Important Thoughts, volume three

With the foreknowledge that we would have visitors today, I've been wearing knee-length pajama-type pants and a jersey tank top and no make-up all day. And I didn't wash my hair in the shower this morning. When our friends got here there was a hamper overflowing with laundry right there in the middle of the living room, and it's still there, five hours later. We had visitors yesterday as well. I wore a similar "outfit", and while there was no mountain of laundry, both sides of the sink were full of dishes. Because I'm classy.

I should give up on the crock pot for a while. I was thinking it would be perfect for this crazy life I live now, but the last couple of times I've planned a crock pot meal, it's been at least 10:00 before I have even the briefest moment to pull out the cookbook. By the time I actually have two hands and enough time to just throw meat into the dang thing, it's 2:00. So...I'm thinking we can only do crock pot meals on weekends when there are two adults in the house. In the meantime, anyone have ideas for the two pounds of chuck roast sitting in the fridge that do not involve a crock pot? Or any ideas for what I can make for dinner that would not require a trip to the store? And it can't be PB&J, because that's what we had for lunch.

Emma has been dozing on and off in people's arms all day, and that's been the sum total of her "nap" times. I have no idea how much she has slept or nursed, her "routine" is out the window, and I don't know that she's been put down at all--just passed from person to person. But I'll tell you what--she hasn't cried much. And it hasn't been me the whole time, so my arms haven't fallen off.

I have been grossly neglecting Ben for the last few days. Well, who are we kidding? It's been about 10 months. At any rate, we've had three sets of visitors come over in the last two days, so he's had friends to play with. Bliss, I tell you. I haven't had to pick up a train once. Actually, that's not true. I've had to pry trains out of his hands many many times because he can't handle watching other kids play with them. It's actually not even about sharing. It's more that he has them all set up to re-enact certain episodes, and the other kids are not doing it properly. He can't bear the sight of the trains just being handled willy nilly with no clear plot line. I'm thinking maybe the trains will stay put away for any future playdates. But I digress. The point here is that Ben has been having the time of his life for the last two days. Also, all of our visitors have been bringing him gifts. And sharing their snacks, making him lunches, and basically parenting him while holding my daughter. I rule as both mom and hostess. But who cares? Ben finally has people to play with, and I've gotten a break from pacing the living room with a screaming baby.

Yesterday Emma took a rare break from crying to play with me. Until now she's briefly flashed a smile for Ben a couple of times, and once for a woman at Matt's work. But yesterday she gave me a few really good ones. I love her.

Today our visitors were our friends from Riverside. Their daughter is 2 1/2. She and Ben were "hiding from the beast" under the covers for a good half an hour, doing who knows what. I figure I've got a few more years before I need to put a stop on that, right?

Last night I had my first glass of wine in 10 months. This morning I had my first hangover in 10 years.

Facebook is abuzz with all my teacher friends and colleagues posting about heading back to work. But not me. :)

We have started cloth diapers with Emma. At the moment we're doing pre-folds and covers. While it's pretty easy and I like all the money we're saving, she looks ridiculous. We have a song called "Ghetto Diaper Booty." I've ordered one each of a few different kinds of all-in-one and pocket diapers to try out. I'll keep you posted.

This last weekend at church we attended a memorial service, a teacher appreciation breakfast, a baptism service, and a hootenanny, in that order.

Yesterday I went to Henry's and Target, knowing Emma would scream the whole time. Because you know what? She never stops, and we still need food. When we got to the check-out at Henry's (the end of our errand cycle), Emma was crying, Ben was unloading my purse, and I was trying to get him to give me my wallet while simultaneously trying to stick the pacifier in Emma's mouth. The cashier asked for my ID. I was using Matt's debit card, and I didn't want trouble. I told her I didn't think I needed an ID when doing debit. She said it wasn't for the debit card, it was for the wine. She was carding me. She and the woman behind me in line chuckled and said she has to card anyone who looks under 30, and it was a complement. I looked at the crying newborn and squirrelly preschooler in my cart, then I looked back at the cashier and said, "um, I have two small children." Yeah...I needed that wine.

I lost 24 pounds after having Emma. I've gained one of those pounds back. Probably from the batch of chocolate-covered goldfish pretzels I made.

This morning Ben had to go poop. He asked for a book. He then sat on the toilet for 45 minutes reading. He made me bring him piles of books and trade them out when he finished them all. And the only reason he ever got off the toilet was because I told him he had to because his friends were coming over. Right now he's once again on the toilet reading a pile of books. I think he's been in there for about 15 minutes so far.

 

That's it for now. Welcome to Crazy Brain.

One Month!

On Saturday I turned one month old. Mommy didn't take pictures or blog about it then because I broke out in a crazy heat rash and cried all day, so there were not a lot of photo ops. But my rash is fading and sometimes I take a break from screaming, so now we're back.

So I'm one month old and pretty cool. At my 3-week doctor appointment I weighed 8 pounds 5 ounces and was 21 inches, which is just fine (and pretty great for a reflux baby). I'm starting to sleep better, which my mommy and daddy and brother really appreciate. My reflux is a little better. I haven't puked hard-core in over a week, which is cool. I still get uncomfortable during and after many meals, so I cry. I am fussy in the morning and in the evening between medication doses, but otherwise I'm a pretty content kid. Well, except for the last few days. Man, is it hot here. I have a heat rash, and it's itchy, so I cry about it. Yesterday my friends came to visit from Washington and I cried for half the time they were here, because I wanted to make their vacation special.

too hot for clothes

I don't just cry, though. I can do other stuff. I impress everyone with my muscles. True story. I can hold my head up steady and straight when I'm sitting up, put weight on my legs and pretend to stand when Mommy holds me, do push-ups, and roll over from my belly to my back. Seriously--I'm tough stuff. Mommy thinks it's like a survival thing so that I can defend myself from my very loving big brother.

and...one hundred! whew, good workout.

But the best thing that I do is smile! I don't do it often--see above comments about reflux, heat rash, and crying. But when I'm in a decent mood, I'll flash a quick smile. The person who makes me smile the most is my big brother Benjamin. He's pretty funny. After aforementioned (I know--I have a pretty good vocabulary for a one-month-old. My mom's an English teacher.) Scream Day, while Ben was napping I played with Mommy and smiled enough for her to finally snap a picture of it (but a blurry one, because I move a lot). Here's me smiling:

So yeah, I'm pretty awesome.

Counting Down

There's something that happens to you somewhere in the last half mile or so of a cross country race. Your legs start to get a little wobbly. Your vision starts to get a little fuzzy. Breathing starts to get a little challenging. It feels a little like at any given moment your body will simply cease to function. Like if you take one more step your face will meet the pavement. You keep running of course--because this is high school cross country, and the finish line is at the football field where practice is currently being held and you certainly are not going to be the one who collapses in front of the guy you've had a crush on since sixth grade. Sorry, have we gone off topic? The point is that there's this part of the race where you're pretty sure crossing the finish line is a physical impossibility, but you push yourself and you force your body to do it anyway.

That's where I'm at right now. The six-week mark, where things typically start to get better, is my goal. But my legs are getting wobbly, and it's getting harder to breathe. Right now we're in between medications. We've introduced the new one (Omeprazole), but it takes two weeks to really kick in. In the meantime, we're slowly weaning her off the old one (Zantac). Yesterday was the first day we dropped one of the Zantac doses. Emma's last few nights have been getting much better, but yesterday was awful. I don't know if it was from dropping that morning dose of Zantac, or if it was the fact we actually attempted to have a normal day with activity outside of the house. Or maybe the combo of both. But girlfriend cried nearly all day. I think I spent a cumulative three or four hours throughout the day holding her as she screamed. And those were just my shifts--Matt took a couple as well. And on top of whatever she's feeling in her little digestive tract, she has a nasty heat rash covering her neck, head, and face. She doesn't sleep well unless she's swaddled, but I'm afraid to wrap her up when it's 90 degrees in here. And while I hold and rock my screaming, miserable baby all day and clean up her vomit, my three-year-old begs me to play trains with him. Needless to say, when Emma finally passed out at 9:30 last night, it was all I could do to not dissolve into tears and running screaming from my house.

To say the least, I'm ready to be done with this. I'm ready to have a happy baby who is not in pain all day long. I'm ready to get some sleep. I'm ready to play with my little boy. I'm ready to have a reasonably clean house. I'm ready to transition out of the newborn phase.

In a week and a half, on the very same day Emma will turn six weeks and Ben will start pre-school (it's also the first day of school for me, but I won't be there for another two months). I know that things don't magically become perfect and easy at six weeks. But that's when things start to gradually improve, and that's when a higher level of activity for me and Emma become a possibility. And having four hours a day where I only have one kid will prove tremendously helpful. Four hours where I can enjoy some sweet one-on-one time with my littlest Little, and maybe sneak in a nap or some reading.

And yet I want to avoid a proclivity I fall into all too often of waiting until the next thing. Of staring at the clock or the calendar and missing the life that I'm in the midst of in that moment. I feel like with Ben's first few months I was so stuck in the clouds of jaundice, hematomas, plagiocephaly, colic, and post-partum depression that I completely missed my sweet boy's first few months. All I remember is the hard stuff--I really have little to no memory of the good things, which probably were the majority of each day. I don't want to do that again. And I don't want to sit here and stare down the calendar, waiting for Ben to go to pre-school, because I don't want to miss out on my last precious week with him at home. And yes, obviously I know that the beginning of pre-school does not mark the end of my time with Ben. Obviously we have afternoons and weekends and holidays. But while there was a very good reason (the whole bed rest and childbirth thing), I feel like I lost my last summer alone with Ben, and I'm a little sad about it. And while I've tried to sneak in good one-on-one time with him while Emma's sleeping (which some days is a lot, some days is not), it's all been in the house, bleary-eyed with exhaustion, and punctuated with caring for the high-maintenance newborn. And somewhere around minute 30-45 of the nursing-burping-screaming-hiccups-puking-cleanup cycle that happens every two hours, the boy gets frustrated and tired of playing alone. And I feel guilty about that. Sure, he'll probably never remember this. But I will, and for me that counts. So I'm sad that right around the time Emma will (hopefully) be settling in to a more predictable routine with (hopefully) less screaming and puking, Ben will be off to school. On the same day I will be cleared by my mid-wife to play all I want, my playmate won't be there to play with. So all in the same moment, I'm giddy with anticipation at the coming of rest and reprieve, but sad that my summer with Ben is coming to a close.

I will find ways to make the best of it. By the grace of God Ben's pre-school is letting me take him part time until I go back in November, saving us a pile of money and giving me an extra hour before nap time to go to the park, have a special lunch, or do whatever with my guy. So we'll squeeze in special time there. And hopefully Emma will be less of a ticking scream and puke bomb at that point, so I can take the two out for dates in the evenings during the week again. That will be good. And with that few hours of just Emma and me in the morning, I will be better able to focus on Ben and actually enjoy my time with him with a little more energy.

So that's where we're at. Anticipating that Big Day, but trying to live in the moment until that time. Hopefully with less puke and screaming. Because seriously, that's gotta go.

Lessons for Preschool

Dear Benjamin,

I'm so excited for you to start preschool in a couple of weeks. Not for my own sake, of course--this new chapter of your life is causing an inappropriately emotional and dramatic reaction in me. But I'm excited for your sake. School is wonderful, and I know you'll succeed. Here are a few tips to help you out.


It's okay if you have a potty accident--it happens. But probably try not to on the first day. You'll want to make a good impression and get a good Indian name (although there's a good chance they don't do those anymore because they're probably racist...but just in case). You don't want to be stuck with Pees His Pants.

Always say please and thank you. People are much more willing to do things for you if you ask politely. They will also like you more, and you will be their favorite. Not that that's important or anything. But good manners will take you far, sweet son.

Share. I know it's hard for you, but generosity is an admirable attribute. And the Bible says that God loves a cheerful giver; so if the teacher has to pry the toy out of your Vulcan death grip while you scream, that doesn't count as sharing. It has to be voluntary. If you are a cheerful giver, people will want to play with you, which is good because you never want to be the last kid picked for dodge-ball. Trust me there.

Be yourself. You are an incredible kid. Don't be shy; let everyone see how amazing you are. Then you will never have to ask someone if they like you or not, because you will always know and you will never care.

If you see another kid sitting alone, go and play with him or her.

Please take a nap during nap time. (Okay, this one is really more for my benefit than yours--you're really unpleasant when you don't nap.)

Dance, sing, and play your heart out. Don't worry about what the other kids think. And do those samurai moves of yours--the other kids will really like that.

When you see someone crying, comfort them with a hug.

Follow directions. Go ahead and be your crazy and energetic self, but reign it in and be a good listener when it's time for learning. They know your mom is a teacher, so they will judge me extra harshly if you don't. And I don't need that kind of stress.

I know how much you love "Teenage Dream." But please don't sing it at school. Again, I don't need the judgement.

Don't pick your nose or stick your hand down your pants. You don't want to be that kid.

Eat the food that's given to you. I don't know how you've managed to continue to grow despite your constant refusal to eat. But seriously--you need to eat, and it hurts people's feelings when you call their food gross. So if they give you food, you need to eat it.

Don't be rude or disrespectful. I don't care if you can't manage to learn anything, you suck at crafts, or whatever. But never be rude or disrespectful. Ever. It is the worst School Sin that can be committed.

Finally, have fun. Make friends, play, learn, and enjoy yourself. School is wonderful if you let it be, and I want you to love it. Because, again, your mom is a teacher. Anything but a passionate love for learning and academics is unacceptable. Just kidding. Maybe. No, I'm totally kidding. You can do and be anything you want to be, and it's okay if you hate school. But you have to go anyway. Because it's the law, and because it's awesome and cheaper than daycare.


I love you, my big preschool-er! You're going to be great!

Sleep Deprivation, Preschool, Street Sweeping, and Malaria

We don't get much sleep around here. No one with a newborn does, to be sure. But I've mentioned before that because of Emma's reflux we get a little less than the average bears. She typically cries from about 7:30-9:00, and throughout the night she wakes up to nurse more frequently (because her tender tummy can't handle much at a time), and once or twice a night has fussy bouts after a feeding. So I'm rocking and rolling each day on about three cumulative hours of very fragmented sleep. And I can't "sleep when the baby sleeps" during the day on account of the Energizer Bunny. So I'm tired. Very very tired. As this is not my first rodeo, I expect the challenge, I know that it's temporary, and compared to Ben's colic this is a cinch. So I plow through. But this week it's catching up with me. You'd think my friend's passing would be the straw that broke the camel's back, but it wasn't. It was the front yard.

Background: For some reason it did not occur to me that while I was not going back to school until November, Ben starts school in two weeks. I'd finally become okay with the fact that we've sat around the house for the entire summer, because in my head we still had two more months to play. Now my two months has become two weeks, and I want to finally get some enjoyment out of my time at home with my kiddo. Emma's still tiny, and because she's a ticking time bomb of puke and scream potential, adventures are a 50/50 crap-shoot. Maybe she'll be great, maybe she'll wail and barf all over the place. We've experienced both so far on outings. But I still want to try. Plus there's that whole "fresh air" thing for me, and Ben's insatiable need to run and play and be a three-year-old boy. Bottom line: we need to get out of the house and do some summer.

Also: Today is street sweeping day. For starters, I think street sweeping is more futile than making your bed. All you're doing is pushing leaves from the gutter to the middle of the street. But Orange County insists on sweeping its streets. In our neighborhood, it means enough stress to put you in therapy. You can't park on either side of the street for four hours. You also can't park in the alley behind the houses. Sure, we each have a one-car garage that could fit a vespa (maybe), and each "quad" shares four parking spots (for eight units). So...if you do the math...you will quickly see that unless you have a compact vespa and nothing else to store in your garage, there is no where to put your car. So you either need to not be home from 11:30-3:30 or get real competitive with the neighbors for those four spots in the alley. I can't leave from 11:30-3:30 because of nap time, so my only recourse is to stare at the alley spots all morning and quickly take one as soon as someone leaves. Kind of like those people that follow you to your car in the Costco parking lot, then idle directly behind you so no one will slip in front of them, then zoom into the spot. Yeah...I do that on Wednesdays.

Finally: We live in a duplex type of home, and we share a central "quad" outside with our place and the one next door. This is the only "yard" or outdoor play area that we have to speak of (besides a tiny little back deck where Ben does his painting, and where we stored a baby blow-up pool filled with rain water and probably an entire ecosystem for upwards of a year). It's always been fine, and even great when Ben's best friends lived next door. All summer the sprinklers have been timed to come on at 7:00am. This seems a bit insane to me since it doesn't heat up until about five hours later, which means the grass just sits there as mud and the pavement becomes a dangerous slip-and-slide. All morning. Because I've primarily spent this summer indoors and our friends moved, we haven't really played outside much for a few months.


This story is getting long. Sorry for the Great Expectations-style of narrative. Hang in there--the forty chapters of build-up are giving way to the grand finale.

So this morning I found myself wanting to get out and do something. But since it's street sweeping day, I didn't want to risk leaving and coming home to no parking spot and, subsequently, a parking ticket. But then my big idea came--something I'd been picturing in my mind since getting pregnant. I had this dreamy image of Ben splashing in the little kiddie pool on the grass while I lounged with Emma on a blanket nearby, idyllically gazing into her eyes and maybe sipping some iced tea. Doesn't that sound lovely? So today would be the day. When Emma woke up from her nap, I fed her then blew up the pool while Ben cleaned up his trains. I brought the pool downstairs, started the hose, then went back inside to put Emma in a sweet little sundress and help Ben get into his swim clothes. I grabbed a blanket, towel, camera, and Emma, and Ben grabbed his diving toys. We went out on the grass. Here's where things got dicey. Because of the incessant early morning over-watering, the grass area was disgusting. It was super muddy and swarming with bees, water-bugs, and mosquitoes. I felt like just standing near it I would get malaria. Sadly I pulled Ben out of the pool (he'd already dived in) and dragged him back inside. He was wailing, Emma was wailing, and I wanted to be wailing. Once we got inside, for some reason I became acutely aware of how gross and messy the house was. And that's when I got that creeping feeling of overwhelm. One kid crying, naked because if he couldn't wear his wet swimsuit he wouldn't wear anything at all; one baby crying because she'd had the hiccups for 20 minutes and puking was imminent; and one mama, way too tired to deal.

Sigh. Maybe tomorrow we'll go to the mall.

Things Fall Apart

Today is hard. Really really hard. And not just the I-have-two-kids-and-one-of-them-is-a-newborn hard. Life hard.

Last night I got up with Emma at 1:00 am for a feeding. As I sat down to nurse her, Ben came stumbling into the living room, saying he had to go potty. I told him to just go. He stumbled into the bathroom as I fired up my iPod to make my moves on Words With Friends and check facebook. As I scrolled through the "omg that movie is awesome" and "I really want a bagel" posts, I noticed a lot of people telling a friend they were so sorry and were praying for him. My heart started pounding. I went from page to page trying to find confirmation of what I'd had a sinking feeling of lately, and the more frantically I searched the more tears fell, until I found it. My sweet and beautiful friend lost her 13 year battle with breast cancer. At that moment Emma pulled away crying, milk sprayed everywhere (sorry for the visual, guys), and I realized that Ben had been quiet in the bathroom for a long time. The next ten minutes were spent in a fuzzy haze of cleaning up, re-dressing the little boy crying about the monsters in his bedroom, shushing the baby girl crying in pain, and wiping the tears of an indescribable pain and brokenness of my own. When the boy was in bed and the baby asleep in my arms, I let the tears fall freely. I held my little girl tightly as I sobbed. Then I pulled myself together, put her in her car seat, and went to bed, because she'd wake up in a couple of hours and I needed sleep. I didn't, of course...but I tried. And I tried to stave off the selfish sadness, because she fought hard for 13 years, and now she is at peace. And I need to be a mom first, a grieving friend second. Still...it hurts like hell.

Angela was an extraordinary human being. She was an incredible wife to her husband, mother to her five boys, and friend to all. She loved and served God fiercely and wholly. She was compassionate, generous, intelligent, kind, and selfless. She was everything I want and strive to be, and I am a better person for knowing her. I am grateful to have called her friend.

The Kids Are Alright

On Friday we took the kiddos in for their 3 year and 3 week check-ups.

The Big Kid is 35 pounds and 39 inches of Awesome--the 75th percentile for both weight and height (and 1000th percentile for Awesome). Which is a medical marvel considering his ongoing Dinner Embargo. The doctor was impressed with his abilities to count to 20, identify all of the letters and their sounds, and do 100 piece puzzles. Also, she laughed at me when I told her he could speak in compound-complex sentences, complete with conjunctions and modifiers. Her words: "You're such an English teacher. At least he'll do well on his SAT's." My poor children never had a chance. At any rate, the kid is ready for preschool.

Side note about that--um, I registered him for it last week, and it was shockingly emotional for me. I don't know if it's the postpartum hormones or the check I wrote, but I got all weepy at the thought of my baby going to school. I mean, he's been in childcare with other kids for two years. But this is school. School is where kids make friends on their own and become their own little person, much more so than before. OMG, when did my baby become a big kid?!?! I'm not sure I can handle this parenting thing. It's too much.

This is what he looks like:

The Little Kid is 8 pounds 5 ounces and 21 inches of Awesome--no idea of the percentiles here. I think somewhere around 50th. Another medical marvel considering the reflux. Often GERD babies struggle with weight gain on account of poor feeding and puking. But while Miss E does struggle with feeding and pukes her little heart out a couple of times a day, she still has managed to gain weight. Because she's Superbaby. And cute as a button. All the same, she was put on a new (stronger) medication for the reflux. The Zantac was working, but not quite well enough. So we'll see how she does on this new stuff. Hopefully the hiccups and barfing will abate, and she'll graduate to sleeping in her bassinet (she currently snoozes in her car seat because of the incline). Also, maybe I'll get to sleep again. I miss sleep. 3 cumulative hours a night in several 15-30 minute chunks is just not cutting it.

I'm really rooting for the bassinet thing, because I strongly dislike having her in the seat. Mostly because the only place to put it is on the floor of our bedroom, and Ben is all too happy to dash in there at every whimper and pick her up because, according to him, "I'm pretty sure she really needs me right now." And let me tell you--homeboy is fast. He's in there and has her in his arms and is walking down the hallway with her before I can even drop the dishes and run after him. We put the child-proof thing on the doorknob and we close the door all the way while she's napping, so that has curbed it somewhat. But we woke up to him carrying her to us at 5:45 this morning...so yeah, I'm pretty ready to have her off the floor. I love that he loves her so much and wants so badly to take care of her. But sheesh...freak me out. He really is a good brother, though. He loves to help bathe her and play with her and cuddle her and talk to her. He has all kinds of pet names for her, like sweetheart and cookie, and he can't stop kissing her. But seriously, can you blame him?

This is what she looks like:

In other news, um, two kids is hard. Super fun, but super hard. Like when I'm making lunch and the newbie starts wailing, so I go get her, and when I come back the Big One is standing on the kitchen table. And who knew that the whole "get out of the house at least once a day" thing would be so stinking hard to accomplish? I went out to the garage (which is detached and requires a trip outside) yesterday to get laundry and realized that it was the first time I'd been outdoors in a couple of days. Yikes! It's a good thing my kids are so flipping adorable.

Four Years of Wedded Bliss

As of August 17, my hunky hubby and I have been married for four years. They have easily been the four best years of my life. Not the easiest--probably the hardest--except maybe middle school--middle school sucks. And yes, I see the apparent hypocrisy in that statement coming from a middle school teacher. But you should know that while I love my job teaching middle school, I did not enjoy being a middle school student. Not because of the school part, but because of the suckiness of early adolescence. I was (still am, to a certain extent) socially inept with a side order of cripplingly low self-esteem and shyness. So judge me not. Unless you're beautiful and have enough money (and probably older siblings) to wear all the right clothes and skip the awkward am-I-seriously-the-only-person-who-doesn't-know-that phase, middle school sucks. I am an expert because I lived it, and because I vicariously relive the experience and watch my students torture each other socially ten months out of the year. And because I've read Are You There God, It's Me, Margaret.

But that's not what we're talking about here. We're talking about the second-hardest (but best) four years of my life--my marriage to Superman.

It hasn't been hard because I'm married. It's been hard because our honeymoon period lasted all of three months before I got all high-maintenance pregnant, dropped out of grad school because of that, had two high-maintenance babies, moved every year, and got for realsies started on my career. That's a lot of change in a little bit of time. But seriously...it was with Matt, so it was good.

This man is amazing. I could go on forever about the why and how, but I'm going to give you my top four (because of the four years thing).

1. Best. Dad. Ever. For a lady with my background, that's no small thing. I love to watch Matt parent. He plays with his kids, gets up with them in the middle of the night to feed, cuddle, calm, and love them, as well as clean up their vomit and administer breathing treatments and change diapers and sheets. This is a guy who seriously aches that he can't help more at night with feedings. So since I have to get up for all of those, he takes all the crappy night duties, like the crying and puking, so I can get those small snatches of sleep between feedings. Today (one of many such days) he's taken Ben out to run errands and play at the park so I can rest, bond with Emma, and maybe take a nap ('cause that whole "sleep when your baby sleeps" thing is a giant joke when you have older kids). Dad of the Year.

2. He's my best friend. We laugh, we play, we cry, we share...he's the best friend I've ever had, and it only gets better and better.

3. He's got a fan-friggin-tastic personality. He's funny, sweet, kind, generous, smart, and every other good thing there is. And a little bit crude sometimes. But I like that.

4. He's pretty sexy. I mean, have you seen that red hair? Dreamy.

Happy Anniversary, Baby! Thanks for an amazing four years, and a zillion more to come!

New Life

Matt went back to work yesterday. I will admit--there were parts of it that were hard. Really hard. Like when I was rocking Emma as she was screaming after a hiccup/puke marathon, and Ben was wailing and pulling on my arms because he wanted me to do puzzles with him. That was not my favorite moment. But on the whole, I rocked it. By 8:00am I was showered, dressed, and fed; my children were both dressed and fed; the dishes were done; the trash was taken out; the living room was picked up; Emma was down for nap #1; and Ben and I were playing with cars. Throughout the day I cared for the newbie, played with the big one, got some errands taken care of, spent time with a friend, took a nap, made dinner, walked to the park with the kids, and generally put June Cleaver to shame. I really enjoyed my new little life. Of course, Princess Reflux got a little high maintenance in the evening, and I didn't settle in to watch Secret Life of the American Teenager relax until 9:00pm. But in all, I'd say Day One went well. Besides all of the crying, puking, explosive poops, and overall excessive generation of laundry. But seriously, I can totally do this. Especially when the rewards are so dang sweet:

Ben and Mommy Special Time

A certain Little has started to show a small chink in the Perfect Big Brother armor. He's been waking up in the middle of the night, having had nightmares that I left. Matt took him out for Daddy and Ben Adventure Day yesterday, and it took 30 minutes to get him out of the house because he didn't want to leave me. So this morning I took my favorite little boy to the park, just the two of us, for some much needed Ben and Mommy Special Time. It was fun and sweet. While he was digging, he said, "I'm having so much fun at the park with you."

Me too, pal.

Two Weeks

It's not like 2 weeks is a milestone or anything. But Little Miss is just so dang cute I had to show you just how cute she is.

(Side note: the meds appear to be helping! In the last two nights she has still been waking every two hours to feed, but then she goes back to sleep. None of this back-arching, screaming, puking nonsense that we had before. Praise the LORD for Zantac.)

sleepy smiles

first bath!

I want to do a push-up so stinking bad!

I'm two weeks old today!

Big Brother and Little Sister

I tried to get some pictures of the two most beautiful children in the world today, but it proved fairly elusive. For one, Ben can't ever be still, not ever, and I don't like using the flash on the camera. So getting a non-blurry picture is challenging. Secondly, he never smiles for the camera. I actually resorted to bribing him with fruit snacks if he would cooperate. Thirdly, he is not so good at handling Emma. So I have a very brief window to take pictures before he tries to pick her up and hand her to me, or just try to roll her off the chair. But seriously...these two are just so precious. So here are the two reasonable pictures I got in about 30 minutes. Go me.

At least it's not colic?

So we've had a rough little week here. Emma's been having a lot of trouble with sleeping, eating, and existing, and she's been in a progressively worse state of pain each night. It's not like Ben's colic, where it's four consecutive hours of horrid screaming every night. Instead it's twelve hours of periodic screaming every night. So this afternoon I took her in to get it checked out. Poor little angel has a nasty case of reflux.

Apparently this business should work itself out within 2-6 months, and in the meantime she's on meds. Hopefully we'll all be getting a little more rest soon, and my poor little girl will not be in so much pain. Also in the meantime, I'll be cutting my morning cup of coffee, dairy, chocolate, and everything else that would make this season more bearable. Lord, beer me strength.

Grounded

Things I feel like doing today:

Shopping
Going to the zoo

Getting Ben's bed and finally putting the kids' room together
Decorating the kids' room
Cleaning (yes...I actually feel like cleaning. Not because it sounds fun, but because the house is filthy and that's driving me crazy.)
Playing trains with Ben
Going to the pool
Going to the beach


Things I get to do today:

Lay on my side on the couch, staring at the dust and laundry that thickly coats the coffee table
Watch Ben play
Breastfeed
Depend on others for just about everything


My body fiercely fought back and got sassy after I began to attempt to fold some clothes and take a walk to the park. Apparently there are legitimate medical reasons for limiting your activity. Apparently mine was not the first panicked phone call my midwife has ever received from a postpartum mom. Apparently my body can either heal or do stuff, not both. I have been duly reprimanded.

So I'm taking it easy and trying to think of ways to ease the burdens on my husband, enjoy this time, stay distracted for the next several weeks, and plan fun things to do when I am sufficiently physically recovered. Sigh.

I have been instructed by my midwife to accept any and all offers of assistance. So if anyone wants to clean my bathroom, bring us food, or take Ben to the park (which he asks to visit every single day), give me a call. Particularly that last one, so Matt can take a break too. Little Miss E becomes Loud Crankypants from about 10pm-1am each night, and while we take turns we have a little house and no one gets to sleep during that time. Which makes us all a little bit Crankypants.

Now I'm going to have some Designated Rest Time, since the little angel will be waking soon.

The Great Outdoors

You will be happy to know I survived an hour outside the house with two kids, all by myself. Ben was beside himself with joy at the chance to finally go outside and run his little heart out. Poor guy, being stuck at home for so long. Emma slept the outing away in the moby. The little bit of fresh air was good for us all. Side note: I left the house so Matt could rest. I came home to a disassembled and subsequently abandoned bedroom. Ah, well...it was his free time to do with as he pleased.

Today we went to the pool. Once Matt goes back to work the pool won't be an option for me alone with two kids, and since swimming lessons all Ben wants out of life is to swim. So we happily obliged. Matt and Ben swam like crazy fishies while us girls lounged. It was a lovely way to spend an hour.

Good Morning to Me

This morning, just for sadistic funsies, I tried on a pair of pants one size smaller than what I wore before I got pregnant.

a) they fit
b) there was a $10 bill in the pocket

Double Score.

For more sadistic funsies, I stepped on the scale.

I've lost 20 pounds since delivery. That's 20 pounds in 7 days.

Things are going so well I'm going to get crazy and stupid. To give Matt a break (mostly from Ben, who's been his constant playmate/shadow for several days while I have a semi-permanent fixture attached to me), I'm going to attempt a brief outing to the park with both kids, all on my own.

Tomorrow Emma will be one week old. Which means we will be entering week two, which is the beginning of what I like to call The Danger Zone of Death--the window wherein postpartum depression and colic may or may not make their appearance.

Staying indoors and "letting it go" when it comes to the state of the house are both triggers for my depression. So while many may balk at my level of activity in keeping the house picked up (I promise I'm not doing heavy cleaning) and going on outings on my own with two children, I have a hunch that living my life in this way may curb the beast. Yes, I realize that both postpartum depression and colic are largely unpreventable...but damn it if I'm not going to try anyway. So to both I say,

Suck it. You're not invited to this party.

Now if you'll excuse me I've got ten bucks to spend on skinny jeans (okay, let's not take this too far).

This picture has nothing to do with this post. But according to my blogger stats, I get a lot more traffic when I post cute pictures of my children. So I'm shamelessly including this one so that you'll read all about my good day, in case all my recent posts have been too dark and twisty for you and you get worried about me. Also because she is so freaking cute.

First Few Days at Home