Category Archives: Parenthood

An Open Letter to Baby O: One Whole Month

Dear Oliver,

So, you’re a month old and everyone is alive! I say that because, as you are aware, you and your sister are very close in age and she is sort of a monster. A monster who has just learned to walk. And then there is you. You are adorable and squishy as can be. And you need me. YOU NEED ME ALL THE TIME. I ain’t mad atcha, little guy, all newborns are this needy. In fact, possibly less so than you. You are generally a really content baby. But you need to eat really often. And you pee constantly. And you despise pee. And you haven’t yet figured out that when your sister goes to bed, it is time for Mommy and Daddy to watch True Blood or Dexter without interruption. Because this is the only adult time we get. You seem to want to wake up as soon as you can have us to yourself. And then you demand things. For several hours. And by the time you are done, your dad is in bed and Mom is ready for a bottle glass of wine. I am hoping you will get it together soon. Because I gave up drinking for a long time to make you. And I deserve some Mommy time.

 

Baby O at 13 days old.

Baby O at 13 days old.

Needless to say, little man, you and your sister are definitely keeping us busy. You, with your constant peeing and your sister with her running around the house, screaming with glee about the discovery of a stray grape under the kitchen table.  You and I spend a lot of time chasing your sister around so that she doesn’t eat all of the paper products in the house. (Don’t ask me why she likes to eat paper. I suspect she just likes to eat everything and there is so much paper to choose from. Tissues, toilet paper, the electricity bill…You know. Maybe you will stick to actual food. We don’t have any Legos. So…) I am insanely tired and have, just like with your sister, been sleeping on the couch so that we don’t wake everyone else up when we have your snack time at 2 AM. I don’t really mind because you actually sleep. Like, for several hours at a time. And I don’t have to hold you the whole time. You do it (Gasp!) on your OWN. For that, I appreciate you more than you will ever know.

You are still a little meatloaf and only smile when you are about to let out some heinous gas. But it is really cute and almost makes the smell worth it. (I am not sure if ALL babies are as stinky as you and your sister, but sweet baby Jesus, you kids smell!) You look just like a tiny version of your father, which is sort of awesome because everyone says your sister is a tiny version of me. You even have your father’s fingers and toes. Namely the toes. You know, freakishly long and weird-looking. And sort of look like fingers. (I call them finger-toes because your dad’s toes are literally almost as long as my actual fingers. But…I do have freakishly SMALL hands…so…)

You have gained almost three pounds in the 5 weeks since you were born. At your last appointment, which was 5 days ago, you already weighed 9 lbs and 1 oz, which blows my mind. Because I don’t remember your sister growing this fast. It makes me excited to see you grow and become less and less like a meatloaf and more and more like a little dude. But, man, it is pretty surreal to think “he will never be this small again!” (and I DO think that. Every. Single. Day.) Luckily, this realization does NOT inspire me to give you guys a little brother or sister. So…that’s a sign that your mother hasn’t COMPLETELY lost it from all the sleep deprivation.

So, that’s about how things have been going during your first month of life. Your father and I love you very much. I would love to tell you that your sister loves you very much too. But really, at this point, she just loves hummus. And she really just wants your pacifier. Don’t worry, you guys will be besties some day.

We are so, so, SO glad that you’re here and have completed our little family. You and your sister are truly blessings in our lives. Even more so than I could have imagined. I am so excited to be your mom and to watch you grow.

All of my love,

Mom

Open Letter to Baby L: Brother Arrives!

Dear Lilah,

Today, you are 13.5 months old. I am probably going to be a little more lax (hard to believe, eh?) on writing your letters now for a couple of reasons: First, you’re a big girl now, and probably don’t need monthly updates anymore. You know, because I plan to do this until you are an adult. And can you imagine the crazy volume of letters? Yeah. I doubt you will even want to read through the first year. And second, we recently brought home your baby brother. And he needs something constantly and you are a maniac. So…I scarcely have time to pee. And really, let me just tell you that I have to pee right now and I have been holding it and trying to make sure you don’t bust your head open for the last hour. At least. But writing is important. And your brother is sleeping. So I may never have another opportunity.

Anyway, yeah. You are 13.5 months old. Since you turned one, a lot of stuff has happened. Right before your first birthday, you took your first unassisted steps. But then you sat on that skill until I was sufficiently stressed and unable to tend to you 24 hours per day and then broke out into a run. Honestly, you started walking on the same day that your brother’s nasty belly button grossness fell off and he was having his newborn photos taken, so I think that you were just trying to show him up. Like, “Oh yeah?! Photos and belly button grossness, eh?! Well, look what I CAN DO!” And then you went for a jog. The end.

Now you get into everything. And you say, “Oh shit!” on a consistent basis. And I am not sure where this came from because I don’t think that either me nor your father says that…like…ever (I suspect your Grandma J and Grandpa M, because that is pretty commonplace around their house.). I would have been less surprised if you started calling people “fucktard” out of the window of my car when I take you to see your grandma. Because, THAT would be JUST like your mother. True story.

You are just now, three weeks later, starting to be a little interested in Oliver. I repeat his name to you SO MANY times per day and tell him that he is your brother. You like to stroke his head like he is your little pet kitten or something. It is super cute but you are showing, at times, that all this attention he is getting is starting to piss you off, so I am a little worried that sometimes this nice stroking of the head you are doing will eventually turn into you trying to flush him down the toilet. I’m gonna have to watch you pretty close, I think. You really like to be the center of attention. And the way you dance, little lady, it is no wonder that you almost always are.

You eat ALL THE TIME. And some days, you love turkey hot dogs and mac and cheese and other days, if I try to put those things in front of you, they promptly end up on the floor underneath your high chair. And some days you like peaches. And other days, you fling tiny pieces of them at my head while I attempt to clean up the giant disaster that you have created in every other area of the house. You like liquids. To drink. To spill. To splash in. You are a hot mess.

You are definitely and officially a toddler. And you definitely keep us on our toes.

But you are hilarious and so much fun. And sometimes so defiant that I can’t help but laugh my face off at you when I tell you no and you shake your head “no”, indicating to me that you understand, and then you continue, with a ferocious will, to do whatever it was you were doing in the first place. And it makes me insane but it makes me so happy that you are such a little person. I look at your brother, the meatloaf, and I can barely remember you being that small and helpless. It is so crazy to think that just a year ago, you weren’t dancing around the living room to any tune that happened to be playing on TV or my iPod or, like, if I am humming. You are just so much fun and even when I am trying to do 87  things and you are emptying the entire contents of the DVD stand onto the floor and I know that I am going to have to pick everything up (along with the Cheerios which are constantly littered EVERYWHERE), I am just so happy to have you. You bring out the best in me. Even when I want to pull all of my hair out. Because I would be bald. But I would be bald and happy. And SO SO SO proud that you are my beautiful, hilarious, brilliant little girl.

As always, you’re freaking amazing and I love you to pieces. Sometimes, I still look at you and tear up and the thought that I didn’t think that I wanted to have kids. And then there was you. And I can’t imagine a life without you. A world without you would not be worth living in. There would be far fewer Cheerios on the floor, but it wouldn’t be worth it. Besides, every floor needs a little crunch. And ours is totally crunchtastic. Thank you, my little love.

 

SO MUCH love,

Mom

A box of Cheerios breakfast cereal.

A box of Cheerios breakfast cereal. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

A Couple of Things (While My House is Peaceful…)

I know I have been really slacking on Baby O’s birth story. And, to be honest, I have written that post in my head about 70 times but I can’t seem to find the time to sit down and blog. I know! Imagine THAT, right?!  But it is forthcoming. I swear.

First, though, I would like to give you a little peek into how things have been going over here in Oopsieville.

1. Having two babies is interesting. Because the minute you deal with one and make them all calm and serene, the other one sprays pee across the room and completely blows your mind. And then, once you have dealt with Pee Fountain, you will then find your toddler digging through the trash.  Coffee grounds, you guys. For reals.

2. I sweep the floor no less that 36 times per day.

3. Baby L has had mercy on me since we brought Baby O home and she has been VERY cooperative when she is being put down for her naps and for bed. It is amazing. But I can’t help but think that she is plotting against me and that this is all just a ploy to catch me off guard. She’s an evil genius.

4. MB returned to work yesterday after almost two whole glorious weeks of being home and helping chase Baby L around while simultaneously feeding a newborn. I miss him terribly because I sometimes wonder if I will be able to handle so much at the same time. And because Baby L likes to tug on my pants when my hands are occupied, I am also wondering if I can manage to do all of this sans pants. Because she is now pulling them all the way down when she knows I can’t do anything about it. Good times.

5. Baby L has officially learned to walk. It happened yesterday and it was so amazing. And I cried. Like a little bitch. (You know, like I do when she does ANYTHING AT ALL…)

All in all, things are moving right along. I don’t feel quite as scared as I originally did. Partially because Baby O has been a completely different baby than Baby L right from conception and has proven that not all babies will require that you sleep on the couch for 5.5 weeks because you have to hold them 24 hours per day. I remember feeling, with Baby L, more inept than I had ever felt at anything in my entire life. And now, well, I am more experienced. And I only feel painfully inept about 50% of the time. Not too shabby, I guess.

We’re a work in progress!

Quickie!

We just made it home! I promise to update as soon as I get…well un-frazzled. Or at least…you know, less so! Baby O and I are doing great!!!

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Woohoo!

Well, Internet, I did it! And this will not be a birth story kind of post because, lets face it, it is 5 am and I’m BEAT. Baby O was born on 6/11 at 1:56 am. He was 6 lbs 8 oz and 19.5 inches long. Ad he looks like a tiny old man. And he is so freaking yummy. That’s all for now!

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Go Time!

Well, folks, looks like Baby O will be joining us soonish! I’ll be admitted for induction tonight at 8 pm. This came as a shock to us, and I’m excited. And super extremely over the top terrified. I guess maybe the second time around isn’t any less scary! I hope there’s no repeat of Baby L’s stubborn ass antics! I’ll keep you all posted!

Checking In…

Hi guys! Guess what! Today was my due date and I am STILL pregnant! I can’t say that I am shocked about this but I CAN say that I am a little irritated. HOWEVER, I had some testing today (nothing crazy, just a non stress test and an ultrasound to check the fluid situation) and everything looks fabulous. (I mean, it would HAVE to, right? Cause I am so fabulous myself? Duh.) So, anyway, I am really just checking in. Because, as much as I would like to write a blog post about STILL BEING PREGNANT. I would rather be eating things and sitting on my ass watching mindless TV when I am not trying to entertain Baby L. No offense, you guys. I am fat and lazy and there is a full term baby just hanging out in my abdomen.

The good news is, I am still posting on Facebook with any updates I have with regard to the important stuff. Like, what kind of pie I am eating or that I need someone to call 911 because I have gotten stuck in some yoga pose that I probably should not have attempted in this state. So, you can go over to the sidebar over there and LIKE me on Facebook and you too, can share in all the fun! I would say that you should go ahead and follow me on Twitter. But lets be for real, people, I rarely use it. Although I have been considering live tweeting my labor. Heh. I thought that might be sort of fun. I get pretty animated when there is a person coming out of me. I will keep you posted.

Hopefully there will be a birth story soon!!! Keep the baby juju coming this way!!!

Uninvited

Before you ask: No, I haven’t had this baby yet. And yes, I am due in 6 days. And yes, I am uncomfortable, annoyed and generally ready to do the damn thang. (But yes, I am still having nearly nightly panic attacks about having another baby to take care of. I don’t think that’s going to change until I prove to myself that I am Superwoman. And this will hopefully occur sooner, rather than later.) But this isn’t really what I want to talk about today. Because if I talk about, I could get pretty profane. And, well, no one wants that. Right?

 

Who am I kidding? I am most likely going to get really profane anyway. Because this shit is pissing me OFF, you guys.

 

Okay, so MB, Baby L and I moved out of my Mother-In-Law’s house for several reasons. One was because, when we found out we were pregnant with Baby O, I envisioned myself actually locking MB’s nephew in a closet for several months so my kids would be able to sleep peacefully. And when you see yourself doing things like this, you know you are in an unfavorable situation. (And maybe it isn’t the kid’s fault that he is disobedient, loud and generally obnoxious. But it doesn’t matter. He IS those things. And I knew that if we didn’t move, I might start to get really mean.) I was so relieved to get out of there. Not because I didn’t like the family (obviously, I love them) but because I couldn’t stand living with people who were on different schedules, doing different things, at different noise levels, all when I was trying to get my kid into a sleep pattern that didn’t require me to be up all night and then cleaning up after everyone all day. This was not ideal. And I hated the side of town that we were living on.

When we found our rental house, I didn’t love it either. And it is on the same side of town. But the price is right. And the size is right. And guess what, you guys! My in-laws don’t live there! Score! So, I sucked it up. I gave in and agreed that, since I am not currently employed outside of the home, and MB is the breadwinner and this place is not falling apart and doesn’t come with built-in annoying children, I could do it. And I would grin and bear it until I go back to work, and can contribute more financially. SO…here we are. On a side of town that I hate, but no longer bitch about because I am grateful to be here. Alone with MY little family. And with my giant back yard.

But, here comes the bitching.

Several times a week, after I have spent an hour trying to get Baby L ready for a nap and then waiting for her to fight sleep and finally give in so I can go and EAT A DAMN SANDWICH, I walk back into the living room, take a bite of said sandwich and notice, out my front window, people walking up to my front door. (It is important that you know, internet, that we don’t use our front door. It is locked at all times, and can only be opened (even from the inside) with a key. Because we use the carport door. Because that makes sense. You know, because we park there. All of our friends use the carport. Everyone uses the fucking carport.) It happens before noon. And, because I have to, then, frantically search for my keys in order to unlock the door, these people typically have time to ring the doorbell and within ONE SECOND of doing so, add in a good banging on the front door. You know, for good measure. And then Baby L is screaming. And there is a rotund black woman wearing a giant hat, and a tall gentleman wearing a suit standing there, anxiously waiting to tell me where to find Jesus.

I KNOW WHERE JESUS IS.

I went to church for the entirety of my childhood. Never once was I required to knock on a stranger’s door to tell them about where to find Jesus. Because it seems to be the opinion of the people in the congregation I was a part of, that if you WANT TO FIND JESUS, you will do that. You do not need some strangers to help you. It is creepy that people will come to your house to tell you about this stuff. It is creepy because they don’t know me. I could be ANY KIND of person. I could be the kind of person who would totally shoots the kind of people who are not the same as me. I could be the kind of person who would be offended by their religious views. I could be the kind of person who has a one-year-old child who doesn’t sleep and who gets very hostile at 39 weeks pregnant when her baby is awoken by strangers who want to tell her about Jesus. I AM THAT KIND OF PERSON.

(And I am, honestly, a little offended when people try and push their views on me in the first place. That takes some NERVE to come to MY HOUSE and disrupt MY DAY like that without any consideration about how your views might sit with me. But I won’t get all on a religious or moral kick here. Because that is not the kind of blogger I am, and frankly, it doesn’t matter what I believe. Except that I believe that you should not come to my house unless you are invited. And, preferably, have brought me wine.)

After this happens, and I try my damndest not to seriously injure these people (who are likely thinking they are doing some sort of Godly work or something), I am seriously angry. I mean, ANGRY. It is the most annoying thing I can think of. Like, ever. MB had to stop me today, from putting a sign on our front door that said, “I know where Jesus is. Do not knock on this door. Thank you.” He said that it would be in bad taste. I think knocking on my door uninvited and waking my kid up is in bad taste. But maybe that’s just me?

What IS it with this side of town?!

Since I posted this, I’ve gotten some awesome illustrations:

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Notes on Week 38

Okay, internet, if you have been following along, you know that I am not a giant fan of pregnancy. And you might also remember that my first one was full of fun and craziness. You know, with losing my job, fighting with Medicaid to even get prenatal care and then just feeling generally miserable for THE WHOLE EFFING THING. I have been lucky this time. Baby O hasn’t given me nearly the amount of physical agony that Baby L presented me with during my pregnancy. You know, until NOW.

NOW?

Now I am not sleeping because, between trying to maneuver this giant belly and keeping Baby L from actually sleeping ON MY FACE, I have barely enough time for that sort of shenanigans. Sleep is for the weak, they say. They do say that, right? Anyway, if this is true, then I hereby declare myself, The Incredible Hulk of Insomnia. I do not turn green, though.

Except, wait. Yes, I do. Yesterday, I was taking out the trash and something smelled really awful and I turned green, and hurried and puked in the bathtub. Yep. 38 weeks and still puking. I guess there just wasn’t enough of that in the beginning of this whole thing for it to be over.

Then I took 45 minutes to effortlessly (read: with great effort and discomfort) ease on my maternity pants and haul my giant ass to my 38 week check up. Where I was told that nothing had changed. I am still pregnant and will remain that way until the time should come wherein…I am no longer pregnant. The good news is that my doctor praised me about my weight gain (only 17 pounds, which feels more like 850), which, you know, made me hungry.  And when I realize that I am hungry, I usually do so because MY CHEST IS ON FIRE.

The heartburn has returned. And with a vengeance. I am not a fan. I am not a fan at all. I can’t even drink WATER without wanting to kill myself. Water = sandpaper. Bread = fire. Hot sauce? Well, hot sauce is expectedly hot. But since I love it and it has the same effect as ANYTHING ELSE EVER, I eat it. Have I mentioned to you, internet, how before I was pregnant, I got heartburn like ONCE PER YEAR and now I have it 36 times per day? No? Oh. Well, yeah. That’s what is happening in my esophagus. You’re welcome for the enlightenment.

Baby O is officially kicking me in the ribs. This is the kind of discomfort that one can never describe to someone who has not experienced it. I never had this experience with Baby L and, up until two days ago, had not had any trouble with Baby O. But now, he loves my rib cage. LOVES. That’s all I am going to say about this. Because it is so annoying that I feel like if I talk about it too much, it will happen again and I will either cry or punch something. Or both.

I am WAY too emotional. I have cried three times today and two of the three times were about nothing. I mean, probably not nothing exactly. But definitely stupid things. Like, that I didn’t have any more bottled water in the refrigerator and all that was cold was Dr. Pepper which, (if you can IMAGINE) gives me super bad heartburn. Then I decided, since my mom had my kid for the day, and my husband was out doing man things (or getting a massage. Yes. Seriously.) I would finish watching “Sophie’s Choice” (because I have this fascination about WW2 and the Holocaust and things of that nature, because I am a total dork and that stuff is interesting) and then I watched Meryl Streep have to CHOOSE between her CHILDREN. And then I had a breakdown and felt the need to punch a German soldier. Luckily for them, there aren’t many German soldiers around my neighborhood. And MB wasn’t home. (Sidenote: I did have a flash of the diploma that hangs on the wall in the house of the old man that I take care of sometimes that states that his middle name is Adolf. But I didn’t punch him either. Come on, that would be mean.) I am tired of crying for no reason. And I am tired of wanting to punch imaginary Nazis. (I mean, I would probably want to do that anyway, but I am WAY too serious about it today.)

(Another sidenote: Is there some reason that “Beaches” is ALWAYS on? I mean, I loved this movie when I was a kid (which may also be weird, but my best friend loved it too…) and I have a really hard time NOT watching it when it is on but how many times can a pregnant lady watch “Beaches” without sticking her head in the oven? Honestly.)

Also? The PEEING. I cannot stop peeing! That is all.

My point, internet? I am SO READY to feel like a normal person again. But I am SO NOT READY to have a baby. I just need a pause button. And that pause button should not only pause the progress of this pregnancy when pushed, but sort of make the pregnancy nonexistent so I can have beer. You know, until I push play again. I swear, I would push play again, you guys, I just need a break. Then I would need a bring me beer button. Because that would come in handy forever.

 

An Open Letter to Baby L: ONE YEAR

Dearest Lilah,

Two days ago, you turned one year old.

Firsts are a really big deal for parents. When you got your first tooth, I cried like a baby and wondered how long it would be before you bit the hell out of me. When you ate solid food for the first time, I cried like a baby and thought about how, soon, you would be feeding yourself. When you took your first steps (which happened just a few days before your birthday on May 14th), I cried like a baby and thought about the definite end to those days when you depended on me to travel. And to explore. And while these are all really beautiful things you are doing, they make me feel a little lost. Up until now, my lovely, you have needed me for everything. And now, here you are, one year old and starting to walk.

I wanted to make sure that, since your brother will be born in just a few short weeks, that this first birthday would be for you, a true celebration of how much you mean to your father and me. I know you won’t remember it. And I know that first birthday parties are more for the parents of the children than for the children themselves. But, the important thing was, to me, that the people who love you the most got to share in your day. And they did.

You were a beautiful birthday girl, Lilah. But I don’t want to talk about your party. Because that’s not what this letter is about.

This letter is to let you know, and make sure that it is spelled out here so you don’t forget it, what an amazing addition you have been to my life for the last year. Before I had you, I had known love, but I could have never known a love like the one that you brought to me when I saw you for the first time. I am not sure that a mother can ever fully express the love that she has for her child. I am not sure that I will ever be able to make you understand how much you have enriched me and every minute of my life so far just by being with me. The thought of my life before you is a faint memory. One that I don’t care to revisit. I was unaware, before I met you, how much I was missing out on. And I am so thankful that you have shown me. I hope that someday you will have children of your own, so that you can understand the kind of joy that you have brought to me. (Just for your information, when I say “someday”, I mean, when you are 30. Not 14. Okay?)

Your smile is the reason that I wake up each morning and it is the last thing I think about before I fall asleep at night. You are truly, the love of my life. You and your mama

I hope that I can be the kind of mother to you that I have promised to myself that I will be. I hope that I can teach you all of the things that a girl’s mother should teach her. About respecting herself. And finding beauty in herself, even in her flaws. About what confidence is and why it is important that other people not be able to tear you down. I hope that I can lead you down a path to be a respectful, compassionate person. I promise you, my dearest, I will do my best. I want nothing but the best of everything for you.

Now that I have sufficiently soaked the keyboard with the tears of a year with you, I will just end here by saying that I love you.

 

I love you to the moon and back.

Mom