burnt toast life

wimpy white boy & the tiny warrior princess

It’s been 84 years…

We are going to conveniently ignore the fact that it’s been exactly 1,018 days since my last blog post.

And somehow that felt appropriate because the topic of my last entry was how stressed I felt trying to work full time PLUS parent three kids full time. That’s all been going on for the entire 33 months I’ve been absent — and it shows.

Now I’m on a brief work sabbatical also known as maternity leave. That doesn’t mean I have time to dig in and start blogging again — if anything, I’m way busier than I was in August 2018, the time of my last update — but with so much going on, I felt like I had to get down some thoughts and provide a centralized place for people requesting updates on the babies. I can’t keep track of who I’m telling what.

And obviously, I want to look back in 1,000 days and remind myself how miserable I was because life will be much better then. Right? Right.

Welcome to our renovation nightmare

Ok so quick, quick update on the last 3 years: We considered moving but decided to stay after losing out on our dream house (7 offers in 48 hours) and realizing the housing market is totally out of control. That led to embarking on an agonizing, drama-filled, six-figure renovation that included multiple shady contractors, skyrocketing costs of materials amid the pandemic, broken appliances, and lots of other bad news every day. Nightmare isn’t even the word. It’s a never-ending horror show.

Six months later and it’s still not finished. However, we’re finally starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I could go on for pages about this saga but at the moment I’d rather be talking about my other big news. The moral of this story? (Most) contractors suck, renovations are expensive, and if you want something done right you have to do it yourself.

Suffice it to say we are never, ever moving and it will all be beautiful when it’s done, thanks to the literal blood, sweat, and tears that we (and when I say we I mean Eric) put into this project. And even though we spent wayyyyyyyy too much money on it, technically we still have equity and aren’t forced to overpay for a crappy house like so many other buyers right now. Small blessings.

No embryo left behind

The reason I’ve been very unhelpful in the construction department, besides my complete lack of manual labor skills, is that I’ve been pregnant the entire time.

After going back and forth and agonizing over the last two embryos for years, I finally decided the time had come. I got the go-ahead from my OB to implant two embryos at once (“But will my uterus literally explode if I’ve had 3 c-sections already? No? Are you sure?”) even as my RE Dr. L tried her damndest to talk me out of it.

“They could split and you could get triplets. You could get QUADS,” she warned.

However, I’ve said all along that we abide by a “no embryo left behind” philosophy. I also reasoned that these were the worst quality embryos of the group. There was a decent chance that only one would stick. Or none would stick! It was a $5,000 gamble I was willing to take, especially since it nicely coincided with a generous work bonus.

And then both embryos stuck. And then we had twins.

The pregnancy was both eventful and non-eventful. There weren’t any major concerns until the third trimester other than cholestasis, which was an itchy nightmare, and extreme discomfort for my 5’1 frame carrying two growing humans. My back ached, my feet swelled, and apparently, I had a short temper with everyone (in my recollection, this part is exaggerated, but all my family members agree that ‘Amanda while pregnant with twins’ is super bitchy).

It’s gonna be May

Everything was uncomfortably yet smoothly sailing along fine as we passed the 30 week mark. But then I started having some concerning growth scans that showed Baby A, the girl, was experiencing IUGR (intrauterine growth restriction).

We already knew I’d be delivering early because of all my risk factors — twins, IVF, repeat c-section, cholestasis, advanced maternal age, etc., etc. But all along I had the goal in my head of making it to 37 weeks. The twins were due 6/24 — the day after Molly’s birthday, how full circle is that? — and if I got to 37 weeks, I would at least be in the correct month for their due date. Meanwhile, my OB said to prepare for delivery between 34 and 35 weeks even before the scans. She’s clearly psychic in that regard.

Finally, baby girl started having issues with cord flow and the perinatal doctors insisted the babies had to arrive no later than 36 weeks. They started using terms like “stillbirth” and scared the crap out of me. I called my OB to get her opinion on when to schedule the surgery. That’s when I found out she was leaving for a humanitarian trip to Africa in mid-May. My last day to schedule the surgery with her was Monday, May 17 – when I would be exactly 34+4 weeks. It felt like a sign from God that it was the right day.

And so it was. Surgery went great, recovery was a bit rough but manageable, and the babies were super cute. Lucas Russell was 5 lbs 6 oz, which happens to be Molly’s exact birth weight at 40+4. He clearly would have been my biggest baby if we had let him cook longer. Meredith Jane was 3 lbs 3 oz. But then they got whisked off to the NICU and they’ve been there ever since.

Today is the 12th day without my newborns.

Welcome to the NICU; no one wants to be here

It’s a surreal feeling that’s inspired me to compose so many NICU-related posts in my head ever since our journey began.

I want to write, “The 1 Question You Should Never Ask a NICU Parent” (Spoiler: It’s “When do you think they’re coming home?” I know this question is very well-intentioned and is one I would have been asking before I knew how it felt to hear it. But the constant update of, “we don’t know, we don’t know, we don’t know” is so emotionally draining.)

I’m also considering one titled “10 Surprising Benefits of the NICU.” Having highly trained professionals caring for my babies while I recovered my old, tired, 37-year-old body from major abdominal surgery was pretty nice. During my hospital stay, I could go visit and hold them whenever I wanted, but when I wanted to go to my room and shower, rest, and watch HGTV for an hour without interruption, that was also an option. The real guilt and hardship didn’t begin until I left the hospital empty-handed.

Our adorable wimpy white boy

When we found out Lucas would be over 5 lbs and Meredith would be 3 lbs if she was lucky, a few people mentioned there was a chance he could come home with me while she would definitely be stuck in the NICU. So imagine my surprise when I discovered that not only was Lucas not coming home, but he was actually faring worse than his teeny tiny sister. It’s all because of a phenomenon known as “wimpy white boy.”

So many people have said this phrase to me both in the hospital and at home. It refers to the fact that Caucasian males tend to fare worse in the NICU regardless of their size or gestational age. So even though Lucas looks like he’s fine, he’s actually doing terribly at handling life on the outside. He’s a wimpy white boy.

His main issue is bradycardia events (“bradys”) where his heart rate drops and he has to be roused by the nurses. He was having so many he had to be put on a CPAP machine for a couple of days. The doctors also put him on caffeine to help prevent them, and as long as he doesn’t have any bradys today he will be taken off caffeine by end of day.

But he still has to be brady-free for a 7-day stretch post-caffeine, or 5 days regardless. So if he has an event on Sunday, the clock resets and we have to hit that 5 day stretch. Little man has only managed to make it 2 days without having an event so far.

He’s also being lazy about eating, which is typical for a preemie (and a wimpy white boy). He had some reflux issues but those seem to be getting under control. I’ve been diligent on trying breastfeeding whenever I’m there for his care times, but he just kind of latches and stares at me, like “What do you want me to do with this thing?” Then he falls asleep.

However, he’s freaking adorable. All the nurses are in love with him. How could you not appreciate that handsome face?

Little lady is a fighter

And then there’s Meredith.

She has that NICU baby look with virtually no fat on her body and the tiniest little hiney I’ve ever seen in my life. It took some time for me to feel comfortable changing her diapers because I felt like I would break her legs by accident. She’s just soooo small and fragile looking. But looks can be deceiving. What Meredith lacks in size, she makes up for in determination.

Baby girl has never been on oxygen and never had a brady. The first time I put her to breast she latched on and went for 15 minutes solid (she hasn’t been able to replicate that since; I think she’s still recovering from the Herculean effort it must have taken).

The only reason she is still in the NICU is that there’s a 4 lb minimum to leave (that’s for car seats) and she’s still only 3 lbs 5 oz after losing weight post-delivery and then working like hell to gain it back.

She also needs to work on eating but has been doing decent with the bottle and breast. She’s also very, very cute even with that slight alien look.

Baby steps, literally

I have so many reasons to complain about being trapped in the NICU but just as many to be grateful. I love that it’s 10 minutes from my house. If these babies had been born prior to January 2020 I’d be commuting 30 minutes each way which would have made life so much harder. Plus, I’m in some twin mom groups where the moms mention their closest NICU is an hour or more away and they can only go every other day. I just can’t imagine.

The staff at St. Luke’s is wonderful; I love all the nurses. I love the new building with the private NICU rooms rather than just being in one giant area. If there’s anywhere to be stuck, it’s here.

But progress is slow and I’m impatient. It doesn’t help that my 3 big kids need me at home while my 2 small ones need me at the hospital. No matter where I am, I feel like I should be somewhere else and like I’m letting someone down. We won’t even discuss my husband who has been trapped in the basement working alone for weeks now while I try being everything to everyone. Even my lack of attention/help for him makes me feel endlessly guilty, guilty, guilty.

Nurse Proper

As much as I love all the NICU nurses, I inevitably have my favorites, especially the one who insists on posing the twins and doing newborn photo shoots every time I’m there.

For a while one of my least favorites was a nurse I nicknamed Nurse Proper because she had a very precise way about her. It’s hard to explain… she says “beneath” instead of “under” and just has an extremely formal, competent manner. Of course, this makes me feel like a total schlub in her presence and even though I’ve become adept at NICU care and protocol in the 2 weeks we’ve been there, I always seem to mess up when she’s around. I guess she brings it out in me.

After the fourth night shift in a row with her assigned to my babies, she changed my whole perception. It was 10PM and I was about to go home and finally get some sleep. As usual, the older kids had put themselves to bed (remember, Eric is still stuck in the basement, probably painting something) and I was wondering if they’d really brushed their teeth.

But then Nurse Proper pulled up a chair, looked me right in the eye, and said, “Hey. How are you? I mean, how are you?”

I gave the usual response of “Fine! Great! Surviving!!” And then she said, “I want you to know you don’t have to do this if it’s killing you; it’s OK to take a night off, or not come here twice one of these days. We aren’t going to judge you if that’s what you think. We know you have other kids and a life at home.”

Deep down I knew I was feeling this — the obligation to always show up twice, once for day shift and once for night shift. This is both for the twins and for optics because God forbid I become known as the mother who never visits her babies. I still haven’t gone a day without visiting twice but at least she acknowledged and knew how I was feeling more than anyone else. Maybe Nurse Proper isn’t so bad after all.

Hello, my name is Bessie

I was terrified of not producing enough milk for twins. Ha. Haha. HA! I cannot believe the amount I’ve been getting.

The nurses said the whole NICU fridge is nothing but my bottles and they’ve had to start freezing it. The twins started out on donor milk when they were first born but haven’t had to use it since their first three days of life. I am an absolute pumping machine and while it’s annoying, and feels bovine, at least this is one thing I know I’m doing for my babies that’s legitimately helping them grow and thrive.

I pump every 3 hours and typically get 8-9 ounces each time. That’s double what I used to get pumping at work for Molly and Liam when they were babies. I credit my diligence at sticking with the every 3 hour schedule (even in the middle of the night when the last thing I want to do is get out of bed) and my new Spectra breast pump, which makes my old Medela clunker look like a tool from the Stone Age. Plus I’m assuming my body knows it had twins and needs to produce twice as much to feed them.

I hope I can keep up supply once they come home. I could never be an exclusively pumping mom… it’s so much work without the reward I want, the bonding and the convenience of breastfeeding. These kids have got to get their latching skills down soon.

This too shall pass

I look back and laugh at how pissed I was when they wanted to keep Molly in the hospital two extra days after she was born. The horror! Obviously I overreacted at my extended stay. And even now, as stressful as being a NICU parent is, I am trying to maintain perspective.

The twins are premature but they are healthy. Plenty of parents wind up in the NICU because their babies have serious medical complications and must stay for months and months on end. My babies are just early and they need more time. Meanwhile, thanks to the state of the renovation, we need more time too. Their clothes are still in boxes, their bassinet is at my sister’s house, and their various accouterments are in the attic. In a couple weeks that should be a very different story.

The earliest they could possibly go home is 7 days from Lucas going off caffeine — one week from today. Incidentally, that’s about how long it should take Meredith to gain what she needs to gain. I’m thinking, realistically, they’ll be home in the early part of June and one day I can read this post and look back at what a small blip it was on our radar.

Hashtag blessed

Another thing I’m grateful for? Last night was the first time I even had to think about what was for dinner. So many friends and family members have been dropping off food and we’ve never eaten so well. I never had to worry about having a ride to the hospital even before I was cleared to drive; my mom and sister happily shuttled me back and forth no matter the hour and what else they had going on.

Others offered to take the big kids for playdates and distractions amid the chaos. We are surrounded by help and support constantly and for that, I cannot be more thankful.

My heart is torn in half right now. But every day is progress toward our goal: paint on the walls, babies in our home, and a relaxing summer.

Oh wait, just kidding, I’m going to have newborn twins. I don’t think “relaxing” will be part of my vocabulary for at least the next 20 years.

And that’s just how I like it.

It’s good to be back, friends. I can’t guarantee I’ll blog all the time (actually I can guarantee I WON’T blog all the time). But I can say I’ve missed this space a lot. Don’t be surprised for a random post here and there when all is calm on the home front. Thanks for still reading along one thousand days later.

double full time

It is taking every ounce of willpower for me to write this post. If you read any further than this, you’ll understand why.

You know those people who love to tell you being a stay-at-home-mom is a full-time job, or even more demanding than a full-time job because you work way more than 40 hours and never get paid? They’re absolutely right. Even if you have one child. Especially when you have two or three.

I am that. I am the primary caretaker for my children 24/7/365. (My husband may be a loving father but he’s not the one filling up those juice cups every 2 hours).

The thing is, I also have another full-time job.

On top of regular child-rearing, I also work a full-time regular job (from home). I don’t freelance a few hours per week. I don’t work on my business here and there when I can. No, I have a full-time workload with meetings, deadlines, production quotas, and oftentimes more than 40 hours worth of work that needs to get done.

This is why I’m not blogging lately.

When I first started my job, I didn’t see how I could possibly do both things simultaneously. And yes, in the summer I have the help of my 13-year-old sister, who does a good job of entertaining the kiddos for several hours at a time. But let’s be clear — she doesn’t change diapers, she doesn’t prepare meals, she doesn’t jump up the minute she hears, “Come wipe my buuuuuuuuuuuuuutt!” from the bathroom. She’s great for distracting the kids and they love her, but she is not a full-fledged au pair. Not even close.

Also, she returns to school in late August. Last year I frantically interviewed replacements, but then Eric’s hours at work took a hit and we couldn’t afford to have anyone start. After my maternity leave, I just kind of took it day by day, seeing if between the two of us we could both work from home without any outside help. And then we just kind of… did it.

Our setup has been working fine ever since. And by fine I mean… no one died or got fired (yet). But I’m definitely starting to feel the stress of it.

It’s partly because 95% of the time I’m the one with one eye on the kids, one eye on the laptop, simultaneously making sure no one falls down the stairs and formatting my articles. I’m forced to contend with multiple interruptions in the space of 10 minutes. I have taken conference calls from dentist offices. I have turned off my camera to breastfeed during a team meeting. I have worked from cars and campgrounds. Meanwhile, I have to stifle laughs when coworkers complain about their cats/dogs distracting them and affecting productivity. Oh, REALLY?!

But working from home and taking care of kids is also my greatest joy. I am so happy when my 10AM coffee break includes sloppy baby kisses. I love that I won’t miss Madeline’s first steps. I am known to take my kids to the park for a playdate instead of breaking for lunch or hauling my laptop to my in-law’s pool so my kids can play while I work. I’m getting the best of both worlds and I’m incredibly thankful for the opportunity.

The biggest problem is I never feel like I’m doing enough in either space. I want to devote more time to work but there is no more time. Little heads peek out at me from behind my laptop screen and want to play when I can’t. If I had $1 for every time I said, “Not now honey, Mommy’s working,” this wouldn’t even be an issue because I could quit right now and buy a private island.

No matter which task I’m focusing on, the other one gets neglected. There aren’t enough hours; there isn’t enough time. And when my cup is so empty at 9PM and the kids are finally asleep, the prospect of typing more words and using more brainpower is like some form of torture. That’s why this blog, which I used to enjoy so much, has become yet another source of frustration and guilt rather than the creative outlet I want it to be.

Obviously, the solution to this is simple: get help. A nanny, some part-time daycare, something. And that’s certainly a consideration for the future. For now, I just wanted to vent a little and let you all know where I’ve been. I’m here! Frantically trying to balance two full-time jobs and usually failing miserably.

Who complains about working poolside? I guess I do.

Who complains about working poolside? I guess I do.

camping utopia

There’s this campground we go to every year. It’s about 45 minutes away from my house, but somehow it feels like a different universe. I’d happily live there if I could.

How do I explain it? It’s like stepping back in time. It’s like living in a time before strangers in vans with candy, a time before the articles your friends share on Facebook made you want to weep for the world. At this campground, any kid old enough to ride a bike has one and uses it from sunup to sundown. It’s not uncommon to see kids as young as 7 cycling by themselves all around the grounds and not even worrying about it much because the speed limit it 5 MPH and everyone obeys it. Also, the bike curfew is strictly enforced (as Eric learned the hard way).

I don’t know if it’s coincidence or I’m just noticing it more now, but ever since we got home I keep seeing articles pop up about lonely moms who miss the “it takes a village” mentality of raising children. It seems like we’re all so isolated now, peering at our neighbor’s pristine white kitchens via Instagram rather than visiting their houses in real life and noticing the jelly fingerprints cropped from the photo. It’s depressing. We need to get back to the village.

The campground was like a village as a whole and because we were camping with the extended family. There were occasions where I lost track of Liam for periods up to half an hour. At first, it scared me out because I’m used to freaking out when I don’t have a direct sight line to my 2-year-old. But as the week went on, I learned to just go with it.

“Have you seen Liam?”

“Yeah, he was on the playground with the boys a little bit ago.”

“OK, cool, I’m sure he’ll turn up.”

I’m not naive — I know that no campground is immune to creeps and we did set some boundaries. When Molly said she met a new friend and was going to their campsite alone, I was like hell to the no you’re not. But still — camping at a place where kids could be kids and parents could stop helicoptering, where there was a lake for fishing and boating, where we biked instead of driving, where the highlight of every day was an antique fire truck ride for the kids — yeah, that was pretty awesome.

Fun fact: my mom took me to this same campground when I was a kid, though I have no recollection of it. Meanwhile, we’re already planning our trip for next year.

We love you, Otter Lake! Never change.

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mexico

mexico

My whole working life all I ever wanted was to go on a business trip. It always sounds so glam, so fun. Every job I’ve ever had promised “the opportunity for travel” and I always latched onto those words and waited with joyful expectation. But those trips never materialized.

I realize that most of the time business trips aren’t really exciting. People go to lame conferences in boring cities and pretend to pay attention. But then I got this job as a journalist (technically speaking) where I sometimes write about travel and a coworker/friend mentioned this magical thing called “press trips.”

Did you guys know about these? Because apparently, they’re a thing for bloggers too. A press trip is an all expenses paid trip to a resort or some other awesome locale that press members or photographers go on in exchange for coverage. And once you go on one, you get put into some secret database that allows you to get sent on others. I’m not even sure if I’m supposed to be talking about it (?) but you can all google “press trip” easily enough and see they’re real things that people get to do. Lucky people, anyway.

I’ve gotten a few things from PR people thanks to my job — a box of free Tide comes to mind (that one was useful). But so far, no press trips. Until today, when my friend who told me about them in the first place offered to let me go in her place to a luxury resort in Mexico.

My first inclination was to scream yes. But then I remembered how I have three kids who all need me 24/7 and a husband who has never been left alone with the whole screaming, needy lot for longer than a few hours. Right.

I actually just missed out on a mom’s trip to the Jersey shore because of Madeline. Long story short, she’s a boob snob who has never taken a bottle and gags dramatically whenever you put one near her mouth. I tried to get her to take one, but I’ll admit I didn’t pull out all the stops to make her do it. After a few attempts and a lot of gagging, I gave up on the trip and forfeited my deposit. I’ll go next year, right?

But THIS. Especially Mexico! In 2007, I planned a trip to Riviera Maya with two of my best work friends. We went to the travel agent and then counted down for months in anticipation, emailing each other photos of margaritas and palm trees every long, excruciating work day. We were so freaking excited.

Finally, the day arrived. We packed our bags and stayed at my friend’s apartment in NYC to catch our flight out of La Guardia. Got to the check-in counter only to find — my passport expired. Dun dun duuuun…

So, I didn’t go to Mexico. At my insistence, they did. I called Eric (my ex at the time, but hey, I was depressed) to come pick me up and get me drunk, quick. We stopped at a hole in the wall bar and I did tequila shots until I was puking out the window of his Nissan Stanza while crawling through rush hour traffic in the Lincoln Tunnel.

It was not my finest moment.

That was not my time to go to Mexico. But the more I think about it, the more I see the sweet faces of my young kids, who say, “I missed you, Mommy,” when I’m only gone for an evening — I know I can’t go now either. Right? I can’t.

It’s funny, we live in a culture that’s so obsessed with self-care and women figuring out who they are separate from their kids and partners. But when I try to picture who I would be, who I could be, in Mexico with zero attachments and responsibilities (beyond work, of course), I’m coming up blank. Motherhood is so ingrained in every action of every day that I don’t even remember what it’s like to be alone. I’d miss them terribly. Though I don’t think I’d be too miserable at an adults-only, all-inclusive resort with room service. I mean, I highly doubt it.

Anyway, I’ve been bugging everyone for their opinions on this all damn day and I just finished my latest book (reading books is like 90% of the reason I don’t blog in my free time), so I figured I’d write about. What would YOU do? Just curious.

Some of you will say go and some will say don’t go but ultimately, I know I’m the one who must decide. My husband said he could handle the kids alone but I’ll be honest, he doesn’t seem keen on the idea. I know with certainty that he’d be 1,000% more excited about the prospect if I could bring a plus one. Not that I blame him — if he ever went to a resort without me, I’d be super pissed.

Which is part of the reason why I obviously have to turn it down and miss out on Mexico again. That’s definitely what I have to do.

…right?

 

here’s why she’s not getting any new toys for Christmas (seriously)

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There’s something undeniably pathetic about the pile of worn, pre-loved presents that I set aside to wrap for Madeline. Do I not love my third child enough? the critical voice in my head demands.

I felt guilty about it for about five seconds. Then I move on.

I remember Molly’s first Christmas well. She was six months old and even though Eric and I promised that we wouldn’t go overboard because she didn’t need anything and wouldn’t know any better, we swiftly broke our own rule. Somewhere, in my iCloud, there’s a video of both of us excitedly ripping open the same presents we wrapped a few days before as a bewildered (yet adorable) infant gazes on. Predictably, she only wanted to play with the boxes.

This year I actually stuck to my word for several reasons. The first is a matter of practicality. Eric is a consultant who only gets paid for hours worked, which has never affected us before but has suddenly become a real and important detail of his job. Almost zero billable hours available in December has meant a round of layoffs (which he survived, thank God), several people quitting, and the two of us gritting our teeth and having to make a few tense phone calls to people like our mortgage company.

But don’t fret for us too much — this is all supposed to magically turn around in January (and if it doesn’t, he’ll have to look for some other sort of employment). Of course, when we’re literally counting pennies while grocery shopping, it doesn’t leave any wiggle room for extras like Christmas gifts. I was forced to rein it in this year.

The second reason is my desperate pursuit of minimalism, or as close to it as I can feasibly get with three kids. If you think about it, our financial crisis couldn’t have come at a better time. I’ve gotten really good at limiting the number of new items coming into the house (see above, re: our income took a nosedive), but not so great at purging all the stuff I accumulated before my minimalist epiphany.

There is a medium-sized basket full of baby toys that I know Madeline will play with and enjoy. Since my firstborn was female, most of the toys are even pink and stereotypically girl-themed (a fact which never bothered infant aged Liam in the slightest). The only reason I’m putting forth the effort to wrap them is because of my 3-year-old, who will surely cry if her beloved baby sister doesn’t have any gifts from Santa (I can just imagine the conversation now: “Mommy, was she BAD? Does Santa think our baby is a BAD BABY?”)

As for the explanation over Madeline receiving pre-loved gifts, I’m still trying to figure out how I should explain it (and am open for suggestions if you have any). For now, I’m thinking I’ll tell her that Santa knew she would love Molly’s toys better than any new ones and so he stopped by, brought them to his workshop to polish them up, and brought them back all wrapped and ready. Or, Molly will be so enamored by her own presents that she won’t even notice.

The other two did get brand-new-purchased-from-the-store toys… but not very many. Ask Molly what she wants for Christmas and you’ll be rewarded with a list of three items that has not changed one bit since early November:

“For Christmas, I want Shimmer and Shine a big giant LOL Ball and Satin and Chenille.” Now imagine this said in one giant breath as if she’s being timed on it.

Shimmer and Shine are characters from a Nickelodeon cartoon that I’m almost certain she’s never seen. Satin and Chenille are from Trolls. A big giant LOL ball is a total ripoff and also one of the hottest toys of the Christmas season. It’s sold out everywhere and enterprising Ebayers are gleefully charging double what they paid. Obviously, I got her one (not from eBay).

She also has a couple other things I saw and purchased because the girl is so dang easy to shop for. Liam is the total opposite. He’s not really “into” anything yet, besides the show Beat Bugs on Netflix, so he got some appropriately-themed items. We also picked up a used Strider balance bike from my SIL as his big gift for the year. (Cost = free).

Eric and I agreed not to purchase anything for each other either. Overall, it’s going to be an extremely light Christmas, gift-wise. But I’m getting to be OK with that.

I’m trying so hard to be grateful every day for what I have. A friend of mine just shared a link about the horrible situation going on in Venezuela where children are literally starving to death thanks to a corrupt government. I read things like that, or articles about real poverty in our own country, and I can’t help but feel ridiculous for complaining that my kids won’t have mountains of presents on Christmas morning. Money may be tight, but for God’s sake we’re eating. I don’t go to bed at night wondering if my children will starve to death. I just cannot fathom.

So that’s my spiel, a.k.a. justification for skimping out on baby Madeline’s first Christmas. I can’t feel too bad for the kid since the only thing she’s interested in is boobies and, lately, examining her hands. It’s a fact: 4-month-old babies don’t care how many presents they get on Christmas morning.

Madeline, if you’re reading this in 20 years, know that mama loves you immensely. You might not have stacks on stacks of brand new presents, but you do have a pre-chewed Sophie the Giraffe.

And that is enough.

remembering that she’s just a little girl

Some people are guilty of babying their children. I’m the opposite.

When I say Molly is exceptionally well-behaved and mature for an *almost* three and a half year old, I’m not saying it because she’s my kid or because I like to brag. Heck, in the same breath I’ll be the first to admit that Liam is a real handful (a sweetheart who will win your heart and then promptly trample it in a fit of wailing and screaming during a textbook terrible twos tantrum). In other words, Molly’s extraordinary self-possession is not a testament to my exemplary parenting skills, but is rather just a “hit” in the ol’ parenting lottery that we all play when we have children. Some kids are naturally easier than others. In that regard, we’ve been abundantly blessed.

So imagine my surprise when our little angel child started acting out at dance class on Saturday. From day one of class 12 months ago, Molly marched in and owned that classroom with barely a backward glance in my direction. (I’ll pretend I didn’t look around the room with a smug smile, trying not to look too pleased with myself in front of parents whose children were crying as though they were being led into a pit of hungry lions rather than into a dance studio). She was so brave and outgoing that I could not fathom why, as a year veteran and the oldest child in the group, she suddenly dissolved into a pile of tears this past Saturday two minutes after the class started.

Trying to speak to her calmly and rationally changed nothing. She didn’t want to dance; she needed mommy to hold her. No amount of bribing with candy or threatening to skip the other fun events we had planned for the day would change her mind. I was completely mystified.

Her dance teacher, a grandmother many times over who is adept with crying children (probably one of the reasons she’s brave enough to offer a dance class for 2 and 3 year olds), suggested that maybe she was having trouble adjusting to the new baby.

“That’s ridiculous!” I scoffed, “She loves the baby, and she’s already used to being a big sister. It has to be something else.”

Her teacher gave me a patronizing smile and said, “I’m sure she’s a wonderful big sister. But I’ve been around the block a few times and I can tell you that kids act out sometimes when there’s a big change like that.”

I nodded so that the conversation would end but inside I still disagreed. I figured she must have seen something that scared her (one girl was wearing aggressive blue eyeshadow for a Halloween parade later… maybe that?), or perhaps she woke up too early, or maybe she was just overstimulated thinking about our busy day ahead… it just couldn’t be the baby. Right?

That morning I had been getting ready while ignoring Madeline’s cries in the Rock n Play. With three kids, there’s just no way for me to instantly take care of her needs the moment she starts fussing or I’d never get anything done. Usually she’s forced to scream for up to five ten some number of minutes at a time while I finish whatever I’m doing, since Lord knows all she wants to do is hang out on my boob forever. So anyway, I was there blow drying my hair (which these days only happens about once a month) and throwing on some mascara when Madeline got the memo I must be taking some much needed me-time and started wailing like I hadn’t fed her in 62 years (untrue). I made up my mind to let her cry for as long as it took when all of the sudden she got quiet. I peeked around the corner into the living room to find Molly gently rocking her chair back and forth, whispering, “It’s ok, little baby, Mommy will be here soon.”

First of all… heart eyes emoji, right? And second, it took all of my restraint not to humble-brag post the whole thing on social media. But I didn’t have time because, remember, blow dryer and mascara. I knew even with Molly’s help I only had five minutes to finish, tops.

But that’s my point! She loves her sister. She’s happy; she’s adjusted. Right?

The dance class incident got me thinking about the past couple weeks. Molly has been unnaturally clingy. Like at Madeline’s baptism, where I was running around like a chicken without a head like I do anytime I host a party. Fun-loving, party-loving, relative-loving Molly had a total meltdown and refused to be comforted by anyone besides me… which seriously never happens. Every time I rushed out of the room to refill coffee or cut up fruit or hide from the guests in the bathroom, she’d run along behind in a panic as though I were fleeing the building forever. At the time I attributed it to the same factors — being overtired, overstimulated, or some combination of those.

At a trunk or treat event at her school the same night as the failed dance class, she once again stuck by my side like glue. It was dark and crowded but we were there with ten people we knew and there was no reason for her to act that way. One instance may have been a fluke and two a coincidence, but with distinct events in our recent past I think it’s time to admit what this is: a pattern.

And actually, she’s been clingy other times too. She seems unnaturally frightened of me leaving her places, even though I’ve never left her anywhere and now that I work from home, I am literally with her 24/7 most days. Maybe that’s part of the problem?

I was getting ready this morning and once again Madeline was crying in her Rock n Play (it’s a lot like Groundhog Day around here, the weather may change but our routines do not). Remembering the sweetness and, let’s be honest, the convenience of Molly’s help the day before, I asked her if she would rock Maddy for a couple minutes while Mommy finished getting ready.

She said no.

At the time I was annoyed because despite my dear husband’s suggestion, I cannot simply ignore the baby crying. Her little cry makes me stressed out and rush through whatever I’m doing, as it’s biologically conditioned to do. But then I thought about it logically for a minute. My daughter is not even three and a half years old. Why in the world was I expecting her to stop playing and soothe a screaming newborn?

I think part of it stems from my own stereotypical first child experience. When you are the oldest and especially when you are naturally mature and extra especially when you are female, adults naturally place more responsibility on your shoulders than you probably deserve. Right or wrong, sexist or not, that’s just the way it is. When I was ten I was scheduling my own dentist appointments. When I was twelve I was solely in charge of my two younger siblings when my parents were at work.

At the time I resented the responsibilities but in retrospect, I’ve come to appreciate them for shaping me into the adult I am today. Yes, it’s partly just my nature to be trustworthy, but I also think that having adults trust me that much gave me self-confidence I wouldn’t have otherwise. And as a technical millennial, I’m happy to be a functioning member of society, not one of those stereotypical overgrown children who can’t make it out of their parents’ basements.

I don’t remember the exact age that people started treating me like a mini adult. It was probably older than three, but who knows. I do know that I’ve been guilty of expecting that from my little firstborn. How can I begrudge her little tantrums when I have my own mini meltdowns on a daily basis? How can I hold her to some ridiculous “perfect child” standard when in the same breath I concede there’s no such thing as the perfect mom?

I was so busy worrying about how Liam would accept the new baby that I forgot to consider Molly might need to adjust to her too. Maybe she is having a hard time sharing her mom, just as I’m having a harder time juggling the three of them than I’d like to admit.

I really need to remind myself that she’s still just a little girl, even if she doesn’t always act that way.

even the best big sisters need a break sometimes

even the best big sisters need a break sometimes

50 questions

My dear blog friend Amber tagged me to do this, and since I have no brain power to formulate an original post (at least not one that actually makes it from my brain to WordPress), I’m happily obliging. Because I love talking about myself. Obviously.

Without further ado…

50 Questions I’ve Never Been Asked

1. What’s your favorite candle scent?
I don’t burn candles but I do diffuse essential oils. Or shall I say, essential OIL, because my one true love is YL thieves and I just constantly diffuse it in every room. I know that’s not the “right way” to essential oil because you’re supposed to use different oils for different purposes but thieves just smells so damn good and makes me happy plus I’m way too overwhelmed to learn about all the other ones. At least for right now.

2. What female celebrity do you wish was your sister?
Any of them… so I could ask her to borrow money. HA!

J/K. I like my actual sisters.

3. What male celebrity do you wish was your brother?
Same answer as above. I’m not enamored by celebrities at all.

4. How old do you think you’ll be when you get married?
I was 26.

5. Do you know a hoarder?
The closest I can think of is my parents, though they would argue that they are “collectors,” not hoarders. All I know is they have a helluva lot of stuff in that basement. I do not look forward to cleaning it out when they move on to a retirement home.

6. Can you do the splits?
This is a very weird way to say this… the splits? Is that how you’re supposed to refer to them?

I could do a regular split in high school during my cheerleader days. I could never do a straddle split, no matter how much I stretched.

7. How old were you when you first learned how to ride a bike?
5? 6? I don’t even know why I’m doing this; I have a terrible memory.

8. How many oceans have you swam in?
Two – Atlantic and Caribbean.

9. How many countries have you been to?
Only 5 — France, Monaco, Canada, Dominican Republic, and Grand Cayman.

10. Is anyone in your family in the army?
There are lots of veterans in my family, including my husband.

11. What would you name your daughter if you had one?
I have two – Molly and Madeline.

12. What would you name your son if you had one?
Liam!

13. What’s the worst grade you’ve got on a test?
I’ve definitely failed a test or two. Math and Science; never English or Reading.

14. What was your favorite TV show when you were a kid?
When I was a little kid I was all about Fraggle Rock. But sometime during childhood my parents got rid of television and I never got to see any of those 90s shows that everyone talks about. I don’t think I missed much.

15. What did you dress up as for Halloween when you were 8?
Uhhh… seriously? I have no idea.

16. Have you read any of the Harry Potter, Hunger Games or Twilight series?
No, yes, yes.

17. Would you rather have an American accent or a British accent?
I like British accents but I also like me just the way I am.

18. Did your mother go to college?
Nope.

19. Are your grandparents still married?
My maternal grandmother is a widow and my paternal grandparents are still married.

20. Have you ever taken karate lessons?
Yes! My whole family did karate for a solid year when I was young. I think I made it up to the second level (orange belt? Is that right?) before we all gave up on our Karate Kid dreams.

21. Do you know who Kermit the frog is?
Obviously yes.

22. What was the first amusement park you went to?
I want to say Dorney Park because it’s the one I remember visiting all the time and I still love it there but it’s probably Sesame Place (which I hated).

23. What language beside your native language would you like to be fluent in?
FRENCH. I’m such a Francophile.

24. Do you spell the color grey or gray?
Gray because I’m American and that’s how we do in ‘MURICA.

25. Is your father bald?
No.

26. Do you know any triplets?
My husband worked with a triplet a few jobs ago and we went to her wedding. I think she was a natural triplet?

27. Do you prefer Titanic or The Notebook?
I went to see Titanic in the theater seven times. I had a real thing for Leonardo DiCaprio and was a melodramatic teen when that movie came out.

28. Have you ever had Indian food?
I have.

29. What’s the name of your favorite restaurant?
White Orchids. THE BEST THAI.

30. Have you ever been to Nandos?
No, but now I’m skeptical of this survey because someone else said it’s super British. We don’t have Nandos in the US. Is that why they call it “the splits?” Is that a British thing?

31. Do you belong to any warehouse stores (Costco, Bookers, etc.)?
Sam’s Club only because it’s the closest to my house.

32. What would your parents have named you if you were the opposite gender?
Michael. They were fairly convinced I was a boy, actually, until I came out.

33. If you have a nickname, what is it?
Deeda!

34. Who’s your favorite person in the world?
I have lots of favorite people for different reasons. They know who they are.

35. Would you rather live in the countryside or the city?
Thank God I’m a country girl.

36. Can you whistle?
Not even a little bit.

37. Do you sleep with a nightlight?
I sleep with a salt lamp, which is really like a night light. Eric complains about it ALL THE TIME because he’d rather have the room pitch dark but I’ve truly come to love it over the years and couldn’t imagine not having it. I don’t know if it’s really making me healthier but I like the dim glow, especially when little visitors come tiptoeing in after having a nightmare or when I need to change a tiny diaper at 3AM.

38. Do you eat breakfast every morning?
Without fail.

39. Do you take any pills or medication daily?
I should be taking prenatals because I’m still breastfeeding but I ran out and have failed to purchase more. I am the worst.

40. What medical conditions do you have?
None that I know of.

41. How many times have you been to the hospital?
Just 3 for 3 c-sections.

42. Have you ever seen Finding Nemo?
Many times.

43. Where do you buy your jeans?
I can’t remember the last time I bought jeans.

44. What’s the last compliment you got?
“You’re the best mommy I never saw.” <--- direct quote 45. Do you usually remember your dreams in the morning?
Sometimes.

46. What flavor of tea do you enjoy?
What flavor of tea DON’T I enjoy? (Also, now 100% convinced this is a British poll).

47. How many pairs of shoes do you currently own?
Much fewer than I used to… I’ll say maybe 20-30? I keep paring down as I slowly come to the realization that I’ll never rock 4″ heels again.

48. What religion will you raise your children to practice?
They will be good Catholics and THEY WILL LOVE IT.

49. How old were you when you found out that Santa wasn’t real?
9ish… I remember the exact moment I found out the truth. And how my mom said, “Oh good, now you can help me wrap all the presents for your brother and sister.”

50. Why do you have a blog?
I have no idea anymore. It started out as a way to connect with others suffering through infertility and now I don’t want to give it up because I like it here. My posts get about 1/4 of the views they used to and it’s become increasingly difficult to figure out what to write about (or find time to write once I do nail down a topic) but every time I do write or get a comment, it buoys me up and reminds me why I still do this. I guess because I see no reason NOT to do it, even if I only post every month or two as opposed to every week. One day I’ll look back read these posts and it’ll make me smile, I think. So if you’re here, I’m here. Even if you’re not here… I’ll still probably be here.

And now I’m going to be an asshole and not tag anyone specific to “copy and repost” because most of the people I read have already been tagged. But if you do feel inspired to fill this out, please do, I’d love to hear if you can do the splits or not.

here in the state of bliss

It’s fairly chaotic going from two to three kids. Anyone who tells you differently is lying (or medicated, or blessed, or has older kids).

But it’s also amazing.

The thing about newborns is that they sleep a lot. At least mine does. She’s either eating or sleeping or pooping in her sleep (or pooping while eating). She’s awake for, let’s say, 10 minutes per day. The chaos comes from corraling the preschooler and the toddler, trying to keep the dogs from eating precious Shopkins that are strewn about (the eternal struggle), an endless cycle of meals and snacks, laundry, nursing, keeping a close eye on the newborn in her rock ‘n’ play because any day now she’s likely to be smothered in hugs (literally) by one or both older siblings. Did I mention dishes and laundry and cleaning? All of it. Chaos 90% of the time.

But… but. The sweetness is nearly unbearable. I gave Liam way too little credit when it came to adjusting to his new sister. I thought for sure he’d be annoyed at her presence; I figured he’d act out and push her away and generally treat her like some kind of intruder. But in fact, he loves her. He is enchanted by “Baybee!” and is concerned when she cries. This could very well change as she gets older and needier but at this moment, I could not ask for better adjustment from him. And of course Molly is enamored/obsessed/helpful as I knew she would be.

I suppose I owe you all a birth story for Madeline but I fear that a planned c-section simply isn’t as exciting as a surprise birth. We made it to the date we planned for – Friday, 8/25, 2 weeks ago today. We arrived at the hospital at 6AM for our 8AM surgery. I expected to be bumped in favor of emergency c-sections or other more pressing births since the end of summer is the start of “busy season” in the maternity wing. But instead of waiting, they were actually ready for me at 8 sharp. Unfortunately, I was not ready because once again it took 4 freaking people to get my IV in. Have I mentioned how shitty my veins are? I swear, I dread getting an IV more than the actual surgery. I was crying and shaking and had almost passed out by the time they finally got one in. Now two weeks later both forearms, hands, and wrists are still covered in ugly purple and yellow bruises from all the poking.

Meanwhile, the more serious cut is healing beautifully. It seriously seems like each c-section gets easier, or maybe it’s just that I know what to expect. More likely it’s that I don’t have time to be incapacitated with 3 kids to care for. Eric took a few days off work but even when he had to go back, the fact that he works from home has been an eternal blessing. He can be full-on working and still within shouting distance. Also it has proven invaluable for naptime errand running because I can just leave the house with one or two or zero kids and know that he can keep an ear peeled for the sleeping ones. It’s very convenient.

The only other big news from the birth was that I’m no longer allowed to go past 37 weeks. Apparently just like last time my uterus was super thin, but this time dangerously so. I mentioned that next time I wanted to put in two embryos and my OB/GYN said it really wasn’t a great idea. She said then she’d have to take me even earlier, and we’d likely be stuck in the NICU, with 3 kids at home… overall, just unwise. But when I asked her if I could safely have two more pregnancies she said she didn’t see why not. Five c-sections sounds excessive but if she says it’s OK and if my body continues to heal as well as it does, I guess it’s not the worst thing. The thought of being pregnant two more times is extremely exhausting but it’s also not something I need to think about right this minute. My baby is 2 weeks old. I can just chill for a minute.

As much as I fought the notion that I’d need to take time off work, I am glad I did. This week has been a little nuts with Molly starting preschool – which so far she LOVES. Me, I love being able to drop her off and pick her up, and love that I’ll be able to continue doing so even after I go back to work.

For some reason I recently clicked on that really old super secret blog I had years ago. I kept writing there for about a year before abandoning it and starting Burnt Toast. The last day I posted? August 25, 2011. I mean… how weird is that? If you would have told me then that on August 25, 2017 I’d be welcoming my third baby to our family I would have been so skeptical. I was thinking that the other morning when I had Madeline sleeping on my chest and the other two cradled in my right and left arms. I was immobilized because I was literally covered in children. And I realized that’s all I ever wanted to be, and there I was, living out my dream. It’s weird to feel so content in what I have… given the choice I’d definitely want more money, less debt, and thinner thighs. But overall I am totally happy with what I’ve been given and couldn’t ask for more.

And it’s funny too because I was reading some past posts where I talked about having a kind of pre-midlife crisis, wondering about the Point of It All and just generally feeling blah, but now six months later I feel completely different. Proof that the real problem was simple: I hated my job. Once that one thing changed, everything else felt a million times better.

A part of me feels guilty posting stuff like this because it feels kind of like bragging — oh look at me, everything is SOOOO perfect. Trust me, it’s not. Lots of mini dramas and crappy things going on currently, and even motherhood isn’t always the best time ever. I definitely yelled at Molly for not listening the other day. She went silent for a few minutes and when I looked over, she was just sitting there with huge eyes and silent tears streaming down her face. I said, “Oh my gosh, Molly, what’s wrong??” and she said, “You YELLED at me!” in the most accusatory voice. I guess she’s not used to being yelled at? It was so funny/sad. But also very telling. Even perfect angels like Molly aren’t always perfect. (Her latest thing is to question everything I tell her to do, and give long-winded explanations why she should be able to do it her way, so now my phrase of the moment is “Stop arguing with me!” which she often parrots back to Liam, who seems confused).

Anyway. I feel like I’m rambling and since the other two monkeys are sleeping, I’m neglecting this precious small amount of Mommy/Maddie cuddle time (because I’m usually too busy to just sit around holding her. This poor third child). I’ll leave you with some of my favorite photos from the hospital, which if you follow me on social media you’ve already seen, but oh well. I am obsessed with them and am currently planning a total photo wall redo just to incorporate them.

one of my favorites

one of my favorites

our beautiful Madeline Grace

our beautiful Madeline Grace

what did I do to deserve all of this? how can I possibly thank God for these precious gifts?

my gratitude for these blessings is infinite

currently

I promised myself I’d get around to posting something BEFORE the birth of the baby, which now is just three days away and who am I kidding, it’s not going to be some epic summer recap full of photos like I wanted it to be.

Just know that our summer was glorious.

It was truly everything I wanted it to be. Relaxed, fulfilling, joyful. Stressful yet satisfying. At this point I’m 90% positive you’re sick of hearing how much I love working from home but I don’t even care, I’m saying it one more time: IT IS SO GOOD. I had pool days on Tuesdays, I had afternoons free to do whatever with the kids, I had farm visits for my lunch break. I had 11AM snuggle time and exactly zero stressful commutes. It was trying at times (whining kids + deadlines = stress), but also worth it. Now that I’ve tasted this side of life I’m never going back.

I’d say my biggest complaint about the summer has been the physical demands of being 7 then 8 then freaking 9 months pregnant. Two days shy of 39 weeks and I’ve hit a wall. I’ve figured out that every day I’m able to complete one physically demanding task — anything from grocery shopping to carrying a box up to the attic to visiting a playground — and after that I’m useless. My to-do lists are laughable thanks to these limitations and now I’m totally out of time. Everyone has been making fun of the fact that I haven’t packed my hospital bag yet… well, I’m getting there. But that will be the only thing I do that day and so far it keeps getting bumped in favor of more exciting stuff.

But anyway. In an effort to keep this blog on track and actually produce some content, I’m going to try some writing prompts. Without further ado, here is my edition of “currently” for 8/21, aka Solar Eclipse Day, aka today.

Reading…
I’ve been reading A LOT in the last couple of weeks, mostly because that’s the only thing I can do that doesn’t cut into my “one thing per day” quota. Also, my neighbor is a teacher and home for the summer, plus she’s a book-a-phile like I am, so she runs to the library (since Lord knows I don’t have the energy for all that), picks up a big pile, and we swap back and forth. I read so many books this way I lost count, including one book in a matter of 24 hours when I was laid low on the couch recovering from the stomach bug. The kids watched movies while I tore through a novel. Probably the only thing good about the stomach bug is not having any guilt about “wasting” a perfectly good summer day literally not moving from one position except to flip a page.

If you want to know all the titles I’ve been reading lately, check out my Goodreads. But at this very moment in time I’m about 100 pages into Swimming Lessons, which is OK not great.

Watching…
It’s amazing how little TV I watch, especially since cutting cable over a year ago. I watch Game of Thrones and that’s really it. However, I do anticipate wanting to watch more stuff once I’m up at all hours breastfeeding because I don’t know if I’ll have the mental capacity for books like I do now. I’m actually dreading my hospital visit because my sister told me there are literally NO good channels; they don’t even have HGTV! It’s a little sad how disappointed I am about that.

BUT, I do have Netflix and Amazon Prime. So any suggestions you have for someone who is unapologetically ruthless and picky in regards to television, I would love to hear them.

Listening…
To silence. Can I get an Amen for kids who nap at the same time? It is one of my favorite things.

Drinking…
Water + flavor drops out of my new Atlin cup! It’s supposed to be a Yeti knockoff and so far I’m loving it. I can’t believe how long it keeps my drink cold… I’m talking insulated enough to keep ice cubes intact for 12+ hours. Plus, I got it on Amazon for $11, as opposed to like $40 or whatever for the almighty Yeti. #winning

Eating…
Nothing. Shockingly. I am already thinking about dinner, when I’m making some sort of very healthy concoction of crescent rolls and chicken that resembles chicken pot pie.

Wearing…
Last night’s pajamas. At 3 in the afternoon. Not ashamed.

Loving…
My job! And not just the work from home aspect, though that’s clearly the main appeal. The exciting news of the hour is that they asked me to go full-time following my maternity leave. This was after I said I didn’t really need maternity leave since I’d be home, but they kind of insisted. Which, I’ll admit was sort of an awkward phone call with HR but thankfully it all worked out in the end.

So basically I admitted that I can’t afford six weeks off with no pay. They agreed to let me work when I wanted, logging hours as I wanted, but no pressure throughout the month of September, then start up full-time hours at the beginning of October. Which is like, absolutely perfect and everything I ever wanted.

I even get to set my own schedule, so I’ll be working 7-3 and still off in the afternoons. AND I found a mother’s helper. It’s just… it couldn’t be better. Everyone from my boss to HR to my whole team is so friendly and chill and accommodating, and now I have the added bonus of making a full-time salary to boot. I could not possibly be more satisfied with how it all worked out.

Anticipating…
Uh, I dunno, how about HAVING A FREAKING BABY ON FRIDAY?

Hoping…
Really hoping everything goes well with my c-section. This is my first planned section, so I have way too much time to Google complications and stuff. I may or may not have asked my OB/GYN how she “knows when to stop cutting so she doesn’t slice the baby.”

Wondering…
If I’m the only one who isn’t 6,000% jazzed about a solar eclipse. I’m just not that excited. There, I said it.

Trying…
To motivate myself to pack a hospital bag.

Worrying…
About surgery and recovery, plus Liam dealing with not being the baby anymore. I think he’s really going to have a hard time adjusting and I’m just dreading that part.

Planning…
I’m pretty proud of how much I got done in anticipation of Molly starting preschool ten days after the baby is born. I finished her back to school shopping, got her an outfit… she’s ready to go, and she’s so excited about it.

Contemplating…
A nap. But I really shouldn’t.

OK, time to go maybe take that nap and/or read some more! Have I mentioned how much I love coordinated nap times for the kids?

We had such a great summer.

We had such a great summer.

reflections on one month at home

It’s been juuuuust over a month of doing the work-at-home mom thing and I thought I’d recap a few observations I’ve noticed in that time. So I can look back and laugh or cringe in a few years when everything is completely different, obviously.

Observation 1: There’s time for boredom.

Those first two weeks were a total whirlwind of figuring out my schedule and settling into a new state of being, but now that I’ve kind of gotten into the groove there are plenty of moments where I’m just… bored.

It’s so weird to be bored.

Granted, I have two young children and they keep me busy, but without the added stress of commuting and working a full time schedule, now there’s actually downtime in my afternoon that wasn’t there before. I have a list of random little projects to tackle that I’ve been chipping away at but it really feels weird to actually be doing them rather than just endlessly adding items and knowing they’ll never get done. I finally cleaned and organized my spice rack and one shelf (baby steps) of my linen closet. It’s incredible. I shudder to think what I’ll be able to accomplish when I’m not 7 months pregnant and super lazy.

Observation 2: I could never be a full time SAHM.

I already knew this about myself but now I REALLY know it. Even working part time makes me a little antsy, like I need to fill my hours with something else or like I’m forgetting to do something. I also find myself allotting way too much time for simple tasks that I used to schedule much differently. Like, I’ll mentally block off an entire afternoon for a quick grocery store run that I used to accomplish in 30 minutes.

Plus, being stuck in the house on rainy days is some particular form of torture. I’m not creative enough to come up with fun activities plus I am working for the mornings. So I’m just stuck with antsy kids who need an outlet. SO FUN.

Observation 3: The weather rules my life.

No offense to old people but… wow, I’m like an old person with how obsessed I’ve become about the weather. I’m constantly checking it and planning my life around it, mostly because our main excitement every day is going to my MIL’s pool, which of course we can’t do in the rain. Last week was crappy and we were going so stir crazy that I loaded up the kids and took them to McDonald’s so they could run around the play place (#parentoftheyear).

Actually, I felt really good about myself because Molly has literally never been to a McDonald’s in her life and kept asking if we were going to see “old McDonald had a farm” and I haven’t been inside one in so many years that I didn’t even know their screens are all digital now. The kids loved the play area and it was just what they needed. Molly marched up to two little girls there and said, “Hi. I’m Molly. I like you guys. Let’s go play.” It’s truly a shame about how shy she is…

But then she was having so much fun playing that she forgot to tell me she had to go potty and ended up having an accident. In the climbing structure. Fun times.

Observation 4: I will never go back to an office. Ever.

So I thought a part of me would miss hanging out with coworkers… or office life in general… but as it turns out, NOPE.

Seriously, I’m sure you’re all sick of hearing this since my last three posts have mentioned it, but if there’s any feasible way for you to do your job from home – make it happen. It’s sooooo good. I’m not going back and you can’t make me.

I supposed that’s it for observations. The end of June was particularly crazy but now on the other side of that it looks like I have absolutely nothing going on between now and Baby Girl’s arrival besides our family beach trip the first week of August. The lack of busyness is actually kind of sad, and I’d love to find something to fill the space between besides just really long grocery store outings and weather checking. It’s sort of annoying to be a faux SAHM, as I like to call myself, because I can’t schedule things in the mornings when I have office hours and by afternoon it’s nap time and after that time to make dinner. I know, I know, FIRST WORLD PROBLEMS.

I do truly enjoy all the extra time spent with the kids and the other morning I came to the realization that I would not have to supplement this baby (hopefully) due to decreased milk supply after returning to work. I know I’ll have to pump so I can get a little stash but it’s not like I’ll have a 3-times-a-day date with my breast pump in a closet somewhere. That is so cool.

Finding a mother’s helper for the fall has been a particular sort of torture because no one seems to have accountability anymore. The first girl I messaged with for several days sounded like she had so much potential. We scheduled a meeting – she bailed – and then disappeared off the face of the earth. Ohhh kaayyyyy…

The second girl rescheduled twice on me and then showed up late. (Traffic. Obvi.) She was very nice but seemed very young, shy, and quiet for a 19-year-old. Was I like that at 19? Not that there’s anything with being shy… she just seemed, I dunno, immature. Maybe because I already had some negative first impressions from the scheduling issues. And the lack of punctuality.

My third candidate was supposed to come today but – surprise! – she had to reschedule! And she was my favorite, too. WHAT IS UP WITH PEOPLE? If I had a job interview, I would be there when I said I was going to be, and on time. I’m giving her another chance because I’m reaching a point of desperation. Good thing I started my search early…

Anything else? No. Time to go check the weather (again).