Monday, January 31, 2011

Why I love my job

1. My boss is way cuter than yours.

2. I get to wear pajama pants.

3. My boss likes to shop with me.

4. My boss likes to snuggle with me.

5. I get to play most of the day.

6. I get to go out to lunch with friends.

7. My boss laughs at everything I do - it's a huge ego boost!

8. I get to watch tv. (right now I am watching Project Runway and Dylan is totally enthralled with the colors).

All I have ever wanted to be was a wife and a mom. After finding the perfect man, and after 6 years of marriage, 3 miscarriages, the loss of my first son, and finally after the birth of my 2nd son, I am a mom and I love my life! Go ahead, be jealous.

Thursday, January 27, 2011

4 month appointment

Dylan had his 4 month check up on Tuesday. Here are some of the highlights:

1. Dylan is 26 inches long. He is so tall that the nurse said "Whoa!" when she measured him.

2. Dylan weighs 15 and a half pounds. This is totally average. Which is good because this child spits up constantly. It is good to know that he is able to keep some of the milk in his tummy.

3. At his doctor's office the nurse sees him first, then they send in a resident, then the doctor comes in. The resident was a 25 year old male with no kids.

4. The resident was clueless. He was asking questions to make sure that Dylan was getting enough to eat. Here's was our conversation:

Resident- Do you breastfeed?

Me- yes, exclusively.

Resident- how many ounces does he get at each feeding?

Me- I don't know. He is exclusively breastfed.

Resident- You don't know how many ounces he gets?

Me- Umm, no. But he empties my breast, has several dirty diapers a day and is gaining weight just fine.

Resident- So what you are saying is that you aren't sure how many ounces he gets in a day?

Me- This guy has a medical degree? Umm, yes, that is what I am saying.

5. The resident then points to the cradle cap (dry, peeling skin on a child's head that is normal in newborns) on Dylan's head and says in a worried voice, "What's this?" First of all, shouldn't you know? You are the one with the medical degree! I say back to him, "Umm, that's cradle cap." I said it kind of bitchy, well really bitchy actually. He then replied, "No, not that, this." And he points to the huge scratch that my ring gave Dylan moments earlier. Oh, yeah, that. Oops.

6. He then asks me the same questions that the nurse did about 10 minutes before: Do you have city water or well water? Are you on WIC? Does he sleep on his back? Do you watch him in the bathtub? Is your water temp set at 120 degrees or lower? Seriously. They ask these questions every time I am in there. It is annoying.

7. Then the doctor walks in. She is very pleasant and great with babies and Dylan loves her. I actually think that he has a crush on her, because he was fussy before she walked in, then when she opened the door he started laughing and smiling.

8. The doctor asks me if Dylan is exclusively breastfed, to which I think didn't we just go over this? I say yes and she says that he is gaining weight just fine and it looks like he is getting plenty to eat and that my milk must agree with him because he is super healthy. 

9. I then shoot the resident a look that says: "HA! Take notes buddy. That's how you measure if the amount of breast milk a baby gets is enough!"

10. The nurse, and a nurse in training come in to give Dylan his shots. It is a teaching hospital and they have lots of people learning. I am convinced that the nurses and doctors make the trainees come to our room and deal with me. It is good practice to deal with an over protective, bitchy, know it all mom. 

11.We are following a modified shot schedule to reduce the amount of needles at each visit. So today he just gets one shot and one vaccine by mouth. It tastes like berries. How do I know this? Because Dylan turned his head while I was gently holding him still and smeared it in my mouth. The good news is that I am know protected against Rotavirus.

12. My son is perfectly healthy.

13. I am so blessed.

14. On the way out of the office, Dylan let one rip and the office staff thought it was me. I smiled and walked as quickly as I could out of the office.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

One year

Dear Brendan,

One year ago, on January 23rd, you passed away. It was 4:30 in the morning and we had both fallen asleep about a half hour before. When I woke up, you were gone.

It has been a year and so much has changed.

The day that we picked up your ashes, we found out that we were pregnant with your little brother, Dylan. It was also uncle Shaun's birthday. It was a bittersweet day.

I missed you so much, but I couldn't believe that God blessed us with another baby. I was scared that we might loose another baby. I was excited to be pregnant. I was nervous that people would think that we were trying to replace you.

I was holding your ashes, and holding your baby brother in my belly at the same time. Nothing could replace you, Brendan. You will always be Dylan's older brother. You will always be my first born. You are the reason that I am a mommy.

Since that day, we moved to Tennessee. We have a house. We have a wonderful baby boy. He looks like you a little bit, but mostly looks like dad. 

It is weird that your younger brother is older than you. He is healthy and happy. He is growing so strong. He smiles and laughs all the time now.

He looks up to the sky and talks to the ceiling sometimes. I am convinced that he is talking to you. It makes me smile to know that you two are friends. I like to think that when Dylan laughs at the wall, it is because you are telling him a joke that you learned in heaven.

I like to think that you are Dylan's guardian angel.

Thank you for making me a mommy. Thank you for taking care of your little brother. I miss you, sweetie. Happy one year anniversary in Heaven! Eat all the cake you want. Don't worry, tell Jesus that mom says it's okay.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

No, No and NO!!!

Seriously, if one more person asks me if I am pregnant I am going to scream.

I am not pregnant. I have the flu.

Never once did I feel this bad while I was pregnant (well, except during labor, but that's another blog. Am I the only one that got nauseated during labor? I seriously thought that I was going to hurl.)

Anyways, I am not knocked up. Mother Nature won't allow it. Here's why:

There is no way that my stretch marks can get any more stretchy. Seriously, there is no more room on my stomach.

There is no way that my feet can get any bigger. They started out as a size 8 and a half. With Brendan they grew to a size 9. With Dylan they grew to a size 9 and a half. Nature won't allow me to have feet bigger than that. Because then all my awesome shoes won't fit. And that would be a tragedy.

There is no way that I can go another 9 months without a margarita. (technically I went almost 2 years without one.) Granted, I am not drinking any alcohol right now because I am breast feeding, but at least I have the option of pumping and dumping. There is no option of pumping and dumping when you are pregnant. Zero. And let's be honest. A girl needs to have the option.

There is no way that Jeff can handle the hormones. It's possible that if I get pregnant again soon, Jeff will move out of the house until I deliver.

There is no way that my friends will be able to handle me. Everything is always about me. My friends know this. They accept this. But when I am pregnant, this need to have all the attention goes into overdrive. Nature will not allow me to be friendless and pregnant.

There is no way that the grandparents can afford another grandkid right now. Let's recap shall we? Brendan: born October 18, 2009; Olivia: born March 31, 2010: Dylan: born September 23, 2010. Three grandkids in less than a year. That's a lot of baby gear. My mother alone has bought every outfit that Target sells for boys. She has bought toys, clothes, and many other fun things for her 3 grandkids. This woman's wallet needs a break.

There is no way that I am wearing maternity clothes again. At least not for a while. I am so sick of empire waisted, baggy shirts. And so help me if I have to wear another pair of stretchy panel jeans. Granted, I don't look so hot in my non pregnancy jeans, but at least they don't have a polyester panel to hold up baby fat.

There is no way that nature will let me worry for another 9 months about the health of my baby. Brendan had a host of health issues (although I didn't know any of them until he was born) but with Dylan I was worried every day. And to top it off, he was born a month early. So I was worried the day he was born, too. I am surprised that I don't have an ulcer, or that I am not on anti-anxiety meds.

There is no way that I will be pregnant for a third time in the scorching heat of summer. If I had my way, I would get pregnant in August and have the baby in May. None of this "7 months pregnant in 100 degree weather" crap.

There is no way that I can handle the fatigue of pregnancy and a 4 month old who sleeps for 15 minutes total at night. I am already a walking zombie. Who knows what would happen if I was pregnant. The world doesn't have enough under eye cream to deal with those dark circles.

Forgive me for this one, but.... There is no way that I am going to be constipated for 9 months straight....Again....Again. Not. Going. To. Happen.

There is no way that I am going to deal with drinking a sip of water and having heartburn for a week. Heartburn is my least favorite symptom of pregnancy. And I hate Tums. They make me want to hurl.

And finally, there is no way that I am going to run to the bathroom every 5 minutes. I don't have time to pee that much. I sometimes forget to pee for hours (see number 8 on this list for further info on this topic). If I actually get to pee without a baby either in the bathroom with me or right outside the door, it is a good day. 

So, for those of you that insist that I must be pregnant, please talk to Mother Nature, because she and I have a deal, and we have together decided that I am just not ready to be pregnant for three straight years.

Oh one more thing. There is no way that Mother Nature will let me look like this again for a while:

Saturday, January 8, 2011


258. This is our number at church. It is the number that they use when they need us (read: me) to go to the nursery and take care of Dylan. The number is flashed on the screen (in front of the entire church) for a few seconds to alert the parent that their child has either crammed a crayon up another child's nose, barfed all over the floor, eaten something off of the floor, or is just hungry.

Let me give you the backstory. I forget to bring bottles. Well, that's a lie. I just don't like pumping (I did it exclusively for 3 months with Brendan and so help me if I look at another breast pump...) and bringing a bottle to church. Because if they fed him during the service, then my breasts would be in a ton of pain and I would need to pump (see the above to get my feelings on the topic) in the car after the service.

There is something about feeding your child discretely in the car, versus pulling out a huge breast pump and feeling like Bessie the Cow while pumping. Personally, I prefer the first one.

Anyways, Jeff and I had been going to this church for a few weeks before Dylan was born, and not once had we seen any numbers come across the screen. Not. Once.

The first week that Jeff and I put Dylan in the nursery about half way through, the number 258 flashed on the screen. Not a big deal. He was 4 weeks old and I was starting to miss him anyways.

The next week, I fed him right before the service and we actually didn't get paged. It was nice.

The next couple weeks we get paged almost every service because my child eats around the clock. That's the price you pay with an exclusively breastfed, demand fed infant (totally worth it if you ask me - but probably a nuisance to the other church goers.)

Here's the thing, up until this point, Jeff and I still have never seen any other number except 258. Seriously. Not. One. I am convinced that the entire church knows that this is our number because they have seen me get up every week for about 6 weeks straight.

So imagine my surprise when last week the number 238 flashed across the screen. It's not Dylan! There is actually another child that gives the poor nursery workers a hard time! We aren't the only annoying parents! Yay! Pastor Scott is probably thrilled to see me stay in my seat through the entire service.

Side note: I imagine that Pastor Scott doesn't see the numbers flash on the screen. All he sees is during the most important part of his sermon, during the life application section, and usually right after he says "If you hear only ONE thing this morning..." is the same woman get up and walk abruptly out of the sanctuary. Every. Week. He may think that I don't like him. He may be trying to host an intervention about my dedication to the church and my faith in general. If I know one thing it is that if this continues, I am pretty sure that he will develop a complex.

Okay, so imagine my surprise! It's not us. I can totally sit back and relax because Dylan is happy, and fed, and not needing me today.

The number disappears and Jeff and I look at each other and smile, exchanging looks that say "see, we are not the only parents who get paged!" And we continue to listen to Pastor Scott.

A few minutes later, the same number flashes across the screen. 238. Jeff and I look at each other and I think what irresponsible parents! Pay attention to the screen and go to the nursery when your child is called. Geez! Thank God that's not our number. I would hate to see our number flash twice on the screen in a matter of minutes.

Jeff and I continue to listen to the sermon. Today is the first service in 2011 and Pastor Scott is talking about our goals for 2011 and about the year that we had in 2010. I am starting to get excited because 258 has not flashed on the screen and the service is almost over!

We get up to sing and take the offering and then a friend of mine who works in the children's area during the service taps me on the shoulder and tells me that Dylan needs me. He's hungry. They paged me twice, but I didn't respond. So they came to find me.

They misread the numbers on Dylan's name tag. They thought it said 238, not 258. So all the praise that Jeff and I were giving ourselves for not getting paged, all the "Yay for us! We are not the only parents getting paged!" was all for nothing.

We are still the only parents that have ever gotten paged since Jeff and I have attended.

The good news, is that since everyone knows that our number is 258, when 238 flashed on the screen, they were all judging some other parent. And for 5 glorious minutes, they had forgotten about me and my needy child interrupting the service. For 5 minutes, Jeff and I were just like everyone else.