Post-Holiday Hangover

There have been two times in my life that I can remember thinking about my life. Once, at the very end of my teens when I was pregnant with Mumbles and facing some very big decisions and now, at the beginning of my 30's with my life half lived. When I was at the end of my teens facing the beginning of my adult life and about to become responsible for another, I knew that I had to do some things differently. I couldn't skate by doing the minimum without goals or aspirations. I worked two, sometimes three jobs and went to school, missing out on time I wanted to spend with Mumbles', all the while thinking this would afford us more time together later. "Suck it up and plow through for now so that in a few years, I can get a regular 9 to 5 and make it up to her", I thought. More than 10 years later, I have a regular 9 to 5 except I have to leave at 7:15 to make the commute, to be there by 8 and then half an hour for lunch so I leave at 4:30 but the commute means I won't be home until 5 and then it takes half an hour to unwind because I literally hate every minute of it.


Now I know that some where out there, there's some nit-wit who read Eat Pray Love and is thinking to themselves, "Well if you don't like your life change it. If you hate your job, then quit." That is easier said than done since now I have student loans that have to be paid and a mortgage to make every month, not to mention the car payment, insurance and gas to drive back and forth to what I am convinced is God's way of punishing me for misbehaving from ages 15 to 18. All in search of the American Dream. Hadn't I wanted this? A house, a car, two kids and a fenced yard. I hated staying in apartments to be sure, but at least when I lived in them, I was home to live in them. Some days I go down to the basement, a room that was meant to be a place for us to relax and hang out as a family, and I don't recognize it. Some times I look at Mumbles and I don't recognize her. I still want to buy her Tinkerbell underwear but then I realize she's no longer a girls size, it makes me want to cry. "It could be worse. You could be living in a thatch hut and eating bugs while your friends and neighbors die of starvation or dysentery." True, that would be worse, but isn't there some place between spinning my wheels and starving? At least when I was 19 and thinking about my life, I had hope. Now, I feel so...stuck.


Don't think that I'm just sitting around feeling sorry for myself....I feel sorry for everyone! All of us who bought into the bigger, better, faster mentality that dominated the 80's only to have the reality of over-consuming come crashing down on our heads. And I really love my house and my family. In fact, I love them so much, I want more of them. I want to spend more time in my house with my family, not working to pay for things that do not make me happy. As for the things that I've already wasted my money on, I've decided if I don't love or need it, I'm not keeping it.

The End of Our Breastfeeding Journey

I didn't even realize it until it was over. I sat down to fold some laundry and realized Charlie hadn't nursed in a couple of days. The next time I offered, he looked at me like I was crazy. There was no discomfort from engorgement or tantrum tears; it was just over. Around his first birthday, I'd stopped pumping at work. Pumping not being my favorite thing and being nearly impossible at the insane job I was working. Charlie still nursed when we were together; at night and on the weekends. But as the nights went on, Charlie nursed shorter and shorter periods of time until eventually he just didn't nurse at all.

Like with many things, I have mixed feelings about it. On the one hand I am glad that, hormonally speaking, I am feeling normal again. I don't have to think about what I'm wearing and how easy or difficult it might be to nurse in. On the other hand, I miss the time bonding with Charlie. I miss getting to take a 'time-out' when family gatherings got too overwhelming or I'm just tired and want to rest.

When I was pregnant with Charlie, I decided that I was going to nurse him as long as possible, in order to give him the best possible start in life. My goal was to exclusively breastfeed for the first 6 months, which we very nearly met. Shortly before he was 6 months, we started giving him a bit of rice cereal to try keep him satisfied during the day when I wasn't able to pump enough to keep up with him. We marched on to 1 year, Charlie getting a few ounces of formula to supplement. Now at nearly 15 months, he eats what we eat and goes through about 1 gallon and a half of whole milk per week. Overall, I feel good about our journey together even though this part of it is over a little sooner than I would have wished.

Elvis Has Left the Building

Exhibit A

A few months ago, Micha brought home a kitten that his parents found in our boat which we keep in their barn. He's a cute tuxedo kitten named Elvis but he is a holy terror (see exhibit A).

A few weeks ago Elvis disappear and we haven't seen him since. We've contacted our local animal control and posted his info. on a lost pet website. Obviously it's pretty cold and we are concerned. My hope is that he's wandered into someone else's home and he's warm and safe, terrorizing someone else's house plants. In fact, I think he frequently tried to make himself at home at our very gracious neighbors house on several occasions.

At any rate, if you've seen our holy terror...er....cuddly kitty, please let us know.

Elvis is a black and white male. He's been neutered and has a tattoo to prove it on his underside. He likes to snuggle, poops in house plants and will terrorize your dog.

Long time, no see

After a long hiatus, I think I'm ready to start blogging again. It's been several months and much has happened. Most recently for me, job changes...yes two in a matter of 6 1/2 months. The company I was working for was looking at having to lay some people off and so I accepted another Administrative Assistant position...or so I thought. Needless to say, things did not work out but it was a good experience. I learned a lot about myself and what I was capable of but also, it reminded me about the kind of life I want to have. I realized how easy it is to be seduced into believing that more money brings more happiness. I can tell you, at least for me, it's not true. That job was exhausting and began to take over my life. I spent less and less time with my family and more time trying to unwind from my increasingly stressful days. All the while I kept telling myself that if I stuck it out, the payoff would be worth it. Someday, I'd have a better position within the company, making more money. It satisfied the ambitious side of me that wants to compete and be professionally successful. I found myself looking at bigger houses and nicer cars. I had forgotten that none of those things would make me happy or truly fulfill me.

So I am working again as Administrative Assistant. The work is easy but there's plenty of it. I leave at the end of everyday and my work stays at work. I'm never late picking up Charlie and Micha and Mumbles are starting to recognize me again. A ton has happened. Charlie turned one, Mumbles whacked off all her hair, we got a new kitty and lost the new kitty, and Micha graduated...again. I'll do my best to fill in the gaps....yeah, I picked the busiest time of year to pick up blogging again. Obviously, I'm delirious.

The New Deal

In an effort to maintain my sanity, I tried to LIG with regards to the housework. What ensued was total chaos and disaster. It came to the point that at the end of the day, I wanted to go anywhere except home so I decided on a New Deal. I divided up most of chores I felt could easily be handled by the other members of our little family and wrote them down on scraps of paper and each week we draw for 5 chores. Everyone is responsible for completing their chores in a timely fashion. Doesn't matter how, just that they get done. If anyone flakes out, the family member who completes the chore is to be compensated for their time. No yelling, no endless list of mundane household tasks eating up entire weekends and no mess, right?! Wrong! In the first two weeks, I thought "This is going great! I have free time on my hands and the house is not a disaster area!" By the end of the third week, I realized I was the only one getting their chores done, everything else was just...not.

Now, the tantrum I threw certainly doesn't compare to this, but I think I made my point without assaulting any remote controls. Taking the laundry basket down to the basement and leaving it for a week does not count as 'doing' the laundry, nor does leaving it in the machine, or in the basket. If I have to hunt for my work clothes at 6 am, I'm bound to be unhappy and if I have to look in the backyard, Lily the Destroyer will wind up 'missing'. Moving the piles of crap from one end of the table to the other end is not 'straightening up' and the sink is not a lay over to the dishwasher! It isn't just the inconvenience that such chaos creates that bothers me. To me, this little family is everything. I'd do anything for them but for months I'd been asking for help and what I needed was being pushed off to the side, to be gotten around to, if they had the time. I decided I was taking back my free time. Not all of it; that would be impossible but a few minutes at the end of the day, an hour a week, whatever I could get. But I wasn't going to live like a pig either and I told them so. For Micha's part, he knew it was coming and he did his best to make it up to me, even sending me flowers after I'd been the one yelling. Mumbles' was a different story. Had I raised a lazy and unsympathetic child? It's funny how, in those rare moments when we see our children's faults, we immediately blame ourselves. She did come to understand that I wasn't just upset about the chores, but about her attitude toward Micha and myself in general. I was hard on her despite knowing it's, in part, her age. Maybe the problem is we've chalked too much of the 'tween attitude up to being a 'phase'. No matter what age a child is, they are still part of a family and as a family, it's just as important to work together to support each other as it is to spend quality time together doing 'fun' things. I wonder how other families accomplish this?

While I've relaxed my housekeeping standards, I still need to have a place to come home to and not see every undone thing glaring me in the face the second I walk through the door. We are still drawing for chores each week and everyone is doing a better job of pitching in. Hopefully, this New Deal will lead to more time for us to do some fun things as a family. If the weather holds out, we're hoping to enjoy the May Day festivities this weekend at Lanesfield Historic Site.

Renew Me/ March for Babies

Friday, while I was washing my hands at work, I looked at my reflection in the mirror and said to myself "Jeez, I look frumpy." The best thing I could say about my hair was that is was clean. My t-shirt might as well have had the words "My son prefers my left boob to my right boob" printed right on it. I'd eaten three, yes three, donuts for breakfast so I was starting to look a little like I did around the time I was four months pregnant with Charlie. I'm certain I do not remember how to walk in heels and every piece of clothing I wear is now carefully selected based on machine washablility. I feel a bit like the Kansas landscape after a hard, cold winter: drab, dreary and in desperate need of some color.

Having done some remodeling on the outside (i.e. a snazzy new 'do and a new tattoo), it's time to renew my soul. Easter seems the perfect season for this lofty goal. Start small. A walk. A walk for something I am passionate about. Babies!! I am passionate about babies. So...

We're walking in the March for Babies!

Just when I needed it, a friend asked if I wanted to participate. Yes! Yes! YES! My babies were born full-term and healthy but other babies aren't as lucky and have to really fight from the very minute they are Earth-side to stay with us. I want to help support those babies and those families. If you are interested in helping, just click on the link above to find out how.

Merry marching, ya'll! ;)

Late for work

I'm late for work. What is my excuse? Flat tire? Dog got hit by a car? Stuck in traffic? Nope. I have an excuse way better than any. Every morning I am paralyzed by the snugly bundle next to me. By the warm softness of his skin and smell of his sweet breath. By the cherub face, chin tilted skyward and the satisfied smacks of his perfect Cupid's bow mouth. By the sound of his rhythmic breathing and the occasional small snore or tiny sigh. Even when he awakens, I'm captivated. His big, bright blue eyes examine my face and a tiny soft hand reaches out to grab my nose or hair. His small voice chirping 'ohs' and 'ahs'. Yes, I'm stricken, immobile and completely at his mercy.

My dog ate my flanges!

Time for a little humor.

If you follow my blog, know me personally or are friends with me via Facebook, then you are probably already familiar with our dog Lily the Destroyer. She is a very sweet looking, demon dog who eats everything. Underpants, Christmas ornaments, pacifiers, you name it- she has partially digested it. You may not be familiar with our other dog, Bruiser. Bruiser is a loving Min-Pin that we got back in 2005. He has a sweet disposition, loves everyone and really just needs a warm lap to snuggle in. Although he was notoriously hard to house break, he never chewed anything.

One very busy day about a month ago, I had set my pump up because I needed at least one more session to have enough milk to send with Charlie to the sitter the next day. Of course, life being what it is, I kept getting interrupted. Dinner time rolled around and I still hadn't sat down yet! We where eating out that particular evening so I left my stuff set up, we put Lily the Destroyer in her kennel (since she cannot be trusted) and headed out for some 1/2 priced burgers and beers. We returned fed and full and I walked up the stairs to get Charlie to bed and maybe finally, get a chance to pump. At the top of the stairs, to my horror, I saw my flanges mutilated on the the living room floor and my sweet Bruiser, curled up innocently on the back of the couch. "Bad dog!" I shouted. Ok, don't freak out, this is really not that bad because just the other day I bought new flanges and they were still in the bag. Upon entering my bedroom, I discovered the flanges where not the only pieces he'd chewed. Bruiser mangled the valves as well. I didn't have spare valves. I started to panic. Who sells pump parts and accessories and is open at 8 o'clock at night? Nowhere in my little hamlet, that is for sure. So I loaded the baby back up in the car and drove to Target. Thank heavens for Target.

Here's the lesson folks: Always keep spare pump parts on hand and remember that even the most well behaved pet cannot resist the sweet smell of 'Liquid Gold'!

Hold the line

I hate feeling like this. So anxious, I'm close to jumping out of my skin. These are feelings left over from a previous existence when I didn't know how to deal with life. The jittery notions of walking out, slamming the door and running anywhere. Too scared to leave, too tired to run and too broken to be strong. I need one day, one day, where my Dad isn't gone, Charlie sleeps through the night, Mumbles' isn't being bull headed, my boss isn't a jerk and I feel connected...
Normal...
          Routine...
                    Quiet...

What to do? Say hell with it, quit my job, and start getting drunk at two in the afternoon? No, I don't have that luxury. Who would pick up the baby?
                                                     Take Mumbles to softball practice?
                                                                                                      Wash diapers?
                                                                                                                          Ask Micha about his day?

Instead, I will bite back tears, keep my butt firmly planted in this chair until four o'clock and busy my hands to steady my nerves until night falls. Then, when it's just Micha and I, I'll let it go. Tomorrow will be better. Hold the line 'til then.

The F Word

Before the whirlwind of the previous week, Charlie had been sick for about 2 weeks and I'd been battling seasonal allergies. Charlie went with Dad to see our family doctor for a regular check up and my little guy, who'd been gaining weight so well, had lost nearly a pound. We were supposed to take him back in 1 week to have his weight checked but the day I planned to take him in, we were driving across South Dakota. I took him in when we returned and while he'd gained weight, it was not enough to make up for the significant loss. Our doctor told me it was time to supplement with formula. There is was, that word. Just days shy of my short-term goal for Charlie to be exclusively breastfed for at least 6 months.

My first thought was 'It isn't so bad'. He'd only be getting about 3 oz a day/ 5 days a week. I'd still breastfeed when we were together. Then I started to get mad. There had to be another way. I'd resolved not to give Charlie formula. I'd make another way. I'll break my 'No Facebook for Lent' pledge to get donor milk, if I have to. For now, I'm working on increasing my supply and stretching with rice cereal mixed with my milk. I know a lot of Mom's don't like to give rice cereal but in my case it's the lesser of two evils. At least with the cereal it's organic and I can pronounce all of the ingredients, of which there are only three. Besides, Charlie is starting to show signs of being ready to start solid foods. It's funny feeding him because everything distracts him. The dog, sister, a noise he hears outside but once he spots the bowl, his eyes stay locked. Then when the spoon comes into view he reaches out to grab my hand and 'help'. Hopefully, the additional calories will add up to additional ounces and not more problems than they are worth.

Saying Good Bye

This has been the craziest week of my life. Seven days ago, I was feeding Charlie and got the phone call I have been dreading for years now. My father was in the hospital again but he would not be returning home this time. I called Micha who came home right away. We started packing and loading up the car. For several minutes, I walked around in circles asking aloud "Is this crazy? Should we wait?" We were about to embark on a 24 hour journey with a 6 month old at 9 o'clock at night. "This is insane." As we pulled out of the drive, I felt a strange mix of excitement and foreboding. Maybe it wasn't as bad as they said after all, Dad has been in the hospital before. Maybe we would get there and he'd be alright and it would turn out to be a nice Spring Break family vacation. Dad could finally meet Charlie and Micha and I could show them the state where Mumbles' and I were born and where half my heart has always been. Micha drove most of the next 24 hours and just before we reached Billings, I started getting phone calls. Today had not been a good day and we should go straight to the hospital before checking into our hotel. As we reached the Little Belt mountains and the wind farms, I began to cry. This was not a family vacation. We were going to be with my Dad as he lay dying. I tried to prepare myself for what we would see. Guilt crept in. I hadn't spent enough time with him. I'd been selfish when we spoke on the phone and his mood was foul. I'd held onto resentment too long. Fear crept in. Was he in pain? Was he afraid? Did he know that no matter what, I loved him? Had I told him enough?

What I remember about my Dad from my childhood is that he was awesome at playing. He loved sports and played baseball, basketball and was even known to have a pretty good golf swing. He was big and strong because he usually did physically demanding work but he was a softie. I can remember him crying several times. He loved the outdoors and was an avid fisherman. He didn't often hunt but he taught my brother and I to shoot on an old bolt action .22. Our summers were filled with baseball games, bicycle rides and camping trips in the most beautiful state in the union. He also loved history and the old west. Every cowboy, every gun slinger and every hideout, he could recount them all, despite never having been a very good student. As an adult, I know my Dad followed politics closely and was well versed in American History. Most people would've considered him extremely introverted but he loved to tell stories, anecdotes from his childhood and above all he loved to make people laugh. Dad kept his sense of humor to end, making a goofy face at Charlie upon meeting him for the first time. He was a combination of bad decisions and terrible luck but his intentions were always good. Often the people that he called friends, lived in the fringe of society and he too was not what anyone would consider main stream. In a world of technilogical advances and keeping up with the Jones, to say he lived modestly would be an understatement.When asked if there was anything of his I wanted to keep, it was hard to recount any 'thing' that stuck out in my mind, only places and things we did. I took my family to a few of the places I remembered from my summers there. I showed them the house my grandfather built, the place where my father had grown up. I sorted through what little he had, selecting to keep those things that reminded me of him most; a guide to fly tying, old photographs, a rock tumbler. I watched my aunt and grandfather as they scattered his ashes into the Missouri at one of his favorite fishing holes. Everything happened so fast, several times I wanted everything to simply stop. I wanted time to hold still. I wanted my Dad to open his eyes and talk with me for a few moments before he ran out of air or strength or time. Dad was 53 when he passed. It's cliche to say the good die young but in his case, it is the truth.

We're home now and I've had a few moments to reflect on the whirlwind of the last week. I don't think it is a coincidence that the same river that Dad's ashes are in, the river he was so connected to, also runs through the place where I now live. I feel as though I can go there and be with him, something that was hard to do when he was alive. Thinking about his life has made me more resolute about living mine more simply and with more purpose.

The Sweetest Gift- A barking dog?

So apparently, my little man was holding out on me. A few weeks ago I got him to 'laugh' a couple times by tickling his chin. By laugh I mean a Tyra Banksish smile with his eyes and faint 'ha ah'. Monday night however; we found out what his real laugh sounds like. We were sitting in the living room with a student who was visiting the university Micha works for. Her flight didn't leave for a few hours so we took her out to dinner. Before we left, we were hanging out and Lily the Destroyer was kind of bothering her. Micha, who had Charlie in his lap, got one of Lily's toys and she started barking. Charlie jumped at first and then, clear as day, laughed. Really laughed. It was the cutest thing! We were all so amazed that instead of telling Lily to shut up like we usually do, we encouraged her to bark away!

LIG

The Problem
Over the course of the last few weeks, I've been pretty, well, bitchy. I feel as though I am always either taking care of Charlie or doing housework. I'm certain that this is not an unusual feeling but I do have a partner and a twelve year old at home. I shouldn't have to do everything myself! I'd like a few minutes to do something for me! Needless to say there has been a lot of yelling, bickering and snapping going on at our house. And that's the problem. I'm yelling and getting mad, before I've asked for help. Now don't get me wrong, I think it is absurd that I would have to ask someone to take out the garbage or the recycling when it is obvious that it's full to the brim and overflowing, but if no one notices I should first say "Will someone please take that out?" instead of "Why the hell hasn't anyone taken that out? I know you know it's full. I just saw you smashing it down so you could stuff one more thing in there! Just take the trash out, geez!" But I'm tired and I tend to forgo all pleasantries when I'm tired and what should be a simple request turns into a shouted order and expression of my exasperation at the situation. So I'll admit it, part of the problem is me.

I'm sort of picky about how the house is kept. I hate to come home to a mess, so I feel like I have to have everything in order before I go to bed at night. This usually takes until 11 pm or midnight and since I have to get up with the baby at least once and then be up and starting my day around 4:30 am, I'm getting very little sleep during the week. And my pickiness extends through the whole house, even the garage. Ok, so maybe the other part of the problem is me too. I guess that means I have to be the solution.

The Solution
LIG; Let it go. I've resolved to just let a few things go. Mumbles room can be a little messy as long as it gets cleaned really well once a week, as with the basement. The garage, well as long as I can pull my car in, why should I care if it's a wreck? A couple of nights a week, I'll just let the dishes sit until the next day and if I don't do anything before I go to bed, LIG. It isn't as if the laundry or the dishes are going to go anywhere. And who's gonna judge me? Micha? Lily the Destroyer? I don't think so. Somethings, like washing diapers, I have to stay caught up on, but everything else can wait. In fact, I'm LIG of a little inventory project at work right now....

Another part of LIG, has to do with 'stuff'. I'm a bit of a shopaholic. I have a hard time passing up a good sale. So I end up buying a lot of things that I 'need' because I got a 'good deal'. I looked in my closet the other day and I didn't see clothes. I saw a hospital bill, our phone bill, a months worth of groceries and it bothered me. Micha said "I've never said anything to you. It makes you happy," but it doesn't. I had very little and I never shopped after I had Mumbles and I was happy. If I could live without all the 'stuff' back then, I could do it now. Money is tight and stressing us out so I'm giving up shopping, at least until we are back on track. I haven't laid out all the ground rules yet but it's happening, and it's tough. I took my ring to be sized at Zales the other day and walked by Banana Republic and they were having a clearance sale. I thought to myself "I'll just look..." but I never 'just look' so I kept walking.It's kind of liberating in a way; to know that I can restrain myself and that if everything were gone tomorrow, it would be ok. I've got the people and the memories to hang on to, rather than the crap that's filling my house. So, be sure and keep your eye out for our garage sale the first weekend in May ;)

Laughable

The sweetest sound I've ever heard, I heard Wednesday, February 9th. Charlie laughed. I was changing his diaper and blowing raspberries on his neck and clear as day he laughed, twice. No one else was around, it was just the two of us. It is one of those memories that will stick with me forever. I have them of Mumbles too, but they are just a little fuzzy now. What I wouldn't give to have had the video camera going right then!

Snownami 2011

I hate snow! Seriously, I'm so over winter. I'm desperately looking forward to throwing open all the windows, giving the house a good scrub down and getting rid of a lot of junk. Unfortunately, Old Man Winter has different ideas. We got somewhere around 9" of snow Tuesday evening. So for two whole days we were home bound. Being stuck at home taught me a couple of things (besides that I hate snow, which I already knew) 1) I hate my job and 2) a little elbow grease brings Mumbles and I together.

Point number one, when I was on maternity leave, I couldn't wait to get back to work. Now that I'm back at work, I'd really like to go back on maternity leave. The grass is always greener, right? I really liked being at home just doing the things that make a household run, hell I even helped prepare a meal or two. It's definitely more interesting than what I'm doing at work right now (nothing).

Point number two, even when Mumbles and I are seemingly at odds with one another (an occurrence more frequent now that she is a 'tween and therefore knows everything) a little hard work never fails to bring us together. Truth be told the work doesn't even have to be that hard although shoveling 6 ft of snow out of our driveway definitely was hard (ok that might be a slight exaggeration but seriously it was, like, waist deep).

At any rate, whenever she and I work together on anything; cleaning the house, a project at school, we seem to get along beautifully.

4 months

Holy Moses! It almost snuck up on me. This week Charlie is four months old! He's learned a bevy of new tricks, none of which I have been the first to see. Dad has, to date, been the first to see him smile, hear him laugh and last night, witness him roll over from front to back. Oh well, I guess it makes up for the fact that Daddy doesn't lactate! His status now as a 4 month old means lots of people will be asking "Have you started him on solid foods yet?" *Enormous sigh* No, Charlie hasn't started solids and I'm not sure even now if we are quite ready. Once, when he was about 9 weeks old, in a moment of weakness, I tried giving him rice cereal. It didn't help him sleep any better and we gave it up. He pushed more of it out of his mouth than he swallowed, so clearly he was not ready. There's a ton of information out about why starting solids too early is a bad thing, but what's too early? I read a cereal box that said if your baby is a 'supported sitter' and leans into the spoon with an open mouth, he might be ready. Really? Have you seen this kid? He leans into everything with an open mouth. Just last night he was grabbing fist fulls of Dad's hair and putting it in his mouth (see exhibit A). I'm not sure that's a good indicator. I read somewhere else, to wait until your baby 'shows interest'. What constitutes interest? When we eat, Charlie watches us like a starving mutt. Does that qualify as 'interest'? I don't know. Micha cannot wait to start feeding Charlie solids. In fact, he gives Charlie little finger dabs of whatever he might be eating to see what faces he makes. I want to say, "Don't be in such a big hurry. He'll be big enough for that before you know it and then you'll wonder where the time went." I don't say it though, because this is his first and he has to figure it out the same way everyone else does, by winging it and praying that the therapy won't be too expensive.

Exhibit A

You what?!

We cloth diaper. Yup. We've been CD'ing for a couple of weeks and I have to say things are going pretty well. At first, I thought the idea was crazy. Of course I care about my environmental impact but not enough to deal with that! But then I started reading about how easy it can be and, to be perfectly honest, the dipes have the cutest patterns on them! I felt pretty certain that Micha would go into convulsions if he had to change the old prefolds and covers, so I went with the all-in-one style diapers. Even our sitter has commented on how surprisingly easy cloth is! Here's how we went from disposables to cloth without anyone puking/passing out or having a general meltdown.

Try different kinds. I went to a specialty store called Happybottomus and spent way to long with the diapers. I felt the lining, examined the inserts, snapped, unsnapped, velcroed, unvelcroed(?) and basically coped a feel of every diaper brand and style they had. I decided to buy a couple different styles to take home and test drive. I chose the brands based on reviews from other parents. There are a number of on-line sources for cloth diapering info.

The test-drive. Ok, so this is where I made my first mistake. I threw the (new) diapers in the wash with a load of Charlie's clothes. I figured they didn't need to be rinsed and washed and rinsed, ad nauseum according to the instructions before we actually used them. Wrong! Cloth diapers actually get more absorbent the more you wash them. I found this out the hard way when, while co-sleeping, the first diaper leaked all over the place. The first, most important step in cloth diapering is to 'prep' the dipes. Cold rinse, hot wash, cold rinse, cold rinse. Fortunately, I have a brand new washing machine (here after referred to as the Magic Machine) that has a sanitize cycle on it so it's already programmed to do this (See? Magic!) The inserts can be dried on medium and the covers should be hung to dry. Once I got this part figured out the diapers worked out great.

The investment. All-in-one cloth diapers can be expensive to get into. I figured 24 diapers was a safe estimate for how many we'd need. At $15 and up for new, Charlie would be potty trained before I had enough diapers to CD full-time. To make it easier on our pocketbooks to get started, I looked for second-hand diapers. Craigslist and diaper swaps are a great place to start. Also, we were gifted a couple by my Mom for Christmas. Ultimately, I wound up finding a lot of 24 new Sunbaby diapers on ebay for $120. They are made in China but so is everything else, so what the hell. I actually really like them. They fit a lot trimmer than some of the other one-size-fits-all diapers but they are smaller, so it's possible we'll need a bigger size down the road. Either way, it's worth it to never spend another penny on disposables again, even when we decide to have another baby!

The ick factor. There is none. Ok, there is some but seriously, who escapes parenthood without getting a little poop on them? People who can afford nannies, that's who and sometimes not even then. Honestly though, changing cloth diapers is no different than disposables. Instead of the poopie diaper going into the diaper genie-esque thing next to the changing table, it goes into a cheap, plastic waste basket, or in the case of our daycare provider, a wet bag (a pretty place to put poo). Every other day, I do a load of diapers. I take the wet bag and the diaper pail to the Magic Machine, pull out all the inserts, and put the covers, inserts and wet bag all in together. I use Charlie's Soap and hit start and viola; poopie, stinky diapers go in, clean, fresh smelling diapers come out (again, by magic). Now in the interest of full disclosure, this system works so long as Charlie is exclusively breastfed. Once he starts solids, we'll have to knock the poo into the loo but I think we'll invest in a bidet sprayer when the time comes.

The benefits.

• We never have to spend another penny on disposable diapers again! This will literally save us thousands of dollars.
• Cloth diapers are so much more adorable than disposables! I don't care if your baby does poo in blue, my baby has tropical print all over his fluffy little bummie!
• There are no icky chemicals in cloth diapers!
• Last but not least, we aren't contributing to the already overflowing landfills with diapers that take 450 years to biodegrade and contaminate our ground water with chemicals and solid waste.

Surprise!

For the sake of not sounding like a whining hag, I'm going to tell this story but it comes with a disclosure. You may, after reading this, be seething with jealousy. All I can say is: Na-na, na boo-boo.

Micha and I celebrate our anniversary on New Years' Eve and this year he insisted that he had something really special planned. He refused to tell me what it was. Now it isn't that I don't love surprises, especially his, but this sort of thing makes me crazy because I need to know what to wear! After a few weeks of badgering him with questions about what these big, super-secret plans were, I was sure I knew what we were going to do.

~~~~~flashback~~~~~

When I was pregnant with Charlie, 37 weeks in fact, Micha's friend won tickets to see Alice in Chains. He asked me if he could go, to which I answered yes. I wasn't worried about going into labor as much as I was bummed that I wasn't getting to go. My consolation prize: Micha agreed to go to a drag show with me.

~~~~~flashforward~~~~~

The big, super-secret surprise was actually planned for the night before New Years Eve, so after work and no less than an hour agonizing over accessories, I raced home to primp for my big date. I was certain that we were going to dinner in the city and then to a drag show. I was so excited plus, I love to play dress up! All dolled up and ready to go we set out in the Town Car into the city. Then, out of nowhere, Micha exited off the interstate way too early. I wracked my brain for an idea of where on Earth we were going but came up blank. 'There isn't a thing out here,' I thought. We passed a bar called Lumpy's but I was pretty sure I was overdressed for that. Finally, he hands me a card. Inside is a gift certificate for....

A plane ride over the Country Club Plaza!!!!

OMG! Way cooler than a drag show! I've always wanted to see the Plaza lights at Christmas time. Bob was our pilot and did nothing to calm any nerves we might have had about flying in 50 mph winds in a little four seater! The lights were amazing! And not just the Plaza light, the view of the whole city with Christmas lights, street lamps and cars was...amazing! I got to see it all from 2,500 feet. Once we'd made our way over the downtown and Country Club Plaza areas, Micha asked our pilot if we got a souvenier of any kind, "Maybe these head sets?" he asked. Bob handed me a small package wrapped in tissue paper and tied with a ribbon. He'd said earlier that the burned out bulbs were hand-painted and sold as gifts, so I was hoping for one of those. It was just a candle, but tied to the ribbon was a ring. Yup. Twenty five thousand feet in the air above Kansas City, Micha asked me to be his wife.

I've known for some time now that Micha is the person that I want to get old and senile with and I've known for some time now that he feels the same way. Marriage, though, was just not something I was ever interested in. Micha's gifts are always what I least expect and never knew I wanted.

No idea what is about to happen...

Holy Crap! I'm engaged!!!

The Whole Truth

I've gone back an forth about writing this post. In fact, I wrote about it when I was pregnant with Charlie but deleted the post. The decision was and still is such a deeply personal matter, that I wasn't sure making it public knowledge was appropriate. I also worried about protecting Charlie's privacy but yesterday I watched a documentary by a Jewish film maker and once again felt compelled to do something. This is why I chose to keep my son whole. My desire is simply to let people know there is a choice and there is information available on that choice regardless of which way parents decide. I am not passing judgment.

Circumcision terrifies me. It was scarier to me than raising a child alone. When I was pregnant with Mumbles my sonogram was an emergency so I didn't get to find out if I was having a boy or a girl. For the next four and half months I was petrified that my baby was a boy and that he would have to be circumcised. I can stomach a lot of things but the idea of a baby bleeding makes me ill. I worried about keeping it from getting infected. A newborn's diaper is not exactly a sterile environment. Luckily, my first was a beautiful girl. When I became pregnant with Charlie, from the very beginning I knew in my heart I was having a boy. If circumcision was on the table, I was going to find out everything I could.

A brief history
Circumcision, in the Judea-Christian world, began with Abraham. It was an act that honored a covenant with God. In the 1800's, circumcision was purposed as a cure for a variety of ills from bedwetting and masturbation (seen then as a disease) to spinal paralysis and epilepsy. Throughout the 1900's, there were a variety of medical 'reasons' to circumcise put forward, though none of them have withstood time or scientific testing. Despite nearly all of these claims being disproved, the practice continued to become more common in the U.S. leading to the development and implementation of specialized tools.

These are just a couple of the tools on the market today.

A more modern take
In the 1970's, people started questioning the practice of routinely circumcising infant boys. No other country in the world had implemented this practice. At this point circumcision rates in the US were more than 75% but less than 25% in the rest of the world. Since claims that circumcision was cure for anything had been debunked, advocates turned to prevention. Assertions were made that circumcision prevented cancer, urinary tract infections and STDs. But in 1971, the American Academy of Pediatrics warned that there weren't any valid medical reasons to circumcise infant boys. They would later reverse this statement only to then leave it up to parents discretion. Even renowned childcare expert Dr. Spock in 1976 revised his book Baby and Child Care stating that if he'd had his son today('76), he'd "leave his penis alone." He'd previously recommended the routine circumcision of newborn males.


When it comes right down to it
With so much conflicting information, how do parents make an educated decision. I think it boils down to taking the information that is available and deciding what feels true. Our truths:

• No medical organization in the world recommends the routine circumcision of infants (male or female).
• Studies in which circumcision it purposed as preventative are anecdotal at best. There is no definitive research that proves circumcision prevents against HIV/AIDS, cancer or urinary tract infections. It is irresponsible to assert that circumcision is a 'vaccine' for HIV when abstinence and condoms are the only known ways to prevent contraction of the virus.
• It is not 'cleaner'. Besides, our hands get dirty and are responsible for the transmission of far more diseases/bacteria/parasites/etc than foreskins but we don't cut those off. We wash them.
• Circumcision is a quick way to make a couple hundred dollars. There's also a market for the amputated foreskins in the, wait for it, cosmetics industry. So yeah, I have a serious problem with doctors, hospitals and companies profiting by using my son's foreskin to keep vain people from getting wrinkles.
• Without medical indication, circumcision is a cosmetic procedure that permanently alters the look and function of the penis. I have no right to make a decision of this nature about anybody else's body but my own. I would not consent to breast augmentation for my newborn girl, why would I consent to circumcision? Everyone has a right to genital integrity.
• We are not Jewish. We aren't even practicing Christians but I know that entry to heaven is not based on deed. I feel that God creates us in his perfect image, and we cannot improve upon that by removing perfectly healthy tissue.
• The rate of serious complication from circumcision is estimated between 2%-10%. These complications include but are not limited to scarring, excessive blood loss, impotence, and death. Why would I risk even a 10% chance for a procedure that there is no medical indication for? If you consider that by removing the foreskin and prepuce, tens of thousands of nerve endings have been removed as well as a functioning part of the penis, then the complication rate is 100%. 
• Finally, I watched a video of a circumcision. The only word to describe it is horrifying. Probably the single most compelling truth for me. Anybody who says a newborn doesn't feel pain is either lying or stupid. I know many hospitals/doctors use anesthesia but how do you suppose they administer that anesthesia? By inserting a needle near the base of the penis. How many guys do you know think a shot in the junk doesn't sound excruciating? That is not the way I wanted to welcome my son Earth side. 

 Resources

The decision to keep our son whole was not one we took lightly. We did a lot of research and even more soul searching.  Below are some places where I found information and support but ultimately we made our choice based on our own feelings about how we wanted to honor our son's entrance into the world.

Peaceful Parenting


Woman Uncensored

Woman-Uncensored on Facebook

NOCIRC

Circumcison Resource Center

Circumcision Trauma
*this video is graphic
SavingOurSons

Doctors Opposing Circumcision

To all the slacks I've loved before...

Maybe it's the 'nice' letter I received from the IRS yesterday, or the fact that my day started at 2:45 in the morning or that it's payday and therefore also bill day, but I am in a foul mood. This morning, as I was trying desperately to scrub spit up out of my only clean pair of pants that fit, I lamented the numerous articles of perfectly good, spit up free clothing hanging in my closet. Clothes that haven't seen daylight in nearly a year. Neglected clothes. Oh, how I miss my clothes! My beautiful slacks from Banana Republic that I got such a great deal on and feel as though they were made out of silk. The stylish heels that won't look good with cargo pants. My knit tops that showed off my flat tummy and small waist. My fun shirts that I never gave a second thought about being able to discretely pull out the goods before putting on. The strapless, brocade, mid-thigh length, dress; The Little Black Dress, that looks just like something Reese Witherspoon might wear on the red carpet, that I paid $10.00 for. My '$50.00-Boob-Job-Bras' that are hanging, untouched, on the back of the bathroom door. I think of the hours I spent carefully combing sale racks and thoughtfully picking out only those pieces with classic tailoring, quality stitching and materials. I think of the care I took to follow the washing instructions to the letter so my garments would last me season after season. Is it ridiculous to be so attached to my clothing? Absolutely. Do I care? No. I love my clothes. I miss my clothes.
Micha has suggested buying a few new things. This is like telling someone who as just lost their beloved dog of the last 15 years to buy a new puppy. If, God forbid, my house burnt down and I lost all my clothes, I'd have a memorial service for them. Is it healthy to be this attached to my clothes? Probably not. Do I care? No. I miss my clothes. Occasionally, I pull things on, as far as they will go without pulling the seams, to remember how good I feel in them. A pair of slacks I wore to an interview because they make me feel confident, the dress I wore on a date because it makes me feel sexy, the top I wore to a concert because it made me feel like a Rock Star. Don't get me wrong, I'd feel like a confident and sexy Rock Star if I was playing Guitar Hero in a burlap sack. It's sort of like a sundae that has fudge and whip cream and a cherry versus a sundae that just has fudge. The latter is still a sundae, technically, but the one with whip cream and a cherry is a sundae! My clothes are the whipped cream with a cherry on top. I miss my clothes.

The Sweetest Gift- Now that 7am on Saturday is sleeping in...

'Tween Scene

Hol...y Crap! Last night Mumbles let me have it. Apparently, volleyball is a big damn deal.We'd just finished up dinner and she started talking about how she didn't think she was going to be able to play volleyball next year because everyone else has already been playing and they are all really good. She went on to say that if she didn't play in middle school she'd never get to play in high school which, mind you, is two and half years away. I told her it wasn't a big deal. Nobody knows how to play in 7th grade and it's more about learning the game and having fun than about being awesome at it. "Not here! I told you, I wanted to play and you did nothing! It's like you're ignoring me!" she said, her eyes welling up. 'You're ignoring me.' Those words cut me. I'd worried about this happening since the day I found out I was pregnant with Charlie. She never had to share me before. She was the baby of the family and my only baby and now suddenly, she wasn't. It was all I could do to get through the rest of the conversation with her without being overcome with tears of my own.

The next day I asked her if, now that she had time to sleep on it, she still felt the same way or if she was maybe tired or having a bad day. She admitted that she was tired and did have a rough day and that might have had something to do with her mood the previous evening. I told Mumbles that I never want her to feel like I am ignoring her. Yes, her brother needs a lot of attention and yes, I forget stuff all. the. time. But, I'm never ignoring her and if she felt like I was, not to wait until she has a meltdown to say something.

I miss kindergarten when all it took to be cool was sending 'pupcakes' to school!

Re-normalize breastfeeding: A reluctant lactavists' POV

Original post from: http://sparkiesbellyblog.blogspot.com/2010/05/re-normalize-breastfeeding-reluctant.html

Truth be told, I've said it. 'I don't mind a woman breastfeeding in public, but she should cover up'. What changed my mind? Was is becoming a mother myself? Actually, it was a perfect storm of events that changed my view. The controversy over a woman's right to breastfeed in public captured my interest due to its civic nature. It wasn't until reading a comment by a mother who was clearly pro-breastfeeding that I changed my tune. The comment basically berated women who formula fed their babies and called into question their devotion to parenting and desire to give their children the best. I thought to myself "How dare that woman judge people she doesn't even know!? She probably never struggled with breastfeeding and isn't considering that not everyone can stay home with their babies to nurse them all day!" It turned me off completely to the 'lactavist cause', until I considered my own views on breastfeeding. I realized I had been judging mother's just as harshly for their decisions without really knowing why they'd made those decisions in the first place or why I felt the way I did. What was it about breastfeeding that made me so uncomfortable?

Shortly there after, I found out I was expecting my second child. I researched breastfeeding and found that not only is breast milk far superior to formula, there are also numerous resources for women who experience difficulties breastfeeding. Resources I knew nothing about when I was struggling to breastfeed my daughter 12 years ago. I was a single, working, young mother. The stigma for mothers like me, is that we are not as good as parents who are not young, not working and not single and its a tough one to fight. So when I struggled with breastfeeding, it became one more thing that I was not good enough to do. A couple of months in, I switched to formula. The pediatric nurses gave me dirty looks. The nurse at the WIC office gave me a dirty look. What no one gave me was advice. I took on the attitude that I hated breastfeeding. Who wants to be a walking buffet anyway? The sore, swollen, veiny breasts. The leaking and pumping. Forget it, not me. My baby was happier and I was happier, so to hell with the nurses and anyone else who had anything nasty to say to me. Right?

Looking back, I didn't hate breastfeeding. What I hated was the constant crying. I hated the woman that I worked with who constantly complained about how long and how often I was in the bathroom pumping. I hated pumping with my cheap K-Mart pump. I hated feeling like I had no idea what I was doing. How could I not have this figured out? I grew up around babies. I've known since I was 10 how to change a diaper. I babysat my brother and sister and cousins. Despite that fact, I don't ever remember seeing a woman nurse her baby. This never struck me as odd, until a very frank discussion about breastfeeding with an unexpected supporter. My boss is a man in his 60's. He is also, I'm convinced, enthralled with all things having to do with reproduction, from pregnancy, to child birth, to infancy. It's sort of charming really, his wide-eyed wonderment of it all. To him, there's nothing gross or sexual or inappropriate about any of it. He openly discusses his wife's pregnancies and the deliveries of his children and his daughter's struggles to breastfeed. Most employers would not even dare to utter the word 'breast' regardless of it's intended context. My boss however; shared with me how strange it is to see women bottle-feeding as this was not the common practice when he was a boy, growing up in the south. How can this be? Where women less modest in those days? Highly doubtful, looking at the bathing suit trends of the time, in comparison to the trends of today. So what happened? How did bottle feeding become the norm?

Science had been working on ways of creating breast milk substitutes since around the 1860's. During World War 2, women were joining the work force and by the 1950's, more than half the babies in the US were on some type of formula. Fortunately, the pendulum swings both ways. Since the 1970's, more women have been choosing breast over bottle. Sadly, the biggest obstacles they face are an uneducated public. Even mother's who breastfed can be heard saying things like 'I don't want my kids to see that!' Which begs the question, 'Why not?' Children are wonderfully curious little buggers aren't they? I suppose that the sight of a nursing mother might cause them to ask 'Mom, what is that lady doing?' If Mother's response is as simple as 'Feeding her baby,' I imagine that child might go through life thinking of breastfeeding as a natural, normal thing to do. If the Mother's response is that of shock and horror at 'the nerve of that woman showing her naked breast to the whole world', I suppose that child might go through life thinking of breasts as purely sexual organs. Which is a healthier view?

Some other 'interesting' comments:

"I don't need to see a woman whip her tit out."
There are numerous variations to this comment. 'My kids don't need to see...', '...boob...', '...milk-tits...', etc. Where did this notion that breastfeeding mothers are 'whipping' their their breasts about come from? I'm not even nursing yet and the thought of whipping my swollen, sore boob around is painful enough. The majority of the women that are nursing in public, simply adjust a couple articles of clothing in order to provide access for their babies.

"I have a teenage son with hormones who can't help but stare." 
This is as valid as the 'I have PMS, so I'm not responsible for killing my husband' defense. The fact that a young man has hormonal drives does not mean a complete lack of control or of personal responsibility. Besides, my guess is your teenage son is masturbating to a Victoria Secret catalog, not an issue of Mothering.

"I don't want to see people peeing in public either."
No, no one appreciates seeing someone pee in public. In fact, its so unappreciated, its illegal. Breastfeeding however is not. While both are necessary bodily functions, the trouble with urinating in public is there's no receptacle. Typically, the urine is flowing onto a sign post or a tree. Breast milk has an intended destination and is not likely to even be seen by anyone else.

"It's a bodily fluid, what if it gets in my food?!"
At some point in time were nursing mother's walking around topless, singing a rendition of 'Do your boobs hang low?' and squirting onlookers in the eyes with breast milk? They're breasts, not squirt guns! Rest assured no one is going to waste a drop of such a valuable commodity to squirt you, your food or anything in your general vicinity.

"Feeding the baby isn't the part that is offensive, it's the display."
Again, where are these women with their lactating breasts swinging to and fro for all of the US to see? Certainly, we are proud of our breasts but not because of how they look but for what they can do. Typically, the breast that is on 'display' is not that of a lactating mother. The breast is more likely to belong to a woman with large implants or perhaps a shirt that is 2 sizes too small or a bikini top. Breasts are beautiful. I don't blame anyone for looking but if a peek is what you seek, flip through a magazine. Those women want you to look and there's no shortage so for those that are so inclined, there's no need to resort to desperate measures.

"What's wrong with covering up?" 
This seems like such a simple request, how could we not oblige? Some infants are just fine covered up but once a baby reaches the age were swaddling is no longer comforting but constraining, there's simply no telling where those chubby little arms will swing. Some babies don't like to be covered up. Not to mention, if you saw a woman with a blanket over her and an infant, isn't that more obvious than if she is simply holding an infant? I actually had one toddler pull the blanket off. Not to be rude, she simply wanted to see the baby. She saw no more of me than she would've had she left the blanket on. Her curiosity satisfied, she went on about her business and worried very little about what was going on.

"Wouldn't you prefer to do that some place private, like the bathroom?"
There are a number of things I prefer to do in private, pooping and peeing being two of them. The bathroom is the perfect venue for these activities. It is not however; a place to breastfeed. It makes no more sense to nurse in a bathroom than it would to pee in a kitchen. That simply is not the intended function of that room. Likewise, I would never expect anyone else to eat their meal in the bathroom, why should I expect an infant to? Breastfeeding is something that I (personally) would prefer to do in private however; the AAP recommends that infants be exclusively breastfed for 6 months. Six months is a long time to stay home because you don't want to risk going out in public and have the baby wake up early and hungry.

"I don't feel sorry for anyone who is too lazy to pump. That's what I did."
I don't feel sorry for anyone who's never made if far enough out of their own mind to see that there is a whole big world out there with more people than just you in it. Pumping quite simply is not an option for every woman nor are bottles an option for every baby.

Don't get me wrong, I absolutely respect a person's right to their opinions and feelings. The sight of a woman nursing in public may simply make them uncomfortable for reasons they cannot articulate. It probably has more to do with the act being seen so little, than any of the reasons above. The fact still remains that, in most states, a woman has the right to breastfeed her infant in any place she and the child are otherwise authorized to be, irrespective of how much or how little of her breast maybe showing at the time. The importance of normalizing the practice has less to do with legality (since our rights are already protected) and more to do with supporting mothers who are trying to do the best they can for their babies. Mother's face a mountain of challenges. Balancing on a toilet seat in dirty public restroom with a baby in her arm and fussing with an nursing cover should not be one of them.

The most intimate view of me feeding Charlie and not a nipple in sight.

An open letter to Facebook users and admins....

OK, Facebook Admins, I get it. There's some programing algorithm, far too complex for my sleep deprived mind, that monitors how many times a particular page has been reported and after 'x' number of times the page gets slated for deactivation. However; in the case of one of my favorite pages The Leaky B@@b, I urge you to reconsider. Why should Facebook grant The Leaky B@@b clemency? Let me tell you.

Upon finding out I was pregnant with baby number 2, I ravenously read every piece of information about pregnancy, childbirth, vaccinations, and breastfeeding in preparation for Charlie's arrival. In particular, breastfeeding, I learned is, was and always will be the hands-down, bar-none, best way to feed a baby...period. I also stumbled across a wonderfully warm and supportive community of like-minded Mommies. A community I wished I'd had 12 years ago when I gave up breastfeeding my first child after only two months. A place where success is sometimes measured in ounces or milliliters; sometimes in days, months and even years.

Charlie arrived and it seemed I had forgotten how difficult those first few weeks can be. My nipples were blistered and bled. Charlie was nursing sometimes every half hour, sometimes for three or four hours at a time. Who could I reach out to at three o'clock in the morning while the rest of the world slumbered? My Leakies. Somewhere in the world, there was another mother going through the exact same thing. Everywhere there were mother's who'd gone through the exact same thing and come out the other side with most of their sanity intact and willing to give encouragement to their Leaky sisters. Through nipple pain, engorgement, under-supply, over-supply, milk-blisters, reflux and even worries about what color my son's poop should be, there have been Leaky sisters at the ready to offer support, advice and more than a few laughs. We share lactation cookie recipes, anecdotes about our nurslings and most importantly our triumphs and sometimes, our heartbreaks.

The Leaky B@@b Facebook page was a refuge for women who were tired, lacked support in their real world communities and sometimes just needed a break. It was a resource for mother's looking for words of wisdom from those who came before them. It promotes making the healthiest choice for feeding our children from the start. Nothing obscene or hateful about that. If Facebook is supposed to be about connectivity and sharing, then TLB epitomized those ideals.

Leakies are not naive about those who might view the page and it's contents for other, less wholesome reasons. If anything we are more keenly aware of the existence of these types of individuals. We don't need any more protection from them, than we do going out into the real world. There's nothing indecent about the photos or information we share, frankly I've seen more cleavage on the Victoria Secret fan page. And yes, I am a fan of that page as well, because I'm aware that I can be both a lover and a mother; both sexy and nurturing. Where'd you think all these babies came from?

We, The Leakies, respectfully request that The Leaky B@@b Facebook page be reinstated. Furthermore, we ask that Facebook community members stop reporting the page. The content is what is normal and natural for mothers and babies and has been the world over, since man's beginning. Thank you.

Respectfully,

Kirstin A- Leaky for 13 weeks and counting....

9 weeks old...4 weeks late

I actually meant to post this a few weeks ago but got side-tracked....

Charlie went for his two month well baby appointment this week and his doctor gave us a prescription for reflux. This was something I suspected before but had dismissed due to his weight gain (he was 10.5 at last check and 12.1 at this one!) I'd already discovered his sensitivity to acidic foods. It was obvious when he stopped erupting after every feeding when we ran out of orange juice. Hopefully, the medicine will help him keep his meals down and make him more comfortable so he can sleep and be a more content baby. Also, it would be great if I didn't smell like sour milk all the time.

Things to do at two in the morning....

Once upon a time, in the not so distant past, I would've probably been hitching a ride to an after party, waiting in the drive thru at Taco Bell, or stumbling into my apartment to sleep off what will likely be a hangover for the record books. And while I thoroughly enjoyed my college years (all seven of them), I could kick myself for wasting such valuable time. I've since discovered how much more one can do with these unholy hours of the morning:

1) Laundry, and thinking of creative ways to get stains out of everything. With a new baby, there seems to be a never-ending source of clothes that have been peed, pooped, spit-up on, or any combination of the three.
2) Cruise Facebook. I now know way more about my friends than I ever cared to.
3) Watch documentaries on Netflix. I now know way more about making Q-Tips than I ever cared to.
4) Burn calories and loose 'baby weight' doing laps and/or dance through your house. This was sort of an accidental discovery as the was actually to get the baby to sleep.
5) Desperation dial. Similar to the drunk dial, these calls are made under the influence of sleep deprived dementia rather than alcohol.

This is, of course, not a comprehensive list. I'm sure to discover many more ways to be more productive at all hours of the night.

The Sweetest Gift- Christmas Edition

Mumbles and Charlie Christmas Morning