Tag Archives: Family

Survival

So, I did it. I decided that, instead of letting my mom take both kids to visit my sister, I would let her take L, since she is older and super hyper and I thought that she would have a good time running around at someone else’s house for a change. And you know, chasing pets around and things like that.

She left Friday afternoon and will be back in about four hours. At first, I seriously didn’t think I would make it. She woke up from her nap on Friday and I cried my face off while I was changing her diaper. She, of course, thought that this was hysterically funny. And then I watched my mom get her into the van and drive away. And then I cried my face off again.

Surprisingly, after she was gone, and as long as I was getting constant updates via text message, I was okay. I mean, it was so strangely quiet in my house that I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. And the lack of Cheerios on the floor was daunting. But, we made it. Baby O and I cuddled and cuddled and played and played. And he made more noise than he ever has in his life. Most likely because, for the first time ever, he could HEAR himself.

The news here, internet, is that I made it. And I got to spend a lot of time bonding with my little dude and hanging out with adults. (I know! Weird, right? I didn’t have to spoon feed ANY OF THEM.) It was a damn good weekend. And now, though I don’t feel as relaxed as maybe I should, I am fully prepared to see my little L and kiss her face off.

But, I survived!

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  • Dilemma (brokencondoms.wordpress.com)

Dilemma

So, I have this dilemma.

I desperately need some sleep. And not just a couple of hours. Like, I need sleeeeeeeep, you guys. I need to not wake up to an alarm a baby demanding something. I need to have one morning where I can wake up and have a cup of coffee and watch Today without having to also sing the ABC song on repeat while changing a diaper and trying to simultaneously find out what’s trending on Twitter. Okay, the Twitter thing is not important and a lot of the shit I see on Today is fluff and I don’t mind not being able to hear it over myself singing the ABC song. And I know, you guys, ALL parents want these moments. I KNOW, okay? I am not trying to play martyr and swear that I need it more because two kids under the age of two and OH MY GOD, the torture, or anything. I love being a stay-at-home-mom. Really. I do.

But I am not my best self. I am tired and cranky and potentially about to have a breakdown if I have to make my 16-month-old three different lunches again in order to find something she will put INTO HER MOUTH instead of ONTO THE FLOOR. Because holding a cranky 3-month-old while doing so is NO JOKE. So…I need a break.

And, miraculously, my mom and sister have generously offered me one. My mom and step-dad are taking a trip to visit my sister this upcoming weekend and they have offered to take BOTH of the kids with them. Leaving me alone. (I mean, basically, since MB works ALL THE TIME.) Blissfully ALONE. My dilemma is that I am TERRIFIED to let them go. I have never been away from Baby O for more than a few hours and L is such a monster sometimes that I would feel guilty about knowingly letting someone else take her for several days. Because I know what kind of a sleeper she is. I also know what that does to her mood. And I know that sometimes it makes ME crazy and I MADE her. So I can only imagine how other people will react to it.

On the one hand, I feel like it would be good for me. I mean, the kids would come back and I would have missed them terribly but have had time to get all rejuvenated and stuff. I would be like a new mommy. And I would appreciate that. And I am sure that they would too! Robot Mommy can’t be too much fun.

But, on the other hand, three days is a long time! I don’t know what I would do with myself without them. (I mean, besides cleaning, reading, sleeping, having adult conversations, going out to dinner, peeing alone, showering…probably several times per day just to get my fill, eating hot food while sitting, not sweeping the floor 37 times before noon, I could go on.)  I feel a little lost thinking about how empty the house will be without them here. How my clothes won’t smell like spit-up and how the lack of thin layer of Cheerios on the floor will make me feel. My tiny BFFs will be GONE. That’s just sad.

Also, and MOSTLY, what if something happens and I am not there?! OH. EM. GEE. You guys. Seriously. WHAT IF SOMETHING HAPPENS?

What do I DO, you guys? Do I let them take my spawn for several days and get this much needed break? Or do I keep the reigns in place and just try and maintain!?

 

An Open Letter to My Kids: A Mommy’s Plea

Dear Kiddos,

I want to preface this letter by telling you how much I adore both of you. You are the center of my universe and your smiles are the most beautiful things I have ever seen. You make every day fun and interesting and pretty damn hilarious and, for that, I am so grateful.

But…

You are being total assholes.

You have been taking turns driving Mommy batshit insane for days on end and you seem to have no remorse. You wait until the other is content (for the 3.5 minutes that this will last) and then you scream your bloody head off and create havoc until I calm you down. And then the other one of you starts. You do this for hours. And hours. AND HOURS. Until Mommy is almost bald and considering padding the whole house, not only for easier childproofing but for protection for herself for when she completely loses it. Padded rooms are supposed to be safer for crazy people, I hear.

Mommy is not a terribly patient person to begin with. She likes quiet and alone time and reading books. She doesn’t get any of that anymore and has dealt with it rather well considering that one of you is a little tornado who NEVER. SITS. DOWN. and the other is a tiny, brand new nugget who needs constant attention in order to become another tiny tornado down the road. Mommy is tired and cranky and spends the majority of her time dreaming of enough time to take a hot, glorious shower. One where she might even SHAVE HER LEGS.

There is not enough wine in the state of Florida for Mommy this week, you guys. You have to tone down the crazy-pants. Or Mommy’s head will explode.

Your dad is a marvelous man and is a wonderful father, but has been working many, many hours per week to make sure that Mommy can stay home and keep you alive and not have to leave you with strangers or people who can’t handle the crazy. This leaves Mommy alone with you both for 16 hours per day. 16 hours is a really long time. And being that one of you (probably the one who shouldn’t be yet, but is, obviously, wise beyond his months) is sleeping 9 hours per night and the other (who will remain nameless, LILAH.) refuses to sleep in her crib for more than five straight hours at night without pitching the world’s largest fit until being invited to sleep in Mommy and Daddy’s room where she will torment us with feet of steel (seriously, how are those little kicks NOT LITTLE KICKS?) to the kidneys for hours and then resort to head butting and sitting on our faces, Mommy is EXHAUSTED.

Mommy wants to finish ONE CUP of coffee while it is still hot. Mommy wants to eat a meal while sitting down. Mommy wants to shave her effing legs. Or pee without an audience. Just once. Maybe twice per day. Mommy wants to put on mascara and not read a book that does not involve red fish and blue fish or cats in hats and the like. Mommy needs David Sedaris, you guys. Can I read “Naked” to you? Because I’ve gotten to page 14 and it has been three weeks.

Again, I love you guys. It is the kind of patient, unyielding love that I never expected to feel. But seriously, you guys, throw Mommy a bone here and GO THE EFF TO SLEEP. Like, at the same time, and for a couple of hours. Consecutively. My legs are a forest.

Thanks.

 

Love,

Mommy

 

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Black Market Kidneys: A Post About Whining

Okay, internet, let’s talk about whining.

I hate whining. I hate it more than I hate tomatoes. And I REALLY hate tomatoes. And, while I know that kids have to LEARN to use their words (or learn their words before they can USE them), I am not a fan of this stage that Baby L is going through.

Seriously, you guys. I have seriously considered running away from home.

She whines when I hold Baby O because, OHMYGOD, NO ONE IS PAYING ATTENTION TO ME! And she whines when she drops something. You know because OHMYGOD, HOWEVER WILL I RETRIEVE IT!? DAMN GRAVITY! And she whines when she is tired. Because OHMYGOD, SLEEPING IS AWFUL BUT I CAN BARELY KEEP MY EYES OPEN! And she whines when she is hungry. Or someone leaves the room (which is not limited to myself or her father, by the way.) Or when something is on TV that she does not approve of (which includes anything that does not involve a tall, bumpy red guy). Or when I won’t let her stick things in the toilet. Or when the toilet lid is closed, therefore preventing her from putting items in said toilet. She whines about EVERYTHING. And, while she does this for small portions of the day and for the rest of the day is cute and cuddly and so effing hilarious, I am sort of tempted to whine back. Like, “I don’t WAAAAAAANNA make you lunch!” or “I don’t WAAAAAAANNA give you a bath!” but I feel that somehow this would be lost on her. She’d probably think it was the funniest thing I have ever done. Much like the other day when I accidentally inhaled my coffee instead of drinking it (because it is just as essential as air and I got confused) and then choked and almost died while she laughed hysterically because her mommy is hilarious when she is choking to death.

Baby L is a “troubled sleeper”. And by “troubled sleeper”, I mean a tiny monster who does not need to sleep but survives off of the sleep deprivation of her parents. Sometimes I believe she must be overtired. And I can’t imagine how she wouldn’t be. I mean, lately (and I blame molars) she has been taking one nap a day, and this nap lasts less than two hours and then she is a little ball of crazy energy for the rest of the day. And then she fights me at bed time. (Why do kids hate sleeping, you guys? I love sleeping. I love sleeping so much that I am inching closer to selling a kidney on the black market for one blissful day with no kids and nothing but slumber. Craigslist ad would read: Will exchange kidney for 24 hours of babysitting for tiny cyclone and three-month-old meatloaf. Blood type – O positive. Will exchange both kidneys for one week. Dialysis is no joke but I won’t need kidneys if I die of exhaustion, anyway.)

The sleeping thing is all normal. But the whining? That’s new. I am not really sure what to do about it. At about 13 months, she started throwing little temper tantrums (not like, hurling herself onto the ground and flailing like a maniac) but I could tell that she was testing me to see if it was easier for her to get what she wanted if she acted like a little lunatic. Those passed, for the most part, fairly quickly. But now, she is just living up to her title “Princess Cranky Pants” and making me wonder how old she has to be before I can send her to boarding school. In Finland.

So, my question to you, internet? Have you had this problem? Does it go away or have you had to sell your kidneys on Craigslist? How did you deal with it?

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An Open Letter to Baby O: Three Months

Dearest Oliver,

Today, you are three whole months old! And you are alive! And aside from the cradle cap that will not die, you are doing wonderfully! You smile and coo and sleep through the night most of the time and you are just a little nugget of happy!

At your last checkup, about a month ago, you were already a whopping 12 pounds, 5 ounces and were 20.5 inches long. Meaning that you are growing SUPER fast and getting into that chunky baby phase where people are compelled to touch your cheeks. Constantly. I am not immune. I pinch your little cheeks and kiss your little toes and sing you ridiculous songs. Songs that sometimes involve water buffalo. And then I ask myself, “Will you ever sing normal songs again, Crazy Lady?” to which I answer, “Who cares?” Because you are growing up so fast and I know you will never enjoy water buffalo songs as much as you do right now.

I have to tell you, I am definitely exhausted. I chase your sister while giving you your bottles because if I don’t chase her, she is typically littering the contents of my underwear drawer all over the house or hiding my Tupperware. But you remain calm. You look up at me with those big eyes (we are not sure yet what color they will be, but I imagine, like everything else, you will have your father’s hazel beauties), confused but peaceful as I try to intercept bras before they end up in the toilet. You don’t often seem phased at all by the gleeful screeching of Lilah as she watches “Yo Gabba Gabba” in the afternoons.

Lilah, who initially didn’t have a clue what to think about you, the little meatloaf that suddenly appeared in place of mommy’s giant belly, is totally enamored with you. First thing in the morning, she runs to where you are sleeping (which could either be next to our bed in the sleeper or in the swing, depending on what kind of night we had) and says, in the sweetest, most adorable voice I have ever heard, “Hiiiiiiiiii, Ollie!” (Which, by the way, is the only full sentence, if you can call it that, that she knows so far.) Judging from the giant smile on your face when this happens, I am optimistic that you two will be the best of friends. And not so long from now!

You hold your head up for long stretches of time. So often that it amazes everyone who sees it. It is astonishing to me that, a year from now, you too will be learning to walk and exploring and eating toilet paper. I have to remind myself how quickly this all passes so that I don’t miss a minute of your babyhood. I try and remember, at four in the morning, that you are my last baby. And you won’t be a baby for long. It goes too fast.

Your dad has been working 15 hours per day, six days per week since you were about two months old. It has definitely taken a toll on us because you kids don’t get to see him every day like you used to. But when you do see him, the love that I see between you brings tears to my eyes. Our family is complete. And it is so because of you, my little man.

I had forgotten how beautiful it is when your baby smiles at you, though. Not because your sister doesn’t smile at me, but that she is no longer a baby. And not because it has been a long time, because she is just shy of 16 months old now. But because there is no comparison to it. In. The. World. When you smile at me, it is different than the way that you smile at your Grandmas or your sister or even your dad. Because I can tell it is just for me. You know me. And you already love me. And it melts my heart. Every. Single. Time.

I love you too, little man. To the moon and back.

Love,

Mom

(Right now, I have to tell you, you are sort of pissing me off, however, because you refuse to nap. Even though your ridiculously loud sister is quietly napping in her room and there is virtually ZERO noise in the house. Mommy needs 15 minutes to write you a letter, buddy.)

Lather, Rinse, Repeat

I don’t know if I mentioned to you, internet, that we finally got Baby L sleeping through the night. Alone. In her own room. It happened about two weeks ago, while MB wasn’t working and we were no longer willing to wake up 35 times per night to tend to one of the kids (Baby O is not really a problem but between the two of them, it was a little ridiculous). It started out pretty rocky. She hated me. She hated MB. And she cried like she was being murdered. But within two days of us being seriously adamant about her sleeping in her bed, she accepted her fate. She would sleep from 8 pm until around 6 am, usually waking once or twice, at most, and then NOT being a total asshole when we kissed her little forehead and laid her down again.

And that lasted TEN DAYS.

And then she became some sort of mutant baby. She went right back to screaming her head off, sometimes refusing FOR HOURS to nap and waking in the middle of the night and playing the “PUT ME IN YOUR BED” game for at least an hour until one of us gave in for the sake of our eardrums and our sanity, and let her sleep in our room. And two days ago, I almost ran away from home. To some place where no one interrupts your sleep.

With the schedule that MB is currently working, my day is starting earlier in order to be able to get the kids changed, fed and happy. You know, simultaneously. And with enough precision that no one is screaming first thing in the morning. For the most part, I am successful. But only if I time things perfectly. I spend all day just trying to keep the house in the same state it was in when I woke up. That state, you ask? Total disarray. But no more disarray at the end of the day than when I woke up. Because if it were any worse, I would feel like a complete failure. I follow Baby L around, cleaning up the remnants of the mini-tornado that she is, only to have another one created on the other side of the room as I do so. I diaper, feed, chase, rock, diaper, feed, rock, chase, clean, panic. Lather, rinse, repeat. All day. And then I bathe babies. And then I attempt a bedtime routine with Baby L as quickly as possible while Baby O is in his swing. HOPEFULLY resting quietly. Usually NOT. Because if there is ONE time of the day when Baby O is loud and pissed, it is when it is Baby L’s bath/bedtime. Once the fight about the lotioning and the tooth brushing is over, I put Baby L to bed. And usually, this isn’t so bad. Until that 3 am wake up call, which usually is as high-pitched and annoying as a pterodactyl, when I am ripped out of a semi-decent sleep (which is usually taking place on the couch) to calm her and start the process of getting her to sleep all over again. ALL OVER AGAIN.

I usually fail miserably at this.

And then I dump her into the bed with MB because I can’t take any more. And then Baby O wakes up. And I change him. And then I feed him. And then I put HIM back to sleep. And then, if I am lucky, I can sleep for another hour before MB wakes up and leaves for work. Again. Abandoning me with angry, demanding little people who are out for blood. The blood of Mommy.

I’m not complaining, internet. Well, maybe a little. But mostly just because it is really hard NOT to complain when you haven’t slept in your bed in weeks and you can’t remember if you brushed your teeth this morning. Come to think of it, you can’t remember if you brushed your teeth last night either. And when it is hard to tell if your husband is at work…or if he has moved out…

I really still do love being home with the kids. Because, even though they can be monsters, they are MY monsters and I MADE them. And they are beautiful and funny and seriously entertaining and I love them to pieces.

I just wish they came with pause buttons. Or, I like, I could put them on vibrate.

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Life Suckage

Since before I had Baby O, MB has been looking for a new job. One where he wasn’t working so hard that he was too sore/tired/dirty to hold the kids when he got home. One that paid a little more and would afford us the luxury of THE ZOO or THE MUSEUM on weekends. Not that we couldn’t do these things before, but recently, after his job didn’t pay him what they were supposed to for being home after the birth of our son, we were playing catch up. Like CRAZY. And it was too much. MB found another job, put in his notice, and then his previous employer of 5 years let him go. So, we had another two weeks of ZERO income. Which, by the way, was AWESOME. So, my stress level was off the charts. And for me, that could really just mean that its Tuesday, but…you know. Two weeks of CODE RED stress makes mommy a little…well…crazy-pants.

So, anyway, MB started his new job last Wednesday. They told him in the interview that he would be working about 60-70 hours per week. Obviously, this was a little disheartening, but also totally do-able. And the money was a pretty good motivation because he would be making about double what he was previously making for a lot less BS/injury. And we were excited. In fact, I was ELATED. I thought about these zoo trips and museum trips and weekends in Savannah, strolling around and eating delicious southern food on River Street. And then he went to work. And he was there, on his first day, for 15 hours. And day two wasn’t much better. And so on. And so on. And when they told him that, not only would he have to work 6 days per week, but he would have to work one Sunday a month, my heart sank a little (read: I envisioned myself stabbing his boss in the eye with my kitchen scissors) and all my zoo fantasies faded. So, today marks 7 straight days of MB working 15 hour days and leaving me home with the kids all day. Alone.

The kids take turns sleeping so that there is zero time for me to actually accomplish any sort of household duty for more than 30 seconds without being interrupted to change a diaper or administer a bottle or retrieve Baby L’s hand out of the trash can or stop her from trying to scale the kitchen counter. There are dishes in the sink ALL. THE. TIME. Because we are stupid and moved into a house that doesn’t have a dishwasher and there seems to be an endless consumption of food in this house for some reason. I’ve had to resort to letting Baby L watch two, back-to-back episodes of “Yo Gabba Gabba” at times, (despite feeling that if she is going to watch TV at all, it should be VERY infrequently) just so that I can pee without a toddler trying to climb into my lap. I have to shower at 5am or 10pm since the kids refuse to overlap their naps so that I can do so during the day. And showering may sound like no big deal, but it is the one thing that, I think would make me feel human. Besides coffee. And wine. But, sadly, I can’t drink wine all day or I would probably try to put mascara on the babies or something equally ridiculous.

I have been exhausted. Surprisingly calm, however. I braced myself for long days and even though I didn’t expect them to be quite THIS long, I have managed to pull of bathtimes and bedtimes and night wakings with an amount of grace that is really shocking to me. Because I, my friends, am a crazy person. And calmness doesn’t come so easily. I am just not sure how long we can go on like this. MB hasn’t spent any time at all with the kids in a week and it is obvious to me that Baby L is really missing him. Her mood is different and she seems to be waiting for him. And it breaks my heart. And it breaks HIS heart. And that breaks my heart more. MORE! So, we are sucking it up, as they say, for the time being. You know, until I find a high paying, work from home job that wants to enlist me to write snarky things about being a parent. Or about celebrities who piss me off. Or…you know…whatever.

I just know that this 90+ hours per week business is not going to fly for long or MB will miss every new wonderfully amazing thing that Baby O does for the first time. And before we know it, Baby L will be reading “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” and going off to college and MB will have missed it all. So, the hunt begins again. Either for me, or for MB, to find a job that doesn’t suck the life out of us. Because the “life” part is the GOOD part.

On Being Me…(A Post About Anxiety)

I’ve told you guys before that I am a total basketcase. I am not ashamed of it. I have Generalized Anxiety Disorder that has been untreated for years since I decided that the medication that I was prescribed brought on…well…more crazy. I didn’t want to live my life dependent on some pill to keep me sane. I was pretty sure I could do it myself.

It all started on Christmas Eve (which was also the eve of my 23rd birthday) when my grandfather was rushed to the hospital by ambulance because my grandma and uncle thought he was having a stroke. He was 87 or something at the time, and had already had a couple of TIAs. By the time that I was told about any of that, however, my grandmother had been admitted also. To make a long story short, Grandpa was in perfect health but Grandma, while searching for their insurance information in her purse, lost the use of her left arm and ultimately was the one having a stroke. Bizarre. I know. And it was my birthday. And Christmas.

My grandparents lived with or near us for a good portion of my childhood. And, even in my early adulthood, they were the people I went to for EVERYTHING. My parents are great. My grandparents were saints. On my birthday, we turned off the machines. I held hands with my sister and my grandfather in the hospital I would later be employed at and, in my head, I sang, “Three little monkeys, jumping on the bed, one fell off and bumped his head…” because my grandma used to tell me how much I used to chant those words when I was small and how, after that, she wouldn’t even teach the other grandkids that song. She hated it. But telling the story always made her laugh that sweet laugh that made everyone else smile too. I thought that being annoying, even in my head, would stop me from throwing myself out the window of her room in the ICU. Because, losing her? Well, there’s never been anything worse than that.

That’s when the panic attacks started. They happened in the middle of the night. Out of a dead sleep, I would wake, struggling to breathe, sweating. They would happen when I couldn’t remember where I had parked my car at work. They would happen when my best friend didn’t return my phone call. I was falling apart.

I was put on Zoloft and Xanax by a doctor at the hospital where I worked. She didn’t ask any questions about what was happening in my life. In fact, she asked ZERO questions. I was in the office for less than five minutes. Prescriptions were written and I was excused. Zoloft made me feel like a lunatic and Xanax made me sleepy. So, I didn’t take them. I popped a Xanax only when I was mid-panic and I managed everything with…well…I didn’t. I drank a lot of beer because it mellowed me out. And my friends drank a lot of beer. So it just made sense. And a doctor I worked for did acupuncture on me on a weekly basis to calm me down. And it helped. A lot. But I never really dealt with the root of it all. But I managed.

Two weeks before my 30th birthday, my grandfather died. And so, there I was, back in the same place I had been 7 years before. I fell into a depression. It wasn’t long before the panic attacks returned. With a vengeance. I tried to see a therapist for grief counseling because, even though I have always been a little high strung, I knew that this had to have started there. With death. With loss. But my insurance was crap and I couldn’t afford to pay $50 per week to get my head straight. So I drank more wine. And I managed.

When I started dating my husband, he was so calm. And so ZEN. And so refreshing. And my anxiety was almost non-existent. Until I got pregnant with Baby L. And then I had a hard time finding the balls to leave the house. Why? I don’t know. I just didn’t want to see anyone. Or have conversations with people. I didn’t want to be noticed. I was so scared and felt so alone in my head. That’s when I started this blog. And, oh my god, internet. I can’t tell you the difference that this community of bloggers and readers has helped me just…maintain. But I feel myself slipping.

And not because I have two kids now. And not because my husband is no longer calm and comforting. But because now there are two people in the world who depend on me for everything. And I am terrified of failing. Or losing them. I find myself sanitizing like a madwoman. And avoiding public outings because we could get into a car accident. Or someone could take them. Or they could contract leprosy. I envy those women who can dive into motherhood with an almost carefree abandon about leaving the comfort of their homes and letting their kids experience things. It isn’t that I don’t do that stuff. I do, but it makes me physically ill to think about all of the things that could happen. It is paralyzing. Because anything COULD happen. And I can’t live in fear of EVERYTHING. Can I?

I am trying. Really trying, to learn how to just relax. And I feel It is imperative, at this point, to learn to deal with my fear of loss. To stop thinking so much about what could happen and focus on what IS happening. Because what IS happening is that my kids are growing. They are learning and laughing and becoming little people. And I am afraid to drive down the street for fear that I will miss all of it. When I could miss it just the same if I don’t just DRIVE.

It is a constant struggle. And this is a very personal issue for me. But I needed to talk about it. Because I know that I am not the only one. At least. I hope I’m not the only one.

 

Mourning the Lady Parts

There was really never any question, after I found out I was pregnant again, that Baby O would be our last child. I was never really sure I wanted to have kids until I had Baby L, so when a second was coming, I knew I was done. At my first OB/GYN appointment during this pregnancy, I was already asking about birth control for after Baby O was born. Because, you know, if you are keeping score, BOTH of my pregnancies were accidental and I was on the pill when I got pregnant this last time, so I was pretty sure the pill wasn’t going to prevent Captain Super Sperm from getting me knocked up again. But I wasn’t sold on the IUD method because I just didn’t want some weird object floating around in there. And I didn’t want something so invasive as a tubal ligation. (Mostly because I am a total wuss and, up until I had my kids, had had almost NO medical issues in my life. Seriously, I had an x-ray once.) But I wanted the permanence of a tubal ligation. You know, without the incision. Gross.

At my first OB/GYN appointment, there was a poster on the wall advertising Essure so I asked about it. Seriously? Permanent? Yes. In-Office procedure? Awesome. No incision? SOLD. So, I had decided at 14 weeks that I was getting this shit taken CARE of. With a QUICKNESS, you guys.

So, yesterday, I had my “counseling” appointment. Which basically means that I watched a video of women and doctors and some women doctors talk about their experiences with it and how awesome it is. And then I signed a consent form.  There is a waiting period of 30 days before I can have the procedure done. Because, you know, I might change my mind and decide I want another kid. (HA! If I ever say anything like that, internet, please remind me how long it has been since I have slept or eaten a meal while it was hot. Or while sitting.) So, now we wait.

What I didn’t expect was that I feel sort of like I am having to mourn the loss and/or use of my lady parts. I mean, first of all, I never really wanted to use them. And they are definitely USED at this point. And I don’t want to use them again. But it is sort of sad to think about. I never really thought about how much of a privilege it is to be ABLE to have children. Even if you don’t want them and don’t plan to have them, you have the POWER to create life. I mean, how amazing is that? I still don’t want to have another baby, you guys, it is just a crazy thought that I won’t be ABLE to.

I’m not going to change my mind. Because even if I did go absolutely batshit crazy and decide that more kids was a good idea, I wouldn’t do it. MB and I had our boy and our girl and we are absolutely elated to have completed our family and so QUICKLY! (This might have worked out for us. It seems doable. Hard, but we got this. In your FACE, universe!) Really, this is the only way to go. It is this or Captain Super Sperm over here will have to just stay away from me until I am all old and stuff. Because, I don’t even trust a vasectomy at this point. My husband is no joke.

An Open Letter to Baby O at 2 Months

Dear Oliver,

I am pretty sure you are an angel.

You were named after my grandfather who was brilliant, kind, loving, and soft-spoken. I never once, in the 30 years he was in my life, saw him angry. And, so far, my little guy, you are doing justice to your Great-Grandfather’s name. You are a quiet, content, lovable baby. You sleep well, you eat well and you love to be held, but are okay with just observing from your swing. I thought that parenting two little ones would be a lot harder than it actually turned out to be, but I think it is because I hit the baby jackpot when I got you. You are amazing.

Your sister is increasingly interested in you and is, more and more, wanting to see what you are doing. She likes to peek at you while you are napping and hold your hand while I am holding you. She stands next to me while I am feeding you and pats you. In fact, the first combination of words that she has ever made was, “Hi, Ollie!”, which both blew my mind and made me so happy and confident that our family is complete now that you have arrived. And, of course, I cried my face off. Because moms are crazy people. And, just a warning, this will continue through your entire life. Every little thing you do is bound to make me burst into tears. I don’t know if this will change. I mean, right now you are brand new and I am a ball of hormones. So maybe you will luck out and, by the time you read this, I won’t be a basketcase anymore. But don’t count on it. I love you and your sister so much that I can’t imagine not being a basketcase about everything that you do. You guys are pretty awesome.

You smile a lot. I can’t tell if it is just that you are gassy as hell or if you are actually smiling at us. I think it is a little too early for this milestone but am inclined to believe that you are a genius. Besides that, you don’t seem all that gassy when you’re grinning. You sort of seem like you know something that we don’t. Which is a little creepy sometimes. Like, I have toilet paper on my shoe. Or spinach in my teeth. Either way, it is super adorable.

In some ways, I can’t wait for you to be older so we can play and giggle and go to the zoo. You know, like, and you will actually know we are at the zoo…But in other ways, I want you to stay small and squishy forever. You are growing so fast that it is hard for me to take it all in. Having your sister made me realize how quickly time flies and how little time you have as such a little helpless meatloaf. And here you are, two months old in a few days, and it is all bittersweet.

For the time being, you are the cutest little guy I have ever seen. And I love every little thing you do and look forward to helping you discover all the new little things you learn to do. I love you so much, little man.

Love,

Mom

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