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The Great Carseat Experiment: Conducted!

Luke and I went through with The Great Carseat Experiment this weekend, and we were able to come up with an arrangement that will suit our needs well enough to bring Baby Brother home in the Outlander.

We first tried using the three existing seats presently in our possession - Kara's Britax Marathon, Nathan's Britax Roundabout, and the Baby Trend infant bucket and base from Jenn - but the Marathon kept bumping into the passenger door upon closing, so on Saturday afternoon we made a trip to Target to invest in a highback booster seat, which bought us the couple of inches we needed to avoid a budget-blowing vehicle upgrade. We are lucky in that Kara meets both the height and weight requirements for a booster, and we went with a highback so our girl could enjoy the benefits of side impact protection a while longer. Though we have the seat in our possession now, we will continue to use the Marathon for Kara until right before the baby's arrival, when the bucket seat will be permanently installed.

We don't know for sure how long we can get by with our current car; at some point Nathan's Roundabout will need an upgrade, and I don't know how three convertible/booster seats will fit back there, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. In the meantime, we are just grateful to retain our status as a car-payment-free family, however long that lasts.

Kneeling on the front passenger cushion to look back at all those child seats nestled together, I realized this was the first time I had a tangible representation of what life will look like with three children. And honestly, it was a little overwhelming. I assume that was only the first of numerous similar-type moments to come.

ABOUT THE STROLLER

Luke and I have given the whole stroller situation some more thought and decided against buying anything for now. For one, Luke reminded me we have a perfectly good umbrella stroller collecting dust in the garage. Also, we have a several baby carriers at our disposal - an infant-sized Baby Bjorn hand-me-down, the Maclaren I received while writing for Parents.com that worked splendidly with Nathan, and an Ergo that will see us into toddlerhood. With all of those things, we own more than enough gear to transport this baby on errands, zoo trips, etc. My main concern was having something for Luke to use when getting Kara and Nathan to and from school, but he has already assured me he would rather use the carrier instead of a stroller to keep both hands free.

Also, about the double stroller: I appreciated all the suggetions, but Luke and I have a double stroller. With two kids 13 months apart, it was sort of a necessity, at least in the early months when Nathan was brand-new and Kara was still a baby herself. Nowadays, though, it doesn't get much use since we received a wagon as a generous present from my in-laws and Kara and Nathan much prefer that to being strapped in to individual seats. Plus, even with the wagon, they actually walk most of the time, so Luke and I anticipate needing only one stroller (if any, what with all the aforementioned carrier options) to contain the baby.

Does your brain hurt? I know mine does. Another recurring symptom of Life With Three Children, I suspect.

Pre-nesting

This past Sunday, I spent a glorious three hours cleaning out Kara's closet and sorting her outgrown clothes into Tupperware bins for other fashionistas to enjoy. Now that we know the baby's sex and ESPECIALLY since Luke and I will be taking steps to nail shut close the door on the reproductive phase of our lives, I'm eager to let go of that which no longer represents the family we are now and make room for the next round of material fanfare. (Though I did hold on to some unique iron-on onesies made by a special Internet auntie.) For us, that chapter involves turning two toddlers into roommates by situating them in a gender-neutral space absent of floral wall art and yellow paint and preparing a nursery for our newest little guy. 

When it comes to feeling ready for this baby, I haven't yet experienced that paralyzing Oh, Shit Moment Amalah described in a recent post, but at this point it's only a matter of days, as I have already shared with Luke my strong desire to conduct The Great Carseat Experiment this weekend to finally determine how we will fit three children in the second row of the Outlander. Luckily, we have two different infant buckets at our disposal - the Chicco KeyFit 30 originally purchased for Kara, which we love but anticipate being too bulky to position between two toddler seats, and a slimmer Baby Trends hand-me-down from my friend Jenn that may just do the trick. It also helps that Kara is now the appropriate height and weight for a booster seat (40 pounds and 40 inches, as of last week's well-child visit), so that should buy us a little more room.

Anyway, just imagining those carseats all smashed together lined up in a perfectly safe arrangement is working me into a mini-frenzy. Actually watching this image come to life is guaranteed to secure my one-way ticket to Crazy Pregnant Lady Town.

As I've stated before, we truly are blessed to have so many of Baby Brother's "necessities" already in our possession, the result of having two young children and generous family and friends. Bassinet, crib, changing table, swing, car seat, bouncy seats, nursing pillows, bottle warmers, infant AND toddler carriers, mobile... We haven't spent a dime on him yet, and that includes my maternity wardrobe, which so far has accommodated my current size nicely (though come summer I may be singing a different tune). We do know, though, that there are a couple of things we'll want to pick up, the biggest item being a stroller. Once I'm feeling up to it, Luke and I want to be out and about as much as possible with all three kids this summer, and while baby carriers are wonderful, it would be nice to NOT have the baby strapped to my person every waking moment of the day if I so desire. Of course, our choice of stroller will be heavily influenced by the infant car seat we end up using - another reason The Great Carseat Experiment must take place as soon as possible - and after doing some price-checking online, I'm wondering if it would make more sense financially to drop some dough on a moderately priced travel system than spend almost the same amount on a single stroller.

A jogging stroller would also be grand, but unless we win the lottery, Luke and I will be staggering our alone time on the trail accordingly. Which is not terrible in theory, since I'm sure we'll each welcome a short break from the zoo that will be our household.

One area where I do want to spend some money is on decorating the kids' rooms. Kara and Nathan's room would benefit from a fresh coat of paint, spunky wall art, and some new bedding if we can swing it right away. As for the baby's room, it's technically all ready to go for a boy, but I hate the thought of bringing him home to a space that was custom-designed for his big brother. Plus, nurseries are so much damn FUN to decorate, and I want to experience doing that one last time.

Luke and I also once talked about painting the kitchen, half bath, and the kids' bathroom, but these action items may be placed on hold until fall, when we will hopefully have more moolah at our disposal. Not to mention it might make more sense to paint those areas closer to sell time, in case our color palettes are deemed All Wrong by our real estate agent. (Feel free to agree with me here -- or not -- in the comments.)

It feels like we've been talking about these various projects for simply ages now, but pretty soon it'll be time to spring into action, because Oh, shit, a baby is coming! (hey, there it is!), and babies do not factor your laundry to-do list into their date of arrival.

Ingrates!

21-week update

I am 21 weeks pregnant today, and according to the plethora of baby books in existence, I should be at my prenatal peak: visibly showing but not enormous, increased energy levels, and only occasional bouts of round ligament pain. Go on and run that 5K! Hike your ass off! Enjoy these precious weeks of gestating freedom while you still can!

All of that may be the case for a first-timer or a gal who hasn't birthed 11- and 9-pound newborns, but these are not my truths.

After complaining of tenderness in my belly at my 15-week appointment, a quick exam from my ob/gyn revealed that I have a condition called diastasis recti, meaning that my rectus abdominal muscle has separated into two vertical halves. It's common among women who have endured multiple pregnancies and who have delivered larger-sized babies -- CHECK and CHECK -- and it's not anything I need to be concerned about in the long run (so I've been told, at least), but the doctor did say that the tenderness would remain present throughout the pregnancy and most likely increase in intensity. And oh shit, was she ever right.

I usually begin my day feeling perfectly normal, and if I were the sadistic type I could lightly pummel my stomach without suffering even the slightest twinge of pain. But by the end of the work day, the soreness has emerged from its bat cave, and come dinnertime the skin over my belly button is protruding something fierce, to the point that if it even lightly brushes up against another object of any kind, I am clutching my sides and sucking in my breath as if I've been kicked with a steel-toed boot. Even simple acts like sitting on the floor or repositioning myself on the couch have become seriously fucking unpleasant, and poor Luke has taken over the bulk of evening kitchen clean-up once again.

At my last two appointments, each doctor has recommended using a maternity belt to relieve some of the pressure, but I don't wear belts when I'm NOT pregnant because I hate the idea of having something so constricting touching my skin. However, the pain has gotten worse over the last several days, and even Luke is pushing me to look into this. Have any of you dealt with this condition before? If so, did a belt work for you? Any feedback on this would be much appreciated.

 

It doesn't even look like a typical pregnant belly, does it--all triangular and cliff-like? Plus, my hairstyle is making history by introducing what can only be described as the first front-facing mullet for women! to the modern American public. Clearly, the epitome of sexiness all around!

The saving grace throughout all of this has been Baby Brother's activity, which has been strong enough for weeks to feel at various points throughout the day, and oftentimes it is a welcome distraction from focusing on how uncomfortable I am. I'm already daydreaming about what he looks like, what he'll feel like, and what our lives will be like after we bring him home. Kara and Nathan have started incorporating mentions of Baby Brother in our daily conversations, so I think it's becoming a little more real for them, too.

Kara: Does Mommy and Daddy love you? (She revels in asking this question and poses it frequently throughout the day)
Frema: Yes, honey, Mommy and Daddy love you and Nathan very much.
Kara: And the new baby?
Frema: Yes, honey, and the new baby.

 And we do. We really, really do. 

Working on my business

Turns out we won't be able to pay off our credit card debt before Baby Brother 2.0's arrival.

I discovered this on Valentine's Day after Luke filed our taxes and I created budgets for every paycheck through June. We were so close, dammit--just a few hundred dollars away--but alas, Visa is not the only entity that needs our money. We are furiously pumping dollars into our HSA for my ob/gyn and hospital bills and into short-term savings to cover unexpected expenses during my maternity leave and transition back to work. Our goal to get out of credit card debt is going to take longer than we planned--probably into the beginning of the New Year, unfortunately--but at least the end is in sight.

All of this got me thinking about ways to bring in more money.

I've mentioned several times here my eagerness to explore launching a freelance business I could manage in my "spare time," but right now, it's not going to happen. For one thing, building a client base will be more difficult than I first thought. My original plan was to reach out to some of the advertising, design, and printing vendors I know through work, but I recently learned this type of relationship is regarded as a "conflict of interest" by my employer, so good-bye to that idea. Now, I could still go after like-minded companies to land similar types of projects, but when in my day am I supposed to network, set up introductions, attend client meetings, and just plain be available for questions or immediate needs? My work is flexible, but not THAT flexible, you know? Also, I doubt one lunch hour per week day would be enough to manage those things, and most people are not up for conducting business face-to-face after 5 p.m.

I'm sure some more efficient ways to iron out these details details would present themselves with a litle bit of pre-planning, but at this point in my life, I'm not willing to explore them. It would be easier to apply for a nights-and-weekends job at the Gap and be done with it, but right now the whole point is to increase our income while maximizing our time together as a family.

So I've got a different plan. As the great Monica Gellar once proclaimed in the second season of Friends when she invested her last few unemployment dollars into MGE stock, "I'm going to bet on me!"

In my particular scenario, "me" equals this blog.

Before I had kids, I was able to pay a lot more attention to this here little site, and the unintended (but very welcome) result was a two-year stint at Parents.com. What a wonderful opportunity as a writer to be paid for sharing my thoughts and experiences with pregnancy and motherhood. It's also how I came to know some pretty awesome people.

On the flip side, Mom-101 spends a lot of time talking about appreciating your value as a blogger and not underestimating your worth, and I think that was my biggest failure with Parents.com. Not in the sense that any additional efforts on my part would have kept the community from shutting down, but in hindsight I see that my fear of being labeled a "sell-out" for taking that gig kept me from publicizing my content and making it more accessible to long-time readers. I didn't Tweet links or start a Facebook page because Some People don't like that. But you know what? Some People do, and that includes me. I think it's helpful when the bloggers I follow on Twitter share their newest post, I'm among the first to "like" a Facebook fan page for a blog I love, and I don't think twice when somebody decides to implement advertising on their site. I have preferences on how those things are done, but I don't object to the acts themselves. So why have I always been so much harder on myself than the Internet trailblazers I so admire? Hell, I couldn't bring myself to keep a list of Parents entries in my own damn sidebar. God forbid I give the impression that I believe my writing is actually worth READING.

What it comes down to, I think, at least for me, is that for the longest time the majority of online content was published purely for recreation, without any thought given to financial gain or career opportunities. You blogged because it was fun and didn't assign any value to it beyond random shits and giggles. These days you can host ads, write sponsored posts, receive corporate sponsorship to attend a conference, freelance for other sites, and optimize your posts for keywords that apply to your "desired market." You can manage your personal brand just like the big wigs do over at Best Buy, Amazon, and Apple.

I work in marketing and communications, so I'm pretty familiar with the concept of branding. I've just never really done it for myself.

Thankfully, marketing can be done tastefully and with respect for the end user, but compared to established creative industries like music and book publishing, blogging is relatively new to the concept of for-profit strategy, and the community is still mulling over that proverbial line in the sand when it comes to deciding how far is too far. And opinions vary drastically. To some, blog links on Twitter are tacky. For others, partial feeds to increase site click-throughs are grounds for cancelling a newsfeed subscription. Then there are those who simply ignore any bells and whistles that don't appeal to them and keep on doing their blog-reading thang.

My problem is I've been operating all these years on two potentially faulty assumptions:

• That any reader in the history of the universe who encounters my blog is against any form of self-promotion, and
• That that those opinions should heavily influence how I manage my blog.

Obviously, neither has to be true.

As is the case with so many areas in my life, I need to stop worrying about what other people think and start trusting my own gut when it comes to making decisions, whether they pertain to my boobs or my blog or whatever.

A long time ago, Molly and I talked about trying to launch a mom-centric website of sorts, but neither of us had a concrete idea to pursue, and currently I don't have the mindset to commit to starting something brand-new from scratch. However, this blog has always been important to me, and I never regret the time I spend updating. I certainly don't need another reason to spend more time here, but if there is even a small chance I can take something so personally fulfilling and turn it into a financial opportunity, well, why not at least try?

I have no idea where this will go. I am open to incorporating ads, though I have no idea which network to use, and I could earn twenty bucks a month or nothing at all. I'd love to land another freelance gig but have no idea how to go after that, as Parents was handed to me on a silver platter. I don't feel comfortable writing sponsored posts at this time, and there aren't any resources available in the Frema-Useless Clutter household for blogging conferences or other networking events.

I can...start a Facebook fan page, though, right? That's easy. That's free.

So, all of THAT to say this: I'm going to start a Facebook fan page!  You're trembling in your boots with excitement, aren't you? I can totally tell.

On breastfeeding (or not) again

One of my biggest, all-consuming fears about having baby number three is breastfeeding.

Part of me feels ridiculous admitting that to anyone. After all, I've gone through this twice already! Shouldn't I be a pro by now? Or, at the very least, accept that breastfeeding is not my fight and write it off altogether? After all, to say I've been unsuccessful at nursing would be a vast understatement. To say I'm excited to try it again? That would be a lie.

It's funny; the content of this post has been on my mind for weeks, but now that I'm writing it, I'm not sure what to say.

When I found out I was pregnant again, I resolved to do everything in my power to make breastfeeding a reality for my family. I have read The Books, and the blogs, and the comments to those blogs, so the health and bonding benefits of breastmilk (and, consequently, the drawbacks of formula) are not lost on me. Plus, it's no secret that we are living on a pretty tight budget, so the cost savings aren't anything to laugh at, either. More than anything, though, was this feeling of wanting to overcome a hurdle that has previously appeared insurmountable.

I'm not blaming low supply because honestly, I'm not convinced that was the problem. With Kara, I couldn't keep her on the breast for more than a couple of minutes before she was crying and pushing me away. The lactation consultants at the hospital checked her latch several times, and it seemed fine to them, but who knows? It's not like I had any idea what I was doing, despite reading all those books, so it's very possible my technique was off or Kara's positioning wasn't right or any number of things related to my management of the situation. I never got more than a couple ounces from the pump in a session, whether I pumped every two hours or four, but again, what the hell did I know? Maybe my volume would have increased over time. Maybe I should have just been happy with the amount I was producing and made peace with supplementing the rest of the time.

I didn't try nipple shields, and I didn't attend any support group meetings (though I did call about the one offered through our hospital, and sorry, that once-a-month get-together slated for next Thursday isn't going to help me RIGHT NOW). It's not like I kept at it until my boobs had nothing left to give. It truly was my decision.

So for those who think I didn't try hard enough, well. I suppose they are right. But during those initial weeks of breastfeeding, my mind went to some very dark places. I felt terrible about myself as a mother, which in theory should have been enough to make me go the distance for as long as I could, but even more than that, I hated the idea of doing all those things and STILL most likely failing. Aside from the first couple of days of her life, feeding Kara was a source of stress, self-doubt, and guilt. At some point before the six-week mark I decided that suffering through those feelings for even one more day was more than I could bear. The reality of motherhood, I quickly learned, is that sometimes, when there's a conflict of interest between what you could ideally accomplish as a parent and what you can realistically handle, your own mental sanity has to win out. Second best just has to be enough.

... And THAT was breastfeeding with Kara.

With Nathan, things felt like they were getting off to a better start. I had still had trouble perfecting my latch, but he didn't fight my efforts and ate as often as I would let him, so I was hopeful that this time, please, this time, things would be different. However, at his two-week appointment with the pediatrician, my stomach dropped after the nurse checked his weight and announced a paltry two-ounce gain. TWO OUNCES. My God, did I feel like shit then, and my mind immediately went back to my experience with Kara, and how I fucked that up, and by the time we saw the doctor, any shred of confidence I had about nursing was gone. I continued to pump for another couple of weeks, but I don't think I ever put him on the breast again.

And now, I get to do it all over again with baby number three.

Like I stated above, when I first learned we were having another baby, I was set on doing everything within my power to make breastfeeding work this time around, and hey, third time's a charm, right? I talked about it with Katy, who nursed both of her boys into toddlerhood; borrowed more books; researched lactation consultants; and gave myself numerous pep talks that this time, things would be different.

But now? I honestly don't know. I hate that my first months at home with Kara and Nathan are tainted with such strong feelings of failure. As a working mother, that time to bond means more to me than almost anything else in that first year, and Luke and I are doing everything we can to stock our bank account accordingly so that I can take all twelve of those precious, job-protected weeks off without suffering serious financial repurcussions. I cherish that time to connect with my babies, to snuggle them in the rocking chair and take naps with them on my chest and cover their hands and cheeks and toes with kisses and overall just get to know who they are. It would be so much easier to say, This is not for me, and release myself from ever having to think about this again.

Then again, this time, things might be different. Baby Brother 2.0 could prove to be a fantastic nurser and all my worries could be for nothing. (Kind of like all those "Should we have a third baby?" conversations!) And I do appreciate the benefits, and I do really want those cost savings. Just not at the cost of my self-esteem.

One of the most popular retorts I've heard spoken by the more judgemental nursing mothers and that has most enraged me about the entire breast-or-bottle discussion is the whole "Well, if you aren't willing to make sacrifices for your children, why did you bother to have them?" It makes my fists clench and blood boil and and smoke shoot out of my ears, because really, when did how you feed a baby in the first year of life become the sole measuring stick for quality parenting? And who is anyone to say that I don't make sacrifices for my kids? Luke and I bust our tail to live on one income so they can enjoy all the benefits that go along with that. We painstakingly chose our house because we wanted to make sure they could go to one of the best public school systems in the city. We pack their meals with fruits and vegetables and whole grains, and they have yet to even try soda. We have slashed our household budget more times than I care to count in order to enroll both of them into Kara's day-out program this fall. I can't tell you the last time we bought clothes or shoes or even a magazine for ourselves, but Kara and Nathan get everything they need and then some. 

I did not become a mother because I wanted to breastfeed. I became a mother because I wanted to experience the joy of raising children and because I thought I could do a good job. I did not promise to make every right choice. I did not promise to always put myself last. But I do strive to give my family the best that I have as often as I can. I am proud of the home Luke and I have made for our kids and the life we are able to give them. And when I don't have it in me to reach the ideal, I will forgive myself (eventually) and try to move on.

This all sounds so good in black and white, doesn't it? Let's see how well my heart can embrace it, come June.

Pregnancy fitness fail

Today marks 20 weeks of pregnancy with Baby Brother 2.0, as well as the blessed more-than-halfway! milestone, since my c-section will be scheduled sometime prior to the 40-week point. As of 6:30 this morning, I'm still clocking in about two pounds lighter compared to when I first got knocked up, mainly because I could barely tolerate anything except fruit, yogurt, and the occasional bite of chicken for almost the entire first trimester and some change. Things are back to normal now, for the most part, so in the grand scheme of things what felt like Hell on Earth wasn't completely unbearable, and I know lots of pregnant women experience a far more severe case of morning sickness than I do, but dudes. For serious, I was so damn sick, and useless to my family, and overall just a big blob of miserable.

The blog title, it makes sense now, yes?

I had such high hopes for maintaining an active pregnancy right from the get-go. The week I found out, I was running along the Chicago lakeshore, and at around six weeks I finished a local 5K with only a handful of walking breaks. Running is the only form of exercise I have ever truly loved, and I fully intended to stick with it for as long as I was feeling able. Then, suddenly, BAM! Everything upset my stomach, I was nodding off by 8 p.m., and I was plagued with constant headaches. I couldn't gather the energy to wash dishes at the sink, let alone throw on my gym shoes and log three miles on the trail. And now, at the more-than-halfway! point, sporting a belly that has pretty much collapsed into gestational position and experiencing sciatic nerve episodes, abdominal tenderness, and semi-frequent aches and pains ("You talk like an 80-year-old grandma!" Samantha laughed during a recent phone conversation), I am pretty much thinking that running is off the table until after I deliver. I plan to start walking and hiking outside once the weather gets nicer, and my friend Jen shared with me a prenatal video that I want to try, but I'm still bummed I didn't feel up to doing more when my bodily functions weren't being compared to members of the geriatric population. Back in the fall, I read an article highlighting female athletes who continued running during their pregnancies, and my favorite of the bunch talked about how running eased a lot of the inital discomfort she dealt with in those first few months. I am so impressed with women who manage to do this; it's one thing to push through predictable motivational issues that apply to both sexes, but forcing your body to perform when you physically feel like ass thanks to a HUMAN LIFE feeding on you like a parasite? That is mind-boggling to me.

Not mind-boggling: why I will never be described as an elite anything when it comes to athletics.

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While my prenatal fitness thus far has been nothing to write home about, I'm super optimistic about what I can accomplish during the last six weeks of maternity leave. Delivering in late June means I should be cleared for exercise in early to mid-August; it'll be sweltering, for sure, and last year I learned that my body can't handle long distances in that kind of heat, but I'm already fantasizing about updating my iPod playlist and hitting the trail again, if only for two or three miles at a time. I also remember my initial success with The Shred after having Nathan (I'll take another ten pounds in 30 days, thankyouverymuch) and wonder if it's unreasonable to think I could achieve my third pre-pregnancy weight before returning to work in the fall.

It is not lost on me that at this time last year I was visiting the gym several days a week to train for the Mini, and mentally I'm salivating over capturing that spirit again, of feeling invincible and capable and strong. I watch Luke train for that same half-marathon and hate that I can't show up this year to improve my time. Patience, I tell myself, patience; pregnancy is an endurance race in and of itself, to be approached with the same level of respect to process and self. Once I cross this finish line, only then I can set my sights on another.

She trims her bangs, her bangs

Last week, I was all set to sacrifice a proper salon experience for the sake of my family's budget. It would be an adventure! I told myself optimistically in an effort to calm my fears. And good blog fodder to boot! I OWE IT TO THE INTERNET AND ALSO THE COMEDIC GENRE TO GO TO GREAT CLIPS. This was happening.

Then I talked to Gina, my girlfriend since kindergarten who back in high school introduced me to Brenda, My Favorite Hair Stylist Ever, and who appreciates the ability to do good hair even more than I do. When I explained to her my financial dilemma and adventurous plan over a two-hour chat Saturday night, I could practically hear her shaking her head on the other end of the line. "Breain, you can't go to Great Clips. You just can't," she said, and eventually convinced me to call my regular salon and ask about a bang trim, since they were the primary frustration reason I had for scheduling an appointment anywhere. And you know what? It was SIX DOLLARS. So I booked a visit for yesterday after work, and ten minutes later I walked away eight dollars poorer but also two free samples richer AND mentally a million dollars happier. Apparently, friends don't let friends go to Great Clips. Thanks again, friend.

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Another happiness boost: today is payday, and this morning I realized with a start that it marks the third payday of not having to dip into our savings account OR having to charge anything to our Visa. Step by painful step, our plan to live within our means, pay off our credit card debt, and save for the future is working. It works partly because I am no longer fighting the word "no" -- no, you can't run to Chipotle with the girls; no, you don't need eight subs AND pizza for Kara and Nathan's party, even if you do feel like a cheapskate for serving cold cuts. I know that I wear the same handful of clothes to work every day, eat the same kind of lunch every day, and it doesn't bother me like it did before. Luke has to run in below-freezing temperatures to train for the Indy 500 Mini-Marathon because we can't afford a treadmill or even a monthly gym membership, and he is doing it without complaint. Gifts to nieces and nephews have been drastically scaled down for occasions like Christmas, birthdays, and baptisms, but we do it and just remain grateful we can afford to buy them anything at all.

However, this new reality only works because Luke and I have undergone a huge shift in mindset and a willingness to ask, "What are we really working for? What is the priority here?" while embracing the amount of money we have to work with right now, instead of looking to the future for some magical solution. For example, I mentioned in an earlier post how I thought that our situation would resolve itself after receiving our tax refund check and my annual merit increase, which is typically issued at the same time every year. Well, recent events have made it clear to me that the type of increase I was expecting to get isn't something I can take for granted (the economy is affecting everyone, it seems!). And the tax check will be good, but it won't eliminate our Visa balance, so every paycheck prior to Baby Brother's arrival will continue to be carefully orchestrated to make sure we can axe off this debt, pay my OB bill, and maintain a small nest egg to compensate for what paid maternity leave and short-term disability benefits won't cover. Now more than ever, I reflect on Suze Orman's long-ago-uttered mantra, "I have more money than I will ever need," and strive (along with Luke, of course) to make this true for my family. 

But not everything is a wash. This month is fall registration time at Kara's school, and Luke and I are committed to sending both Kara and Nathan for one day a week this year. Technically, Kara is old enough for preschool, which meets for two and a half hours twice a week, but not only was it slightly more expensive, it also required Luke to finagle three small children -- including one newborn -- out of the house multiple days a week. By keeping Kara in the same type of program she's in now, she and Nathan can be out on the same day for the same number of hours, making drop-off and pick-up logistics infinitely easier on Luke. It wasn't an easy decision, knowing that Kara is capable of (and would enjoy) participating in a more education-based curriculum, but there's always next year, and we do plenty at home, and again, we're just grateful she can continue an activity she loves and that we can offer the same opportunity to Nathan. After all, THEY are what we're working for. THEY are our priority. We would gladly give up a lifetime of gym memberships and a million fast-food tacos for them.

For he's a jolly good fellow

Nathan's second birthday was a picture-perfect day.

Our January 31st started bright and early with breakfast followed by PRESENTS!

 

He and Kara adore jigsaw puzzles, but Nathan is especially smitten, so Luke and I stocked up on a few of those (the 24- and 48-piece Melissa and Doug ones are my favorite) and thew in some books for good measure. Man, am I grateful for how easy it is to please toddlers when it comes to gifts.

The day continued with a prohibited picnic lunch at an Indy-area park.

 

In my defense, I had called the facility ahead of time like a good little park enthusiast to ask about a suitable place to eat our food and was easily directed to the nature center; however, we were hit in the face with "No food and drink allowed" signs immediately upon entering the building. So Luke and I felt a bit like rebels here. I was stuffing plasticware into our picnic basket as fast as we could empty it. Totally worth it, though. The kids were captivated by the view.

 

After lunch, we spent a considerable portion of the afternoon camped out in the children's activity center, which featured small animals in tanks, toys, books, games, and puppets. And since it was a Monday, we had the whole place to ourselves.

 

Look, a toad! Their knowledge of toads is limited to the aptly named character in one of Kara's favorite series, but they were pretty taken with this one.

 

The insect bucket was also a huge hit.

 

HUGE. As was the owl puppet Nathan is clutching here.

 

LOOK MOM A PUZZLE CAN YOU BELIEVE IT.

 

Nathan would not enter this cave. Would. not. do it, and in fact felt the need to confirm this decision on multiple occasions for the duration of our time: "You don't have to go in the cave if you don't want to, riiight?"

 

Kara, meanwhile, had no such reservations. That's my girl.

 

We wrapped up the day with snickerdoodles and a wagon ride through the park, which lasted all of ten minutes because Nathan didn't like his cookie and didn't want to stay in the wagon but didn't want to walk and he was too wiggly for me to carry and he was fighting Luke tooth and nail. Clearly he was suffering from an unfortunate yet common toddler condition known as Dude, where's my nap? itis. We promptly left the park to oblige.

 

The day could end no other way, of course, except with cake. Nathan doesn't actually care much for cake and typically only takes a few obligatory bites when it's placed in front of him -- it's like he knows he should go batshit crazy over this delectable combination of carbs and sugar and doesn't want to disappoint his peers. However, he adores the idea of cake, and it was all he asked about in the days leading up to his big day.

"You can have cake on your birthday, riiight?"

"It can have candles?"

"You can have letters on it, riiight?"

Luke, the maker and baker of all edible goods in our household, did not disappoint.

 

Like I said, picture-perfect day.

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One weekday morning last week, Luke and I were still in bed when I heard the sound of rustling through the baby monitor we still keep in Nathan's room. Then, a few minutes later:

"Daaaaddy.... Daaaaddy...."

Silence, then:

"Daddy, I pooped my pants."

[pause]

"It was a big poop."

Luke got up to investigate, but there was no number two in sight. Probable culprit? Flatulence. Honest mistake. Could've happened to anyone.

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He loves to count but often forgets the number five. He's an easy-going eater but rarely drinks all of his milk. He often asks to sit on the potty before bedtime and has even gone once. His current favorite book is an I Spy compilation Kara received for Christmas, and he is insanely good at identifying all the objects, sometimes more quickly than Kara. He loves to help and is quick to throw out a "Sure!" whenever I ask him to put away his trucks or help Mommy pick up blocks. He loves trucks and trains and dinosaurs and his Build-A-Bear panda. He is more articulate than a lot of toddlers his age I've seen but still has adorable pronounciations that mark his still-visible babyhood, like "meelt" for milk and "bannas" for "bananas," and "Kara" often sounds like "Tara," with a bit of an East coast accent. He's a demanding child when he's got his eye on something, and it's not uncommon to hear him shout out commands like "I want my meelt!" or "I want ranch, Mommy!" He's also very loving and is generous with thank-yous for even the simplest of tasks.

He soaks up his time with Kara and constants seeks out her feedback and companionship. "Hey, Kara, come play trucks with me!" "Let's play with the doctor set, Kaaara!" His favorite songs to sing are "A Bushel and a Peck" and "You Are My Sunshine." He loves to dance to "the Energy song, Mommy!" and will shout "Be! Be! Energy!" as he skips in circles during the chorus. He STILL hates having his diaper changed and is not a fan of brushing his teeth. He enjoys finger painting and coloring and playing the new Goodnight, Moon game received at his and Kara's joint birthday party last month. His cheeks are so soft it's impossible not to shower them with kisses. He's a daddy's boy in many respects but thankfully still likes to cuddle with Mommy. Though cuddling is for daytime hours only; he has yet to want to sleep in bed with Luke and me. Good thing, too, seeing as it's crowded enough what with HIS OLDER SISTER thrashing about a handful of nights per week.

How many ways can I say it? He is amazing; amazing! It blows my mind to think that soon he'll play big brother to another little guy just like him. Except that nobody will ever be quite like Nathan.

 

Happy birthday, buddy. We love you.

Video courtesy of Luke and the outdated Photoshop Elements program on our computer.

So long, Cecilia

That was our front-runner name for a girl. Cecilia Mae because we liked it or Cecilia Maureen in honor of my late Nana, whose actual name was Gloria Darlene, but we were going with Maureen because it's the name of my grandmother's sister, so it was still using a name from her side of the family without burdening the child with a fuddy-duddy throwback like Gloria. Though I actually did like Gloria and would have seriously considered it for a first name except that Luke was not. on. board. Darlene was, well, never an option.

Anyway, it's a moot point now. We're having a boy.

 

And not a shy one, apparently. I could tell before the ultrasound tech finished typing the first word what our little guy was sporting down there.

 

Kara and Nathan weren't much impressed by the news, but Luke and I both had tears in our eyes, and I couldn't stop smiling. I can see our future so clearly now -- birthday parties, graduations, treks through the Grand Canyon, room-sharing arrangements, tossing out casual phrases like "The boys are in the yard" -- all of it. This tiny new person, my youngest son, our new Baby Brother, feels so right for our family, and for the first time since learning I was pregnant, I sincerely CANNOT WAIT for him to get here. We love him so much, already.

To read my pre-appointment ramblings from last night, click here.

I Want (To Know) Your Sex

To be sung to the tune of the classic George Michael song or uttered like a blood-thirsty vampire. It's like a Choose Your Own Adventure for blog titles!

On Tuesday, I will be nineteen weeks pregnant. Tomorrow, Luke, Kara, and Nathan will accompany me to this month's ob/gyn appointment, also known as The Big Day. Private Parts Day. ULTRASOUND DAY!

[Include grand proclamation-type trumpet sound here]

"You know, we're not guaranteed to find out the baby's sex," Luke informed me, but we'll cross that bridge if we come to it. Until then, this baby's giving up the goods, y'all.

I have mixed feelings about this. Not about finding out, but what I'm hoping for.

When I was expecting Kara, I wanted a girl. After all, I'm a girl. I know what girls are like and how they think. I had dreams of sharing my childhood interests with a girl while she was young and sharing my vast perspective as a wife/mother/daughter/career woman as she grew older. Of watching her take that information and use it to shape her own path. Plus, girls' names are more fun to play around with. When I was a kid, I kept a notebook of potential character names, and my list of girls' names was more than double my list for boys.

Anyway, we all know how that turned out. My baby was a girl! Hooray for me.

When Luke and I found out we were expecting Nathan, most people assumed we'd be gunning for a boy, playing into the whole "one of each" mentality that seems so ingrained into the picture-perfect middle class family. But once again, I hoped for a girl. I am one of four daughters and am extremely close to two of my sisters; so close that I watched one of them GIVE BIRTH. You can't predict the quality of relationship your children will have with each other as they grow up, but nonetheless, I wished for this same type of connection for them.

Of course, we didn't have a girl, and of course, I have no regrets. Nathan is amazing and has brought more happiness to our lives than I ever could have imagined. I never longed for a son the way I did a daughter, but I couldn't be more in love with my thoughtful, quirky, joyful little boy.

Upon learning about our latest bundle of joy, true to form, my default reaction was to wish for a girl. I still love the idea of being a mother to sisters and watching them bond, and again with the more interesting pool of girls' names to choose from. (To date, Luke and I agree on one boy's name. ONE.) I also like the idea of Nathan being known as our boy and not the middle child. Then again, I think about how much fun it would be to have two little boys running around and to watch that relationship grow. And if Kara were to be our girl, well, that could only bode well for her in the long run. Though maybe not her boyfriends.

In the end, I guess what I'm saying is no matter which type of parts present themselves tomorrow, I will be delighted either way. Be sure to check in for the news!

That's what she said

"I swear I didn't pull it that hard" was the opening I received upon taking in the broken car door handle in Luke's hand, severed from the Cobalt on Tuesday during his ninety-minute quest to free my car from several layers of ice.

"The door handle begs to differ," I said.

 

It's hard to be mad about it when he was doing such a kind thing for me, braving freezing temperatures to spare his eighteen-weeks-pregnant wife from all that time outside. Plus, it was the passenger-side door, and since normally only one person is in the Cobalt at a time, it's not a big deal in the long run. Luke is hopeful that he can superglue the handle back on once the weather is warmer; meanwhile, I worry we are one step away from using engine hoods from different vehicle models and garbage bags from under the kitchen sink as substitutes for legimate car repairs. At least superglue is budget-friendly!

This was just one of several winter-weather troubles experienced by my husband during Indy's two-day, house-bound Iceapalooza.

 

RIP, ice scraper number one.

 

...And to your cheap, good-for-nothing brother, ice scraper number two.

He also took a decent fall yesterday while completing his training run for the Mini-Marathon, attempting to hike the slope leading from our trail to our backyard, which he is still paying for today by way of cuts on his nose and lip and various aches and pains. He nearly scared the bejeezus out of me when he came back into the house.

 

Thankfully, Monday's weather was uneventful, so the four of us were able to enjoy a lovely afternoon at a nearby park to celebrate Nathan's birthday. More on that (plus his video!) soon.

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In our on-going effort to live within our means, pay off our credit card, AND have something leftover for savings, Luke and I are constantly reassesing our priorities and searching for less expensive ways to accommodate the non-negotiables. One such item that I have been consistently moving over to the next pay period for myself is a haircut. The salon I usually go to is affiliated with Aveda and charges $29 for a wash and cut. For someone who spent the better part of her teens and early twenties fighting with stylists from walk-in places like Fantastic Sam's over the best way to hack my curls, this price has never phased me because the service is top-notch and I am usually satisfied with the results. Plus, even when I was in Chicago getting the best cuts of my life (I still miss you, Brenda), the most I paid for a cut was $35. Again, so worth it to me for the service and expertise.

Unfortunately, our current budget disagrees. Either I can keep putting it off until I can afford my regular place, every day growing one step closer to resembling the cavemen in those Geico commercials, or resign myself to searching for cheaper, possibly less-experienced pastures. As evidenced by the photo below, I think it's obvious there's really just one option.

 

Look! With the proper backdrop and everything!

Action must be taken, and soon. Therefore, sometime between now and next weekend, which is when we'll travel north to attend baby Rosemary's baptism, I will cross my fingers, say a prayer, and brave the chair at Great Clips. I will be sure to keep the cut simple; right now, my hair is actually a little too "fringe-y" for my taste, and the layers are out of wack from postponing all these weeks, so a clean-up is definitely in order. The long-term goal is to grow it out to shoulder-length by summer; before that, though, I need a cut that will be more conducive to less upkeep. My hope is to replicate a style I had in 2006 during my pre-engagement/newlywed period, as pictured here:

 

Not drastically different from how I wear it now, just a little fuller at the top without the tails framing my face. That shouldn't be hard for even a new stylist to handle, right? I wouldn't think so. But then, I also thought all stylists knew how to do a blow-out with a round brush. Apparently, that is not the case.

Wish me luck, friends.

(Also: SOB, I miss that outfit. And my hair color! And the money and the basically care-free existence we had back then! Naive fools, both of you!)