Fraudulant Behavior

Half the time I feel like I'm just playing the part of a grown up. Like I'm going through the motions of being a professional, a wife, a home owner, a mother. I feel like everyone has it more together than I do.Like at any moment I will be found out and exposed for what I really am. Scared. Terrified, in fact. Terrified of failure. Failing at work and failing at home. Failing at being an adult. Failing at life.

I have a great family. My kids are thriving so I must be doing something right. A great marriage. I'm fairly successful. I have a great home. But it never seems to be enough. It's never enough to convince me that I'm good enough, smart enough and that, gosh darn it, people like me. It's the scared little girl I used to be coming out to make sure I don't forget about her. To make sure I don't forget to work harder. Try harder. Demand more. Always more because if I don't keep demanding more of myself I might become complacent. And nothing good comes with complacency.

So I hope I never become 100% sure of myself. I hope I always little doubts in my mind, here and there. Things I think I can improve about myself. About the way I do my job, raise my kids, run my home or be a wife. I hope I can always maintain the humility it takes to realize you can do better. Because it's always possible to do something better.

Songs, Scents and Sickness

I am a person ruled by my memories. I remember way more than I would like to and those memories are often guided by songs and, occassionally, scents. I feel sick right now.

Sick because a co-worker was drinking a Strawberry/Kiwi Snapple. Sick because an ex-boyfriend used to drink them right before coming to my house. Before walking in my front door and kissing me. The sweetness of the drink flavored every kiss and every word spoken. That scent of sweetness makes me want to vomit. Literally. It reminds me of a time when there were so many promises made, none of which were kept. When I was naiive and in love enough to believe anything. A time when I made some of the biggest mistakes of my life. When I allowed a person into my life who had no business being there in the first place, much less staying there for 5 fucking years. Sick because I still can't stop hating him. Sick because I don't know if I want to. It's been 8 fucking years since we parted and he still makes me sick.

I know this can't be the first time I smelled this smell in the last 8 years but it's the first time it hit me like this. It's the first time I remember smelling it in 8 years.

I'm not used to this from a scent. I'm used this from songs. Songs evoke such strong memories for me. Here's a brief list of songs that make me remember very specific moments in time:
Breakfast at Tiffany's - Deep Blue Something
Is This Love? - Whitesnake
Angel Eyes - Jeff Healey Band
End of the Innocence - Don Henley
Whoomp There It Is - Tag Team (yes, seriously)
Wonderful Tonight - Eric Clapton
Run-Around - Blues Traveler
Little Black Backpack - Stroke 9
I Guess That's Why They Call it the Blues - Elton John
Closer to Fine - Indigo Girls
All I Want is You - U2
Send me on my Way - Rusted Root
Sunrise, Sunset

All of these songs put back to a very specific place. I can picture everything about the moment they are related to. I know where I was, I know who I was with.

Closer to Fine? Dancing in the rain with Becky while Jim and Dave looked on at the Indigo Girls concert at Ravinia in Chicago in 2000.
All I Want is You - dancing for the first time as husband and wife at our wedding.
Send me on my Way - picking songs for a video after D's first bday.
Sunrise, Sunset - dancing with my dad at my wedding and letting him I believe I was "daddy's little girl" for a moment while my mom stood off to the side sobbing.

All of the songs above take me back. Some to good time, some to bad. But they all take me back. Sometimes I feel like without music, I wouldn't have any memories at all.

Mommy Guilt

It took me a long time to get over the guilt I felt when I put Dylan into daycare at 12 weeks of age. He adjusted well and I saw him blossoming. He has great friends and is in a wonderful environment. He has fun and most mornings drop off involves a quick hug, kiss, I love yous and he runs off to play with a smile. This morning was different. This morning I took both kids to the doctor for colds, they're fine, and brought them to daycare late. Sasha is still young enough not to notice. Dylan, on the other hand, definitely noticed the extra time with mom.

On the way to daycare he started begging not to be left there. "Don't go to work, Mommy."

When we got there, I had to peel him off me after 20 hugs and kisses. He wanted to wave to me through the window. He did so with tears in his eyes mouthing the words don't go. By the time I got in the car, I had tears in my eyes too. There are days I wonder if it's worth it. If the life we lead is worth the time away from my kids. I have written before about the push and pull I feel about being a working mother. Most days I handle it well. Most days I enjoy my time at work and being me. I enjoy the drive to and from work with my husband when we get to have an actual converstation.

But on days like today, I wish I had the freedom to just scoop him up in my arms and go play. Go have fun and make memories. Cater to his every whim rather than catering to the demands of work. I wish my children didn't get what little is left of me at the of the day. I wish I got to spend more than 2 waking hours a day with them. Neither of those hours being quality time. The hour in the morning is spent running around trying to get out the door. The hour in the evening is spent trying to get dinner, get play time, baths, books, bed. I spend half the time sequestered in a room with Sasha, feeding her and putting her to bed. It's wonderful time I spend with her. It's time I don't spend with D. I miss him, he misses me I feel guilty. I don't spend enough time with Sasha, I feel guilty. I don't spend enough time with Dave, I feel guilty. I think about the kids and home at work, I feel guilty. I think about work at home, I feel guilty.

Will there ever be a time when I don't feel guilty?

Things I say

There are so many things I say over the course of a day that I never, in a million years, thought I would be saying. Or at least not saying them as often as I do.

Here's a list:
Move allegro not adaggio!
Please be a boy, not a puppy. Don't lick me.
Stop touching your penis.
My pony tail is not a handle.
My pony tail is not a train whistle.

There are definitely a lot more but they are escaping me at the moment. Come out of lurkdom and tell me the things you say which you never thought you would.

Gen X in action

This morning, in the car, we had one of those moments that can only really happen to Gen Xers. We were driving the kids to daycare and flipped to a radio station which happened to be playing Bohemian Rhapsody. Of course, Dave and I started singing immediately, taking turns belting out the different parts of the song. Dylan was not amused and asked us to stop singing. I told him that simply was not an option for this song. We finished out the song just as we were pulling into the driveway of our daycare providers home. I had just headbanged before 8am and I was in a good mood.

Thank you, Wayne's World, for bringing this song to Gen X to enjoy in our own little way.

And seriously, Wayne's World came out in 1992!!! Damn I'm old. And, for an added note of amusement, Dave and I met in Aurora, IL.

Blushing Sailors

Dylan is 4.5. In his 4.5 years he has picked up a few choice words. At about 15 months he walked around saying "faaaa, faaaaa" after hearing me scream "FUCK!" into the phone about 25 times in a row after getting off a work call. On. a. Saturday.

At around 18 months he said "shit" every time I would drop something into the cart at Target. Lately he saws "aw crap" whenever he doesn't like what he is told to do. We're trying to replace it with "aw man."

The entertaining part of all this is that the swearing children are usually the fault of the men in their lives. Not in my house. It's all my fault. I have a mouth that could make a sailor blush. I have a very solid grasp of the English language and can easily describe any situation and express myself without the use of swear words quite well. But there are times when it really seems no other words will do. Most of these times are at work. Thankfully, I work in an environment where cursing is embraced. Because otherwise I would be reduced to "aw man" being the strongest language I could use. And that, internet, would just be fucking wrong.

Giggles

I have never known a person who can make me laugh as much as my son. He says the silliest, most hillarious things on a regular basis. There are days when I don't know what I would do without his giggles or the giggles he makes come out of my mouth. My daughter is starting to this as well. She has been really, REALLY laughing lately. And I can make her laugh.

Really, is there anything sweeter than the sound of a baby who has just learned how to belly laugh? No.

NaBloPoMo Day 3

This is getting tough already. You might notice I removed the "Facebook sucks" button from my page. It's not because I think Facebook sucks any less, but because I still have my account and I feel it's hypocritical of me to have both the button and an account. I still have the account because it allows me to reconnect with people and that's important to me.

All in all, today was a great day. We ran errands together and hung out all day. The kids were both fantastically behaved and Sasha went to bed well. We have some friends and their kids over for dinner and none of the kids argued. What could be better?

I'm exhausted, it's late and I want to watch a TiVoed show then go to sleep.

Good night.

Do they make coffee IVs?

Apparently, Sasha has yet to recieve the memo that sleeping through the night is perfectly appropriate behavior for a 5.5 month-old. I can't take it. Even on the nights I don't end up feeding her she still wakes up at least once for a pacifier. in the 5.5 months she has been alive I have had approximately 5 nights where I have slept through the night. And, even those night, I usually wake up at 6 to go pump before my boobs explode. I don't know how much longer I can go on like this. She eats. and eats. and eats.

She gets three 7 ounce bottles of breast milk a day at daycare along with a morning and before bed nursing session. She now eats a fair amount of cereal before the last nursing of the day as well. And she still thinks she needs to eat at night. I'm sorry baby girl, but you weigh 19 pounds and are only 5.5 months old. I don't think you need to eat at night. Not that I think my baby needs a diet or anything completely inane like that, but really, she should be able to last the night.

In the meantime, I have been walking around in such a fog that it's a wonder I make it through my days. I never feel like I am giving the proper amount of attention to anyone or anything. I just want to be able to give 100% to SOMETHING OR SOMEONE for even 1 day. Is that really too much to ask?

What the hell did I just sign up for?

I just made the decision to participate in NaBloPoMo which will involve me writing something every. damn. day. Oh boy.

I will also be participating in NoBloShoeMo which is Susan's brainchild.

Should be an interesting November.

So, for today's post, here are the monkey and pumpkin in my life.

Word Scramble

The words aren't flowing very well these. They feel all jumbled up in my head and I'm unable to sort them out. It's a clusterfuck of thoughts and feelings and emotions that are taking over. It feels like a flood gate has been opened and I don't know what garbage will flow through.

There is so much going on in life that I can't sort it out. I can't get my head wrapped around what it is I have to do in a day, a week or month. I make list after list just to try to get it straight and then I lose the list. Fitting.

Everything is getting overwhelming all at once and I just want to be able to sort out the words in my head. And then maybe, just maybe, everything else will get sorted out as well.

I'm not cute!

ME: Dylan, you look so cute!

D: I'm nooooot cuuuuute! (in his best whiny voice.)

ME: Why not?

D: Only little girls are cute. Big boys are so handsome.

DUH! Why didn't I think of that!

Tattle Tails

- Mommy, Daddy said "stupid"!
- He did? Why did he say that?
- He said "stupid movie" about Wiggly, Wiggly, World.

We have officially reached the tattling phase. Woo-frickin'-hoo.

Ups and Downs

I go through ups and downs, I think we all do. Right now I'm in a down. Not too sure why, never am. What I do know is I hate the down slopes. I hate the times when every little thing can reduce me to tears in a matter of seconds. I hate the times when the list of frustrations runs long and my temper runs short. I hate when I have a tough time finding the joy in things.

There are some tangible things getting me down.

Sasha's continuing GI issues. 1 out of 3 hemocult cultures (testing for blood in her stool) came back positive. Saturday she had visible blood in her stool. The doctor isn't terribly concerned and thinks it's just a sensitivity to something I am eating but we don't know what that is. I've been off dairy since the end of August and it has made a huge difference. I've been extremely careful about my consumption and I definitely have not had any dairy. I don't know what else it could be. I haven't had anything new. I feel like a failure. I feel like I can't even feed my daughter. I want to know what's wrong. I don't.

I'm off dairy. This is really challenging and starting to impact my quality of life a bit. Going out to eat, one of my favorite things to do, is laborious and no that enjoyable as I have to examine everything I eat. I can't have treats or the bast majority of frozen foods. No frozen lunch meals which means more prep for bringing a lunch to work and I don't have time for that so I eat out too much which is extra calories and extra money spent.

My body sucks. I weigh less than I did when I got married and before I was pregnant with Dylan. I wore a skirt today I bought 6 years ago and it looked great. But what's going on underneath is so depressing. Not that I'm doing anything to change it. At least I look decent in clothes.

Work is kicking my ass. I'm stuck in a middle management role where I am responsible for a lot but enabled to make virtually no decisions.

I don't see my friends and I miss them.

There is plenty of good in my life. My children are amazing. My job, at the end of the day, is fairly rewarding. My friends are wonderful and I know they are there for me.

Just need to ride it out and the ups will come back.

Let's talk about breasts, baby!

I now have a "Facebook Sucks" button on my page. Why? Well, seems that Facebook has taken to deleting photos of women breastfeeding their children. Those photos are "inappropriate." However, flashing your tits at a frat party and posting the photos for all to see is OK. Um, sure.

I breastfeed, I do it in public. I do it in private. I do it wherever I damn well please and the first person to ever ask me to put away my boob when my baby is hungry will be told exactly where to go. Luckily, noone has been dumb enough to say a word to me yet. Then again, I have mastered the art of discreetly, publicly breastfeeding (without a cover I might add). Seriously, men have started up conversations with me while my car was getting serviced without a clue as to what I was doing. They thought the baby was sleeping.

What I find the most entertaining about the whole Facebook issue is that breasts displayed in a sexual manner are ok but breasts being shown sustaining human life are not. It's fucked up. If I want to post a picture of myself nursing my baby girl for my friends to see, which I don't want to post, who the hell cares. Seriously, half the Twin Cities metro area has seen at least a glimpse of my boobs at this point.

I'm surprised, a little, at how comfortable I am with the whole thing. Granted, I used to dance at First Ave. in my bra, but I was 15 and had a rockin' bod and no one could actually SEE my boobs. Anyway, I've always been comfortable showing (a lot of) cleavage and showing off my assets but I've never been one to freely show my breasts. Not in a locker room, not if front of a boyfriend or friends. But with breastfeeding it's different. They're not sexual in this situation. They are totally utilitarian. They are there to serve a purpose and getting my daughter fed is more important than any modesty. Besides, that modesty went out the window when I gave birth. After that sight I didn't really care anymore.

What I'm totally suprised by is how my husband doesn't care about the public breastfeeding either. Hubby dear loves the boobs. Always has, always will. He thinks they're the greatest things ever. And he considers it a great privilage that he is the only one that get to see them in all their glory. BUT, he too recognizes that when I am nursing they are far from a sexual thing. He understands that feeding our daughter whenever she needs is more important than anything else. He understand that I will always be as modest as I can. And he understands that everyone needs to get over themselves and just look away.

Here we go again

Sasha is sick. My instincts told me what was wrong this morning but I was in denial and sent her to daycare anyway. All day long I waited for the call to come get her. The call to hurry it up came at 4:40. We got to my daycare and I took my baby girl in my arms. I gently pushed on her right ear and she winced and cried. That was all I needed to tell me she had an ear infection. We took her to the doctor and it was confirmed. She has an ear infection. I was so hopeful we would escape ear infections with her.

Dylan had 10 ear infections between 3 months and 1 year when he got tubes. It was hell for all of us. I felt terrible for D and that he had to endure so much at such a young age. It always amazed us that he would still sleep through the night even with a double ear infection.

I have decided that with Sasha there will be a 4 ear infection limit. IF she gets a fourth ear infection I will demand a visit to the ENT and demand tubes. She should not have to endure the continued pain of ear infection. I hate myself for not doing this with Dylan but I trusted that it would always be the last one. I won't make that mistake again.

Me

Sometimes I just need a fucking break. To read a book in peace. To cry. To laugh. To sleep.

Sometimes I just need a chance to be me. To be Clara. Not Dave's wife or Dylan's mommy or Sasha's mommy or my parents' daughter.

Sometimes I just want to be defined as myslef. And then I wonder - Do I even know myself anymore? Do I know what I would do if I didn't have my family to take care of, my job to do? Who the hell am I? What are my interests? What do I like to do? I like to go to movies, museums, plays, concerts. I like to read, cook and go to happy hour with friends.

I don't remember the last time I did any of those things, with the exception of reading, for the just the pleasure of it. I think I need to figure out how to bring those things back to my life. Any ideas?

A parent's job

As parents it is our job to worry. Our job to take every little thing they do, or don't do, and examine it. Look at that action from every different angle and try to discern whether or not it's "normal." Whatever "normal" means.

There are times I worry about Dylan. Ask him a question and the answer may or may not make sense. It might be related to the question or it might be a verbalization of whatever is going on in his head at that moment. There are times he says things with perfect pronunciation that make perfect sense and sound so advanced for his age. Yet there are others that he babbles whatever is going on his head. I look at his peers and I see this is fairly normal.

There was a time, a few years ago, when I was worried. Dylan exhibited some early signs of Autism that were hard to ignore. Everything had to be sorted by color, by size, by shape, by type. Everything had to be just so. He was so particular from such an early age that it freaked me out. I would see that behavior and be scared of what it could mean. It meant nothing. Luckily, I know enough about Autism to know that socialization is really the biggest indicator of whether or not a child is on "the spectrum." Anyone who has met Dylan know he is very social. It was the one thing that put my mind at ease.

Today I worry that he won't be ready for kindergarten next year. That he still won't have the concentration it takes to sit still and listen. The comprehension to learn the things he needs to learn. Then I think about it. Why the hell am I worried about something that is in a year? What the hell is wrong with me that I don't see the progress he has made in the last year? I think back to swimming lessons last fall. He couldn't keep his head out of the water long enough to listen. He didn't yet have respect for the teacher/student relationship. This year he sits quietly and listens to the teacher. He focuses on what he is being taught and makes a real effort. He has come so far.

I am so confident that he will grow to be an intelligent, wonderful child who is creative and whimsical. That he will be compassionate and kind. I try to remain confident that he will be ready to make the leap into kindergarten next year. And you know what? If he isn't, does it really fucking matter? Does it matter if he goes to school at 6 rather than at 5? No, it doesn't. A dear friend went through kindergarten twice because his mother felt he wasn't ready to move on. Well, he proceeded to graduate from both undergrad and his MBA program something Cum Laude.

Then I look at what he is supposed to be able to accomplish at the end of kindergarten and he has 95% of it already mastered. I guess I really don't need to worry.

But I will, because that is my job.

A year ago

Today is one year since I found out I was pregnant. Since the little line on the stick finally turned a color after 5 months of blanks. One year since I found out that, once again, my life would be turned upside down in the most amazing way.

A year ago I was dealing with some of the same things I am dealing with now with one very significant difference - this year it's because of my amazing 4 month-old and last year it was because of the promise of a baby.

Exhaustion then = early pregnancy
Exhaustion now = a baby who doesn't sleep through the night yet

Sore breasts then = early pregnancy
Sore breasts now = breastfeeding

Poochy tummy then = early pregnancy
Poochy tummy now = 2 kids, 'nuf said

One year ago I was in disbelief that it was finally happening. I was scared about what the future would bring. I was hoping with all of my being that I would carry this pregnancy to term. That I would once again be lucky enough to have a healthy baby. I was nervous about how Dylan would react to a new little person in the house. I was scared about how I would deal with another baby. I was scared about how another baby would affect my marriage.

This year, I get to look at the beutiful little girl I gave birth to and be in awe of her. This year I get to hold my baby in my arms and squeeze her tight. This year, I get to look at my family and wonder if it might be complete rather than knowing it wasn't yet. This year I get to see my husband be an amazing father to another lucky child. This year I get to swell with pride as I watch the two most beautiful children I have ever seen interact with each other. This year I get to say, "Yes, it's great to have one of each." This year, the dream of being a mother to a son and a daughter is no longer a dream, it's reality.

And it's the most amazing reality I could imagine.

Another actual conversation

Dylan: Daddy, don't do that again or I will put you in time out.

Dave: Dylan, you can't put me in time out.

Dylan: Daddy, you go SIT IN THE CAR. The POLICE will come and TAKE YOU AWAY!

6 years

This is what 6 years into being old and married looks like...



I suck at the self portrait but the smiles are real. During the last 6 years I have experienced some of the best, and worst, days of my life. There are times when things have been hard, but always worth it. In the last 6 years, I have never once regretted marrying the wonderful man by my side. I married the best man in the world for me and I wouldn't change it for anything.

I love you, Davey.

Can I get some wine with his wHining?

Dylan has been whining. It's driving me fucking nuts. He whines and cries about everything. The simplest request is a whine. We keep telling him to use his pretty voice and it works for a second. I haven't had the heart to just ignore him, but we're getting there.

He seems to be going through a little phase of being afraid and emotional about everything. If he doesn't want something he says it's scary or he's afraid. His eyes well up with tears at the drop of a hat. I'm not sure what's going on, but I think I have a pretty good idea.

The novelty of his sister has worn off.

Dylan was the center of our universe for over 4 years. A new little person has been on the scene for over 3 months now and I think it's starting to get a little old. She gets what she wants by crying so why shouldn't he? I imagine this is how the 4-year-old mind works.

It seems like the 4-year-old mind is in a strange place between toddler and kid. A little land where everything is the end of the world and you're not quite sure why. You know what you want and what you don't, but you're not quite sure why. You know the simple rules of right from wrong, but you aren't quite sure why one thing is right and the other is wrong.

The problem is that even if the 4-year-old mind asks why, it isn't quite mature enough to fully understand the answer.

As a parent, it's hard to look at the big kid standing in front of me and not to expect big kid behavior. Especially when the 4-year-old in question looks like he is 6. I have to constantly remind myself that he is still little. That he still needs snuggles and love and cuddles and his mommy to wipe away his tears. That he will always need those things.

But in the meantime, for the love of the mommy, please stop the whining.

She couldn't be cuter...

Actual comments from the boy

I've been keeping a log of the funny things D says. Here are some of the highlights...

"Mommy, my butt is broken. Can you fix it?" - after discovering his pj's had a hole

"Daddy and Ravi and me got busy at the park!" - telling me about a trip to the park

"Pacifiers, they need PACIFIERS!" - when asked what babies need

"Daddy, what's wrong with my sister?" "She's tired." "hmmm, I better go check with mommy."

"After I sleep then I will wake up."

That kid's a trip.

Soul Mates

Some of us are lucky enough to meet our soul mates. Some of us aren't. Most of the time, we're looking for that soul mate in the wrong person. I think most people look for their soul mate in the spouse/partner. Usually we find our soul mate in a friend.

In the 7th grade I met mine. I didn't know it at the time. As a matter of fact, I didn't like her then. We grew up and changed and eventually bonded over the craziness of our Jewish families and sneaked cigarettes in the woods by her house. We stayed up until all hours playing cards and drinking coffee in our local 24 hour restaurant/hangout. We got to know each other and shared our secrets. We talked of hopes and dreams and heartaches and sadness.

We became as close as sisters and barely went a day without seeing each other until we went off to college.

She is the one who called me out when I was neglecting friendships when I first met an ex-boyfriend. She held my hand and gave me a shoulder to cry when I stuck with the boyfriend too long and when I finally ended it. She never said "I told you so" and she never pushed me before I was ready.

She was the first to meet my husband when we started dating. He was terrified. He knew how protective I was of her and he knew she would be equally protective of me. Luckily, she approved. She was the maid of honor at our wedding and we knew we had every bit of support imaginable from her.

We are a package deal, my friend and I. Both our husbands know this. They knew coming into the marriages that they are getting both of us when they marry one.

She is the first person I want to call when something happens - engagement, pregnancy, birth, jobs, etc.

She turns 30 on Monday and I wish I was there to celebrate with her. To toast her and tell her how much I love her in person. To help her have an anti-climactic 30th bday for the same reason I had one - she's due with her first little one in a few months.

So, my dear friend, I wish you all the best in life. You are as much a part of me as my family. You are the sister I never had and the best friend I always hoped I would have. You have made a foot print on my heart that will never fade. You are the one I know I can tell my secrets to and I will never be judged. The one I know I can count on for the ear I need. The one who knows when something is wrong by the tone of my voice. The only one I miss so much sometimes I want to cry. The one I hope will someday live so close that I can see you whenever I want. The one whose children I will consider my own children's cousins. The one I would trust my children to if something were to happen to us. Thank you for being you and being a part of our lives.

Happy birthday. I love you.

What next?

Ok little girl, I love you. But really, I gave up vino when I got pregnant, next came sleep, next came caffeine, then nuts and now dairy? What's next? What's left?

A day in the life...

Inspired by Susan, whose day actually starts earlier than my own, I have decided to give everyone (no one?) insight into what it's like to be me. I'm sure you're on the edge of your seat.

We're starting on Wednesday night:

11:15 crawl into bed
11:45 turn off lights after some reading
12:15 baby wakes up, nurse try to get her back to bed
1am - baby asleep, crawl into bed
2 - wake because she usually wakes up at the time, mind races with all the things I have to do
4 - ditto
6:20 - the boy comes into bed
6:30 - alarm goes off because that is what time I should be getting up to make it out of the house on time if I were working, we were supposed to start dry running this week - yeah right!
7:05 - D is bored with us trying to sleep, he goes and gets his animal books to read to us
7:30 - hop in the shower
8 ish - Sasha wakes up, nurse
8:45 - Get out of the house to take D to day care, screaming by Sasha begins since we're in the car
9:15- Leave D at daycare, head home, Sasha falls asleep
9:30 - Arrive at home, stay in car reading so as not to disturb the princess
10:15 - Sasha wakes up, go inside
10:45 - change diaper, nurse
11:00- Sasha in bouncer while I do some design work on my brother's wedding invitations
11:15 - leave for lunch with some friends, catch up with a former co-worker on the way
11:30 - pick up friends, go have lunch
12:30 - drop off friends, drive home while baby screams
12:45 - arrive at home playtime for S
1:30 - nurse, baby falls asleep
2:15 - put sasha down in her crib, she's asleep, do a happy dance, more design work
3:00 - Sasha cries, go pick her up and she immediately is back asleep
3:30 - Put Sasha in crib again, try to nap for a few minutes
4:15 - Sasha wakes up, nurse
4:45 - Sasha spits up in my hair
4:50 - take another shower
5:30 - go get D
6:15 - home from daycare, start dinner
7:00 - scarf down dinner while bouncing the baby in her bouncer
7:20 - change baby into jammies, nurse while D sits in bed with me singing and talking just so he can tell me the following "Mommy, can you say 'Please stop singing, Dylan.'?" He likes to script our conversations
7:50 - baby asleep
8:05 - I THINK I'm in the clear and can put her down in a few minutes
8:08 - mini meltdown
8:19 - put down baby, go say goodnight to D, go downstairs to watch some TV, check email, etc.
9:00 - Sasha wakes up crying, Dave goes to soothe
9:15 - Sasha cries again, I go to soothe
10:00 - up to bed, pump
10:45 - lights out
3am - baby wakes and here we go again

Caffeine Free and Half Asleep

I am currently living a caffeine free existence and it sucks. The princess gets fussy when I have caffeine. Even just a little bit. It makes me sad. It really does.

Yesterday I broke down and had to have coffee. I went to my beloved Caribou and got a half caf, skim latte with one Splenda. It was delicious. Sasha was ok, but not the best day.

This is how the night from Tuesday to Wednesday went. Lights out around 11:30 because I just can't seem to get to sleep any earlier and have a new book I'm reading so I stay up too late.

4:30 - Sasha wakes up
5:20am - Dylan comes in our room because he has to potty, crawls into bed with us (breaking my rule that if he comes in anytime before 6 he has to go back to his own bed) because I'm too tired to argue with him or deal with his dramatic pseudo meltdown
6:00 - FINALLY get Sasha back to sleep, convince D to go to sleep in our bed
6:30ish - I fall back asleep
8:20 - Wake up to D telling me that Sasha is waking up. He woke up to the monitor before we did. Nice.

The night before the princess was up from 2-3:30.

Last night she woke up at 12:15, about 10 minutes after I finally drifted off. She tried to pull this "mommy rock me to sleep in the middle of the night" business after she nursed and I refused. Swaddled her cute little tush up and put her in the crib. Popped the cork in and kept my hands on her for a few minutes, so she could feel my ever lovin' presence, until I felt her breathing fall into the slow rhythm of sleep and I left. It was 1am. She slept until about 8. Of course, since she is usually up at 2 or 4, I woke up at both of those times. Then D came in at 6:20 and crawled into bed with us.

How the hell am I going to have enough functioning brain cells to work in 2 weeks?

Rarely alone, frequently lonely

Lonely:
Pronunciation: 'lOn-lE
Function: adjective
Inflected Form(s): lone·li·er; -est1
a : being without company : LONE
b : cut off from others : SOLITARY
2 : not frequented by human beings : DESOLATE
3 : sad from being alone : LONESOME
4 : producing a feeling of bleakness or desolation


Motherhood is a lonely endeavor. Especially the first few months. Which is ironic, really. In the first few months of being a new mother (or an old mother to a new human) you are almost never without company. Almost never alone. Always in the company of the little person we are responsible for keeping alive. I find these first few months to be ridiculously lonely. But, I'm no stranger to loneliness.


I don't really remember a time when I didn't feel lonely. A time when I didn't feel like I was on the outside looking in. A time when I didn't feel like there was some sort of companionship I was missing.


I lead a full life. I have friends, a husband, children. We are frequently social, I have lunch with friends regularly. But the loneliness never seems to fully subside. It lurks around every corner like the monsters under the bed. The ones that come out when the lights are out and we're all alone. Only these monsters aren't mythical creatures, they are my own thoughts. The thoughts I share with no one because I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to admit, even to myself at times, that I am lonely. Because, I think, I shouldn't be anymore.

Yet, I know I'm not alone in my loneliness and that seems to make it not quite as lonely.

Loss

Last Friday night we had some very good friends over for dinner. They arrived and we offered them some beverages. B graciously accepted a beer right away and M declined some wine. I let it go. When we sat down to dinner and M still refused wine I had to ask if there was a reason. There was. She was 7 weeks pregnant, due 1 week before my birthday. We were thrilled for them. They are wonderful people and after 8 months of trying they most definitely deserved this happiness. We are confident they will make wonderful parents.

Friday I got a phone call from M letting me know she had miscarried Monday. She said they were both doing OK and that every day is getting a little easier. I feel awful for them. I can't imagine how it must feel to have to endure such a loss. How it must feel to be pregnant and then not be pregnant, without having a baby in my arms. I can't imagine the emptiness even after only knowing for a few days. I can't imagine how I would feel every year when my due date rolled around.

I just can't imagine.

This is what heaven feels like...

Let me begin by saying I love my children. But are they ever really any sweeter than when they are sleeping?

Right now, child #1 is playing happily at my parents house and child #2 is actually SLEEPING. In. Her. Crib. Unbelievable! This is the second day in a row that Sasha is taking a nap in her crib. Of course, now that I actually have the cojones to type that sentence, she will probably wake up. But, right now I am typing this while there isn't a child in sight. No "mommy!" every other second. No crying, no nursing. The sweet sound of just my fingers banging away on the keyboard and the white noise from Sasha's room coming through the monitor.

I have been on maternity leave for 13.5 weeks now and this is the 3rd time my daughter has napped in her crib. I'm very happy right now.

No naps for us

Read the baby books and they tell you to sleep when the baby sleeps. Nap while the baby naps. Use nap time to take time for yourself. That's fantastic advice, but what do you do when the baby doesn't nap, or only naps while being cradled in your arms?

You do:
watch endless hours of bad daytime television because you don't have a book to read and can't get to the bookstore or library to get a new one
occasionally fall asleep while holding the baby
figure out how to both hold the baby and use a laptop at the same time
spend a lot of time sitting on your ass thinking about all the things you could be doing if only the baby would sleep in her crib

You don't:
run errands because the baby hates her car seat and the car
get ANYTHING done
exercise (although let's be honest, I probably wouldn't anyway)
paint the rooms in the house I wanted to paint while on maternity leave (I can paint while the baby sleeps!)

4 more weeks

We attended my company picnic tonight and the same question was asked of me over and over again - when are you coming back? The answer is 4 more weeks.

That means I have 4 more weeks of seeing every smile, every tear, every blink and every everything my darling little girl emits.

I'm so torn on how I feel about going back to work. I know I am a better parent and wife when I work. I'm more balanced when I work. I get to go out of mom and wife mode for a little bit and turn into a little bit of different person. But at the same time, I know I will likely miss the first steps with Sasha, just like I did with Dylan. It was heartbreaking when Dave called me one day after picking D up from daycare and told me he had finally taken a couple of steps. I know I might miss the first word.

In 4 weeks I will no longer be there to rock her to sleep for naps and will no longer be there when she wakes up. In 4 weeks I will no longer nurse her throughout the day and feel her skin against mine. I will feel the cold hard plastic of breast pump cones instead. I won't be able to watch those beautiful eyelashes while she eats and watch them flutter in that yummy place between sleep and awake. I will watch the level on the bottle to make sure I pump enough for her to have milk for the next day. I won't get the smiles throughout the day which she gives me when she locks eyes with me. The smiles only I get. She smiles at other people, but those smile are a little bigger and brighter for me. The promise of that smile and the smile of her darling brother will get me through my day.

In 4 weeks I will have to hear about her days rather than live them. I will have to learn about my daughter's new accomplishments from another person rather than experience them myself.

In 4 weeks, I will drop my baby girl off for the day and will do it through tears just as I sit and type this through tears.

2 month stats

She grows, oh how she grows.

My little girl is now weighing in at a whopping 12 pounds 12 ounces (she was 6 pounds 8.5 ounces when we left the hospital) which puts her at the 90-95% on the charts. She is also 24" long which puts her at the 97% on the charts. Developmentally she is right on track.

Boob juice, it does a baby good.

The sick mommy

All the sleep deprivation of the last few months seem to have finally taken their toll and I am so totally and completely sick. Started on Monday and here I sit on Thursday still feeling like a hammer to the head would feel better than the sinus headache I am enduring.

Yesterday I made Dave take a sick day and today he pretty much played hookie. I've seen my daughter for feedings and have hardly seen my son at all. He misses me.

My big baby is almost 4.5 years old and I still think of him as my baby. He still has dimples on his hands rather than knuckles and still has yummy baby cheeks that I want to eat up. My little baby is developing chunk all over and also has yummy cheeks I want to eat up. I've had to keep my distance because I am sick.

I can't wait to eat those yummy cheeks again.

Dreams

Dylan has finally started telling us about his dreams. The other night he dreamt he went sledding with Dave and fell and slipped on the ice. It's made us laugh and has also made us very happy we're creating dream worthy memories with him.


Dreams are a strange thing. They are the images we see while our eyes are closed. They are wishes for the future. They reveal our fears, our desires. They allow us to relive our past and maybe get a glimpse into the future. I have had only one dream about my baby during both of my pregnancies. When I was about 6 months pregnant with Sasha I had a dream I had a baby girl and she looked just like me. Well, here she is and she does.


We can even be stalked in our dreams. For years I would have dreams about a specific ex-boyfriend finding me. About running into him randomly and having to deal with the one person I never, EVER, want to see again. I think those dreams have finally stopped. But you never know when they might be back.


I feel I am at a point where I have stopped having dreams for myself. All my dreams these days are for my children. For them to grow up and be happy, be healthy, have fulfilling lives. To be educated, to value what that education brings to their lives and to someday have families of their own and know the love and happiness having children brings. I dream my children will be close the way my brother and I are to each other. To know that no matter what, they have each other. Yes, my dreams are for my children.


I have also come to realize I need to start dreaming for myself again, too. I need to think about myself in terms of me. Clara. Not always mom or wife. Sometimes it's just me and that it's ok to just think about me. To dream for just me. To dream about the places I'd like to go. The places I haven't been because I chose to have children young. To dream about the adventures I would like to have. To dream of the week long spa vacation with girlfriends I swear I will take someday to rediscover who I am without having to take care of my husband or kids. To dream of the business I will start someday. To work for myself and make my own rules. To truly benefit from my own work and know that my success or failure is based on me and me alone. To dream of perfecting a cheesecake one day - the only thing I bake. To dream of having the time to take a cooking class here and there.

Every night, the dreams keep coming and I hope they never stop.

2 Months

I won't lie, the last 2 months have been very trying. Sasha doesn't like sleep, she doesn't like to lay down on the floor, she doesn't really like her crib.

However, no matter what, the last 2 months have also been fantastic as I watch a new person take shape before my very eyes. And, since I am always to be in the room with the little babe, my eyes are on her all the time. Her best feature is her smile. When she smiles she is completely lit up from within. It's as if the sun is literally shining on me through her.

She's definitely a different baby than Dylan was. Dylan loved to lounge on his own and stretch out. Sasha loves to be held and cuddles in so close I feel like she is going to make her back inside of me. She isn't a big fan of sleep during the day and she fights sleep like crazy. The only somewhat easy way to get her to sleep is to rock her then hold her in tight for almost an hour. Then, and only then, can we even dare to put her down to sleep for the night. Thankfully, then she sleeps.

I have spent a lot of time over the last two months thinking about what it means to have a daughter. Hoping I have with her what I have with my own mother. Hoping and dreaming that I will be close with my daughter.

I hope I will be the one she confides in the first time she kisses a boy, the first time she falls in love, the first time her heart is broken and all the other firsts along the way. I hope I'll be self aware enough during those times to remember how it feels and to remember how I didn't want to hear not to get too excited about the love, or that the heartbreak will end. I hope to remember that all I wanted was for someone to listen and be just as excited as I was or cry along side me. And, when or if she asks, I hope the have the courage to do something my own mother never did - to share my own experiences. The good, the bad, and the VERY ugly to help her learn about life.

I hope I have the courage to be honest with her when she asks me the hard questions. The questions that make me relive my past or reveal my pre-mom self to her. What was your first love like? Have you ever done drugs? When did you lose your virginity? What are your regrets in life? And when she asks me the toughest question of all , "What should I do?" I hope I have the strength to guide her to discover the answer on her own rather than just giving her the answer.

Who I Was

Every now and then a person resurfaces from our past and reminds us of who we were before we knew who we were. Before we went through the self-discovery and self-awareness that comes with moving away from home, going through relationships, getting married and having children.

This happened to me recently. I was contacted by someone from my past who has made me reflect. He's made me reflect on the naive kid I was when I knew him.

I was a motorcycle jacket wearing, concert going, cigarette sneaking 15-year-old girl who so desperately wanted to be older. To move on to what was "important." To move on to college, moving out of mom and dad's house, on to career, to marriage, to family. I was so concerned with what the future might hold I never properly enjoyed the moment.

In true teenage girl fashion, EVERYTHING was the end of the world. I was much weaker then than I would like to admit. I hurt too easily. I took everything to heart. Every friendship was to last forever and every word spoken cut me to my core.

I was the girl who trusted everyone and loved too easily. I was the girl who took longer to get over her first heartbreak than the relationship lasted in the first place. I learned a lot in the process of getting over it and I'm eternally grateful for that learning. I learned that I would not allow anyone to take away my happiness or, rather, allow myself to think it had been taken. I learned that my happiness is in my own hands. I know no one can dictate how I feel except for me.

There are other things I learned the year I knew my old friend. I learned girls are mean and will stab you in the back in a blink of an eye if it suits their needs. I learned that some friendships are only meant to exist for short periods of time.

Since then, I learned that some lessons if life hurt like hell while you are going through them, but are worth it in the end. I've also learned I wouldn't be who I am without having been who I was.

Oh the blues...

I have the baby blues and I think my baby also has the blues.

Sasha is doing well, in general. However, she's still awfully sleepy which can be attributed to the fact that she is, apparently, anemic and still jaundiced. The plan for treatment is "wait and see" for now. She also has reflux which means when she is sleeping she frequently wakes to let out a cry of discomfort. For that, she's on Zantac. We're hoping to see an improvement in her comfort in the next couple of days.

I have the baby blues. I'm really hoping it's not full-fledged PPD, but not entirely sure yet. All in all, things are going well in our little house. Dylan is well adjusted, Dave has been great, Sasha is generally OK. BUT, the combination of sleep deprivation and hormones have produced almost daily crying jags for ME. It's always in the evening when it seems like things are starting to wind down. Not coincidentally, it's also when Sasha goes into her 2-3 hours of cluster feeding every 45 minutes.

I can't even describe what I feel. It's a combination of hopelessness, uselessness, exhaustion, helplessness and failure. I feel I'm failing I'm oldest by not being able to tuck him in before bed some nights because my youngest is nursing. I'm failing my youngest because she has a couple of issues. I'm failing my husband because I'm losing it and can't even get dinner on the table. I'm failing myself because I can't let myself take a night off and sleep in a different room for fear of failing my baby by not nursing her.

I'm also very down about myself physically. I'm not one of those women who feels proud of her body after baby. I see a body which is 6 pounds away from prepreg weight and has been stuck there for 3 weeks. I see a woman who has a saggy belly and veiny boobs. I see love handles which never existed before. Yes, because of the blues I mentioned above, I can't bring myself to do anything about it.

I'm hoping it will all change soon.

SHE's here...

A day late and a dollar short I am happy to announce we had a baby girl. Her name is Alexandra Naomi, we'll call her Sasha, and she's wonderful.

Stats:

Born May 16, 2007 @ 9:42 am weighing in at 6lbs. 15.4 ozs. and measuring 20 inches.

At one month, she's already almost 10 lbs.

Delivery was very smooth with me pushing for a total of 5 minutes. The lack of pushing almost made up for the 7.5 hours of unmedicated back labor that preceeded delivery.

Dylan has, as expected, adjusted beautifully. He's ridiculously protective and possesive of his baby sister and also ridiculously understanding of the fact that mommy can no longer be at his beck and call because I have to feed his sister. All. The. Time.

Waiting Game/Crying Game

Waiting Game

Tomorrow I am officially 38 weeks pregnant. I don't think I could be any more sick of being pregnant than I am right now. Although, I'm sure next week I will be even sicker of it. I am so ready to meet this little person. Ready to make his or her aquaintance and look into what are sure to be beautiful eyes which allow me to see into a beautiful new soul. I can't wait to go home and be a new family, again. To experience all the ups and downs of having a newborn. I even can't wait to press this baby to my chest and nurse him or her. Although, I expect that, as with Dylan, the nursing will be painful for quite some time. I want to count fingers and toes and stare. Stare with awe at the new life. Stare at myself with awe at how my belly which was full of baby just a few moments ago is empty and I am now holding that baby. I remember that so well with D. Looking at him in those first few minutes and looking at myself and wondering how I did that. How he was now breathing and blinking and moving and just minutes prior he was still inside of me. It's mind boggling.

I'm tired of waiting.

Crying Game

Hormones are crazy and at the moment they are in their full raging glory. I have been an emotional basket case lately and have been crying at the drop of a hat. Crying out of sadness, joy, frustration, anger and just plain old impatience.
As I have reread my last post, it has brought tears to my eyes every. single. time. The hormones are to blame, in part. The bigger part is taking a few moments to reflect in my own mommy awesomeness and the impact that has made on my son. He's such a great kid - happy, fun, smart, compassionate, passionate. All the things I hope he holds on to forever. All the things I hope I can keep fostering as I parent another child and all the things I hope I can instill in the baby.

Oh yeah, I'm good

The ever wise-beyond-her-years GGC posted about being a good parent and has encouraged the rest of us to do the same.

I'm a good mom. There, I said it. I don't know why it's so hard for all us to say, but it's true. Dylan is a wonderful kid and Dave and I are his favorite people in the world. There must be a reason for that. There must be a reason for the smiles I get and the unsolicited "Mommy, I love you." and hugs and big sloppy kisses.

There must be a reason the boy wants to snuggle with me every morning. There must be a reason, beyond his biology, for his well-mannered behavior, his politeness, his comfort in his own skin.

I want everything for him. Everything I had and didn't have. Everything I never knew I wanted until I had my own. I want him to have boundaries yet feel confident enough to push them. I want him to have pride yet be humble. I want him to know that no matter what, we are always in his corner. I work hard to do these things for him everyday and that makes me a great mom.

I love the mom I am. I am a fun, silly, get down on the floor and roll around type of mom and I am an authoritative type of mom. Somehow I can flip-flop between the two without confusing or alienating my child. Somehow I have found the balance that keeps my kid fun and goofy and loving yet respectful and disciplined all at the same time.

I'm a great mom because in four years, I have never raised my voice out of anger. I have never struck out in any way shape or form, I have put him first. He knows that if we leave, we come back. That if we say something will happen (be it reward or consequence) it will happen. I believe this makes him confident. Most of all, Dylan is a happy child and knows he is loved to pieces. And that, alone, tells me I'm doing something right.

30...redeemed

Turning 30 turned out to be a lot better than I expected. My girls pulled through and arranged a lovely dinner to celebrate my bday. Just a few good friends, good conversation and good food. Dave pulled through big time. I spent my actual birthday lunching and being pedicured and massaged. He arranged everything and left nothing up to me - which was fantastic. I'm the organizer, the planner and to not have to do that for a day was wonderful.

All in all it was a great day.

Invisible

Lately I feel completely and totally invisible. Like if I disappeared tomorrow, no one would really notice.

It seems what I want is always out of reach and what I desire is being yanked away and the end result is feeling like I don't matter at all and am invisible.

In 10 days I turn 30. I have no problem with turning 30. Don't really care. What I do care about, and what's leading to feeling so invisible, is that no one else seems to care either. I have planned countless parties for friends. 30th birthday parties, 29th birthday parties, etc. With the exception of 1 bridal shower and 1 baby shower, no one has ever planned anything for me or even offered. And now, it hurts. When my husband turned 30 I planned his gifts from me, his parents and my parents to all fit together. I planned a surprise party 2 months in advance. When 2 of my girlfriends were turning 30 I planned their parties too. Over a month in advance to make sure everyone could make it. Well, not it's my turn and not a word has been mentioned by anyone. Don't even have dinner reservations. Happy fucking birthday to me.

I will give credit where credit is due. My mother is having a dinner for me Saturday with our family and my brother and his girlfriend are coming here for the weekend. But even that is not without some hurt feelings. Dinner is a week early because brother dear is going on vacation.

So much of my life seems to be devoted to making other people happy. To finding all the little things to help them out and make their lives a little sunnier. So much of my life is spent without sunlight or happiness and it's a side of my world I keep pretty well hidden. Over the last 15 years or so I have become really good at faking it.

There are moments of happiness here and there. Most of them involve Dylan.

There are times when I think I simply expect too much. That no one can possibly live up to this mystical set of standards I have for people. That if I just lower my expectations, I won't be disappointed. And then, when the phone never rings and the emails never ding, I won't feel quite as invisible.

Scared...

When I was 7 months pregnant with Dylan I wasn't the least bit scared of what I would do when I brought my little bundle home. It seemed easy. It was easy, once the first couple of weeks of baby blues subsided.

This time I am terrified. What am I going to do with two needy kids? How am I going to give the amazing child sitting next to me the least amount of proper attention when I have a newborn who needs it all? How am I going to kiss the owie while I nurse? How am I going to give as much as I have been giving?

We're fortunate in that D is an incredibly easy going kid, but he's still a 4-year-old. A 4-year-old who loves his parents almost as fiercely as we love him. How is he going to handle there being another little person who gets our attention? My guess is he'll handle it beautifully and won't be able to get enough of the little person in my belly.

I was thinking last night of how he's going to react when I have to send him home from the hospital but the baby will get to stay. It's not really something I should be thinking of. It doesn't conjure up pretty images in my head - AT ALL. But again, somehow, I think my amazing little 4-year-old will understand perfectly. He seems to always pull through when we need him to.

I'm scared of more than just how I'll properly care for 2 children. I'm scared of what this baby will be like. I have been spoiled beyond reason with a child who hasn't been difficult in any way, shape or form. NOTHING, thus far, has been a struggle with D. What if this little person cries? What if he or she is colicky? What if s/he doesn't latch? What if I can't nurse as long? What if, what if, what if?

There are so many what ifs in the world and I wasn't really scared of any of them when I was pregnant with D. (Except of getting a c-section. That's one of my biggest fears. I know people have them all the time, but I don't want one and will do everything in my power to avoid it.) I don't know why the what ifs are getting to me this time around. I don't why I'm so scared this time around.

I know, however, I will get through it. No matter what the future brings, I know I am strong enough to make it. More than ever before, I know this to be true.

The boy...

BDay Breakfast
Tumbling around
It's all about me...

4 years...

Dylan recently turned 4. This is quite a milestone for him and me. I can't believe my baby is 4. I can't believe the little boy who kicked around aimlessly is now a fully functioning, almost, human being. He's my heart on the outside and my soul wrapped up in a little package.

Some quick stats:
He measured in at 44.25 inches and weighs almost 50 pounds. Off the charts for both.
He's doing great, developmentally, with the exception of his lack of interest in writing/drawing. We already knew that and are working hard on it.

Beyond that, he's still the wonderful little boy he's always been. He makes me laugh, makes me cry and makes me feel every emotion in between almost daily.

On blogging...Revisited

I have been absent from the blogging sphere for many months and there are a few very specific reasons why:

1. I'm pregnant and felt like crap the first 3-4 months and am now experiencing 1st trimester exhaustion in the 2nd trimester

2. A few events occurred in my life that were making it impossible for me to write about anything but those things and they weren't things I wanted to share with the world or anyone, really (don't ask because I won't tell)

3. Work has been really busy and occupying both nights and days

With that said, I think it's time I return to the blogging world and to my writing ways.

The past few months have been a jumble of craziness, emotional highs and lows and lots of physical changes for me. As I mentioned, I'm preggers which means my body is rapidly changing. Funny thing is, I'm having a much tougher time dealing with it this time than I did with Dylan. I'm showing earlier, which I know is normal, but I'm also having to deal with the transitional phase longer. With D I went from not showing at all to having an adorable little bump in a blink of an eye around 6 months. This time I have been in maternity clothes since about 4 months and it's taking a long time for the bump to look like I've swallowed a basketball rather than like I've been tipping the Budweiser bottle back too often. I'll live.

However, this time around everyone and their uncle feels it's their right to comment on my bump. From, "you're so tiny!" (love this one) to "if I didn't know you were pregnant I'd think you were just getting fat" (no I'm not kidding) to "oh, you're putting it on on the sides, too" to everything in between. Why oh why do people say stupid shit like this? I'll never figure it out. I say the only thing you are allowed to say to a pregnant woman is "you look fantastic!" 'Nough said.

Dylan is growing at an exponential rate, as usual, and is developing his language skills faster than I can really notice. It's such a continuous stream of expansion and learning that it's almost lost on us. It's the people who don't see him as often who notice how clear his speech is getting and how much more he communicates. His current skills include counting to 30 (while skipping 16 EVERY single time, we don't know why), knows all his letters and the sounds they make, is reading simple 3 letter words and can spell and recognize his name.

We are also amazed at the sense of empathy he has developed and his silliness. He's such a goofball with a sense of humor, an already developing sense of sarcasm and a heart of gold. If I'm sad he gives me hugs, if I bump my leg he gives it kisses, if he doesn't like the tone Dave and I are using with one another he tells us to stop. He just wants everyone to be happy and goofy like he is.

The baby is doing really well. We had an ultrasound about 2 weeks ago and everything looked perfect. NO, we did not find out the sex and we're not going to. It's much better for me not to know. This little one is kicking the crap out of me on a daily basis and Dave has been able to feel it on several occasions. Dylan is still a bit unsure about the whole baby deal but finally seems to accept that mommy has a baby in her belly.

That's the update, brain dump, whatever you want to call it.

I got it!

Monday was the happiest day I've had in a while. Like I have many times in the last several months, I peed on a stick when I woke up. Only this time, rather than the damn line not showing up it showed it's happy little face. But it was barely visible. So I proceeded to pee on a stick Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday and now I am certain the line is there to stay.

I'm happy to announce that I am pregnant. After 5 months of trying, we finally got there. Of course I'm only about 5 weeks along and there is a long way to go until we are considered to be "in the clear," but I have no reason to think everything won't go as smoothly as it did with D.

Symptoms are already kicking my ass but I can deal. I'm nauseous, A LOT, and I'm so tired I can't see straight. As we all say, though, it's all worth it in the end.

I want it

Ever want something so badly that just thinking about it brings you to tears? Fun, isn't it?

On blogging...

After reading my last post, one of my dear friends complimented my writing. It has been so long since I have shared my writing that the thought of someone actually enjoying it caught me off guard.

This blog started out as a place to let family/friends we don't speak to on a daily basis know what's going on with the boy. It has moved beyond that. The intended audience doesn't read the blog (grandparents, D's only uncle) but a few of my friends do. The blog is no longer a place for me to write about the boy's latest accomplishment, but an outlet for me to get the words flowing again.

Writing is really my first love. It was my favorite thing to do for school, my favorite thing to do in my spare time, my favorite thing. Since I'm done with school and have little to no spare time, the numbers of words I have put on paper in recent history are limited. (Emails to clients and friends do not count.) Another problem, I'm not a journaler. I love the idea of a journal, and this seems to be becoming one, but haven't actually kept one since I called it a diary. The biggest thing that prohibits me from having a journal these days is, thanks to 4 years of journalism school and the last 7 years spent sitting at my desk on my computer all day, the words no longer seem to flow when I put pen to paper. These days, I have to put fingertips to keys.

The words are starting to flow again, through my fingertips and the keys, and the thoughts in my head are automatically forming themselves into sentences, paragraphs, entries. I am reading blogs (it's so addictive when there are some supremely talented writers out there) which inspire me to write more and rediscovering my first love. I feel compelled to write about everything these days. From work (yes, I know better than to write about work on my blog) to the little boy to the big boy to still not being pregnant to frustrations with friends to anything and everything that pops into my little head.

So, once again, it seems because of the boy, I have found an old joy which was lost for a long time. Thank you D.

9.11

I will always remember where I was on 9.11.01. I think we all will.

Dave and I were on the 3rd day of our honeymoon. Our oasis after the chaos of our wedding. It was our time to enjoy each other and not have to think about anything.

We woke up on Tuesday morning and went downstairs to breakfast in our hotel. As we walked by the lobby, we noticed there were quite a few people gathered in the lobby watching TV. Seemed a little odd so we poked our heads around the corner to see what was on. The TV was tuned to CNN and we saw an image of the WTC with smoke coming out of it. I remember thinking, "Oh, wow, the WTC is on fire. That's sad." I had no idea. We went on to eat breakfast. After breakfast we popped over to nurse's office on the resort to get me some medicine. While in there, she also had a TV on and asked if we were Americans. We replied yes and she said, "They just announced it's terrorists." We thought we must have misunderstood the nice lady with the very thick Jamaican accent. As we walked back to our room, we decided to stop in the lobby and figure out what was really going on. As soon as we sat down, we figured it out. They named off the cities the planes were going to/from. Boston - Wendy had flown in for the wedding from Boston, LA - cousins had flown in from LA, PA - cousins had flown in from Pittsburgh, NY - about 15-20 had flown in from NY/NJ, DC - my oldest childhood friend was in grad school at GW, one of our ushers worked for the Department of Defense, and Manhattan itself - one of my closest friend's brother and sister-in-law lived and worked in Manhattan.

I remember the first thing I said when I realized what was happening. "What day is it?" Dave looked at me and said, "It's Tuesday." I was overwhelmed with the feeling of relief that comes when you realize one of your biggest fears was not just realized. He asked me why and I told him, "The last people who came in for the wedding were flying on Monday." We spent the next several hours sitting in the lobby of our hotel, crying, watching, learning, talking, listening. We spoke to the people around us. Some from NYC many from other areas. I remember speaking to one woman who had left her 7-month-old son with her mother so she and her husband could have a little getaway. How fiercely this woman wanted to hold her child at that moment. I thought I understood then, I REALLY understand now.

I wanted to call home as soon as I heard but we waited. We wanted to at least leave phone lines open for those people who needed to check on loved ones who were in NYC. When I called home that night, I was once again relieved to find out that we didn't personally know anyone who had died.

In the coming days we talked about how we would be stuck. We talked about how worried we were about anyone and everyone who may have come in contact with this tragedy. We talked about how we had to put things aside, at least for a few days, and try to enjoy the trip we took to celebrate our marriage. We were also able to get online at the hotel which felt like a lifeline to home. I sent some emails - to my boss letting her know I might not be back when I had planned. I got on AIM and was able to find out my friend's brother and sister-in-law were ok. I was able to connect with a few other people from home and know that everyone was ok - as much as they could be.

We were lucky, we got home on time and without incident. There were others who were stuck for an extra 2 weeks. And while being stuck in Jamaica may sound wonderful, you're still stuck. And being so out of control is completely frightening and enraging.

In the 5 years since 9.11 many things have happened in my life. Dylan was born. My grandfather died. I've switched jobs, twice. Dave and I spent the last weekend away to celebrate our 5th anniversary. It was wonderful. A chance to reconnect we really needed. But, as with every year, when I think about our anniversary, I think of the anniversary of 9.11 and how the two will forever be connected.

Plagued

I'm sick. Not just a sniffle, not just a little cough but full blown someone kill me now sick.

# of days feeling like hell: 4
# of hours spent in the office: almost 4
number of hours spent working on the couch when I should be resting: about 30
# of times my amazing husband has done something to keep this little family afloat while the mommy is out of commission: 87298732948273498273

I seriously don't know what I would do without this wonderful man by my side. Without a peep he has gotten the D meister up, dressed and to daycare everyday. Without a peep he has kept the child entertained without video intervention at night, bathed him, dressed him and made sure he stays in bed after the 15th time the boy asks to get up to go poopy.

He has also made me soup and tried to get me to eat other things even though I don't want much of anything. Flus are really the best diet, aren't they?

Thank you, my love, for keeping our little house running. I promise you, there will be a day of sleeping in, indulgent cooking by the wife and some R&R with a horrid sci-fi flick of your choice. That day will come soon.

A weekend away

D-

This last weekend your daddy and I left you with your babulya and deda for 3 nights. I must tell you child, I missed you terribly. I miss you differently than I missed you before. It used to be that I would worry and wonder if you were ok. I used to wonder if you were accepting the things I normally do for you from someone else, even though that someone else raised me and loves you to pieces.

I don't so much worry about that anymore. Now I miss my hugs, I miss my snuggles, I miss singing together, I miss talking to you. Having a conversation with the most interesting, hilarrious, little person on earth. You aren't just a babe anymore, my little Mr. D. You are a real person now. One with opinions, a lot of them, and thoughts and imagination and intellect and emotion and wonder and curiousity and and and. There are not enough words in the English language for me to possibly express how I feel about you and all the wonderful aspects of your personality.

You, child, are my heart, my soul, my everything. I sometimes wonder how I will possibly love another little soul like I love you. Then I think back to a time when I didn't have you. A time that is almost impossible to remember. I never knew I could love someone that way I love your daddy. Wholy, unconditionally. Then you were born and I found out what love really means. I know I will have the same wonderful wave of emotion someday when we have another little person to love. (before I get emails from friends, I am NOT pregnant)

So know, baby, that everytime we leave we will be back. I love you to pieces and without you I am no longer whole.

Also know, that as much as your daddy and I love being your parents, every now and then we need to get away. It's makes us better partners, better people and better parents.

I love you D!

Head Strong and Beautiful

Last night my child showed me just how stubborn he really is. I had the audacity to try to get him to eat one teeny, tiny piece of cauliflower smothered in cheese. The following is a list of things D chose to do because he would not have a bite of cauliflower:

Not finish watching the Story Book Factory (the 3rd installment of the Letter Factory series)
Not have a chocolate chip cookie
Not watch anything
Have a time out - the child actually said, No, I don't want cauliflower, I want a time out.

Seriously, there was hardly enough food on the fork to even taste it. He did put it in his mouth once only to spit it out on contact. I don't know how to get through to him to get him to taste things. Nothing works. The couple of times he has chosen to give something a shot, he has liked it. Doesn't matter who eats it, doesn't matter how many times we make exaggerated "mmmm this is so good" sounds. He just won't. And when he decides he won't do something, the kid sticks to his guns.

I'm so proud I could burst.

Rather than looking at how infuriating his behavior was, I look at the strength it takes to behave in such a manner. Most kids would give in and have a bite of the food since it's their ticket to what they want. Not mine. He's strong, beautiful, smart, kind, sassy, loving, polite, silly, considerate and the most fun child I could ever imagine. What could possibly be better?

Heat wave

Things have been pretty uneventful in our little house lately. We've continued the hell that is home improvement with the project that has no end. For the sake of our sanity, and marriage, Big D has chosen (maybe he was nudged just a little) to do a lot of the work on his own. I have some control issues, you're all shocked, I know, and he gets quite annoyed with me when I try to control.

Other than the house, we have been relatively peaceful and without incident. No stitches, no hospital stays, no vomiting. All in all, it's been nice.

What hasn't been nice is this damn heat. Anyone who knows me knows that I hate the heat. I hate have to strip down to nothing to finally feel cool. I hate having to shave everything all the time to be able to dress appropriately. Most of all I hate sweating. I'm a sweater. I actually pay almost 30 bucks a pop for deodorant to avoid sweating. It's the reason I absolutely hate working out. I hate to sweat. Thankfully, it seems like the heat wave has broken and we can once again step foot outside without instantly breaking into a sweat.

Shark Frickin' Tales

Why the title? Here is this morning's initial conversation:

"Good morning mommy! I watch Shark Tales tonight! Ok Mommy?!" All with a big grin and twinkling eyes. And before 6:30 a.m.

Shark Tales is a deceiving little picture. You see the previews and get a taste of a couple of funny lines and a snippet of car wash and you think, "Cool, this will be a kids and adults like it alike kind of movie. Like Shrek. I can deal with this."

WRONG

Shark Tales is beloved by children as it is full of brightly colored fish. As an adult, however, I find it utterly stupid. Do I still watch it? Yes. Why? Because he's cute and I love him.

Umbilical cord...Revisited

It seems as though lately the umbilical cord that connected Dylan to me in utero has somehow resurfaced in an invisible manner. If I get more than three feet away from the boy he thinks I am leaving to never be seen again. We're not entirely sure what brought this on but it's killing my back.

This had already started when Dave left for the week last week. His absence and our short stay in the hospital, suspected appendicitis which turned out to be dehydration resulting from a stomach bug, have only enhanced this immense need for the Mommy. As anyone who has met my child knows, it's not "I want Mommy," it's "I want THE Mommy." Like I am some object that his been stolen away from him.

The possessiveness is also quite entertaining. God forbid my mother says, "Dylan, this is my daughter." Such a comment is met with an adamant proclamation of, "NOOOOO Babulya, that's MY mommy!" As if anyone wants me for their own mommy.

Someday this child is going to have to share HIS mommy. I can only hope at that time his love of babies will overshadow his possessiveness of the mommy.

Primal Love

Yesterday was mother's day. It's a great day to honor those in our lives who are, or act as, mothers. While sitting at the dinner table with our family, we got on the topic of a mother's love. It's cliche, but I never knew the extent to which a mother can love her own child until I became a mother. It's something no one can really understand, not even fathers, until they have their own.

It's primal. It's powerful and it is incomparable to anything else in the world. God help the individual that hurts my child or gets in my way when I try to protect him. I can't even begin to describe how I feel when my son is hurting and I don't know why or I know why and I can't help him.

I think the first time I really felt this intense need, and it is a need, to protect was when Dylan was 4.5 weeks old and we took our first trip to the ER. I was talking to a bunch of residents and it seemed as if each was more incompetent than the one before. On our third trip back to the ER and our second admittance to stay at the hospital, the chief resident came into the room in the ER. He started telling me that they weren't sure, they're trying to figure it out, BLAHBLAHBLAH. I looked at him and very pointedly told him they need to figure it out and tell me what's wrong with my son. I had never heard that tone of my voice before, I had never felt my face making the expressions it was making before.

I have heard that tone and felt those contortions of my face on a number of occasions since then. It doesn't suprise me anymore, it simply reminds me of the fact that I am a mother and no matter what happens in life, no matter where my child is, no matter who he is with or how old he is I am his protector, his advocate and his biggest fan.

A trip...

Dylan just had his first successful trip to a coast.
His 3rd or 4th cousin removed (their grandpas are 1st cousins - construct your own family tree) had his Bar Mitzvah out in the land of all things Soprano. It was Dylan's first time attending such a service and, with the help of a sucker, he did VERY well.
We stayed with my cousin (again, you do the math - our dad's are 1st cousins) and his family. They were very gracious hosts and their little girl Zoe and our little Dylan got along famously. A little smooching between the two of them had all the adults in awe of the love two little people can feel towards each other. They're both 3 and under so we don't care that they are related.
Here is a highlight reel:

I THREEEEEEEE!

I'm a slacker - I admit it. It's been a long time since the last update. Dylan had a fantastic 3rd birthday party back in Feb - well, 2 parties. One at day care with his little friends and a last minute get together at home with a handful of close friends and family. He had a lot of fun and has been enjoying his gifts immensely.

Dylan is now very proud of the fact that he is three. For awhile he decided I was 4 but has since floated back to reality that mommy is 29 and daddy is 30.

For whatever reason, Dylan turning 3 was very emotional for me. He's not a baby anymore in any way and with thoughts of #2 coming to the surface, this may have been the last birthday he celebrated as an only child.

We're currently working on numbers and letter with D and he's doing really well. He knows all the numbers - 1-9 - and we've heard him count 31, 32, etc. Not sure how we skipped the 20s, but we'll take what we can get.


Chin "mishap" update:
Dylan's wounds have healed nicely and he is very proud of the fact that he has owies. He will gladly show you his owies anytime.

The daycare par-tay

Home...

The pics...

The cut...

His semi toothless grin...

on the mend...

Dylan seems to be feeling great today, which we are very grateful for.

We did go to the dentist around 5:30 yesterday. The tooth was cracked in half and the nerve was exposed, which is why it was hurting him. The dentist had to pull the tooth. It's his lower left eye tooth. Apparently, permanent eye teeth don't come in any sooner if the baby is lost too early (like front teeth would).

The tooth pulling was a lot easier on D than the stitches. Anyway, the tooth probably won't come up until he is 8 or 9. I'm terrified that he'll be teased about missing a tooth but we'll deal with that later.

I'll try to post pics soon.

Stitches

Well, we just had our first round of stitches and I'm hoping it's the last.
Dylan had swimming lessons this morning and I stayed back at home. Dave took him and told me to sleep in. I woke up to the phone ringing and Dave telling me Dylan had just slipped as they were walking out of the showers and cut his chin open - he needs stitches - and for me to get there right away. Dave had his hand on Dylan's shoulder to help stabilize him as they walked and he just couldn't catch him when Dylan slipped.
I popped out of bed and got over there ASAP. Then off to the ER.

Long story longer, he ended up with about 13 internal and 10 external stitches. After we got home he told us he has an owie in his mouth and we discovered he has a loose tooth. Now Dylan is napping and we're waiting to hear back from the dentist on whether or not we need to come in.

More updates later.

Life as a Partridge

Well, as one of you so astutely pointed out, we now bear a striking resemblance to the Partridge Family. At least once a day, Dave and I both get handed an instrument and are instructed to play. Tonight I got to play the tambourine. Dave, being the true musician that he is, is trying to keep us all in synch with the use of a metronome. He starts it, it goes for about a minute and then Dylan closes it. He's not a fan.

On another note, I got to share one of my all time favorite activities with the little monster this weekend. We took him to his first movie theater movie. We saw Curious George, a.k.a. The Monkey Movie. Dylan loved it and actually laughed at the funny parts. He was an absolute prince and didn't even have to take a potty break. Which is good because I have no idea how he would have reacted to the fact that the movie cannot paused in the same way it can at home.

I have a feeling we'll be enjoying an encore presentation on his birthday.

Upcoming Birthday

Thoughts are swirling through my head as Dylan approaches his third birthday. It's hard to believe that not quite three years ago we didn't even know if we were going to be the proud parents of a son or daughter and here we are with a walking, jumping, dancing, singing, talking, playing little person whose smile has enough wattage to light up an entire city.

Dylan has brought so much pure, unadulterated joy into our lives. Nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, compares to the smile and hugs a child can give when they are excited to see you. To get these hugs, smiles and kisses on a daily basis is enough to send one into a tailspin of wondering how this kind of luck has been bestowed upon you.

In the past week, D has started singing about little Joeys jumping on the bed. It's quite the site to see. He has also, much to our joy?, rediscovered the drum and symbols he got for Chanukkah. It's a treat. He insists on all of us having an instrument and playing at the same time. Who knew we would have a family band.

We have had a few questions of what Dylan would like for his bday. He does NOT need any more toys. He has plenty, seriously, no room left in the play room. So, here's a brief list of what he would like for his bday:
Fridge Fonics
Leap Frog - Letter Factory
Anything Shrek related (he has the DVDs)
Spring/summer clothes (4T shorts/5 or 6T tops)
And, the best gift of all - college fund contributions ;)