There will come a day when there aren’t boxes of toys placed in nearly every room of this house.

There will come a day when Bitzy doesn’t ask me to give her “milk and books” several times a day.

There will come a day when Brother will not press his face into my neck to snuggle when he wakes up in the morning.

There will come a day when they will be able to dress and entertain themselves and won’t need me quite so much.

Honestly, I find this truth heartbreaking. I love supplying for all of their needs.

But the thing that I find the most heart wrenching? Someday they will worry. They will worry about what to wear, boys and girls, dances, colleges, friends, jobs, money, wars…they will worry.

Now? They worry for nothing. They live a fun and carefree life, full of joy and hugs and love and play.

Can I tell you how much I love that?

I am so blessed and thrilled that God has allowed us to give them such a wonderfully worry free life. And how I wish that I could freeze time and keep them tiny forever. Oh how I wish. Since time refuses to freeze, I’m gonna soak it up. Every bit of it.

I’m soaking up a random ladybug purse laying on the chair in the living room.

I’m soaking up the footed pajamas that line my washing machine.

I’m soaking up the seemingly hundreds of paci’s that are hidden in every pocket of my jeans and every drawer in the house.

I’m soaking up the giggles, peek a boos and endless kisses that are freely given throughout the day.

I’m soaking up the babbles, clapping and “firsts” from my baby boy.

I’m soaking up the songs from “Yo Gabba Gabba” that run on repeat in my head.

I don’t want to miss this friends, not even one second. Because, this life? It’s good. Really, really good.

It is no secret that sleep has been a real struggle in our house. From Bitzy’s first days until now, sleep just doesn’t come easily. In fact, the days of sleep training her I still recount as some of the hardest days/nights of my life. Something about watching your 9 month old scream for hours every night for a solid month has left scars. Just on me mind you. She’s the happiest little thing, sleeping 12-13 straight every night. Naptime, on the other hand, is a constant struggle. One day she’ll sleep for 3 hours and the next day she will play in her crib and not nap at all. Which is fine with me except for the fact that at 5:00pm she completely melts down, begins running into the walls and becomes completely delirious due to exhaustion. So, we end up putting her to sleep at 6:00pm rather than 7:00pm.

Sleep? It’s tough stuff.

And Brother? He’s getting better. Those dang teeth have given us fits, but for the past week he’s been sleeping from 6:00pm-12:00am (then I feed) and then from 12:00am-6:00am. I consider that amazing. Especially considering we really haven’t done major sleep training with him.

You see, he’s just an easy baby. Or maybe Bitzy is just super high maintenance? Either way, sleep around here is coveted and much appreciated.

That leads me to a scene that has literally never ever happened in this house. We have a motto around here. Never, ever, ever wake a sleeping baby. Not ever.

So here’s the story:

It was 12:00am last night and I was nursing Brother. With his eyes closed he suckled as the moon glistened on his cheek. It was like something out of a movie. He is just so dang beautiful. And he smells delicious. As I traced the outline of his face I was so moved by love for him. So amazed at the blessing of this baby.

Then, my mind wandered to my sleeping Bitzy in the room next door. “Is she really 2 years old?” I wondered. It seems like she was just a baby, just like Brother. I vividly remember when her tiny body wrapped around me as I nursed her to sleep when she was only 8 months old.

And then, I did the unthinkable.

When I laid Brother down and walked out, I opened the door to my Bitzy’s room. I looked over her crib and whispered, “I love you baby girl.” She immediately woke up obviously. She probably thought she was dreaming because I have never, ever entered her room in the middle of the night. Sure, I stalk her video monitor, but I never go in there.

She got up and said, “Oh Mama, I love you too, so much.”

I picked her up and rocked her. She clung to me in the wee hours of the night and I smelled her hair and neck and recounted the zillion ways that she enlists me to love her.

I remembered her as a tiny baby and tried to memorize every detail of her face. I don’t want to look back in a few years and not remember her as a 2 year old. I want to memorize her every detail. To burn it into my heart and memory and tell her someday all the ways that I have loved her at every age and stage. To remind her that I have loved her completely. Always. Forever.

I cannot promise that this will not happen again. There is something magical about holding a sleeping toddler that is rousing, playful and wild during the day, but at night is limp with sleep and snuggles up closely for protection and love.

In fact, maybe I will again tonight.

Yes, please.

I’m not one of those gals who gets all in a tizzy about her hair. I’ve never once cried over a haircut or color gone wrong. It will grow back after all, right? Hopefully?

Anyway, my days of non-tizziness came to a screeching halt a few months ago when I declared that I hated, HATED, hated my hair. Too long, too dark, too awful.

So, what did I do? I slapped it up in a pony-tail every.single.day.

I became the typical stay at home mom who had on no make-up, hair up and a coffee mug in hand.

I’m not proud of this folks.

While it’s not practical for me to wear high heels every day, for me, it’s important to feel good about myself. I figure that we all will benefit from mommy looking and feeling good. As they say, “If Mama ain’t happy, nobody’s happy.” True dat.

So, I called a salon about one minute down the road and got an appointment. My sweet mother in-law came over and watched the babies and I spent one solid hour alone getting my hair did.

And…I love it.

Granted she could have given me a crew cut and I would’ve liked it better than the matted long mess of hair that I had.

Thankfully, she did exactly what I asked her to do and I’m in happy hair heaven.

I’ve even worn make-up for 2 days in a row!

Shut the front door, Molly is back!

Here are some pictures:

Front

Back

It’s slightly embarrassing how much better I feel. My step is lighter and slowly but surely I’m feeling like myself again. I’ve been pregnant/breastfeeding for nearly 3 years! Crazy.

Now that my hair is cute and my baby weight is almost gone I’ll probably get pregnant again any second…because that’s how I roll (relax Mama, I’m joking).

“I’m going to count to three.” (In my most stern “I mean it” voice).

“No Mommy, I sorry.” (In her “I’m so little and precious” voice).

“Baby please put on your listening ears and walk up the steps with mommy.”

“No, No, NOOOOOO.”

“Bitzy, do not tell mommy no.”

“I sorry mommy. ‘Give you?”

“Yes baby, mommy forgives you. Please come up stairs honey, brother is crying and we need to help him.”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. I sorry mama. I sorry. ‘Give you?”

“Yes baby, I forgive you. Please don’t tell mommy no. Now come on we have to go up stairs right now because brother needs us.”

Then she begins dancing in circles singing her version of Dora the Explorer theme song.

“Bitzy, please come on. We need to help brother now. I’m going to count to three and if you do not come here then you’re going to time out. Do you understand?”

“Yes mama. Luv you. Bootfull mama.”

“One.”

Continues dancing.

“Two.”

Runs into the kitchen singing more loudly.

“Three. OK, come on, you’re in trouble. Time-out time.”

Walks to me with her head down crying.

“What’s wrong baby?”

“I sorry mama. I luv u. Me troobull?”

“Yes baby. You’re in trouble for not listening. You have to go to timeout for one minute for not listening to mama.”

“OK mama. I sorry. ‘Give you?”

“Yes, I forgive you. Now sit still for one minute on the mat, it’s time-out.”

She starts crying (loudly).

“i loove you mama. ‘Give you. Pweese ‘give you. Make cup-cups for you?”

“Baby, please be quiet, you’re in time-out.”

More crying. Lots and lots of crying.

“Okay baby it’s been one minute. Give mommy hugs and kisses. Mommy loves you so much. You need to listen to mommy okay?”

“Okay mama. I loove you mama. I sowrry.”

“Baby, let’s go upstairs and help brother.”

“Sure, Mama. Fun baby, shuweet baby. Tiny baby.”

“Great! Let’s go!!

CRYING.

“NO, NO, NO. No like it.”

Runs away screaming like I’m asking her to gouge out her eyes with a spoon. When in fact I’m asking her to walking up the freaking steps where her baby brother has been whining/crying for 3 minutes as she loses her mind in Toddlerville.

“Bitzy, do you want to go to time-out again?”

“No mommy, no! Loove you mommy much.”

“Okay, then let’s go upstairs now.”

Rather than finally getting her to go up the steps of her own accord like a good mommy, I pick her up kicking and screaming and drop her off in her room and then tend to Brother. Meanwhile, she sits in the floor with her books and acts like she’s the happiest she’s even been.

Is this normal or should I invest in some kind of protective gear for when she turns two?

The kid is a roller coaster all day, everyday.

But, ya know what? It’s the greatest time I’ve ever had at a theme park!

Ha!

In all of my dreams of being a mama, never one time did I imagine not breastfeeding my babies. Breastfeeding, for me, was a top priority. A, “I’ll do whatever it takes to make it work” priority. A, “I’ll take the bleeding, cracking, aching, overflowing, pumping” kind of priority. A “I’ll be up 2,3,4,5 times a night for months and months to feed my baby” kind of priority.

That probably sounds dramatic (shocker), but honestly, one of my great desires of being a mother was to nurse my babies for as long as possible.

Granted, I was never interested in my 7 year old unbuttoning my shirt and asking for milk from my “ta-ta” but then again, I never thought about the weaning process of nursing, just the nursing itself.

Truth be told, I’m not exactly what you’d call a “long term planner.” I’m more of a live in the moment kinda gal.

So, when we got the BFP (big fat positive) and I had to give Zach CPR, my first fear was that I would have to stop breastfeeding.  Not, “wow, I’m going to have 2 children under 2″ or ” how are we going to fit another tiny human into this house” or “no more sushi or me” or “how did this happen again?” Nope, my one and only obsessive thought was that I didn’t want to stop nursing my Bitzy.

So I began looking for loopholes/solutions/way to nurse my sweetheart as long as possible.

Dr. Google and I spent a whole lotta time together that night and there was many differing opinions.

Some doctors say to stop nursing immediately, some say, 8 weeks, some 12 weeks, some 15, some 20 and some say that continuing through pregnancy and then tandem nursing is just fine (tandem nursing is means that both the toddler and the newborn are literally sucking the life out of you at once) is fine too.

As you see, there are varied opinions.

So, after getting the BFP on Friday night, the following Monday morning I called my OB and asked his opinion, and he said 20 weeks was the maximum due to concerns about calcium deficiencies (in me, not the baby).  Then, I called my lactation consultant and she told me the same thing.

Not what I wanted to hear.

I wanted something more like, “No worries! Your sweetheart will just naturally wean herself around 39.9999 weeks right before your baby boy comes and she will sit on your lap and watch as your nurse your brand new bundle of love.”

Nope. They so didn’t say that.

Thing is, when I was 4 weeks pregnant, 20 weeks seemed so far away that it didn’t matter. Then, 15 weeks came and went and I started down the barrel of 20 weeks and I began getting a little nervous.

Um, make that a lot nervous.

And now, we’re at 24 weeks and I’m still nursing and am absolutely nowhere near ready to stop and even if I were I have no clue how to.

Turns out, that a “side effect” of pregnancy when nursing is that your milk supply lessens significantly. In my case, I went from feeding 6 ounces every 3 hours (7am, 10am, 1pm, 4 pm and 7pm) to now I’m lucky if I get 1 ounce every 4 hours.

One would think that my Bitzy would realize the difference and want to nurse less, right? But oh no. Apparently the milk was only a bonus for her. She just wants to be close to me, and let’s face it, I want to be close to her right back.

That’s why stopping is so tricky. It’s not like I can drop a feeding. I mean, there is no milk involved here people. None.

She wants to nurse and snuggle in the morning when she wakes up, when she goes down for naps (twice a day), at bedtime and then anytime that she falls down, feels sad, insecure, happy, hyper, full of joy…I mean you get it. The child wants to nurse 24/7.

And…I let her.

It’s true.

I love it. I cannot lie.

I realize that in a few short months I’ll have an extremely tiny human attached to my breast and who will actually be drinking milk rather than just using me as a human pacifier and that I should probably have some sort of action plan for stopping…but I just want to enjoy our last few months together.

Is that wrong?

Do I have a problem?

Wait, don’t answer that.

Anyone have any brilliant advice?

Be gentle.

There are moments in life that are surreal. For me, things like starting Kindergarten, getting my drivers license, going to college, getting married and giving birth were all landmark moments in my life. I couldn’t imagine them ever happening, but low and behold, they happened. And now as I look back, I still remember the shock of it all. Almost as if I needed to memorize the feelings I felt because I recognized how rare and special those moments truly were.

Today, I had a surreal moment.

As I laid on the white paper clad ultrasound bed having warm gel slathered all over my growing belly I was nervous and excited. It’s not every day that you learn whether your newest sweetheart will wear blue or pink.

I remember as a kid putting pillows under my shirt and prancing around my bedroom wearing either a blue or pink shirt to signify the baby’s gender. Again, I couldn’t fathom that I would ever actually have a real baby growing, flipping and dancing in my belly. It just seemed like a far away fairytale.

Thankfully, my fairytale has come true.

With my precious Zach by my side as he held my love and firstborn, Bitzy Boo, we looked at our newest sweet pea. Although I have felt lots of movement already it’s different seeing the baby moving and shaking on the big screen. It was magical to say the least.

And then, the ultrasound tech answered the long awaited question. BOY.

A healthy, beautiful, strong boy.

As the tears streamed down my cheeks they were filled with happiness, joy and (I’m not gonna lie) a bit of fear of mothering the heart of a boy. But again, I recognized the significance of this surreal moment.

And I memorized it.

I recorded it in the jukebox of my heart and I’ll never, ever, forget the feeling of knowing that a tiny little baby boy is growing like a weed inside of me.

Glory to God in the highest.

I’m alive…but sleepy. Oh so sleepy.

Too sleepy to be witty or interesting. Way too sleepy to even type.

Turns out that this child in my belly and my beautiful Bitzy are requiring 100% of my energy.

So rather than piecing sentences together from my scattered half-brain, I will give you a few pictures of my sweetheart. She’s cooler than my silly stories anyhow.

I’ll write again soon, promise.

My Beautiful Girl,

Yesterday at 6:17pm you entered the world.

Your entry was not easy by any means, in fact, it was a bit nightmarish.

But as we’ve learned all too well, anything amazing is worth fighting for…and you, my beautiful one, were worth every tear, every drip of sweat and every scream.

At the end of what seemed like the labor that would never end, they placed you, all gooey and bloody in my arms, and my life was changed forever. In fact, at that exact moment, the whole wide world changed, because my love, the world has never ever had a Bitzy Boo. Not ever. As the world is teaching you, you are teaching the world.  It’s an amazing friendship of trust and education.

You have a book entitled, “On the Night You Were Born,” by Nancy Tillman. My favorite line in the book that sums up that perfect night so exactly is, “On the night you were born, the moon smiled with such wonder that the stars peeked in to see you and the night wind whispered, ‘Life will never be the same.’”

Indeed it hasn’t.

It’s been way better.

To be honest, your first 5 months of life where, ahem, challenging. You decided that crying was your favorite activity…so you played your new game of crying a lot, and as you know, sleep has never been your strong suite, and overall you still hate food (unless it’s breast milk- now that is your people).

But ya know what?  Those aren’t even negative things my sweetheart. Because honey, they make up who you are. Now that you’ve made it through babyhood, you’re the happiest most content little creature on the planet. And the kisses…oh the kisses. Someday I should count how frequently you bless me with you’re sweet kisses.

And I totally contest that your laugh is the most wonderful sound that have ever graced my ears.

And while I’m on a roll, I love how at only 12 months old you’re already playing pretend. We had a full out tea party today and we laughed and drank imaginary tea and sang I’m a little teapot over and over again.

I am always and forever amazed at how very very FUN you are.

It truly just keeps getting better.

I know that some mommy’s cry when their babies turn 1, but there are no tears coming from me sweetie. As I’ve said, every single day is better than the day before with you. You completely amaze me with you’re beauty, lightheartedness and joy.

I am more than blessed to be your mama and I cherish every kiss, hug, laugh, cry and snuggle.  Someday a long time from now I will read this letter and remember you as a tiny 1 year old and relish all the moments that I’ve hidden in my heart over the past year. I will cry not out of sadness, but of joy that I get to be your mama. What a gift I have in you!

I love you like crazy my sweet pea. Happy Happy Happy Birthday!!!

Always and Forever,

Mama

Greetings my dear friends!

I’m so sorry that I have fallen off the blogging wagon as of late. To be honest, I’m tired, like really tired, and the first thing to go in my family unfortunately isn’t laundry, it’s this little corner of the world wide web.

Also, my sweet Bitzy has been sick for going on 2 weeks. Poor little Bitzy Boo. Last week she had Roseola or Baby Measles, which was a high fever (101-102.5) for 4 days and then she broke out into a rash all over her tiny little body. Then just when I thought she was healthy again now she has a nasty head cold and she’s currently cutting 5 teeth at once.

She’s not so good at being sick, and frankly I’m not great at it either.

While I’m a nervous wreck about my sweetheart being sick, she’s been healthy for a full year with only 2 minor colds. I would say that we’ve made out pretty well, but that still doesn’t ease the snot that’s pouring out of her tiny little button nose.  Remember her first cold? Read about it here.

Oh, and another reason I’m tired…

That’s right.

I’m with child!!! Sweet new baby is due May 27th, 2011!!!!

Were we trying, you ask?

Not exactly, but we’re thrilled and feel so blessed by this new little person already.

So…sorry that I’ve been, ahem, preoccupied.

I’ll try to do better.

Sleep? Who needs sleep?

First of all, a BIG thank you to each and every person who has commented, emailed, Facebooked and called during what will now be called, “The Sleep Wars.” All of your support and advice has been so wonderful and I am truly grateful for all of you.  So, thank you.

Lost?  Read Schedule Part 1 and Schedule Part 2 to catch up.

I’m telling ya, this sleep training stuff is not for the faint of heart. And I’m here to tell you, that I am, in fact, faint of heart.

Here’s the Readers Digest version of our plight….

But first, a little background.

As of late, we have been skipping nap #3 and have moved bedtime up a bit. So rather than her going to sleep at 8:00-8:30, now it’s more like 7:00-7:30. Which means that by 6:30 she is rubbing her eyes, yawning and whiny.

Needless to say, by the time we do our bedtime routine, she is ready to go to sleep.  So bedtime has never been our issue. Even in the throws of terrible colic and reflux, bedtime has been the easiest part of the night.

OK, now that you have information, let’s move on.

Normally my girl goes down without a fight, but over the past few weeks she has learned that bath time equals bed time (she’s a genius) so she begins screaming the second we get her out of the bath until she’s dressed and in my arms. Poor little thing. Since she’s clearly traumatized by the evil monster called “sleep”, so she won’t give in to dreamland (deep, sound sleep anyway) in my arms before bed. She knows what’s coming (again, she’s clearly a genius). So, I nurse and rock and shhhhhhh until she’s cool, calm and collected. After 20 minutes or so I lay her down.  She screams and acts like she’s being stabbed for a few minutes (anywhere from 1 minute-20 minutes) but finally gives it up and sleep for several hours.

So, last night signalled day 14 of  The Sleep Wars and it was much better. After we did bath time, story time, medicine around 7:00pm, I rocked and nursed her until she was almost asleep.  Then, I laid her down and walked out.

She cried (not the wailing and gnashing of teeth that comes in the middle of the night, but crying all the same), for 17 minutes and then went to sleep without a whimper until 1:30am.

Major improvement.

In fact, I think that is the longest that she’s slept on her own since she was a tiny baby.  So, let the record show that things are improving.

But then, 1:30am rolls around. She’s screaming her brains out so I go in and (gasp) pick her up and feed her, because friends I’m just not comfortable with going totally cold turkey on comforting her during the night thing.

The child is wide awake. Like, “Hey Mama!  Wanna go play, crawl, discover, sing, read? I love you. I missed you. You’re my favorite mama! Please don’t leave me in that awful crib. I’m lonely and I love you.” Basically she was trying to butter me up.

But never fear, I was on to her.  That’s the good news.  The bad news is that if I laid her back down she would cry for hours and hours.  If I stayed up with her it would be disastrous.  The only option is our bed.

Well, I’m sure there are other options, but hey, it was the middle of the night and I made an executive decision.

She’s tough and not like other babies from what I’ve heard.  All this, “In a week she’ll be sleeping through the night” is insane. It’s just not happening friends. In fact, I can tell by the cries when she or will not go back to sleep. When she’s really tired and will go back to sleep it’s more like groaning and whining, not the full blown, “If you don’t get me outta here I’m going to jump out of this crib and break my own leg.” If the crying becomes the wailing for too long then she’ll cry and cry forever.

For example, one night it was around 3:00am when she began crying.  I went in and fed her (I could tell she was wide awake as I fed her), laid her down, and she went off the deep end bananas for 45 minutes. Finally, I went in and soothed her. Poor thing was shaking, sobbing and terrified. It was heartbreaking to say the least. But, I was determined to stay strong! So I laid her back down and walked out. This time, she cried off and on for 90 minutes.  Needless to say, I almost turned in my mommy card to the authorities because I felt so guilty.

But ya know what?  In a combined 2 hours and 15 minutes of sobbing the kid never fell asleep. She never got tired, she was energized. Ready to continue to fight the fight of bedtime.

I think I may have a little pistol on my hands.

Another important point is that when she’s going crazy if I go in and soothe her she calms down, but if I lay her back down and walk out she goes ten times crazier than before. I don’t think she’s a candidate for the whole rubbing her back, singing and patting her every 10 minutes.

All this to say, things are improving.  But honestly, sososososososososososo many people said that kids would cry for 10 or 20 minutes for 2 nights and WALA! they slept through the night from then on. That’s the most frustrating thing for me I think.  Trying to celebrate that she is learning to self soothe day by day, it’s just not quite as simple as I had hoped.

So there you have it, an update. I know you’ve been waiting with baited breath.

Go ahead and breathe now.

Love to all…and sleep well, cause Lord knows that I won’t.

My girly.

Just for the record, I’m not being paid or coerced or threatened to write this little story. It’s because I love this stuff and I think you should love it too!

Let me also add that I HATE clutter, with a capital H. So, the stuff I have, I really love or I would throw them in a bag and drive ‘em right over to my good friends at Goodwill. They love me there.

All that to say, here’s some stuff that you need. Because I said so.

One more thing, I looked online for the cheapest price of these items and linked them to the product. My searches weren’t totally extensive, so try your hand at beating the prices listed…I’m always up for a good bargain!

1. Angel Care Baby Monitor: Let me be the first to say that I am a complete crazy-o about SIDS, so we purchased this beautiful piece of technology so that I could sleep at night rather than standing over my Bitzy in her crib watching to see if she was breathing.  And sleep I did…for about 2 nights until my beautiful girl decided that sleep was for the birds. But, those 2 nights were fabulous. But seriously, I love this monitor. Get one.
   

   Bjorn was a lifesaver on our Colorado vacation in April.

2. Baby Bjorn: For some weird reason I thought that you couldn’t use the Bjorn until your baby was 4 months old.  Silly me. I lost 4 months of awesomeness. I think the Bjorn would’ve have helped Bitzy’s tummy had I carried her while she was screaming.  Oh well. Ya live, ya learn. I love this amazing contraption for many reasons.  For one thing, my Bitzy LOVES it. Secondly, it exhausts her.  So if she is having a hard time winding down for nap time, it’s the perfect way to entertain her while making her tired. Thirdly, it makes my waist look small from the back when she’s in it. Just sayin’. It’s an important factoid.
3. Beaba Cook: I love, love, love making my darlings baby food. It is much healthier for her and it’s fun for me! Granted, with this amazing baby food maker it’s super easy. (I’m planning to write a little story soon about my baby food making adventures- stay tuned). I got this for Christmas and I’m crazy about it.  You need it.  If you have doubts, look at fresh homemade baby peas and compare them with the grocery stores packaged baby food. Yuck-o! Then, you’ll be a believer.
   

   7 Months Old.

4. Fisher Price Little Lamb Infant Swing: Oh the millions of miles that we’ve put on this swing. During “the crying months” when my sweetie had terrible colic and reflux she spent many a day (and night) in this swing.  She still plays in it occasionally, although now she looks like she’s on a ride at Disney World rather than being soothed by the gentle music.
5. Dr. Seuss Nursery Collection: I am thrilled to say that my little one LOVES to read. It’s her favorite thing to do, well except for nursing, crawling and terrorizing the puppies. Her favorite books are all by Dr. Seuss. As you may know, Dr. Seuss has amazing books, but they are far too long and complicated for a tiny baby…so you can buy the nursery collection.  They are board books that are much shorter, colorful and much easier for a little one to hold on to.  Bitzy told me to tell you that “Red Fish, Blue Fish” is her favorite.
   

   My sweetie at 1 day old.

6. Sozo Swaddle Blanket: Look at the picture above. Do you need anymore convincing? Cutest swaddle blanket ever (and baby if I do say so myself). Although my Bitzy is almost 9 months old we still swaddle her right before I nurse her.  It helps calm her down and gets her in the zone for sleep. When I lay her down she breaks out of it in 3.2 seconds, so she uses it to soothe herself while she wails, “MAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMA.” I love this blanket so much that I just ordered 2 more for a friend having twins. It’s super lightweight, soft and precious.
   

   She was only 10 weeks old here...so sweet!

7. Lovee: The above picture says it all. This Lovee is so awesome. From the time she was itty bitty to now she will clutch her lovee when it’s time for night night. It’s small, soft, silky and perfect to comfort little bittys.  I kinda wish that I had one for myself.
8. Medela Freestyle Breast Pump: As you well know by now, I’m a nursing fanatic…which is a good thing since my child would be attached to my breast all day long if I’d let her (we’re having a little separation anxiety presently). When I’m not with her I “pump it up.” Ya know, like the song “Pump Up The Jam,” from the 90′s. Was that the 90′s? Anyway, now that you have the song in your head you can tell me when it’s from. PS:  Please don’t picture me pumping as you sing that song all day in your head.  Too late, right?  Great, just great.  Anyway, I love this breast pump.  It’s extremely convenient and portable. I pump in the car about 80% of the time because it’s so easy. Hands free and everything! Granted, it’s expensive, but it’s totally worth it if you’re going to pump a few times a day.
9. My Brest Friend:  I know, I know. To some it may seem like that’s the worst never EVAH for a product, until you have a baby and you’re nursing and WaLa! You’ve got a new “breast” friend. HA. I crack myself up.  Seriously, this is an amazing product to help mommy’s breastfeed their tiny little humans.  I personally never used my Boppy, but I wore out MBF. Some gals use it the entire time they nurse.  I think I used it for about 3 or 4 months solid and then I felt comfortable enough to nurse my Bitzy without the help of MBF. It’s a great tool to get you started!
10. Video Monitor: This is a very recent purchase. Through all of our cry it out shenanigans with my Ihatesleepyou’llnevermakeme beautiful Bitzy, her Angel Care monitor kept going off because she was standing up in her crib or sitting on her knees or would fall asleep with her hands under her face and tush straight up in the air: hence her tiny little belly or chest wasn’t on the mattress, so the fantastic blaring alarm would sound.  A lot. Needless to say, the alarm sounding did nothing to aid in her falling asleep. I wonder why? Ugh.  So, we had to turn the monitor off as I sat wringing my hands convinced that simply turning the monitor off meant that she would die from SIDS. After 2 nights of this I asked my darling Zach if we could buy a video monitor to see what in the world my gorgeous child was doing in her crib (other than screaming bloody murder of course). Off I went to Babies R Us when I was having a particular terrible “I’m the worst mommy ever for letting my baby scream” day.  Never fear, a little retail therapy did the trick. Turns out that buying a video monitor was exactly what I needed in order to see what was happening with my girly. She’ll stand up and look toward the door and holler for a few minutes. Then, she’ll sit down and look at the door.  Then she’ll stand up and scream some more. Then, she’ll lay down for a few and back up again.  Finally after a few minutes she’ll lay down and sleep.  The power of the video monitor has worked wonders for me during our “Please, For the Love, Sleep Through the Night Campaign.”  We have the brand Summer, but I’m not in love with the brand, just the concept in general.
    

    Dual purpose: it's a carseat and a bed:).

11. In conclusion, The Chicco KeyFit Car Seat. This car seat has the highest safety rating, it’s slender, lightweight (until you’re toting around a 20 pound baby of course) and easy to get in and out of the car.  Being a crazy first time mama I researched and researched a car seat that would protect my precious cargo while in the car. While it’s pricey, it’s priceless to feel like your baby is safe while travelling.

So there ya have it!  There’s my Top 11 Baby Must Haves!

You’re Welcome.

Love to all!

Back in 1995 at good ole Avery High School my friend Natalie was just as fun, beautiful and stylish as she is now…don’t let this guest blog fool you.  Natalie’s blog always puts a smile on my face and I’m forever begging her for more!!!  So, I have asked Natalie to write a little story to share with us.  I just know you’ll love it as much I as I do…

Beautiful Natalie.

What Not To Wear

I have recently become addicted to the TLC series, what not to wear. Mostly because I feel as if I could be a candidate for the show.

I love any makeover show but this one allows the poor unsuspecting fashion train wreck to be bashed by her loved ones and then placed in the 360 mirror while the stars of the show point out all the flaws. Its rather brutal but in the end there is always a happy made-over woman gushing about how it changed her life. I think for 5 thousand dollars worth of new duds I could take the criticism.

My lifelong pal Michaela and I discussed the fact that maybe I wouldn’t be picked due to lack of interesting wardrobe on my part, or lack of quirky personality traits… I am not a witch..that was recently aired- and I do not usually rock the plaid mini skirt with thigh high boots. I am however realizing more and more that I am rather boring with my clothing.

My mom says, “Nat you should wear color, you wear too much grey and black.” So I decided to access the situation.

I did just have a baby so the choices are limited- I open my closet and there before me are 5 pairs of too tight jeans, an array of black t shirts, a brown Northface jacket, Uggs, running shoes, Clark’s and 3 pairs of heels.

That’s right you heard me 3 pairs of heels.

I am told that most women are addicted to shoes but my closet shows nothing of the sort. If you know me at all you know I wear these worn and tattered Clark’s most everyday.

I decide to revamp the wardrobe, spice it up a little. With the original fashion QUEEN by my side, aka my mom, I hit the mall. I tried on countless dresses, shirts, skirts, pants all of which my sweet mother (whom is nothing like the critics on what not to wear) said they all looked beautiful, even with the extra 5 lbs around my abdomen. At the end of the day I walked out with 5 dresses, three of which were black… what can I say, its slimming.

I hung those black dresses in my closest and thought, you know theres nothing wrong with just being me, dull wardrobe and all… besides its not like I am on what not to wear!!

Thanks Natalie!!! Please check out her blog here.

In the land of Mommy Blogs it’s the cool thing to do to write your babies a letter every month.

I am not nearly cool enough to do this, as I am constantly a day late and a dollar short, but I figure it’s better late than never, right?

So here I go…

My Sweetheart,

You are 8 months old and I can’t even believe it. In some ways it feels as if I just found out that you were blossoming in my womb, and in others I feel as if you have been in my arms forever…that you were always with me, even before you were born.  That God put me on this earth to marry your daddy and to be your mama and to do my very best to glorify Him with each precious day.  And ya know what?  That is enough for me.  The joy that I experience each day by living life with your daddy and you is more than I deserve.  I am so grateful for you both.

With each passing day, our bond grows stronger baby.  You are certainly a mama’s girl and I couldn’t be happier about that.  I will never grow tired of you reaching for me, wrapping your little arms around my neck and holding on for dear life, and when I put you down, you cry until I pick you up again.  I am thrilled to be “your person.”  I hope that I can always be a safe place for you to come and allow me to hold you when you are scared, tired and feeling insecure.

We are having a few sleep issues these days, aren’t we?  I confess that if it were up to me, you would sleep in bed with your daddy and me ’til you turn 45 (but that’s were we draw the line.  At 45 years old you need to sleep on a mattress on the floor beside our bed).  But unfortunately, at some point you are going to have to learn to sleep in your crib without me picking you up all night long and eventually bringing you in bed and snuggling with you all night…but not yet.  We’re not ready yet are we baby?  Maybe soon…maybe not.  We’ll see. For now we are both loving our snuggles throughout the night.  I’m treasuring every morning with you as you wake up to brave the day.  You wake up slowly and gently. You bury your fluffy blond hair into my chest and kiss me.  You smile as you look into my eyes and I smile right back.

You are growing and developing so rapidly that it’s overwhelming.  You are a master crawler now.  You’ve been at it for a month and you are fast and efficient about getting what you want.  You’re also pulling up, which just about gives me a heart attack.  With each tumble I try and catch you, I’m not ready to let you fall and learn on your own.  I want to buy you a helmet and pads like a football player but your daddy won’t let me!  I just want to bundle you up and protect you from this world, but I know that isn’t what I’m called to do as your mommy….but again, I’m just not ready for you to grow so quickly. I’m hoping that together we can figure out a way for you to thrive and we can teach my heart how to catch up.  It will be an adventure for us both.

You also waved “Hi” last night.  You may as well have won the Noble Peace Prize we all went so bananas.  Daddy, Me, Gammy and Pa were there to see it and we all cheered and waved and clapped our hands.  We will always cheer you on little one.  You are so loved by so many. In fact, I think you are the most loved little person in the whole wide world.

But ya know what?  No one, and I mean no one in this whole wide big beautiful world, except God loves you more than me.  Nobody.  You are my sweet baby girl and you’ve got me wrapped around your perfect little finger.

Love you forever and ever,

Mama

Mama and her honey bunny.

Big.

Wide.

Beautiful.

Overwhelming.

Humbling.

(No, I am not talking about my hips, but thanks for asking. Ugh).

These are the thoughts that go through my head each time that I have the pleasure of visiting the ocean. There’s not much that is more overwhelming that peering out into the wide blue yonder and realizing how big the ocean is and how very small I am (not skinny of course, please refer to my menu at the beach here.  I assure you, I did not feel skinny).

Daddy and his angel.

In years past, my beach schedule consisted on laying out in the sun for hours every day only taking breaks to jump in the water and reapply lotion.  It was serious business. However this year, I had a tiny little person glued to my hip who had never experienced the vastness of God’s glorious ocean.  To say that Zach and I were excited to take her to the ocean is an understatement.  We have talked about taking her since she was born. We were anxious to see her reaction.

Family Beach Pic. No white shirts and khakis for us.

So after a marathon session of the applying 34 layers of sunscreen to my baby girls supple skin we ventured out.

At first, Zach just held her and put her tiny little toes into the water. She looked up at me as if to say, “Is this OK Mama?”  I smiled and at her and clapped my hands and cheered her on.  She smiled and laughed and began stomping her feet. From then on the splashing and laughing lingered on and on.

Friends, I have myself a little water bug.  She loves the water.  Such sweet relief to Zach and me, who love the beach so much.

The next day as we ventured out, we got a little braver.  Instead of holding her, we let her sit on her own in the sand as the water gently tickled her tiny little tootsies.  Occasionally the waves got a bit braver and would hit her knees and finally all the way up to her belly.  She never let out a whimper.  Only laughter.  Then, she realized that she could crawl on this wonderful new texture: sand.  And off she went. She began crawling in and out of the waves and her Daddy and me cautiously followed behind her.  She was fearless and beautiful.

My baby's hooded bathing suit. Cutest.Water.Bear.Baby.Ever.

It was one of the most incredible moments of our lives.  As Zach and I watched our perfect Bitzy learn and grow right before our eyes, our eyes filled with tears at the weight of the gift that we have been given. In the light of the golden hour our child was delighting in God’s marvelous creation and we were delighting in her and God was delighting in all of us.  What a beautiful picture of the circle of grace.

I am so unworthy of this amazing life that I get to live.

What, my friends, are you thankful for today?  Any tiny miracles that you’d like to share?  Come on, let’s have a big love fest!!!!  Gimme whatcha got.

I love Easter.  In fact, it’s not only my favorite holiday, it’s my favorite day of the whole year.

This particular Easter was especially marvelous because of my Bitzy.  Turns out that having a baby puts a new spin on everything, including Easter.

My bunny's yummy little tail.

For example, I hate ironing. I’m woman enough to admit that I’m not the greatest ironer.  Which is weird because my mama has ironed approximately 10 million clothing items in her lifetime.

She has a gift.

I do not.

That said, I ironed Gracie’s Easter dress 3 times.  That’s 3 times more than I’ve ever ironed anything of my own.

(Good thing that 12 seconds after I put it on her she puked all over it).

Also, Easter Sunday church service is my most favorite service of the year.  I just love it.  I cry almost the entire service.

Every single year.

I find Easter to be overwhelming. It’s too wonderful, too grand for me to consider.

So I cry.  That’s my way, I cry.

So this year, we went to the cry room (not for me, but for Gracie), at church since she is much too young to go to the nursery.  We were there with the other mommy’s and daddy’s trying nearly everything to keep our offspring from totally freaking out.

Oh wait.  Let me rephrase.  We were there with all the other mommy’s and daddy’s and their perfect babies who were either sleeping peacefully or silently playing…it was Zach and I who were desperately trying everything to keep our Bitzy from melting down.

When she’s being, ahem, difficult, we do the routine of changing the diaper, sleeping, feeding.  You know, the check list.

After I changed her diaper, I finally got her to go to sleep for a total of 3 minutes and finally Zach laid in the floor with her and played.  After all of that didn’t work, I succumbed to the last item on my list.

Feeding.

To be honest, Gracie and I aren’t so great at nursing covers.  While I am absolutely NOT opposed to nursing in public, we’re both much more comfortable without the cover while feeding in private.

For example, apparently my darling daughter assumed that my Hooter Hider (that’s right, clever isn’t?) was a toy.  So she proceeded to punch and kick the cover while somehow using it for a chew toy at the same time.

Figure that one out.

Fortunately a few of our good friends were sitting beside of us and respectively not peering into the X-rated scene that was happening at the most inconveinant time of the service.

You guessed it.  Communion.

When I finally got her to calm down and eat I thought we were in the clear, I’m obviously an awesome mama for nursing in public and getting my incredibly high strung child to chill the heck out.

Right?

Big.Fat.Not.So.Much.

Out of nowhere, no triggers, no loud noises, for no reason whatsoever, she starts the kicking/punching/chewing routine while the communion usher was standing directly in front of me. It was like he magically appeared at the most unfortunate time.  So, I’m trying to give the man a semi-smile while my face is burning red with embarrassment thinking that his poor man got a lot more than he bargained for at Easter service if you know what I mean.

Whoops.  We didn’t mean to.

My sweet bunny.

After the feeding debacle concluded, she was screaming bloody murder because, let’s face it, her mama was a tiny bit distracted while nursing (I wonder why?), so I began walking the floor.

As I am walking and swaying my precious baby (while she a teeny bit high maintenance, she’s mine and I am still completely nuts over her), one of my favorites, The Revelation Song began.

This song is perhaps my favorite worship song of all time.  I’ve listened to it on repeat for days.  I am a bit obsessed with this song.

I know that you’re shocked that I would obsess about something, right?

As I held my girl and sang along with this beautiful praise song I was overwhelmed with God’s presence.  It’s hard to sing the words, “Holy, Holy, Holy Is the Lord God Almighty, Who was, and is, and is to come. With all creation I sing: Praise to the King of Kings!  You are my everything, And I will adore You” and not be confronted with God’s Holiness.

Then, something else shifted in me and I found myself considering how in the world God did it.  How did he allow His son, His baby boy, His heart beat, to suffer a horrible death?  How?

I’ll tell you right now that if the whole wide world depended on me allowing Gracie to be hurt, I wouldn’t do it, and that’s the honest truth.

You’d all be toast.

Call me selfish, but honestly, I just can’t imagine the pain that both Jesus and His Father suffered.

In all of my Easters, I had never considered this.

So I cried.  I cried in Gracie’s little tufts of hair and thanked God that He made the sacrifice for me so that I wouldn’t have to.

As I have this beautiful song on repeat, I continue to cry and be overwhelmed that He is Risen.

It’s a beautiful miracle and I’m filled with gratitude that God has allowed me to experience Easter all over again this year.

“The angel said to the women, ‘Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified.  He is not here; He has risen, just as He said.”  Matthew 28:5-6

He is Risen indeed.

Poop.

We all do it.  It’s just part of life.  There’s even a book about it. “The Truth About Poop.”  Granted, I’ve never had the pleasure of reading this fine piece of literature, however, I am sure that I’d enjoy it as much as the next gal.

Apparently Gracie Has Been Reading...

As many of you know, when you have a baby, poop becomes an obsession, or at least it has for me.  Things such as, color, texture, consistency, frequency and even smell become a daily ritual of investigation.  I am becoming quite the expert in Bitzy’s poopy’s.  You may call me, a Poopologist.

Yes, that is my official title.

In the four short months that she’s been in my arms there have been many a blow-out.  Some worse than others, but there have been a few monumental, history making blowouts…some involving the wall, the car seat and on many occasions, me.

Lovely picture isn’t?

Being a fancy schmancy Poopologist, I, of course, investigate each poopy and mentally tally my findings.

So this afternoon my little lady was taking a nap snuggled in my arms when I heard the old familiar sound of her sweet little baby squirts.  I know that I’m biased and think that everything she does is cute, but you would too.  Her squirts are so darling.

Anyway, after the first sound I looked at Zach and said, “Yay!  She’s making a poopy!”  Then the second sound came, “Wow, it’s a big one.”  Then, the third, “Uh-Oh.”

At this point she’s laying on me leisurely taking turns between eating and sleeping.  I keep waiting for her to wake up and want her diaper changed, but she didn’t even stir.  She was really really asleep.

So, I decided to wait until she woke up to change her.  What’s the hurry, right?

How can you resist her?

Then, I felt a dampness creeping up my stomach. I have felt this feeling before and it has never ended well.

The child pooped all over me.

It was on my shirt, my arms, my stomach.

Everywhere.

Her magic poop had burst out of her diaper with magnetic force and found it’s way all over both of us.

Granted, she’s exclusively breastfed so her poopy’s aren’t the stinky-set-off-the-smoke-alarm sort, but still, poop is poop.

So, I gingerly and softly coax her into waking up, which is never a good idea.  She instantly buried her face into my neck and pressed her yummy baby tummy further into my chest, which I adored…however, it did further spread the poopy from to me with more vengeance than before.

Finally, she woke up and we ventured upstairs to take a bath, with Zach gagging the whole way as Bitzy and me giggled.

Turns out, Bitzy loves to spread her poopy’s, in fact, it makes her chuckle.  And of course, her laughter is by far and away the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard and it makes me laugh.

So here we go, covered in poop and belly laughing our way to the bathtub. If only we had a video of this scene.

After the bath, as Zach lotioned her up and dressed her, I got in the shower myself.

Before my Mommy days, I would have said  that baby poop was gross and I would have literally been puking my guts out, but now I’m just thankful that she’s pooping at all.

Pooping=good digestion=good eating=GROWING!

While I want her to stay my tiny little itsy bitzy forever, I suppose that the only alternative to growing is not growing and I sure don’t want that, so grow baby grow and poop baby poop...however, let’s try to keep it in your diaper next time, OK?

Love to all,

Here is Bitzy at the beginning of her rolling over journey.

I am convinced that if you believe it, you can achieve it.

Seriously.

I am one of the cheesy, quote throwing crazies that actually rally behind positive thinking.

Go figure.

Even though when I apply this to my own life I have doubts.

Major doubts.

In fact, I’m pretty sure that if I really wanted to be a brain surgeon the medical school professors would pat me on the head and say “MMMKY” like the guy from Office Space.

My medical degree from Grey’s Anatomy is solely general surgery, you know.

Anyway, I tried very hard to project this belief on to my offspring this weekend.

Let me back up, I realize that I am very, very, very blessed to have the opportunity to work from home 2 days a week.  I am even more blessed by the fact that my mother in law, AKA: Gracie’s Lolly, keeps her the 3 days when I’m at the office.

Very blessed.

Notice how all of her toys are far away...I was trying to entice her.

However, that means that 3 days a week I am away from my Bitzy.  Which means that there are approximately 24 hours worth of time that she could be doing something awesome that I could miss.

Like, let’s say, rolling over for the first time.

When I was on maternity leave I would cry and cry about going back to work and missing “a first”.  And now, it’s still a nagging fear.

So on Wednesday when I got home from work Lolly said, “Gracie is so close to rolling over.  I thought she was going to today!”

What I heard?

“You are a terrible mother who will miss one of your beautiful baby’s first major milestones.”

So, I was on a mission.

I was determined that my Bitzy WOULD roll over before the clock struck for bedtime on Sunday night.

Take in mind that the child has never rolled from belly to back.

She’s not so into tummy time, ok?

Mid-Roll.

So beginning Thursday morning when she woke up, all of our play times consisted on her laying on a blanket on the floor and me holding her favorite toys away from her begging and pleading with her to roll over.

For four solid days it was basically a circus act of Zach and Me helping her roll, cheering, depriving her of her toys, her crying, me soothing and then the act started all over again.

The poor child was exhausted from all the playtime.

I was like a pageant mom with all the rolling over practice.  I may as well of put lipstick and a crown on her head.

So, on Sunday night I had given up.  I may as well just give Lolly the video camera to record all her milestones since I, the horrible mommy, would be missing everything cool.

Then, right when I was renouncing the famous “If you believe it, you can achieve it” and said to Zach, “Oh well, we tried our best,” she did it.

She rolled over.  From her back to her tummy and then back again.

My genius athlete child could’ve won the Nobel Peace Prize and I couldn’t have been prouder.

SHE DID IT!!! Yay!!!

Of course I cried and thank her profusely for her generosity in allowing me to watch her roll over.

Then she laughed at me like I was the funniest person in the whole wide world.

Which come to think of it, I probably am in her tiny little world.

Hmmm..or maybe I’m tied with Zach.

Anyway, call it a coincidence but I take it as a gift. A beautiful wonderful gift that God and Gracie conspired on to give me.

And I am grateful.

PS:  I work for an amazing company that allows me to be at home with my girl 2 days a week,                                          City on a Hill Productions, maybe you should go check out the website.  Like Now.

I hate jumping jacks.  Not because they are hard but because inevitably I will end up peeing on myself.  Without fail. Every single time. I could do a zillion Kegels and I would still be a fountain of urine.  It’s gross I know.  But it is what it is.  Apparently my bladder likes to come and out play. A lot.

I thought that it was bad…and then I had a baby.

I was 41+ weeks pregnant and my mama and I were going for a walk in hopes that my sweet pea would make her arrival before she had to be evicted.  During the walk I mentioned that I felt like I was peeing on myself.  After a few hours my mama suggested that I call the doctor just in case it was my water leaking.

He said to go on to labor and delivery to check it out.  I told him that I would go, but that I would not be leaving that hospital without a baby, so if wasn’t my water they would need to make labor happen. Bitsy was nearly 2 weeks late and my emotions were in no condition to be toyed with. I was big, emotional and sick of being pregnant.

I have watched many a baby story and in my feeble mind I thought that I was only a few hours away from meeting my sweetheart. TLC showcases women who have fast and sweet labors, not long and sweaty ones.  I soon learned that   labor takes no prisoners and that TLC could kiss my tush.

Anyway, turns out that my water was, in fact, leaking, but I wasn’t exactly sure when it began so the 24 hour clock was ticking. You see, once your water begins to leak  you safety have 24 hours to get the kid out before infection sets in.  So, since I wasn’t exactly sure when it began they started a Pitocin drip (the drug that makes labor go faster=more painful). It is a nightmare for those of us who want a natural labor.

So anyway, Zach and I were hell-bent on giving birth without pain medication, so I labored for twelve hours on Pitocin.  I honestly that I was going to die it was so horrible.  In the pit of my misery my husband kept reminding me that I was in transition, the stage of labor right before pushing.  I was showing all the textbook signs that I would meet my baby soon.  So I labored on.  Unfortunately while I exhibited all the signs of transition my stubborn cervix was still only dilated to a 5.

Mean ole cervix with no regard for my 12 miserable hours of natural labor.

Finally, the doctor came in and said that we were going to have to do a c-section because I wasn’t progressing.  I begged him to give me another chance! (As if I had anything to do with it).

He said that we had 2 options.  Numero uno: To get an epidural and put the Pitocin on high in hopes of speeding things up.  Numero does (did I spell that right?), to have a c-section.

By the way, this was not my normal doctor.  This was a mean & awful doctor who I was terrified of, just for the record.

After a bazillion weeks of classes to learn how to have a natural birth it came down to two choices.  Neither of which I wanted to do.

“So that’s it?” I wondered.  After all of my natural labor dreams, it had come down to these 2 pitiful options?  After dragging my husband to 24 hours of classes to learn out to push a watermelon out of my body with no drugs, this harsh and awful doctor was stealing it all away?

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen.  DIDN’T HE READ MY BIRTH PLAN?????

I was heartbroken. And Zach was sweaty.

And then I began vomiting and forgot about my broken heart.

We had a choice to make.  So, we choose the epidural.  I really, really, really didn’t want a c-section.

Getting the epidural was extremely traumatic….and bloody.  Zach is forever scarred by the memory.

By the time the anesthesiologist came in to administer the epidural, I was contracting every 60 seconds and was in severe pain, as in, I’m screaming bloody murder with each contraction while he was digging into my spine with a huge needle.

Probably not the greatest scenario for getting an epidural.

That poor doctor.  He kept saying, “Why did you wait so long?”  If I could’ve spoken in between screams I would have told him where to shove it, but luckily I was hollering too much to speak and since he was holding the keys to my mobility I’m glad that I didn’t speak up.

When that awfully scary epidural finally began working, it was incredible.  Just minutes before I thought my body was exploding and the next I’m drifting off to dreamland.  Oh the wonders of modern medicine.

But I was still perplexed.  How was I exhibiting all the signs of transition and had been stuck at 5cm for over 12 hours? Just has Zach and I were trying to figure out this mystery we hear the nurse say, “Oh my.  Oh my goodness.  Oh dear.”

Probably not the greatest thing to hear during labor.

Apparently I had 1300 cc’s (about a 2 liter) of urine that had come out of my catheter.

Turns out, the reason that I was stuck at 5 cm’s was that my bladder had made a comfortable seat on my cervix and wasn’t budging, hence halting the labor process.

Stubborn, mean & labor ruining bladder.  I will never forgive you!

The great news is that it didn’t rupture, the bad news is that it made for an incredibly long and painful labor.  And I suppose it’s also bad news that it was stretched out like spandex…but let’s focus on the positive.

After it was all said and done I got a baby.  A beautiful healthy 8lbs 9oz baby girl.  Who is quite literally the most beautiful baby that I’ve ever seen.  Sorry Gerber baby, you got nothing on Gracie.

The moral of the story is: screw jumping jacks, I never liked you anyway.

PS:  While I won’t be doing jumping jacks anytime soon (or ever again), I’m happy to report that my bladder and I are just fine even after a 22 hour long labor.

It’s 1:33am and I’m awake.  Why you ask?

Well, I can’t blame it on the baby.  My perfect child has been asleep since 7:30pm, thank you very much.

It’s because I’m an idiot/moron/dumbo.  Why can’t I sleep when the baby sleeps???  She’ll be up any minute to feed and then again in a few hours and then again and again.  Her longest stretch of sleep is the one that I’m throwing away now like it’s nothing.  And I wonder why I’m so exhausted all the time.

Dumb ole me.

Actually, maybe she’s not so innocent.  After all, she is the one who trained me for 8 weeks to stay up all night and sleep all day.  That’s right.

Maybe I should go wake her up to play with me and keep me company, as a punishment for all those weeks of sleepless nights.

Nah, I’m not that stupid.  Stupid, but not that stupid.

I would rather eat yellow cake batter than almost anything.  Yes, I am aware that raw eggs could make me very sick. It’s totally worth the risk.

Gracie is the single most fantastic thing that I’ve ever done and I want about 30 more children.  I figure if I get pregnant every year for the next ten years and have triplets every time then it’s possible!  Then, I’ll have all of my 31 babies before my eggs dry up and just in time for a TLC prime time show.

I hate going to the mall.  I’ll take Target any day.

I have amazing girlfriends.  They truly are a blessing straight from the hand of God (wait, that’s not a confession. Sorry).

When I’m at home I hardly ever cover my mouth to sneeze.  I’m gross that way.

I loved my husband long before he loved me.  It’s true.  I was totally bananas over him in college and he broke my heart.  But don’t worry, I won him over eventually.  The lesson here is, girls never give up.  Stalk ‘em long enough and they’ll come around.

I love breastfeeding so much that I wonder if I’ll be the mom who is breastfeeding the kid ’til she’s 7.

I am kind of a hypochondriac.  The weird thing about this isn’t the “fear” of dying, it’s more that I want to know what’s happening with my body at all times.  This also correlates with my obsession with all medical shows.  I’m sort of a doctor.  Who need Medical school when Grey’s Anatomy is on?

Speaking of, every single time I have my blood pressure taken I get really nervous and I’m afraid that it will skyrocket and then the doctor will make me take medicine unnecessarily.  I know that this probably will never happen, but it still makes me nervous.

I used to love to clean and now I just can’t be bothered with it.  My house is dusty and dirty but I just can’t find the motivation or the time/energy to clean it.  So, I suppose I’ll continue to waste money paying someone to.  (Don’t judge me.).

I find it funny/odd that so many people take pride in being “sarcastic.”  I think that having the “gift of sarcasm” is just an excuse to be rude.

I used to love Duke basketball, but these days, I have no interest in it. Sorry Duke, it was a fun ride.

When I see things that remind me of something I often have to really think about whether I remember it from my own life, a dream or a movie.  It all gets muddled in my mind…. how old am I anyway?  Am I losing it already?

My favorite color is yellow (wait, is that a confession?  I don’t think so.  There I go again).

I accidentally borrowed (not stole) my parent’s car when I was at the ripe old age of 13.  And…I wrecked it.  And…then lied about it.  Not my finest moment, but a learning experience to be sure.

I think Snuggies are weird and scratchy…and they are made out of felt. I hate felt (unless it’s on a board and you’re putting up little Bible characters like Miss Jean did when I was in Sunday School).  Shouldn’t something called a “snuggie” be soft and cuddly and not feel like cardboard?

My mama and my husband are my two best friends.  They have to love me, they have no choice.

I have been told that I’m “so photogenic.”  I confess that I have spent an embarrassingly absurb amount of time practicing in the mirror. Sure, most of this happened when I was 13, but let’s face it, I have an occasional practice session. BTW:   If it’s true that I am, in fact, photogenic, does this mean that in real life I’m not nearly as attractive as I am in pictures?

There are many more confessions…stay tuned.

When you have a baby there are scores of things that people never tell you…things that are ugly, horrible and completely disgusting.  One of these sad truths is venturing out to the Pediatricians office for the first time.  It was…hmmm…….an experience.

Baby Gracie was only 4 days old when we ventured out to the Pediatricians office.  Take in mind that I was still bleeding profusely (that’s one of those sad disgusting truths that no one told me about), my emotions were doing jumping jacks, and in my opinion, and as a new mama, my baby was much too young to be going anywhere.

But alas, we  had to do it.  This wasn’t the first time that we had been in the office as we had come to check it out when I was preggers, but this was the first time with a precious little person that was outside of my body, who, might I add, elicits a strong fear of germs in me with each step outside of the house.  I used to notice wall colors and vases in the homes, offices, stores & restaurants that we went…not anymore.  Now I hone in on anyone who is coughing, rubbing their eyes, or breathing too heavy.  Don’t they know that I have a newborn!  Stay inside you nasty selfish people!!!  So anyway, at Baby Gracie’s first appointment I noticed that there was a “well side” and a “sick side” thinking, “oh that’s nice that the germy little monsters can’t get near my precious & perfectly healthy child.”  I went on my merry way trying to make it through the appointment with a screaming baby eyeing every child in there, looking for cues to their unhealthiness.   At that first appointment, one thing was clear, I didn’t want to ever be on the “sick” side of this office.  The sick side is germy, dark and stuffy and has the stench of dirty diapers and vomit, where the “well” side is bright, healthy and breezy and smell of clean laundry and lavender.

Then it happened.  At the tiny age of 12 weeks old, my perfect baby came down with a cold.  I, being a completely insane mother called the office and asked for her to be seen.  While they discouraged me because after all, they couldn’t do anything for her, I still wanted to go.  It was HEARTBREAKING seeing my baby with a stuffy nose and darn it, they should know how to magically make her better.  What did they go to medical school for anyway?!  Come on!

So off we went, what I didn’t remember was the awful “sick side.”

As we walked into the foyer I automatically turned left into the “well side”…then pausing to the remember that runny noses are normally not a sign of perfect health…we turned right into dark grimy sidewalk to germville.  As I looked into the room I didn’t see children, I saw germs.  My perfect child didn’t belong in there!  She deserved her own room away from all the gross germys.  I practically buried her head in my chest to somehow keep the germs away.  It didn’t help that every child in the room seemed to be hacking up a lung.  Gross.

But alas, we made it.  Basically I paid $30 for them to tell me that there’s nothing they could do and to be scarred for life after sitting in the “sick side.”  I would rather wait in line at Walmart for an hour than spend 5 minutes in that nasty room…although something tells me that when we’ve got child #4 under our belts I’ll just be happy to sit anywhere…even in the sick side.