed like a good idea. It's as good a time as any--The Artist is at work, The Bud at preschool, and Lady is napping peacefully for the moment, so lest I be guilty of further neglect, here you go!

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A week ago, I got my first opportunity for a night out, sans kids. It was for a surprise birthday party for my boss. His wife invited me, so it seemed prudent to go. Some of my favorite coworkers were going, I'm starting to fit into my non-maternity clothes again (does that rev anybody else up, or is it just me?) and honestly, I wanted the time away from my house. Be gone for a few hours, recharge my batteries with adult conversation and beverages, then home to the loves of my life. Best idea, ever, right?

Ugh, you guys, it was so hard! I was so tired that I yawned and rubbed my eyes constantly. That's when I wasn't frantically searching for our MIA waitress so I could order food because I'm hungry ALL the time, and hadn't eaten for approximately 35 minutes (the length of the car ride to the bar). I kept getting distracted from conversations by my letdown which made me question my decision not to bring my breast pump with me to the bar. So now my coworkers and assorted strangers think I'm a space cadet with secret leaky boobs, who can barely stay awake in a loud and crowded bar, after having only 1 beer. Yep. Nailed it. #hardpartier

When I finally found an opportune moment to politely escape excuse myself, I went home.

On first glance, it seemed The Artist hadn't fared much better his first time alone with both kids than I had, on my own. All the lights were blazing in empty rooms. The house was a wreck, with the remains of peanut butter on toast (preschooler "dinner") left scattered on the dining table.  It was 10 pm. The Bud was still up, watching YouTube on the iPad. In our bedroom, I found Daddy nodding off in exhaustion, while Lady snoozed through her evening bottle, draped on his chest. Her diaper was soaked.

I woke him up to help me put Humpty Dumpty together again, then we both flopped into bed for our 3-hour nap. That's all our newborn allows us right now.

Yeah, we'll probably be ready to try this again soon. Next year, maybe.

Confessions of a New-ish Mama

As promised, here's a post from my archives that mysteriously never got posted. In the interest of full disclosure, I have no recollection of writing it. Like, none. I did read it, though, and it sounds like something I'd say, so here you go. Good luck to us all. And I can't figure out how to change the post date to today on my phone, so don't even mention it.

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1. I have tasted my own breast milk, and not "by accident," like I've heard other moms say, I guess to avoid looking like weirdo cannibalistic, breast milk drinkers. *shrug* I have nothing to lose at this point by admitting I get why the littles like it. #tasteslikeicecream

2. For 3 days, I convinced myself that it was ok that I hadn't showered, because I didn't want to confuse my newborn over who was caring for her by smelling like soap instead of my natural scent. #notok

3. I've only given birth by c-section, but no one can convince me I don't know what labor feels like. Why? Because I've experienced the dreaded First Post-Partum Poo. #nuffsaid

4. There may be nothing funnier than watching The Artist lose his sh*t because the baby projectile pooped while he was changing her. #comedy #laughterthroughtears #itshappenedtometoo

5. I've deliberately stayed awake between Lady's 12 am and 3 am feedings more than once, just for a little peace and quiet, and to be awake but not have someone touching me. #touchedout #overwhelmedbyneeds

6. Intellectually, I know it can get annoying when a new parent bombards social media with pictures of their new kiddo, and/or status updates of all of her newborn "accomplishments," ad nauseum, but I am completely unable to stop myself. #ohwell #yougonehaftablockme

From The Bottom of My Heart

For those of you who hadn't heard, complications from pre-eclampsia caused me to get really sick and required my baby girl to be delivered early. I was in the hospital for five days and have been home for one.
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They sprung me, today! (Actually, it was yesterday, but I'm not currently capable of doing anything on time, soooo...).

Five days post-partum is only a day longer than a typical c-section stay, and doesn't even beat my personal best (8 days), but I can tell you, these brief, five days have been tough. Having our Ladygirl born at 34 weeks gestation and me getting so sick derailed all of our plans and threw our family into a tailspin. When I think of the outpouring of help, love, and support we've received, I wish I had the time to come find each of you individually and kiss you all over your faces, until you feel sufficiently thanked (as rated by my overactive, post-partum love-o-meter, patent pending).

Since I don't, you'll have to settle for this little note of heartfelt thanks, instead:

Thank you for each call, text, email, gift, hug, snuggle, and hand squeeze. Thank you for the visits. Thank you for "dropping in" at the cost of a 5+ hour road trip. One way. Thank you for the rides, the meals, the babysitting, and the prayers. Thank you for the sincere assurances that I was radiant, even when photographic evidence proved that I looked like the exact opposite--a hormone addled, sleep deprived, insane person. Thank you for crying with me. Thank you for making me laugh until my incision ached. Thank you for all the congratulations, oohing, and ahhhing over the three (!) people I get to call family. I love them so much and it feels like you do, too. And most of all, thank you for the chocolate milkshakes; including the one the doctors heartlessly took away, the one I hadn't yet started to drink, the one they wouldn't even let me TASTE, because surgery.

Our birth story won't be complete until Lady is home with us. She's got the herculean task of figuring out how to take all of her nutrition by mouth and gaining weight at the same time, which is no small feat for a preemie. But she's shown herself to be as much of a fighter as her brother was in the same set of circumstances. I have no doubt that she's going to be home, very soon, so I pray in expectation of it every day. Will you join me?

To each of you who helped us carry our burden, you know who you are. Thank you for blessing us, more than I can say or repay.

Mmmmuuuah! 😙😙

Monthly Musings: April 2015

• Six words guaranteed to make Mama's blood pressure rise when coming from the mouth of her three year old: "Don't tell me what to do." #getsmeeverytime #threenager

• A month ago, I had a high BP scare at my prenatal appt. With my history of pre-eclampsia, there's a zero tolerance policy on anything that might signal vascular disease. I've overcome the threat so far with interventions of all kinds and things seem to be going really well. So, I tried to write about it. But what's come out so far is so raw, so full of ghosts, (not so) latent fear, and pain, that I can't bring myself to go deep enough to finish it. And I can't share it here. Not yet. Maybe I never will. 

• Rounding the bend into my 3rd trimester, I've developed a need for a regular infusion of chocolate milkshakes. I wonder if that has anything to do with me measuring 3 weeks ahead of my due date? Nah...coincidence, probably.

• The cliche that all men love showering their women with lingerie doesn't ring true around here. My man showers me with Cardinals gear. In the last month alone, The Artist has bought me 2 Cards' shirts (non-maternity, though I am politely termed, 'great with child,' and getting greater by the second), and a pair of earrings. That brings my Birds On A Bat gear total to 6, which seems like overkill, but the love behind it makes me blush. I've never been so full of team spirit. #CardinalNation

• I'm outnumbered around here, and have been for a long time. I know it, and I've mostly come to terms with it. I'll admit nursing a secret hope that Lady will help  balance the power after she's born. Be on my team. Or at least help me clean up the film of pee and peanut butter that's on all my stuff. But I've noticed lately that when The Artist talks to the ladybump, she goes nuts. Like, waaaay more nuts than when I talk to her. I'm starting to see my dreams of a ride-or-die sidekick turning to ashes. #teamdaddy #anotheronebitesthedust

• Today, I get my roots done and a trim. I've never been so excited about routine beauty maintenance before.  #thisisalmostforty #pregnantgrayhair

When Mama Went Off the Deep End

It seems that I went through a paranoid phase when The Bud was three. I think he was winning...

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Hey. This is The Bud, here. I hijacked my mama's computer to have a bit of a heart-to-heart with all the preschoolers out there. I can't read, yet, so I can't say for sure what she's been posting on this blog,  but I can hazard a guess that not all of it is...shall we say...complimentary to those of us in the 2.5 to 5 yr old set. It's time to fight back with the tools we have at our disposal.

Where my people at? Whaddup, playas??!

Why the gangsta lingo? And how am I able to type and spell, when I've just told you I can't read? Don't ask me questions you already know the answers to! I'm three. Why do I do anything? Because I can, that's why. And you'd better believe it. In fact, for the adults who may actually read this post, I pity you the mind f**k that'll have you trying to come to terms with the possibility that a three year old could actually hijack an adult's computer and write a blog post. Admit it: in some of your more paranoid moments (like after he figures out how to escape his bedroom in the middle of the night, after you've turned the doorknob around so that very thing would stop happening), you wouldn't put anything past the little bugger. Crazier things have happened.

But I digress. This post is to empower the powerless. We'll start with Tips To Avoid Bedtime:

1. Request that Mama read ALL the books to you before you can sleep. Every. Single. One.

2. Fake a stomach ache, requiring a parent to apply "tummy wotion" (rosemary essential oil--may as well be snake oil, for all its tummy soothing properties) to the skin over the offending organ.

3. Go pee, again, but not until you've announced your need to do so to both parents and gotten their buy in on the plan.

4. Ask for more dinner.

5. Ask for more drinks.

6. Ask for a snack, your missing blanket, or for help to find your favorite stuffed toy-which is only missing because you don't know (read: care) to look under your blanket for it. 

7. Ask to be tucked in. Again. You can't help it if Mama and Daddy have already fallen asleep. You need their help!

And if, by some fluke, your maligned parents are unmoved, and all these deflective techniques fail, fall asleep for a half hour, then fall out of bed and scream the house down. That'll do it. Ain't NObody gonna sleep for a while after that. 

I've given you my best stuff. Make me proud. And DO NOT tell them where you learned this stuff. Even if they offer you chocolate. 

Love, The Bud

The Loaner T-Rex

If you have a least one child, but haven't yet experienced the joy(s) of Friends With Children, trust me when I say, you need to getchoo some quickly.

Last night, some friends of ours who have three boys of their own, invited us over for dinner. It was delightful; a gift of great value to us. They gave us the gift of uninterrupted time. Now, this couple is pretty great with or without kids, but as any parent in the trenches will tell you, a special magic happens when two or more children are gathered together. They entertain each other, and it is glorious.

As another friend of mine with three children put it, when you have three kids, you don't even notice when another one gets added. I would add, no one does because they make themselves scarce. Brilliant.

The Artist & I are currently the beleaguered parents of one threenager, with the option for a newborn in three months, give or take a couple weeks. We are so tired. So tired of wrestling, playing dinosaurs, hide-n-seek, t-ball, trains, marbles, Jenga (The Bud cheats), catch, and duck, duck, GOOSE. So tired of pretending enthusiasm for the same dinosaur videos/movies over and over again. But since we're The Bud's only playmates at home, we are called into action on the regular.

Uninterrupted time is not heavy on the ground at our house. I confess that The Artist takes the brunt of this. I'm not great at playing on a good day. On a pregnant day, fuggedabottit. I take (small) comfort that with a pending neonate on deck, I'll shortly be pulling a more or less equal load, what with all the birthing and nursing and whatnot.

Anyway, so back to Shangri La. Don't be too jealous when I tell you how it all went down. We went inside. Our child, spotting other kiddos (and their toys), ran off to investigate.

We didn't see him again for a half hour.

We sat down and watched dinner being prepared. We had sparkling conversation. We laughed, we drank (well, they did), we ate food while it was still warm, and generally had a great time while the kids played somewhere else in the house.

Glorious, I tell you. Simply glorious.

There were hiccups here and there, of course. Occassional tears, requests for help in the potty, dinner refusals, whining, etc, but when you've been given the gift of time, it all feels bearable. We had a wonderful time.

And The Bud? He made out like a bandit, too. The big(ger) boys have the most awesomest T-Rex, EVER. It roars louder than The Bud (yay...), is a foot tall, and it's eyes glow a very intimidating red. Rumor has it that he used to walk, but being loved on by three boys has taken its toll. Still, though, very cool. He played with it from the moment he found it until it was time to go home, when he let us know in no uncertain terms by the tantrum he threw that we would have to pry that dinosaur from his cold, dead hands to get him to leave without it.

That's when the final miracle of our evening happened. Our friends' middle son (read: he's been forced to share his toys with a younger, less reasonable person his whole life, just to stop tears, so nothing phases him anymore), whispered to his mother, "Mommy, he can borrow it for a week."

My child has been in heaven ever since. He roared all the way home. He cuddled T-Rex in his sleep all night long, and when he dragged that thing into our room this morning at 6 am and was told he couldn't get in bed with us if he had it, he turned around and went back to his own room.

This is gonna be a great week.

Roscoe, the T-Rex