“Can’t have one without the other…”

Posted on February 1, 2013 | 21 comments

I put my whole self out there. Sometimes.  The things that I keep to myself are not usually the things that I decide are too ugly or too embarrassing.  I have a tendency to keep inside the things that I suspect no one really wants to read about.

No one wants to hear about how head over heels in love I am.  Do you?  If your answer is “no,” go ahead and roll out. That’s all I have got today.  And a whole two weeks before Valentine’s Day, huh?

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Pic from an 80’s party the first week we met. I still look at him like he is the only boy in the room.

MQD is gone for a few days.  And I miss him.  I miss him super bad.  I am trying not to dwell and mope around like a lovesick fool but it feels like the boy I like at school is out sick and I wasted a really good outfit, an outfit so good that I can’t just wear it again next week because people will remember.

It was just a week ago that I started getting up out of bed at night when Lucy was asleep.  I poke my head out of the bedroom and look for him, for this man to whom I am married and it makes me nervous.  Because I am excited to see him.  Because I have missed him in the last year.  Because he is pretty much the best.

There are a lot of things that I don’t have figured out. But I think I might have this Marriage business in the bag.   In the last week I had a slow dance in the kitchen, I fell on the floor laughing, I felt beautiful, I was challenged, I got laid,  I got to sleep in, I was proud, I was encouraged and I was loved.

And now I miss him.  I miss him, like whoa. You can’t blame me, really, can you?

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As an aside – to the well-meaning security-minded folks:

I am probably not supposed to shout out to the Internet that the husband is out of town.  But I probably shouldn’t have scheduled a Freecycle person to swing by and pick up some kefir grains when MQD was gone and we were home alone either.  As I was pacing back and forth trying to decide if I should even open the door a lovely woman was leaving me a potted daffodil and a handwritten thank you note as she picked up the kefir grains I had left in a jar on my porch.

So, I am going to assume that if you plan to hunt me down while MQD is gone it is going to be to offer to drag my trash can to the end of the driveway.  Or tell me that my dinner was great.  Or follow behind me putting my carkeys on the hook or calling my phone that I have misplaced.  Because even people that live in the computer are mostly kind. And I am really needing someone to do those things for the next couple of days.  

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Posted in Family, Nonsense

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Sweat & Smoke

Posted on January 30, 2013 | 34 comments

Sweat“Have you been swimming?”
It’s an innocent enough question. In defense of the woman that asked me, I was standing in front of the locker room, the locker room that connects to the pool at the gym.

“Umm.  No.  I just sweat like a beast.”

I am really good at making casual conversations come to an awkward finish. I tried to rescue the conversation, I did.  To be honest, my sweating isn’t something that even embarrasses me.  I will never be accused of just posturing at the gym.  I look like I have been working out and working out hard just a few minutes after I step on to a treadmill.  Sadly, the same holds true when I step out of an air-conditioned car bound for an outdoor wedding in August.

I know I left you hanging this weekend.  Did I go to Zumba?  Did I “join the party?” Am I still there?

I went.  I sweat.  I will go back.  I actually snorted and laughed loud enough to attract the attention of a friend the first time there was any shaking of the ta-tas. I cannot see a woman shake her shoulders and not hear Penny from Dirty Dancing shouting “God wouldn’t have given you maracas if He didn’t want you to shake ’em!”

I didn’t love it enough to turn my back on running and the dreaded elliptical machine.  I have finally admitted to myself that I can not run every day of the week.  If I do not take a break I hurt myself.  I just do.  I was not built to be a runner.  I am… top heavy.  I am not light on my feet.  I read Born to Run.  I watch Danny Dreyer’s Chi Running videos, I visualize.  And I run, every other day.  In between I do whatever I can to keep the mojo and keep moving because one day off becomes three becomes a week becomes a month.  So, I will run. And on my off days perhaps I will Zumba.  I laughed.  And I sweat.

I sweat.  Because it feels good.  Because it clears my head.

sweatBecause it makes me feel like I am taking time for me and that I am important.  I feel healthy.  I make better choices, choices about what I eat, what I do.

But not all of those choices are easy.

There is a man at the gym. He is an older fella, in his grey  sneakers and his dress pants.  He wears a plaid shirt and he keeps it neatly tucked in.  He walks on a treadmill and he gabs with everyone.  He is friendly but if you point at your earbuds and smile he doesn’t chat you up anymore.  He is pleasant.  But that is not my favorite thing about him.

He reeks.  And not because he sweats.  He reeks of cigarettes.  Reeks.  I pass him on the stairs sometimes and I wonder if I smell like smoke when I walk past someone later.  It doesn’t just hang on him, it follows him like Pigpen’s swirl of dust and dirt.

And I love it.  I love the smell of smoke.

Not all of the time.  When I am with my kids at a park and I smell smoke I whip my head around and give the stink-eye to the teenagers that are sitting on a picnic table.  When I am in line at the grocery store and I can smell the checker, they have just come back from a smoke break, I don’t breathe deeply.  It doesn’t smell good.  It is out of place.

But at the gym, during my hour, the hour that Kelly is just Kelly not Mom, I’ll be damned if that cigarette does not smell delicious.  Running alongside him today at the gym I got to giggling.  Ludacris was singing in my ear “I wanna, li-li-li-lick you from your head to your toes” and I imagined myself letting those words escape my mouth.

kellyI am not a Smoker.  Not anymore.  But I am not a Non-Smoker, either.  I prefer to think of myself as a non-practicing Smoker.

I would spend some more time trying to reconcile this, my desire to be healthy and fit combined with my love of the smell of a Marlboro, but it isn’t new.  Ten years ago I celebrated my 26th birthday with friends.  We were talking about our newfound love of Les Mills’ Body Pump.  I had a beer in one hand and a smoke in the other.

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These days I don’t have a cigarette in my hand.  And I still love the gym. Some things change and some things stay the same.

I still wear overalls more often than I should.  But I don’t perm my hair anymore.  I am going to put fitness, quitting smoking and not perming my hair in the “Good Things I Need to Keep Doing” column. Sniffing old dudes that reek of smoke at the gym – I am putting that in the “Quite Possibly Creepy But It Won’t Kill Me” column. Feel free to debate me on this.

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Posted in Exercise, Parenting

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Hey you guys!!!

Posted on January 26, 2013 | 32 comments

It’s not my best look. I call it “just rolled out of bed not even wearing my cute glasses wearing my favorite sweater and only two sips in to a cup of coffee” chic.

Photo on 1-26-13 at 8.09 AM #2

I just wanted to sit down this morning and say Hey you guys! Yesterday afternoon yours truly was Freshly Pressed and with that comes scads (gobs? hordes? what shall I call you?)  of new readers that deserve a little shout out.

It didn’t seem right to get all fancied up and try and be something I am not and dazzle you.  So. Here I am.  This is where I usually am.  In my chair with the kiddo on the boob.  This morning is cold so I am enjoying one of the four (four!) cowl neck scarves I have recently crocheted.  Yeah.  I am a woman that crochets, guys.  I don’t know how it happened.  Sometime this winter when I realized I had watched everything on my DVR and every single series on Hulu I decided I needed to find something else to do while Lucy slept in my lap.  So, yeah, I crochet.  And I am impatient.  Cowl neck scarf – the four hour project – we are pals.  Stick around and maybe I will send you one if your neck looks particularly cold.

I wish I had more time this morning but I am trying to get out the door.

You know when you do something that you kind of think is awesome but you aren’t sure if it is totally absurd.  You’re not embarrassed exactly, but you’re not sure if people that know you would think “Oh, that is strange.  You don’t really do that, do you?”  When I was fourteen I bought a hot pink swing dress and purple polka-dotted tights to wear to my boyfriend’s graduation.  (It was 1991, it was a hot look.) Previously I had been seen in my overalls.  Pretty much every day.  I thought the dress was cute.  I thought it was kind of adorably Molly Ringwald-ish, actually. But I wondered if it was “me.”

I don’t work hard to stay in my “me” box.  But I think we all have a type.  Not long ago I was horrified when I realized I had Mom-hair but I owned it.  In fact, I declared myself to be the Samue L. Jackson of Motherhood and decided that in spite of my hair I was a bad motherfucker.

So, I am yammering on because I am not sure I can admit this.  I like to work out.  It keeps me from being totally mental.  I run.  I actually love p90x.  I am not afraid of the weight room and I don’t really wear “cute outfits” to the gym.  I like to get sweaty.  But this morning I am going to do something I have been talking about doing forever.  And I might get hysterical and get kicked out but I am going for it.  I am going to Zumba, guys.   Zumba bills itself as a sexy Jazzercise.  Take a minute to chew on that.  Sexy.  Jazzercise.  I hope they serve margaritas.  I am going to need one.  Or four.

So, a big fat “hello” and “happy to meet you” and “what took you so long let’s be best friends!” to the new readers.  I gotta jet.  Get my sweat on.  Oh, and shake my moneymaker. Because apparently when I am not busy being a bad motherfucker or crocheting I go to Zumba.  Sigh.  The latter half of my third decade is going to be weird.  I can feel it.

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Posted in Exercise, Nonsense, Parenting, Pregnancy

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Mom Gets Up Close & Personal with the Big Kid

Posted on January 24, 2013 | 10 comments

Emily has a short week of school this week. Consequently there is no Show and Tell. This is probably a good thing.

Yesterday afternoon I put my feet in the stirrups at the midwive’s office to get my new IUD.  I had planned to have Emily watch Lucy for me but it was late in the afternoon and Lucy was hungry and wanting her mama.  Lucy ended up in my lap which meant Emily was free.

She was standing by my feet.  “Can I … see what she is doing?”

“Sure, just don’t bump in to my leg, please, and stay out of Rachel’s way.”  My seven-year-old disappeared behind the sheet covering my knees.

“Is that blood? Is it period blood or blood blood?  Why is betadine orange? Does it hurt? Why are you squeezing your toes? Are you making that noise to make Lucy laugh or because it hurts? Is that where Lucy was? How did she fit in there? When you were having a baby you kept saying “I can’t do it” and you were crying.  That’s the part that is scary. So, what exactly is your vagina? Where is that?”

On our way to the car I said “I don’t think very many seven-year-olds have seen their mother’s cervix.  Was that neat? Or kind of weird?”

“Well, I thought I would just have to sit there and watch Lucy and that it would be… Lame. That was not lame.”

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When I got up this morning this is what I saw at the kitchen table.  I don’t think her cervix sighting has irrevocably changed her.  Although she has a certain “I am Woman, Hear Me Roar” flair, no?

In other news I snapped a picture of Lucy after she finished nursing just now.  She doesn’t look like a kid who has a mother with low milk supply to me.  I am ever vigilant, but so far so good.  photo 2

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The Ongoing Saga of My Innards or Five Fun Facts about My New IUD

Posted on January 23, 2013 | 79 comments

You havent heard enough about my innards, have you?  When I showed you a picture of my IUD moments after it was removed, that wasn’t enough.  When I took a picture of the view from my colposcopy I know I really left you wanting more.  And I know that when I gave you the play by play of Lucy’s birth I left out a lot of details.

So, that is why I feel compelled to give you some more deets about Lady Town.

Five Fun Facts About My Choice to Have My Paragard Replaced With a Mirena 

1.  Fact:  I love my kids. I was blessed to fall in love with each of them the moment they were born.  Moments after Emily was born I knew I would do it again.  And the moment after Lucy was born and Emily said “It’s a sister” I knew that I was done. These were my children.  We were complete.

2.  Fact: I have good intentions.  And grand plans.  Eat a healthy snack every day becomes eat peanut M&Ms on occasion.  Stop wearing yoga pants unless I am exercising becomes wear yoga pants when you are planning on staying home for the day.  Make sure I have planned our dinners in such a way that I do not have to throw away a single leftover easily turns in to I totally I forgot I bought this cilantro but we ate everything else! Go, me!

Small things.  A single bag of M&Ms, cozy yoga pants when it is cold outside and a $2 bag of fresh cilantro won’t change  the course of history.  But take this pill every single day at the same time or you might get pregnant. Another baby? A baby changes you.  Forever.

It took me 36 years to like me just fine.  This Life, the one where I forgive myself for a bag of M&Ms or some wasted cilantro, I want this Life.  And the “Yes, actually I was on birth control pills but aren’t we Blessed to have this baby” baby just doesn’t fit in this Life.

3.  Fact: Nursing my babies is important to me.  It might even be more than important.  It goes well beyond nutrition and it is the cornerstone to my parenting philosophy.  Many of the decisions that I have made about how to be the best mother that I can be center around continuing the mother-baby nursing relationship for as long as it is mutually desired.

I am not denying that other women can be wonderful mothers and not breastfeed. (Nor am I telling you that daily M&Ms, a wardrobe made up solely of yoga pants and regular take-out because you forgot to pull chicken breasts out to thaw signals the imminent failure of your family foundation.  But it doesn’t add up to the Life that I want.  For me.)

So, I breastfeed.  And I avoid things that can have a negative impact on that relationship, things like hormonal birth control.

I shared here about how I had Big Plans for getting back in the marital saddle as soon as I got my IUD last February. I had a copper IUD after Emily was born and it worked well for me for years. There is an adjustment period, pardon the pun.  But it is worth it.

4.  Fact: I am not a squeamish gal when it comes to my own body.  I sing the praises of the menstrual cup loud and proud.  Who wants to think about their period all of the time? Not me.  Twice a day you can empty a menstrual cup and chances are your periods will be shorter in length!  The Diva Cup is awesome.  The other day a friend asked me if she could talk to me about it.  I laughed.  I sat in my living room and showed her how it works, folded it, talked about the magical twist and release that creates a perfect seal.  Ordinarily someone has to ask me to not talk about my menstrual cup.  I am what one might call a huge fan.

But that doesn’t mean I want to wear it every day.  The Diva Cup is not intended to be an everyday accessory.  You see where I am going with this, right? This is when I try to find a clever way to explain that I have had my period on average for 14 days out of every 21 since I got it back (at three months post-partum!!) Umm.  I don’t need a separate paragraph to include the Fact that that is some bullshit right there.

5.  Fact: Every women is different.  Every body is different.  And evidently every woman’s body isn’t even the same year after year.  My beloved hormone-free Paragard isn’t working for me this time.  After much research and soul searching I am having it removed and replaced with the levonorgestrel-releasing Mirena. Many women have had a Mirena with no impact on their milk supply at all.

But I am afraid.

The rest of the ill side-effects that are possible: hellacious acne, migraines and depression, I won’t be able to ignore them. It won’t sneak up on me.  I will never sit down at the end of the day and say “Damn, I have had a debilitating headache all day, I didn’t even realize it.”

But I don’t know what low milk supply feels like.  I don’t know how to know that it is happening.  I know I do not want my baby (and yes, she turned one last week, but she is a baby) to wean.  I don’t even know what weaning a baby looks like.  And more than that – I do not know how to mother a toddler without nursing.

I am, as I always am, nursing Lucy while I type.  And I am, as I sometimes am, crying.  If the Mirena works for us I will be happy.  And if it doesn’t, if my mik supply dips and I can’t get it back up quickly, I will be having it removed “even though” my baby is over a year old.

I struggled with this decision.  Above all else I struggled with admitting that I was making choices about my birth control largely based on my ability to breastfeed my twelve month old.  And I shouldn’t have to struggle to admit that.  It’s how I choose to parent.  And it works for me.  And for my kids.  And when I put it like that it doesn’t sound so complicated.

If you find this because you are struggling with your own decision, feel free to contact me.  If you want to share your experience because it will be helpful to you, please do.  If you want to tell me about your sister-in-law with a Mirena that breastfed her entire neighborhood until they graduated from high school or warn me that my insides will likely turn inside out I can assure that I have weighed both the risks and the benefits and made a choice.

In the coming weeks I can promise to keep y’all posted about my milk supply.  More boobs, less uterus! Now that’s a campaign platform if ever there was one.

Update: What did my seven-year-old think of watching me get my IUD? Find out!

It is understandably difficult to comprehend why I do not want any more of these. It is even hard for me to wrap my mind around.

It is understandably difficult to comprehend why I do not want any more of these. It is even hard for me to wrap my mind around.

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Lucy Goose is ONE!

Posted on January 20, 2013 | 10 comments

Dear Lucy,

20130120-133802.jpgLast year I wasn’t sure if it would be possible to love a baby as much as I loved your big sister. Lucky for you – you turned out to be a Lucy, not just a baby. And in one short year my heart has tripled in size.

I am crazy about you, little girl. And the bonus that I never saw coming? I love your sister twice as much as I used to and your dad, too. You are the icing on my cake, sweet girl. Life was sweet before you arrived, but now that you are here – I just can’t imagine our family without you.

 

So. You’re one. We made it.

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I keep writing and writing and deleting. I don’t have words for you, Lucy Goose. You are sleeping in my lap right now. And I can’t wait for you to wake up. I have spent nearly every minute of the last year with you. And all I want is more.

You are a funny little thing. You make me laugh all of the time.

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One year ago we left the birthing center in the dark hours of the morning and we came home, the four of us. I’ve never looked back. You have been a sweet and smushy little baby. You nurse like a champ and you hold my hand while you sleep. You are a cuddler. But you are also so independent in your own little way. You have been just a perfect little baby.

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In the last few weeks I have started to see the little girl you are going to be. And Lucy Goose, you are trouble. You are funny. Your sister and I are funny, but you? You are a nut. Your squinchy little smile. Your gonna give me a run for my money, I am afraid. There is a reason you didn’t come to me until I had figured this mothering stuff out a little bit.

Happy birthday, Lucy Goosey.  I love you so much I can’t stand it.

Love,

Mom

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How to take the Baby out to Dinner

Posted on January 19, 2013 | 8 comments

Taking your kids out to eat in a restaurant can be daunting.  It is a crapshoot.  Will they behave?  Will they get restless? Will my food come out in less than seven minutes? There are a lot of questions.  Questions that do not ever include “should we order an after-dinner drink or dessert?” because if you make it through dinner unscathed, without tears or dirty looks from the wait staff or other diners you just want to pack up your crap and your kids and get the hell out of there before your good juju runs out.

Last night we had one of those once in a Blue Moon dinners.  (Perhaps it was augmented by the three Blue Moons Mom slurped down during dinner!) It was perfect.  We could have stayed for hours chatting it up at the table.   How did we do it? Easy.

Step 1. Slide in to the booth in a manner that puts Mom far away from all of the kids.  Mom is quick to jump to “Well, you knew this was going to happen!” when Baby squeals or Big Kid spills a drink.  Or at least this Mom is.  Yanno, before she has a couple of beers, anyway.

Step 2.  Put a grandparent between Baby and Big Kid.  Just do it if you can.  Grandparents love to play tic-tac-toe and pick up toys off of the floor.  Over and over and over again.

Step 3.  Have a waitress that is over 27 but does not have her own kids.  She is old enough to have the uterine twinge of “Damn, those are some cute kids” and not yet keen to the fact that it is the cute ones that wreak the most havoc.  She will give you way too many straws.  Key to step 4.

Step 4.  Give your baby a straw.  They will not poke their eyes out.  Or choke.  They will love it.  When they throw it on the floor just give them another.  Straws will not get ground in to the carpet like a Cheerio.

Step 5.  Someone, anyone, preferably someone at your table but it could be a diner nearby, order the pork shank.  Give the baby ALL the bones.  Not one or two.  Three.  Three bones.  She will be (you know I am going to go there) in hog heaven, I promise.

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That’s it.  It is that easy. Five simple steps to taking Baby out to dinner.  You’re welcome.

 

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The Book of Truth?

Posted on January 17, 2013 | 9 comments

Emily brings home a book every day.

On Tuesday afternoon I was fit to be tied midway through homework time. I was in a mood.  Stomping.  A little light swearing.  She handed me the book she had chosen from her “Book in a Bag” selection and I grimaced.  “Did you pick this book for me?  It is NOT funny.”20130117-162252.jpg

 

On Wednesday she selected another book.  We were in a hurry to get homework finished because I had an appointment.  To get my hair cut.

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Last night we joked that we should look at the books she had selected for the rest of the week so we could take a look in to the future.

Now it is Thursday.  It has been raining since about 6 o’clock this morning.  She handed me her book as we sat down to read this afternoon.  To my credit I did not say “You have got to be kidding me?  Get away from me with your crazy voodoo future predicting book picking skills?!”

I hope it stops raining soon.  I really do.  While I was typing this just now Lucy dumped the dog’s bowl of water on the floor in the kitchen.  I hope that is flood enough to satisfy the “Book in a Bag” Gods.

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In Flight Meal

Posted on January 16, 2013 | 46 comments

We are sitting at the airport. Em is eating some fruit salad. She is licking the fork. Lucy is nursing in my lap at the Starbucks inside the terminal.

“Mom, does that ever embarrass you?”

“What?”

“You know. Having your boob out.”

“Nope. Lucy has to eat. Are you embarrassed that you have your tongue out? Everyone can see you eating.”

She smirks at me, the way you smirk at your mother.

“It’s only weird to see a woman feeding a baby because you don’t see it very often. The more people see a baby eating the less weird it will be.”

“Yeah. That’s good, Mom. That will be good.”

Yep. It sure will.

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I gotta be cleeeean!!

Posted on January 7, 2013 | 7 comments

I have jars all over my kitchen with gross stuff in them.  Three jars of kefir right now are growing on top of my fridge.  Two large jars of kombucha scobys are sleeping peacefully in my cabinets.  I like the process of watching something sort of disgusting become something else sort of disgusting.  If that something disgusting means that something good is happening, too, even better. If that something good is even possibly contributing to the health of my family in a positive way than I enjoy it even more.

Oddly, I can not muster up any excitement while watching the snot roll out of Lucy’s face.  I can’t feel awe for the gloopy crust that accumulates in her eyes by morning.  I know that it is her little body pushing out the funk.  Intellectually, I know this.  Maternally, I just want it to stop.

We aren’t sleeping.  Instead we are sitting up in bed at night trying to keep the snot from sitting in her chest.  We are running the humidifier and using saline spray.  I am shooting breast milk up her nose and in her eyes.  I am pushing rest and fluids.

And we are showering.  Like as a hobby.

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Lucy used to be really jazzed in the shower. She loved it. It’s losing the appeal now that we are in there all of the time.  Now I have to spit water at her to get a smile.

In this morning’s shower I had to resort to wowing her with my lyrical stylings. To the tune of Suzanne Vega’s “Left of Center” I sang to her this little number –

If you want me, you can find me, With my baby in the shower!! No more crying, no more whining,We’ve been giving Snot too much POWER!

It’s a first draft.  And I am running on empty.  Stick around for more nudity and a snazzy rendition of Sammy Davis, Jr’s “I’ve Gotta Be Me!”

Whether it’s a cold, or even the flu! Makes no difference to me, the end result is the same, I gotta be clean, I’ve gotta be cleeeean!!!

 

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