Oh the Irony

Last week I felt devoid of interaction.  It had been two weeks since I had complete access to the internet and my brain was degenerating from lack of use.

This week, my computer arrived.  Joy of joys!

Except, the endless time I had before--due to Ben's studying schedule and the kid's early bedtime--has dissipated quickly.  Poor baby Andrew has not stopped crying since 6 am Monday morning.  I thought it was his teeth, but upon further inspection it turned out to be something more sinister : hand, foot, and mouth disease.  Since there is nothing a doctor can do, Andy just has to wait it out.  Gah!

{On an unrelated note, how does he get these things?  I keep our place pretty spotless AND wash his hands, face, and anything he eats off of frequently!  I feel like the worst mom.}

I think this kid has had more strange viruses than anyone I know.  Like the rectal strep he concocted alongside RSV a year ago, and then, a few months later, the weird sores that appeared in the back of his mouth from another rare virus.  What makes things more difficult is he doesn't develop normal symptoms, like a fever or fatigue.  As Ben says, he's inherited my broken prosteoglandin pathway (I don't know what that is either) as well as my sh***y immune system.

Anyway, I have my computer but no time to write so my brain is still going haywire from all the ideas sprouting.  If only it would veg like the rest of my body feels like doing all the time.

At least I've had one positive from this experience: a painful reminder of those newborn days.  I think I might be done with having babies.

{Please note the sarcastic and/or sardonic undertones.}

A Time to Hold

I intended to write about potty training today until I picked up my little boy and felt inspired to go another direction.

My little guy needs me.  He needs me so much that he cries if any other person tries to hold him, including his dad.  This past week he has been sick.  Really sick.  This has only intensified his desire that I hold him all the time.   In a recent conversation with a friend, she remarked that it must be difficult to have a child who refuses to be comforted by anyone other than me.  I can't remember my response but I don't think I adequately expressed how I truly feel about this situation.   Call this my written response.

When Emily was a just born and tiny baby I knew I wanted to cherish every moment I had with her.  At that time, Ben and I were both attending school full-time.  Our days were filled with homework and parenting duties and I often felt I spent more time doing the latter rather than the former.  At one point, after bemoaning my situation incessantly inside my head, I felt it was time to stop complaining and truly enjoy every moment I spent with Emily rather than crying that I didn't have more.  I also decided to cherish all her stages--good and bad--and not spend time wishing she were older or more mobile or could talk.

Embracing my new philosophy, I found delight in her day-to-day activities and did not despair as she continued to grow (mentally not physically) at an alarming rate.

This thinking has continued with Andrew.  Even though it does feel inconvenient at times to have him attached to my hip, I remember that he won't always want me to hold him.  There will come a day when he might push me away.  When my importance will diminish as he enters that vast world of pre-teen and teenagedom.  And then he will grow up, move away, and find [a different] love in another woman's arms.

So, right now I appreciate how much he loves and needs me.  I relish the moments I have holding him close and smelling his delicious scent.  I kiss his head, hands, and face and feel that familiar tug of deep and indescribable love for this child that my husband and I created together.

At the same time, as he continues to grow (he will be 2 this year!) I don't feel sad. I recognize the importance of maturity. I also know my place is to raise him, and his sister, to be responsible, virtuous, charitable, and many other things so they can one day be mindful adults and citizens of the world.

Are you an awesome parent? Of course you are! Write a post about a parenting style, philosophy, or moment you are proud of and let us know by linking up below or commenting. (Want more details? Click on the button above or click here.)

How I Get Sleep

This week has been a monumental fail.  Parenting fail after fail after fail.  But, since this is supposed to be an upbeat post, I thought I'd talk about sleep.

For whatever reason, the babes have returned to their newborn schedules of waking up one to three times at night.  Which is why they end up in bed with us.  And this is what usually happens.

Sometime around 2 AM: Emily screams at the top of her lungs, I stumble out of bed, cursing, sure there is something dreadful happening and retrieve her from her room.  I place her in the middle of our bed and hope she sleeps.

Close to 4 AM: Andrew starts whimpering, than crying, then screaming.  Once again, I stumble out of bed*.  This time I go to the kitchen, prepare some milk, then pick him up from the crib.  I scoot Emily closer to her dad, place Andrew next to her, and hope he goes back to sleep.

Probably around 5 AM: Kids start rolling and jumping around, laughing, and alternate between sticking their bums on our faces and pulling our hair.  I grab them, grumbling nothing but sweet words under my breath, take them back into their rooms and hope they will sleep for AT LEAST another hour or so in their cribs.

Sooner than I wished: Kids wake up, yell, "MOM!" (Emily yells, Andrew babbles something like dadad mamama tyenah (Tylenol, his first word),  I stare at the ceiling wondering how long I can keep them in their rooms.

My sleep is less than optimal while they are in bed with me, and, rather than figuring out why they are waking up, I do what I can to expend the least amount of energy possible in the middle of the night.

It may not be the best solution, but it works for me.

*Since Ben is working two jobs, I think it's best that he gets all the sleep he can. Still, there are many nights where he takes his turn with the kids.

Are you an awesome parent?  Of course you are!  Write a post about a parenting style, philosophy, or moment you are proud of and let us know by linking up below or commenting. (Want more details?  Click on the button above or click here.)

Virtual Hot Cocoa

Cathy suggested we have a cup of virtual coffee together, much like Corinne's weekly series.   I think this is a wonderful idea and will only tweak it a little--by making mine a cup of hot chocolate.   Don't worry, you can keep your cup of coffee if you'd like.

If we met for hot chocolate, we would exchange holiday stories.  I would tell you mine were perfect: Relaxed and guilt-free.  Ben and I decided on a new tradition that will take a couple years to get going, but we are very excited to see it come to pass.

I would ask about your family then tell you about mine: How Andrew took his first steps on Christmas Eve among wild applause and shouts of, "Hooray!";  that I finally conceded to potty training Emily because she is doing it all on her own. You would laugh as I describe how she marches right to her little potty when she needs to relieve herself, stands up and yells, "I go pee pee, Mommy!" when she's finished and helps me empty the bowl it into the toilet.  Afterward, she instantly demands a treat.  Which I often agree to because she is just so big and I am just so proud.  You would ask about Ben and I would share how marvelous it was to have him work only one job over Christmas break.  We had so much fun together.

You would ask how I'm feeling.  A little rough emotionally, I'd explain, especially since some of my friends are having their babies right now.   It makes me hurt knowing that I won't be holding mine in May, even as I take comfort in knowing she (I always knew it was a she) is being held by God in Heaven.  Physically...well I'd quickly change the subject because that's a sore (no pun intended) topic right now.

We would swap resolutions lists.  I would tell you that I don't expect perfection in my goals, just gradual changes as I continue to grow through my experiences.  You would nod your head at my wisdom and then we'd both collapse in fits of giggles because, let's be honest, "being wise" isn't my greatest attribute.

As our time ended, always too quickly, we'd stand and give each other giant hugs.  We'd promise to meet at the same place, same time next week with new insights to share and stories to laugh about.

Until then...

What would you share?

Clothes Don't Make the Man, er, Boy

Can you guess which of my children this is?  Can you?

If you guessed Emily, you would be wrong.  It's my little Andrew.  Wearing one of his sister's outgrown pajamas.  One of her pink outgrown pajamas.

This type of dress isn't unusual in our house, the most probable culprit being laundry holdups.  (I know, if Ben did the laundry a little bit more in between his two jobs we totally wouldn't have this problem.  Sheesh.)

Anyway, the reason I showed you this picture is that I don't care if my little boy wears pink.  Nor do I care if he wears frilly pants.  This might sound strange, but I highly doubt he is born favoring the colors blue and yellow.  I know what you are thinking, "This is crazy talk" but hold on to your gender stereotypes a little longer and let me explain.

A peculiar parenting idea Ben and I have embraced is to recognize just how much we socialize our kids to prefer certain things, like colors, over other things.  For example, Emily loves to wear dresses.  Often, I have to put her in some type of dress at night to avoid unsavory tantrums.  I made her this way.  Almost from birth did I place her in pretty, pink dresses.  I wanted people to know she was a girl so I dressed her accordingly.  I made this conscious choice while simultaneously understanding that one day she might only prefer dresses.  And I was okay with that.

With Andrew, I've always dressed him in blue and yellow.  Again, I wanted people to know he was my adorable little boy and felt very comfortable using typical boy colors.  Yet, when he started closing in on a year and was rapidly outgrowing his pants (you know, his 3-6 month pants) I decided to pull girl pants from my store of baby clothes.  I chose pants that were neutral enough, only a little frills, so nobody would know he was wearing girl pants.   After doing this a few times, I stopped masking even that and started including Emily's old pajamas in his attire.   Hey, when you run out of clothes you use what you have, y'know?

Andrew now has plenty of boy pajamas so we don't have to use his sister's anymore.   But, when he's older, I'll make sure to show him this picture so he knows that it's okay to like, and even wear, pink.  Because, frankly, color preference doesn't make the man--it's treating others with respect and compassion that make a man (or woman).



Have a parenting approach of which you are proud?  Link up and let us support you! (Have no idea what I'm talking about? Click here for more information.)

My (Non)Thrifty Children

We have been on a budget for most of our marriage, but especially so after Ben graduated (hence the two jobs).  I thought I've taught my kids the importance of sticking to the budget.  Apparently I was wrong.

Just last week I explained to them that we needed to ration out our diapers and wipes.

"One diaper and ten wipes a day," I said.

"Blahadadalelabladamamkama!" Andrew replied.

"I wanna drink!" Emily responded.

Alright, I thought, it will be smooth sailing from here on out.

Then they decided to get sick!  This more than quadrupled our diaper usage!  I couldn't very well let them make messes on the floor, could I?  So I had to let them use more than their one diaper quota.

It's even worse when we head to the store.

"Don't touch anything!" I sternly warn them.

Before we are even down the first aisle, Emily has licked/bit on half the items.  I had only to buy milk, bread, and cheese, but by the time we head to the check-out stand, my cart is full from her diligent efforts at vandalizing my grocery budget.  Naturally, once I am loading all her groceries onto the conveyor belt, she grabs all the candy from the display, rips them open, and begins chowing down on her stolen goods.

Between my kids' out of hand diaper usage and Emily's expensive grocery trips, I've already spent my allotted allowance.  And it's only the first of the month.

I guess it's back to the drawing board.

My Other Guy

I have a guy on the side. Except he is more in the middle because he prefers to be sandwiched between Ben and me or in my arms.  He shows me daily just how much he needs me.

When I take a shower while Ben is home, he will start to cry, wiggle out of Ben's lap, crawl to the door, stand up, and knock.  And continue knocking until I come out or let him in.

When I am kissing Ben, he will crawl over, climb onto my leg and look at us until we I pay attention to him.

When I am sitting on the floor, he will crawl over (do you see a pattern here?), pull himself into a standing position (by using my shoulder), and smother my face with kisses.

When I am trying to sleep, he will cry, standing in his crib, until I go pick him up.  Once I rescue him, he will snuggle against my chest while drinking his bottle and occasionally fall asleep.  (If he doesn't fall asleep, he will jump all over me and Ben until we place him back into his crib.)

When I am trying to clean, he will crawl to the gate, pull himself into a standing position, and cry, "Mama!" until I pick him up.

When he is eating, he will cry if I try to leave the room.

When I am sad, he will hug me close.

When I feel that tug of sadness for our lost baby, he will look at me with his beautiful eyes, crawl over and demand that I pick him up.  Then I will hold him tight and thank God for a little boy who is still okay with being my baby.

You Know It's Good...

When it gets all over your face.

Of Princesses and Puppy Dogs

After I came out about our family's lack of holiday spirit (every holiday, mind you), I felt greatly relieved.  So much so that I actually celebrated Halloween with the kids.  Please don't die of shock.

Ben worked all weekend, so I decided to take the kids to our church's trunk or treat and chile cook off.

It. Was. Hard.  After arriving, I kept asking myself why in the world I even went.  I did have a good reason.  Truly.  I cannot use the excuse of Ben's absence to abstain from out-of-the-home activities.  So, I will go when I can and do my best to make it fun for the kids.  I don't know how to describe the event in greater detail without sounding too negative, but I will say that I am proud of myself for staying through the dinner and not breaking down.  I waited until after we left to cry.  Go me!

Ben worked Halloween day, so we were able to take the kids trick-or-treating to a few houses that night.  It was worth trucking through our cold and deserted neighborhood to hear Emily say, "trick or treat!"

I guess I could share photos with all of you.  (In case you are wondering, Ben nor I dressed up.  That would have been too much effort.)   I am so very proud of myself for  getting the kids in their costumes two days in a row.



Andrew kept his costume on long enough for me to take this picture, and then he acted like a one-year old by ripping it off and throwing it at me.  Silly boy.

Emily loved being a "pincess."  Since she has never seen a Disney movie, I don't think she has any idea what that means, but she did enjoy the dress, the tiara, and the wand thingy.

I like this new freedom I feel from the holidays.  It makes them kind of fun!

To Andrew:

This day is an important day.  Not just because it is your birthday, but because it marks one year from when our family went from three to four.  From one girl, to one girl and one boy.

You have rocked my world from the beginning; making your grand entrance on your time not my time.  Since you arrived, I cannot imagine our family without you.

I was afraid, at first, of having a little boy.  I felt comfortable with Emily and was unsure of how to respond to a male.  That is, until you were born.  From those first few moments, I felt a special bond forge between us.  I held you constantly, not willing to let the nurses take you to the nursery; I felt much better with you nestled close to my body.   This didn't change when we brought you home.

The calming spirit that you emit helped ease the transition from one to two.  Your sister, fascinated by your presence at first, now  likes you much more than me.  She prefers you awake and near her at all times.  I do too.

Since your birth, you have preferred my arms over the floor, crib, or anything.  I was and am okay with that.  At one time I would have been frustrated by this constant neediness, but I realize its importance now: I have made it through some difficult times because of your innocent dependence on me.

Today you turned one.  Over the past month, I have felt you pushing me away more and more.  Not because you don't love me (admit it, I'm your favorite), but because you are gaining independence.  I am okay with this as well.

But, remember, you are my baby.  You look like a baby, not nearly old enough to be one.  I am grateful that you haven't discovered walking yet, though I'm sure that will come soon.  I am also grateful that you'll snuggle with me while you drink your bottle and while I read you and your sister stories.  I treasure these moments.  The few times when it is just you and me.

I look forward to this next year as your gain more mobility, knowledge, and language.  I am curious to see your social development as you already seem so aware of what goes on with other people.  Especially your sister.

I love you my sweet, little boy.

Love,

Mom

Moving Forward

A Little Memorial

We held the memorial service in our living room--a fitting place since most the events happened there--with us, the kids, and my mother-in-law.  It was an emotional and peaceful service.  Short and sweet.

All About Science

Every person handles loss differently.  For me, I use my knowledge of science and reproduction to obsessively deduce what has happened.

Because of the severity of the miscarriage--the intense contractions, bleeding, and clotting--it would seem that I was about 8 weeks along.  Unfortunately, the hCG levels  remained at a 4-week level. Slowly increasing.  Very slowly.  This left the embryo in a very inhospitable environment, especially since the amniotic sac was already having trouble connecting to the endometrium.

My body rejected the growing baby.

Moving Forward

During the memorial service,  a little voice whispered, It's okay.  Your baby is safe with me.  Keep moving forward.

Moving forward doesn't mean forget, it means continue to live.  I have much living to do with my sweet husband and beautiful children.  And with myself.

I have kept myself secluded inside my house.  Afraid to be outside,  unsure of how I would react to questions and condolences.

I feel myself ready to take baby-steps.  Taking short walks around the neighborhood.  Cooking meals.  Talking with neighbors, friends, and family.   Big gatherings, like church, are still too much.  Too painful.  But I'm emerging.

On Life

Many friends have brought over flowers.  They bring much comfort.  Their vivacious beauty reminds me how to live: It's more than smelling the flowers, it's nurturing them.

On returning home from our short getaway,  I ran up the stairs, into my babys' rooms (they were sleeping) and scooped them into my arms.  I smelled their delicious scent and smothered their smooth faces with kisses.  Lots and lots of kisses.

Healing

I'm not as brittle as I was a few days ago.  I feel strong.  Powered by my husband's love, my children's affection,  and the Plan of Salvation, I know I can heal.  The pain will remain nestled within my heart,  nudging me every now and then (like all day today),  but I feel its rawness dissipating.

I am coming back,  armed with a new perspective and knowledge from my experience.

Seeing Beyond the Imperfections

I used to hide from the camera.  In my teen years, I didn't want to remember what I looked like.  In fact, I still feel that way.  Like most teens, I was insecure--about my acne, my weight, my smile, and everything else.  My measuring stick were my sisters.  They were and are beautiful.  In my mind, I could not compete to my dark haired beauty counterparts.

The struggle continued into my marriage.  But, like the famous Mahana (Mormon joke), my husband's continuous praise helped me see beyond the physical impurities and recognize my great potential.

Acceptance of my body has come in different stages.  The most important, for me, was accepting my face by no longer avoiding the camera.

Over the past few months,  I have obsessed about including myself in photos.  Not because I have some sense of impending doom,  but because I want my kids to have photographic proof that I was at certain events and that we did have fun together.

(The one catch,  Ben is not allowed to photograph me.  How do I put this...the photos he takes of me are not the most attractive.  Hey,  I have my dignity to maintain.)

Since I am alone with my kids much of the day,  I photograph us with the old-school style of holding the camera out and taking face shots.  That's right, face shots.   My fear of looking at my blemished face has disappeared.  This is for my kids anyway.

[caption id="attachment_942" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="My sweet angel, Andrew"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_941" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="My gorgeous daughter, Emily"][/caption]

These kids? They make my life full.  Fuller than I could ever have imagined.

Since the miscarriage, I am often reminded to hold my two babies close. This is hard because the physical pain I am experiencing;  still, I hug and rock them constantly.

How can I possibly describe the indescribable?  My little Emily and Andrew are my life.  I say that unashamedly.  Sure I have myself outside of them, but right now that "self" seems so unnecessary.  Perhaps it was the miscarriages that helped me see my reality: Despite the challenges of being a mother, it is one of the best jobs I have and will ever hold.

I will also say, I am the best mother for them.  Yes I am.  No living person loves these two more than me.  Another person would not sing them personalized songs when they wake up from naps and in the morning or throw spontaneous dance parties when they wake up at midnight or miss them while they are sleeping.  I am their interpreter, teacher, cook, mediator, and, best of all, their mother.

In a short time they will be grown up.  The will no longer need me as much as now.  This doesn't make me sad, however, because I feel one of my greatest job responsibilities is raising them to be moral, industrious, conscientious adults. For now, though, they need me.  And I need them.

They see my face daily.  Not the face I crucially examine, but the perfect face of their beloved mother.

Just like I only see perfection in them.

On a Whim

I do not like being away from Ben.  Even though he is gone quite a bit, I prefer his current schedule to one in which he would travel.  My preference does not exclude me from feeling overwhelmed.  Especially when Ben's schedule becomes so packed that I am left to bear all familial responsibilities.  That is how last week was. When I recognized that my sanity was quickly slipping through my cupped hands, I made a difficult decision.

When Ben came home on Saturday night, I explained how I was feeling and offered a solution.  A visit to my family's house.  Even though he would miss us greatly,  he realized it was the best possible answer.

On Sunday,  I finished laundry and packed the suitcases.  I was nervous. I would be driving for 6 hours alone and with the kids.  Two very young kids.

The next morning, Andrew and Emily woke up 15 minutes prior to when my alarm clock was set to ring--at 4 am.  I decided it was now or never, so I quickly fed Andrew and loaded the luggage into the car (which included 2 suitcases, 2 Pack n' Plays, 2 booster seats, and 2 grocery bags filled with food).  After a long kiss good-bye and a prayer for safety, Ben helped me load the kids into the car and we were on our way.

Because I left so early, the kids slept most of the way.  The challenge was when I needed to use the restroom.  Thankfully, they are small enough that I could carry them into a bathroom stall with me.  Maybe not the most sanitary option, but that's why I am liberal with hand sanitizer.

I still miss Ben, greatly.  Yet, it is nice to be somewhere with instant entertainment for Emily, yummy meals each night, and help with my little Andrew.

It kind of makes me hope we can stay out west for medical school.

A Tale of Nursing

To all my male readers: You are excused from reading this post.  Unless you really want to, but don't say I didn't warn you.

Andrew lost weight at his last doctor's appointment. His weight has been teetering at the edge for the last two and causing me a bit of worry.  My kids are short.  I understand that, but to go from gaining 3 or 4 pounds a visit to gaining a half a pound and then losing a pound usually signifies something else is happening.

Talking with the doctor, we narrowed it down to one thing: a reduction in my milk production.  I had a feeling this was happening.  Andrew has been waking up a couple times at night absolutely famished.  Considering he usually sleeps through the night, this was a bit odd.  I understood this could be due to a growth spurt, but he wasn't getting any bigger.

My doctor suggested I start supplementing.  I was devastated.

I have a love/hate relationship with breastfeeding.  In the first few months, it hurts horribly.  I crack and bleed and nothing soothes my throbbing breasts.   I cry and push my feet into the ground until the baby is latched, then I clench my teeth the entire feeding.  I develop serious tension headaches because the stress.

Why do I continue?  Because I give myself a goal after each baby is born: if I still hate it by month 3,  I will stop.  Somehow this goal gives me the stamina to continue.  That and my pride.

Once the pain subsides (around month 3),  I begin to enjoy it a little more.  Around month 5,  it starts hurting again.  For 2 weeks out of the month, it is painful and I, once again, cry during feedings.  I persist because by that point, my babies will not take a bottle.

I enjoy the bonding moments my babies and I share during those 10-20 minutes, but I don't love breastfeeding.

However, when I realized my milk production was decreasing, I was disappointed.  I have sacrificed so much to continue breastfeeding and it seems so...unfair to have this happen.   And I fought.  I tried to feed Andrew more, tried drinking and eating a little bit more, but it still wasn't enough for my poor little guy.

It was then that I realized that breastfeeding was something I thought I could control.  It seems natural that I would produce something that keeps my baby happy and healthy.  The practice was, in many ways, defining me in my motherhood.  I felt cheated.

Until I realized my goals were warped.  Raising a healthy baby should be my first priority and if I must combine nursing with supplementation to achieve this? Then so be it.

It makes me wonder what other priorities I need to readjust.

Snatching a Few Moments With Mom

I put the kids in bed at their normal bedtime.

They cried.

And cried.

Finally stopped.

And I smiled.

Ben came home, opened their door, and woke them up.

They cried.

And cried.

Ben rescued them.

And I blogged.

Ben calmed them down by reading stories, they stole away onto my lap, and I declared, "Bedtime!"

Emily slept.

Andrew cried.

I rescued him.

And blogged.

With him on my lap, touching my face, and giving me lots of snuggles.



I laughed.

And kissed him.

Rocked him.

And smiled.

Sometimes I plan my whole day around bedtime and when the hour finally comes, I sigh with relief. But if it's interrupted by a sad baby, I become grouchy and think unpleasant thoughts. Today I realized I should cherish these one-on-one moments because they don't happen very often. In connection with my recent epiphany, I am choosing to enjoy these times. Even if it does mean the laundry remains on my couch, unfolded.

In Case You Don't Recognize Me, I'll Be Wearing Purple

This weekend is the big Casual Blogger Conference.  Since it is so close to where we live, my husband wouldn't let me pass it up.  So I will be joining hundreds (thousands?) of ladies and men in listening to some awesome speakers like DeNae Handy, Courtney Kendrick, and Sue Marchant.  It's even better that I actually know these ladies.

I know that hundreds of people will be fighting to meet me,  so I decided to introduce myself.  Virtually.

[caption id="attachment_679" align="aligncenter" width="360" caption="Me and my super cute baby and cool brother."][/caption]

Hi, I'm Amber.  Thanks to a recent cold,  my voice now sounds like a deeper version of Phoebe's sexy voice on friends.  I have dark blond hair and a smile that is permanently etched on my face (i.e. I have premature wrinkles).  Miss Flow's recent visit left a few unwanted visitors on my face that I hope will disappear before the conference.  If they don't,  well,  they don't.  I am somewhere between small and average in waist size; although, this is covered up by healthy servings in the rear and chest area.

When I'm nervous, I talk extra fast, giggle extra hard, and say extra embarrassing things.  I also blush easily.  If you still can't recognize me,  look for the lady with the extra red face.

I have an above average case of momnesia.  In mid sentence I may stop, look around with a confused expression, and start talking about something entirely unrelated.  Conversations may be choppy or silly but I do have something up my sleeve: I will be holding a cute baby.  Theoretically,  this provides you an easy out in any awkward or confusing conversations we might have.  I can't guarantee it, but it's worth a try.

[caption id="attachment_680" align="aligncenter" width="500" caption="He is much cuter in person. Go ahead, give his cheeks a virtual squeeze."][/caption]

Since this is a special occasion,  I might actually do my hair.  I can't make promises but I think my blow dryer and straightener will see the outside of the cupboard more this weekend than they have since my husband  bought them for me.   I may even wear earrings, makeup, and some shirts that do not have stains on them.   Since this may be pushing it, I am once again relying on Andrew's extra cuteness to save me.  Heck,  maybe he will share some of his cuteness  with me.

There you have it.  See you at CBC '10!!

A Big Slobbery Thank You

It just so happens that I forgot to mention one major culprit in my emotional drama of last week: Miss Flow.  While I am grateful for this physical reminder of my fertility, I can't exactly gush about how she messes up my emotions.  Everything seems much more dramatic when she visits.

I recovered a bit of my spice over the weekend.  Your comments were a gigantic help in reminding me of the support group I have.   As much as days like those suck, it feels less overwhelming when I know that other people can relate.  Reading your comments while drinking Diet Dr. Pepper certainly alleviated much of the sadness I felt.

In case I forget how incredibly lucky I am, let me list a few things that made me smile this weekend.



Watching this little girl canter and twirl around our living room.

Feeling her sweet, slobbery kisses on my cheek.

Smiling as she sings little songs about me, Ben, and her little brother.



Tickling his numerous rolls.

Listening to his little baby noises.

Feeling like the greatest mom in the world as he smiles and laughs when I walk into the room.

Finally, all of you.  Your kind words of support.  Your wise suggestions.  Your digital hugs.  I really am a lucky gal.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

10 Second Post

Dear Readers,

Thank you so much for your advice.   I read each and every comment to Ben.

Thank you so much for praising Ben.  Like any person, he needs to hear that from time to time from someone besides me.

Thank you so much for telling me about your ingredients in your guilt sandwiches.

Thank you for being patient with me.

Since this is another busy week, a few friends agreed to save me by guest posting.  I hope you are excited!

Shoot. My 10 seconds are up.

To show you my gratitude I am relieving you of your comment responsibilities.  Go ahead and let out a sigh.  Sometimes it's nice to have a break, huh?

Love,

Amber

I'll Have A Guilt Sandwich, Please

I am feeling pretty full these days.  I have engorged myself frequently on a guilt sandwich.  Nothing like a guilt sandwich to make me feel deliciously bloated.  I don't normally share recipes but I think I'll make an exception for this case.

Start with two slices of household guilt.  This can be anything, like the dirty dishes, unfolded or dirty laundry, or a messy living room.  It makes it even tastier when you have extra thick slices.

Spread the household guilt with some tangy blog guilt--worries over unread e-mails from blog friends,  little to no time to comment on your favorite blogs, or not responding to comments.  Remember, the more the better.

Now for the best part: family guilt.  I usually double this.  You have many options to choose from--unmade phone calls to siblings, arguments with your parents, no time for you spouse, and doubts about your mothering capabilities.  I usually go for spousal and mothering guilt.  I like it hearty.

Top this with the condiments of your choice.  A slice of not keeping in touch with your friend here, a slice of unchecked tasks lists there, whatever suits your fancy.

Sprinkle this with some yummy self guilt.

Top all of this with the other half of your household guilt and you have yourself a delectable guilt sandwich.

I like to take humungous bites of this sandwich daily.  And, the best part is, unlike other sandwiches, the more bites I take the bigger it gets!

Yes.  I like me a big guilt sandwich.

Who Gets Up With the Baby?

Before we were married, Ben and I had a long discussion about division of household chores.  He suggested, and I agreed, that if he works full-time, I would also work full-time doing the household chores.  When he came home, we would share the remainder of the tasks.

This worked well.  In the beginning, we both worked part-time and attended school full-time and shared the household chores.

After we had Emily, things changed.  I quit working but continued to attend school full-time.  It seemed natural that I would take care of the household chores.

After a couple of months, we realized we needed to re-evaluate this division.  It was nearly impossible for me to take care of a colicky baby, finish homework, and stay on top of meals, dishes, and laundry.  Thus, Ben began cooking and cleaning more.  I focused on the laundry.  It worked rather well.

Breaking up household tasks was easy.  Breaking up who gets up with the baby was harder, is still hard.

With Emily, Ben and I would both get up.  He would change the diapers, I would take care of the feedings (obviously).  It was an arrangement that worked quite well.

When Andrew arrived, things changed.  I was no longer juggling school and mothering.  I became a fully certified stay-at-home mom.  Ben, though, is busier.  Between 4 part-time jobs (equaling about 20-25 hours per week total), 16-17 credits of pre-med courses, and MCAT studying, his time is limited.  He stays up later than me and usually gets up earlier than me.  It seemed logical, in my mind, that he forgo night time duties.  I didn't explain this shift to him, I just stopped waking him up at night.

A week or so ago, I explained to Ben that Andrew would probably sleep longer through the night if I would get up to change him rather than just allowing him to find comfort in eating.  I just don't want to deal with getting up and changing him.  So, because of my laziness, I am actually getting less sleep. Ben reminded me that he can also help.  If I give him Andrew, he would be happy to change him.  Yet, it seems illogical that both of us lose sleep.  I figure that since I am home all day, I should solely handle Andrew at night.

My question for you is this.  Should I include Ben in night time tasks if he is already getting less sleep than I am?  If yes, how can I do this without burdening him even more?

Alternatively, any advice on kicking my lazy habit of not changing Andrew's diaper in the middle of the night? That is probably more pressing.

Thank you, in advance, for any advice you share.