amanda, Author at burnt toast life

Aug 09

this story will make you smile

Aug 09

Something exciting happened in our family.

I have a new cousin.

But she’s not a newborn. Not even close.

Let me explain…

I don’t have to preach to this blog’s audience about the pervasiveness of infertility. I don’t have to tell you about the thousands upon thousands of childless couples suffering in silence. I think that now in the blogging age, things are a little different, and more open. But even in this open, tell-all climate of oversharing, some of the blogs I follow remain anonymous. There’s still a stigma surrounding infertility. I would imagine that ten or twenty years ago it was even worse.

I found out that my aunt and uncle wanted to have kids and couldn’t many years after they had probably stopped trying. Anyone could see that they would make excellent parents. Back when I was young and much more self-absorbed, I didn’t spend too much time wondering why they never had children. It was only after my mom told me about it that it all started to make sense. And it made me so, so sad.

I don’t need to go into the details of their struggle, nor could I, because I don’t even know the half of it. But what do the specifics of dates and treatments really matter, anyway? We all know the story. Many of us lived it, or some version. Try. Fail. Try again. Spend money. Spend more money. Cry. Cry again. Keep hoping. Give up hope.

My uncle and I never sat down and had a heart to heart when I opened up about our struggle to get pregnant, but we did discuss it a little bit. I remember complaining over the exorbitant cost of Bravelle and he laughed quietly. “Is that all? It used to cost ten times that much,” he said. And yeah, then I felt bad for complaining.

It brings joy to my heart when I think about how many of us have made it through to the other side. I started blogging about infertility in late 2012. As of now, every single infertility blogger who I followed through the years is now a parent through fertility treatments, adoption, luck, or some combination of those things. Many of them stopped blogging or don’t blog very often because they’re so busy parenting that they don’t have time to write anymore. That’s amazing. I hate that, because I don’t have as many blogs to read, and I LOVE that, because it’s awesome.

But I promised the story of my new cousin, so here it is. Last summer, the email group my family uses to stay in touch received an interesting message. My uncle announced that he and his wife would be hosting a little girl from Colombia for part of the summer. In his words…

Her name is Paula and she is 12 years old.

Paula is an abandoned child who has been living in an orphanage in Colombia. She will be staying with us this summer through the Kidsave Summer Miracles program. Kidsave is a nonprofit organization that attempts to find families for children who have been deemed “unadoptable.” Usually, children are deemed unadoptable when they reach the age of 11 or 12.

Paula will be living with us from June 27 until August 3. Each weekend, we will take Paula to a special “Kidsave event.” At these events, Paula will be introduced to families that are interested in adopting her. These are in a sort of speed-dating format.

Paula is a very nice little girl who is very shy, lacks confidence and is in need of some encouragement. She seems to have talent in both art and music.

Just as I expected, the outpouring of excitement over meeting Paula began immediately. This is something I love about my family – we welcome people in. No matter who you are, you are welcome. I can’t tell you how many Thanksgivings and Christmases have included invited guests from a variety of circumstances… people who were new in town, coworkers with nowhere else to go, neighbors, friends, anyone. My favorite part is how we never treat it as a strange situation to have a random new dinner guest. No one gushes over the new person or makes them uncomfortable, but rather they’re absorbed right into the family as though they’ve always been there. To be fair, holiday celebrations are incredibly hectic, so maybe no one notices a few extra people thrown in…

Anyway, I knew she’d be accepted and loved from the moment she appeared on the scene. I met Paula at my parents’ 4th of July party in 2015, and then spent the week with her (and approximately 40 of my extended family members) when we went on our annual beach vacation. We couldn’t communicate much beyond “Hello” (she only speaks Spanish, and once again my 5 years of honors French proved utterly useless), but she was always smiling, taking everyone and everything in. My then 10-year-old sister Allie and 13-year-old cousin Kate adopted her into their pre-teen girl gang (Lord help us all). There were dance parties. There was fun. And just as I expected, Paula fit in as easily as anyone else who has ever accidentally or purposefully been initiated into my family.

She left a short time later, and I think we were all secretly wondering if my aunt and uncle would want to adopt her themselves. In late November, we had our answer— they announced that they had sent their letter of intent to the Colombian child welfare agency, stating that they wanted to adopt a specific child.

I can’t believe how long the adoption process takes. I can’t imagine how expensive, and nerve racking, and exciting it must have been for all those months between November and now. They had to skip our family ski trip in March because they assumed (correctly) that any and all vacation time would be spent in Colombia, where they’d need to run around for many weeks cutting through all the red tape. We were hoping they’d make it to the beach trip, which grew to 50 people this year, but they ended up missing it by a matter of days. You know what? It’s OK, because all three of them will be there next year.

Everyone is home now. I officially have a new cousin. I did ask permission to tell the story here because I wasn’t sure how they felt about having their story broadcast to the world (not that millions of people read my blog, but you know what I mean). I was just so excited to share it, especially with people who “get it,” and I hope that by this point you are smiling.

Smiling because it’s never too late.

Never too late to become a parent if that’s what you really want.

Never too late to find a family, even if you’ve reached an age that some consider to be “unadoptable.”

I’m smiling because I was at a family party last weekend, and I’ve never seen my aunt and uncle so happy.

Paula looked pretty happy, too. I still can’t understand a word she’s saying, but I hugged her and she kissed my fat baby and squeezed his chubby cheeks, which is something that supersedes any kind of language barrier.

Sometimes, at the end of a long road, there is redemption.

with the judge, in a special dress, getting her new birth certificate

OCMD, 2015. I asked my uncle to send me his favorite picture of the 3 of them, and here it is

Jun 30

of birthdays and parties

Jun 30

Molly turned two last week.

I know, right? THAT’S INSANE. Wasn’t it just yesterday that I was crying nightly into my pillow, wondering if I’d ever get to be a parent? That seems so long ago and so recent. I remember what it felt like and I forget. In general, I’m way too busy to think much about it at all, except in quiet moments like this one when I can marvel over how much can change in two short years.

Speaking of change… we aren’t moving to Seattle. At least, there’s a 99% chance we aren’t. Even as I wrote that last post I knew that ultimately, our village is way more important than money. But that doesn’t mean that things are staying the same. In fact, big changes are on the horizon, but that’s another post for another time. Stay tuned… ;)

I took the day off last Thursday to spend the day with Molly for her birth anniversary. My original plan was to take her to a local amusement park, especially considering how much she enjoyed the dinky carnival rides earlier this month. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find anyone to come with us, and then when the day was humid and looked like rain, I ditched the whole expensive proposition entirely. Instead, I let her have chocolate chip cookies for breakfast (along with scrambled eggs, I’m not totally insane), then dropped Liam off with my sister so she and I could have some “quality girl bonding time.” And by bonding time, I mean she came along with me to run errands that I’d been putting off for weeks. Oops.

But we had fun. Eric ended up taking a half day, so he met us at Chik-fil-a for lunch (this is a big deal, she almost never has fast food and has literally never played in a fast food restaurant play place). We also got some froyo for dessert and then headed to my in-laws for dinner, swimming, and cupcakes. It was a pretty great day overall.

Friday we went into hardcore party prep mode. I work from home Fridays in the summer, and my workday ends at 2pm. Pretty much everything from 2pm Friday to 2pm Sunday was a total whirlwind of activity getting ready for Molly and Addison’s joint birthday party. There was yardwork, intense cleaning, 11pm grocery shopping, trips to Party City, cooking, setting up, hanging banners, and a million other things I can’t even remember. Thank God I had my sister as co-host, otherwise I never would have gotten it all done. I was literally over at my parent’s house picking up chairs to borrow an hour before the party started (and I hadn’t even showered yet).

The party was huge, and I’d say successful, though the stress of throwing it together almost made it not worth it. I can’t tell you how many times my sister and I turned to each other and said, “Why are we doing this again?” When I say I love to entertain, I don’t think I actually mean it. I would love to entertain if I had cleaning people and landscapers and caterers. And Valium. I have none of those things.

We ended up having 50 adults and 26 children attend. Crazy! I had actually wanted to invite more people (if you’re reading this and weren’t invited, you’re probably one of them), but I had to draw the line somewhere… my yard isn’t that big! The best investment we made by far was the giant bounce house/slide combo rental, which was a little pricey but 100% worth it. It kept the kiddos occupied the entire time.

And unlike last year, the weather was awesome. It was a little humid at the start of the party, but I have a lot of shade in my backyard, which made it totally bearable. By early evening the temperature was just perfect. Remember, the whole reason I even bothered throwing a second birthday party was because the weather at her first birthday sucked so much. We needed a do-over.

The birthday girls!

The cutest thing happened later, when we were opening all the gifts. I have to marvel at my girl’s patience… she saw the gift pile, and knew they were all for her, but patiently waited for me to clean everything up before diving in. She asked twice, “Presents now, Mommy?” Finally, when the last dish was washed and the last chair was folded and put away, we let her open them. I have no idea where she got this, but with every gift, she would look into the gift bag and exclaim, “Oh da goodness! Oh da goodness!” before she even saw what was in it. And yes, I got it on video. It’s just tooooo cuuuuuute.

As fun as it was, I’m so, so, so happy it’s all over. This weekend we are going to parties rather than hosting parties. I’m really looking forward to that.

One thing I didn’t do last week was eat. There was just no time! I’m happy to report that between the running around, the stress, and a little bit of working out I am now within 3 lbs of the weight I was when I got pregnant with Liam. I don’t want to call it my “pre-pregnancy weight,” because it’s still way higher than how much I weighed when I got pregnant with Molly. Remember, I was losing weight but not anywhere near my goal when I unexpectedly got pregnant with the little man. BUT, it’s still 30 lbs down from the day I delivered him, and that feels really good. More stuff in my closet fits me. I’m not completely depressed about going to the beach in a month. I still have a long way to go, but it’s a satisfying milestone.

Liam turned 7 months old on Monday, and at his well baby checkup the next day they confirmed he’s the chunkiest monkey. He weighs 19 lbs 8 ounces, and his 9 month clothing is already getting tight. I cannot tell you how much this kid loves to eat. I thought Molly was a pig… no. He eats, and eats, and eats. He also started blowing raspberries, which is freaking adorable. He’s a sturdy sitter and enjoys putting everything in his mouth (which I know is normal, but also something that Molly didn’t do, so it’s weird for me). He loves his mama A LOT, but he’s also a big fan of Molly, and pulling on Daddy’s beard. His smile is infectious. I just can’t imagine life without him. Any time I leave him at home (intentionally, obviously), and try to go somewhere with just Molly, she’ll stop dead in her tracks on the way to the car and say, “Oh no! Baby!”, like I forgot him or something. And no matter how many times I reassure her that he’s fine, and he’s with Daddy, and we’ll see him soon, she inevitably talks about him the entire time we are gone. To say she’s obsessed with her little brother would be an understatement.

I guess that’s all for now. Hope you all have a relaxing and enjoyable 4th!

that chunky monkey

Jun 21

our village

Jun 21

He got another call this week.

I don’t know why I’m surprised. Despite how many times he has explained to me how good he is at his job, and as much as I don’t understand half of the skills listed on his resume, I still stubbornly think of myself as the brains of our relationship. And that’s not to belittle his intelligence at all… he’s wicked smart, otherwise I wouldn’t have married him. But I was always better at “school stuff,” whereas he’s better at common sense, life experience stuff. It’s always nice to have both in a marriage to help balance each other out.

And yet, here I am with my fancy, oppressively expensive liberal arts degree and the student loan debt that goes with it, and I have to fight for any job I’m lucky enough to get. Meanwhile, my community college educated husband is constantly being contacted by recruiters, even when he’s not actively job-hunting. I’ll admit, it makes me a little jealous. That has to be SO validating.

Most of these jobs require relocation. Some are easy to turn down —Detroit. Cleveland. But then there was one earlier this week, in Seattle.

Eric is in the tech industry, so any jobs on the west coast are guaranteed to pay significantly more. One of my non-negotiable stipulations for even entertaining the idea of a cross-country move is that I must be able to stay home with the kids (as much for practicality as anything else… I shudder to think what two kids in daycare would cost in Seattle. YIKES.) In other words… the salary would need to be what we make combined, or ideally more than that, especially since our cost of living would go up considerably.

It’s also understood that moving that far from home would be temporary. It would be the means to an end. On one hand, we’d want the life experience of actually living in another state. But also, it would help to catapult Eric’s career to the next level, and would then open up more positions here at home once we returned. We’d also try to do it all on a budget, and use any extra money to pay down our debt, therefore putting ourselves in a much better position once we did come back.

But it would take years.

It’s always fun when he first gets these calls. I dreamily Google “Seattle family activities,” start looking at apartments and picturing our stuff in them, imagine our once-in-a-lifetime cross country road trip to get there. When he mentions the salary range, I imagine my eyes light up with flashing gold dollar signs, like a retro cartoon character. Apparently, all it takes to put us in a new tax bracket is a cross country move.

Plus, of course, my babies. I could spend all day every day with my beloved children, and I would no longer miss out on the largest chunk of their weekdays. My life would be more awesome than it already is, and as I’ve mentioned before, it’s pretty damn great right now.

And yet.

And yet…

Whenever he gets these recruiter calls, I always say, “This is the problem with having a close family. If we had shitty parents and awful siblings, decisions like this would be so easy.”

And it’s true. It would also be easier if, say, we were already spread out all over the place. If brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles and cousins lived hours or plane rides away from each other. But the fact is, every member of our extended family on both sides lives within an hour of one another. As for immediate family, with the exception of my brother (who is about an hour away), we’re all situated in a 5 mile radius. Five. Miles. With the right amount of effort, that’s walking distance.

Moving to Seattle would mean no more Saturdays sitting poolside with the Harding clan, keeping an eye on all the kids splashing joyfully in the shallow end and taking turns putting our babies down for naps in the communal crib. It would mean no more Sunday dinners with the Hurds, which often includes marshmallow roasting in the fire pit after the sun goes down.

We’d miss the craziness of Easter at my aunt’s house and the Christmas morning jammie party at Eric’s sister’s house. If we needed to borrow tools or trucks or a cup of sugar, we couldn’t just run down the street to our choice of family member. Our trusted babysitters would go from plentiful to none.

Imagining Molly growing up without her cousins makes me want to cry. She wouldn’t go on daily park outings with her Nana. We’d make other friends, sure, and she and I would have more quality time together. But those potential friends are still strangers. When I think of what we’d leave behind, I already know what I’m missing.

We contemplated moving before we had children. Back when we were in the throes of infertility, with no end in sight, I was desperate for a change of scenery. We took a trip to Denver in hopes of getting a feel for the area, to see if it would work for us long term. Even then, without the added complication of kids growing up without family, the thought of missing out on everything felt physically painful.

Eric claims that I’m more sentimental than he is. That I’m the one holding us back. But in reality, I think he’s just as bad, but maybe not willing to admit it. He claims his parents would come visit, and I’m sure they would, but it’s not the same. To go from seeing our families weekly to seeing them twice a year, if we’re lucky, is a huge change.

When we were first married, we rented an apartment in a charmingly quaint city 25 minutes west of where we grew up. We still attended plenty of family events, but it wasn’t quite the same. The drive was annoying. We missed out on casual weekend get-togethers because we didn’t feel like driving there and back. Even though we were close, we felt too far away. We were both relieved that we had opted to rent and not buy, and vowed that our home would be in Nazareth. When we did start house hunting the following year, we had one requirement for our realtor: 18064 zip code only. No surrounding neighborhoods (even the cheaper ones). We wanted Nazareth. Our home.

If it takes a village to raise a child, then we are doing just fine where we are. Our village is full of loving relatives who are all just around the corner. Molly knows them by name, Liam knows them by sight. I feel at home in every single one of their houses. I love our village more than words can describe.

But am I limiting our potential by stubbornly staying put? Am I keeping us from greater things? It’s about the money, clearly, but it’s more than just that. How about adventure? How about excitement? Is my obsession with family ties actually hindering my ability to experience the vast richness this world has to offer? These are the questions.

So clearly I’m torn. Granted, there are plenty of what-ifs… It’s not like he has a job offer, just the theory of one. But if it came down to it, could we go? Could we really live that far from our family, even if it’s only for a few years? My head says yes and my heart says no. My bank account says yes and my emotions say no.

I don’t know the right answer. Maybe there is no right, no wrong… each side has pros and cons. What I do know is that no matter what happens, the future looks bright.

And maybe he really is the smart one. (Dammit.)

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

May 04

oh, hey, May

May 04

Hey hey, it’s finally May!

Have I mentioned May is my favorite month of the year? Not only is it the month of my birth (which, let’s face it, I still like to celebrate like I’m 10 years old), but it’s also my anniversary month, the kickoff of summer (and summer hours at work, which means half days on Fridays, yessssss), and tons of other fun stuff. Warmer weather. Mother’s Day. Yes, May, I love it.

Let’s totally ignore the fact that it’s almost been A MONTH since I updated my blog. Ack, I suck at life. Actually, I’ve been too busy living life to write about it, which I suppose is a really good thing. I also have a couple ideas for “themed” posts, but I’ve never gotten around to sitting down and writing them. However, thinking about writing them has kept me from making any general updates like this one. Who knows if they’ll ever actually get written though.

Recently… hmmm. I started Liam on solids a little sooner than 6 months because he just seemed ready. You had to see the pained/yearning expression he’d give us while watching us eat dinner – I swear, if he could talk he would have said, “But what about me?!”

Anyway, he was instantly good at eating. Like, barely a learning curve at all, which proves I was right and he was totally ready. Since I’m still anti-rice cereal, I started him off with sweet potatoes, and since then he’s also had pears, bananas, apples, and squash. He loves them all. Just like his sister, the boy LOVES to eat.

Speaking of his sister… funny thing about that… so far, we’ve been so lucky with Molly adjusting to having Liam around. I was fully prepared for her to regress in some way and want to be a baby again – especially since she’s so young, I mean, it would make sense. But no, since day one she’s been proud to be the big sister and let Liam be the baby. Until he started eating. She became obsessed with the baby’s “yogurt” and at first made me feed her with the baby spoon too. Now that she’s more used to it, she doesn’t make me feed her anymore but she does insist on having her own yogurt when I feed him. And then, in possibly the most adorable way ever, she sits there with the spoon and does the airplane game to herself, saying “Brmmmm, brmmmmm, here it comes! Open up for the yogurt!” as she feeds herself each spoonful (which is super random because I don’t even do that while I’m feeding Liam, I just… feed him). Of course every time I try to get this on video she abruptly stops doing it. But trust me when I say it’s just TOO MUCH.

This Friday I turn 32 and for the first time ever in my life I’ll be working on my birthday. Tragic, right? I took off the following Friday because we’re doing a yard sale and I just didn’t want to waste another day of PTO. Somehow I’ll get through it! I’m forcing my friends to go out to lunch with me at my favorite place and I’m not logging my calories for the day (calories definitely don’t count on your birthday).

As I mentioned, ever since my stomach bug my milk supply has never been the same. It’s at the point now that breastfeeding is like appetizers/dessert for the boy and formula is the main course. Still, I’m not ready to give it up completely, and I enjoy our mini feeding sessions first thing in the morning and right before bed.

But now since the pressure is off to make the milk, I am dieting in earnest and have finally seen the scale budge a little bit. Yay! Of course I have a pair of goal jeans (who doesn’t?), but as time goes by, I’m becoming more and more convinced that the only way I will ever get back into them is if someone creates a time machine. And I’m OK with that.

What I really want is to get back into my wedding rings, which I had to remove sometime in 2014 while pregnant with Molly. They haven’t fit since then, and while I do receive tons of compliments on the fake set I bought at Kohls for $30 to wear in the interim (true story, everyone is fooled by it), I would love to wear my real rings again.

Well, that’s all for now. This weekend we’re going out to dinner for my birthday, then I’d imagine we’ll be working on stuff around the house in anticipation of Molly’s party. I wasn’t going to do a big thing for her, but since her first birthday was such a bust I decided to host a do-over in the backyard this summer (with a strict rain cancellation policy).

We have a lot of cleanup to get done before then, but I’m excited anyway because as stressful/expensive as they are, I love hosting parties. At her cousin’s birthday over the weekend, Molly was really into the whole thing, from the singing to the balloons to the gifts she wanted to open. When I told her for the tenth time that it wasn’t her birthday and she couldn’t open them, she clenched her fist and screamed through gritted teeth, “I WANNA HAVE A BIRTHDAY!” So…yeah. I think we need to throw this kid a damn party.

And now for your once-a-month photo dump:

5 months!

her favorite movie

fabulous

in her hand-me-down PJs from the early 90s

helping get the yard ready for company

this guy…

I mustache you a question… am I cute?

loving those sweet potatoes

this about sums them up

Apr 12

screen time, the alphabet, and me

Apr 12

Like many modern moms, I have a decent amount of “mom guilt” when it comes to kids and iPhone usage. I’ve seen plenty of fights for both sides – those who believe technology helps children learn, and those who insist that it stifles creativity and imaginative play.

For example, this gave me pause:

(source)

Scary Mommy just did a post about this topic entitled “Why I Don’t Feel Bad About Giving My Kids Unlimited Screen Time.” The author brought up some good points:

So much emphasis is put on kids to be well-rounded and to excel at sports that it’s reaching a fever pitch. We place arbitrary rules on our kids because we are so worried about their childhoods differing from ours. Maybe we should pause to consider that our parents didn’t grow up with Atari, Nintendo, and Commodore 64s, either, and we turned out just fine, didn’t we, Generation X?

Our mothers survived without microwaves and cordless phones, and we are doing a pretty good job of surviving as grown-ups in spite of having all those things. We survived the technology of our generation, and our kids will survive the technology of theirs.

In theory, I think most of us (kids AND adults) could stand to get off our phones and connect more with the people around us. I’m guilty of it too – if I have a few moments of downtime, I quickly check Instagram. If a new email dings, I give it a read (but that could be more about my obsessive need to clear the red bubbles off the screen).

At our house, we don’t have set limits on screen time, but if I notice Molly getting too engrossed in her phone I take it away and direct her towards toys. I mean, the fact that she has a phone at all is probably controversial – but honestly, it’s been a lifesaver for situations such as 7 hour car rides. It’s not like she’s on the thing 24/7.

I always ask my sister for app advice and she recommended something called Endless Alphabet. It was $5.99 (the most I’ve ever spent on an app) but it looked educational, so I got it for Molly. It’s very cute! Even the background music is pleasant. Basically the narrator says the word, then the letters scramble and you need to drag each letter back to its spot. As you drag, the letter makes its sound (so as you drag P, it says “ppuhh-puhhh-puhhh!) and once you complete the word, the narrator repeats it again and there’s a short animation illustrating the definition.

When she first started using the app a few months ago she had trouble dragging the letters and would give up fairly quickly. But lately I’ve noticed her repeating the words with the narrator and dragging the letters like a pro. It’s also adorable because the words are more complicated than her vocabulary, but she is getting great at mimicry, so she’ll sit there repeating words like “gargantuan,” “abominable,” and “portrait.”

So last night she was playing with the magnets on the fridge. We have one that’s a stop sign and as I’m standing there not really paying attention, she points at it and says “O!”

I looked down and wouldn’t you know it, she was pointing at the letter O.

Then, with no further prompting, she pointed at the P and said “P!”

Holy shit, right? CHILD PRODIGY.

Next, she pointed at the T. But instead of identifying it as “T”, she said, “Tuhhh-tuhhh-tuhhh-tuhhhh!” and that’s when I realized this early stage letter recognition was 100% thanks to the Endless Alphabet app.

(Then she pointed at the “S” and said “C!” but I’m gonna go ahead and cut her some slack because the kid isn’t even two years old).

Tonight I wanted to test her skills, so I broke out the Elmo Alphabet letters she got for Christmas and quizzed her. No lie – she knew the name or the sound of about half of those letters.

Meanwhile, in an ironic twist of events, I tried to get a cute photo of her playing with the letters because I already knew I was going to write this post. So verrrrry quietly I took out my phone so that I could capture her engrossed in her task. But then of course she caught me red-handed and started throwing a tantrum when I wouldn’t let her have my phone. This is because her favoritest thing in the world is to sit on my lap watching all the videos in my camera roll. And when I say videos, I mean the first three seconds of one video before frantically skipping to the next one. Which is totally not annoying. At all.

So the lovely photo below was snapped after I had just insisted, “NO PHONE. NO VIDEOS. PLAY WITH THE ALPHABET.”

As for screen time… I’m still on the fence. I can see both sides of it, really. The first picture I posted does make me sad. But you can’t deny the power of the mighty Endless Alphabet.

And if you’re like me (the kind of parent who lets your little one play with an iPhone while still questioning yourself at every turn), I highly recommend this expensive app. It helps soothe the guilt a little bit.

Apr 07

it’s April already?

Apr 07

This post has been delayed and delayed because my pretty Easter photos are held up in editing (aka, my dear husband keeps procrastinating on the uploading). I’m not sure why I got it in my head that posting anything HAD TO wait until I had those photos, but I did. Now I’m giving up because it’s April and no one cares that much anyway besides me. I’ll just share them if/when I get them. Which could even be later tonight because that’s just my luck. Either that or October.

Hey, happy April, I’m almost 32 now, eeek! It’s been a whirlwind lately. [Insert tired excuse for not blogging here].

Skiing (which by now feels like decades ago) was good, warm and slushy, but good. We weren’t really expecting much in terms of snow because of how little there was all season, so we were actually pleasantly surprised by the conditions. I felt a lot more confident on skis this year even though it’s only my second season. We did put Molly on teeny tiny skis for approximately 5 minutes before she had an epic meltdown. Mostly it was just because it took so long to get the skis from the rental shop and then walk the long trek up to the bunny slope that she was just done and ready for a nap. But we did get that obligatory “first time on skis” photo op, and that’s all I really wanted. Next year will be better.

not loving it, but a good sport!

Two days after we got home from vacation, Eric started having intense stomach pain to the point that I had to run him over to the ER because we thought it was appendicitis. Long story short, a week of continued pain, multiple doctor’s visits, and numerous tests that delivered no answers led to a (tentative) diagnosis of stomach ulcers. He’ll need to be put to sleep and have an endoscopy to get the official confirmation, but so far the ulcer-fighting meds are the only ones that have provided real relief. Mystery solved (we hope).

Meanwhile, last Sunday night my mother’s intuition kicked into high gear around 3am. Molly will occasionally wake up in the middle of the night and let out a whine or whimper, then fall back to sleep, but for some reason my mama instincts instantly knew this cry was different. I went into her room immediately, where she sat up and proceeded to vomit all over herself. It was lovely. Just then, I noticed that I was feeling a little queasy myself, and in a few hours I joined her on the wonderful journey otherwise known as the “12 hour stomach bug from hell.” To her credit, she took the whole thing like a champ, and was dancing, singing, and begging me for food in between bouts of puking. Me… no. I was curled up on the couch with aching joints and clammy hands, wishing I could just die and get it over with. Thankfully, it was ferocious yet quick, and we were both fully recovered as of Tuesday morning. Isn’t it amazing how getting sick really makes you appreciate feeling well?

Unlike my crazy daughter, I wanted nothing to do with food or water all day Monday, which absolutely devastated my milk supply. Yep, in just 24 hours I went from reliable milk producer to Sahara desert. So frustrating! Tuesday night I had so little milk I actually had to give Liam a bottle (of frozen breastmilk, but still, from a bottle, which felt awkward). He cried (while I was still trying to offer him my sad empty boobies). I cried (when I realized how sad and empty they actually were).

So on Tuesday morning my stomach felt flatter than it has in ages, but when I went to pump, literally nothing came out. Feeling good went to feeling bad, and I quickly had to figure out which made me feel worse – being fat, or switching to formula this early. As much as it pains me to say it, for this moment, staying fat wins. I felt absolutely terrible not being able to nurse my son and my frozen supply is depleting by the day. So I’ve been loading up on fenugreek, having a beer with dinner, and adding oatmeal and banana snacks into my day. I wish I could just have both (weight loss + tons o’milk) but for right now that’s clearly not happening. This little stomach bug thing proved that definitively.

The other night I was lying in bed, stressing out over feeding him, and then all of the sudden I remembered to be grateful.

Grateful that I was able to nurse without any major challenges for a solid four and a half months.
Grateful that I have a freezer stocked with backup breastmilk (dwindling, but still there) precisely for this kind of situation.
Grateful that I also have a half full container of formula left over from when Molly still had bottles, and that it’s not expired because my kids are THAT close in age.
Grateful that even if I had none of these things, I have the means to go buy more formula.
Grateful that even if I was dead broke, there are plenty of wonderful, caring people in my life who would gladly drop everything and go buy the formula for me.

I guess it just got me thinking about how much I take for granted. Because there are so many people – in third world countries, but also here – who don’t have any of those things. And who worry that they won’t be able to feed their babies AT ALL. That just makes me so, so sad.

Anyway, sorry to get depressing, I just think about things like that all the time when I notice myself getting overly dramatic. My methods have been working so far to increase my milk supply little by little. But even if it never goes back to what it was, that’s OK too.

What else? I read an article about Hamilton (late to the party, as usual) and have started listening to the soundtrack during my commutes. Um… wow. SO GOOD. I may have even teared up at some parts. Of course it just makes me want to see the show even more, but I’ll just have to wait until it’s available to the masses. Shelling out $800+ for a resale ticket is simply not happening this century.

OK, I guess that’s it. In lieu of those elusive Easter pics you get crappy iPhone photos that most of you have already seen on Insta. YOU’RE WELCOME.

Molly’s favorite part of the ski trip: bus rides

Mommy’s favorite part of the ski trip: a trolley full of wine

she was also a big fan of the outdoor hot tub

mmm…. ice cream

my baby is 4 months old!

not the real Easter photo

they just love each other

toy sharing, big sister style

sleeping buddies, walkaround and two one

Mar 16

Liam, the giant baby

Mar 16

The other day a coworker found out I had a blog, and asked what I blogged about. It was actually a hard question to answer. In many ways I feel like this blog has an identity crisis. Usually I just say “lifestyle blog” when someone asks me that question, but I always clarify that I used to blog about infertility. For some reason I wear that as a badge of honor. At least back then I knew what the hell I was talking about.

Not having a purpose makes it harder to come up with posts. The weeks slip by and I start to feel guilty over not posting. Not because I have legions of adoring fans wondering where I’ve been (though honestly, I must, right?!), but more because I’m supposed to be a writer. Writing is my favorite thing to do in downtime (supposedly), and yet something that comes so easy when times are hard is next to impossible when times are good. It’s frustrating. Not that I should complain about being happy, but here I am…

What’s new? What’s shaking? Much of the same. Molly is absolutely amazing in every way, as usual. She continues to surprise and delight both of us with an independence that’s well beyond her years. What happened to my little baby girl?! My mom remarked the other night when we were over for dinner that Molly isn’t the least bit jealous of Liam because in Molly’s eyes, she’s not a baby, so why bother competing for attention with one? She thinks of herself as a Big Girl. She speaks in full sentences (sometimes with gibberish thrown in, but mostly coherent), follows commands (or at least comprehends commands and willfully disobeys them), and fawns over her brother like a little mother hen.

The other day Liam was fussing in the next room while I was trying to get ready for the day. Eric was around but ignoring/not hearing his cries, and since Liam is the second child, I didn’t drop my mascara wand immediately to go tend to his needs. After a couple minutes, Molly came into the bathroom and said, “Oh no, Mommy. Baby cry.” (Yeah, kid, like I can’t hear that.) I told her I would get to him in a minute. Thirty seconds later I heard him go silent, and then, miraculously, the sound of uncontrollable giggles coming from both of them. In that moment, I’m pretty sure I was the happiest that I’ve ever been, ever.

Next week we have our big family ski trip in Vermont, which seems to grow every year. We’re basically taking over an entire building of condos this time. Since it was such a mild winter, we’re not expecting any kind of world class skiing, but it’ll be fun to mess around and best of all I’m almost positive that they’ll have skis small enough for Molly. Obviously she’s too young for a proper lesson but we do want to pull her around a little on the bunny slope so she can get a feel for it. And take a bajillion photos, obvi.

Weight loss is slow and steady because I’m actually doing it the healthy way with diet and exercise. Sucks, right? I need some illegal diet pills or something because I’m super impatient. To date, I’m 20 lbs down from when I gave birth. Every day of eating clean feels easier than the day before to the point that if you waved a box of Thin Mints under my nose right now, I don’t even think I’d want one. We’ll see how long I can keep this up.

Liam is humongous. It’s weird because Molly was so petite. Still is, actually. The girl does nothing but eat but when I put her on the scale she weighed a scant 20.5 lbs. Meanwhile, Liam the Giant Baby weighs 16 lbs. Seriously! He’s already fully filling out his 6 month clothes (he’ll be 4 months old on Easter Sunday) and I had to switch him up to size 3 diapers because his size 2’s have been leaving imprints in his thigh fat rolls. In related news, there was a funky smell coming from under his chin(s), which turned out to be a rash and dirt hidden beneath all the chub. Disgusting, yet, hilarious!

The funny thing is that I think Liam eats less than she did at that age. She was eating constantly – I remember breastfeeding being such a time consuming endeavor. It felt like the minute I was done feeding it was almost time for the next go-round. With Liam, I feed him for anywhere from 10-15 minutes and he’s good. He’s just very efficient, I guess. We still have him sleeping in the Rock ‘n’ Play in our room, but frankly it’s getting hard to lift him into bed at night to nurse when I’m half-asleep. I just don’t have the upper body strength for it! He usually only wakes up one to two times per night, and is only up long enough to eat, which is very nice and I truly can’t complain.

Sorry guys, not much else. We have a bunch of super fun Easter-y activities this weekend, such as breakfast with the Easter Bunny at Wegmans on Saturday and then back-to-back egg hunts on Sunday morning. Fun times all around. Adorable photos to follow.

Hope all of you are having a great week!

that’s one fat baby

Mar 01

savasana = fail

Mar 01

As I mentioned last post, I’ve been reaping the benefits of the company gym now that I’m back at work. I do yoga Monday/Wednesday and Pilates Tuesday/Thursday. I love our yoga class – I was actually doing it well into my third trimester while pregnant with Liam. The instructor is the sweetest woman (she’s pixie sized, but claims she weighed 200 lbs while pregnant and then lost all the weight doing yoga. I’m skeptical, yet intrigued). The class is mildly challenging but not too intense. It’s such a nice break in the day.

In general, my mind is constantly going a million miles a minute. When I first began my practice, Savasana was so difficult. It took every ounce of strength I had not to laugh. Clearing my mind was next to impossible. But as the weeks and months went on, I got better and better at it. Eventually, I was able to (mostly) quiet my inner monologue and enjoy a few moments of total peace.

Aside for non-yogis:
“Savasana might look like a nap at the end of your yoga practice. But it’s actually a fully conscious pose aimed at being awake, yet completely relaxed. In Savasana—also known as corpse pose— you lie down on your back and relax your body and mind so you may fully assimilate the benefits of your asana practice.” –source

But not today. I don’t know what it was about today, but for some reason I felt like one of those dolls whose eyes open when you sit them up, except backwards. When it was time for Savasana, I tried to clear my mind and relax, but every couple seconds my eyes popped back open. I felt electric. I could barely lie still, let alone relax. In the space of 5 minutes, inside my head, this is what happened:

At what temperature should I reheat that casserole for dinner?
Why the hell won’t Molly say please and thank you?
It’s like, embarrassing.
Do I have bad manners in front of her?
No, I definitely say please.
Seriously, no more cookies unless she says please.
And no more grapes.
That’ll teach her.
If we ever refinish the basement, we should line the entire thing with built-in shelves.
Build them right into the wall.
How cool would that be?
I need to put all of the Steel Hawks home games on my calendar.
Is it seriously March already?
Dammit, why won’t that craigslist lady write back to my email?
I bet she sold those end tables to someone else, that bitch.
They were so freaking cute.
And cheap.
Craigslist is so fickle.
I really want to go for a walk today.
It’s finally sort of nice out.
But I have that 3 o’clock, and I bet it will run over.
Why do I even bother setting my step goal so high?
It is really nice when I hit it.
I cannot wait to find out if Krista is having a boy or a girl.
I bet they induce her next week.
I’m going to wait to find out the gender of the next one.
Even if Eric won’t.
He’ll totally slip and tell me.
And that’ll make me mad.
But seriously, we have plenty of clothes either way.
I should definitely go through all of them again and put them in nicer boxes.
Mouse proof boxes.
Actually I need to reorganize the whole attic.
And have a yard sale.
But when?
May is ideal.
But so busy.
Seriously, whatever’s left is going out to the trash.
I’m so over it.
Why did I marry a hoarder?
Without me, he’d be on that show, I swear.
It’s maddening yet endearing.
I save stuff too, I guess.
Like do I really need my high school notebooks?
Yes.
They’re funny.
I can’t believe we used to pass notes.
Like, paper notes.
Kids today won’t have those memories with texting.
Not like you save old texts.
Or can you?
I could go on Shark Tank with an app that prints out text conversations so you can save them.
I bet that already exists.
And wastes paper.
Crap, I never texted my sister today to check on the kids.
I’m the worst mom.
It’s OK.
They don’t even know.
I’m sure they’re fine.
Kohl’s cash starts tomorrow.
I don’t want any more clothes in this size.
But I have nothing to wear.
eBay or poshmark for my rejected clothes?
Poshmark intimidates me.
I really want to create a capsule.
But like, a nice one.
I need to get rid of all my Target clothes.
Isn’t 31 too old to have the majority of my clothes come from Target?
I’m not sure where 31 year olds with minimal budgets are supposed to shop.
Forever 31?
Not like I have time to shop.
Will my ski pants fit in 3 weeks for skiing?
If they don’t, whose can I borrow?
I do see a difference.
A little bit.
Baby steps.
But I’m afraid to try the pants on again.
Are we done here yet?
I really need to pee.

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.