Weaning baby girl was easy, from a logistical standpoint. I was already pregnant again. I went through a couple of months both being pregnant and nursing, and my milk supply just dwindled down to nothing all on its own. We made it to 14 months. Letting it go was hard, but I knew I had another little one on the way, that the baby growing inside deserved the uncontested resources of my body, that I'd be nursing again soon enough.
But this time is different. There's no new baby on the way. My supply is fine. We've been nursing only morning and night for a couple of months now, and it's easy. First thing in the morning. Then again right before bath time. And honestly, I like that I've been able to go longer this time. Little man turned 15 months over the weekend, and I'd love to be able to say that we went 16 months, or 18 months.
But I'm wondering if I'm just getting the itch for a break. I've been either pregnant or nursing for more than 3.5 years. That's how long it's been since I've had my body to myself. And with my new photography business, of course the prime time for summer sessions is right through bedtime. I've been lucky that I've been able to schedule morning sessions for the most part, but do I want to keep being restricted like that? And if I have to drive to San Antonio or Houston or Dallas for a session, I have to make it a day trip unless I want to bring at least him along with me, if not both of them.
Sometimes, I think longingly of just being . . . free?
And then, man do I feel like a selfish cow. I know that breast milk is still good for him, even at this age. I know that it helps keep him healthy, and with as rough a winter as we had last year, I feel like weaning him right before winter rolls around is foolhardy. And it would be different if he were fighting it, if he were disinterested. I thought he might be getting to the point where he could take or leave it, but then one morning I had to get up to help baby girl with something halfway through our morning nursing session, and he lost.his.mind. He thought I was ending the session and cried so hard that big, fat crocodile tears rolled down his sweet cheeks. He kept pointing back to the room and crying. We, of course, went back to his room to finish off, and once he'd nursed on both sides, he was happy and ready to go play.
So . . . it's hard. I'm not sure what the right thing to do is. It seems appealing in some ways to have the freedom to be able to miss an evening for work, or be gone for a night. But I still enjoy the cuddles, the quiet time we have, and he still enjoys it to.
Sometimes I wish he'd self-wean, but then I think about how that would hurt, feeling like he didn't want me anymore. But then I think about me weaning him before he's ready, and I think that would hurt even more.
Still waiting on that magic 8 ball of parenting to arrive and answer all my questions for me.
Sigh.
Monday, August 27, 2012
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
News
I'm a utter failure at blogging lately. It's not only that I feel bad that some of you have really taken the time to become vested in our lives, read what I write, comment on it, think of us, etc., but that I had really high hopes of being able to use this blog as a quasi-baby book since I knew ahead of time I would NEVER get around to making and keeping up with an actual physical book. This blog is my history, my stories, my memories, and there are growing gaps that I will never be able to go back in and recover.
BUT. I have a really good excuse.
I started a business.
A photography business, to be exact.
Check it out: www.happysoulphotography.com
It had long been in our plans for me to do this when the kids hit school age as a way for me to earn an income while still having more flexibility than my office job allowed me. With the events of this spring, and me leaving my job much sooner than we'd planned, we had to step up the pace a bit and get this thing going. I worked all spring and summer finding people to be my test-subjects, learning the editing process, researching small business law and how to build websites.
Oh, and actually taking pictures. Lots and lots of pictures. And editing them. And re-editing them some more until I started to get the hang of it and started liking what I was seeing. This was while finishing out my full-time job, while staying home with the kids when they're sick, while working part-time from home now (b/c I have to have SOME income while this all gets going!). I've actually been much, much busier than I ever was while just working my 40 hours.
But the stress is gone. Totally gone. The days I spend shooting and editing and blogging pass so quickly, and I feel so challenged and fulfilled and like I'm really doing something for people that will make them happy. And that makes ME happy.
So yeah, blogging here has fallen by the wayside, and I'm sorry for that. Sorry for my readers and sorry for myself, for my own memories that didn't get captured. I hope to be able to find a nice balance now that the business has launched.
And maybe you'll just have to add my new photo blog to your reader, and keep up with me there. ;)
Thanks for coming back to read, interwebz, every time I pop up after a long time away.
(Oh, and OBVS you need to come like me on FB! www.facebook.com/happysoulphotography)
BUT. I have a really good excuse.
I started a business.
A photography business, to be exact.
Check it out: www.happysoulphotography.com
It had long been in our plans for me to do this when the kids hit school age as a way for me to earn an income while still having more flexibility than my office job allowed me. With the events of this spring, and me leaving my job much sooner than we'd planned, we had to step up the pace a bit and get this thing going. I worked all spring and summer finding people to be my test-subjects, learning the editing process, researching small business law and how to build websites.
Oh, and actually taking pictures. Lots and lots of pictures. And editing them. And re-editing them some more until I started to get the hang of it and started liking what I was seeing. This was while finishing out my full-time job, while staying home with the kids when they're sick, while working part-time from home now (b/c I have to have SOME income while this all gets going!). I've actually been much, much busier than I ever was while just working my 40 hours.
But the stress is gone. Totally gone. The days I spend shooting and editing and blogging pass so quickly, and I feel so challenged and fulfilled and like I'm really doing something for people that will make them happy. And that makes ME happy.
So yeah, blogging here has fallen by the wayside, and I'm sorry for that. Sorry for my readers and sorry for myself, for my own memories that didn't get captured. I hope to be able to find a nice balance now that the business has launched.
And maybe you'll just have to add my new photo blog to your reader, and keep up with me there. ;)
Thanks for coming back to read, interwebz, every time I pop up after a long time away.
(Oh, and OBVS you need to come like me on FB! www.facebook.com/happysoulphotography)
Monday, July 30, 2012
Smile
Yesterday, baby girl was sad about something about bedtime. I can't even remember what it was--the things that make a 2-going-on-3-yr-old sad are so quick to come and go that the best thing I've figured out to do is honor her sadness while it lasts and move on. So, last night, maybe she remembered that we hadn't gotten to play hide-and-seek that day as we'd planned. Maybe she realized that her sunglasses had been left in the car. Maybe the itching mosquito bite on her leg was making her sad. No matter. She said, "Mommy, I'm saaad!" and I said, "You are? I'm so sorry!" and gave her a big hug. As I was hugging her, she breathed, "I wonder if I'm ever going to smile again."
I don't think I was altogether successful at stifling my laugh. My girl, my baby, my 2-yr-old, wondering if she's ever going to smile again. I pushed aside the thought that holyhell, we are IN for it when she's a teen, quickly hid my smile, and turned to her, stroking her hair out of her face.
"You will smile again," I told her as I drew her onto my lap, wrapping her in my arms. "I know you feel sad right now, and that's okay. But pretty soon, you'll find something to be happy about again. And you'll smile, and laugh, and whatever it is that's bothering you right now won't bother you so much anymore. And until that happens, you can stay right here with me and I'll make you feel better."
"Okay," she said and let her head rest of my chest.
And I wanted to tell her more. I wanted to tell her that there will be so many moments in her life where she'll feel sad, where she might feel like her heart is breaking, where she might wonder if she'll ever smile again. That life is hard and not always fair, and that as much as I wish I could protect her from ever being hurt, or sad, or scared, I couldn't always do that. And that that feeling, that feeling of sadness, or pain, or fear, that feeling hurts and that it will feel like it's suffocating her, or drowning her, or pulling her down, so heavy that she might believe she couldn't possibly move beyond it. But that she can. She can move beyond it and she will move beyond it, and no matter the hurt, no matter the sadness, she will always smile again.
Its' amazing to me how early life's lessons begin. Her sadness at 2 is no less significant to her than her sadness will be at 15, or than my sadness is to me as an adult. And to that sweet 2-yr-old, and to her future beautiful 15-yr-old self, and to myself, and to my mother and my sister and my grandmother and my friends, and to all women and men everywhere, remember: You will always smile again.
I don't think I was altogether successful at stifling my laugh. My girl, my baby, my 2-yr-old, wondering if she's ever going to smile again. I pushed aside the thought that holyhell, we are IN for it when she's a teen, quickly hid my smile, and turned to her, stroking her hair out of her face.
"You will smile again," I told her as I drew her onto my lap, wrapping her in my arms. "I know you feel sad right now, and that's okay. But pretty soon, you'll find something to be happy about again. And you'll smile, and laugh, and whatever it is that's bothering you right now won't bother you so much anymore. And until that happens, you can stay right here with me and I'll make you feel better."
"Okay," she said and let her head rest of my chest.
And I wanted to tell her more. I wanted to tell her that there will be so many moments in her life where she'll feel sad, where she might feel like her heart is breaking, where she might wonder if she'll ever smile again. That life is hard and not always fair, and that as much as I wish I could protect her from ever being hurt, or sad, or scared, I couldn't always do that. And that that feeling, that feeling of sadness, or pain, or fear, that feeling hurts and that it will feel like it's suffocating her, or drowning her, or pulling her down, so heavy that she might believe she couldn't possibly move beyond it. But that she can. She can move beyond it and she will move beyond it, and no matter the hurt, no matter the sadness, she will always smile again.
Its' amazing to me how early life's lessons begin. Her sadness at 2 is no less significant to her than her sadness will be at 15, or than my sadness is to me as an adult. And to that sweet 2-yr-old, and to her future beautiful 15-yr-old self, and to myself, and to my mother and my sister and my grandmother and my friends, and to all women and men everywhere, remember: You will always smile again.
Friday, May 25, 2012
{one}
My sweet little man,
Today, you are one year old.
A year. 365 days. Since we first met you. Since I first held you. Since I first stroked your hair and told you what a good, brave boy you'd been (I still remember your birth like it was yesterday). A whole year.
I don't know that there's anything so amazing as the first year of a child's life. You start the year tiny and helpless, unable to control your own body, unable to lift your head, focus your eyes, do anything, really, other than recognize your own hunger pangs or your need for security and closeness. And at the end? You laugh at jokes. You make funny faces in order to make others laugh. You take steps. You throw balls and catch them. You say dog and woof and meow and hi and hello and bye-bye and agua and all done and ball and apple and balloon and book. You give kisses. You feed yourself. You put yourself to sleep without so much as a whimper and actually sleep well. You have a lovey, a stuffed elephant that you hug to the side of your head and say "awww." You love being rough and tumble and like nothing more than to go down the biggest slides at the playground (again and again and again).
How is that possible? To go from where you started on your birth day to where you are today, your birthday? What an amazing thing it is, and how lucky am I to have gotten to witness every single day of it? The luckiest.
To be honest, this is one of those years where I wonder, "where did the time go?" I felt it, as the days passed, that so much of our first year together would be lost to the mute fog of forgetfulness. I knew I would forget so much of our time together that I made a point to be wholly IN as many moments with you as possible. I know, in those early days, how I sat and breathed you in as you slept on my shoulder, your warm breath on my neck. I know I reveled in the feel of your body in my arms. I know I drank up the site of your face, your smile, the brightness in your eyes. As easy as it was this year to be distracted, to be tired, I tried every day to give you 100% of my attention while I could, to watch you learn about the world, to see your firsts, to celebrate you and love you.
And even now, even with your first year so close to me, I know I've forgotten moments. Already. Forgotten them to the dimness of sleep deprivation and exhaustion. How paradoxical that we don't remember more of your first year--we were, after all, awake for most of it. Already, despite my determination to imprint each moment permanently onto my mind, my heart, already I look back and see only big pictures, the details blinking out one by tiny one.
What do I see, when I look back on your first year, then? There is, of course, the potential to only remember the challenges. Your last five months have been challenging, to be sure. There is the potential to remember only the illnesses, only the sleepless nights, only the tears and the frustration and the worry over your weight and your health. It would be so, so easy to have that be the overarching tone of our memories. But that's not it. Not for me.
I remember your smile. Your never-ending, ever-ready smile. Have I already told you that you were (are) the happiest baby I've ever known? You started smiling back at us at just two weeks old and haven't stopped since. No matter what day it was, no matter how bad you felt, how sick you were, how tired, you were always, always smiling. Even at the hospital, struggling to breath, you were smiling and trying to flirt with the nurses. The ER doctor called you a "happy wheezer." Through all the tests, the blood draws, the x-rays, the doctor visits, all of it . . . you smiled.
And your laugh? Oh, silly boy, your laugh is as easy and infectious as your smile. Your favorite thing to laugh at is still your sister, though I'm getting pretty good with your tickle rib and my funny faces and fake-out belly raspberries, and you and your dad like to make funny noises faces and laugh riotously at each other. You look for the delight in the world, and you always have. I don't even have to hope that you never lose that because it's just in you. You could no sooner lose the sparkle in your eyes or your funny big toe as you could your sense of humor.
You are my sweet, sweet, happy boy. Your sister can do no wrong in your eyes. Your daddy is your favorite play mate. And me? Oh, my boy, how you love on me. I am the one you seek for the hugs, the snuggles, the security of being held and loved and safe.
Today you are one and no longer a baby. With the steps you are taking now (up to four in a row!), I can no longer deny the "toddler" label. You play and you eat real food and you talk to us and tell us what you want. And you smile. And laugh. And bring us more joy than we've ever known. And this first year? With all its challenges and scares and long nights . . . it was full of so much delight. So many happy moments for me. So many times I froze time and shut the world out and existed with just you, just the two of us.
I know the second year is amazing. I know how much fun it is, and with a boy like you, a boy who finds the humor and delight in everything around him, I know that we have so much to look forward to together. I look forward from today and smile and know that we have something wonderful in store for us. And I know that our first year, though it's over and done, was the most wonderful first year we could have asked for.
Thank you for being you. Thank you for giving me the chance of a lifetime, to be your mommy, to experience your first year with you, to witness the wonder of you becoming you.
I am so, so proud of you. And oh, my sweet boy, how I love you.
Happy, happy, happy birthday.
Love forever and ever and a day,
Mom
Today, you are one year old.
A year. 365 days. Since we first met you. Since I first held you. Since I first stroked your hair and told you what a good, brave boy you'd been (I still remember your birth like it was yesterday). A whole year.
I don't know that there's anything so amazing as the first year of a child's life. You start the year tiny and helpless, unable to control your own body, unable to lift your head, focus your eyes, do anything, really, other than recognize your own hunger pangs or your need for security and closeness. And at the end? You laugh at jokes. You make funny faces in order to make others laugh. You take steps. You throw balls and catch them. You say dog and woof and meow and hi and hello and bye-bye and agua and all done and ball and apple and balloon and book. You give kisses. You feed yourself. You put yourself to sleep without so much as a whimper and actually sleep well. You have a lovey, a stuffed elephant that you hug to the side of your head and say "awww." You love being rough and tumble and like nothing more than to go down the biggest slides at the playground (again and again and again).
How is that possible? To go from where you started on your birth day to where you are today, your birthday? What an amazing thing it is, and how lucky am I to have gotten to witness every single day of it? The luckiest.
To be honest, this is one of those years where I wonder, "where did the time go?" I felt it, as the days passed, that so much of our first year together would be lost to the mute fog of forgetfulness. I knew I would forget so much of our time together that I made a point to be wholly IN as many moments with you as possible. I know, in those early days, how I sat and breathed you in as you slept on my shoulder, your warm breath on my neck. I know I reveled in the feel of your body in my arms. I know I drank up the site of your face, your smile, the brightness in your eyes. As easy as it was this year to be distracted, to be tired, I tried every day to give you 100% of my attention while I could, to watch you learn about the world, to see your firsts, to celebrate you and love you.
And even now, even with your first year so close to me, I know I've forgotten moments. Already. Forgotten them to the dimness of sleep deprivation and exhaustion. How paradoxical that we don't remember more of your first year--we were, after all, awake for most of it. Already, despite my determination to imprint each moment permanently onto my mind, my heart, already I look back and see only big pictures, the details blinking out one by tiny one.
What do I see, when I look back on your first year, then? There is, of course, the potential to only remember the challenges. Your last five months have been challenging, to be sure. There is the potential to remember only the illnesses, only the sleepless nights, only the tears and the frustration and the worry over your weight and your health. It would be so, so easy to have that be the overarching tone of our memories. But that's not it. Not for me.
I remember your smile. Your never-ending, ever-ready smile. Have I already told you that you were (are) the happiest baby I've ever known? You started smiling back at us at just two weeks old and haven't stopped since. No matter what day it was, no matter how bad you felt, how sick you were, how tired, you were always, always smiling. Even at the hospital, struggling to breath, you were smiling and trying to flirt with the nurses. The ER doctor called you a "happy wheezer." Through all the tests, the blood draws, the x-rays, the doctor visits, all of it . . . you smiled.
And your laugh? Oh, silly boy, your laugh is as easy and infectious as your smile. Your favorite thing to laugh at is still your sister, though I'm getting pretty good with your tickle rib and my funny faces and fake-out belly raspberries, and you and your dad like to make funny noises faces and laugh riotously at each other. You look for the delight in the world, and you always have. I don't even have to hope that you never lose that because it's just in you. You could no sooner lose the sparkle in your eyes or your funny big toe as you could your sense of humor.
You are my sweet, sweet, happy boy. Your sister can do no wrong in your eyes. Your daddy is your favorite play mate. And me? Oh, my boy, how you love on me. I am the one you seek for the hugs, the snuggles, the security of being held and loved and safe.
Today you are one and no longer a baby. With the steps you are taking now (up to four in a row!), I can no longer deny the "toddler" label. You play and you eat real food and you talk to us and tell us what you want. And you smile. And laugh. And bring us more joy than we've ever known. And this first year? With all its challenges and scares and long nights . . . it was full of so much delight. So many happy moments for me. So many times I froze time and shut the world out and existed with just you, just the two of us.
I know the second year is amazing. I know how much fun it is, and with a boy like you, a boy who finds the humor and delight in everything around him, I know that we have so much to look forward to together. I look forward from today and smile and know that we have something wonderful in store for us. And I know that our first year, though it's over and done, was the most wonderful first year we could have asked for.
Thank you for being you. Thank you for giving me the chance of a lifetime, to be your mommy, to experience your first year with you, to witness the wonder of you becoming you.
I am so, so proud of you. And oh, my sweet boy, how I love you.
Happy, happy, happy birthday.
Love forever and ever and a day,
Mom
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Blaring and Bright
I know, I know. Long time no blog.
Things have been . . . well . . . challenging.
I know, if you're a faithful reader, you've noticed a trend in my posts over the last several months. Posts about finding out how hard things can be, posts about burning out. Being a full-time working mom with two young kiddos and a husband who travels frequently for work is tough shit.
But what about when one of those kiddos doesn't sleep? When one of those kiddos gets sick so often that he misses weeks on end of school? When he stops eating and his already low weight plummets off the charts and you spend most of your waking hours (a) trying to feed him, or (b) feeling your stomach in knots over his health, his weight, all of it. When that happens, the situation becomes one of survival.
Little man got sick. Again. And, like before, it was one thing after another, one thing on top of another, one virus taking advantage of an immune system left weakened by the virus that had come before. A tummy bug (terrible for weight maintenance, by the way), an ear infection, a resulting c-diff infection from the antibiotics for the ear infection. And no sleep. Sleep that came in 1-2 hour chunks all night long. Sleep that was worse than he ever was as a newborn.
Of course (of course!) this all hit at the worst possible time for TH to take off work, so the burden of care for little man . . . week and weeks of care . . . fell on me. We were zombies. The days I was able to work, I'm amazed I drove to the office safely. One day I couldn't remember how to spell "motor"--I was insistent that it was spelled m-o-t-e-r, and when my computer kept telling me that was wrong, I broke down into tears at my desk. TH and I sank, disconnected. We bickered. We fought. We resented each other--me for having so much of the waking responsibility, for having to miss so much work; him for having so much of the nighttime responsibility, something he took on himself out of guilt and responsibility but ultimately couldn't keep up with. Understandingly so. Baby girl kept asking why Mommy was mad at Daddy, why Daddy was mad at Mommy.
And through it all, little man was sick. Sick and happy. Always happy, that guy. He had so many tests run. Blood work and x-rays and cultures. Everything came back perfectly, wonderfully normal, meaning that there wasn't really any REASON he kept getting sick, he just had bad luck.
And one day I realized he was just spending too much of his short little life feeling bad.
So we pulled him out of school. He'd already been out for several weeks of April, and our pediatrician said the best thing we could do is have him out a couple of months, to give his immune system time to reboot and strengthen. I found a friend to come to the house to watch him in the mornings, and my boss allowed me to work half-days in the office and then the other half from home, which meant that suddenly I was working 8-hr days AND caring for little man an extra 4 or so hours a day. I would make up my hours during his nap times (which were woefully unpredictable) and then after the kids went to bed for the night. My life became even more stressful. The hour or so I'd previously had to myself in the evenings--to catch up on chores, dishes, laundry, spend time with TH, watch TV, whatever--was gone. I knew we had no other choice--we couldn't afford a full-time nanny and I had to come home to feed him anyway since he won't take bottles--so I tried to grit my teeth even harder than before and just.keep.surviving. The house fell into disarray with no one left with any time to keep it up.
Our lives fell into disarray.
And that's when we decided I'd quit.
My job. The thing that has given me part of my identity, that has challenged me intellectually, let me feel like a successful professional, brought me joy, allowed me to be the grammar nerd I love being . . . it had to go. Something had to give. Somehow we had to find more hours in the day, more time to take care of the things we weren't able to take care of anymore. We couldn't have it be so stressful every time a child got sick, especially if we have a child who tends to get sick frequently.
Two days ago I gave notice.
We don't have it all figured out yet. Little man is still not in school. I've lined up a part-time work-from-home job, so we'll have to figure out something for his care at least for the hours I'm supposed to be working. I'd love to have him back in school. LOVE it. I feel terrible for him that he isn't getting to spend his days playing with his friends anymore. But he hasn't had so much as a sniffle since being pulled out, and we're a little gun shy. So we're not really sure what to do there. Put him back in full time? Part time? Have someone at the house for the few hours a day I'll be working and then just continue to keep him home with me?
How will we adjust to the loss of income? I'll be making significantly less now.
We don't know. We don't know the answers to a lot of these questions. But we do know that in a couple of weeks, I'll suddenly have a lot more time to help us figure them out. The stress of "who stays home this time?" will be gone. The stress of "when do we find the time to do the chores?" will be gone. The stress of "when will I ever have a moment to myself again?!?!?" will be gone.
We aren't solving all our problems. We're just trading our old ones in for some new ones. And that's okay. We were pretty sick and tired of our old ones.
So how do I feel about all this? Mixed. I feel a sense of loss from quitting my job. I feel a bit panicked that I will go crazy staying at home. I feel guilty. Guilty for quitting. I feel like a quitter. I feel like I could have just kept surviving, putting one foot in front of the other, and then I wouldn't have to let my boss down, my team, my family's finances. I feel like I'm disappointing everyone. Like I'm tapping out. Like I couldn't cut it.
And then I think, who cares? Why am I so insistent on NEVER taking the easy way out? How many rounds did I go in this? Isn't it okay to tap out with my head held high after everything we fought through?
And I feel absolutely beside myself, giddy with excitement that things might actually, suddenly, very soon, be a whole helluva lot easier.
An email from a friend is helping me focus on that last one. She said, "the light at the end of the tunnel is blaring and bright!"
That was one long fucking tunnel. We crashed and burned so many times along the way. But my friend is right. The light at the end is blaring and bright. And so, so close.
We don't know what we'll encounter in that light, but thank God for the light at all.
(Oh, and hey, I'll be able to get back to blogging! HooRAY! Just in time, because little man turns ONE in two days, and I think my heart might explode from all the bittersweet.)
Isn't it amazing how quickly life can change?
Whew, what a ride it is. I'll take a smoother stretch for a while, thankyouverymuch.
Let's see what the light brings.
Things have been . . . well . . . challenging.
I know, if you're a faithful reader, you've noticed a trend in my posts over the last several months. Posts about finding out how hard things can be, posts about burning out. Being a full-time working mom with two young kiddos and a husband who travels frequently for work is tough shit.
But what about when one of those kiddos doesn't sleep? When one of those kiddos gets sick so often that he misses weeks on end of school? When he stops eating and his already low weight plummets off the charts and you spend most of your waking hours (a) trying to feed him, or (b) feeling your stomach in knots over his health, his weight, all of it. When that happens, the situation becomes one of survival.
Little man got sick. Again. And, like before, it was one thing after another, one thing on top of another, one virus taking advantage of an immune system left weakened by the virus that had come before. A tummy bug (terrible for weight maintenance, by the way), an ear infection, a resulting c-diff infection from the antibiotics for the ear infection. And no sleep. Sleep that came in 1-2 hour chunks all night long. Sleep that was worse than he ever was as a newborn.
Of course (of course!) this all hit at the worst possible time for TH to take off work, so the burden of care for little man . . . week and weeks of care . . . fell on me. We were zombies. The days I was able to work, I'm amazed I drove to the office safely. One day I couldn't remember how to spell "motor"--I was insistent that it was spelled m-o-t-e-r, and when my computer kept telling me that was wrong, I broke down into tears at my desk. TH and I sank, disconnected. We bickered. We fought. We resented each other--me for having so much of the waking responsibility, for having to miss so much work; him for having so much of the nighttime responsibility, something he took on himself out of guilt and responsibility but ultimately couldn't keep up with. Understandingly so. Baby girl kept asking why Mommy was mad at Daddy, why Daddy was mad at Mommy.
And through it all, little man was sick. Sick and happy. Always happy, that guy. He had so many tests run. Blood work and x-rays and cultures. Everything came back perfectly, wonderfully normal, meaning that there wasn't really any REASON he kept getting sick, he just had bad luck.
And one day I realized he was just spending too much of his short little life feeling bad.
So we pulled him out of school. He'd already been out for several weeks of April, and our pediatrician said the best thing we could do is have him out a couple of months, to give his immune system time to reboot and strengthen. I found a friend to come to the house to watch him in the mornings, and my boss allowed me to work half-days in the office and then the other half from home, which meant that suddenly I was working 8-hr days AND caring for little man an extra 4 or so hours a day. I would make up my hours during his nap times (which were woefully unpredictable) and then after the kids went to bed for the night. My life became even more stressful. The hour or so I'd previously had to myself in the evenings--to catch up on chores, dishes, laundry, spend time with TH, watch TV, whatever--was gone. I knew we had no other choice--we couldn't afford a full-time nanny and I had to come home to feed him anyway since he won't take bottles--so I tried to grit my teeth even harder than before and just.keep.surviving. The house fell into disarray with no one left with any time to keep it up.
Our lives fell into disarray.
And that's when we decided I'd quit.
My job. The thing that has given me part of my identity, that has challenged me intellectually, let me feel like a successful professional, brought me joy, allowed me to be the grammar nerd I love being . . . it had to go. Something had to give. Somehow we had to find more hours in the day, more time to take care of the things we weren't able to take care of anymore. We couldn't have it be so stressful every time a child got sick, especially if we have a child who tends to get sick frequently.
Two days ago I gave notice.
We don't have it all figured out yet. Little man is still not in school. I've lined up a part-time work-from-home job, so we'll have to figure out something for his care at least for the hours I'm supposed to be working. I'd love to have him back in school. LOVE it. I feel terrible for him that he isn't getting to spend his days playing with his friends anymore. But he hasn't had so much as a sniffle since being pulled out, and we're a little gun shy. So we're not really sure what to do there. Put him back in full time? Part time? Have someone at the house for the few hours a day I'll be working and then just continue to keep him home with me?
How will we adjust to the loss of income? I'll be making significantly less now.
We don't know. We don't know the answers to a lot of these questions. But we do know that in a couple of weeks, I'll suddenly have a lot more time to help us figure them out. The stress of "who stays home this time?" will be gone. The stress of "when do we find the time to do the chores?" will be gone. The stress of "when will I ever have a moment to myself again?!?!?" will be gone.
We aren't solving all our problems. We're just trading our old ones in for some new ones. And that's okay. We were pretty sick and tired of our old ones.
So how do I feel about all this? Mixed. I feel a sense of loss from quitting my job. I feel a bit panicked that I will go crazy staying at home. I feel guilty. Guilty for quitting. I feel like a quitter. I feel like I could have just kept surviving, putting one foot in front of the other, and then I wouldn't have to let my boss down, my team, my family's finances. I feel like I'm disappointing everyone. Like I'm tapping out. Like I couldn't cut it.
And then I think, who cares? Why am I so insistent on NEVER taking the easy way out? How many rounds did I go in this? Isn't it okay to tap out with my head held high after everything we fought through?
And I feel absolutely beside myself, giddy with excitement that things might actually, suddenly, very soon, be a whole helluva lot easier.
An email from a friend is helping me focus on that last one. She said, "the light at the end of the tunnel is blaring and bright!"
That was one long fucking tunnel. We crashed and burned so many times along the way. But my friend is right. The light at the end is blaring and bright. And so, so close.
We don't know what we'll encounter in that light, but thank God for the light at all.
(Oh, and hey, I'll be able to get back to blogging! HooRAY! Just in time, because little man turns ONE in two days, and I think my heart might explode from all the bittersweet.)
Isn't it amazing how quickly life can change?
Whew, what a ride it is. I'll take a smoother stretch for a while, thankyouverymuch.
Let's see what the light brings.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
11 months
Sweet boy,
Today, you are 11 months old.
And momma's in total denial.
Total denial about all the subtext and context that goes along with "11 months." Total denial that that means you'll be ONE in just one short month. Total denial that this is the last month I can call you a "baby" (though the title "toddler" is appropriate this month, too. More on that and other random heart attacks you give me later). Total denial that, despite my yearning for a super power that allows me to stop time whenever I like, days pass in a blur and it has already been 11 MONTHS since we first met.
Where last month was calm and stable, this month was back to your wild, exciting, keep-mom-and-dad-on-their-toes ways. In the biggest news of all, you took your first steps!!! You had had one or two here and there, but nothing consistent. And then one evening we were trying to get your to take steps to Dad, and you turned mid-attempt and took two solid steps over to the coffee table. I knew something was likely coming soon, because you went from standing on your own for 3-5 seconds to standing on your own for a minute or more in about three days. I love those developmental leaps. I love the excitement of seeing you master big new skills in such a small amount of time! So you have gotten great at standing, and I knew the steps were coming. After you took those first two to the table, you've done it again and again. The most we've seen in a row is four, and you have to be very distracted and motivated to do it (otherwise you just drop down and crawl your little speed crawl), but it's real and legitimate and I can't believe you started walking at 10 months. (Looks like your dad won the bet with Granddaddy afterall!)
You are still a climber, which continues to give me heart attacks on a daily basis. You are very close to being able to climb out of the pack-and-play that we keep you in for CONTAINMENT purposes. Once you figure out an escape from there, we are done for. And you're still fearless. The other day you climbed up a stool, onto a chair, stood up, turned around, and dove off. I have to be on my toes with one eye on you at all times so that I can keep catching you as you dive headfirst off things. Crazy boy!
Your verbal skills are also developing rapidly. You are starting to mimic our intonations and words. Animals sounds like "meow" and "woof woof" are met with adorable attempts to repeat, which usually results in a close semblance of the intonation, but nothing really close to the actual sounds. But I know what you're trying to do, and I think it's pretty much the cutest thing ever, so we spend our day with you pointing to things--trees, doors, cars, birds, cats, books--and me telling you their name and giving you a sound if it fits. You've added "uh oh!" to your verbal repertoire, and I can't even be mad when you drop something for the gazillionth time because it's always followed with the sweetest "uh oh!" and a totally pleased-with-yourself smile. I swoon. And give you thing item back so that you can drop it and charm me again.
You've been sick again this month--picked up another something or other at school, which then proceeded to snowball into picking up more and more things as your immune defenses were low. We've decided to pull you out of school for a while to try and get your system strengthened, which means that I'll be staying home with you. It was never in my plans to stay home. I have always loved working, have always loved the extra challenge that has nothing to do with my role as a mother or wife. But these last few days with you, where we have time to have picnics by the lake and watch the ducks, run errands, play, practice walking, and jabber back and forth to each other, have been so delightfully refreshing and easy compared to my usual frenzied pace. I know we won't have a lot of time home together, and I know it wasn't in my plans, but I think this change is going to be just the thing we need and that we're going to love this new arrangement.
In one month, you're going to be one. One whole year old. You'll be walking and talking and officially a toddler and not so much a baby anymore. So for this month, I'm going to soak you up in all your sweet baby glory. I'm going to burn into memory the feel of your small baby body in my arms as I rock you to sleep. The perfect way you fit on my hip as I carry you. The way your tiny hands and fingers feel as they hang onto my shirt. Your sweet voice, your sweet baby "uh ohs" and "woahs!" The sight of you as you speed crawl across the floor, putting your head down to focus on moving your limbs as fast as you can get them to go. The look of delight on your face when you feel the wind or see a bird take off in flight or hear your sister's voice and come crawling through the house searching for her. Next month will begin a new chapter, but this month . . . this month I'm just going to enjoy THIS chapter for all it's worth.
Loving you from the tips of your toes to the top of your sweet blonde head,
Mom
Today, you are 11 months old.
And momma's in total denial.
Total denial about all the subtext and context that goes along with "11 months." Total denial that that means you'll be ONE in just one short month. Total denial that this is the last month I can call you a "baby" (though the title "toddler" is appropriate this month, too. More on that and other random heart attacks you give me later). Total denial that, despite my yearning for a super power that allows me to stop time whenever I like, days pass in a blur and it has already been 11 MONTHS since we first met.
Where last month was calm and stable, this month was back to your wild, exciting, keep-mom-and-dad-on-their-toes ways. In the biggest news of all, you took your first steps!!! You had had one or two here and there, but nothing consistent. And then one evening we were trying to get your to take steps to Dad, and you turned mid-attempt and took two solid steps over to the coffee table. I knew something was likely coming soon, because you went from standing on your own for 3-5 seconds to standing on your own for a minute or more in about three days. I love those developmental leaps. I love the excitement of seeing you master big new skills in such a small amount of time! So you have gotten great at standing, and I knew the steps were coming. After you took those first two to the table, you've done it again and again. The most we've seen in a row is four, and you have to be very distracted and motivated to do it (otherwise you just drop down and crawl your little speed crawl), but it's real and legitimate and I can't believe you started walking at 10 months. (Looks like your dad won the bet with Granddaddy afterall!)
You are still a climber, which continues to give me heart attacks on a daily basis. You are very close to being able to climb out of the pack-and-play that we keep you in for CONTAINMENT purposes. Once you figure out an escape from there, we are done for. And you're still fearless. The other day you climbed up a stool, onto a chair, stood up, turned around, and dove off. I have to be on my toes with one eye on you at all times so that I can keep catching you as you dive headfirst off things. Crazy boy!
Your verbal skills are also developing rapidly. You are starting to mimic our intonations and words. Animals sounds like "meow" and "woof woof" are met with adorable attempts to repeat, which usually results in a close semblance of the intonation, but nothing really close to the actual sounds. But I know what you're trying to do, and I think it's pretty much the cutest thing ever, so we spend our day with you pointing to things--trees, doors, cars, birds, cats, books--and me telling you their name and giving you a sound if it fits. You've added "uh oh!" to your verbal repertoire, and I can't even be mad when you drop something for the gazillionth time because it's always followed with the sweetest "uh oh!" and a totally pleased-with-yourself smile. I swoon. And give you thing item back so that you can drop it and charm me again.
You've been sick again this month--picked up another something or other at school, which then proceeded to snowball into picking up more and more things as your immune defenses were low. We've decided to pull you out of school for a while to try and get your system strengthened, which means that I'll be staying home with you. It was never in my plans to stay home. I have always loved working, have always loved the extra challenge that has nothing to do with my role as a mother or wife. But these last few days with you, where we have time to have picnics by the lake and watch the ducks, run errands, play, practice walking, and jabber back and forth to each other, have been so delightfully refreshing and easy compared to my usual frenzied pace. I know we won't have a lot of time home together, and I know it wasn't in my plans, but I think this change is going to be just the thing we need and that we're going to love this new arrangement.
In one month, you're going to be one. One whole year old. You'll be walking and talking and officially a toddler and not so much a baby anymore. So for this month, I'm going to soak you up in all your sweet baby glory. I'm going to burn into memory the feel of your small baby body in my arms as I rock you to sleep. The perfect way you fit on my hip as I carry you. The way your tiny hands and fingers feel as they hang onto my shirt. Your sweet voice, your sweet baby "uh ohs" and "woahs!" The sight of you as you speed crawl across the floor, putting your head down to focus on moving your limbs as fast as you can get them to go. The look of delight on your face when you feel the wind or see a bird take off in flight or hear your sister's voice and come crawling through the house searching for her. Next month will begin a new chapter, but this month . . . this month I'm just going to enjoy THIS chapter for all it's worth.
Loving you from the tips of your toes to the top of your sweet blonde head,
Mom
Sunday, March 25, 2012
10 months
My sweet, sweet boy,
Today, you are 10 months old. Double digits!! It's bittersweet to know you'll never be a single-digit month-age ever again in your entire life. Yes, I think about things like that. Yes, I'm a sap. And ten months? Do you even realize how close that is to a year?
This month has been amazing in a way that's totally different than the last couple of months. Those months were marked with a flurry of new skills and abilities and experiences, new teeth and new charms. This month, though? None of that. You had no new teeth (hallelujah for a teething break!!). You had no new big skills. You had no illnesses. You were just steady and sweet and happy. It was a calm month, a welcome month of tranquility after the flurries of the months before.
You ate great this month! We are finally, finally not having to worry about your weight. You are nursing well and eating solids with gusto. I can't wait to get you back to the doctor to see how much you've gained, but each night when I rock you and sing to you, I can feel your weight in my arms. I look down at you and you suddenly seem like such a big boy, no longer the little baby you used to be. You have just about outgrown your infant car seat, but for some reason, I'm dragging my feet on moving your into your big boy chair. Maybe it's one of those last little vestiges of infancy that some deep part of me is sad to cut loose.
Your communication abilities are really developing and it's so amazing to see. You surprise me daily with how much you really understand. In fact, the other day you were playing with a water bottle and were going to leave it behind as we left the room. I turned and told you to go get the water bottle . . . and you know what? You crawled right over to it and picked it up. You do the same thing when I tell you to go play with a ball, or go get a book. And you seem to have an insatiable desire to learn more. You are constantly pointing at different things and saying "da!" (which I interpret as "that!" as in, "what's the name of that thing?!") and you and I walk around naming all the different things in our house. I had forgotten how mind blowing it really is to watch someone figure out the world.
You are an incorrigible flirt. You love girls of all ages and have learned to smile and babble and give kissies, much to the delight of girls young and old. We are going to have our hands full with you for sure.
You are still waking once a night to eat. I have loved our quiet nighttime moments together, and loved knowing that I've been able to feed you as much as you want to help you gain weight. But as soon as I can get confirmation that your weight is back on track, we're going to work on getting you to sleep all the way through the night. I don't know how yet, but I know that it's important for you to learn, one way or another. I'm still waiting on you just dropping that night feeding on your own when you're ready. So . . . you know . . . whenever you're ready. . . .
You are standing on your own for longer and longer stretches now. It still works best when you're distracted. You pull up on something and then let go, and if we can keep you distracted, you'll stand there for a good 10 seconds before slowly dropping down to sit. You're a cruising machine and as much as I know how much more complicated our lives will get when you take that big first step, I know how much you want to be able to move and play and keep up with your sister, and I know how happy you'll be when you're finally able to do that. So, for your sake, baby boy, I hope you're walking soon. (For my sake, though, I'm happy happy happy that you're not quite there yet!)
I know next month will bring big things. I assume our teething break will come to an end. You'll learn more words (right now you're saying "ball," "book," "dada," "Ah-ya" (Ali), "ow," "hi," and "all done"). You might learn to walk. You might learn to sleep all the way through the night. I kind of feel like this last month was our last smooth month of things as we know it before you suddenly become a big boy.
This month has been easy and smooth and relaxed. You've been your wonderful, sweet, happy, laughing, smiling, babbling, snuggling self.
This was a good month.
Thanks for letting me be here to share it with you.
Love forever and ever and a day,
Mom
Today, you are 10 months old. Double digits!! It's bittersweet to know you'll never be a single-digit month-age ever again in your entire life. Yes, I think about things like that. Yes, I'm a sap. And ten months? Do you even realize how close that is to a year?
This month has been amazing in a way that's totally different than the last couple of months. Those months were marked with a flurry of new skills and abilities and experiences, new teeth and new charms. This month, though? None of that. You had no new teeth (hallelujah for a teething break!!). You had no new big skills. You had no illnesses. You were just steady and sweet and happy. It was a calm month, a welcome month of tranquility after the flurries of the months before.
You ate great this month! We are finally, finally not having to worry about your weight. You are nursing well and eating solids with gusto. I can't wait to get you back to the doctor to see how much you've gained, but each night when I rock you and sing to you, I can feel your weight in my arms. I look down at you and you suddenly seem like such a big boy, no longer the little baby you used to be. You have just about outgrown your infant car seat, but for some reason, I'm dragging my feet on moving your into your big boy chair. Maybe it's one of those last little vestiges of infancy that some deep part of me is sad to cut loose.
Your communication abilities are really developing and it's so amazing to see. You surprise me daily with how much you really understand. In fact, the other day you were playing with a water bottle and were going to leave it behind as we left the room. I turned and told you to go get the water bottle . . . and you know what? You crawled right over to it and picked it up. You do the same thing when I tell you to go play with a ball, or go get a book. And you seem to have an insatiable desire to learn more. You are constantly pointing at different things and saying "da!" (which I interpret as "that!" as in, "what's the name of that thing?!") and you and I walk around naming all the different things in our house. I had forgotten how mind blowing it really is to watch someone figure out the world.
You are an incorrigible flirt. You love girls of all ages and have learned to smile and babble and give kissies, much to the delight of girls young and old. We are going to have our hands full with you for sure.
You are still waking once a night to eat. I have loved our quiet nighttime moments together, and loved knowing that I've been able to feed you as much as you want to help you gain weight. But as soon as I can get confirmation that your weight is back on track, we're going to work on getting you to sleep all the way through the night. I don't know how yet, but I know that it's important for you to learn, one way or another. I'm still waiting on you just dropping that night feeding on your own when you're ready. So . . . you know . . . whenever you're ready. . . .
You are standing on your own for longer and longer stretches now. It still works best when you're distracted. You pull up on something and then let go, and if we can keep you distracted, you'll stand there for a good 10 seconds before slowly dropping down to sit. You're a cruising machine and as much as I know how much more complicated our lives will get when you take that big first step, I know how much you want to be able to move and play and keep up with your sister, and I know how happy you'll be when you're finally able to do that. So, for your sake, baby boy, I hope you're walking soon. (For my sake, though, I'm happy happy happy that you're not quite there yet!)
I know next month will bring big things. I assume our teething break will come to an end. You'll learn more words (right now you're saying "ball," "book," "dada," "Ah-ya" (Ali), "ow," "hi," and "all done"). You might learn to walk. You might learn to sleep all the way through the night. I kind of feel like this last month was our last smooth month of things as we know it before you suddenly become a big boy.
This month has been easy and smooth and relaxed. You've been your wonderful, sweet, happy, laughing, smiling, babbling, snuggling self.
This was a good month.
Thanks for letting me be here to share it with you.
Love forever and ever and a day,
Mom
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