Happy Birthday Baby Jaws! Mommy loves you and can't believe you're already one year old.
I remember a year ago today all too well. I had just been to the doctor the day before and she told me you wouldn't be here for at least another week. I could not sleep at all that night though. I woke up alone that morning since Big Brother had gone to stay with Pa and Gran. Daddy had already left for work. I was surfing the net and had to pee a lot, which was normal for me, but I kept feeling like I was constantly peeing, just a few drips at a time. I jumped in the shower, still with the constant pee. I thought maybe my water had broken, but wasn't for sure. My water didn't break with Big Brother until after I was induced at the hospital; and it didn't just break-it exploded. So this time it was all new to me.
I called Daddy at work to tell him I thought my water had broken. He replied with a bad word then "Not today." He was ready for you too, but had a lot to do at work that day. He soon found out he'd have a lot more to do at the hospital. Daddy came home, showered, loaded our bags in the truck and we were on our way. He knew my water was slowly trickling out and made me ride on towels and trash bags to protect his precious seats.
When we arrived at the hospital, Daddy dropped me off at the door and went to park. I needed to pee yet again so I waddled to the bathroom. As I came out and spotted Daddy, we both started walking toward the elevator. I felt the urge to pee again. This time it wasn't pee. My water now exploded all over the hospital floor. No more trickles. I left puddles behind me all the way upstairs. It was the most disgusting, but also the funniest thing that's ever happened to me. I laughed all the way to labor and delivery.
We spent the afternoon waiting on you. After a few hours, we finally got to meet you. Your birth was exactly like Big Brother's. You were perfect and healthy. That's all we ever wanted. You are still perfect and healthy and Mommy is so thankful for my little one year old, even if you do bite me.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Weight Watcher or Big Loser?
I love watching The Biggest Loser and am really missing it since the last season is now over. I really need to get in shape myself and attempt to from time to time, only to find myself eating a bowl of popcorn while watching Jillian and Bob yell and curse at all the contestants. I thought of all this today as I was in the checkout line at Target.
Earlier, while glancing through the magazine aisle, I noticed one by Weight Watchers. Since I do attempt to get into shape from time to time, I threw it in the cart thinking maybe if I read it, it will motivate my big popcorn loving butt.
I'm sure the girl at the checkout also thought I needed a little motivation while ringing up my Weight Watcher magazine and my pile of 5,840 calories. I looked like a big loser and yeah, the look she gave me was priceless.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
The Pill
I've come to the conclusion that if I ever get pregnant again, it will be after a weekend. I'm not planning on a brother or sister for Baby Jaws and his big brother, but I never remember to take my pill on Sundays. The other six days of the week are not a problem. I just don't know what it is about Sundays.
Maybe it's the fact that I'm running around trying to get everyone ready for church that I don't even have time to get myself ready, let alone remember to take a tiny pink pill at the exact same time I've taken it for the past year (except on every Sunday, where I've been at least 8 hours late each time).
Maybe if they'd make those bad boys as big as giant chewy Sweet Tarts, and for that matter give them the same taste, I'd be all over that and not forget.
Maybe it's the fact that I'm running around trying to get everyone ready for church that I don't even have time to get myself ready, let alone remember to take a tiny pink pill at the exact same time I've taken it for the past year (except on every Sunday, where I've been at least 8 hours late each time).
Maybe if they'd make those bad boys as big as giant chewy Sweet Tarts, and for that matter give them the same taste, I'd be all over that and not forget.
Friday, May 22, 2009
We Need Some of These
It all started when I couldn't find the Desitin.
We were at Walmart for the 87th time this month and I was searching for some diaper doo for Baby Jaw's butt. There has always been a small baby section near the health/beauty/medicine sections. Last night, it was no where to be found.
The baby section may have been gone, but I kept looking. I was on a mission. And yes, I was too tired and too lazy to walk to the back of the store to the real baby section. My 3 year old walked the aisles with me, talking constantly to himself and whoever else may be listening. He would pick an item up, inspect it, talk to it and place it back on the shelf. A few minutes later, I noticed he was still carrying around a box, telling whoever would listen that "we need some of these." Always in mommy mode, I didn't notice what he had been carrying around until I took the box away from him to place it back onto the shelf.
I laughed and said, "Are you kidding me child?" as I took away from him a big box of condoms.
We were at Walmart for the 87th time this month and I was searching for some diaper doo for Baby Jaw's butt. There has always been a small baby section near the health/beauty/medicine sections. Last night, it was no where to be found.
The baby section may have been gone, but I kept looking. I was on a mission. And yes, I was too tired and too lazy to walk to the back of the store to the real baby section. My 3 year old walked the aisles with me, talking constantly to himself and whoever else may be listening. He would pick an item up, inspect it, talk to it and place it back on the shelf. A few minutes later, I noticed he was still carrying around a box, telling whoever would listen that "we need some of these." Always in mommy mode, I didn't notice what he had been carrying around until I took the box away from him to place it back onto the shelf.
I laughed and said, "Are you kidding me child?" as I took away from him a big box of condoms.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
What's in a Name?
It’s official. I’m no longer "Momma" to my son. I’m "Mommy". The first time I heard it come out of his mouth, I thought it was cute. But the more he said "Mommy", the sadder I became. He’s growing up too fast. It won’t be long and I will be just "Mom". My name isn’t going to change just yet though. I am still "Momma" to his baby brother; hopefully for a long time to come.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Flutter by Butterfly
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While playing outside a couple of days ago, my son started screaming, "A butterfly! A butterfly!" I looked everywhere and saw no butterfly flying around. It took me awhile to see it myself since it just seemed to be resting for a moment. They spent a few minutes checking each other out while my son talked to it. "Hi butterfly. You're a pretty butterfly. Where you going butterfly?"
I will never tire of such sweet conversations.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Blindsided
I'll admit it and give him credit. My husband was right, knows he was right and won't let me forget that he was right.
And you would think I would know better by now.
After dinner on Mother’s Day, we stopped by Barnes & Noble. I knew my Baby Jaws would be wet so I grabbed a diaper and crammed it into my purse, not wanting to lug the giant diaper bag inside. My husband asked if I'd grabbed the wipes. "No," I replied, "He can't be poopie. He doesn't smell poopie." Don't think he didn't warn me that I'd regret not taking in the wipes.
I took my Baby Jaws into the restroom to change his diaper. Much to my surprise, when I took off the diaper it was then I was blindsided by the poop. You know the kind; those poops that just seem to appear out of nowhere with no smell, no warning.
My first thought was, "Crap, my husband was right." There I was, standing in the stall with a poopie butt staring up at me and no wipes. I grabbed some toilet paper and tried my best, but soon realized that was not going to cut it. The only option I had was to make a break for the sink to grab some wet paper towels. I waited as long as I could to make sure the coast was clear, but clearly that was not going to happen either. I realized I was just going to have to look like an idiot to the other women in the restroom. I now regretted not grabbing the wipes.
I placed my naked from the waist down, brown-cakey-butted little boy over my forearm and ran to the sink like a running back yelling, “I know I look like I’m crazy, but I have no wipes!” as two women washing their hands just stood there laughing at me. I did feel like a crazy mother and was apologizing to my son the entire time thinking if he were older and could remember this, it would probably scar him for life. One of the women said, “At least he’s being a good sport about it.” I would probably have been a good sport too if I had been sitting in odor-free poop for who knows how long, while my crazy mother aired out my butt while running through the bookstore bathroom.
I grabbed a handful of paper towels and soaked them, while praying no one else would come in to be mooned by my son. I was even going over in my mind how I would race someone to the back stall, which had the changing table, if need be. I cleaned the poor little guy's bottom then made the long, slow walk back out into the store. It was there I was greeted by my husband, who could tell by the look on my face that Baby Jaws had been poopie. I don't know which was worse; embarrassing myself in front of the women in the restroom or hearing these words from my husband, "I told you to grab the wipes."
And you would think I would know better by now.
After dinner on Mother’s Day, we stopped by Barnes & Noble. I knew my Baby Jaws would be wet so I grabbed a diaper and crammed it into my purse, not wanting to lug the giant diaper bag inside. My husband asked if I'd grabbed the wipes. "No," I replied, "He can't be poopie. He doesn't smell poopie." Don't think he didn't warn me that I'd regret not taking in the wipes.
I took my Baby Jaws into the restroom to change his diaper. Much to my surprise, when I took off the diaper it was then I was blindsided by the poop. You know the kind; those poops that just seem to appear out of nowhere with no smell, no warning.
My first thought was, "Crap, my husband was right." There I was, standing in the stall with a poopie butt staring up at me and no wipes. I grabbed some toilet paper and tried my best, but soon realized that was not going to cut it. The only option I had was to make a break for the sink to grab some wet paper towels. I waited as long as I could to make sure the coast was clear, but clearly that was not going to happen either. I realized I was just going to have to look like an idiot to the other women in the restroom. I now regretted not grabbing the wipes.
I placed my naked from the waist down, brown-cakey-butted little boy over my forearm and ran to the sink like a running back yelling, “I know I look like I’m crazy, but I have no wipes!” as two women washing their hands just stood there laughing at me. I did feel like a crazy mother and was apologizing to my son the entire time thinking if he were older and could remember this, it would probably scar him for life. One of the women said, “At least he’s being a good sport about it.” I would probably have been a good sport too if I had been sitting in odor-free poop for who knows how long, while my crazy mother aired out my butt while running through the bookstore bathroom.
I grabbed a handful of paper towels and soaked them, while praying no one else would come in to be mooned by my son. I was even going over in my mind how I would race someone to the back stall, which had the changing table, if need be. I cleaned the poor little guy's bottom then made the long, slow walk back out into the store. It was there I was greeted by my husband, who could tell by the look on my face that Baby Jaws had been poopie. I don't know which was worse; embarrassing myself in front of the women in the restroom or hearing these words from my husband, "I told you to grab the wipes."
Monday, May 18, 2009
Like Sands Through the Hourglass...
This is the craze of our lives.
My mother-in-law told me I should write a blog. She thought other mothers might enjoy reading it. My first and only thought was, other mothers have time to read? I barely have time to read the expiration date on the milk before giving my 3 year old a glass.
My life is full of daytime drama, but I don’t have time to watch the sand filter through the hourglass. You’d more likely find me wiping sand out of a butt crack.
I am definitely not a pro at this mom thing, but I am pro-mom. I’ve read all over the internet of anti-mom moms. Moms who think they are better because they stay at home, home school their kids, and grow their own food. Moms who think they are better because they juggle four kids, a 60 hour work week, and send their kids to private school. Moms who think they are better because they had a natural childbirth, breastfeed their baby, and only use organic baby wipes on their little sensitive butts.
I myself am a stay at home mom of a 3 year old and an 11 month old (both boys), who at the moment, are screaming at each other. I breastfed my oldest for a year and am looking forward to weaning my 11 month old over the next few weeks so I can have my boobs back and throw away my nursing bras. Not to mention the fact that he now has six teeth and my nipples seem to think my Baby Jaws should be eating steak already. My husband is also ready for the little leech to stop clinging to me so we can get away from the kids for more than three hours at a time. My only fear is that the first time we “get away”, I’ll get knocked up again. Believe me, it would be my luck.
The birth of my first was induced and we knew the exact day he was coming. I had an epidural and learned giving birth was a lot easier than I ever imagined. While I was pregnant with my second, I started reading natural childbirth books thinking to myself, the first pregnancy and birth were easy, how hard could this natural thing be? I can surely breathe through the pain. That's what my ancestors the cave women did, according to these books. A few hours after my water broke, we arrived at the hospital and I was induced again. All I could think was, “Screw this natural childbirth. I’m getting an epidural.” And that birth was exactly like the first one; fast, easy and thanks to the anesthesiologist, a lot less painful.
I have friends who have had natural childbirths, birthed at home, emergency c-sections, planned c-sections, and then of course, myself and my epidural buddies. I have friends who have breastfed their babies for only a few days, those who have bottle fed from the beginning, and those like me, who have actually made it an entire year. I have friends who have more kids than me and have a career. I don’t know how they do it. I have friends who don’t know how I stay home with my kids day after day. And there are some days I don’t know how I do it either. The reality of it all is, we do it.
We do it because we’re moms. Our husbands could never pull off such a feat. I love my husband more than he will ever know, but he could never do what I do. Sure he can pull some mommy-like tendencies out of his butt for a few hours here or there. He can entertain and take really good care of the kids, but he could never do this day after day for a lifetime. There in lies the craze of my life, but I wouldn't trade my crazy life or my family that makes me that way for anything in the world.
My mother-in-law told me I should write a blog. She thought other mothers might enjoy reading it. My first and only thought was, other mothers have time to read? I barely have time to read the expiration date on the milk before giving my 3 year old a glass.
My life is full of daytime drama, but I don’t have time to watch the sand filter through the hourglass. You’d more likely find me wiping sand out of a butt crack.
I am definitely not a pro at this mom thing, but I am pro-mom. I’ve read all over the internet of anti-mom moms. Moms who think they are better because they stay at home, home school their kids, and grow their own food. Moms who think they are better because they juggle four kids, a 60 hour work week, and send their kids to private school. Moms who think they are better because they had a natural childbirth, breastfeed their baby, and only use organic baby wipes on their little sensitive butts.
I myself am a stay at home mom of a 3 year old and an 11 month old (both boys), who at the moment, are screaming at each other. I breastfed my oldest for a year and am looking forward to weaning my 11 month old over the next few weeks so I can have my boobs back and throw away my nursing bras. Not to mention the fact that he now has six teeth and my nipples seem to think my Baby Jaws should be eating steak already. My husband is also ready for the little leech to stop clinging to me so we can get away from the kids for more than three hours at a time. My only fear is that the first time we “get away”, I’ll get knocked up again. Believe me, it would be my luck.
The birth of my first was induced and we knew the exact day he was coming. I had an epidural and learned giving birth was a lot easier than I ever imagined. While I was pregnant with my second, I started reading natural childbirth books thinking to myself, the first pregnancy and birth were easy, how hard could this natural thing be? I can surely breathe through the pain. That's what my ancestors the cave women did, according to these books. A few hours after my water broke, we arrived at the hospital and I was induced again. All I could think was, “Screw this natural childbirth. I’m getting an epidural.” And that birth was exactly like the first one; fast, easy and thanks to the anesthesiologist, a lot less painful.
I have friends who have had natural childbirths, birthed at home, emergency c-sections, planned c-sections, and then of course, myself and my epidural buddies. I have friends who have breastfed their babies for only a few days, those who have bottle fed from the beginning, and those like me, who have actually made it an entire year. I have friends who have more kids than me and have a career. I don’t know how they do it. I have friends who don’t know how I stay home with my kids day after day. And there are some days I don’t know how I do it either. The reality of it all is, we do it.
We do it because we’re moms. Our husbands could never pull off such a feat. I love my husband more than he will ever know, but he could never do what I do. Sure he can pull some mommy-like tendencies out of his butt for a few hours here or there. He can entertain and take really good care of the kids, but he could never do this day after day for a lifetime. There in lies the craze of my life, but I wouldn't trade my crazy life or my family that makes me that way for anything in the world.
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