Jul 092013
 

I’ve been off bed rest for a couple of weeks now, and the one thing that has struck me is that:

1) Bed rest sucks. It’s not restful, it’s stressful.

2) It really makes you appreciate the little things that you usually take for granted, or even complain about.

Ok, so that was two things. Forgive me, apparently my brain is still “resting.”

One of the hardest things about bed rest was not being able to do the little, every day things that I usually do, like taking my daughter to school, going grocery shopping, making dinner, and simply cleaning up the house. Yes, I missed doing those little, annoying “chores” that I usually complain about. I guess, really, I missed being busy and feeling efficient about getting those things done. Once you took away my ability to do almost everything but lie in bed and watch TV, I discovered how many “little” things I accomplish every day. Most importantly, I discovered the simple pride I feel in making sure our household runs smoothly. Coming from someone who doesn’t particularly enjoy, nor is very good at, cooking, cleaning and other domestic duties, I never would have guessed the pride I feel in accomplishing these simple tasks. Hell, I have sign in my kitchen that proclaims, “The Queen Does Not Cook” if that tells you much about my domesticity.

Of course, the thing I missed most was spending quality time with my daughter. Most of the days that I was on bed rest, I shipped her off to daycare.  And, home alone by myself, the house felt eerily calm and quiet. I truly missed her noise, her commotion, her unstoppable energy. I missed carrying her around on my hip, chasing her in the grass, and playing with her on the playground.  I missed her mess. I even missed her temper tantrums. (I think I must have been hallucinating out of boredom). Yes, I missed all the things that usually wear on me after a few hours in her presence. I missed the things that usually cause me to daydream about spending a day in bed, watching TV. Instead, I laid in bed, daydreaming about her mischievous smile.

And then, after a short time in the scheme of things, I was off bed rest. I had to take it easy, of course, but I no longer was confined to a horizontal position.

The first day off bed rest, I looked at all of these daily “chores” in a whole new light.  Even though I had to take things slowly (and still do) I was thrilled to just get out of bed, make coffee and throw a load of laundry in the washing machine. I was happy to walk around the house and tidy up, take a nice long shower without rushing to get back to bed, and to finally go grocery shopping.

In the mornings, my husband and I usually take turns on waking up with my daughter and feeding her breakfast, while the other gets to sleep in a bit a later.  Normally, I look forward to my mornings “off” and that extra bit of sleep in the AM.  But the first day off of bed rest, I sprang up (gently) at the first sound she made, and the smile on her face when I came into her room to pick her up was pure magic. We read a couple of books and then chatted over frozen waffles. It was heaven. There’s no way that an extra hour of sleep could compete with that. When I picked her up out of bed and carried her into the kitchen, for the first time in a few weeks, she smiled and hugged me tightly and said, “Mommy can carry me?  Mommy not sick?!” Tears ran down my face as I squeezed her, maybe a little too hard, and said, “No honey. Mommy is not sick.”

But, much like the appreciation one has for one’s health after being sick for a few days, slowly my appreciation for the simple tasks of life has already started to slip away. I already find myself wishing for five more minutes of sleep, fretting over what to cook for dinner, and groaning about the dirty laundry that needs to be washed and the floors that need to be swept. My daily tasks are starting to become chores again.

My hope is that I can hold on to a little piece of the love for everyday life that I felt when I first came off of bed rest.  I hope I can always feel a rush of pleasure at waking up with my daughter in the morning, walking her home from school while chatting about her day, or lifting her up to put her the on monkey bars. I hope that I can remember to feel pride in keeping my household running seamlessly – ok, well maybe not “seamlessly”, but at least keeping it sputtering along. I hope that I can continue to remind myself that the little things really are the big things in life. And most of all, I hope that I can remember this every day, not simply when it has been taken away from me.

 

No cleaning allowed. Every woman's dream, right??

No cleaning allowed. Every woman’s dream, right??

 

No entry for big-haired cleaning ladies

Jun 282013
 

Hello Stranger. It’s been a while since we talked. My last post I got all personal with you, possibly even worrying you, and then I never called. I never wrote. I never even texted. For that, I am sorry. But believe me when I say that it’s not you, it’s me.

You see, my fears and frustrations were all I could think about for a while. I needed a release. I needed to talk about these fears and frustrations, and you were just the right person to listen. You were sympathetic, kind, concerned and non-judgy. But in the time following, those fears and frustrations became all I could think about.  And they occupied so much space in my brain and in my life that, after a while, I just didn’t want to give them any more space. To be honest, I was just so damn tired of talking about them. But because they occupied so much space in my brain, I didn’t have anything else to talk about. So, I stopped talking.

But now, things are good. I am off bed rest and slowly returning to normal life.  Thank you to everyone who reached out to me to show their support and concern and to share their own stories. I appreciate it more than you know. Even if I got tired of talking about it.

Stay tuned next week for more of my talking…

Jun 072013
 
Iron Wagon

I want off!!!

I love roller coasters. I love the excitement that builds as you climb the hill. I love the adrenaline that pulses through your veins as you reach the top. I love the feeling of fear as you pause at the top, looking down on the world below you. I love the feeling of absolute freedom as you explode from the top and race down the hill. And I love that then it all starts again.

But I guess what I love most about roller coasters is that the fear and the excitement are all controlled. You know what’s going to happen, and you know you will be safe. So you feel safe in feeling afraid.

Lately my life has been a roller coaster. Unfortunately it is one that I cannot control. Unfortunately I do not feel safe at all.

I am now 21 weeks pregnant, and about a month ago I began having some bleeding. Sorry if this is TMI for some of you, but I figure that if celebrities can flash their hoo-has to the world, that I can at least talk about mine for a moment. Plus… grow up. Okay?  Anyway, I began having some bleeding, so of course, I got worried. I went to see my doctor, who thought it was probably a UTI causing it. I was relieved to have an answer… until we found out it wasn’t a UTI. Fear returned.  I went back in to see the doctor. She couldn’t find the source of the bleeding, but she was pretty sure it was just some superficial bleeding due to a growth spurt, and now it was probably over. I didn’t bleed anymore, so I accepted this and was relieved. Until I wasn’t.

Two weeks later the bleeding started again. The fear escalated. I went to see the doctor, who again couldn’t find the source, but assured me everything was fine.  The next day, I went in for my 20 week ultrasound. The doctor there looked at my baby (A BOY!) and told me he was perfect. She looked at everything going on in my uterus and told me that was perfect too. I was relieved. No, I was more than relieved. I was elated. I felt like I could finally breathe for the first time in a week, maybe longer. Then I got the wind knocked out of me again.

Two hours later I started bleeding. A lot more this time. I called my doctor, who put me on immediate bed rest until she could see me the next afternoon. I am not sure if any of you have had to be on bed rest while taking care of a toddler, but I am sure you can imagine that it is no easy feat.  The only thing on par with the fear was the guilt.  Every time my daughter asked me to play with her, and I had to say no, I felt bone-breaking guilt about choosing the baby over her. And every time I shunned the bed rest to give her the little play time or cuddle she needed, I felt the same guilt about choosing Lyla over the baby. The fear and the guilt, along with the stress of pretending that everything is fine, was just too much. That night I had my first panic attack ever. A real, honest-to-goodness, can’t breathe, can’t see straight, almost vomiting, panic attack. And then it was over and I could laugh about how ridiculous I am… and then start panicking again because I had a panic attack, and that must mean I am going crazy, right? Needless to say, I didn’t sleep much.

The next day I went in to see the doctor and again she told me that it was most likely coming from the cervix, which is the best case scenario.  But again, she told me I need to be careful and rest until the bleeding stops. That was two days ago. It still hasn’t stopped. And again, the fear rises.

So here I sit on bed rest. I am lucky that I have an amazing husband who is doing his job and mine without complaints. He is working, and taking care of me, and playing with Lyla, and making dinner, and everything else that two people can barely fit in a day. I have friends who have helped immensely, by taking Lyla for play dates and offering help when I need it most. I have a daycare who can take Lyla extra days, which helps with the guilt. I am lucky, I know. But I am bed-ridden, and the fear is starting to mount again and what do I have to do but complain about a very private thing on a very public forum.

Everyone says that I should enjoy this opportunity. I know it’s true. I mean, how often do I get to lie down for a week with no cooking, cleaning, laundry or chores to do and often no daughter to take care of? I know that I should be in heaven. Some days I daydream of  just an hour of this luxury. The thing is, all of these things still need to be done, I just can’t do them. I wish I could do the laundry that is piling up. I wish that I could cook my husband a nice dinner. I wish that I could play with my daughter instead of sending her off to school to play without me. I don’t feel sick. I feel like I could do all of this, plus 45 minutes on the elliptical and maybe some weights while I am at it. I feel like I could do everything. But I can’t.

Oh yeah, and it is summertime, so there is no good tv on. Only reruns of crappy TV that I have already seen twice. So there’s that too.

Most of all, I don’t like feeling fragile. I like my muscles and am proud of my strong body. I like my stubbornness and am proud of my strong mind. But right now I feel weak. I feel like I am going to break, both in body and mind. Every move I make, I feel like I am somehow injuring the baby. I sneezed yesterday and almost peed my pants out of fear that the sneeze harmed the baby. And then I freaked out because I almost peed. Oh, did I mention that peeing freaks me out too? And don’t even get me started on #2.

This weak body of mine is weakening my mind as well. All these emotions and all this fear can’t be good for you.  I have been on the verge of tears for almost a month now.  I am losing my mind.  I know that I shouldn’t be so scared. I have been to the doctor almost every day this week and she assures me that everything is fine. But she also tells me that it is not normal, and it is certainly not good. And every time it happens, I have to go back in to check and make sure everything is still fine. So every time it happens again, I live in a constant state of fear that this will be the time that everything is NOT fine. I usually like roller coasters. But this one is literally making me sick to my stomach. I want to get off.

The one good thing is that any thoughts I had of not connecting to this baby, are gone. I am connected to this little boy. And, in true motherly fashion, I am worried sick about him already.

May 232013
 

In case you hadn’t noticed by my last slightly bitter post, I have been feeling just a wee bit self-conscious about my body lately.  I think that some people assume that as soon as you become pregnant, it is a free-for-all food fest and all body worries go out the window.  They assume that every pregnant woman eats ice cream all day, without worrying about the effect that it has on her body, both in the present and in the future. Oh, how I wish that were true. While pregnancy does change your eating habits, and let’s face it, some of us do spend the day eating ice cream, that doesn’t mean that we don’t have the same body guilt, and even shame, that we felt pre-pregnancy. You eat more and crave more of certain kinds of foods while you are pregnant, not just because you are entitled to “gain all the weight you want”, but because your body is not-so-subtly demanding a double-meat, double-cheeseburger with a side of M&Ms in a way that most people are unaccustomed to. A pregnant woman’s hunger is similar to a twenty-two year old man’s sex drive:  it will not be ignored, despite all logic and good sense.

So your body is telling you one thing (ie. eat that tub of Crisco. Now!) and your mind is telling you another (ie. Control yourself and eat a salad instead, fatty!).  Sometimes you listen to your mind and sometimes you listen to your body, but even when you listen to your body, it’s tough to totally shut out the negativity of the mind.

But, as the weeks go by and my baby bump grows, so does my self-confidence.  I am finally starting to find my pregnancy groove.  The irrational hungry monster inside my head is slowly settling to a dull roar, and I am becoming able to control it. I finally have enough energy to exercise on a more consistant basis. My belly is beginning to look more like a baby bump rather than a jelly roll, so I am finally starting to pull out the tighter shirts that highlight my belly, instead of shamefully hiding it under baggy clothes like an unwed Mormon. My hips and thighs might be wider than usual, but a nice, round belly makes everything else look skinnier. My ass might be twice its usual size, but hey, so are my boobs.  Finally, I am starting to accept, if not totally appreciate, my lovely (pregnant) lady lumps.

That’s not say that I have shed my all body hang-ups just yet.  I have my good days and my bad days, just like I did pre-pregnancy. Buying a couple of new, flattering maternity outfits has helped. And on a good day, with just the right lighting and a bit of make-up and some high heels, I feel almost like myself again. Like myself with just a little something extra. So yes, maybe I am chubbier, bumpier, lumpier and cellulitier (yes, I just made that word up) than I was, but there are two of in here now… and that means two of us to answer to if you even think of asking me how much weight I have gained so far.

 

 

May 172013
 

For some odd reason, some people think that because you are pregnant they can say things to you that they would never say to a non-pregnant person.  Like growing a life inside your belly somehow makes you suddenly immune to comments on your looks, weight, parenting style or dietary choices. I mean, would you ever ask a non-pregnant person how much weight she has gained lately?  Would you ever tsk at her drinking a diet coke or eating a hamburger?  Would you ever stroke her belly??  The answer to these questions should be no. If it is not, you need to see a therapist. So if you wouldn’t say these things to a non-pregnant person, why is it suddenly ok to say them to a pregnant woman?

I have had enough invasions of privacy lately without hearing your thoughts on my body parts, thank you very much. I have peed in more cups, spread my legs more often, and had more conversations about my bodily functions than Lindsay Lohan, and quite frankly, I am tired of sharing myself.  Do I sound bitter and cranky? Because I am. I already feel enough like a human Tupperware container without people treating me like I am no longer human. So thanks, but keep your thoughts on how I look to yourself.  Unless, of course, you want to tell me how amazing my boobs look. Because right now, they are pretty amazing!

Basically, what I am saying is that if you can’t say something nice, don’t say it at all. If you are not sure if it is nice, just don’t say it. If you still need further clarification, read below for my list of things you should never, ever say to a pregnant woman. Ever. Unless, of course, you were wondering what a swollen, pregnant fist tastes like.

1)  It’s only 9 months.

Ok, first off, 40 weeks is more than 9 months. Second, YOU try feeling nauseous, ugly, angry, sad, hungry, uncomfortable, gaseous and swollen for even 9 days and tell me that it doesn’t feel like 9 years!

2)  Wow!  You are only x months pregnant??  You are huge!

Even if it is said with a smile, or followed by a compliment or a comment that I am “all belly”, the only thing I hear is “Holy shit, you are fat!” And it makes me to slap the smile off your skinny, non-pregnant face.  Sorry, there goes the bitterness again.

3)  You can’t eat that/drink that/do that!

Thank you pregnancy police.  I am well aware (waayyy too aware) of what my dietary limitations are.  This is between me and my doctor.  I assure you that I am doing everything I can to create a healthy environment for my growing child, and that may or may not include an occasional caffeine fix, piece of fish or sip of wine. I did all three during my first pregnancy, and also lifted things that weighed more than a piece of paper, highlighted my hair, and painted my nails.  My child is just fine. Why don’t you focus on your own kid, who is eating a can rubber cement right now?

4) Are you sure that you are gaining enough weight?  You need to eat more. You are exercising too much.

This is just as annoying and unhelpful as the fat comments.  Every body is different.  This is true even during pregnancy. If a woman is truly gaining too much weight or not gaining enough, rest assured that her doctor will let her know.  Just like in non-pregnant women, there’s no reason to make anyone feel guilty or uncomfortable about her body.  Ever.

5 )  You must be having a girl.  Carrying a boy makes you glow, but a girl steals your beauty while you are pregnant.

Great. So not only am I fat, but now I am ugly too? Thanks so much. (Yes, someone actually said this to me during my first pregnancy. Seriously?? Seriously.)

6)  I only gained 20 pounds when I had a baby and I lost it right away.

Good for you. Now shut the hell up and let me eat my double cheeseburger in peace.

7)  Are you sure you are not having twins?

Translation: “You are a complete whale.” Ask yourself this – Are you really worried that in this day and age a second baby could have snuck into my uterus, undetected by doctors and modern technology? I’m not buying it. Or are you just trying to think of a “nice” way to ask me why I am so huge?  There is no nice way, so keep your thoughts about my weight to yourself or you will have your heart ripped out (and likely eaten) by a hungry, hormonal pregnant woman.

8)  Can I touch your belly?

No you cannot, creeper.  I wouldn’t want you to touch my stomach while I was not pregnant, let alone when there is only a thin layer of skin between your grubby hands and my perfect baby.  Shudder.  But now you have put me in the awkward position where I either have to say no and feel like a total a-hole or let you touch me. Thanks for that.

** This question, however, is preferable to the people who actually lunge for your belly, unannounced. I would never, ever touch a stranger’s body, so while is it acceptable for strangers to touch you while you are pregnant??

9)  You don’t like being pregnant?! Wow. I loved every second of my pregnancy.

Perhaps there are a few select women who truly love being pregnant, but I can personally guarantee that no one loves every second of it. There are many incredible things about being pregnant – like the moment that you first feel the baby move inside of you. Or simply the fact that your body is capable of creating another living, breathing human. However, I think that any woman who says that they loved every second of 9 + months of discomfort, mood-swings, cravings, nausea, pain, sleeplessness, bloating, and weight-gain is either forgetting, lying or Mother Teresa.

I am sure that there are many more insane things that people say to pregnant women.  Have you ever said anything you regretted to someone or did someone say something hilariously terrible to you while pregnant?  Please share and we can mock this dumbass together…even if the dumbass is you.

 

May 092013
 

Ok, I have a confession to make.  A few actually.

In case you didn’t read my last post, I am pregnant with baby number 2.  I am excited about it, of course.  It is what we wanted, and I feel blessed that we were able to get pregnant so easily.  I know it is not always easy.  It is a cruel trick of nature that when your body is most ready to have a baby – at, oh, the tender age of 13 – nothing else in your life is ready for this baby, including you. Although you  probably would share a mutual love of Demi Lovato and pizza-flavored Cheetos with your five-year-old, that alone doesn’t qualify you to raise a child.  However, by the time everything else in your life is finally ready, and your finances, mental state, and career are more secure, your ovaries are often shriveled up like Raisinettes, and your body scoffs at your attempts to conceive. Maybe my body is not quite there yet, but I am not getting any younger either, so I feel very happy to have gotten pregnant. But as happy as I am, the truth – and my confession – is that I am not as excited as I think I should be. To be honest (Ok, cover your tiny ears, Fetus) I don’t really think about the baby all that much.

Sure, I think about it all the time in practical terms. I think about all the things that must be done before the new baby comes. I think about the construction we must do, the endless amounts of crap that we must buy, and all the old gear that we need to haul out of hibernation. I make lists and then check them off.  I go to my doctor appointments and look at the ultrasounds and am relieved to discover that everything is ok. I take my vitamins, eat my fruits and veggies, exercise when I can, and avoid alcohol and caffeine and sushi and  lunch meat and soft cheeses and the long list of everything that I love that I cannot have.  I do my job as this baby’s diligent mother.  Or do I?

I do worry about the well-being of the baby, of course. That is a powerful instinct that I cannot deny. I think about all the things that can go wrong. I both fear and look forward to the tests that will reassure me that the baby is ok (I hope.) But when I think about the future with this baby, instead of daydreaming of his or her face, I find myself thinking more about how it is going to affect the baby that I already have. What does all of this mean for her? Is this really the right thing? Is this new addition really going to add to her life, or is going to take something away from her?  Like me.

Gone are the wonder and magic of the first pregnancy. I no longer read the weekly updates and marvel at the fact that the baby growing inside me is now urinating or that he or she is the size of a Meyer lemon or a navel orange (although this does make me hungry.) We haven’t even thought about names or what the new nursery will look like.  The journal I bought to start writing to the new baby, as I did with my first child, lies untouched.  Every time I sit down to write, I realize that I haven’t nothing yet to say. I really wish I did.

I know it is still early in the pregnancy.  I don’t know the sex yet, nor have I felt much movement other than the slight flutters that may or may not be gas. I am sure that I will connect with this baby at some point, but right now I am finding it hard to connect with this unknown creature when I already have a flesh and bone child that connects back. I distinctly remember feeling a lot more excited at this stage in my first pregnancy.  Writing in her journal, reading every book on the market, marveling at my body’s changes and taking pictures each week of my growing belly.  Now, it feels a bit “Been-there, Done-that.” And I hate it. I hate to think of my child as a been there, done-that. It is not fair. And I know it.

Ok, tiny fetus, you can uncover your ears now.  I do love you and I am excited to meet you.  I guess, like so many relationships, ours just needs a little bit of time to develop.  Good thing we have till October. And then the rest of my life.

 

May 022013
 
Hell yeah, I ate all the cupcakes!!

Hell yeah, I ate all the cupcakes!  And they were delicious!

5 Things I Have Eaten Recently:

1)  Queso dip, 5 layer bean dip and approximately a half pound of corn chips. As an appetizer.

2)  A smoothie made from greek yogurt, bananas, mango, pineapple and 3 different kinds of weird sprouts that made the smoothie crunchy.  All in a misguided attempt to counter-balance the bagel with cream cheese that I ate 10 minutes prior.

3)  Almost an entire box of dry Fiber One Chocolate cereal.  I will spare you the details but, please don’t ever do this!!!

4)  A cupcake.  Ok… three!!

5)  An entire jar of bread and butter pickles… which I don’t even really like.

 

5 Things I Have Cried About Recently

1)  That phone (or something) commercial where we see the little boy in all stages of his life, ending with him giving his mom a tour of his dorm room.  “It all goes so fast!! Sniffle, sniffle”

2)  Every single time I feel that my husband just “doesn’t understand me.” (ie. at least twice a week)

3)  A video of my daughter taking some of her first steps in our front yard.  She is smiling proudly as she drunkenly moves towards me on her wobbly little legs.  Her chubby fingers are laced in mine as… Oh crap… here we go again!

4)  The day I really wanted Mexican Food but Pinches Tacos was closed.  Ok, I didn’t actually cry, but I did get pretty teary-eyed.

5)  Any movie, tv show, commercial, webisode, viral video, or infomercial featuring a baby, toddler, small child, animal dressed to look like a small child, person with small features, midget or gymnast.

 

What does all of this mean????

I’m pregnant!!!!!
photo credit: FUNKYAH via photopin cc

Apr 242013
 

Two and a half years ago, while pregnant with my daughter, I started a journal to my unborn child.  I had a lot of questions, fears and emotions (imagine that: an emotional pregnant woman!)  Mostly I just felt like I had a lot to say to this little baby growing inside me, but I felt like a complete a-hole actually walking around talking to her. I have always had a much easier time writing rather than talking, especially when it comes to any subject that registers on an emotional scale of more than .0005. I can barely stutter my way through a difficult face-to-face conversation, but I can bare my soul on paper. That is part of the reason I started this blog in the first place:  I had a lot to say, but was too chicken shit to actually SAY any of it.

So for these reasons, I started a journal to my unborn child.  I have kept up with it since her birth, although not as often as I would like as actually having a child takes up most of my time. However, I hope to continue writing in it and saying all the things that I can never actually say to her until I feel that the time is right to give the journal to her.

A few days ago was my daughter Lyla’s second birthday.  And rather than writing a separate blog post about the immeasurable ways that she has changed my life in the two years since she was born, instead I am going to share with you the entry that I made into my daughter’s journal.

 Dear Lyla,

 A little over two years ago, I was anxiously awaiting your arrival. I was full of questions and fears, and there was so much that I did not know. Now, you are two years old, and I am full of new questions and fears. I am still learning every day, and thank goodness you are a kind and patient teacher. One thing that I have learned in the last two years is how little I knew until the day you came into my life.

 I knew that I would love you, but I didn’t know what this kind of love meant. I had no idea that this depth of love was even possible until you showed me how.

I didn’t know how addicting your smell would be.  

 I knew that you would change my life, but I didn’t know how much you would change me.  You have made me stronger than I ever imagined, more patient than I ever thought possible, and more compassionate than I ever dreamed I could be. You have brought out the best in me, and shown me parts of myself that I didn’t even know existed.  

 I knew that you would make me a better mother, but I didn’t know that you would make me a better daughter, wife, sister and friend. I didn’t know you would make me a better person.

I didn’t know what amazing conversations we would have, even at the age of two.

 I knew you would be my daughter, but I didn’t know you would be my confidant, my partner in crime, my fashion critic, my favorite companion and my best friend.

 I knew that I would have much to teach you, but I didn’t know how much you would teach me.  Every. Single. Day.

I didn’t know such big farts could come out of such a little person. 

I didn’t know that once I became a mom, I could never unbecome one, even if I wanted to just for an hour or two.  I didn’t know that even when you are not there, you are always in my mind and my heart.  

I didn’t know how hard I could laugh.

I didn’t know how much I would worry. Every second. Every minute. Every day.  I also didn’t know how this could possibly be a bittersweet thing. I worry so much because I love you so fiercely. And even though worrying can be exhausting, that kind of love feels good. So I embrace the worrying. I do know that you don’t understand what this means, but I hope that you have your own child someday and then you will know.

Lyla, there is so much that I didn’t know then and that I still don’t know now.  I have made many mistakes over the past two years, and I am sure that I will make so many more before you ever read this.  The one thing I do know is that my love for you somehow grows every day.  I know that you inspire me, amaze me, and make me happier than I ever thought I could be. I know I must be doing ok at this mom thing, because you are the most incredible little person that I have ever met.  Happy birthday my beautiful daughter.  I love you more than you will ever know.

Love,

Mommy

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Jan 102013
 
Saggyness Rules!

Saggyness Rules!

Exactly one year ago, I gave birth. No, not to the little bundle of feces, vomit and joy that I named Lyla, but to the little bundle of feces, vomit and joy that I named The Good, The Bad and The Saggy. Similar to a new baby, this little blog has given me many sleepless nights, much laughter and a few tears. But most similar to a new baby, over the past year this little blog has grown up a lot, and has caused me to grow up as well. But don’t expect me to stop using the F word or laughing at fart jokes just yet. I’m not dead. And farts are funny.

So, to celebrate a year of successful blogging (How do I measure success? Hey, I’m still here, right?!) I will do as many a mildly successful sitcom has done before me and not-so-sneakily repackage old material as a brand new episode and call it a FLASHBACK OF SAGGY’S GREATEST HITS.  Hey, after a year of blogging, I deserve to be lazy!

So, without further ado, I now present a compilation of some of my and your favorite posts from the past year.  Perhaps some of these you will read for the first time, perhaps you have already read them and wish to reread, perhaps you think I am lazy and don’t give a shit, perhaps you are having an affair with a six-fingered circus clown. Who knows, regardless I don’t judge. Enjoy!!

First, what better place to start than the beginning?  This was my very first post about all the things that change when you become a mother. (Please note that I have overused ellipses from my very post, and continue to do so to this day.  Who says everything has to change?):

Change Is… Good?

Next is my all-time favorite Random Thought. It is a philosophical question that has been debated since the beginning of time… or at least since the beginning of baby monitors:

Random Thought: On Philosophy

This next post is when I first began to realize that our children teach us as much as we teach them:

What My Daughter Taught Me Today 

Breastfeeding is always a hot topic, but it doesn’t have to be. Whatever you can or choose to do, give yourself and other moms a break:

Adventures in Breastfeeding

This post was one of my most personal and the hardest post I’ve written.  Reading it now, I can laugh at myself a bit, but I still remember how tough it was for me:

Little Heartbreaker

Another valuable lesson my daughter taught me:

Stop and Smell the Diapers

My post on my realization that I am not as cool or as young as I think I am. (still struggling with this one):

Leaving Las Vegas

The guilt, the angst, the awful feeling you can’t shake when you leave your child forever… or at least for a few hours:

Something’s Missing

This one still gets me all hot and bothered:

My Steamy Fantasy

My post about my first year with my daughter. The TRUTH:

Slow Burn

This was my first ever blog post that I wrote and never posted until a year later when I finally started this blog.  All about pregnancy:

The Ironies Of Pregnancy 

Prepare yourself for having a baby.  Read this, then panic:

Prepare Yourself 

Ugh.  Mean Moms still drive me crazy!:

Mean Moms

A horror story (don’t read before bed):

Mothers Don’t Get a Sick Day 

Another very personal post.  This I ponder still:

To Spawn or Not to Spawn 

A reminder that the small things ARE usually the big things:

Never Forget The Small Things

Another toughie for me:

Live Every Day Like It’s Your First 

True Story.  It’s even better if you watch the video on my Facebook page:

Dance Like a Toddler

The Real F word is far more dangerous than “Fuck”. Saying fuck is fun:

The F Word 

I know I just wrote this, but I still love the image of my daughter’s little hand poking through the bars of her crib:

Sleeping Like a Baby

Thanks again everyone for supporting me by reading the blog and with your comments, messages, questions and ideas.  That’s what this is all about for me… supporting one another through this crazy journey we call parenthood.  And continuing on this crazy journey… NEXT WEEK I WILL BE RELAUNCHING THIS BLOG with a new look, new address and lots of new posts for you to read.  Oh, and did I mention there will be wine?!  For me of course, but hey, wine is wine. Stay tuned!!

Dec 122012
 
Whoever made up the phrase "sleep like a baby" obviously never had one!

Whoever made up the phrase “sleep like a baby” obviously never had one!

Sometimes I get insomnia. I have always had trouble sleeping, even as a kid, although back then my insomnia dressed itself up as an imaginary friend who would keep me up at nights, pacing around my room and asking tough questions like, “What do you think happens when you die?” and, “Why does Santa hide all the Christmas presents in your parents’ closet?” I guess I had more of an imaginary Barbara Walters. Anyway, the point is that I have always had trouble sleeping, but it has only gotten worse as time goes on. I guess because as I got older, I discovered more things to worry about. (Though I am still up most nights trying to figure out why Santa hid all the Christmas presents in my parents closet!)

Then once I had a child, a solid night of sleep became a distant memory. Now there are numerous lists to make, hundreds of things to prepare for, and gazillions of irrational fears to worry about. It is a wonder that I am not a total zombie. However if you are reading this and there is something that I forgot to do for you or there is something that I did to otherwise piss you off… it’s because I am a zombie.

The past week or so, I have had another bout of insomnia. I either go to bed early, hoping to catch up a bit on sleep, or I stay up late, afraid to even try to fall asleep. Either way, the result is the same:  toss and turn for a few hours, move to the couch, toss and turn, move to the guest bedroom, toss and turn, until finally I drift off into a fitful sleep a few hours before it is time to wake up.  Last night I tried the stay-up late technique. Instead I watched The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Bad idea. You should never watch anything so frightening before trying to sleep. Finally I crawled into bed, exhausted, only to spend another couple of hours tossing and turning, before finally managing to fall asleep around 2:15 am.

Then my daughter woke up crying at 2:30 am.

My daughter is a pretty good sleeper. If she wakes up in the middle of the night, normally all it takes is a little pat on the back and kiss on the forehead, and she is back to dreamland and I am back to sleep and/or tossing/turning/worrying. Last night, however, I gave her a pat and a kiss and then stumbled back to bed, but she did not fall blissfully back to sleep. Instead she cried until I went back into her room. After trying this a few more times with the same result, I decided that perhaps she had insomnia too. I hope that she never has insomnia the way that I do, but sometimes it amazes me how in sync the two of us can be. So, I covered myself up with her little quilt and laid down next to her crib.

She would close her eyes for a few minutes, then peek her head up to make sure that I was still there, smiling at me before putting her head down again. After a while I saw a sweet, chubby, little hand poke through the bars of her crib. So I took it. We held hands like that until she finally drifted off to sleep. And then, amazingly, I did too. I slept for an hour there. The most solid hour of sleep that I have had all week, right there on the cold, hard floor, with my daughter’s soft, warm hand in mine. I finally woke up and went back to my bed. Of course I had a hard time falling asleep again, but this time because I was happy, not worried or stressed.  And I woke up this morning tired, but with a new clarity.

I think that this is exactly what parenting is all about:  Holding your little one’s hands, and then only later realizing that maybe it is they who were really holding your hand.
photo credit: thejbird via photopin cc