Lost in Place

It's amazing how many pictures you don't take when you have a squirmy, grabby baby in your lap. Not one picture of fireworks this year. And given the fantastic show we saw, that's a little sad.

My work gave its employees tickets to the Stadium of Fire as our "summer party" this year. We went for the fireworks (not so much a country music fan). Madeleine was so excited for the 4th of July, she talked about it and asked about the fireworks the whole week. Five minutes into the show, she fell fast asleep. No idea how anyone could sleep through that, it was pretty noisy, but she did. So she missed all the performances but luckily did wake up about 5 minutes before the fireworks. I cannot imagine the disappointment and heartbreak that kid would have had if she'd missed the fireworks. (She talked about the fireworks and how they go "BOOM!" until Septermber last year. The kid is a fireworks NUT!)

I was a little worried about the baby's reaction - she hates loud noises and can't even stand the vacuum, let alone gigantic explosions going off in her ears. They set off a couple at the beginning of the show with the jet flyby and she didn't even flinch. However, what she did at the music was not at all expected. The kid is crazy. She flailed her arms, squealed like a madwoman and totally jammed out to the music. She had a blast and was absolute entertainment for anyone who was sitting around us. She boogied the entire show and when the fireworks came, she chilled out, cuddled up, stuck her thumb in her mouth and kept throwing my hands off her ears so she could hear the deafening boom of each and every one.

I love my no-fear kids.

Sunday was an absolute lazy day. Madeleine ended up making a day care for all her very well-dressed stuffed animals in the living room. She gave each of them one of Elena's 9-12 month dresses that I had dug out to put in her closet. She made each of them a "cot" out of her blankets and had them all take naps.

She gathered them all together for story time and read them stories.

She also got very annoyed with her sister when she interrupted art time and decided that if she wanted to be part of art time, she'd be the canvas. That was awesome.

On Monday we took them to the aquarium here. Nothing compared to the Baltimore aquarium that we're used to, but this is Utah, we weren't expecting much given how very landlocked and DESERT we are. But it wasn't bad. A little better than we expected even. The girls had a great time. Madeleine was very excited to see all the fish (and really wanted to catch one on a "catchy-thing" (her term for fishing pole) and eat them for dinner. I have no idea where that came from - she's been fishing once, has never eaten them for dinner and has certainly never caught one and then eaten it for dinner. Nor has she ever been with anyone who has. But she was very adamant about it.). She was interested in petting the stingrays until it took too long to get her close enough to one that she could actually reach it. I'm not sure if she got bored of waiting or if maybe she had time to get a little weirded out. I am kind of thinking it was the former since she was very fine with petting the snake they had out just a few minutes later. Go her!

Elena, of course, wanted to touch anything and everything and tried to fling herself in to the stingray pool because hey - there's WATER in there!

Like I said, I love my no-fear kids.

*Some people complain that Utah didn't celebrate the 4th ON the 4th. I say three days of fireworks??? ROCK ON!!!!!!!

Posted by Kim at 2:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Remember when you had cooties? Remember when I would kick and scream and BEG mom to NOT make me take you with me places? Remember when I would pick on you relentlessly and be so mean and treat you like you were the biggest nuisance/inconvenience/twerp in all the world? Remember the golf tees? I am so sorry for all that. I was an awful big sister.

Watching Elena and Madeleine lately has given me a completely new perspective on siblings - specifically sisters. Sure, right now Madeleine thinks Elena is pretty cool and can't wait to share her things with her- her toys, her food, her clothes, her stories. But being a big sister, I know that's temporary. I look at Elena and the way she looks at Madeleine and she's only 6 months old but you can see the adoration in her eyes. You can see how much she already looks up to her big sister and thinks she's the coolest thing ever. That's not going to change nearly as quickly and her heart is going to be broken when Madeleine doesn't want her tagging along with her everywhere or doesn't want to share everything she has with her anymore.

We had some pictures taken a few weeks ago and we could not get Elena to look at the camera because she was too busy watching and smiling at Madeleine. Every chance she gets, she's watching her sister, laughing, giggling, reaching out for her. Madeleine can get her to laugh and squeal and giggle and calm down easier than anyone else. It's the most adorable thing I could have ever imagined. And yet it throws the reality of sisterhood in my face.

I hope in twenty-some years Madeleine can make this realization and tell her sister how absolutely damn cool she is and that she could never ask for a better sister and she's so glad they've grown up to be such amazing and close friends.

So thanks, sister, for putting up with me and not hating me for being the big sister that big sisters just sometimes are.

Posted by Kim at 12:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

We were having a conversation at work the other day about how time seems to go by so much more quickly as you get older. And then even more quickly once you have kids. And even more quickly with each kid you have. I wouldn't disagree. WHERE did 2009 go? Oh right, I was pregnant and miserable the first half and then in new baby stupor the second half.... So trying to pin anything down at all is a little difficult and yet, I will try.

The 5 biggest events of 2009 for us were - well, wow, this was a really crazy year. Dan's company went crazy and a portion spun off to make a new company giving him an entirely different job. I got a new job after being lucky enough to have 5 months with Madeleine. We moved in to our own place after having been with friends and family for - what some days felt like forever. And, yes, I'm going chronologically and not by importance because of course the best part is having the little monster baby. ()Who totally rocks, by the way.) And the fifth biggest event? We survived. Intact. All still breathing, all still together, all still happy. And looking forward to yet another year. With just a little hope that this year is definitively better than the last two.

There are a few things I am looking forward to this year. While we have no grand plans, no big dreams or life-altering events in the works, there are a few small things that will be nice to see take place. We'll be moving again and oddly enough, yes, I am excited about that. I just wish it were an easy decision as to where. (Yes, it's still in Utah, we're not going anywhere.) I'm looking exceptionally forward to being able to put the baby down and let her do her own thing so I can get things done on occasion. But I am by no means going to rush that. (I often tell myself when she won't stop screaming or won't sleep or won't let me put her down that it will all be gone too soon so enjoy it, funny the difference that makes.) I also look forward to her sleeping schedule getting a little better so maybe I can get a little more sleep. And on that note, the other one's too. Maybe. That could just be a pipe dream. This is also the last year Miss M will be in day care full time. Crazy. And cool. But mostly crazy. I guess, mostly, I'm just looking really forward to moving. Yeah, that's the biggest.

I am not one for resolutions but there are a few things I would like to see myself do this year - a few random goals I guess. I really want to regain control of me and who I am. I feel like I've lost that. The goal really is figuring out how to do that so that I can. Debt reduction, of course. That's the biggest. By no means will one year give us a big stride, but baby steps is all I'm asking. I need to get out more. I have too much anxiety and fear to leave the house anymore and making friends is next to impossible but I have realized that is something that really does matter to me. So my goal is to stop making excuses and just go do it. I'd love to say "blog more" but we all know that would be setting myself up for failure. So instead, I'll make it a bit more broad and say write things down more. And take more pictures. Poor Elena isn't going to have any proof she existed. I need to work on that. Huh, I guess these are resolutions. I just needed to force myself to sit down and think it out.

And since an all text post from me is just pointless when I know most people who read this site anymore just want to see pictures of the stinkin' kids.....

This is how we brought the year in... December 31, 2008 Madeleine fell asleep at 11:55 PM, missed it by minutes:

And this is how it went out... Madeleine so excited, screaming the countdown with her cousins and awake for another hour and a half afterward:

And instead, this time, it was her sister who fell asleep at 11:55 PM after refusing for hours and hours and hours to only last 10 minutes and wake back up ready for more. And, of course, I got distracted on my way to take the picture and so didn't so there aren't any of her first New Year's Eve party. See. I suck. She does exist, I swear.

And this is how my demon-monster-angel-babies spent New Year's Day:

In their jammies. All of us, all day. What better way to bring in a new year than being completely lazy, watching movies and hanging out having a great day!

Posted by Kim at 5:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

A year ago today we packed our entire 3,000 square foot house

Put all of our things in boxes

Packed it all in a car trailer, a truck bed, a CUV and a sports car

And we headed west

This pretty much sums up how Madeleine and I felt about leaving our home and our friends:

She adjusted significantly better than I. I'm getting there. A year later.

Just yesterday, a life time ago, maybe just a vivid dream.

Virginia, and our people there, we miss you.

New jobs. New home. New friends. New baby. New life. New dreams. New goals. New perspective. Whole different world.

Posted by Kim at 7:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I saw the doctor on Tuesday and he scheduled an induction date for August 6. It was three days before my due date and the way he talked, he expected to see me Thursday morning - not sooner.

I left the doctor's office reading over the information about induction and started to cry. I didn't want to be induced. It was the pitocin. I was scared to death of the pitocin. Why would I want to voluntarily start contractions - and from everything I've heard, pitocin made them stronger and closer together but doesn't always really help labor go any faster. So I was terrified. I went back and forth for a few days about whether or not I would keep the scheduled induction. Friday afternoon I tried to call his office to cancel but they had already closed for the day so it would have to wait until Monday.

Or not.

Our plan for Saturday was that I would take Madeleine up to my sister's house so we could take the kids to the park for a festival. I had promised Madeleine we would get her face painted again after we had to wash her face so quickly after her last painting. We would hang out up there and then Dan would come up later and we would go to a friend's house for a party that night. But there was a glitch. My sister's kids had caught a nasty bout of the flu a couple days prior. I called that morning to see how everyone was feeling and turns out, she caught it and felt like crap. Being nine months pregnant, she could keep her plague to herself. Her oldest step-daughter had caught it the night before. Her oldest step-daughter is the daughter of the friend whose party we were supposed to go to that night. So both pieces of our plan that day were infected with the plague. We chose to stay home. I knew of another festival much closer to home that we could take Madeleine to for her face-painting. Since we had nothing else going on that day now, it would be a perfect, lazy afternoon.

Around 11:00 I started feeling a little... um... ouch? It didn't last long and then went away. But I paid attention. And about every 20 minutes, I'd have about a minute of ouch. They weren't getting worse, everything about them was completely consistent. So I just ignored it. I took it easy for the day, laid on the couch, played with Madeleine, made some lunch - lazy, easy day. I knew if I said anything, Dan wouldn't let us take Madeleine to the park. So I kept my mouth shut and just paid attention. Just in case. Besides, the doctor's instructions were "Head to the hospital when your contractions are 15 minutes apart and last for a minute each." I was at 20 minutes. I had plenty of time - IF they were even the real thing.

Around 2:00 or so, we took Madeleine over to the park for her face painting. We had to park a little ways from the park and walk over. That was fun. But I still said nothing. We made it to the park and found the face painting booth and got in line. Conveniently, two parties after us in line got to hold the "Closing Now" sign for the booth. We'd made it just in time. There were about 5 parties in front of us so we waited in line, taking turns holding Madeleine because she was being a clingy little monster. Contractions and holding a three-year old monster was not a good combination. Especially since my temperature would go up like a million degrees with each one. I think it was then I finally said something. In passing. Like oh no big deal.

Madeleine got her face painted - you guessed it, like a butterfly. And we headed back to the car. Maybe I would have pushed to wander around a bit more any other day. I think maybe that should have been the first clue. But we headed straight for the car. The tightening and pain level were getting a little worse. But they were still 20 minutes apart. So we headed home.

Madeleine fell asleep on the ride home so we had to carry her upstairs and lay a towel on her bed so she wouldn't get face paint everywhere. Once we laid her down though, she woke right up and naptime was gone. That was around 4:30. She and I hung out and played and just took it easy since I was kinda feeling like crap and I finally came clean that these buggers kinda hurt. But that it wasn't time yet. But maybe I should start paying attention and writing them down to keep track. But I didn't.

Between 6:30 and 7 I gave in. I knew I'd be going to the hospital that night - whether I ended up having a baby or not, who knew? I went downstairs and told Dan that if he wanted to have dinner, we'd better have dinner NOW. We'd planned a steak dinner that night and I had been waiting for it for days so there was no way I was going to skip it. So we made dinner. And I started officially timing and writing down. And there was no consistency whatsoever. A 30 second contraction here followed by a 45 second one 5 minutes later followed by a minute one 20 minutes later followed by a 20 second one 2 minutes later followed by 50 second one 15 minutes later. They were all over the place. But I could still talk and I could still walk. Knowing we'd be heading to the hospital and Madeleine's face butterfly being all smeary, I threw her in the bath tub to wash her off. I changed my clothes. I finished grabbing the few last things for my bag. I took a picture. I changed my clothes again. I started a load of laundry. I went and yelled at Madeleine to "Get out of the tub, we don't have time for this!" At which point I went and yelled at Dan that it was time to go NOW. RIGHT NOW! Poor guy. Wasn't ready at all. So while he took a few minutes (a few damn too many minutes, mind you!) getting ready, I took Madeleine out to the car to try to get her in her seat. She of course refused to listen as I'm doubled-over leaning against the car begging her to JUST GET IN. One of our neighbors a few houses down was outside working on his bike - he's an older teenager - and he noticed me and asked if I was okay. "Yeah, just in labor." Given Dan wasn't out there yet and I was still trying to get Madeleine in her seat, he asked if I needed someone to drive me. So nice! But I responded that no, my husband was just being really slow.

Dan gets outside and starts to get in the car at which point I realize we don't have enough gas to get to the hospital. So I mention that - to which he says, "That's not very responsible of you. Something something something" To which I say, (as I walk around the car having a contraction) - and under any other circumstances would never have said - "Now is NOT the time for a lecture!" I just have to take a second and say go me. That took a lot of balls for me to be that blunt and well - honest - for me and I did it. So yae.

As we were getting in the car, I still wasn't sure if I'd get to the hospital and they'd not send me home. I knew there was a possibility we might get there and it not be time (boy, am I a MORON). I just wanted to be sure I made it in time for the epidural at this point already. After I had spent a few weeks telling myself maybe I want to try without, I'll wait until the last possible second before it's too late again, maybe I can go without (again, I'm a MORON).

We head down the mountain, the gas station about 5 minutes down. I very specifically tell Dan to NOT fill the car, just put in enough gas to get us to the hospital. Yes, that's how bad they were. That's how quickly they were coming. So he does. By the time we reach the bottom of the mountain there is no doubt in my mind I would NOT be coming home tonight. I would grab the hand bar and breathe like hell just trying not to scream bloody murder with each contraction. That were no harder and more painful than hell and really close together. To the point that I was not only sure if I'd make it in time for the epidural but that I'd make it to the hospital at all. I was terrified. And poor Madeleine is in the backseat having no idea what was going on. I tried to stay as calm as possible, didn't really work but I think I did a decent job. I was able to calmly tell her that mommy was okay just hurt a lot because baby sister was coming and we're going to the hospital now. I had talked with her quite a bit about it beforehand - so that at least helped me feel better anyway. The hospital drive is about 20 minutes, though it felt like an hour with every light being red, getting stuck behind the slowest, stupidest drivers in the world, and the 8 trillion bumps in the road.

Dan pulled up to the doors (I had NO idea why he wasn't just parking - just get me IN THERE! then realized, less far for me to try to walk, duh) and stopped so I could just get out and go in and he could park the car and get Madeleine. I wasn't even sure if I could walk let alone stand on my own. But I did. I walked in the doors, that were locked because it's after hours and managed to reach the button. As soon as the nurse said, "Can I help you?" a major contraction hit, I doubled over and all I could mutter out was "Labor!" The doors opened and not two seconds later, a nurse flung the doors open from the stair way and grabbed me to help me to the elevator. The questions started immediately, "Which baby is this?" "TWO!" "How far apart?" "I HAVE NO IDEA! NOT FAR!" And the rest are a blur. We got to the second floor and they sat me in a wheelchair and wheeled me to a room that was way too damn far away (three doors down, maybe!) asking questions the whole way.

We got in to the room and that was it. I'd had it. They were too hard. I couldn't keep any remote piece of composure anymore and I would just scream with each contraction. They had to undress me and put the robe on me, I don't even remember getting on the bed. When I had Madeleine, the contractions were nowhere near this bad or close together when they told me if I didn't do the epidural NOW, it would be too late. So I was panicked. I wanted the damn epidural NOW! Pretty sure it took the anesthesiologist 8 hours to get there. All the while me screaming with each one. They'd tried putting an oxygen mask on me but that sent me panicking and I had to make them take it off so I could even think of trying to breathe at all. Finally we figured out that if I just held it in front of my face, it was much better. All I wanted to know was where the hell the epidural was. Dan and Madeleine got in the room and I only lasted a few seconds before I begged someone to please take her out. I couldn't let her see the fear and pain and HOLY TERROR I was in. She cried, wanted to stay with Mommy, and I lost it (as I am even doing now just as I type it) - the tears came. I knew that was it. She wasn't the only one anymore. I was never going to be just hers again and I would never be able to dote on only her. She very hesitantly went out with the nurse, not upset, not screaming but just little, quiet tears as she walked away watching me. Thank God the physical pain was so bad. I could focus on it instead. And it was bad.

FINALLY the drugman showed up. After what seemed like another 800 years (seriously, my last epidural took a matter of seconds, this guy took his time!), I had the drugs and it was just a matter of time before I could survive again. The contractions had been unbelievable. I didn't remember them being so bad the first time around. But then again, I had a little more time to gradually work my way in to the hard ones last time around. These just hit me out of nowhere.

Once the epidural took effect, I was able to let them bring Madeleine back in. So she came in and asked all sorts of questions and talked to me and was so very timid. She was calm and very friendly with the nurses. She was only in there a couple of minutes before they needed to check me again. So I had them send her back out with Dan. I was at a 9 and pretty much ready to go. Just as they were finishing up, Dan brought Madeleine back in to say goodbye because my brother-in-law was there to take her home.

The doctor kept talking to me about breaking my water and having a baby and I kept begging "no!" because the last time my water was broken it hurt like hell AND that meant the pushing part was right around the corner. I had the epidural, life had just gotten tolerable again and now they want to rush me along to the worst part ever??? So the doctor's response was, "Well I can just go home for a while and come back later if you want to wait. Or we can just get it over with already." Oh sure. Put it like that. So they broke my water - which didn't hurt even one bit this time. Wish I would have known that, I wouldn't have wasted the minutes arguing and whining about it! About ten minutes later, it was time to push. He'd asked if I needed the crash course on pushing again and I said yes because "I'm not so good at the pushing part. Well, the not screaming part. I'm really, really bad with the not screaming part." He and the nurse put the fear of God in me about screaming. And after last time, having screamed way too much and taking forever to get that baby out, I think I had it figured out.

After about twenty minutes of pushing, and no screaming!!!!!, a slimy, covered, nasty little beautiful, gorgeous baby girl was placed on my chest, screaming her little lungs out. I wasn't expecting that part. Nobody told me about that part. Last time, they immediately took the baby away, I didn't know that in normal circumstances, that's not what they do. I would have liked to have expected that because it kind of freaked me out. Yes, I quickly got over it and then they wrapped her up and whisked her away. It was 11:11 PM and I had barely been at the hospital for two hours. I was dilated to a 5 when I got there, by the time Dan and Madeleine had come in from parking the car, I was to a 7. It all happened so very quickly that it was a complete blur (which is exactly why I should have written this two months ago!).

I was very worried for the longest time that I wouldn't take to this baby as easily, that it would just be another baby to go the rounds with. I was completely taken aback by how quickly I fell in love with her. I was pretty sure the guilt from adding a sibling for Madeleine was going to make me distant and just go through the motions, I am sure every parent feels that way. I was so relieved that it wasn't that way at all. She was beautiful and adorable and mine and I didn't feel one bit guilty for it at all. (No, that would all come later.)

And since I have waited two months to finally write this up, I can add that Madeleine STILL talks about how "Mommy went to the hospital and breathed (she'll do the breathing here) and had a thing on her face and the doctor and baby sister" .... And it's the cutest story ever told. Maybe I should have just let her tell it.

Posted by Kim at 1:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Yeah. That title would be mine.

Ever since I started back to work (oh, yeah, by the way, I've gone back to work. More about that later), I have had very little patience with Madeleine at nights. I last about an hour and then we're at war. Tonight was no exception. After telling her a million times to go get in bed, and Monica telling her son the same thing, I had about had it. We are currently staying with my sister and sleeping in her basement. For some of reason, Madeleine has developed an odd and intense fear of the basement after dark. That's where we were as we were yelling at our kids to JUST GO AWAY already. We were on a different side from the kids who were "supposed to be" going to bed. I heard them squabbling, something about the light, more blabber blabber but we're not paying attention so we're not looking. I walk in to the room to watch Madeleine slide off a small table as it tumbles to the side under her. Being at my wit's end with her, I react in frustration. I yell at her for being on the table and what was she doing on the table in the first place!?! "If you hadn't been on the table, you wouldn't have gotten hurt."

I pick up the table as I'm holding her and it's a fairly heavy table. She is screaming because she's hurt and probably more scared than anything. I'm nothing but frustrated at this point because I thought she was just dinking around, climbing on the table for fun. After a few minutes of screaming (hers and mine), she calms down and tells me she was on the table because Christian (her cousin who was supposed to be going upstairs to go to bed long ago as well) turned off the light on her and she was scared.

Damn. Ouch. Woops.

I immediately tear up and feel absolutely horrible. Massive Parenting Guilt - 1. Kim - 0.

Posted by Kim at 1:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

For one of my baby showers, Dan’s cousin gave me the most precious, teeny, tiny baby’s ring. I immediately fell in love with it and knew it would be something that would become a treasured keepsake. So treasured I think she’s only worn it a handful of times. I know, what’s the point of her not getting to enjoy it? Well, her not swallowing it would be that point. Nonetheless, it was something special. So it deserved a special place to be kept, right? I have spent ages looking for the perfect little girl’s jewelry box. I cannot find it. I don’t want it “cutesy” or “frilly” or “princessy” or too girly. I want it simple, elegant, charming and classic. One that is as special as the tiny things it will hold. Sure, when she gets older and gets “play” jewelry, we can get one of the cutesy, frilly, princessy or too girly boxes for her dress-up stuff. But for the special items, I want something special in which to store them. (If you have any suggestions, by all means, share! My search is not over!)

After months of looking and finding nothing that even came close to fitting the bill and the jewelry adding up and really needing a home, I caved. I made her one. It is by no means the perfect “special” box but it will do for now.

Posted by Kim at 10:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Let me first say, I have the most caring, loving, takes such good care of her mommy baby in all the world. It's true. And soon, you'll see why.

So Friday night was great. I got to go out with some friends, have some wine, an amazingly yummy dinner, and a fabulous time. I came home to Dan and the baby both having survived each other while I was gone. It was all perfect.

Sadly, the good fortune was short-lived. I woke up Saturday morning with a migraine so bad I had to keep my eyes closed going downstairs to get a pill. It was 4:30 in the morning. It's still dark at 4:30 in the morning! I should have crawled under a rock right then.

But I didn't. Instead, I decided to take the day head-on. That afternoon, I gave in and finally decided to get Madeleine's room out from under the chaos of stuffed animals, books, and toys that were strewn about everywhere. As I was finishing, I told her to go find her dad so I could put the last few things away that she kept pulling out right behind me and then I was going to vacuum. So, like the good little, listening daughter that she is, out she went. To go find her dad, right? A few seconds later, I hear a CLUNK CLUNK and as I stand up screaming and running for the door, I hear a few more CLUNK CLUNKS and then a THUD. It took me maybe 5 seconds to get from her room down the huge flight of stairs and it still wasn't fast enough to see her before she hit the bottom, she fell that quickly.

(As a side note: I HATE these stairs. I knew this was going to happen eventually. We can't install a safe gate because it requires actually installing hardware and since we're trying to sell the place, huge holes in the dry wall and wood - probably not such a great idea. Anything else is unsafe and probably would have landed on top of her from her pushing through it with our luck. I hate this house. We need to move. Someone buy this house NOW please. Thanks.)

So I fly to the bottom of the stairs and look her over - no bleeding, no visibly broken anythings, grab her and hold her and let her scream. Dan came running down just as quickly so she spends a few seconds with me then screams for "Dada!" then after a few seconds with him, "Mama!" and proceeds doing the back and forth comforting for a few minutes. I think I was shaking harder and more of a wreck than she was. Dan asked where it hurt and she looked at him and patted her head. After a few minutes of the back and forthing, she stood up, grabbed her bottle, and walked away. Then right back to the stairs. Okay. So she's fine. Whew.

(The guilt? "Hi, get out, go away, go see your dad, I'm cleaning your room, shoo, be gone." Woosh! Fall! ... I don't plan on getting Mother of the Year this year. I kinda suck.)

She and I hang out on the couch, watching Elmo (surprise!) and taking it easy so I can keep an eye on her since maybe she really did hit her head hard. As time goes on I realize, "hmmm... I'm kinda feeling like crap. I think I kinda wanna puke."

You guessed it. Little, walking plague-transporters. I caught the stomach flu from hell from my child having it on Wednesday. I haven't had the stomach flu since ... I dunno.... GRADE SCHOOL!?! I haven't thrown up in THIRTEEN YEARS. There is nothing in the world I hate doing more than throwing up. (Okay, I'm sure someone could come up with something but that's not the point.)

I spent Saturday night feeling like I was going to die. And you know what? Madeleine spent it right there next to me. Every time I came out of the bathroom, she was there lying on the floor waiting for me. At first, she really wanted to go downstairs, "Elmo! Elmo! Elmo!" I felt so bad, I could hardly move let alone go down the stairs or get her down the stairs. So I sat on the floor outside the bathroom and tried to play with her a little. We ended up both laying on the floor hanging out while I moaned and groaned and wanted to poke my eyes out with hot pokers (hey - at least it might make part of my body warm, you know?). She hung out with her bottle, went and got her blanket and stayed there keeping me company. I dosed off for a few seconds to wake up to her passed out on the floor next to me. Is this not the cutest thing you've ever seen?

Like I said, the most loving, caring, wonderful baby around. She spent Sunday lounging around with me too. I didn't start feeling better until Sunday night and while she did take one nap with me, she was able to entertain herself while I rested. Granted, she made a complete disaster of the whole house but it was so worth it.

The next time she gets sick? I'm wearing one of these!

Posted by Kim at 10:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Dan picked me up with a bouquet of daisies and a card waiting in the seat for me. (Dan doesn’t get me flowers. Dan certainly doesn’t give me cards. ???) He had told me to pick where we would go to dinner so I chose the Red Canyon Lodge. I love that place. It was fall, it had likely snowed up on the mountain so I was sure it would be really pretty up there and the food was pretty good so it was what I’d wanted.

We left for dinner and the weather was fine. About half-way up the mountain, we hit the snow. There was quite a bit of it on the ground and it was coming down pretty heavy. We were in his absolutely-not-made-for-driving-in-the-snow sports car so that was tons o’ fun. But we kept going.

We got to the lodge and had dinner. I don’t even have a clue what either of us ate, though I am sure it was chicken something or other. For me, anyway. So we talked and ate and and talked and talked. Then we probably got dessert and talked some more. It went on and on and on and was really nice. (But seriously – we don’t talk this much. ????) We finished up and took the leftovers with us. When we walked outside, everything was covered over a foot of snow. I love snow. Nothing makes me feel more calm and at peace with existence than freshly fallen snow. It was beautiful. It was dark so we couldn’t see too far but Dan paused on the large deck of the restaurant and just looked around. (Huh? He doesn’t care about this stuff? What is he doing? ???) We talked for a few minutes while we looked out over the snow-covered cabins and freezing lake and then we went to the car.

After he started the car, I remember him saying, “You know, we have a lot of problems in our relationship… And this is our biggest one.” (??????!!!) Pitch dark in the car, I have no idea what he’s doing or even talking about! What? What is the biggest problem in our relationship? What did I do NOW? And as I am attempting to ask those very questions, he holds his hand out and puts something small in mine.

Now let me tell you something about my kind, loving, honest, friendly husband. He used to take things and hide them from me just to see how long it would take me to notice. Seriously.

So when I realized the small thing in my hand wasn’t a quarter like I had thought and couldn’t figure out how the hell *that* would be our biggest problem, my next thought was, “Oh! Shit! How long has it been gone this time?!” He had given me a ring a few years back and it was the one thing that he LOVED to hide from me. I didn’t always wear it and it was his way of telling me that maybe I should wear it more often and at least act like I appreciated it.

But wait. I just saw that ring the other day. And this? This is not a pearl. This… This is sharp. And pointy. And BIG! What the ???? Which is exactly what I believe I said at that point. Followed with, “What is this? Are you serious? Is this for real?”

(As a side note, he conveniently didn’t hear the “for” in that last sentence so insists I was asking if the ring was real. I hadn’t even seen the thing yet. Why would I be questioning that? Like I said, he had given me a ring before that wasn’t an engagement ring. Is this one? Really? Seriously? Holy crap!)

Something very important to know about his damn car at the time is that it was an old highway patrol car. An old ’89 mustang that had a few tweaks normal cars didn’t. Like the gun bag thingy in the back seat. And a stinking piece of crap FLASHLIGHT in place of the dome light. Now this "flashlight" was the most uncooperative hunk o’ junk in the world. Not too mention SMALL and DIM. It would only work when you pulled it out of it’s holder on the 8th second of the forth hour with a crescent moon while standing on your head in fuschia pajamas. Seriously. It was never reliable.

So as I am jumping up and down in my seat, screaming 8 million questions at once, all I want to do is see this little thing in my hand. So I am beating on the damn light to please, please, please turn on and it’s not and I’m all sorts of excited and frustrated and why the hell did he wait until we were in the pitch dark of the car?? (Because he was so nervous he was afraid he’d drop the ring in the snow while holding the box of leftovers but didn't want to deal with the leftovers to set me off thinking something was afoot. I found out later. Well, I can live with that.) Once I got the light on, I finally got to see the exact ring I had harassed him about probably just days prior knowing we would never, ever, ever end up getting married. (Come on, it’d been seven years already!) Apparently he’d had this ring for a number of weeks at that point before even seeing the one I had sent him. (Pretty darn cool, huh?) I hadn’t a clue. Not one single, itty-bitty, iota of any idea. None. He hadn't told anyone except his parents so no one would ruin the surprise. Well it was a good plan. I hate surprises but this one? This one I could totally live with. And happily.

So yeah, I was proposed to sitting in a car, in the pitch dark, outside a restaurant, in tons and tons of snow. And you know what? It was perfect. I was proposed to in the snow. It’s all I ever wanted. (Ok, that and to get married in the snow. Which we did. Four months later.)

That was seven years ago today. Being where we are today is better than anything I ever could have wanted - then and now. Don’t get me wrong, it’s been a hell of a seven years. But isn’t that what makes us who we are? I am thrilled that those two, young kids, sitting in a car, in the freezing cold night have turned out the way they did. I’m sure many people wouldn’t see it as much of an accomplishment or in any way noteworthy – but the things we’ve been through, and put each other through, the things we’ve seen happen to so many people around us – I realize it is an accomplishment and it is noteworthy. And I plan to be saying the exact same things in another seven years, by golly.

Anyway, that’s all I wanted to say. Seven years ago I was asked the biggest question of my life so far and I don’t regret my answer one bit. Of course there are days I’d like t… But that’s not the point! No, the point is, my ring is still big and shiny and sparkly and perfect and oh? Oh, that’s not the point either? Well, then I guess it’s just simply that I really believe it’s important to let people know how we feel. And to be appreciative and acknowledging. And oh good grief, she says it so much better.

Posted by Kim at 1:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

When I get really tired, I get really loopy. When I have a migraine on top of that, I just get plain dumb.

Let's go through my yesterday so I can illustrate it for you...

It started with making a piece of toast for Madeleine's lunch. I buttered the bread and out of habit, put the knife straight in the sink. Then I realized I had to cut the toast. So I washed the knife and put it... straight... in the... dishwasher. You think that's bad? You should have seen me searching every where for the knife I had just barely washed.

Not two minutes later I was cleaning up the rubber spatula, wooden spoon mess she had made and instead of trying to put them in the cupboard where they belonged... I tried putting them in the fridge. !!??

A bit later, I got in the shower and shampooed my hair, not once, but twice! Yes, I just love wasting shampoo.

While we waited for Dan to shower, I read Madeleine her Zoophabet ABC book. I've read this book 8 million times and have it completely committed to memory. And yet, not two pages into it, instead of Alligators eating Apples, it was the other way around. It was just down hill from there. This was not the only set to be confidently flip-flopped. (I seem to recall something about Nectarines being fond of Nightingales.)

And this was all before lunch! It feels like a piece of my brain just goes missing when exhausted and migraine combine. While I am sure it gives my family a big laugh, it drives me right up the wall.

Had any good "duh" moments lately? Or did I use up everyone else's, all by myself, in one day?

Posted by Kim at 10:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Tomorrow my little demon baby turns nine months old. This is of note for reasons other than the obvious (like the one that holy crap! she’s freakin’ old! how’d this happen????) which I will get to later.

When I was pregnant, like anyone, I had a million fears. #3 on that list of fears was breastfeeding. Some days when I was semi-comfortable with numbers 1 and 2, it would take front seat and send me into states of panic like I had never known before. What if I couldn’t do it? What if it hurt so bad like other people had said? Or as hard as people make it sound? What if there were problems? How do I feed her in public? Why does everyone have to judge so harshly either way? What if people judged me? What if I did have to give her formula? What if I had to only give her formula? Am I a bad mother if I can’t do this?

Now that I look back, I think I was probably more afraid of breastfeeding than I was of labor and delivery. There is just such a divide between breastfeeding and formula feeding and people are so passionate about it they forget it’s not really their business and don’t care how much they hurt others with their overzealous opinions. It’s bad enough that a mother doesn’t know what she’s doing, but when another mother – who should understand and support through the battle – starts attacking? How is that a good thing? So yeah, I was terrified for a billion reasons.

Before Dan and I had ever even thought about possibly, maybe, someday trying to think about having kids we would have the breastfeeding fight. He would say I had no say in the matter, I was doing it. I would say, “hello! My boobs! My body! My time! Ultimately MY choice. And, besides, doofus, what if I can’t???” To have a MAN make you feel like less of a woman or mother by telling you that you HAVE to breastfeed their child, I’ll kick his ass myself. I get that they are entitled to their opinion, they’re the dad, they’re certainly involved and expressing their point of view is certainly welcome. But to feel like he will see you as less of a mother, less of a woman if you can’t breastfeed, or even choose not to. I don’t even have words for the lack of support, tyrant ass that man would be. Anyway… So we had that fight for years. Then it went away for years and was never discussed again until we found out I was pregnant. During a conversation very early on, it somehow came up and I made some comment about breastfeeding. About absolutely wanting to do it – to try. (Mind you, the fights before were never because I didn’t want to, they were because I felt like it should ultimately be my choice since I was the one who was going to have to do it. It wasn’t his boobs that were potentially not going to be able to feed the baby. He will never know that fear.) He was taken aback thinking that I wasn’t going to even bother. So then started the conversations of how terrified of: what if I couldn’t it? People are so mean about it. People will be mean to me and make me feel more incompetent than I know I already would anyway.

Good thing my husband rocks. He was nothing but supportive in my decisions with all this. He still is.

So now…. I know…. Four hours later… I’m wordy, what can I say…. My point….

It has been hard. It’s been so fulfilling and wonderful and great and bonding and really kind of easy but it has been so. very. very. hard. I have had to supplement with formula already and I thought I was a terrible mother who was going to breastfeeding hell the first few times. But it’s that or my child starved. I have had a hell of a time with having a significantly low milk supply the entire time I’ve been nursing. It’s not been fun. It’s not been easy. We’re at the point now that she has to be supplemented at day care so she can get enough. Her entire life, whenever she’s with me, she’s eating constantly because there just isn’t enough. I read books, I consulted with lactation consultants, I tried old wives tales and supplements, I’ve done everything I can come up with and still never have enough.

In my head, I knew I wanted to go a year. But what if I couldn’t even get started? Or what if there were problems along the way (which, for the record, I never once even considered the problem I would actually be having. Just my luck.)? So I decided to be a little more realistic and actually set goals that I knew I could reach and break it down a bit. So my goals were like this: Goal 1 – Be able to do it. At all. Establish a successful latch and see how it goes. Goal 2 – At least the first month. Do NOT give up. Make it at least one month. Goal 3 – Get through the first three months. Goal 4 – Go to six months. Anything beyond that is gravy. Just get to six months. Easy. You can do it. Goal 5 – Nine months. Anything beyond this and you rock. Goal 6 – A year. Nice goal. If you can get there, by all means, have at it.

So I’m at goal 5 (phew! 20 paragraphs later and I am finally to my point). We’ve made it nine months. I know that so many people would have given up by now, would have realized it wasn’t worth the hassle or the stress and just gone to formula. And that it would be okay if I did. I hit six months and even the pediatrician said anything beyond that was just icing on the cake. But in my head, there are still those people out there (sadly, some in my life which I think is why it bothers me so much) that will think I’m less of a woman and less of a mother if I don’t make it the full year. But I’m drying up. I don’t get nearly enough for the next day when I pump anymore and it’s driving me crazy. I tell myself it would be so much easier if I would just let her go to straight formula and not have the stress of not having enough, of having to pump freaking constantly. But it’s also something I really value with my baby. So do I let day care feed her straight formula and when she’s with me nurse? I have no idea. Three more months. That’s it. That’s all it takes to reach my ultimate goal. Even if I only half-nurse her that far, it’s more than I ever really thought I could do, so is that good? I know so many mothers, mothers whom I admire and respect much more than anyone I know who preaches ONLY BREAST, who supplemented long before now if not went solely to formula long before now. So why can’t I just get over it and do it? In my head I feel like I will see myself as failing if I give up before June. I’ve made it this far – I have NOT failed. So what’s up with this?

Posted by Kim at 12:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)