parenting mishaps Archives - burnt toast life

Jul 12

camping utopia

Jul 12

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.

Oct 23

remembering that she’s just a little girl

Oct 23

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

Nov 01

little red riding hood & the princess paradise bear

Nov 01

I like to think of myself as a semi-savvy shopper.

And while I don’t do any extreme couponing (because I have neither the time nor the storage space for 700 free tubes of toothpaste), I do participate in my fair share of discount shopping. Some things I don’t mind paying full price for. Some things I am vehemently opposed to paying full price for.

Example: Halloween costumes. Those chintzy polyester outfits that children wear for approximately 2 hours for one day of the year. I hate the exorbitant expense of Halloween costumes, especially since most of them are terrible quality and have a ridiculously high markup because, of course, parents neeeeed them.

I’m happy that Molly doesn’t fully grasp the concept of Halloween yet, and that I was still able to choose her costume for her (next year, I imagine I won’t be so lucky). A coworker actually came up with the idea for this year’s theme. She told me about a cute costume duo she saw for sale on one of those Facebook online yard sale sites: little red riding hood and the big bad wolf. I said, “Yes! Yes! I want them!” but of course they had already sold.

Even though I missed out on that deal, I still forged on with the LRRH/BBW theme in mind. Determined not to pay full price, I turned to my favorite of all discount sites… eBay! I found plenty of reasonably priced LRRH outfits but they were all made from that shiny, cheapo polyester, and many were missing vital components (like…THE RED HOOD). I scrolled and scrolled until I hit the jackpot – a handmade, beautiful costume with the dress, bloomers, hood, and a coordinating little basket, all for $14.99 (+$6.80 shipping). UM, HOW ABOUT YES PLEASE? I literally sent the woman a thank you note for offering such a beautiful item. It was the score of all Halloween costume scores.

Next up – BBW, which was a little trickier. Those fuzzy, cuddly baby costumes don’t come cheap, even on eBay. Most were in the $40-$50 range, and as much as I loved and needed the costume, I couldn’t quite justify that price on something he’d wear for one stinkin’ night. Just as I was about to give up and order one of the expensive options, I noticed something interesting in the “People Who Viewed This Also Viewed” section. The description said “Princess Paradise Bear Costume Size 12/18 Months” BUT the photo was exactly the same as the other wolf costumes I was looking at. The best part? It was $4.88 (+ $6.45 shipping). I was so excited! I figured it was worth the $11 gamble to see if it really was named incorrectly. (And since I was shopping in September, uncharacteristically ahead of deadline, I had time to buy a new costume if it did turn out to be a princess bear).

The week it took to ship the costume was excruciating. I kept wondering… would it be a wolf? Would it be a bear? Would it be the exact thing I was looking for and somehow only cost $11? I knew it sounded too good to be true, but I still held out hope. When the package arrived, I ripped it open and… hallelujah! It was the wolf costume I wanted! (Further research uncovered that Princess Paradise is actually a brand name, but the whole “bear” part still confuses me because it’s clearly a wolf).

little red riding hood & the big bad wolf (a.k.a. princess paradise bear)

So all told, I got a handmade/non-chintzy little red riding hood costume and a cute furry big bad wolf costume for a combined total of $33.12 – less than some people spend on just ONE costume. I was feeling good.

But don’t think it’s all sunshine and roses over here, because my next eBay shopping experience didn’t go nearly so well.

Last year I found this awesomeness right here:

(source)

My husband is a Star Wars fan, and I am a let’s-coordinate-a-super-cute-family-photo-Christmas-card fan, so I figured we could combine our loves and get some matching Christmas jammies. WELL. Hanna Andersson makes high quality apparel and it is (justifiably) pricey. To order the organic cotton, Star Wars themed, matching Christmas pajama sets for my family (not including the dogs) would have cost $244. YIKES. Then we also would have needed to pay for a photo session, order cards, and pay to mail all the cards. So no, we didn’t do that.

This year I figured I’d keep up my winning eBay streak and search for those same Star Wars pajamas from last year. I thought that since it was a year ago, maybe I could find them for much cheaper. And I did! The first results that populated were those exact same pajama sets that I saw last year, same photos and everything, only this time ranging in price from $6.99 to $15.99. I happily purchased four pj sets for under $50.

Now, one important fact to mention: I did notice that they were shipping from China. But in my little eBay fantasy daydreams, I imagined that the factories who made the Hanna Andersson sets from last Christmas were simply unloading their excess inventory at a low, direct-to-consumer cost. Or that they had done some extra runs on the sly to sell for themselves. I used to work in the apparel industry but I’m still quite naive as to how it all works. Those two scenarios both sounded plausible. High on my Halloween costume success, I imagined receiving perfect organic cotton Christmas jammies with Hanna Andersson quality and China-low prices.

As I said, this story doesn’t have happy ending. The first two pajama sets arrived 3 weeks after I ordered them and they were terrible. The fabric was very low quality (basically the opposite of organic cotton). They smelled like chemicals. And worst of all, the sizes were completely off. The pants were narrow and tight while the shirts were comically short and wide. It reminded me of this amazingly hilarious post from a couple years ago about the perils of ordering cheap clothing from overseas.

I went back to the listing to check out the return policy and noticed that the vendor claimed to have shipped all four sets, yet I had only received two of the four. So not only did I need to figure out how to return the horrendous short & wide pjs, but I was also stuck disputing the shipping claim and hoping for a refund on the two missing sets. Oh, and while the seller does accept returns, the customer (ME) is stuck paying for the return shipping. To China.

The moral of this story is that you win some and you lose some. Your amazing, too-good-to-be-true eBay deal might be a crazy cheap and awesome mislabeled wolf costume, or it might be a crappy pair of wide & smelly pajamas.

Hope you all had a lovely Halloween, and happy discount shopping to all!

trick or treat night with the fam

ALL THE CANDY!

Oct 24

when it rains, it pours

Oct 24

Drama this week. Unfortunately.

Eric is on a business trip in Texas all week – he left Sunday and isn’t coming back until Friday. Which is suuuuuper annoying because I was counting on him to bring the kiddos in to work for our Trick or Treat extravaganza on Friday. Now that he works from home, I thought it would be so easy… but no. I work 40 minutes from my house and as you can imagine, no one in my family was jumping at the chance to schlep my kids over to my work at 4pm on a Friday afternoon. Actually, most of them were already busy with their own Halloween activities that day. So boo.

Funny story… my ex-boyfriend’s sister is a SAHM who coincidentally lives less than a mile from where I work. I am still friendly with her (I think she follows my blog maybe? Brittany? Hello?). Anyway, in desperation I messaged her and asked if there was any way she’d want to earn some extra cash watching two little munchkins for a few hours. I think my message said something like, one is super easy and helpful… the other can be a handful but he’s cute so you forgive him for it. Fully prepared for her to think I was a total weirdo, imagine my surprise when she wrote back that not only could she do it, but that people asked her to babysit all the time and she already had a pre-specified rate and backup help (her younger sister, now a teenager, who was literally 2 years old when I met her and that makes me feel hella old). So yay me, at least that mini conundrum was solved.

Sunday afternoon my cousin Kate had her confirmation. I was traveling solo with both kids since Eric had already left (Molly: “Daddy’s up in the air-o-plane! Up in the sky!”). Of course that was the day Liam decided to be a complete terror in church. I made it through about 15 minutes of mass before he started screaming bloody murder. I had to take him outside (not even to the vestibule, but outside outside, that’s how loud he was). I walked with him, I tried food, I tried a bottle, I even strapped him into the car and drove around the block hoping he’d fall asleep – nothing worked. He just screamed at me for the next hour and I have no idea why. We all went back to my aunt’s house afterwards for refreshments and he clung to me the entire time, melting into a puddle of tears every time I left the room. I mean, he’s definitely a mama’s boy, but never that bad…

I noticed when he was open-mouthed and screaming into my face that he has half a molar popped through… so maybe it’s teething? I’m hoping. Thankfully he went down for the night no problem and seemed happy enough in the morning.

But the hits just kept coming. Liam was back to his old self, but when I got Molly out of bed she started crying saying her leg hurt. At first I figured it had just fallen asleep, but every time she walked on it or put weight on it at all she’d scream and cry and say it hurt. Thirty minutes went by and her condition seemed no better. I gave her some Tylenol and tried tapping her leg all over and twisting it this way and that, to make sure it wasn’t seriously hurt. She seemed fine when she was sitting, even when I was messing with it, but when it came to walking she was completely miserable.

The only incident I can think of that might have spurred this was a minor trip and fall on the sidewalk outside my aunt’s house yesterday. She got back up and didn’t even cry, and just had a tiny black and blue mark and a scrape (plus ripped a hole in her tights, which I was not happy about). She’s not normally that dramatic over boo boos, and I could tell she was trying very hard to walk normally and wanted to walk normally, not that she was playing it up for attention or band-aids or whatever. But for now I’m taking the wait and see approach.

My sister says she hasn’t walked all day (refuses) and has her knee wrapped up in an ace bandage (it’s clear that the knee is the problem). If any of you have horror stories about toddlers complaining of knee pain and it turning out to be something really serious, please share them now. I’m probably overreacting but it’s just frustrating and sad and so not what I want to be dealing with on my week of solo parenting.

Oh and let’s not forget the dog! As if on cue, Ryder is once again battling his skin issues, and has been relegated to the cone of shame. I called the vet this morning and thankfully he agreed to prescribe the medication without an office visit, so that’s a small relief. Still didn’t take the sting out of the fact that the prescription costs over $100. That dog…

Guys, all I want to do is go home, have a glass of wine, and watch The Walking Dead (which people have come SO CLOSE to spoiling for me all day!) Instead, I’m going to a late work meeting, running out the door, picking up both kids (literally, because neither can walk at the moment), racing to the vet (so far away and closes at 6pm), getting home, letting the dogs out (not normally my job and I hate it), dragging in the recycling bin, throwing something together for dinner, assessing Molly’s knee situation, and then most likely collapsing into bed.

Is it Friday yet? The husband I love to complain about is actually more helpful than I realized.

Sep 13

it could happen to you (yes, you)

Sep 13

September 10, 2016 was almost the worst day of my life.

Almost.

It started off innocently enough. Molly’s first dance class, a baby shower, some laundry, and some light cleaning. It was a lazy, warm, and sunny day.

At around 4 pm, Liam started getting fussy and I knew he was ready for his afternoon nap. Molly was also napping, and I was impatiently waiting for her to wake up so we could go to my in-law’s pool and swim (leaving a sleeping Liam at home with Eric). I made Liam a bottle, laid him in the boppy on the living room floor, and sat down right next to him. Then I got out my phone and started doing whatever one does on their phone. Instagram, Pinterest, email? Something like that.

I’m not sure how much time passed. It felt like 30 seconds but maybe it was more like 3 minutes. I had kind of gotten lost in iPhone land, idly reading articles or pinning recipes perhaps. After an unspecified amount of time, I suddenly heard a very strange sound.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

“What the hell are the dogs doing?” was my immediate thought. But then I looked next to me at the empty boppy and a sinking realization slowly set in. Liam. The basement. THE STEPS.

I’ve never run so fast in my life. I jumped up, chucked my stupid phone across the room and basically flew to the basement doorway. There, at the bottom of the steps, was my baby. My 9 and half month old baby boy, lying flat on his back on the concrete floor, wailing.

I did the thing you’re not supposed to do and thundered down the steps and picked him up without checking for a neck injury. How could I not pick him up, though? At some point Eric, who had also heard the noise and quickly figured out what it was, materialized next to me.

So, it turns out I’m not the person you’d want on hand in an emergency. I was panicked and close to hyperventilating, yelling nonsense, while Eric managed to keep a cool head and assess the damage, so to speak. Long story short… we got lucky. So, so, so, so lucky. In what could have been a fatal or incredibly damaging accident, Liam escaped with some nasty looking black and blue marks and a little bit of brush burn on his cheek. It’s only been two days and the bruises are practically gone.

Our basement steps are wood, not concrete, though the floor at the bottom is concrete and I’m sure that didn’t feel great. Also, the more I walk up and down the steps, the more I consider the very real possibility that he could have rolled either right or left rather than straight down, thus dropping from a good distance down to the floor. It makes me cringe every time I think of it.

I’ve told this story quite a few times now, and every single time I do I’m rewarded with a similar story. Kids falling down stairs, falling off tables, falling out of strollers. Hearing stories like that does make me feel better… and makes me feel less like a crappy mom…but still. This was my fault, and I’m taking responsibility.

I’m the one who left the door open.
I’m the one who was supposed to watching him.
I’m the one who was looking at my phone.

And of course I have a million excuses – I usually don’t leave the door open. I was sitting right next to him! I was distracted for a matter of minutes.

But despite all that… it’s still my fault.

Here’s the worst part of all. That morning, I had judged another mom. I sat there with my judgy, judgy self and judged, and then something like karma came and bit me in the ass. (I don’t actually believe in karma, but if I did this would be a really good example of it).

I took Molly to her first dance class Saturday morning (which was freaking adorable, but that’s another story for another time). As I’m sitting there, one of the other moms was giving her newborn baby a bottle. But rather than holding him lovingly and gazing into his eyes, she was kind of letting him dangle off her lap as she shoved the bottle in his mouth and scrolled through her phone.

I’m not usually one to judge (OK, yes I am, but I’m really trying not to). But this really got to me. Mostly because I had just read a pro-breastfeeding article discussing how covering up to breastfeed robbed mothers of eye contact with their babies while feeding, which is part of the whole bonding experience, which is why breasts are positioned where they are because newborns don’t have sharp eyesight yet, etc, etc. So with this in mind, I was thinking, what the hell is she looking at on her phone that’s more impressive or amazing than her 3 week old baby? Why is she skipping this beautiful moment to look at Facebook?

So you can see the foreshadowing here. Mere hours later, rather than bonding with or watching my own son eat, I looked at my phone and ultimately let my child fall down the stairs. Turns out I’m not one who should be passing judgement. Like, at all. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.

Everyone who shared their own accident stories assured me that the guilt and anxiety will pass, and I’m sure they will, but at this moment I’m feeling very guilty + anxious about it. I just keep thinking what could have happened.

The night after the incident, I barely slept. I woke up every couple of hours to go make sure he was still breathing (and I think Eric was shaken too, because he was getting up and checking just as often). At work today, all I kept thinking was, “My son is alive. Thank God he’s alive,” which is a strange thought to have.

There’s not much point to this post other than to share my story and hopefully inspire someone somewhere to double check their baby gate, possibly preventing an accident from happening. Because despite the fact that I’m a loving, caring, protective, and vigilant mother, I let my guard down, and something truly terrible almost happened.

But it didn’t.

May 17

the happiest morning

May 17

I’ll be honest – the inspiration for this post came from a Scary Mommy article about being happy.

And I’m realizing now how often I reference that site, when the truth is I don’t even like it that much, but Facebook seems to think I do so the posts are constantly in my news feed. I click on articles (from boredom), which further proves Facebook correct, and so the vicious cycle continues when in fact I would gladly click on other things if they were to show up in my feed. Which is why I (along with most people I talk to) kind of mostly hate Facebook and their stupid algorithms.

But I digress.

Similarly to how every month during Molly’s first year felt like, “the best month ever,” I feel like I’ve hit a high point of happiness lately. That’s why I rarely post anymore. Who the hell wants to hear about happy stuff all the time? My sad posts have triple as many readers and comments as my happy ones. Every post this year has fewer page views than the one before it. It’s like this blog is dwindling down to nothing, and it sucks, because I like this blog a lot.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking a lot about happiness lately. Remember those themed posts I mentioned last time? You might be seeing those as contributor posts on other blogs in addition to here. I’ve been going back and forth on whether or not I should start a new blog, actually, but I’m very nervous to leave this space and the loyal followers I’ve acquired. I like it here… I just need to figure out what this blog is going to be now. I want it to be more than sporadic monthly updates with a bunch of photos thrown in at the end. I’d like it to be something with a little more depth. But what that is, I’m not exactly sure.

Anyway, the full discussion about happiness can wait, but I wanted to share a little story in the meantime.

Two nights ago, we transitioned Molly to a toddler bed (her crib converted to a daybed) and moved Liam into her room (now their room). Prior to this, he had been sleeping next to my bed in the RNP. It was easier that way because he’s still waking up once or twice a night to eat, despite the fact that I’m giving him 6 ounce bottles every couple hours in addition to solid foods, which we started a few weeks ago (he’s not a fan of carrots, but he does love those prunes). But from all that eating he’s getting way too big for the RNP. It was time for a change.

As expected, Molly was overjoyed to have the baby sleeping in a crib next to her. She seemed unimpressed by the whole big girl bed thing, despite my attempts to hype it up. It was really cute though when we had the front part of her crib taken off and she came running into the room, gasped dramatically, and said, “Oh no, Mommy! The night night is broken!”

That first night could not have gone better… at least at first. I laid them both down, they smiled at me sweetly and “posed” for a photo, and within ten minutes they were both fast asleep. I thought to myself, “Seriously? Am I really this lucky?”

But this is real life, so yeah, that didn’t last long. Liam is getting over a cold he caught from Molly and thanks to post nasal drip, he has developed a persistent little cough along with his stuffy nose. He woke himself up coughing a couple hours after I laid him down, and since he was still congested, I brought him back into our room to sleep in the RNP so he could be elevated and breathe more easily.

Last night was a little trickier. I put Molly to bed at her normal time (8PM) and even though he was fussy, I put Liam down also. In no time at all they were both screaming. Awesome. So I went and retrieved Liam to put him in his swing in the living room. Molly was still whining but I figured she might just need a few minutes to adjust. Eric and I settled in to catch up on Game of Thrones. Liam was zonked out in the swing almost instantly.

A few minutes went by.

Then, we heard the pitter patter of little running feet. Guess who figured out how to get out of her new, bar-free bed? She came running down the hall elated, holding her iPhone aloft while proudly declaring, “Mommy, I did it!”

Did what? Escaped the bed? Unplugged the iPhone from the charger? All of the above? It was all so unclear.

I put her back to bed but she started screaming. Resigned, and wanting to see the crazy scene from GOT everyone was jabbering about Monday, I let her come hang out with us on the couch for a bit. After a few stolen bites of Chex Mix, some couch jumping, and apple juice, she decided Jon Snow was super boring and started demanding Peppa Pig.

Uh… no.

So I put her back to bed again and this time she screamed and cried. I’d love to be able to ignore that, but I just can’t enjoy myself while she’s crying. Normally I would go sit in the rocking chair in her room until she fell asleep, but since it was so late already, I decided to be a top-notch parent and let her play on her phone in bed until she fell asleep. I know, I know, so awful. But…Daenerys!

After our show ended, Eric went to check on her to make sure she had passed out. Yeah, not so much. But at that point she was tired enough to let him take the phone away without complaint. Meanwhile, I moved Liam into our room, skipping the crib altogether because he was still super stuffy. And maybe I missed him in our room. Ok, so I’m having a little separation anxiety. But also, he does legitimately have a cold.

This is all a long-winded intro to what happened this morning, when I realized how ridiculously happy I am. Molly woke up way early at 5 and I heard her get out of bed to come find me. I fetched her from the hall and pulled her into our bed. This commotion woke up Liam, so the three of us hung out in bed together cuddling and talking for the next hour until my alarm went off (“Mommy! It’s the beep beep!”). And for that hour, I was definitely the happiest I’ve ever been.

I’ve talked about this before – nostalgia for the present. Happy moments that are tinged with sad because I know how precious they are and how much I’ll miss them one day. Everything about that hour this morning was so magical… not because it was some special day, but really because it wasn’t a special day. Nothing significant happened. I can’t even remember what we talked about. I do know it involved a lot of baby kisses, giggles, and silly songs. It was a random Tuesday morning that was so normal, but somehow it turned out to be perfect. Do I like waking up an hour before my alarm goes off? Hell no. Would I gladly do it every day if it means having mornings like that? Yes, a thousand times yes.

I’m also often torn in these moments because I don’t know if I should enjoy them or record them. The thing is, I remember thinking I’d never forget how Molly was at each stage, but I do. Going through old videos is so weird because I can only picture her as she is right now. Seeing her as a baby makes me smile, but that’s not the person I picture when I think about her. So long story short, I like having those old videos on hand to remind me of how she used to be. Eventually I did shoot a short video of our morning cuddle fest because I just couldn’t help myself.

And I don’t care if I lose more followers or if this post gets no comments or reactions because it’s too happy. This is just how it is. Right now, today, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. Not the richest, not the thinnest, not the youngest. Not the least stressed out. Just… happy.

Damn happy.

this about sums it up

Feb 10

one-handed typing takes twice as long

Feb 10

Finding time to blog?

HA.

Now I’ve been back to work for close to a week and a half and yeah, it’s not awful. Not great but not awful. There were company-wide layoffs during my maternity leave and my team was impacted significantly, so really I’m just grateful to have a job at all.

Obviously you’ll notice from my lack of posting that I’m still getting the hang of this whole “time management with a full time job, husband, two kids, and two dogs” thing. I work all day, rush home to cook dinner as quickly as possible, then spend those precious few evening hours after dinner and before bedtime creepily staring at my children and trying to soak up as much of their cuteness as possible in a very short amount of time. It’s never enough damn time. I’m currently typing one-handed so I can hold Liam while he sleeps.

But we’re good, you know, we’re surviving. Getting into the routine of life again. I was granted the benefit of work from home Fridays for the next month, which is nice. As much as I’d love to work from home every Friday (or better yet, every day) forever and ever, I’ll take what I can get at this point.

Last Friday was a lot tougher, productivity-wise, than I expected. Working from home and watching Molly was easy. As you’ve probably noticed from my posts, she’s a very independent girl and excels at entertaining herself (blame it on being an only child). On work from home days before Liam came along, I got a lot done. Now… not so much. I didn’t notice it as much when I was home and not working, but toddler + newborn is not conducive to many hours of uninterrupted work. Who knew?

Going back to work also means I’m back at the gym. One of the huge perks of my job is the free company gym a short walk away, and the ability to use my lunch hour to take advantage of it. New for this year is a Pilates reformer class, which I am loving already. I took a weight training/interval class Monday called CoreWorks, which wasn’t that difficult as I was doing it, but 24 hours later my muscles strongly disagreed with that assessment. I spent the entire day today lumbering around like a moron because I can’t bend my legs correctly or raise my arms higher than shoulder height. It’s like the Walking Dead up in here, moaning and groaning included. Oh well, I legit have 50 lbs to lose in 5 months, so this is the price I pay.

I’ve realized, especially since going to the gym and finally being forced to confront my body decked out in spandex in front of full-length mirrors, that I have body dysmorphic disorder…in reverse. Rather than obsessing over a perceived flaw and seeing myself as fat when I really weigh 99 lbs, I have the opposite delusion. My brain thinks of me as basically average weight while my actual reflection in the mirror begs to differ. Blame it on being thin most of my life – I still catch myself grabbing for size Small or even Extra Small while shopping, looking at the proportions and thinking, “Yeah, that should fit,” and being genuinely confused when it doesn’t. I almost laughed out loud while observing myself in the mirror during Pilates today. Like, my body shape is so beyond how I think I look/how I think I should look, it’s almost funny. I caught myself wondering, “Whose thigh is that? Is that seriously what my thigh actually looks like?”

And before you say, “But you just had a baby!” …don’t say that. Everyone says that. I know I just had a baby, and the weight doesn’t magically disappear overnight, and breastfeeding may burn calories but it also makes you hungry as hell, and I have two kids under two so I should really cut myself some slack. I know, I know, I KNOW. But this is not who I am. I remember writing a similar post when I started gaining weight while on fertility drugs (which is actually hilarious because I’d LOVE to weigh that much right now). I cannot reconcile the person in the mirror, the person who has no clothes that fit, with who I see as myself. The ‘me’ I’m familiar with is petite and small. It’s a huge adjustment to just look completely different, you know?

But since I can’t cut calories in an unhealthy way because it would affect milk production (plus it’s like, unhealthy or whatever), I am eating a 90% Paleo diet and working out 4 days a week. Baby steps. I’ll get there. I just went through some old posts and it looks like after Molly it took 8 months to lose 50 lbs. I’d say that’s doable again this time.

Speaking of working out – I was at the gym on Monday, chatting with the instructor who knows I had a baby recently, and we inevitably wound up having a version of the conversation I’ve now had with friends, family, acquaintances, and strangers alike. It goes something like this:

“So you had a baby! Boy or girl?”
“It was a boy.”
“And at home… you have a… what?”
“I have a girl.”
“Oh that’s wonderful! So you’re done having kids now?”

And depending on who that person is or how exasperated I am about answering this question for the millionth time, I have a few different answers prepared:

“Nope! We want a big family.”
“Nope! We aspire to be the Duggars. Late start, but we’re still shooting for at least 10.”
“Nope! We’ve got three more on ice. It’s a long story.”

Sigh. I’m not sure what it is about the one boy, one girl thing that leads people to assume my family is “complete.” Granted, my situation is way different than most, and I don’t expect anyone to realize that I have three frozen embryos chillin’ in New York City and a strict personal ‘no embryo left behind’ policy. But still. It astonishes me that even complete strangers size up our family situation so quickly and automatically assume that I’m done having kids, and then react with bewilderment when I admit to wanting more. Which I would want whether or not I had the frozen embies. And frankly, the stunned reactions make me feel weird for feeling that way.

Once I give some variation of the response above, the person usually replies with,

“Really? Wow! Good for you!”

And I agree. Good for me. Having more than two kids may be expensive and chaotic. It may even be totally batshit insane crazy. But the fact that I went from wondering if I’d ever get to be a mom to contemplating the possibility of five children makes me feel very lucky, indeed.

Other than that, not too much going on. I’m a little pissed off at myself for procrastinating my last week of maternity leave, which is the same thing I did last time. I was insanely productive the first few weeks, and then sort of just regressed into laziness as time went by. I’m hoping to get a few projects done this weekend, since I do have off Monday for President’s Day. Somehow my 2-month-old has outgrown his 3 month sized clothing already and I need to switch out his clothes, again. Also, and please don’t be too shocked at this one – I never finished Molly’s baby book or made my big year in review photo album that I swore I’d make before going back to work. I know! And I know that at this point I should just give up on the stupid baby book but I can’t. It will get done. IT WILL.

Well friends, hopefully I’ll be inspired to write again sooner rather than later. I’m sure there’s more to say but one-handed typing is really no fun at all.

Dec 16

ok, now you can hate me less

Dec 16

I don’t know why I jinxed myself and wrote a post like that last one.

First, it was awkward seeing people who I know read my blog, because I felt like I should be perma-happy since I said I was so super duper happy, right? Which is ridiculous but that’s just how it felt after writing a glowing review of life like that. I took Molly to a playdate on Friday and was terrified she’d start behaving like a little terror right after I just said how good she is all the time. Also, I wasn’t in a great mood. Not for any particular reason. But I guess there are just good days and bad days, and even though I’m still very happy most of the time, I’m not happy all the time. I mean, obviously.

So now that’s settled.

Sunday I hosted a successful cookie exchange and it was a lot of fun but I’m glad is over. Prepping for parties is no joke, even when you’re not working! Just trying to keep the dog hair in check was a full-time occupation. But everyone showed up and the cookies were delicious, though now I wish we didn’t have so many in the house. Molly has begun asking for cookies at the completion of every meal, including breakfast (and it’s very hard to say no to her, especially with how sweetly she says, “Thank you, mama” when I give her one).

Monday morning I woke up with the worst pain ever in my right boob. Instantly I knew – clogged duct. Remember how I said I have to keep waking him up to eat? Well, I’m not so worried about him because he’s gaining weight and peeing and pooping, but as for my boobs, I seem to be overproducing milk and that’s really not good. By mid-morning I had the worst headache, severe chills, and a fever of 101. I couldn’t stop thinking of that Nyquil commercial where the moms and dads pretend to call in sick to their toddlers, because that’s totally what I felt like doing. Again, I felt very blessed to have a non-needy child who does not mind parking in front of Sesame Street for a few hours, because I was down for the count. I was also lucky enough to have a recently filled prescription for antibiotics on hand, because I’m assuming based on my symptoms that this was classic mastitis. One day later and I’m already feeling much, much better. Also, Liam seems to have gotten the memo because ever since then he’s been eating more and more often. Go figure.

Some other slightly surprising news is that I think it may be time to start Molly on potty training. I know – the kid is going to be 18 months old next week, how can this be? But for the past few days she has been telling me every time she has to go/has just gone poo by coming up to me, looking me right in the eye and saying, “I poo poo.” The one time she didn’t tell me around dinner time and just shrieked and cried when I tried putting her in her highchair, which is very unlike her, until finally I figured out that she was horrified I would leave her in a dirty diaper for a mealtime (but she hadn’t told me!). I guess this shouldn’t be too surprising – my mom said I was fully trained by 18 months. She knew I was ready when I began pulling off my own dirty diapers and handing them to her… something I can totally see Molly doing any day now. So we added a little potty to her Christmas list. Now I just have to begin the daunting task of researching tips, tricks, and methods for training… Lord help me.

Other than that, not too much going on. Eric has been really getting into photography and since we’re operating on a tight budget as usual, he opted to take our Christmas card photos and Liam’s newborn photos. I think they came out great, and I don’t even feel as fat/ugly as I did in last year’s card. Yay! I’m not going to share those photos here yet because I like them to be a little surprise for everyone who gets a card (silly, but true), but I do have some other photos since more than one of you yelled at me for my last picture-less post. Sorry! Truth be told, I haven’t been great about taking pictures lately. I need to try harder.

So I wasn’t going to share this story because it’s really terrible but I can’t help it, I’m an oversharer. Earlier tonight Eric went up to the attic and left the door open (we have a walk-up attic). A few minutes later I walked by, probably muttered some expletive, then closed the door and turned off the light. A few minutes after that, we were arguing about something stupid when all of the sudden I turned to him and said, “Where’s Molly?” A frantic checking of her room, the kitchen, and the living room turned up nothing. That’s when I remembered – oh shit – the attic! I ran up the stairs and found her standing completely still, right next to the open stairwell, not even crying or doing anything, just standing there in dark. Seriously, almost had a heart attack! Lesson learned… there will now be a gate permanently in place. And no more doors left open. Yikes.

And with that Parent of the Year moment, I bid you farewell. Rest assured that I’m not perfect, I’m not always happy, and sometimes I lock my child in the attic.

Now for the promised photos:

she loved decorating the tree

very proud of herself for helping

“WHY ARE YOU LETTING THIS SCARY PERSON HOLD ME?”

*cue hearts melting*

2 weeks old

Dec 11

don’t hate me for this post

Dec 11

Seriously, I’m going to sound like a complete asshole but I just have to be honest right now. One day shy of two weeks into parenting two children and I have the following to report: so far, it’s been… easy.

Ridiculously easy.

A friend recently sent me a link to a blog post that was all about adjusting to life with two kids. It was very well written and inspiring, and had gorgeous photos, but in regards to the adjustment… yeah, there really hasn’t been one for me. With the exception of that one overwhelming moment while we were still in the hospital, so far, nothing monumental has happened. In fact, things are better than they were before because, A) I have a sweet new little human to shower with love and kisses and, B) I get to spend a lot more time with my other small human and get to know her even more. Plus, I don’t have to work for 9 weeks and I’m still getting paid. It’s pretty awesome.

Basically, if you are trying to talk yourself or someone you know into a having a second child, give me a call. I’m also available for calming fears about getting your wisdom teeth out (I had a really painless, easy experience with that too).

I was a little nervous about Eric going back to work because that first week, we had naturally split up kid responsibilities – so if he was tending to Molly, I was tending to Liam, and vice versa. But then Monday morning he was gone and I was home alone with both of them and it was still fine.

For one thing, I am exceptionally blessed when it comes to Molly. She is so well-behaved, and so good at entertaining herself when needed. She loves playing with other kids and socializing, but when we are home alone she’s perfectly content to play in her room with her toys, or play with colanders in the kitchen while I’m cooking, or even just stand in the middle of the room and spin around in circles to entertain herself. When I say “no,” she (usually) stops what she’s doing. She’s still not jealous of the baby. She’s seriously the sweetest, most good-natured, mature, self-sufficient, and lovely 17 month old I’ve ever met.

That’s not to say she’s perfect all the time – she does overreact when she doesn’t get her way sometimes, or if something (a toy, her iPhone, etc) doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to. But usually when that happens it’s just an indicator that it’s naptime or bedtime.

As for Liam, he’s your typical 2 week old. He sleeps, eats, poops, and sleeps some more. He’s starting to be awake for longer stretches but for the most part, it’s just a lot of sleeping. One thing that’s different between him and Molly at this age is that he eats more in one sitting and eats less frequently. It’s actually quite convenient because I don’t spend as much time nursing.

One reason I think it’s easier this time around despite the fact that it’s technically more work is that now I have confidence in how to be a mom (momfidence?). Right or not, I feel well-equipped to handle a newborn. I also know exactly what Molly wants and needs.

I’m hosting a holiday cookie exchange this Sunday and all week I’ve been busy preparing for it. More than one friend called me crazy when I scheduled the party, knowing that I’d have these two kids plus all the stress and time that goes into planning a party. I guess I was crazy since I didn’t know what to expect – things could be going the exact opposite of how they are going. But they’re not.

On Monday I completely cleaned out my dining room, which we had been using as a storage area for years but is the only logical place to set up 84 dozen cookies. I hauled crap to the attic and basement, vacuumed, dusted, and reorganized everything, and then followed up by cleaning out and reorganizing the front hall closet and doing the same for underneath the kitchen sink. And that was just by 2pm. I’ve been able to clean every day, and I’ll admit I was a little proud when Eric’s mom said, “I’ve never seen your house so clean” when she stopped by today. I’ve got shit UNDER CONTROL.

On Wednesday I met my sister-in-law and her friends for a coffee date at a cute little place in town I’ve never been to. After that I took Molly to story hour at the library, which I’ve also never been to (because it’s at 11:15 on a Wednesday probably). It was adorable. Life is adorable. I’m sorry. Don’t hate me.

As is probably evident from all the heavy lifting I’ve been doing (literally), my physical recovery has been great this time. I was taking Percocet the first couple days but have since stepped it down to just popping a few ibuprofen occasionally. The area around my incision sometimes hurts when I’m going to bed (which I assume is because I push it too hard during the day, running around like a moron hauling dining room chairs to the attic).

Even taking the kids out grocery shopping wasn’t as difficult as I anticipated it would be. It did take twice as long, mostly because getting into and out of the car was quite a production. I put Molly in the cart like usual and put Liam in the Moby wrap, which worked out really well. Actually, it was my first time using the wrap with him (which did make me feel that familiar second child guilt because he looooved sleeping in it). He is definitely a cuddly little boy and loves being held and kept warm and snuggly. Anyway, it made me feel bad that the kid is almost 2 weeks old and I’ve yet to start with babywearing. I think once this party is over and done I’ll be less obsessive about cleaning and can maybe just relax and snuggle like he wants to. It’s been very mild here in PA this past week, so being out and about has been quite pleasant, but if January is bitter cold I won’t be dragging the little ones out everywhere.

Also, Eric and I have been getting along really well – again, better than normal. The kids and I got home really late from the grocery store the other night because as I mentioned above, shopping definitely does take longer. I walked in the door and of course that was the exact moment Liam needed to eat and it was 6:00 and I hadn’t even started dinner – an elaborate Pinterest meal that had sounded brilliant in the early afternoon but not so much when everyone was hungry and cranky. Without complaint he took up the spatula and cooked the whole meal, which may not sound like a big deal, but he is not normally one for cooking and especially not after working all day. So yeah, marriage is good, kids are good, all is good. I really do feel like something bad is destined to happen because everything is going way too well.

You want to know the most stressful thing in my life right now? Well, two things. And not the two kids.

First – these dogs. These damn dogs. I used to be all judgy towards people who got rid of their dogs after having kids but now I’m starting to get it, especially since I have the neediest dog known to man (that’s Ryder). He has some sort of skin issue that’s been going on for months now and I’m at my wits end. He gets very itchy, sensitive skin whenever the seasons change and this year it’s worse than ever. The itchiness causes him to bite at himself, which leaves his skin raw, bloody, and disgusting. We put a cone on him and he’s literally been wearing it for a month now because he won’t. stop. biting. himself. Every time we think maybe he’s better, we’ll leave the cone off for a few minutes and he’ll rip open all his scabs and do it all over again. Couple that with a few nasty bouts of diarrhea all over the place and some peeing in the kitchen just because he didn’t feel like waiting, and you have one hell of a fun time! (I’ve tried everything for the skin issues – Benadryl, sprays, creams, coconut oil, everything. We haven’t changed his food in years and we don’t allow him to eat human food. So I’m at a total loss for what to do.)

Bird doesn’t have nearly so many issues but he has started peeing on the living room rug daily for no particular reason. Except to ruin my perfect reverie of existence, obviously. We aren’t going to get rid of them because they are part of the family, but they are seriously driving me nuts.

The second point of stress has nothing to do with being unhappy and everything to do with being happy.

I keep reading all these posts urging mothers of young children to cherish every moment, because we will miss them once the kids are grown. Well, I already know that, and my time spent with these kids is so brief that I find myself stressing out over being too happy. For every cute thing Molly does or says, for every moment I catch myself feeling totally content and blissful, I also feel wistful knowing that the moment is fleeting and that they’ll be grown in no time. It’s like I know these are the best days of my life, and I want to hold onto them for as long as I can. I have something known as “nostalgia for the present.” I can’t even enjoy myself half the time because I’m so happy that it makes me sad. Is that totally insane? I already feel crazy enough that I think going from one kid to two is easy because I’ve never come across that reaction before. Sleep deprived, yes. Overwhelmed, yes. But I’ve yet to hear from anyone else having a strangely effortless experience like mine. I can’t be the only one…

I also realize that this two kids thing is bound to get harder. Once they grow up and start bickering, once we throw a third kid into the mix and are outnumbered… it’s not like I think this dreamy happy world can last forever. I mean, it’s going to change a whole lot when I have to go back to work in February. But for now, I’m completely joyful.

It’s pretty great. And I’m 100% grateful.

Dec 05

baby boy’s birth story

Dec 05

How has it been a week already?

You know when you have a newborn and the days just slip by and you’re left wondering, “What in the hell did I do all day?” Well, having a newborn and a toddler compounds that feeling by a million. I’ve been intending to sit down and write out this birth story every day, but even the simplest tasks seem to take hours and my perfectly reasonable to-do list never seems to get shorter. Of course it doesn’t help that it’s December, which is busy for just about everyone.

Anyway! Some of the more observant among you may have already noticed that I delivered a week past my due date… meaning… I DID make it to my one year work anniversary, and so I DO get the good maternity leave. Woo freaking HOOOO! On Tuesday morning I brought everyone a huge breakfast smorgasbord to celebrate. I left work on Tuesday night feeling awesome, and also ready to go into labor. At that point I figured it was a mental thing and maybe just thinking it would be enough to bring it on. No such luck.

Since I anticipated being early and couldn’t even imagine making it past Tuesday, I had finished up/handed off all my work and didn’t see the point of starting anything new for just one day. Rather than going in and twiddling my thumbs all day, I decided to start my leave on Wednesday and just use the day to wrap up last minute errands and spend some quality time with my little girl. Plus, it was Eric’s birthday, so I went over to his mom’s house and we baked him cupcakes and ended up having a birthday dinner with some of the family. It was nice…but still no baby.

Thursday morning was more of the same. I was on the “maybe” list for Thanksgiving, but I ended up going to Eric’s family gathering, skipping my family since theirs was over an hour away and I had my Friday morning induction scheduled for 7AM. We ate way too much, played some games, then drove over to Eric’s parent’s house to drop Molly off for her very first sleepover. By this point I was nervous as hell. One way or another, that baby would be out in 24 hours.

And then it was go time.

WARNING: I’ve included a few slightly graphic post-birth pictures below. Nothing too extreme, but there is a bit of blood, so I wanted to mention it before I shock and horrify someone.

Friday, November 27th (Black Friday!)

7AM
We arrived and got set up in the birthing room, where I donned my lovely hospital gown and got all ready to go. After they hooked me up to the monitors I was surprised to find out that I was, in fact, having contractions, about 8 to 12 minutes apart. I didn’t feel them at all, so it’s possible that my worst fear came true and I’m one of those people who doesn’t know she’s in labor. But really, they didn’t hurt! Baby boy was moving around like crazy as usual, so maybe he was just covering them up.

baby time selfie!

I got checked and was still only 1cm, 50% effaced (despite the fact that they’d said 70% effaced at my previous OB/GYN check, but whatever).

And despite the fact that I wasn’t nearly as swollen as last time, it once again took three different nurses multiple tries to get the IV in. Ugh, I have crappy veins! It was so unpleasant getting stuck over and over again. This time I managed not to cry, though.

Ouchie. Why do my veins suck so much?

8:15AM
My OB decided to use a foley balloon to get things moving along. For those of you not familiar with this technique, a foley balloon is a small catheter that’s inserted past the cervix and inflated, then attached to a weight. I was told it could take between 15 minutes and 12 hours to fall out on its own. I was also encouraged to walk around to help the process, so Eric and I started making awkward laps around the maternity wing, with me walking as normally as I could with a weighted saline bag hanging down the side of my leg. I did start feeling stronger contractions and had to stop every few minutes to catch my breath. About 35 minutes after we set out, I suddenly felt something very strange happening, so I turned to Eric and said, “I think it’s coming out. Yes, it’s definitely coming out. You need to go get someone.” It wasn’t very painful though, just very weird/awkward, especially since it fell out in a (thankfully empty) hallway.

8:50AM
I got back in bed and was immediately checked after our little walk and was at 5cm and having regular contractions – yay! My optimistic mind started to think maybe I could even have the baby by lunchtime. My sister – who works retail and was scheduled to work 10-2 (this was Black Friday, remember), started panicking that she was going to miss the whole thing.

My OB was doing a c-section at this point so I didn’t start Pitocin immediately. I’d say my pain level was about a 3 on the 10 scale.

9:45AM

Started Pitocin. Time to get the party rolling.

11AM

Surprisingly, the pain did not increase too much with the Pitocin, but I still managed to psych myself out since it just hurt so badly when I was in labor with Molly. It helped that the anesthesiologist who came by to introduce himself earlier was very nice and competent and had 30 years of experience. I told him about how much the epidural hurt going in last time so he researched my case and found that a student had been the one to administer the epidural (which I don’t remember at all). He promised that it wouldn’t be like that this time, if I chose to get one. I wanted to hold out and see if I could handle it on my own…but I was nervous.

So I got the epidural.

As promised, it went in just fine and barely hurt at all – just a quick burning sensation and it was over. I was told to lay on my side and let them know if I felt dizzy or lightheaded. Less than 5 minutes after getting the epidural, I started to feel funny all over, and then everything happened very, very quickly. My blood pressure started dramatically dropping and I was shaking and throwing up. It was 70/something, then lower – the lowest it got was 54/30. At the same time this was going on they also lost the baby’s heart rate completely on the external monitor. So once again a flurry of people rushed into the room while my poor husband was stuck in the hallway wondering what the hell was going on (my sister had found someone to cover her at work and had arrived by this point, but she and my mom and my other sister had all headed to the cafeteria to grab breakfast, so they had no idea about the drama unfolding).

Even though I was in distress myself, I was much more worried about the baby and the fact that they couldn’t find a heart rate at all. They stabilized me pretty quickly and then used an internal probe to try to get a read on the baby. The whole thing probably lasted less than 10 minutes but felt like a lifetime. I was terrified that 1) somehow the epidural had caused the baby’s heart to stop beating or, 2) we would need to have an emergency c-section. Luckily, they found the heart rate and eventually everyone cleared out and the commotion died down. Phew! Crisis averted.

12PM

They had stopped my Pitocin while the drama was unfolding and started it back up again at noon. Over the next two hours a pattern emerged – they would start the pit, lose the baby’s heart rate and/or get low reads, and then have to stop it until he stabilized to start up again. He was moving a lot and we were back to the external HR monitor, but still, it was clear that his heart rate was dropping every time I had a contraction. At that point I stubbornly tried to tell myself that it wasn’t really dropping, just getting lost since he was so squirmy, but my doctor did not agree with this assessment. They also put in another monitor to measure the strength of my contractions.

This birth thing takes too long, apparently. Part of my support team had to take a power nap.

2:15PM

After a couple hours of stops and starts, my doctor came in to check me. Unfortunately, I was still at exactly the same place – 5cm. She went over to the sink to wash her hands, and with a big sigh she said, “Amanda, I’ve been doing this a long time. We can try a few more things to try to make this work, but I can already tell you it’s going to end up as a c-section. The baby just isn’t liking what we’re doing here, and you’re stuck at 5cm because we can’t keep increasing the Pitocin when his heart rate isn’t stabilized. So you can either do it now, when you have some control, or it could end up as an emergency c-section later. It’s up to you.”

She wasn’t trying to be mean… just honest. I knew it was a possibility all along and a stronger possibility since I had had one before, but still, it was a crushing blow. Especially since making good progressions was one of the reasons she originally proclaimed me a good candidate for a VBAC.

At that juncture a c-section just made the most sense. There was more risk involved the more things she tried (such as pushing more fluid into my uterus to try to ease the baby’s distress, which could increase my chances of a rupture). This time I didn’t cry. I just nodded and accepted that c-section was our fate…again.

2:28PM

I got prepped and rolled back for my repeat c-section.

this looks familiar

Everything was pretty much the same as last time – same bright lights, same giant curtain to hide all the gory details. After just a few minutes of pressure and a distant tugging sensation, our little Liam was pulled out into the world at 2:54 PM with a strong, healthy cry.

he’s here!

thanks for the cuddles, Nurse Larry

“I’m mad… and cold. Mostly mad, though.”

I found out a little later what all the distress was about – apparently he had the cord wrapped around his neck twice, and tightly, which explains the heart rate decels during contractions. Also, alarmingly, my doctor said that when she cut me open to do the c-section, my uterus was stretched so thin at the original incision site that she could literally see the baby’s hair before she cut into it. Um, wow… good thing we didn’t try to push fluid in.

One of the reasons this c-section was so hard to accept was that my OB/GYN is a twice and done kind of place, meaning that once you’ve had two c-sections, you’re not allowed to try for another VBAC. I know there are some doctors who will attempt a VBAC with a 3rd pregnancy (even found out it has it’s own acronym, VBAC2), but honestly switching doctors just to do that feels like it’s not worth it. Plus it seems my babies prefer c-sections. For my next child I’ll probably just schedule the c-section and not even worry about it, especially now that I know exactly what to expect in terms of procedure and recovery. Although my doctor quipped later on, “Watch, we’ll schedule you for 38 weeks and your next one will slip right out at 37 weeks as a surprise VBAC.” I guess anything is possible. I’m going to try not to worry about it just yet.

Afterwards

I got wheeled back to recovery and got to hold and nurse my son, which went well from the start! He has a strong latch and took right to it like an old pro.

born to eat, apparently

My mother-in-law brought Molly to the hospital while I was still in recovery and we took some family photos – I look clearly exhausted but that’s to be expected.

Everyone took turns holding our little man.

Molly arrives to meet her new little bro

Nanni and Liam

Aunt Ashley

Granddad and little man

Aunt Allie

Uncle Michael

Nana’s 6th grandson

oh, my heart

First photo as a family of 4

it was an exhausting day

The next few days went well, much better than last time with the exception of Day 2 for various reasons. I jotted down some notes so I’ll just do bullet points for the rest of the things.

-Remember our terrible pediatrician last time who I was convinced was trying to steal and keep my baby? Well, I definitely picked the right one this time! She was young (so I felt like I could relate to her) and very good, to the point that I would consider sending my kids to her if her office wasn’t like 35 minutes from my house. And get this – she has three children named Molly, Liam, and Aiden (which is my nephew’s name). What are the odds?!

-Liam has a sacral dimple, which is a deep indentation right above his butt that is usually harmless but could be an indicator of spina bifida. We had to do an ultrasound in the hospital but thankfully it came back normal. So now it’s just another place I have to wipe when I change his bajillion poopy diapers.

-It’s truly amazing the difference between having a 5lb baby and a 7lb baby. Last time we had what felt like a hundred people looking over our shoulders, checking and scrutinizing feeding logs and making us feel completely incompetent at nourishing our child. This time, since he only lost 1 ounce the first day and 4 ounces the second, no one paid much mind to when or how much he was eating. We were sure to take meticulous notes just based on prior experience, but since he was so good at breastfeeding from the get-go, it wasn’t an issue at all.

-Right after my surgery I was on morphine, and that was great, but the second day I got switched to Dilaudid (another narcotic painkiller) and it did n-o-t-h-i-n-g. Seriously, I must have some kind of intolerance to this particular medication, because I might as well have been injected with sugar water. Every time I felt pain, they pushed it straight into my IV, and then… nothing. No relief. So that second day was kind of like hell.

On a related note, Eric brought Molly to the hospital on Saturday around 9am and she spent the day with us there. He came loaded up with a bag full of toys, and intentions of pulling out the cot for naptime. I guess we underestimated how small the room was, and even more so with toys everywhere… Molly is a very well-behaved child and is very good at entertaining herself, but that’s a looooong day. Plus this was Day 2, when my pain meds were not working at all, so I couldn’t hold her or cuddle with her like she wanted me to, which was frustrating and heartbreaking for both of us. Nap time was a complete disaster because every time she’d start to think about drifting off, someone would walk in the room for one reason or another or there’d be loud noises in the hallway. Finally, after all of us reaching our wits end, Eric took her home in the late afternoon and quickly lined up a babysitter for the next day so he could actually get to spend time with me and Liam (since he was so busy attending to her, he barely got a chance to hold him).

Right before they left I had my one and only epic meltdown. Eric had to use the bathroom so he went down the hall and left Molly running loose in the room. I was nursing Liam and she was overtired and cranky at that point, and decided to crawl behind the hospital bed and get stuck and start crying. Prior to that she had knocked my nurse call button onto the floor and my pain was intense at that point. I sat there immobilized in bed, listening to her scream (after a full afternoon of whining and crying, mind you) and I was just so exhausted and overwhelmed that I started bawling at the notion of these two needy children to take care of. Eric and the nurse came in at the exact same time to find me sobbing and helpless. Of course it was all resolved quickly and I returned to a rational state not long after. So far, that’s been my only “moment.”

So my advice for anyone with toddlers – a day at the hospital with the new baby is NOT a good idea (saying that now makes me feel silly, like duh, we should have known that). The following day (Sunday), Eric dropped Molly off with my sister and then his sister came by later to pick her up and take her to a birthday party. I got text updates all day and it was clear that she had a blast, plus Eric and I were much more calm and relaxed not worrying about her all day and just focusing on Liam. Oh, and I had switched to a combination of Percocet/Motrin by that point, so my pain levels were much better. AND I got to shower finally. That’s a guaranteed mood lifter.

-Falling in love with Liam was not the same as with Molly. With her, I was so overwhelmed from the first minute I met her… I was a mommy, finally. She was so tiny and precious and waves of love just washed over me. With him, it’s not that I loved him less – just that I was better prepared on what to expect. If anything, I think falling in love with him happened more slowly, growing gradually over those couple of days in the hospital as I got acquainted with him and his individual quirks. So I ended up in the same place – totally head over heels crazy about him – but got there on a different path, if that makes any sense.

-Liam has the best grumpy face ever. He really just looks mad at the world all the time, and it’s totally adorable. Not that Molly was smiling at this age, but she always had a very inquisitive and good-natured expression… Liam, not so much. I was watching him the other day and I figured out the word for how he looks isn’t quite angry, it’s more like indignant. Like he totally resents the fact that we made him come out. It’ll be funny to see if that matches his personality as time goes by.

indignant, personified

I have more to share but this post is creeping up towards 3,000 words and has taken me two full days to write, ha. I’ll wrap up by saying that the adjustment has gone even better than I could have imagined. We got home from the hospital Monday afternoon and Eric was able to take off until Wednesday and work from home Thursday and Friday, so I got to ease into this parenting two kids thing with help. Molly is IN LOVE with Liam. She loves showing off “her baby” and the first thing she says to me every morning when I fetch her from her crib is, “Baby? Baby? Baby?” She likes to pat him and point to his nose and ears and cover him with his blanket when he’s in his Rock ‘n’ Play. Every time she takes care of him I die a little from happiness.

Not sure how I got so lucky, but I am damn grateful. I truly could not ask for more.