"Mooooo-oooomy"

Saturday, January 23, 2010 by Bethany

The two-syllable word we all hate to here (when said by a 2-year-old) followed by the most hilarious:

"Moooo - ooomy" She whines, "I want your Boooobie!"

(or maybe that was movie?!?)

Either way--hilarious, no?

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The BEST MOMENT EVER

Wednesday, November 04, 2009 by Bethany

Last night about 10:30pm... lying in bed with my daughter.* She's smiling and giggling and being a 2-year-old. Which really, in and of itself is awesome. But it gets better.

She says, "Night, night Mommy." And pats my back. Then leans THIS CLOSE to my face and gives me one of those kisses you just want to remember forever.

Grinning I give her a kiss back. Then she says, "Mooooommmy," very quietly and touches my eyes. That's the sign to close them. And just as I do, I hear even more quiet, "Tinkle, Tinkle, lil star.....how wonder where are......"

I try to peak at her, but get scolded, "Mommy, shhhhhhh. Night time."

And again, with the song (though this time louder), "Tinkle, Tinkle, Lil STAR...." for about 12 times or so.

Maybe it's me, the mom, but hell, I don't remember the last time I was sung to sleep. And it was even better when I nodded off and awoke to that same little girl asleep next to me only a short hour later.

Twinkle, Twinkle Little Start has a whole new place in my heart.


* Don't judge people. I let her stay up after 8pm. We're both happy. It works for us.

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Sit!

Tuesday, October 27, 2009 by Bethany

I've been wondering... is it normal for your 2-year-old to order you to Sit! (and yes Sit! with the exclamation) so that she can do your hair?

Maybe it is a hint that I need something done with the hair. I know it's been over the 6 week recommendation. But so has that nagging dentist appointment. Or annual exam thing. And that hasn't put any fire under my ass to get any of that done.

Well regardless, she's doing a decent job when she's not knotting my bangs in the comb. So I guess I'll let her have the fun. Hell, it's better than taking that call. Or working.

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The Joys of Shower Time with a 2-yr-old

Thursday, September 24, 2009 by Bethany

"I see your butt," she says with a giggle. "I see MY butt." More giggles.

I want to know who let her watch Beavis and Butt-head.

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It's all a bit scary

Sunday, September 20, 2009 by Bethany

My daughter is suddenly scared of any unfamiliar noise. It could be the cat meowing from 2 rooms over, a lawn mower, or a motorcycle zooming down the street. And as cute as the, "Mom! Scary! Scary! Scaaaaarrrrrrryy!" is the first 4o times she comes running to me for that reassuring hug. I've actually just confirmed I've scarred my daughter for life.

Back story. We're in St. Louis enjoying a family trip to somewhere new. We'd had a lovely breakfast at this downtown joint called Rooster. Mimosas were enjoyed, a crying fit from The Peanut, and a $60 bill that was so worth it to feel this lovely/urban/chic-ness that is foreign to me under my normal daily activities. Then the elevator ride to the top of the Arch and more meandering of the the downtown area. Fast-forward through a handful of other touristy things to the Mississippi steam boat ride (we had the pleasure of sailing on the Tom Sawyer). It's 45 minutes in, The Peanut had decided that she must nurse--no matter who is watching and where, because DAMMIT she is tired. So we did. And she fell into a peaceful sleep that let me enjoy the last bit of the ride. Until we had to do the required horn blowing riverboat crap that allows us to dock again.

Let's just put it simply-it scared the shit out of her. Being that she was sleeping, it was worse than a normal horn blowing situation (if there is such a thing).

And now every noise--loud or soft--is a scary ordeal. "Scary! Scary Mom!"

Who knew this scarring business is so easy? And now, I'll be the brunt of every scary noise threat she hears for the next 16 years.

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Happy Day

Friday, July 24, 2009 by Bethany

In the past week or so (It’s been a while since I’ve been able to post), we’ve celebrated a birthday--my husbands to be exact. See, summer is our major birthday time-- in July there are a whole slew of cousin-in-laws that celebrate plenty for the whole crew (including The Husband), then in August there’s yours truly that adds a year, The Peanut has her new birthday goodness and then some dear friends and family again that enjoy some yearly goodness. And it all leads to a lot of BBQs, cake, ice cream and a chorus of the traditional Happy Birthday To You.

It’s fun. Particularly when you add in the young ones. They sing, dance, blow out candles and have sugar highs that are above anything else that you have ever seen (imagine midnight and the children still running around the yard and through a sprinkler). But it’s summer and I don’t mind.

Already this summer we’ve had 3 of these events. And the last, was The Husband’s. Which, this year, was just an ice cream cake and some singing at home. But a week later, I am still hearing the loveliness called my daughter.

“Happy Day!” Jump, jump, jump. “Happy, Happy Day!” she screams from around the living room.

At first we all thought she was just having… well, a HAPPY DAY. But she shook her head no at our inquiries. Until, the Husband, the smart one of the bunch, watched her dance her Robee doll around the room singing more “Happy Day! Happy Day!” and asked, “Are you singing Happy Birthday?”

Her wide smile was the answer and she stomped a few more times around the ottoman and started in on the chorus again, “Happy Day. Happy, happy day!”

Right then and there, I knew my daughter was sent here from some higher power. How can you not LOVE a chorus of Happy Days for the next month? Seriously. I need a reminder daily to have a Happy Day. Whether it is a birthday or not. And especially when I grow a year older.

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Conversation with an almost 2 year old

Saturday, July 18, 2009 by Bethany

"Yuuuu tire? Yuuuu tire?"

Blank stare into my daughter's very questioning eyes.

"You tire?"

"Am I tired?"

Affirmative shake of the head.

"Yes, I am honey. Are you?"

"Go Nie, nie. Pleeeeze," and she runs to the bedroom.

Who am I to argue?

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Pumping up the Dirt

Tuesday, April 28, 2009 by Bethany

First, if you could care less about breastfeeding--move along to another blog or post. This one's all about boobs, milk, and things I'd rather not share anywhere else but on this blog. I'm not exactly proud, but I'm into sharing the dirt.

If your still reading, then, I need another favor. Imagine a time when I had just returned from 2 nights away from the kidlings and had forgotten my breast pump (about a week ago). You there? Good. Then start reading....

Word of advice--never (EVER) forget a breast pump when you plan to be away from a nursing child even if for one measly night.

I can go into all the physical pain you might endure, or rock-like breasts, or the impending pressure that might cause them to just leak all over your shirt, because it would all be true. All. Of. It. But let me instead tell you how I tried to cure that situation.

Some would have purchased a $40 manual breast pump, but that's the easy way out. I tried to manually express. Yes. I mean milking myself. In a running shower. Like 3 to 4 times a day.

It was down right ridiculous. And silly. And worked only to get out the minimum amount of milk so I wasn't screaming in pain. Not to mention the water-logged feeling of sitting in a shower for 30 minutes or so (again about 4 times a day/night) trying to drum up images of my daughter nursing so my milk would let down. Killer man. Let me tell you, I'll NEVER do that again. Ever. Granted, this daughter of mine better be done with this mess in the next 6 months or so (she'll be over 2 years old by then)--but just sayin'. It was by far the most eye-rollingly tedious process I have ever put myself through.

Your body knows what you're doing. Trust me. The first time, it was relieving pain, so let the milk go. But by day 3 (when I was to be with said child in a few hours)? It wanted nothing with hot water, hands, or "milking." So, I dealt with rock hard boobs, a short car ride, and a blessed child that wanted nothing more from me than to nurse when I walked in the door. THANK GOD.

Part of me wants to go into other details here... about how I actually made all of that work. But really, that might be too much information. Aside from the fact that some things are better left in the shower and I can move on to forgetting about it. I mean, really people. It wasn't pretty.

Though, in a pinch, to have 2 nights away and fun like I was in college? Priceless. So, I guess I'd do it again. Though I might fork over the $40 next time.

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What my daughter has "learned" while I've worked at home

Monday, March 23, 2009 by Bethany

Anyone that tells you working from home with a child of any age is easy? Well they are full of shit. I'm in process of doing it for the 2nd time, and well, let me just say, my daughter is taking more advantage of the situation. Here's her "learnings:"

- to climb on her small table and dance on it
- write on the ottoman and other similar furniture with a ball point pen
- what it means to dance naked and freely of her own accord (she unclothed/diaper herself)
- what the plastic utensil drawer is really all about
- turn on the clock radio and dance like there is no tomorrow
- what television remotes can really do
- what soft cat food tastes like
- a spilled water dish can really be like a swimming pool
- Goldfish crackers are great entertainment for the dog
- "Babies" (Dolls) like the toilet too
- Taking a bath is easy--once you get in the tub and turn on the water
- Dad's electric razor makes a cool noise when you turn it on (and hey, what does it do when I brush it on my hair?)

But, I must add, she has also learned how to sit quietly (for about 15 minutes) and color (yes on paper), watch a show she enjoys for more than 10 minutes, and to dance with her brother for more hours than I can count (just not in a row). It's a mixed blessing. Or adventure. Depending on how you look at it.

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I am the epitamy of a ragged Mom

Sunday, March 01, 2009 by Bethany

My daughter and I are having a bit of difficulty. I don't know that she is having as many issues as I am, but alas, there are tears on both ends and some loose nerves on mine.

The poor dear found herself the first in the family with the Nasty Cold of Winter 2008-09 in the past few weeks (who hasn't?). And it hung on, until we were all miserable. But through it all she demanded I hold her. And nurse her. Hold her some more. And then more holding. And well, I couldn't put her down for anything. Not even to sleep. The little clinger would either connect herself to my breast to "nurse" (and I do realize at this point it was for total comfort instead of nutrition) and/or scream bloody murder at the idea of me leaving her side. Even when I was miserably sick with a sinus headache that made me want to vomit and cuddle deep under the covers where I could hear not a peep from anyone. Including a screaming sickly baby.

At the tail end of that madness, saying we breezed through that cold is lying. I kicked and screamed as much as my daughter at what I had to go through to get better... and that included 2 days off of work. Which for most would mean they were getting better and resting. For me, meant I was at home with my sickly/screaming daughter just making it through the day without killing someone.

But this moodiness, this clinginess, this screaming? It's not just because she is sick. Really, it's been going on since December. Only difference is--when she is NOT sick, every now and again I get that giggle and smile that make me think that hey, carrying her on my arm 24 hours a day is just fine and perfect. I mean she is likely our last kidling, how bad can it be? Well. Try it for 3 days. Then 7. Then 20 and you tell me. It is nearing 60 or more days on this end, when you catch up tell me how you feel.

My husband (bless him) has tried. He's tended to her needs. Changed a diaper while she screamed for me, held her (literally for dear life) in the other room while I went to the restroom. Tried to comfort her at 2am and a myriad of other things. But all end in even more screaming, both parties being frustrated, and nothing close to relaxation for me. Right now, the only way to "get away" from it all, is to literally get away. Which, when you pay for a babysitter 5 days a week so you can go to a paying job, is hard to justify on the weekends. Not to mention, I pay for being away that extra day. Quite literally.

Saying my daughter is strong-willed, is an understatement. It is pure fact. And, hey, it is a lovely attribute, when it isn't intruding on my sanity. And that is exactly what it is doing right now. I need time for me. To recharge. Hell, I'd love to write and read and just take a bath. But at the moment, I just need breathing room. It's taken me over an hour to get this much of my thoughts written for this post because The Peanut has demanded my lap (to cuddle) and my breast (to nurse) and my heart (since she just doesn't give up).

Sure, sure my son had some of these same tendencies. But Dad could step in and entertain him for a 15 minute spell. And it lasted a few weeks here and there and suddenly he'd become independent and give me some relief. But this daughter 'o mine? Not happening. And here I was hoping for a Daddy's Girl.

It's not that I don't cherish moments with her--I do. I mean just this morning after a night of crying out every hour or so for no reason other than that she is developmentally working through something in her brain--she reached up, touched my cheek and when I opened my eyes, she grinned wide and said, "Mama." I melted. Just until she then screeched, "UUUUP!" and then kicked her feet furiously until I obeyed.

Parenting kicks your ass. It shows you how easy you had it before, but what wonderful creatures children are. You wonder how you lived life without them in your life, but in the same breath wait for a moment alone so you feel like your old self again. As much as I know it is "wrong" to complain about my children and husband in every breath--it's happening on most days. All because I just need a little room to be selfish. And, even though I've requested it through various angles, they always become foiled (this last time due to this sickness hell of the past month). I'm becoming monotonous. It's an old story--suburban mom worn out, tired, cranky, and selfish. But yet, it's consumed me to the point that I am just tired.

We went to an indoor water park this past weekend to rid ourselves of the winter blues. The plan was to spend the day splashing in the water, relaxing and pretending it was summer. Unfortunately, I felt nothing of the sort. I did rid myself of the overwhelming urge to plan and work through issues in the day job (which is the point of a vacation day), but spend most of the rest of the day chasing my 18-mo-old daughter from going too deep in the water, pulling her away from the "big kid" water slides, and then trying to warm her up from the chilled air (into the hot tub). The young toddler stage is always hard--the kids won't stand still for more than a minute--but I felt very little relax and have fun time. Hell, I got one water slide ride for a 2 and a half hour ordeal. Again, it isn't because the husband didn't try to amuse my daughter, nope, she just wanted to hang on my leg and then cry TO ME when she didn't get to follow her brother into the slide area.

But again, you see my point, I should have enjoyed the time, instead I felt myself trying not to become agitated. And my husband reminded me pointedly of my attitude when I was ready to bite my son's head off for pointing the water canon my way (thank God for husbands that tell you like it is). Sure in the end, I did relax a little. But I will admit, I was more thankful (and rested) when both kids fell asleep in the car on the way home. And that, to me, is pretty sad. And even more sad that a whole 40 minutes later, The Peanut back on my hip, was crying and moaning because her nose was draining and she didn't like any of the food I offered up to her.

I'd like to hope this is the start of the Terrible Twos a bit early. But in reality, I just know I have a strong-willed, stubborn, gonna-do-what-I-want sorta daughter. And, although, I think that is a good thing in the bigger picture of her life... right now, I just want a little down time from it all. I need all the rest I can get before she turns 13.

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We Cosleep

Monday, January 26, 2009 by Bethany

This is no profound exclamation as you may remember we tried NOT to for the first two years of my son's life. Then caved (so to speak) and imagine our surprise when he immediately started sleeping through the night because he could roll over and touch me.

So with The Peanut, we've gone the other way... Bassinet when she was a wee thing then right smack dab in the middle of the king size bed. No quibbling. No pressure from family members to try to change our minds. And no first-time parenting guilt that we were doing the wrong thing. The baby slept fine, I slept better, and it all seemed fine and well.

Until she started kicking. And rolling havoc all over the bed. Her mind must be cranking away on some developmental milestone (or at least that is what I am leading myself to believe) because she can't make it a night without planting a heel into my side in one of her kicking fits.

You think I am kidding when I say "fit?" Well imagine a 16-month-old crying out, then lifting both legs as high as she can and "banging" them down into the bed--I mean really hammering them down" over and over and over and over again. Yup. That's my girl!

This was all normal for my son too. Though he didn't have so much of a fit, as a leg swing (imagine a high side kick). And I got used to a half-haze of rolling him back over, planting an arm over his legs so he wouldn't side kick me, and waking up in the midst of his middle of the night work out to just calm him down.

It is all normal I suppose. But now it is keeping me up. Because not only is she waking me, she is waking up the husband. Which, um, could be the worst possible thing to do (as a self-professed insomnia sufferer, this could cause him to be up the rest of the night). And here, I thought I'd never have issues sleeping... but it has caused a bit of insomnia with yours truly as well. Yup. She wakes me, I cause her stirring to subside and then I lie awake. Staring. Listening. Trying to think of anything to get me to sleep. Which only makes me think or work. Or the laundry that I need to do. Or going to the bathroom. And my now she wants to nurse again so I figuratively tied to the bed.

So, I am crossing fingers, toes and all appendages (at least virtually), this stage in her sleep habits will end as shortly as it came about. First, because we all want sleep. And secondly... can you imagine her ab muscles?... I just need to have a clear head in my mornings these days so I am not forgetting lunches, homework and all things important in running a household (and keeping a day job).

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All I Want For Christmas is Her Two Front Teeth

Monday, December 15, 2008 by Bethany

My daughter is finally getting in those two front teeth. About 2 months ago the bottom two broke through and all hell broke loose. I didn't know what was coming. The screaming. Fussiness. And general unhappiness around those gums breaking apart to let bones break through. And then these two decided to make an appearance.

Part of me is happier than a clam--she can venture into larger more dense foods! The other part--the one that likes sleep and quiet--is ready to curl in the fetal position under my bed and stay there for the next 2 weeks until she works through this uncomfort. Today was the tip of an ever enlarging iceberg that I'd give my left arm to break off and let her chew until the teeth decided to grow in. But ice, could lead to choking, and choking to um.. death. And well social services does not to be called. And I don't need and close encounters to the law or death. It might throw me ever-closer to the edge of reason. I'm close enough with all the screaming around here. Not to mention the holidays that are just around a corner I haven't even started preparing for.

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Being Mom

Sunday, October 05, 2008 by Bethany

Everyone says my daughter has my eyes. "Smiling Eyes" is what they call them--and they are adorned with a bit of a mischievous twinkle and a shape to them that shows she's nothing but a handful of joy (and emotions that I didn't experience to the fullest with my son).

It's funny. I see the twinkle. And I see the air of mischievousness in them. And man, when she smiles, I see it in her eyes. But do they look like me? These days, my eyes look everything tired. And older than they have in years. It might be the lack of sleep. The stress of work. Or the entanglement of all of the family schedules into one and my frustration (and exhaustion) of trying to pull all of them together into one cohesive unit. Either way--I'm wondering what else I have passed on to my daughter. If I indeed have these eyes, I hope they are one of the good things I've passed along. As I have a whole slew of traits I hope she doesn't catch on.

My self-consciousness could be tossed out the window. I want her to be confident and sure of herself and her skills. There is nothing I could be more proud of--a daughter that knows she's got the right stuff and learns from others (that last part can be hard, but I hope that she is humble too). I also hope she stops and "smells the roses" from time to time. Being an eldest child, I rushed life. I wanted to be 15 when I was 12. And 21 when I was 18. During that whole wish to be older thing, I think I missed some of the better parts of my life. Or at least sped by them as fast as possible so I could move on to what I thought would be a better time for me. It was... but every year we grow older, we lose some of the innocence and naivety of the past. AND that, my friends, sucks. Naivety can be a good thing sometimes. It lets you be free. Enjoy the moment and easily ignore what could be a downfall. The current predicament I find myself in now.

I've gotten more responsibility at work than I ever wanted. Really. I was happy staying at the current ladder rung I was assigned. Working my damnedest and being the best I could be. There. No higher and no lower. That way, I could focus on family (now with one more). And write. And spend time doing things I love. But (there's always one). Life had other plans. Now, I find that I have a To Do List piling up higher than before and less energy to deal with the important things. And here I am, still working through it to do the best that I can do. For work. Another trait that does well for a career--but is it the best for family and home? How about the self?

I'm not knocking the job. I have one. As stable as it can be in these times. Overall, I even enjoy it. But I wonder if I dedicate too much of myself (my true self) to this job. This career. That really, in tough times, could be dropped at any moment (it is business after all). And then what will I have left? No one will remember me as that great employee. They remember good people. People that defied odds. That went after something with the heart and gut. Not a Corporate Ladder Climber that found herself in a great position. Or is this just me?

What I'm getting at (long-winded of course), is that I want my daughter to have a sense of self AND a sense of balance. I don't think I ever have had a clear sense of either. Maybe until now or not ever. I mean, we can "give it all we have" in any profession and even as a mother. But, is that really a sense of self? Not in my book. We need to reach for dreams we've always had. New ones that come to us in our daydreams. And we need to balance it with all the other important things in life--friends, family, self, health. It's a shame I am worried I won't be able to instill this into my daughter. Or that I am worried I will fail at it. But I look at my son now, and at 5 years old, he's got balance down. All you really care about is yourself and your immediate family (which is the important stuff in that part of your life) All those other variables don't exist yet. But I see them. I see school intruding. And his hesitancy in participating because he doesn't know if he can do it well enough. As a mother, my worry is starting. I want him to be HIM.

To laugh, to draw, to reach for the impossible. Just like my daughter. Just like I wanted to do when I was 5. Or 12. Or 18. Or 22. But what happens, is the dream I had when I was 12, gets molded differently because of a comment or judgement from another. And by the time I was 22, the dream changed. Not deep in my heart, but in the logical part of my brain. And I never want to be the one imposing those other variables to my children. Especially to my daughter. Because, let's face it, she'll probably be the most like me. Or face at least similar challenges that I have. She'll be a woman one day too. And that is something, I can't share with my son.

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Who said Friday's can't be as much fun as Saturdays?

Friday, August 01, 2008 by Bethany

After a late night working, waking with the 11-month-old at 5am, a headache, sore throat, and multiple phone calls and emails, The Husband and the best idea ever: "leave" work early and head to the beach (metaphorically leave the office of course, I was working from home).

Really, all he would have had to do was wink at me suggestively and I would have done anything he said--but the beach? He was sent to me by a God, I am sure if it. Faster than fast, I sent those few more e-mails, collected swim suits for all involved, towels, snacks, sun tan lotion, and a whole lot of sand toys and we were off.

It was excellent. No crowds. Excellent afternoon weather. Warm water. And my daughter completely enamored with the idea of a gigantic bath tub OUTSIDE. She didn't know what to do with herself. Much like The Kiddo, that could barely step out of his sandal and T-shirt to bound into the water.

Sadly, I'll admit this is our first beach trip this summer. And it's August. And I'm the worst parent ever to not get into the fun of all of this until now. But dammit, I've been busy. But dammit, we're doing it again. Maybe tomorrow. Or next weekend. Or sometime. It was just heavenly. Even with the headache that just won't go away. And the sore throat that is hanging tight. But it was nothing a little sun couldn't make me ignore for a couple hours this afternoon.

Mark my words... best Friday ever.

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Do I Look Good Naked?

Wednesday, July 23, 2008 by Bethany

Long before children, I slept naked. There. I admitted something personal on the Internet. I'll blame the sleeping habit on my husband. He chose the nude as sleeping attire, curious if it would be as freeing as he claimed, I gave it a shot. Surprisingly, I too loved it. That is, until the children were born. And I was getting up at all hours of the night to nurse (my son born at the end of November, close to the dead of winter). I soon gave up the habit. But this isn't about me...

Last week I read Anna Johnson's THE YUMMY MUMMY MANIFESTO. She's all about choosing your own parenting style and a little bit of nakedness. Sometimes in the rain. What does this have to do with me and my old sleeping habits? Not a whole helluva lot--except maybe if I was a bit more free-living, I'd enjoy being naked more. Or say I lost a good 50 lbs. Though I must say, still nursing, I just don't wear a shirt half the time anymore. It's easier. At least when I am at home.

Anyway, this has to do with The Peanut, my daughter. We, as Americans, have this thing with changing diapers and then putting kids in clothing. Whether just a onsie or wrapping in a blanket or whatever. I admit, my kids naked a whole 30 minutes for bath time and then I slap on a diaper and some sorta of clothing. Mostly because I don't want her peeing (or worse shitting) all over the joint. And, of course, I don't want her to freeze her ass of in the post-bath wetness.

Today? Today, I let the kid crawl, scoot, sit, do whatever a 10-month-old does for over an hour completely naked. Did I worry she would piss all over? Hell yeah. But at the same time... she laughed herself silly when she held onto her Elmo stuffed animal and the fur rubbed her belly. She clapped (and clapped and clapped) when she accidentally smacked her hand on that same bare belly. And hell if she didn't crawl for a bit and then stop after she felt a bit of the wind on her ass. It was hilarious to watch. And just a joy to watch her be free.

Not exactly sure what she was free from--other than her clothing. But I realized, when trying to wrestler her back into her clothes (and it really was a wrestling match full of yelling, crying, kicking, and a few wiggles free), that she loved it. I loved watching her with no reservations--and that is a good thing. Especially, since if I really think about it. I'm not naked more often for the obvious reasons--open windows, children running amok in the house--but also because I am not exactly comfortable with my naked self. And I'll be damned, I should really start working on that.

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Lovely Child, she is

Tuesday, July 22, 2008 by Bethany

Ever try to go to the bathroom with a 10-month-old hanging on your knees? How about laundry? Dishes? Cooking dinner? Working? Seriously, if my daughter could just hang on there and walk with me, I might be a happier person right now.

Instead, my back is aching from the constant picking up and carrying. And of course my head almost aches as much from the crying.

God love her. But, I just need a teeny, tiny break. One that involves less knee biting and a lot less crying.

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And so it begins

Friday, June 20, 2008 by Bethany

"I kid Mom, I kid."

This from The Kiddo, in reference to a joke he shared with his sister. A private joke. I don't know how much a 5-year-old and almost 10-month-old can share yet, but let me tell you--she found it hilarious.

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For Crying Out Loud

Monday, June 02, 2008 by Bethany

My 9-month-old daughter is a bit expressive. And by "a bit" I mean, she yells when she wants to be heard. Which is a lot. Case(s) in point(s):

- Just this past week I placed her in these cute little red pants with white polka dots. She loves the pants. Mesmerized by them really. It is the fascinating trick the eyes play with those polka dots. Only issue is that she wants to touch the dots. I guess literally. Patting furiously with her hands on her pant legs isn't enough. Or doesn't have the desired effect she was looking for. And, I hear about it. On many decibels levels.

- Two kids playing together should be a cute picture. Especially when they are cousins (or 2nd cousins once removed, or whatever the technical terms are). And both girly girls. And not fighting. Should be damn cute to watch. And is. Until The Peanut decides that the 2-yr-old cousin's hair looks so darn cool she wants to touch it. Literally. The 2 year old cousin says an adamant "No." Either way, you can see where this leads. More "expressive" yelling that makes me wonder if girls are always emotional from birth.

- Then there is the holding thing. The I-Always-Must-Be-Held-Because-I-Am-Cute thing. Sure, she is damn cute. And smiley. When I am holding her. But a woman's gotta pee. And take showers. And say, WORK every now and again. Quite simply, my arms are tired. The "expressiveness" is wearing off.

- You know it's bad when the pediatrician notices. And he did. Just on Friday during the 9-month-old wellness appointment. If The Peanut did not like being on the table, she told me. Yelled at me actually. Not the whimpering crying, it was an all out yell, "Mo-o-o-ommmma!" Succinct and to the point. Over and over. During the ENTIRE exam. Thank God our pediatrician is a delight. He only smiled and said, "Very expressive for 9 months." When I know he really wanted to say, "When she's two you might want to consider taking some calming drugs to keep yourself sane."

Don't get me wrong. I want my daughter to talk to her heart's delight. To tell the world her tale and not to be taken advantage of--ever. But, I'm a little concerned this "expressiveness" will take a turn toward the bitchiness. Or spoiled I Will Get What I Want No Matter What Syndrome. That honestly, I can't handle. Not in adults, nor in my 9 month old kid. I think I might just cry over this one.

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If I'd had time to post yesterday

Thursday, May 08, 2008 by Bethany

It was so crazy busy from the time I opened my eyes yesterday--that I barely made it in time to my office for The Meeting. You know, one of those Must Be Present Meetings Or You Look Bad ones. Yeah. Nice way to start your morning. That and the fact that I was worried The Peanut wouldn't have enough pumped milk. So, I sat in my bathroom as my sitter had the baby in the living room and tried to pump a few more ounces before I left. Thus... my lateness.

But the pumping and breast milk thing gets better. Work was so crazy that I didn't have time to pump there (and ongoing problem I am having. And why I was worried about The Peanut above). It gets good beyond this point--so if you don't want to hear how crazy I am or about pumping or breast milk--just skip down to the next paragraph. It'll save you the details. Gone? Okay good. So, here's the real deal. I pumped in the car. Yes. My Handy Dandy Mega pump has a battery adapter. Combine that with my super sports bra, I threw caution to the wind (and my modesty) and pumped in the car. T-shirt covered all areas of concern, but I am sure I turned a few heads. Am I nuts? Sure. It's the least of my worries right now.

Onto other items....

If I would have had time I also would have shared that while I intended on driving to Bed, Bath and Beyond to exchange a few bath towels for the right size, I also landed in Old Navy. I love that place. And true to my previous store experiences, had a cart full of clothes to prove it. Summer clothes. T-shirts, fun ballet shoes, and some drawstring jeans that I am totally in love with. And this fun red/tan/yellow print flowy shirt that will be a must wear for work. So I was feeling pretty good. Especially when I got home, put them on, and they all fit. That is, until I was pumping breast milk in said outfit yesterday as I was leaving my office. Does it get better than this?

Oh and Target diapers! How come no one clued me in on how cute and awesome these are? Not only are the cheaper than the name brand, they feel very good to the touch. Smooth. Light. Comfy. They sure as hell better hold in the waste of my daughter or it just might burst my Target bubble. And we don't want that. Would be as bad as bursting my Old Navy love.

And the book review. Yes, I wrote this lovely book review for THE GAY UNCLE'S GUIDE TO PARENTING by Brett Berk for Poshmama. It's a lovely, fun, snarky, and real book about parenting. You need to register and be a woman to read the review. But let me just say this. It's fun. It's a fun read. Even if you are already in the throws of parenthood.

Speaking of writing, there's chapter 5 of LIFE AS GRETA at Hybrid Mom too. And yeah, by some miracle I've been able to juggle this all together with my daughter who just doesn't want to sleep anymore. And my husband's schedule which is as crazy as mine. In fact, he's gone all weekend again. Fun times in sorta single parenting again. Though, to his credit, he'll be home after 9pm. Which, can mean fun times. If you know what I mean.

Anyway, I could keep ranting. Or sharing. Or whatever it is I do on this blog. But right now my brain has dumped all it has right now. I think I can collect enough thoughts for tomorrow. Or at least that is the plan.

UPDATED: And if I get ONE MORE MESSAGE from someone trying to get me to post some crap review about mother's day gifts... WTF? Seriously. You people can't fool me. Avid reader my ass. You're looking for free advertising. Not. Going. To. Get. It. Here. I only pimp what I know. And I don't know you from Adam.

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Thanks Peanut. For your sleep sigh.

Saturday, April 12, 2008 by Bethany

My daughter makes this little moaning noise, just as she falls asleep. Every nap. Every bedtime. Every night. This little sigh, to remind me, that yep, I'm gone into dreamland.

I never want to forget that sound. Especially after the 12+ hours of extended work I endured on my Saturday. Work that I might have to repeat tomorrow.

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It's Friday and I'm Still Working

Friday, April 11, 2008 by Bethany

Talk about a sucky beginning to my weekend. And it's not going to end. All. Weekend. Long. Yep, working through the weekend. That's what I get for volunteering for a high profile project. But don't let me bore you with the details here (hell, I could lose my job). Let's move on to the finer highlights of my Friday:

- The baby decided to save all her shit for me. Did that sound bad? Well it was meant to be literal. The baby sitter's here and she's all laughs and pissy diapers. The minute the sitter leaves? She gets the blow-out diapers no one wants to deal with (Four of them!). But, alas, it's part of the job description.

- Wood chips and puddles ruined a perfectly good pair of socks. The Kiddo was home today. After a couple-hour conference call this morning, I shuffled out the door to the new play set in the backyard (outdoor time after a rain is good right?). Only, it ended up evolving into endless questions about wet swing seats ("Here's a towel!"), puddles on the slide ("Here's another towel!"), Dog poop on his shoes ("What's up with the shit today?" and "Take a paper towel this time!"), and of course, the how come my pants are wet iterations. And the inevitable stocking foot step into the wood chip ridden puddle that happened to have a bit of dog shit mixed it. I wasn't stupid enough to just step in it once--that I did, then swore, then stepped back in it again while hoping to avoid the baby crawling into the mess. One pair of new white socks down (because washing them would be too easy)...

- Lunch at 4pm. Yep, it's been my latest lunch time. It sucks really because by then I'm shaky, cranky, and so pumped up with caffeine (coffee is my friend), I'd be better off hooking up an IV to fill my ulcered stomach

- Barking to awake the one nap my child easily went down for today. But this is normal behavior. So it isn't like I can complain that it's any worse today than it was yesterday. Though yesterday, I thought I might have my weekend to watch chic flicks and eat popcorn. Aw, optimism.

But really, it wasn't all bad. After the barking spasm by the dog and counseling the crying baby, I had one of those If This Moment Could Last Forever instances that melts your heart. The Peanut was on the floor army crawling to these little ball thingies. Loving her new mobility she scoots forward and giggles herself til she has hiccups. And, I, being all about the laughing, rolled her over to enjoy in her moment of happiness. We played raspberries, tickles, more crawling and pushing the ball around... all while my son joined in the fun. And we laughed. All of us. And that, might just make up for the crappy weekend or work. Maybe.

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Don't Jinx A Good Thing

Wednesday, March 26, 2008 by Bethany

Remember when I said I Need My Daughter To Want Me? Yeah. So, you should have shot me then. The last two days, she's needed more than life itself, which has caused me to hate my life more than life itself. I mean, seriously, having a child scream her head off when you take a moment to go to the bathroom? Mind you, she is lying on the bath mat IN FRONT OF ME while I am taking a piss...

Now, if that were the only issue, I wouldn't complain. I swear. But it's worse. Much worse. Let me tell you about the current bed time routine (and why I am posting at this God awful hour). She starts rubbing her eyes, screeches louder than normal, and the 5 seconds I can normally put her down so I can say--rub my own eyes-has dissipated into nothing but screaming sessions. All of the above--means bedtime. She gets love from her Big Bro, from The Husband and we are off to bed. Nursing. And Nursing. More nursing. And... wait... she doesn't let go. EVER. Or when she does, it takes a whole 30 seconds for the wailing to start.

God do I hate this "phase." Or whatever it is. My son did the same damn thing. And it sucks. Forget writing late into the night. Working late. Or say dishes. Or even an adult conversation with my husband. Or any conversation. I'm stuck in the bedroom with a child from 8pm until she let's go of my boob. Which tonight was a whole 30 minutes ago. Six hours of non-stop nursing. And let me tell you--this kid doesn't doze off while doing the deed. I've tried every trick in the book and it only leads to more crying and then more nursing.

So here I am. 3am. It's sorta nice. Quiet. But not conducive for the load of laundry I just put in. Or emptying and then re-filling the dishwasher. Sure I did it, but I think I woke The Husband. I can't stop the dishes from banging around. Or the washer from being noisy on spin cycle. But hey, I'm not nursing--and I can't beat that at the moment!

Only in three hours... I just might kill myself. Shower. Conference call. And then, yes, I am heading to the office. Talk about craziness.

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The Middle of the Night Memories

Friday, March 14, 2008 by Bethany

Some nights I want my daughter to cry out for me, to snuggle, and to nestle in my arms or along my chest for some comfort. Some nights I yearn for her to "need" me. And other nights, I'd give up almost anything for her to not want me. Which has been almost every night this week, but tonight.

The night she is finally getting back to her normal self, cold finally winding down, and feverishness gone... she is asleep. Deep into baby dreamland and seemingly far, far away from me. And at this moment, I'd love for her to cry for me. So I could hold her. Smell her soft skin, and nestle her fine hair against my chin. I need to hold her.

My son now has this nasty cold. The one, I too am battling with tissue and endless amounts of Tylenol in hopes it keeps the fever at bay. But my son has a harder battle--his asthma is wanting to kick in. We've done a few breathing treatments and I'm waiting to hear him cough from his bedroom. The endless tickle that won't go away--and thus has his gasping for breath. I know that by 4am it is likely I'll be up with him for another breathing treatment, of if I am lucky just a puff of his inhaler.

The need to hold him is different now. Not so long ago, I had the same urges with him--the snuggles, the nestling, and of course the hugs only a mom and son can enjoy. But now that he is older they have changed. Sure, this morning, he ever-so gently climbed into bed after his Dad left for work and snuggled with me. The first time in over 6 months. He even dozed back into sleep for a short time. Until the baby started crying. It was nice. But not the same. He's suddenly a boy. A lanky five-year-old boy that doesn't have the fine dewy hair. Or the baby smell. Or the same snuggles he had when he was a wee thing. And, pitifully, I miss the baby version of him. Where did the time go?

We've (as in the husband and I) have been giving The Kiddo major props for "being a big boy." He's slept through the night in his room for a week now. Promises of treats at Build a Bear abound... but yet, never fails at 4am (or thereabouts) I wander down the hall to listen for him in his room. For his even breaths. His tossing and turning. For his sense of being. I do miss him coming to our room. Even for these new snuggles. And even the jabs in the leg or arm that came with his sudden new height. But, I knew--even before The Peanut's arrival--he'd eventually move to his room. And it seems he has. For the most part.

So, now, I have The Peanut. And all her baby goodness. I'm worried that come 4 years from now, I will lose all memory of her middle of the night snuggles too. Of her soft hand on my cheek or arm. Of those nose to arm nestles that she does to wake me to nurse. It's all so precious. And the first time around, I don't think I realized just how precious it was. Now that I know, I'm not sure I want to give it up so easily.

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Supermom Complex Exposed

Wednesday, March 12, 2008 by Bethany

Some time between midnight and 2am last night I realized my daughter was sick. Her flushed, warm cheeks were rubbing against my neck, smearing snot all over the neck of the T-shirt I had yet to change out of, and she hadn't slept more than a 40 minute stretch. Even with coaxing, snuggling, and endless nursing. In fact, the nursing situation wasn't exactly textbook. She was slurping, pulling, and having a hard time with the logistics of it all--very a-typical of her behavior since birth. And no wonder, a cold suddenly found itself lodged in her sinuses. So much so, 102 degree temperatures plagued her the entire night. Even with healthy doses of Tylenol and Motrin.

Nothing secures your position as mother until you have a sick kid in the house. All the worry in the world won't help you at 4am when you are rocking the kid for the 8 millionth time and you are craving sleep more than your life itself. But in the same breath, you'd give that same life just for the child TO GET BETTER.

My son has had infant asthma issues since he was The Peanuts age (6 months). So far, she's weathered 2 of these nasty virus colds and came out golden. Not one breathing infection--or ear infection for that matter (knock on wood... we aren't taking chances here). And I am happy for that. But today--I'd be happy for more than 20 minutes of consecutive sleep myself. Of 10 minutes of child free arms and breasts. The Peanut is all about the skin to skin contact right now, and although I can't blame her, I'm worn out.

Only a few short days ago, I was thinking maybe I could do this whole Supermom complex. You know the thought--I can work full time, take care of the kidlings, keep a decent house somewhat clean, and write. And sorta keep it all in balance. But then something like this reminds you of the fragility of that damn balance.

With little more than a few hours sleep, I did something I normally never do--I called in sick. Completely utterly off the work radar. No calls. No e-mails. Don't contact me unless the world is ending sorta day off. It was nice. Well, that is if I could have slept some more. But, I'm not complaining. The Kiddo was at pre-school and I could concentrate on making sure The Peanut was getting better.

Whether this Whole Day Off To Make Kid Better Thing worked or not is another thing. She's still sniffley. Doesn't want to sleep. And warmer than warm. But at least today, I feel like I did what I needed to do for her. And I guess, that is what matters.

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Those Little Moments of Tenderness

Friday, March 07, 2008 by Bethany

My husband has a standing affair with my daughter every night about midnight. It's the first time she wakes after bedtime, and well, he won't give up that chance to run in, pick her up, kiss her, cuddle, and otherwise wake her from a bleary-eyed sleep for nothing.

In my head, I want to scold him about his "habit" of waking her up. It's brutal that he gets the fun time and then I spend the following hour getting her back to sleep. I want to tell him how unconventional this is--and when she is two-years-old we are totally gonna pay for this lack of schedule (or should I say schedule) in the middle of the night. But then I see the two of them together. The wide adoring smiles (from both). The giggles. The waving arms of joy (again, from both of them). And I remember why I married my husband. And why I chose to have children. For those very instant moments of pure love and joy.

I can't ruin the fun. The husband works hard. Too hard really when you look at the 12 hours a day (sometimes more) he's wrestling with work. And for The Peanut who screams in something that can only be called delight when he arrives back home? This is the child, who if going to bed early, will WAKE UP at the sound of her Daddy's voice. That is something that I refuse to mess with. Not only would I resent myself for taking that delight away from her--well, I think I'd kill just a little bit of my husband's heart in the process. And I can't have that weighing on my shoulders forever. Especially when I can sit back and watch these moments of tenderness, love, and fun between daughter and father. They'll only be there for so long and then disappear into something else.

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Here's to Never Sleeping Alone

Wednesday, February 27, 2008 by Bethany

We kicked my son out of bed about 3 months ago. We'd always aimed for him to go to bed in his room and inevitably by 4am the pitter patter of little feet found their way into our bedroom and between us in bed. That is until his legs and arms took over and knocked one into a fat lip the next morning (thankfully my husband bore that scar). Then the poor kid was banished to the floor. On a mat with his favorite sleeping bag of all time--Spiderman.

Same routine every night. Go to bed in his room--and now every third night he'll make it until the sun creeps up before swishing onto our bedroom floor next to the dog bed. Hey, it's what we do to survive. And when he was near 1 years old, well, I wouldn't have slept a wink if I would have insisted on his own room/crib sleeping. Sleep training wasn't our thing--and still isn't with The Peanut.

In fact, this time around, we're even more lenient. And I am even less inclined to listen to any unsolicited sleep training advice because frankly, I don't care. We do what works for us, and this works.

Early on we tried so hard not to do this--hell my husband petitioned against me doing the whole co-sleeping thing. He wanted the marriage bed (and likely a little romance) to remain what it was. But as everyone knows, you have a baby and that doesn't matter so much. Well... at least for the first 6 weeks (or so). Moreover, after 3 months of nursing every hour and half (for 40 minutes a shot), he wanted a wife and best friend back. Hell, I wanted her back. I was nothing short of a walking zombie that took care of the kid and worked most days simultaneously.

And so began co-sleeping and our routine, of start of evening in crib/kid room and then move to mom and dad's big king size bed that now felt like it was a full. Which, to my surprise (and the hubby's), came as a pleasant bonding moment for my husband. He snuggled. He cooed. And he held my son in the night when he awoke. Things he wasn't doing so much when he was in the crib screaming. Because when one of us climbed the stairs for the 100th time that night--it was for one thing. To bring the kid to me, the milk bar, to nurse. Not to mention the frustration that crept in because no one was sleeping in the house.

Now with the Peanut, we accepted the nature of nursing and don't bother most nights with the sleep in your crib routine. Why bother? I'm tired, the husband's tired, the baby is tired.... oh, you get the idea (and don't you think romance is out--after 5 years of practice, we've become creative. Yes. Just go with your imagination. It's likely been done here. Cough. cough).

This
time, I know my husband's on board--not only for the cooing, middle of the night bonding, and all things that come with 6 month old patting his arm at 3am for a bit of attention--he's also just made the "bed" on the floor for The Kiddo. Complete with an extra quilt for softness and another atop for warmth. And two extra pillows. It's a full house in our room almost every night (in fact when The Kiddo sleeps in his Big Kid Room, I always wake up and notice). But it is also a wonderful thing. I count each deep snoring breath from all three of the others (oh and the dog and 2 cats) as a sign of our love. Or at least know that we are all sleeping.

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Washed up Memories

Friday, February 15, 2008 by Bethany

My daughter has so many cute qualities my heard hurts when I think of them. And then I am immediately appalled that I can barely remember my son's just as cute qualities at the same age. How is it that we so easily forget. Because when I think back to his barely 6-month-old life, all I remember are sleepless nights of nursing every hour. And being so tired I couldn't even think straight.

I know he said cute babble words like "blah, blah, blah!" and that he did the baby sign for nurse (all the time in fact) as well as having a very healthy laugh that made my heart burst every time I heard it (and at this age, I remember it was a goal to see how many times I could make him laugh).

But the rest of it--the way he smelled after a bath, his night time snuggling, the way his toes curled when he nursed, or the way he pushed his nose onto my neck, and he let he cheek rest on mine... it's gone. The memories are gone. Watching (and experiencing) this with my daughter, I am begging for them back. Please. Otherwise I might be the mom on the block with 11 kids. I love these moments.

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Tell me this doesn't break your heart into a million pieces

Tuesday, February 12, 2008 by Bethany

Last night I was asleep. Deep sleep. As in, dark everywhere, deep breathing, no one awake in the house but our one cat who's the night owl. Sleeping, dreaming... until, I felt a small hand patting my cheek. Oblivious, I probably kept sleeping, but the warm hand kept petting my cheek over and over (and over again). Finally, I stirred enough to wake. But only to lift one eyelid.

I am looking straight into my almost 6-month-old daughter's face. She's grinning.

Her little hand, moves from my face and begins patting my chest. This is the baby sign to nurse. So we do. No sooner does she finish up, she falls back asleep.

She's a smart one isn't she?

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Is it me?

Tuesday, January 08, 2008 by Bethany

I can't help but wonder, am I the cause for The Peanuts *gassy* issues? Or say, the issues she has every morning, when she can't... how can I say this... pass a bowel movement? They (as in medical practitioners) say what a mother eats when she is breastfeeding affects the child. If all the grunting and groaning she does from about 6am - 7:30am every morning (without completely waking up) can be addressed, well I'd damn near kill myself trying to stop it too. Because, man, I could sleep for another hour. Every mother can understand that. Right?

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You know it's a bad day when the highlight is having your son give a urine sample

Saturday, December 01, 2007 by Bethany

Have you brought your child to their 5-year wellness check up yet? Let me warn you now. Shots! Lots and lots of shots. Four of them to be exact. And then they draw some blood. Oh and the lovely urine sample. And I am not kidding in the least when I tell you the highlight really was the whole urine sample thing--he wasn't crying.

I thought the newborn immunization shots were horrible to suffer through. And then you had to suffer through the 2-month immunizations (there were four then too). But no one (and I mean no one) prepared me for today.

The Kiddo turned five yesterday. We had tons of fun--pizza, presents, party, and well the Eye-Clops (great fun toy for a 5 year old. Or at least mine who has a mine of fun things waiting to magnify tomorrow). Fun way to start the weekend early and enjoy my last few days of freedom before starting up the full-time day job again next week. But then... yes, we have the 5 year wellness check up.

All was well and good when we arrived. The Peanut had fallen asleep along the way, we were in round 7 of a game of I Spy in the waiting room, and then we were called back to the examination room. Normally, the whole examination thing is painless. The Kiddo entertains the doctor, and the doctor makes The Kiddo laugh while getting his job done. But today, my kid's inquisition took over---he asked about shots. The dreaded shots. And I am not one for lying to my kids, so we told him. He's need four. Four. Shots.

It didn't quite go over well with him either. Immediately--as if his world had ended--he broke into sobs. Sobs that only a mother could bear to look at without cringing. The ugly sobs continued as he tried to negotiate out of them.

"Mom, I'll sleep in my big bed all night long every night...." Sob.

"If we just do one shot, I'll be good forever!" Sob.

"I'll clean my room whenever you ask me too..." More sobs. This time with a little bit more of those hiccup-I-can't-catch-my-breath-I-am-crying-too-much sobs.

And believe you me--all those promises, I'd have taken them over the shots if I could. Only they are required for day care. And kindergarten, which starts next year. We didn't have a choice. So the wailing continued.

I'd like to tell you that he calmed down by the time the nurse re-entered to administer the nasty things, but it only intensified. So much so--well, I don't want to relive the moment. I've never seem my kid this bent out of shape. Nor has my sweater that was completely covered in snot, spit, and tears from the left shoulder all the way down to my waist (because when I stood up to then comfort The Peanut who also became to wail because Big Brother had worried her so much he then leeched onto my waist in even more tears about how awful I was for letting them do that to him). And I did feel awful. We still had to go to the lab.

Revisit the previous paragraph. The wailing and the crying? Yep, again. This time when they had to draw two vials of blood. And I got to hold him on my lap again for this one. Rinse. And Repeat. The Kiddo wailed. The baby cried. I got snot, spit, and tears on my right side this time.

Put the baby back into her carrier, shuffle The Kiddo who was barely walking half speed due to the original 4-shots (2 in each thigh) and holding me stiff armed out of the way (due to the band-aid resting squarely in his elbow joint) to the restroom. Time to explain the technical--he had to pee in a cup.

This might freak out some kids, but mine apparently find it hilarious. Especially when a few months ago, he witnessed me doing this very thing at my last OB appointment. One would never thing that having an audience while you pee--or pee in a cup for that matter--could work to their advantage. But this time it did. The Kiddo cracked up. It was either he couldn't take any more pain, had lost all sense of himself, or because he'd finally give in to being poked so many times, peeing in a cup really was painless. Maybe even fun.

And fun it was. Hand washing, cleaning with toilette wet wipe thingies, peeing, laughing at the pee in the cup. More hand washing. Writing name on sample. Getting jackets on everyone--and off we go. I barely made it out of the doctor's office alive.

That is til I got to the car and climbing in and buckling seat belts caused a bout of pain in legs and in The Kiddo's arm. This time, I lost myself in a few tears too. I mean, I'm programmed to like when my kids are in pain. Especially when I have two of them crying. I have two circular milk leaks on my shirt to prove it. Along with a front side of snot, spit and tears.

Mom badge for today? Earned. Twice.

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Nobody told me she'd scream

Friday, November 09, 2007 by Bethany

When I announced to the world that I was having a girl, I got mixed reactions. The most common was, "One of each! How lucky you are." I agreed of course, but it isn't like we made it happen that way, we really just got lucky. And technically, the sperm is to blame (or congratulate), so the luck was on all my husband's part. But anyway, that is beside the point. It was the second round of comments that took me a bit by surprise.

"She's gonna be moody. Girls are from birth."

"Just wait til she's a teenager."

"Get ready for noise."

"Expect a handful. Girls tend to be more drama queens than the boys."

Yeah. I didn't really know how to react either. I mean, when I was pregnant with my son--did I get these kind of comments? No. In fact, the number one comment I got, was, "Good for you! Someone to carry the family name." [insert eye roll here] But there wasn't a follow-up. At all. So why this time was there a need to warn me? Girls are girls. I am a girl! How could it be that different?

Well it is. But all kids are different, so I am still not feeling a big change between the two children. Except, it one tiny area. Loudness. Here's a typical afternoon in our house.

"Mom, can you come in my room for a minute?" from The Kiddo.

"Just a second hon," me with The Peanut in my arms, "let me put your sister in her swing."

"Okay!" he sprints to his bedroom in preparation.

I plop his sister into the swing, turn it to sway and play the background rain forest sounds (the only one I can stand) and turn to leave the room.

"Aaaaaaaah!" the Peanut demands as I round the corner to the hall.

"Just a minute sweetie," I holler as I take further steps towards The Kiddo's room.

"Aaaaack!" she responds.

"See Mom," The Kiddo points to the robot he's created on his floor with his plastic golf clubs, legos, empty show box, plastic bin bottom, and the gear blocks he's so fond of leaving on the floors everywhere in teh home.

"AAAAAck!" The Peanut demands.

"One more minute," I yell as sweetly as I can towards the living room, "It looks fabulous kiddo. What does this robot do?"

"It's a scratchie remover."

"AAAACK! AAAACK!"

"A scratchie remover?"

"It's the scratchies that live on your lips."

Yeah, I am at as much of a loss as you are.

"Scratchies only live on babies--"

"ACK! ACK! ACK!"

"--so I built it for the baby."

"AAAACK!"

"Okay," concerned about these scrathies I've never heard about before, but more concerned about the intense screaming of the infant in the other room, I exit the room with a forced smile on my face, "you'll have to tell me about these scratchies. I want to know about them." Three steps down the hallway I add, "But it will have to be in the living room. I have to go pay attention to your sister."

So, was everyone right? Well, sorta. The Peanut is definitely more vocal than the Kiddo was at her age. I mean, all day long I get a chorus of Ooohs, Ahhhs, Aaacks, and Goo, Gaas. And by chorus I mean a constant string of those sounds together as if she is having a deep conversation with me (and especially my husband). My son was more--how can I say this--definitive(?). He would say one syllable or sound. And then stop. A few minutes later, do it again. And then he's be quiet for a length of time. So, in that respect--sure they were right.

But as far as being more of a handful--so far, it is very much the same (at this age). The separation aspect is in full force (thus the leaving of the room screaming bit). And so is the I Don't Think I Can Sleep In Here By Myself situation. Which really does make bedtime a bit of a challenge (even though, we were prepared this time, and from birth we put The Peanut down before she was in a deep sleep). But we are managing. Just as we did before. And really, the kids aren't that different YET.

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Give it a little Wine

Tuesday, November 06, 2007 by Bethany

This weekend marked the first taste of alcohol I've had since becoming pregnant with The Peanut. We had a lovely wedding to attend, and that we did with the children (we were told we were brave on more than one occasion. Not sure if it was because of The Kiddo. He's almost 5 and completely controllable. I am pretty sure they were referring to The Peanut. All 2 months of her cuteness).

It was the typical of typical Chicago area wedding. Beautifully set tables with gorgeous fresh flower centerpieces. Lots of lace, ribbons, white table linens and china. And champagne toasts and wine. Of which I had a sip of champagne as I was rushing out of the room during the best man's toast as to not disturb his moving discourse about growing up with the groom since childhood. Not that I was going to say a peep--but the baby on my shoulder was wearing a grumpy face that was ready to burst into something called a hunger cry.

No, the alcohol came in the form of a glass a wine. With dinner. It should have been a Merlot--as it would have tasted glorious with the seasoned steak that came with dinner. But it was a Zinfandel. That good ole cheap, sweet wine that is completely my favorite. I'd also like to say I had a few glasses and relaxed a bit with the family and visiting. But what really happened was more akin to fielding a child that found the booming music completely overwhelming to and from the women's restroom and lounger. Or off to the sitting area near the entrance.

Sure the husband and I passed her back and forth so I could eat. She even had a few relatives arms hold and rock her for a while--but when the music was turned up a notch, she fell into an almost inconsolable wail. One that I was worn to a bits about after about an hour (one can only rock and pat for so long).

We hugged, kissed, and said our good-byes. As I packed up our things, realized, I'd had only half of the glass of wine. And dinner? Well, about the same.

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