8 years ago life was very different. 8 years ago I was preparing to give birth to my first born. I could never have guessed at how many ways my life would change. Here are a few of the things I can think of that are different.
1) Sleeping in is practically non existent and when it happens it means sleeping until 7:30.
2) The kids have a great wardrobe and I own mom jeans, tshirts and sneakers (a far cry from my retail days).
3) Dinner out means Bugaboo, Applebee's, Friendly's or any place that serves french fries, chicken fingers and mac and cheese from a box.
4) Going to the beach requires a wagon full of sand toys, towels, and floaties and not a book or magazine in sight. How can I read and relax when the kids are in the water??
5) No days off. Ever.
6) Sick days involve doing everything I always do, except I am sick. No lounging on the couch watching TV and resting.
7) I can't ride amusement park rides. I don't know what happened but ever since Big Guy's birth I am super sensitive to motion.
8) My friends are the mothers of the kids friends.
9) Watching TV with the kids around means nothing over PG-13 and learning how to turn down the volume or change the channel quickly.
10) I frequent Toys R Us, Target and Wal Mart more than the mall.
11) I laugh more often. Man can these guys make me laugh.
12) I can smile just thinking about my boys.
13) I've learned that the quote about how being a parent is like having your heart walk around outside your body is true and it's hard.
14) Going to the bathroom alone is a luxury.
15) Getting through a shower without someone barging in to ask a question is a miracle.
16) I know more about what's going on on Phineas and Ferb than the Bachelor.
17) My favorite books are less than 20 pages and have LOTS of pictures.
18) When I get stressed I color. (I used to shop)
19) My bookmarks on the computer are mommy blogs.
20) I have never been happier or more thankful for anything in all my life.
**Please leave a comment with the things in your life that have changed
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Summer
At the beginning of each summer I get this slight sense of dread. Playing cruise director for two active boys is a tough role and in the summer I have to step it up a notch because they are home, ALL day. For me there is a fine balance between over and under scheduling. Under schedule and I hear "I'm bored" and "what are we doing today?" over and over like a broken record. Over schedule and the boys are so tired that their attitudes and behavior stink. I've been walking that fine line since the last day of school. We've had play dates, sleepovers, been to the movies, the races, rollerskating, had fires and s'mores and spent lots of time in the pool.
Ah yes, the pool, we love it. My boys may grow gills before the summer is over. Big guy is a full on swimmer now and is working on his stamina. He's learned to float on his back finally and is even trying the backstroke. He loves to cannonball and after watching his friend do it he is now an underwater swimmer. I love how comfortable he is in the water. Little guy has come leaps and bounds in the pool and this past week has blown us away. He gave up his life jacket and donned a pair of goggle and the rest, they say, is history. Little guy loves to be under the water, is swimming short distances, and can make a heck of a splash doing cannonballs. He's got guts like no other and amazes me with how far he's come so fast. Our friends ask us if we swim all day every day now that we have a pool. We swim every day that the weather cooperates and most days, twice. It's a lot of fun and the boys and I really connect in the pool. We laugh until our belly's hurt, we applaud each others progress and we talk while we float around. I can't say enough about our time in the pool, it's quality time and I am soaking it up.
I can only hope that there are a few more summers to come where doing cannonballs and blowing bubbles underwater are on the agenda. But in case there aren't if you need me I'll be in the pool.
Ah yes, the pool, we love it. My boys may grow gills before the summer is over. Big guy is a full on swimmer now and is working on his stamina. He's learned to float on his back finally and is even trying the backstroke. He loves to cannonball and after watching his friend do it he is now an underwater swimmer. I love how comfortable he is in the water. Little guy has come leaps and bounds in the pool and this past week has blown us away. He gave up his life jacket and donned a pair of goggle and the rest, they say, is history. Little guy loves to be under the water, is swimming short distances, and can make a heck of a splash doing cannonballs. He's got guts like no other and amazes me with how far he's come so fast. Our friends ask us if we swim all day every day now that we have a pool. We swim every day that the weather cooperates and most days, twice. It's a lot of fun and the boys and I really connect in the pool. We laugh until our belly's hurt, we applaud each others progress and we talk while we float around. I can't say enough about our time in the pool, it's quality time and I am soaking it up.
I can only hope that there are a few more summers to come where doing cannonballs and blowing bubbles underwater are on the agenda. But in case there aren't if you need me I'll be in the pool.
Monday, July 16, 2012
It's Not All Butterflies and Daisies
Being a mom is a wonderful thing. It's something I knew I always wanted, something I fought hard for, and something I love with all my heart. That said, being a mom is hard. It's poop, it's puke, it's people telling you they hate you. It is defiance, it is struggle, it is facing your fears. Being a mom means you do anything and everything you never thought you would.
Over the past few years I have had similar discussions with different moms. We all love our children but sometimes being a mom isn't all it's cracked up to be. You get tired, you get sick and by the 459,856th time your child asks "why?" your answer may not be one you are proud of. Someone close to me confessed that she doesn't always like being a mom and sometimes doesn't like her kid. She loves him tons and always will but there are moments when she doesn't "like" him. I get it. I told her it was normal. Am I professional parent? No, but the fact is that everyone mom friend I've been close with has confided nearly the exact same thing. I've decided it's normal but not enough people talk about it. Why is that? What other job in the world is there where you are expected to love every minute of it. I don't know anyone who's caught a puddle of puke in their bare hands and said they loved motherhood right after it. Am I thankful I have a child even when he is spewing geysers? Yes. Am I thankful that sometimes I have to catch it in my hands to avoid a large clean up on the couch? No.
My advice? Well, as stated above, I am not a professional but after nearly 8 years of parenting big guy I have learned a few things. Moms need breaks. They need naps, they need to lose themselves in good books, they need friends and they need to GET OUT OF THE HOUSE. I love to leave the kids behind with Dado and head out to window shop. I crank up the stereo in the car, roll down the windows and rock out like I am a lot younger than I am, it's therapy. I love to come home just in time for bedtime to get my hugs and kisses, read a story and tuck in some sleepy heads. I feel like a better mom after a break, even a short one.
I love my boys but I love me too and that, I have learned, is very important.
Over the past few years I have had similar discussions with different moms. We all love our children but sometimes being a mom isn't all it's cracked up to be. You get tired, you get sick and by the 459,856th time your child asks "why?" your answer may not be one you are proud of. Someone close to me confessed that she doesn't always like being a mom and sometimes doesn't like her kid. She loves him tons and always will but there are moments when she doesn't "like" him. I get it. I told her it was normal. Am I professional parent? No, but the fact is that everyone mom friend I've been close with has confided nearly the exact same thing. I've decided it's normal but not enough people talk about it. Why is that? What other job in the world is there where you are expected to love every minute of it. I don't know anyone who's caught a puddle of puke in their bare hands and said they loved motherhood right after it. Am I thankful I have a child even when he is spewing geysers? Yes. Am I thankful that sometimes I have to catch it in my hands to avoid a large clean up on the couch? No.
My advice? Well, as stated above, I am not a professional but after nearly 8 years of parenting big guy I have learned a few things. Moms need breaks. They need naps, they need to lose themselves in good books, they need friends and they need to GET OUT OF THE HOUSE. I love to leave the kids behind with Dado and head out to window shop. I crank up the stereo in the car, roll down the windows and rock out like I am a lot younger than I am, it's therapy. I love to come home just in time for bedtime to get my hugs and kisses, read a story and tuck in some sleepy heads. I feel like a better mom after a break, even a short one.
I love my boys but I love me too and that, I have learned, is very important.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
She Should Pay Us
Sadie and I have been in couples therapy since December. Things were bad, we were bad, it was our last shot to fixing it. Therapy has definitely helped and things are better.
That said, I really think our therapist should be paying us. Tonight she informed us that she looks forward to our sessions. We all laugh, a lot. We laugh at each other, the situations, our lives, etc. Let's face it, there's a lot of material to work with. I grew up with the undiagnosed paranoid schizophrenic father, have issues communicating my feelings, and have enough emotional baggage I should really pay a bell hop to follow me around. Sadie is the blind girl and stupid sh*t just happens to her because, well, she can't see it coming (insert ba dum bum here). We're poor, we're crafty with our finances and resources and we've learned that even when the crap is hitting the fan if you laugh, it helps. Tonight was no different. At one point I really considered the idea that perhaps we should ask our therapist if we should bring Depends with us for her. She had tears in her eyes from laughing so hard and was struggling to catch her breath. She often tells us to take our act to the comedy connection. I don't think we're that funny, I just think she probably just deals with a lot of dull, depressed people all day.
No real point to this blog post except to say that laughter really is the best medicine and if you can laugh at yourself, kudos to you.
That said, I really think our therapist should be paying us. Tonight she informed us that she looks forward to our sessions. We all laugh, a lot. We laugh at each other, the situations, our lives, etc. Let's face it, there's a lot of material to work with. I grew up with the undiagnosed paranoid schizophrenic father, have issues communicating my feelings, and have enough emotional baggage I should really pay a bell hop to follow me around. Sadie is the blind girl and stupid sh*t just happens to her because, well, she can't see it coming (insert ba dum bum here). We're poor, we're crafty with our finances and resources and we've learned that even when the crap is hitting the fan if you laugh, it helps. Tonight was no different. At one point I really considered the idea that perhaps we should ask our therapist if we should bring Depends with us for her. She had tears in her eyes from laughing so hard and was struggling to catch her breath. She often tells us to take our act to the comedy connection. I don't think we're that funny, I just think she probably just deals with a lot of dull, depressed people all day.
No real point to this blog post except to say that laughter really is the best medicine and if you can laugh at yourself, kudos to you.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
The Little One
Sadie and I agreed upon having one child. She was terrified of being a parent and never imagined herself in that role so one was a huge step. It wasn't much after Big Guy turned one that I knew I HAD to have another baby. I can't really explain it except to say it didn't feel like an option for me. Something, somewhere was nagging at me and I just knew I had to do it. Sadie was reluctant at first but when the same donor we used for Big Guy had some vials returned that were available we jumped on it. It must have been fate that I checked the cryobank website that day but I swooped in and bought those vials as fast as a momma bird swooping in to protect her young.
Conceiving Little Guy was difficult. There was a lot more pressure because we had a limited number of vials (8) which gave us four months of trying to conceive. (We chose 2 vials a month, some people only do 1). Months one and two came and went and that damn pregnancy test broke my heart every time. My cycle got funky from stress and I went to talk to my doctor about getting some help through medication. I was prescribed Clomid and sent off to try again. The third month of trying I was completely convinced I was pregnant. The test, negative. I couldn't understand it until I learned that Clomid side effects can mirror early pregnancy symptoms. Humph. I was depressed, anxious and moody doesn't even begin to describe my Clomid attitude. I would literally laugh and smile one minute and sob uncontrollably the next. I seriously considered not doing Clomid for the next cycle because the side effects were so bad. I could not give up. I took the meds and went on to our last month. The pressure was immense, it was all on me at this point and this was our last shot. I scheduled the two days of insemination's and went to the first. Sadie had an important meeting and couldn't be there so I braved it alone. IUI (intrauterine insemination) wasn't horrible by any means, some times it was slightly painful and others not at all, it's just nerve wracking. I was sitting in the exam room waiting for my doctor to come in and do the procedure. A fair amount of time had passed and I was getting more and more anxious. Then, a knock at the door and in walked one of my favorite NP's. Shuffling in behind the NP was another woman and they both looked very solemn. I don't remember the exact wording but I was told that the medical assistant had, while preparing the vial for insemination, accidentally spilled it's contents. Horror. I cried, a lot. This, our last month, our last two vials and now one of them was gone. The donor had retired and there were no others out there and she spilled one??? I could not comprehend how it happened, could not understand why it was happening to me. I re-assured the assistant that while I was devastatingly sad I was not angry at her, and I wasn't. Mistakes do happen, to everyone, and she was genuinely sorry. How could I be angry at her? I was, instead, angry at the world. The prepared the last vial and I was inseminated and instead of the usual 10 minutes with my feet in the air they gave me at least 20 to try to ease my mind. It didn't matter though, I knew I would not get pregnant. Nothing had gone as planned this time, nothing was working and the spilled vial was just another sign I should be happy with Big Guy and let it go. Low and behold, just 9 days later there was a + on the pregnancy test, faint but there. I was convinced it was a false positive because in my head I had resigned to the fact that this wasn't going to work. I took something like 11 tests before I believed it.
My pregnancy went fairly smooth. I had some issues with my blood pressure but nothing like the pre-eclampsia I experienced with Big Guy. I spent one night in the hospital prior to delivery because of elevated pressure and little fetal movement but all was well in the end. Little guy arrived on his scheduled c-section date at 39 weeks. My doctor had to use the vacuum to get him out because he was so tightly wedged in my pelvis and could barely lift him over the curtain for me to see. In fact, all I got to see were the family jewels. Little guy weighed in at 10 pounds 14 ounces and from the moment my eyes met his I knew why he had to be. Little Guy is an old soul, someone you've known forever.
I can't imagine life without my boys and I am ever so thankful to the man who chose to be a sperm donor. I do not know your name or where you live but I feel like I know so much about you through watching my boys grow. You will never be able to understand the gift you have given me. You gave me the gift of motherhood, you gave me the gift of sons, you gave me the gift of life.
Conceiving Little Guy was difficult. There was a lot more pressure because we had a limited number of vials (8) which gave us four months of trying to conceive. (We chose 2 vials a month, some people only do 1). Months one and two came and went and that damn pregnancy test broke my heart every time. My cycle got funky from stress and I went to talk to my doctor about getting some help through medication. I was prescribed Clomid and sent off to try again. The third month of trying I was completely convinced I was pregnant. The test, negative. I couldn't understand it until I learned that Clomid side effects can mirror early pregnancy symptoms. Humph. I was depressed, anxious and moody doesn't even begin to describe my Clomid attitude. I would literally laugh and smile one minute and sob uncontrollably the next. I seriously considered not doing Clomid for the next cycle because the side effects were so bad. I could not give up. I took the meds and went on to our last month. The pressure was immense, it was all on me at this point and this was our last shot. I scheduled the two days of insemination's and went to the first. Sadie had an important meeting and couldn't be there so I braved it alone. IUI (intrauterine insemination) wasn't horrible by any means, some times it was slightly painful and others not at all, it's just nerve wracking. I was sitting in the exam room waiting for my doctor to come in and do the procedure. A fair amount of time had passed and I was getting more and more anxious. Then, a knock at the door and in walked one of my favorite NP's. Shuffling in behind the NP was another woman and they both looked very solemn. I don't remember the exact wording but I was told that the medical assistant had, while preparing the vial for insemination, accidentally spilled it's contents. Horror. I cried, a lot. This, our last month, our last two vials and now one of them was gone. The donor had retired and there were no others out there and she spilled one??? I could not comprehend how it happened, could not understand why it was happening to me. I re-assured the assistant that while I was devastatingly sad I was not angry at her, and I wasn't. Mistakes do happen, to everyone, and she was genuinely sorry. How could I be angry at her? I was, instead, angry at the world. The prepared the last vial and I was inseminated and instead of the usual 10 minutes with my feet in the air they gave me at least 20 to try to ease my mind. It didn't matter though, I knew I would not get pregnant. Nothing had gone as planned this time, nothing was working and the spilled vial was just another sign I should be happy with Big Guy and let it go. Low and behold, just 9 days later there was a + on the pregnancy test, faint but there. I was convinced it was a false positive because in my head I had resigned to the fact that this wasn't going to work. I took something like 11 tests before I believed it.
My pregnancy went fairly smooth. I had some issues with my blood pressure but nothing like the pre-eclampsia I experienced with Big Guy. I spent one night in the hospital prior to delivery because of elevated pressure and little fetal movement but all was well in the end. Little guy arrived on his scheduled c-section date at 39 weeks. My doctor had to use the vacuum to get him out because he was so tightly wedged in my pelvis and could barely lift him over the curtain for me to see. In fact, all I got to see were the family jewels. Little guy weighed in at 10 pounds 14 ounces and from the moment my eyes met his I knew why he had to be. Little Guy is an old soul, someone you've known forever.
I can't imagine life without my boys and I am ever so thankful to the man who chose to be a sperm donor. I do not know your name or where you live but I feel like I know so much about you through watching my boys grow. You will never be able to understand the gift you have given me. You gave me the gift of motherhood, you gave me the gift of sons, you gave me the gift of life.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Selective Hearing
The selective hearing in my house could win awards. Now, I know I am inevitably going to hear from women who will gush on and on about how if I were married to a man I would really know about selective hearing. For whatever reason, men seem to take the cake on this particular trait. So, let me pre-empt that but telling you all that Sadie is really a dude. No, not like pre or post op dude but she acts more like a guy than a couple of my friends husbands (those with well dressed husbands and color coordinated closets know who you are). Sadie believes me when I say I am "fine", forgets holidays, believes me when I say we aren't going to exchange gifts at Xmas or for our anniversary and feigns surprise when I get her something, and has selective hearing which when you combine with the blind thing makes for a really great Helen Keller joke. Mostly though, I refer to my boys. I often find myself speaking to walls, floors, ceilings, and many other inanimate objects because the animate ones aren't listening. I get that they are kids and often caught up in play but the thing that really gets me is when they ask me a question and then don't listen to the answer and say "what?" or ask it again. " Momma's gonna lose her shiz-nit honey" is what I want to say as I sometimes not so patiently try again. There are also the times when you ask them something or tell them to do something and they say "what?" I repeat and they repeat "what?" I say it a third time through gritted teeth omitting f*ck from in between each word which is now how I hear it in my head. And again, I hear "what?" This is when all bets are off and momma turns into a crazy lady. Sometimes I just scream because I figure a guttural scream is better than the slew of profanities I really want to sling in their direction. I've learned to employ a few tricks of the trade like making them stop what they are doing and look me in the eye, or stand right in front of them while talking but these only work about 30% of the time. So what do I do? I beat my fists in the air while I scream and throw a little hissy fit to let off steam, I stick my head in the freezer to cool off (a trick I learned shortly after giving birth to A) and I bitch to friends because the same thing happens to them too and then I don't feel so alone.
Friday, April 6, 2012
Stories for Another Day
A few weeks ago Sadie and I were sitting with the boys on the couch and we started talking about life when they were babies (I mean, really 5 and 7.5 year olds are SO grown up). We laughed over a lot of the stories of toddler mischief and new parenting mistakes. There was only one problem, we didn't have much material for the 5 year old.
Our first born, A, was a handful. The journal I kept for him is full of stories of destruction and mayhem. A used to empty the tupperware cabinet and pots and pans drawer on a regular basis, loved tearing all the diapers out of the cabinet, painted himself with Desitin, fell asleep in a cabinet while playing hide and seek and used to climb his dresser, take the lampshade off the lamp and burn a hole in the plastic covering of the changing pad in the time it would take me to pee. He kept me on my toes and R should be thankful I ever considered having another child. That said , A was a cuddler, a momma's boy and made me laugh a lot.
R was the good baby. He slept well, napped well, and rarely caused trouble. Whether it was his nature or the fact that A had trained me well and I knew what to watch for we will never know. All I know is that R's journal is filled with stories of things like long cuddly naps, favorite toys and my professing my love for him repeatedly. He was easy. R was sad there were not as many funny stories about him and I tried to reassure him it was just because he was so good, not because I had forgotten to write them down. Sure, there was the time he was in the jumparoo and a mysterious brown puddle formed under his feet, and the ball popper that became a pacifier popper but nothing big.
In the past few days though R has added to his journal. It started with another mom telling me she heard R say he "goosed" someone on the playground. I asked him what "goosed" meant and he said "you know, like duck, duck goose. I goosed someone." That was a good laugh. Then yesterday my little man unknowingly auditioned to be a Chippendale. I sent him to bed in his Batman footy pj's and he came out in the AM in boxer briefs and a sparkly green light up bow tie from St. Patrick's Day. So while his baby/toddlerhood were not the most amusing I do believe he will make up for that and have stories to share another day.
Our first born, A, was a handful. The journal I kept for him is full of stories of destruction and mayhem. A used to empty the tupperware cabinet and pots and pans drawer on a regular basis, loved tearing all the diapers out of the cabinet, painted himself with Desitin, fell asleep in a cabinet while playing hide and seek and used to climb his dresser, take the lampshade off the lamp and burn a hole in the plastic covering of the changing pad in the time it would take me to pee. He kept me on my toes and R should be thankful I ever considered having another child. That said , A was a cuddler, a momma's boy and made me laugh a lot.
R was the good baby. He slept well, napped well, and rarely caused trouble. Whether it was his nature or the fact that A had trained me well and I knew what to watch for we will never know. All I know is that R's journal is filled with stories of things like long cuddly naps, favorite toys and my professing my love for him repeatedly. He was easy. R was sad there were not as many funny stories about him and I tried to reassure him it was just because he was so good, not because I had forgotten to write them down. Sure, there was the time he was in the jumparoo and a mysterious brown puddle formed under his feet, and the ball popper that became a pacifier popper but nothing big.
In the past few days though R has added to his journal. It started with another mom telling me she heard R say he "goosed" someone on the playground. I asked him what "goosed" meant and he said "you know, like duck, duck goose. I goosed someone." That was a good laugh. Then yesterday my little man unknowingly auditioned to be a Chippendale. I sent him to bed in his Batman footy pj's and he came out in the AM in boxer briefs and a sparkly green light up bow tie from St. Patrick's Day. So while his baby/toddlerhood were not the most amusing I do believe he will make up for that and have stories to share another day.
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