Indianapolis started school almost a month ago, but for the Frema-Useless Clutter household, we are just now closing our chapter on the season that is summer.
Nathan started his parents' day out program yesterday. He was so excited about it that he ran into the classroom ("Terrific Twos!") before Luke and I could hug him good-bye. As it should be, even if it did stab my heart a little.
Kara would have started along with him in the Thriving Threes and Fours group as was planned earlier in the spring except that Luke and I decided to mix things up at the last minute in light of my recent pay increase and upgraded her registration to preschool. Compared to others, her classroom time seems relatively light at just two afternoons a week, but for us it is the perfect amount of exposure to new concepts and reinforcement of what she's already mastered at home. She's even completed her first homework assignment, doled out at last Thursday's open house, if you call cutting up magazines for an "All About Me" poster homework, which I totally do, because hello, the girl's only three. Her first session was today.
Meanwhile, the newest addition to our family turned 10 weeks old this morning. He continues to delight everyone in the house with his smiles, coos, and poops. He isn't sleeping through the night yet, but he does pull some seriously long stretches from mid-evening to early morning. Now if only his stupid parents would use this time to sleep instead of watching Friends reruns and loading the dishwasher.
As for me? Well, today was my last day of maternity leave.
What to say about these last ten weeks? It's been amazing, relishing in newbornhood one more time, and spending days upon days clocking hours of snuggle time in our glider, building robots out of Legos, playing catch up with Pixar, and overall just enjoying my babies. They are all such funny little people, so smart and charming, and Kara and Nathan were so patient with me during my pregnancy with Liam. They deserved this time to bond with me, too, to get caught in the rain with me at the zoo, to have me drive them to and from tumbling class, to share a blueberry muffin with me at Starbucks after a random trip to Target. I was introduced to Mater and Ladybug Girl and Yo Gabba Gabba!, and they were reminded that their mother is capable of doing more than visiting the doctor and sleeping on the couch. It's hard for them sometimes, watching me with Liam when they'd rather have me for themselves, but these growing pains will become easier to handle as he gets older, and they pale in comparison to how much fun we have when we're all together.
I think everything is ready for tomorrow: outfit ironed, lunch packed, professional shots of Liam ready to be added to my desk. I've got a fresh hair cut, new purse, and filed nails. I'll certainly look ready to be back at work, even if the pit in my stomach indicates otherwise.
Having pushed through this hurdle twice now, I know in the end it'll be okay. I work with wonderful people who will help me transition back to office life, and the kids couldn't be in better hands with Luke. Good things are ahead of us. I just wish time could've stopped a little bit longer.
A week ago yesterday, I gave birth to Liam. And in this past week, I have dealt with two sick toddlers, 48 hours worth of c-section recovery without the aid of narcotics, and nursing difficulties that once again rocked me to my core.
On the surface, it all sounds pretty craptastic. Yet, that isn't the case at all (mostly - Kara and Nathan's colds weren't fun for anyone).
I've given myself 20 minutes to post, so most of the bloggy goodness will be shared over time, but here is what I feel compelled to share at this particular moment about having three children - or, more directly, three c-sections.
RATION THY NARCOTICS.
In the hospital, I was taking two capsules of my OB/GYN's drug of choice every four hours; as a result, I was feeling well enough to shower, meander through my corridor, receive visitors with a smile (if not without bloated ankles and droopy eyes), and leave within two days of surgery, which become a primary goal the minute Liam was out and we were both deemed healthy. Because I was afraid of losing my post-partum high, I continued this regimen once I returned home, which meant by Monday morning, I was out of meds. No worries, I thought. I have one refill. I'll just refill it! So imagine my surprise when, after Luke called in the prescription, the pharmacy's auto robot denied my request because it was too soon to have depleted my supply.
(Are you imagining that scene from Wayne's World where Mike Myers walks into the guitar store and sees the "No Stairway" sign over his favorite piece? If you weren't, you totally are now, aren't you?)
The bottle said I could take one to two pills every four to six hours, so I didn't see anything wrong with following the bare minimum of directions. Apparently, though, the on-call OB/GYN who released me did. Which meant that entire Monday all I could depend on for relief was Al*eve and Ty*lenol.
Tuesday came, but I was afraid to call in again because what if the pharmacy's auto robot was keeping track of this and thought my profile matched that of a bonafide street addict?
Monday and Tuesday were not good days.
Luckily, then came Wednesday, and I was brave enough to call again, and the gods were smiling upon me, because I received another dose of happy pills. Of which I am now taking one, every six hours, and am no worse for the wear.
If they don't want you to take two pills every four hours, they really should just make that clear on the damn bottle.
I'm very sorry for wasting so much of your time with my pill-popping story, but this is an issue that quickly became very important to me, so I would like to spare all of you similar pain if I can. You are welcome.
Okay, okay, more pictures.
Kara is in love with Liam and constantly refers to him as "my baby." She can't help herself from kissing his hands, feet, cheeks, head, etc. Luckily, her fever/cold is just about gone, so I should be able to allow her to make contact with his sweet little face again.
Nathan, poor thing, took the brunt of the summer cold this time around, but is thankfully now on the mend. He loves his baby brother just as much as Kara does, and they are equally concerned for his general welfare. Whenever he wakes up or cries or does anything even remotely resembling an awake human being, they immediately start shouting, "Mommy! Daddy! The baby NEEDS you!" until Luke or I stop what we are doing and tend to whatever the issue is requiring attention.
They've said some pretty funny things about Liam, too. I wish I could remember them all, but here's a sample.
Kara: (after staring at him intensely) Is Liam creepy?
Nathan: (after waking up and finding the two of us on the couch) Oh, Mommy! The baby is still here!
I have passed my 20 minutes, but there is one more thing I wanted to share before signing off. Mainly because I don't plan on talking about it in-depth and prefer that it not turn into an "Is she or isn't she?" lingering kind of issue.
I am no longer nursing.
I did it while I was in the hospital, and I'm glad I did, and continued a bit when I got home, but that first night was extremely difficult, and I quickly realized what I personally would need to do to make it work for my entire family. In the end, I decided it was not my path. So Liam is now formula fed, and I am at peace with it. So, if anybody would like a half-used box of Mother's Milk tea and a completely new bottle of fenugreek for their upcoming breastfeeding needs, just let me know.
Alright, fine, one more picture.
I am seriously over my time limit here, but how can I let you go without telling you how amazing this baby is? Because he is. Everything about Liam is wonderful, from his Danny DeVito hairline to his piano-player fingers, from his bright blue eyes to his ruby-red lips. Right now we are in the honeymoon phase that is the first week, during which they sleep almost ninety percent of the time and therefore trick you into thinking they are absolute angels and that their agreeableness is the result of your mad parenting skillz, and then somewhere between weeks two and three they wake up for longer than 90 minutes at a time and trick you into thinking you don't know anything at all. So I very well could be pulling my hair out seven days from now over the latest development of his personality. But right now I am grateful that he eats, pees, and poops well and is content to sleep almost anywhere and takes all the poking and proding from his older siblings in stride. Also, that he is a happy, snuggly baby, a miracle baby that I am so, so grateful for.
I turn 37 weeks tomorrow, which has catapulted me into full-on nesting mode, attempting to tie up every loose end in the history of the universe before Baby Brother's June 29 delivery date. Last week we focused on car maintenance and child seating; the Cobalt needed about $360 worth of repairs (mad props, savings) and over the weekend Luke cleaned out both vehicles and experimented with car seat arrangements for the first time since February. At that time, we made the decision to transition Kara into a high-back booster (sans five-point harness) to make room for the baby's infant bucket.
Come Saturday, though, we just couldn't do it.
Despite my initial confidence over this set-up, I became increasingly more anxious about it since reading about the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration's updated guidelines for child restraints back in March. While Kara does meet the height and weight requirements for a booster, she is still only three years old and isn't even close to outgrowing her current Britax Marathon. But keeping her in the Marathon would require us to buy a new car, and despite having an excellent reason to justify such a significant purchase (SAFETY), we simply cannot afford to do that. In my Google research I learned about a slimmer seat with a five-point harness by Sunshine Radian that looked like it would fit and also received favorable reviews on several third-party sites, but the seat isn't sold at any stores in our vicinity, so we'd have to order it online, and what if it didn't fit, and man, these things aren't cheap. We looked into other options for Kara, but all seat specs were similar to the Marathon's. We looked into other infant seats, but the Baby Trend Flex-Loc handed down to us from my friend Jenn has the smallest dimensions we've seen. Nathan's Britax Roundabout wasn't worth messing with because it's already plenty slim and fits his measurements perfectly.
We may as well give the booster a try, Luke and I would say in the end, each time the topic came up, and it came up many times. We'll stay off the highway while we test it out. Our longest drive in town is less than ten minutes. It will be okay.
But again: we just couldn't do it.
Luke spent all of Saturday morning once again trying to get the Marathon in safely and securely, but again it was all in vain. Despite your best efforts, you just can't force a square peg into a round hole. When that didn't work, we pulled out the booster.
It wasn't in the car five seconds before a horrible knot began forming in the pit of my stomach and I was sobbing to Luke that we had to order the Radian.
The Marathon brushed against the door of the Outlander, but just barely. The Radian would save us a precious inch and a half of seat space; we shouldn't need any more than that to make it fit, I said. This is our daughter's safety we're talking about. Please, please order the seat and save me from having a heart attack already.
Luke just nodded. He didn't need any convincing. He was nervous for Kara, too.
The Radian should arrive before the end of the week.
Buying the seat doesn't change the fact that we'll need to buy a new car once the baby outgrows the infant bucket, but we'll be in much better shape financially by then. I'm getting a raise at the end of the month that should absorb most if not all of the anticipated budget increases incurred by Life With Three Children. Tax refunds arrive in late winter, and our credit card debt will be gone by spring, at which point I should be due for another raise. We can plan to make room in our budget for a car payment by then.
In this scenario, I can tell myself It will be okay and actually believe it.
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Of all the worries I've had over my three and a half years as a parent, I don't think any of those experiences came close to the level of intensity of this one. Not even nursing. When choosing formula, I felt guilty over denying them the optimal choice in baby food, but at least we could afford to pay for it. Luke and I hate that we can't take on a car payment to get the best ride for our family; that guilt coupled with visions of our child's body being torn to shreds in an accident? If we had gone with the booster and something would have happened.... Well, there are no words.
Parenting is so much harder than you think it will be when you're first starting out. Luckily, there are also no words to describe its joy.
Thirty-six weeks. One more until full-term. Though, judging by the size of Baby Brother's man-cave, you might assume that either it's going to be any day now! or I'm already overdue. As does half of Indianapolis.
When I was at this same point with Kara (picture here) (stats here), I had gained 27 pounds; with Nathan, I was around 26 pounds, and by my 37-week appointment I had registered a nine-pound gain and was being monitored by my ob/gyn for HELLP syndrome. This morning, I only weighed 15 pounds heavier than the day I took my positive pregnancy test in October. I'm sure before the baby is born that there will be additional junk on my trunk, but right now I'm in awe. For a while I was crediting this to eating better and being on my feet more because of the kids, but now I'm starting to think the real reason was a terribly difficult first trimester where I lost a ton of weight and a conversative second trimester, food wise, spent gaining that weight back. Will this have an impact on Baby Brother's size? Is my habit of delivering large newborns a thing of the past? Only time will tell.
I've been told by complete strangers with total confidence that the baby is sitting high AND that he's clearly dropped, in the same day even, so, opinions and @$$holes and all that, but I'm inclined to agree with the latter. I'm feeling increased pressure in my pelvis lately; that combined with frequent (yet random) contractions have me shuffling around at a snail's pace. Meanwhile, Baby Brother's movements are more violent than ever; sometimes it's cute, and his level of activity does keep me from worrying about anything being wrong with him, but mostly it's uncomfortable, even downright painful, and overall these last few weeks of pregnancy have reduced me to a tired, weepy, anxious mess. Luke is a saint for putting up with me, because in addition to voicing my various aches and pains, I also can't shut up about all the things we still need to do, even though it's clear that he will be the one doing most of them, but he takes everything in stride and does his best to accommodate my wishes. It's almost like he's done this before!
Kara and Nathan are starting to grasp that Baby Brother's arrival is near as we talk more about what things will be like once he comes home. On my last entry, Molly asked a great question about how we plan to explain my c-section, but because they are still so little, and because because Kara is easily frightened these days by what she doesn't understand, Luke and I are keeping things simple. So far, our talk track has been that Daddy will take Mommy to the hospital so the doctor can take the baby out of my belly, and that satisfies them just fine. At this point, we don't feel the need to mention the surgical aspect of it; me just having the baby is enough reason for them to be gentle around my abdominal area for a few weeks. We can provide more information as they get older and/or ask more questions.
Right now, though, Kara seems more preoccupied with when the baby is coming out. On Saturday, I ran some errands, and the minute I returned, she asked if the baby was still in my belly. Monday, I went to the dentist to repair a cracked tooth, and when I got home, same thing. It's fascinating to watch your children's minds at work as they attempt to make sense of the world around them.
Truly, though, I love answering their questions, even when those questions lead me down roads untraveled. Like on Monday, when Kara was playing with our toy kitchen and she talked about coffee coming out of her breasts. (!!!) I think I know what happened; at dinner we were talking about the different ways that babies eat, and how in the beginning Baby Brother won't need solid food, just special baby milk, and he'll get that milk by drinking it from Mommy's breasts or by Mommy and Daddy getting it from the store. Maybe she thought other kinds of drinks were also accessible through Thelma and Louise? I couldn't tell. In any event, it was a conversation for the baby books, that's for sure - that, and her referring to nipples as "bristles." Be still, my heart.
The last day of Kara's parents' day out program was last Friday, and since families were invited, I took the day off work to attend the annual end-of-year carnival with Luke and the kids. There were game stations and dollar-store prizes, a bounce house that neither child took to very well, a fire engine tour they both adored, and a creepy old-man magician that had Luke and I rolling our eyes every five minutes. Overall, though, it was a neat way to pass the time.
This picture has nothing to do with the carnival, but man, is my family gorgeous or what?
The closer we get to bringing this baby home (five weeks from tomorrow, not that anyone's counting), sometimes it's hard to remember that the two kids we have now actually started out as newborns. Babies are lovely for sniffing and snuggling, but the older Kara and Nathan get, the more fun we all have together -- even planning for the future has become more interesting, as we imagine what lies ahead for our party of five.
Precisely because they aren't babies anymore, and also because one of my biggest stressors is making sure the kids have a fun summer despite the initial turmoil that is sure to result from welcoming a new baby, Luke and I are working hard with the money we have at our disposal (thank you, savings) to sign them up for a couple of things that force us to get them out of the house. They'll both take a nine-week tumbling class at our town's rec center starting in two weeks, and Kara is signed up for a week-long nature camp sponsored by a local park for late July. We also learned of a week-long vacation Bible study class offered through the same church that runs our parents' day out program, for the low, low price of FIVE DOLLARS, so we'll register Kara for that as well. I wish there was more for Nathan to do, but those last two require the kids to be fully potty-trained, so he'll just have to wait until next year. Really, though, just getting him in the tumbling class is a big deal, since he's never done anything like that before. It should be a nice transition into his starting "school" in the fall.
We researched a number of activities in the Indy metro area for ideas of things to do, but the nearest YMCA doesn't have anything for the toddler age range, and the closest Gymboree is 45 minutes away. Also, frankly, our bank account can't handle many more unplanned expenses without putting our maternity leave savings at risk. Still, though, I'm excited about what we do have planned, and we recently renewed our zoo membership, and we're already frequent visitors of our local library, and there are several neighborhood playgrounds in our zip code, which means there are plenty of opportunities for additional fun. Once Baby Brother is here and we know he's healthy, Luke and I have already talked about using more of our savings to buy additional memberships to the city's Children's Museum and the rec center where tumbling is being held, as it has fantastic indoor and outdoor swimming facilities AND a gym AND exercise classes AND is within walking distance from our house. There's even been talk of going to the beach again, like we did last year.
I've been trying not to get so hung up on our summer plans, but it's hard. There were actually a couple more classes at the rec center that we could've enrolled the kids into (dance and music), and I would have done it without a second thought until Luke wisely talked me down, reminding me about the zoo and the library and the parks and also of our commitment to keeping them active even while I'm recovering from my (last!!!) c-section. That's been the kicker for me, I think: knowing it will take me the majority of the first six weeks to feel anything like myself again and how unavailable I will be during that time to do things like hike, swim, or even take long walks on the trail.
Fortunately, Luke and I have already talked at length about this, and we agree that it will be important for him to be out and about with them just like he is when I'm at work so that I recuperate from surgery without feeling guilty. After that, though, I hope to be more on my feet so that we can make the best of the second six weeks we have left. This summer will definitely have its challenges, but I still want to make it the best one we've had yet.
You can count Kara and me as being among the bazillion people to check out the royal wedding on April 29.
Typically, I don't follow the happenings of the British monarchy, but my boss, bless her heart, took a vacation day to be able to watch all the coverage in real time, and her excitement and the buzz among my coworkers was contagious, so I set my alarm for 6:10 a.m. and snuck downstairs to catch some of the marital pomp and circumstance.
Luke and Nathan were asleep, but Kara had crawled into bed with us sometime before six. She was quiet when I left the room, but fifteen minutes later, I heard her call out from upstairs, "I want to watch with you, Mommy!" (Luke had explained to her what I was doing, and he knew I wanted to let her join in the festivities if she woke up in time.)
So, for about twenty minutes, until I absolutely had to turn off the TV and hop in the shower for work, Kara and I cuddled together on the living room couch and took in the wedding. I told her she was watching a real prince and princess get married, and that they were getting married in a church just like where we go on Sundays. She thought about that for a minute, then said, "That's a church like our church, with a playroom!"
I laughed. "No, honey, this church definitely does NOT have a playroom."
I held her close and massaged my fingers over her scalp as she rested her head alongside my belly, every once and a while turning her face to me to show a big smile. Baby Brother was in rare form, and she was able to experience some of his most impressive acrobatics to date. "Mommy, I felt the baby pop!" she said.
At one point, I grew misty-eyed thinking that, at almost three and a half, it's very possible that Kara will remember sharing this moment with me, even if her memory of it is fuzzy and incomplete.
It was such a small part of our day, but Kara talked about that wedding on and off all weekend. "Mommy, I really liked watching your wedding with you," she said at first.
"Honey, that wasn't my wedding, that was the royal wedding."
"I mean, I really liked watching the royal wedding with you."
This past weekend, Luke and I took the first tangible step in preparing our house for a new baby by moving Kara and Nathan into the same bedroom. The Big Kids Bedroom. A bedroom that now contains a twin bed, a toddler bed, and two children under the age of four.
A view of Nathan's big boy bed. You'll notice we nixed the idea of themed wall art and instead went with that famous line known as "Cheap Pictures We Liked From Target."
We've been talking about this merge ever since we found out about Baby Brother, and we've been discussing it with the kids for almost as long, but it wasn't until last week when I was reading stories to Nathan in his glider that it hit me: Oh my gosh, my baby is losing his room. And his crib, and his dresser, and all those other baby things that we picked out just for him.
I thought about how he might not be ready, and how, as one of two boys, he may never have his own room again, and how adorable, kissably soft, and baby-like his cheeks are, even though his favorite statement of late is "No, I want to do it by myself," and I ended up crying myself to sleep. Oh, the tangled emotions involved in making room for another child, and forcing watching the children you already have grow up in the process.
But JC Penney wasn't aware of my misgivings, so Kara's twin bed arrived on Saturday as planned, and Luke and I spent that afternoon washing bedding, rearranging furniture, and transferring Nathan's things into Kara's closet and dresser. Between the two of them, Nathan actually had the largest set of drawers, but I wanted to keep all the matching furniture together, partly for the baby and partly for (eventual) showing purposes; in the end, we made it work by designating the closet for all shirts and pants and the dresser for socks, underclothes, and pajamas.
A close-up of Nathan's big boy bed, which looks perfect against the yellow paint, in my frugal lazy humble opinion.
Fortunately, ironing out the logistics of The Great Bedroom Merge turned out to be a lot of fun; while I'm no Martha Stewart when it comes to decorating, I rise to the tasks of organizing, removing extraneous clutter, and finding a proper place for belongings that make the cut. It also helped that Nathan LOVED the idea of sleeping in the toddler bed; pair that with his fondness for his quilt from godmother Auntie Molly, and you get a charged-up little boy who was more than ready to roll around in the covers and play with his animals the minute his set-up was complete. The car pillow was a new purchse and proved to be a hit with both kids.
A view of Kara's newest big girl bed. Is it wrong to kind of want it for myself?
Because it took all day to get things settled, both kids missed their naps (not that Kara takes them very often, anyway), so it was a challenge to get them settled down come bedtime. They didn't want to read stories in the rocking chair as is our usual way, opting instead to camp out in their respective beds, and their attention span was extremely short; plus, Nathan typically goes down about 30 minutes before Kara, and Kara doesn't fall asleep as quickly as he does, so we weren't sure how difficult it would be for each of them to fall asleep in the presence of the other. The cherry on top was following through with our decision to attempt to wean Nathan from his pacifier; I was so sure he would call us on this and put up a fight.
At 8:06, we showered them with kisses, left the room, and braced ourselves for a long night ahead.
By 9:02, they were out like a light, with Nathan pacifier free.
That is not to imply the fifty-six minutes in between were perfect -- several times they tumbled out of bed, and Nathan did mention his pacifier once while being tucked in. But overall our son took his new role as a big boy very seriously, and big boys stay in theirbeds, so he did, and pacifiers are meant for babies, so subconsiously I think he deemed it inappropriate to push the issue. Also, his stay-put example definitely inspired Kara to follow suit, as she's never had any problems abandoning her big girl status to visit Mommy and Daddy more frequently than TV shows air commercials. She actually fell asleep earlier with Nathan across the room than she typically does on her own. SCORE AND SCORE.
Luke and I were not as enthused when Kara jumped into our bed at five o'clock the next morning and Nathan sobbed for his pacifier at six (insert stab to the heart here).
We held firm on the latter, though, and Luke eventually tried to appease Nathan by bringing him into bed with us, but four people + a queen-sized mattress does not = restful sleep for anyone. It was a long Easter, let me tell you. And Nathan hasn't fully processed the permanence of the arrangement yet, because occasionally he still asks to read stories in "his room." But at two and a half nights in, we have a consistent pattern of both children falling asleep before 9:30, which has NOT been our experience in the past, so at this point I am inclined to declare the Great Merge a smashing success.
Here is our boy, all tucked in and ready for Dreamland. He was delighted with his big boy pillows and adamant about laying his head on the stack of them, which I think is one of the reasons it took him so long to fall asleep that first night. It was clear he was uncomfortable having his head elevated so high. "You don't have to use both of them if you don't want to - you can cuddle the car pillow like a stuffed animal or even move it to the other side of the bed. Whatever you want," I told him, but he wouldn't hear of it.
He must have considered the suggestion on some level, though, because eventually we found him like this:
Luke wanted a better-looking photo than that for our albums, though, so he took some artistic liberties to achieve this:
How is he not on the cover of a Golden Book? Those cheeks!
Meanwhile, Kara adjusted to her own upgrade pretty well and was especially taken with her new quilt. This shot is only slightly staged:
It took a lot of self-restraint not to crawl in there with her, for a mother-daughter cuddle.
At this point last week, I was so sad about Nathan shedding another layer of his babyhood, but now I am so happy for him, and proud that he was able to handle these big, important steps so easily. My favorite part? I can give those baby-toddler cheeks another kiss good-night once he's fast asleep, just like I do with Kara, now that we're no longer separated by crib slats.
We are getting so close to Baby Day, and there is still so much to do, but this merge? It was a good thing, and a step in the right direction.
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.
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.
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.
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!
As is two and a half, and two and seven months, and two and eleven months. Life, it is like a river, what with all the ebbs and flows and and rapid changes, and while the water is often delightful, there are many times throughout each day where I feel like HOLY CRAP, THIS RIVER IS KILLING ME.
This entry has been so difficult to write (hence, why it is also more than a month late) because Kara is not a baby anymore, and my interactions with her feel more intensely personal than when my primary concerns as a mother were breast or bottle, stroller or baby carrier, and cry-it-out or rock-it-out. We have in-depth conversations now about her friends Jack and Mary and Phil and Gertrude and how they like to go on picnics and ice skate in the dining room and Mommy, they are very nice, and oh yes, their parents are nice, too. We sing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" at bedtime, and when I come home from work she likes to come upstairs with me while I change into my sweat pants, and once I hit the closet, she cries out, "Hooray! You get to see your mommy again!" and runs to throw her arms around my legs. Last month, while reading one of our Christmas books and talking about Mary and Joseph being Jesus' parents, Kara said, "Mommy? Do I have parents?" Also, "Can I have a Christmas Day?"
Her ability to rationalize and think through a situation never ceases to amaze me. She is so smart, so thoughtful. I love her just as much as I did when she was a baby, but I appreciate her more as I discover more about the person she is and imagine who she will become, with all her contradictions, complexities, and surprises.
However, she has also reached an age where she can be held accountable for some of her actions and can more directly impact the dynamics of our relationship - intentional or otherwise. Meanwhile, I have reached the stage as a parent where my cognitive skills and foresight have become critical to all of us having a good day.
Before we hit this stage, Luke and I talked a lot about how we would handle issues from a discipline standpoint, and we both agreed that for our family, spanking/hitting is not a resource we care to add to our parenting toolbox. However, as a kid, I was hit all the time, for all kinds of reasons - meaning I have no personal experience with time-outs or anything resembling non-violence until I was too old for that sort of thing, and even then, there was still lots of yelling and little to none of that sit-down-at-the-kitchen-table-for-a-loving-but-firm-conversation-about-your-actions ala Full House or Family Ties.
In other words, I am totally winging this, relying on nothing but my own instincts, my ability to effectively communicate with my husband, knowledge and tips gleaned from numerous mommy blogs, and random episodes of Super Nanny.
Case in point: On the day of Kara's actual birthday, Luke and I planned to celebrate by taking her to Build-A-Bear. We had it all planned out: pick her up from school, drive the 45 minutes to the overcrowded mall where the store resided, let her pick out any animal she wanted (along with a few accessories), have a treat in the food court, and drive home for dinner and cake. Easy peasy, and heartwarming memories. Double score!
Actual turn of events: Pick her up from school. Drive the 45 minutes to Build-A-Bear. Spend TWO HOURS in the store as Kara bounced from area to area, touching all the unstuffed animal shells, claiming to want everything from the brown bunny to the blue bear to the gray owl but then promptly melting down when we tried to guide her to the stuffing machine. She wanted everything, and wanted nothing. It was an incurable bout of Indecision, with no cure in sight; if anything, they become more frequent as time goes on.
Anyway, the pivotal moment came when, after Luke and I suggested we visit another store to pick out something different, Kara threw herself down on the floor kicking and screaming and I had to carry her outside of the store. Together we sat to the side of the entrance, me holding her on my lap and repeating, "It's okay, it's okay," while she wiggled and cried and passersby looked down on us with wide eyes and that disapproving expression of, "Does that mother not know how to control her own child?" One woman actually came up to me to suggest ADDITIONAL WAYS to restrain my child. That was especially appreciated.
Eventually, though, Kara did calm down and settle on an animal to take home. The winner? Hello Effing Kitty. Surrounded by adorable furry creatures of all types and colors and she goes after the most commercial of the bunch. And it's not like she even knew who Hello Kitty was; apparently, it was love at seventy-millionth first sight.
And because our little Nathan was such a champ during the entire ordeal, we let him get something, too. He selected the black-and-white panda bear you see in the picture below and couldn't have been sweeter about it.
"Honey, are you SURE you don't want to reconsider? Maybe select a doll that doesn't make your mother's toes curl with disdain?"
She was sure.
Afterwards, because we left the mall so much later than planned and because we had no energy left to prepare anything at home, Luke and I took the kids to a nearby Mexican restaurant for dinner.
Wearing a happy face once again (both of them).
That night a surprise visitor made a special appearance, which delighted the children to no end. He, Mrs. Claus, and several elves were seated at a table directly across the room from us, and Kara and Nathan could not keep their eyes off them. And that's actually how they preferred him - at arm's length, as evidenced by this picture.
Ending the day on a brighter note.
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Kara's birthday didn't go at all how we planned, and it certainly wasn't fun to work through a tantrum in front of a crowd of strangers, but as we move through the Year of Three, I hope that more often than not I will be able to draw strength from that experience and remember how much of the outcome depended on my willingness to stay in control and not give in to the frustration that was building up inside of me. I'm not proud of the scene she caused, but I'm not embarrassed by how I handled it, either, and for me, that is the most important thing in the end. When all is said and done, the setbacks experienced in any given day become less important than my living, breathing response to them. I can't control my children's actions, but I can control my own, and commit to doing better when I fail.
Happy belated birthday, sweeheart.
(As always, mad props to Luke for the birthday video.)
On Friday, I took the day off so I could join in taking Kara to her first day of school.
All morning she was so excited to wear her backpack, hold her lunchbox, meet her teachers and friends. Meanwhile, Luke and I, pits in our stomachs, couldn't stop rambling about the importance of telling her teachers when she needed to have potty time. Because she is wearing big-girl underwear now. Because she really is no longer a baby.
Posing for Luke's "First Day" shot, relying on a confused sense of direction.
Okay, that's REALLY the wrong direction, honey.
Luke and I were 20 minutes early for drop-off, so we hung out and read stories and snapped pictures in the hallway to kill time, OMG, what great big newbie nerds we are.
Kara, on the other hand, was a champ, with not a nervous bone to be found anywhere. No sooner did the classroom door open than she was running to the activity table, checking out the toys, and overall forgetting she'd left two anxious parents eating her dust. I was so happy we could make this happen for her, and so grateful she could adjust that quickly, but those warm feelings weren't enough to keep me from sobbing on my way back to the Outlander.
And she continued to do well, and even came home with a glowing first progress report. "Kara settled quickly," stated the templated letter, our hearts swelling with pride over all the affirmative check marks. "Kara was friendly." "Kara did have a snack and juice."
That's our girl.
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Later that evening we attended our third weddingreception in four weeks, this time for my high school best friend. Can you believe this was the first one where I thought to take a picture?
It has been...interesting, to say the least, making time in our schedules to enjoy a meal in honor of our friends embracing the sentiment of life-long commitment. There have been hiccups, to be sure. But I don't regret a minute of it. If anything, I wish I could have done more.
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On Saturday, we drove to Chicago to be with my dad on his 50th birthday. When you're eight years old daydreaming about Fred Savage, fifty sounds old and decrepit. When you're thirty and planning for retirement? Not so much. From 'lil Frema, deepest apologies.
My father and mother have had a difficult year, taking on leadership roles at the local American Legion, caring for my dying grandfather who's been diagnosed with Alzheimer's and dementia, my dad continuing to put in time as a firefighter and independent contractor. Despite the ups and downs, he will always be the hardest-working man I know, carrying the heaviest weight on his shoulders. It was good to see him (them) smile.
I also scored some quality time with my sweet little niece, most of it spent on my parents' couch, just breathing her in.
Kara was enamored with her, too, and rejuvenated my fantasy of giving her a sister so she could experience the type of bond I've been lucky enough to enjoy since before I was two, times three.
Kara totally getting the phrase "so adorable I could eat her up" and in fact coming close several times.
Nathan and Danny could have cared less about the joys of female cousinhood, focusing instead of the speed of matchbox cars as they travel along a windowsill. Sometimes I still can't believe they're just five months apart.
Nathan wearing the toddler equivalent of a lampshade to celebrate Grandpa's big 5-0.
The family resemblance is shining through, yes?
Three generations of women, one shared love. These are their stories. (Clunk clunk)
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Throughout the weekend we spent time with Grandma and Grandpa D, who consistently, graciously offer their home and baby-sitting services as one or both of us grown-ups bounce from rehearsal dinners to wedding receptions to birthing hospitals and the like. They are two of my children's favorite people, and it shows during every visit.
Testing Grandpa's hearing: "Come on, tell me what you REALLY think of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse."
Testing Grandma's tolerance level for literature pertaining to beetles, ants, and duck lice.
Kara and Nathan have the type of relationship with Luke's parents that everyone wants for their kids. Miles and Molly send postcards to the children that say, "Feel better soon" or "We thought you would like to see this frog near our pond." Their house is always stocked with macaroni noodles, fishie crackers, and sidewalk chalk. They are intimately familiar with their hobbies and bedtime routines and the only ones I would trust completely to watch them for the weekend. And they are involved, joining us at the apple orchard, the zoo, and Thanksgiving, present for every baptism and birthday party. We are so lucky to have them in Kara's and Nathan's lives, and of course ours, too.
This morning, Luke and I registered Kara for preschool.
Well, technically, not preschool. It's categorized as a children's ministry program, offered through a nearby church. Four hours a day, one day a week. The program isn't accredited with fancy acronyms, and the staff members don't have teaching licenses, but there will be free play and music and snack time and show-and-tell and take-home bulletins once a month. Plus, we'll have to get her a backpack and lunchbox. So for a two-year-old girl who's been hanging out at home with her dad and her baby brother almost her entire life, it's close enough.
It's plenty close for her parents, too.
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In an effort to get a better handle on our finances, Luke and I are trying something new at home. Suze Orman calls it the back-to-cash movement. I like to think of it as our new reality.
The new reality is this: Gone are the days where we put everything on the credit card and pay for it at the end of thirty days (which, near the end, wasn't working out so well, anyway). Good-bye to Excel spreadsheets that were intended to help us budget on a monthly basis rather than per-paycheck. From now on, if we want to buy something, we are going to the bank, making a withdrawal from the ATM, and paying for it in cash. There will be occasional exceptions, of course, like purchases online or the occasional Redbox rental, but ninety-five percent of the time, them's the rules.
We started on October 1. Six days in so far, and doing well.
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Luke and I have been talking a lot about what we want to accomplish in the short term--realistic goals we can achieve in the next six to twelve months. In the short term, we want more social networking opportunities for Kara and Nathan (not the Facebook and Twitter kind), to give them a chance to explore interests outside the confines of our living room, interacting with adults who are not us. We want to enjoy financial freedom and not have to itemize every single penny of a paycheck two months in advance in order to afford concert tickets or Christmas presents or a random date night. We want to formally close the baby chapter of our lives by New Year's and put our house on the market come spring. And I want to volunteer.
However, we're also in agreement on what we don't want. For example, we are not quite ready to enroll Nathan in any sort of program that takes him out of our care. He can have a few more months of home time with Luke and Kara, and enjoy the precious one-on-one time he's about to score with his dad, and at least blow out the candles on his second birthday cake before we re-evaluate our position. Also, we are not ready for Luke to go back to work, even if we could put another salary to good use ($1,600 worth of car repairs on the Outlander, I'm looking at you). We appreciate and depend on the benefits of being a one-income family: the extra bonding time for Luke and the kids, the flexibility of managing only one work schedule, the ability for me to concentrate on my corporate to-dos as needed instead of tossing my laptop into a bag the minute the clock turns five. We wouldn't be any worse for the wear for having those issues, but they would most definitely complicate things, and we have all the uncertainty we can handle right now, thankyouverymuch.
We've talked about me picking up some freelance work or Luke taking a part-time job with night and weekend hours to bring more money through the door, but honestly, right now we are content to just buckle down and do the best we can with what we have today. There is enough to pay the bills and buy the organic yogurt we like and travel north and even score dinner out once and a while. We are beefing up our short-term savings and still making regular deposits into our health savings account for medical expenses. We don't need a second mortgage, and we aren't defaulting on Sallie Mae. In every area that counts, we are fine. And believe me, we are thankful.
But still, we are making hard choices, like back in August when we discontinued satellite. This month, we stopped all contributions to my 401(k), an account that's been funded every two weeks rain or shine for the last five years AND saw generous matches from my employer, to make room in the budget for Kara's tutition. I am disappointed over this and understand there may be long-term ramifications come our golden years, but I do not regret it. Luke and I have been preparing for the future since before we even married. We're proud of the money we've accrued for retirement already. But right now, it is time to plan for now.
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In a conversation with Molly earlier this fall, she used the phrase "living honestly," and it has stuck with me ever since. Because that's what it feels like we're doing now: living a life that reflects our priorities and our resources, and sorting out the white noise that only gets in the way. For the first time in a long time, we're putting our money where our mouth is. What's that worth to you? I ask about almost everything now, from wedding RSVPs to a bag of Gummi Bears to preschool. What are you willing to sacrifice to make this happen?
Our short term is paving the way for the long term, a reality in which we are mortgage-free and in a position to entertain housing options that bring us closer to our loved ones, who I am missing more than ever these days. A reality that has both of us in careers that we love and best align with our strengths and passions. A reality that includes another child, obtained in a non-traditional way. It will take baby steps, but we will get there. I know it in my bones.
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As Kara and Nathan grow older, I become more aware of all the ways we can screw them up. I know, I know, they're only babies, all they need is love, blah blah blah, but even at this young age, we are setting the bar for how they will realize their potential. Take Kara's "school," for example. She'll be three in December, and is intellectually capable, I think, of handling a (slightly) more rigorous curriculum than the one we are placing her in; kids younger than her do this all the time in daycare, yes? But that benefit of school is not important to Luke and me right now, and as a result, her experience will be missing that formalized educational component. We'll revisit our feelings next year, obviously, but for now that's where we stand.
We are also setting the bar for ourselves, I suppose, in regards to what Kara and Nathan can expect from us as parents. We did what we felt was necessary to get Kara into school, but we didn't even consider placing her more than one day a week (baby steps, remember?) or research more expensive options like the Goddard School or Montessori. We already know that retirement savings will always trump a 529. Many parents have different opinions on this, and that's okay. But as much as Luke and I want to give the kids the very best of ourselves, we are going to make ourselves a priority, too, and not apologize for that to anyone.
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I have come to learn that as a mother, I enjoy the toddler years far more than the infant ones. Kara's humor and sass are shining through these days, the product of two wise-cracking parents, to be sure, and builds upon both by relying on her razor-sharp memory. One day while we were eating dinner, she thought it a good idea to let milk dribble out of her mouth. She laughed as the milk traveled down her chin, and I hid a smile as I said, "Kara Leigh, please don't do that, that's not funny," and she replied, "Well, maybe a little funny," a phrase Luke uttered in passing the day before. (Thank you, dear.)
Meanwhile, Nathan speaks in full sentences and punctuates the majority of them with a question mark. "What's that noise, Mommy? Want to build Mrs. Potato? Where's the moon, Mommy? Is that a oak leaf, Mommy? Want to read Turtle, Turtle, Watch Out? Should Momma hooold you?" And so on with the inquisitiveness. He is so curious, so observant, so willing to sit back and watch the action unfold. That is, when he's not bouncing off the couch, roaring like Michael Jackson circa "Scream," or body slamming his torso into the nearest gate.
They both have insatiable appetites for reading, which has been further enhanced by the recent discovery of our local library. At first I was worried they wouldn't get the concept of borrowing books, afraid they would pout and fuss when it came time to return them, but they totally get it, and now live for the next chance to play with the trains and scramble through the catepillar tunnel featured in the kids' room.
Our new reality is that our toddlers are becoming full-blown children. And man, do we just want to do right by them, and ourselves, too.
Disconnected satellite For the second time in my life, I have bid farewell to premium-grade television in order to save money; we don't even have basic yet, as we are putting off the purchase of an antennae until September, the hope that is a new budget month. And so far, it's not been terrible at all. We prepared appropriately for the loss of Nick, Jr. filling several VHS tapes (remember those?) with favorite episodes of Toot and Puddle, Olivia, Jack's Big Music Show, Oswald, and Max and Ruby, but we are still grieving our SIRIUS music stations. Other than that, though, we are surviving just fine. We were even able to catch the Indianapolis installment of Man vs. Food at Luke's parents' house this weekend, which aired two days before we officially pulled the plug. (Did you think of me, Internet? Did you recall Luke's taking on of the Big Ugly earlier this year?) I'm sure this is part of other decisions Luke and I have made in terms of how to spend our time, but since I called DISH last Monday, life seems quieter somehow, less busy. Plus, now we have an excellent reason to resurrect our beloved collection of situation comedies on DVD. Hello, Scrubs, we have missed you. (But not the Med School spin-off.)
Joined a book club This thanks to Katy, who I lunched with last Wednesday and who allowed me to sort of finagle an invitation. Reading has been unfortunately sporadic for me since having kids - I used to get through at least one book every couple of months, but now I'm lucky if I make one book a year. My only read for 2010 thus far is Liz Gilbert's Committed, which I tackled back in March. So hopefully this will be the kick in the pants I need to step it up again. It will also be a fun way to mingle with more people in the area and hang out with Katy. From her description, it sounds like a pretty well-read group, but maybe one day over margaritas I can convince them to give a classic Frema staple a try.
Had the bejeezus scared out of me by my innocent toddler daughter We can thank the big-girl bed for this one, which has enabled Kara to leave her mattress at leisure and at unpredictable times during the night. One evening I was washing my face at the sink in our bathroom after saying good-night for the upteenth time, thinking, How crazy would it be for Kara to just show up here in my face like that girl from The Grudge?, and when I turned my head to reassure myself that no, my child is not a starring character in a low-grade horor film, you guys, THERE SHE WAS. Just standing there, staring, not unlike the zombie-dwellers from Night of the Living Dead. I swear I nearly wet myself.
Thanks to my instinctual response (which thankfully involved dry under garments), now Kara likes to say, "I scared Mommy!" I'm trying to spin the phrase into something less negative, like, "No, honey, you just surprised her." Though I suppose that is a better description of Nathan.
Abandoned pursuit of another degree A graduate certificate, actually, in professional and technical editing from a local university that I could have finished in 18 months, taking one class per quarter, no summers, if interested. I visited with the professor in charge of the program this past Monday to get more information, and learned that this track would prepare me for critical editing jobs with a university press or scholarly journal. If I weren't a working mom with two little kids at home, I probably would have gone for it, you know, as sort of a just in case measure, but it's too big a time investment when the target market is so small and my understanding of the discipline can only be described as open-minded at best. It did lead me to realize, though, that as much as I love the idea of going back to school again, now is not the time. As I consider new possibilities for my career and home base, the last thing on my to-do list should be dropping another anchor into the waters of central Indiana. Whether I decide to move on in two years or plant roots here long-term, I want to be open to whatever opportunities come my way. School can wait, for now.
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My mind lately continues to swirl with upcoming activities and previous happenings. Deaths of friends' family members and troops from my brother-in-law's platoon in Afghanistan. The upcoming month of September, which will have my little family out of town four weekends in a row to attend one reunion, two weddings, and visit with my sister Ryan during her brief stay in Chi-town. I will coach my sister Samantha through the labor of her second child, advise my youngest sister Donna on the college decision-making process, and be part of a sorely needed girls' night in honor of Molly's sister's wedding. My father's father, with whom I have never been close, is dying, and it is rippling through his entire family. And in a surprising turn of events, I am serving as "pre-editor" for my ex-boyfriend's memoir. (And I owe it all to Facebook!)
I find myself turning inward, these days, pulling loved ones closer, continually re-evaluating where I need to be, where to focus my energy, and how to make myself available for the next big step. I am also finding my voice again, which has been invaluable.
Kara turned two and a half years old last week-I swear I started this entry three weeks ago last month. How is that possible? It seems like only yesterday she was rolling around in ruffle-butt onesies and drooling on furniture. We don't even count her age by months anymore, but I'm glad I didn't miss this one.
She is still growing like a weed, clocking in at 37 pounds, wearing 4T clothing, and sporting an 11.5-sized shoe. We are in full-blown potty-training mode around here, donning pull-ups, gifting her changing table to her eagerly anticipated baby cousin, and throwing her on the porcelain throne as often as we can, even away from the house. She stubbornly refuses to poop, and she never lets us know when she has to go, we just have to guess, but still, we are making good progress. The unofficial goal is to eliminate diaper-wearing by the end of the summer. (During daytime hours only, of course.)
Not surprisingly, she is fast out-growing her crib and is currently being prepped for a toddler-bed upgrade, slated for next month (WAH). I think she'll miss the drop sides, though--whenever we check on her at night, her face is always smooshed into the slats.
She will sing in front of people now: "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star," ditties from Ni Hao, Kai-Lan, and selections from the Laurie Berkner Band (she can recite the opening to the first version of "We're Going on a Hunt" almost perfectly). She is also not above reciting lyrics from the Black-Eyed Peas, which, whoops, my bad. It started out innocently enough during a reading of Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, what with similar subject matter and all, but then one day Luke heard her say "Gotta get that boom boom boom," and he wasn't as impressed.
She asks more questions and provides more thoughtful answers. Her hair is longer than any two-year-old I've ever seen, and it will probably stay that way until she's old enough to consent to anything more involved than a trim. She continues to fight us on red meat and the concept of vegatables but is once again tolerating carrots, peas, green beans, and corn. She randomly asks for peanuts and raisins during the night and when she wakes up. She likes orange juice, but it makes her break out in a rash. She passionately appreciates the benefits of ice cream.
Her days in the stroller are few and far between--mostly taking place during Luke's solo ventures in the double Graco that started falling apart almost as soon as we brought it home--but she is not above being carried, and she loves the Ergo (much to my chagrin). Oh, well, at least someone appreciates it. (NATHAN, I'M LOOKING AT YOU.)
She enjoys the sandbox we received as a present from Luke's parents in June but mostly prefers to stay on the concrete, patiently shoveling grains into her brightly colored bucket. She loves sprinklers and inflatable pools. We'll soon see about splash parks and the beach.
(Unfortunately, not our yard.)
Many of her favorite books these days are mostly ones we've had for years but for some reason have re-sparked her interest, including our entire collection of pirate stories. Hot titles are I Love You, Too!, It's Okay to be Different, Pirates Don't Change Diapers, Bear Feels Scared, and A Fly Went By. On Monday we picked up Stella, Star of the Sea, and she is in love. (Truthfully, so are we.) She also favors a free little staple-back we pulled from a Cheerios box a couple months ago called 1 Zany Zoo.
She laughs and pretends to eat my hair. She likes to give me "nose kisses." She's constantly asking to ride on someone's back or sit on their shoulders. She loves being tucked under the covers in Luke's and my bed, turning her head to say, "Good night, sweetheart!" and then pulling them back while shouting, "Wake up!" ten seconds later. She includes Nathan in everything she does. She adores her cousins and doesn't see them often enough.
We say prayers at night now, for the first time ever. Nothing elaborate, just a short list of thank-yous with folded hands before turning out the light. Kara's got the first few lines down pat and needs just a little help with the rest. It seems there's a new variation of it almost every day.
Before I begin, first let me say that I am not a fan of the word "playdate." Are you hearing that? Playdate. Sounds so preppy, doesn't it? Very la-dee-dah and let me don some pleated khakis and pristine Keds so my perfectly groomed offspring can delicately sip tea in your living room. As a girl who grew up on the South Side of Chicago and whose neighborhood wasn't immume to the occasional drive-by, it just sounds pretentious to me. But there isn't another word that better describes coming to somebody else's house for a couple hours of hands-on toddler fun, so there you go.
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It was a cold, snowy day in February, and I had just pulled into Katy's driveway for a playdate. And not just any old playdate: my very first one. Katy, my racing partner in crime, is the first non-work friend I've made since moving to Indianapolis and also becoming a mom, and we are still very much in the courtship phase of getting to know each other. Add to that the fact that family and work obligations have prevented us from meeting up outside of the occasional race, and you're left with a mother who is equal parts nervous about unleashing her kids on unfamiliar turf and hopeful that everyone would hit it off famously, laying important groundwork for future merriment to come. It was perfect timing, too, as Luke was supposed to be out of town visiting his BFF, so I wasn't even cutting into our family time.
The first crack in our plan was the cancellation of Luke's trip due to poor weather; Indianapolis had been hit with a few inches of snow, making a lengthy road trip on I-65 not such a smart idea, so he decided to reschedule for the following weekend when conditions were predicted to improve. The second was Nathan's accidental ingestion and prompt regurgitation of a pretzel stick that became lodged in his throat, resulting in a clothing change two minutes before we were supposed to leave the house. As I buckled the children into their car seats, pulled out of my garage, and began the 45-minute trek to Katy's neighboring town, I quietly wondered if God was trying to tell me via snow and vomit that maybe we'd all be better off if I just stayed home.
But, but.... Friendship for me! Social interaction for the children! (Think of the children!) As Gollum would say, "We wants it, we needs it!" And so I trudged on.
We arrived at Katy's house about twenty minutes later than planned, so I was already feeling the pressure to get the kids out of the car and onto her door step as soon as possible. Not helping matters was Kara's entrance into Dreamland minutes before pulling into Katy's subdivision. The minute I killed the engine and grabbed my purse I was faced with an issue I hadn't previously given much thought to: When you have a wide-awake, rambunctious one-year-old who can't be trusted to follow directions near a residential street and a two-year-old who COULD be trusted but is snoring louder than any adult you've ever heard in your whole entire life, what are you supposed to do? Which child do you grab first?
In hindsight, I know what I should have done: I should have called Katy on my cell phone to ask if she could take Nathan while I handled Kara. But what can I say? I'm not a stay-at-home mom, and this was the first time I had ever traveled alone with both of my kids, and I was afraid of playing into the stereotype often ascribed to working dads--being too far removed from the trenches of day-to-day parenting to do anything more than run around like a decapitated chicken when presented with the simplest of tasks, like, I don't know, GETTING MY KIDS OUT OF THE DAMN CAR. I was too embarrassed to ask for help.
This is what laid the groundwork for my fatal error.
I grabbed Nathan first.
With the boy perched securely on my hip, I checked to see that my purse was still hanging from my shoulder (it was) and made my way to the other side of the car, where Kara continued to snore. I opened the door, lay my purse down at her feet (DANGER DANGER), hit the automatic locks (OMG WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS), and with my free hand shook her lightly by the shoulders. "Kaaara, Kara, honey, we're here now. It's time to play with our friends!" I chirped loudly into her ear. Silence. I grabbed her hand and kissed her cheek and ruffled her hair, but nothing. I unstrapped her car seat buckles and even tried to tickle her, hoping all that jostling would wake her up enough to, at the very least, crabbily push me away. Fughettaboutit. "Kara-Kara-Kara-Kara-KAAARA," I shouted, Nathan wriggling like an earthworm, struggling to break free of my grip which was fast losing hold. And it was all in vain.
Well, shit.
That's when I heard the turn of a doorknob, and Katy stepped outside.
"Is everything OK?" she asked. "Do you need any help?" At least, I think that's what she said. It's hard to recall exact wording at this point, but I trust it was something similarly hospitable and kind and caring.
"Oh, yeah," I called back, trying to sound casual when the whole time I was dying inside, DYING, "my daughter went and fell asleep on me, that's all!" I swiveled to get a better look at my hostess, and before I could process what was happening, my hand instictively pushed on the car door, and the car door snapped shut.
Internally, my slow-motion battle cry was so loud it was deafening (NOOOOOOO), and my eyes grew bigger than Pamela Anderson's double endorsements because holy hell, I done locked mah baybee in the car. In twentyish-degree weather. Almost an hour away from home.
The tears, they were threatening to surface any second, and if this had happened in front of one of my sisters I definitely would have pulled a Sally Field (I WANNA KNOW WHYYYY) but I pushed them away because crying in front of a woman who doesn't even know if you have a middle name is perhaps not the most inviting way to get better acquainted.
I would have stood there maintaining my deer-in-headlights expression a la Uncle Jesse from Full House except Nathan was still in my arms and I needed to call somebody to free my toddler from her hatchback prison. Plus, the car was parked in Katy's driveway in a town with a reputation as one of the safest and friendliest in the Indianapolis area, and the engine was off, and Kara was plenty warm in her winter coat, and besides that she was STILL snoring away, so I pried myself away from her long enough to carry Nathan inside. Katy called a local locksmith, but there was either a communication gap or a sense-of-urgency gap on his end because while the guy promised to call back with an estimated time of arrival, he never did, mother-effing bastard, doesn't he care about the children?!
So I called Luke. The husband who should have been in Kentucky some three and a half hours away with our only spare key but due to a random stroke of luck just happened to be at home.
That was a pleasant phone call. Especially since we'd had a slight disagreement earlier that morning.
Again with the forgetting of specific details, but the phrases "OH MY GOD!" and "I'm so sorry!" were involved. I'll leave you to guess who said what.
He had to dig the Cobalt out of a mountain-high pile of snow, Luke said, but he was on his way.
So, every three minutes for the next hour, I ran outside to check on my girl and make sure that a Wizard of Oz-like tornado hadn't suddenly carried the Outlander away. I imagined her waking up, realizing her predicament, and throwing herself against the window sobbing for Momma to get her out. I feared she would slither onto the floor and hit her head against the base of her car seat. I worried Luke would get lost or stuck in traffic and that I'd have to beg the fire department to pull the door off its hinges. Not that I'm even sure they do that sort of thing, mind you. But you know. I was scared.
I also felt very much like an idiot in front of my new friend, my new friend's husband, and my new friend's children.
After what seemed like an eternity but in reality was just a little more than sixy minutes from the time we called the locksmith, Luke was parking behind the Outlander and unlocking the passenger-side car door. I pushed past him to gather Kara in my arms--my baby, my baby--and brought her into Katy's house, and let me tell you, Sleeping Beauty never even stirred until I started removing her coat. She yawned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes and seemed generally refreshed from her leisurely mid-afternoon nap. She didn't even notice that her mother was curled into a fetal position on the floor, cheeks burning in humiliation, giving silent thanks to God, already drafting the inevitable blog entry.
... made pee-pee in the potty this month! It happened last Monday while I was at work (of course) during her regularly scheduled potty time with Luke. It was much in terms of volume, but he said that afterwards she was so taken aback by the experience she totally freaked out. There have been no repeat performances since then, but her interest is definitely piqued.
... still relies heavily on a lovey for naps and bedtime. Bunny came to us when she was around six months old and originally purchased as a back-up for a similar stuffed animal she received from Luke's brother's family when they came to meet her at the hospital. We wanted to be prepared in case it ever got lost or destroyed in the wash, but instead of keeping it in a safe place we tossed it into one of her toy bins, even switching out the bunnies at bedtime occasionally to make sure she was equally comfortable with both. Somewhere along the way she became more attached to the back-up bunny, and now he's just Bunny and she loves him with the passion of a thousand love letters. Not even Nathan at his young age favors anything as much as Kara does Bunny. God help us the day we leave him behind in Chicago or drop him at a rest stop, because isn't that just the way?
... has expanded her vocabulary beyond simply picking up new words; now she's stringing them together to make simple phrases, among them being "stay home" and "no froggies" (courtesy of Max and Ruby), "sit here, "night-night," "there you go," and "I sorry." And just today she said her first three-word sentence; when Luke inquired about Bunny's whereabouts, she replied, "There he is!"
... makes loops when she draws.
... always wants us to draw with her. Luke is known for owls, cats, and dogs, while I can be counted on for fish, flowers, and hearts. We both do letters, numbers, and shapes.
... seems to like the color blue best.
... is finally engaging in small talk on the phone. She's always had a thing for telephones, but now she'll actually say hello. Last week when I called from Tampa, she threw in a couple of "Mommas" just to tug at my heartstrings good and proper.
... remains a finicky eater. It's to the point that she will reject foods simply for the fact that they've been offered to her. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich can grow mold in front of her but becomes a hot commodity in the pieces coming from Luke's or my plate. Though last night at dinner she did attempt to eat corn off the cob. Breakfast food still remains the top fail-safe option for any meal of the day.
... is still missing two canines on her bottom gums.
... can get in and out of the tub without breaking her neck or needing too much help.
... wears size 3T pants and 4T shirts, mostly, depending on the brand (Carter's reigns supreme, thanks to the outlet store in close proximity to our old apartment).
... is learning to pick up afterself. She likes to help me wash off the crayon marks in the tub after bath time but needs more coaxing when it comes to putting her toys away.
... loves Little People play sets, as evidenced by her parents' choice of birthday gift and several of her Christmas presents.
... was so patient with Luke and me this year as we learned how to parent two small children and I regained my footing as a working mom taking on more responsibility. I'm so glad we have Nathan, and there are no regrets about their closeness in age at all, but I know he arrived earlier than siblings normally do and sometimes I wonder how different 2009 would have been for her had she remained an only child just a little bit longer. But what she's gained by having Nathan as a companion overrides any of the extra attention or experiences Luke and I would have given her without him in her life. That's not true for everyone, but it is for us. I know that now.
... continues to enjoy reading as much as she did when she was a baby. Current favorites include Snow, Bear Stays Up for Christmas, The Little Red Hen, The Best Nest, A Fish Out of Water, Let's Play in the Snow, Noodle Man: The Pasta Super Hero, My Big Girl Potty, Little Monster's Alphabet Book, Ten Apples Up on Top, and the original version of Where the Wild Things Are.
... still falls asleep to instrumental music every night.
... likes being tucked in.
... thinks Eskimo kisses are the funniest things on Earth and will swivel your face back and forth with her hands to get them on demand.
... recognizes every single letter of the alphabet.
... loves getting blanket rides back and forth in the living room (with Nathan in tow, of course). It's a little more taxing for her parents.
... will have a joint birthday party with Nathan in early January, which will also be taxing for her parents, but at least it'll be cheaper for them and less overall travel for their guests.
... still ends up in our bed several nights a week, sometimes as early as midnight, other times as late as four-thirty. Either way, from that point on, rare are the moments when actual REM sleep takes place because she'll start out at the end of our mattress (where Luke and I have a pillow waiting for her), then squeeze her way between us, then curl up in a ball on the floor, then come back to bed and jam her head into my side while draping her legs over Luke's hip. After all that, still she wakes up at whatever time I'm able to drag myself out of bed for work, always with a smile on her face, making a beeline for the master bathroom so she can rest her cheek on the toilet seat cover. (I don't know, either.) I feel like it should bother me, her constantly interrupting our sleep, but the truth is that I'm keenly aware of her growth and development these days and how fast time is passing, and I will take her physical closeness any way I can get it. Last night, just for a few minutes, her restlessness unexpectedly placed her right next to me, her neck resting on my arm, her body curled into mine, and for the first time since she was a baby, I was able to hold her to my chest without the constraints of a rocking chair. It may be her birthday, but I'm the one with the best gift a mother could ask for.
... is loved more than she will ever know.
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Enjoying crisp fall weather.
Playing with her brother. Observing their antics is one of my favorite pastimes.
Napping with Grandpa before Thanksgiving dinner.
Basking in the glory that is Max and Ruby.
Surrendering to kisses from Momma.
The winning photo for our holiday card, thanks to our tripod and insanely good luck. This was the very first shot we took to benchmark positioning on the staircase. After that, bodies were twisted, faces were blocked, and there may have been screaming by a certain someone over Luke's attempt to wear a Santa hat. Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to neither confirm nor deny these allegations.
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I want to say something deep and reflective here, but the words are catching in my throat. Motherhood is simultaneously the most rewarding and most frustrating job I will ever have in my life, and being the oldest, Kara plays a unique role in that. I will always be a rookie with her. She is my first baby, will be my first child out of diapers, first kindergartener, first slumber-party goer, first teenager. She opens my eyes to new ways of thinking, forces me to re-evaluate processes and goals when my patience is on the verge of running out and I'm not sure how to move forward. When she's thrashing about on the changing table because she suddenly can't stomach a diaper change, I have to pause and remember what I'm trying to accomplish--the goal isn't to restrain her and prove who's in charge. It's just to change her diaper. Yes. That basic.
It's not that Nathan doesn't inspire these feelings, too, because he does, but my reflections on his uniqueness are better suited for his birthday post next month (dear Lord, why are you doing this to me?). The difference is that Kara's the one catching my heart off-guard when I'm completely unprepared. As a result, I often find myself so overcome with emotion over each new milestone and each new challenge that I can't even put one foot in front of the other.
There's one thing, though, that isn't colored by her age for me, and that's my admiration of who she is at her core. Her headstrong personality, her affectionate nature, her very existence on this earth is cause for me to thank God every night. I am not perfect, but what I lack in grace I try to make up in gratitude and a willingness to learn how to do better. And that started with her.
Happy birthday, baby.
(Video courtesy of Luke, as usual. Amazing job, honey.)
... finally calls her parents by name! Last month, she was playing around with "Daddy," sometimes hitting the second string of Ds, sometimes not, but now she nails it, and "Momma," too. It's a wonderful thing to hear your child call out for you, even when she uses it to play on our emotions. Just last night after twenty minutes of sporadic whining from her crib, she finally started asking for Luke, which had him climbing the stairs towards her bedroom with tears in his eyes. Not five minutes later, her plea changed to "Momma." Luke says she calls for me periodically throughout the day, which has me fretting about my business trip next week, a simple overnight that won't have me gone 24 hours, but already I can hear her voice calling for me, wondering where I've gone to, not understanding why I won't be there when she wakes up in the middle of the night.
... loves tortilla chips, tomato soup, cheese cubes, bites of Shredded Wheat and Banana Nut Crunch cereal, and twisty pretzels. French toast, scrambled eggs, and pancakes with the tiniest dollop of syrup continue to reign supreme.
... increases her vocabulary by leaps and bounds every day. Household favorites include "Oh, no!", "Hooray!," "apple," "Naynuh" (for Nathan), "airplane," "sorry" (without the "r" sound), "please," "thank you" (uck ooo), "yes" (YES!), "again," "done," "Max" (For Max and Ruby), and "okay" (oooooooKAY!). One day her language capabilities will fail to be newsworthy, so I'm eating it up now.
... can count numbers one through ten fairly consistently, with help. She likes to count the steps as she walks up and down our staircase and the various ornaments in Merry Christmas, Mouse! (one star, two angels, three snowflakes, etc.) Two nights ago she counted all four reindeer perfectly, no mistakes. Clearly, she is genius.
... can manage the staircase on her own while holding the railing, though one of us is always behind her because she's easily distracted (look, there's my bunny! socks! teddy! ah!) and sometmes loses her balance as a result.
... loves hats: holding them, wearing them, forcing them onto Nathan's head, and transforming ordinary non-hat items into fashionable noggin gear. Yesterday she took a nesting bowl and practically suctioned it to his crown for a good two minutes. Luckily, Nathan was cool with it.
... isn't above stealing her brother's pureed vegetables (as long as they're not green) but makes up for it by allowing him to play with one of her favorite toys (for a limited time).
... knows how to say "please" and "thank you" and does so correctly 70 percent of the time.
... melts down at the drop of a hat (hello, almost two!). Yesterday's tantrum was caused by Luke serving her applesauce in a bowl instead of the manufacturer's cup. I never did thank her for that.
... still adores Max and Ruby and never wants to watch anything else. She'll tolerate the last few minutes of the DVR recording, which usually includes a couple of Laurie Bertram videos and the opening credits to Dora, The Explorer, but if we start with a Dora show she shakes her head violently and shouts "No no!"
... is a big fan of hugs and kisses and showers them on us all day. She hugs my legs during pre-run jumping jacks and wraps her arms around my torso when I'm lying on the floor after I've come back, pressing her lips against mine before laying her head on my shoulder. Ah, bliss.
... has potty time as instituted by Luke once a day. There's a potty chair for downstairs and a potty seat for upstairs, the latter of which she will only sit on backwards, on the floor. As for the potty chair, well, did I mention her love for hats? At least she hasn't christened it yet.
... takes my ear warmer headband, pulls it around her knees, then walks around the house as if she's preparing for her runway debut.
... presses her face into books to share kisses with beloved animals, usually dogs, cats, and ducklings.
... is really digging The Little Red Hen.
... has a strong affinity for penguins, possibly indicating a future career as a marine biologist.
... has more fun with bathtub crayons than actual crayons.
... still wakes up at night a few times a week and has once again taken to finishing those nights out in bed with us. Her preferred spot is at the end of the mattress, so we keep a pillow for her near our feet. Sometimes she's relatively still, and others she thrashes about in a constant attempt to get comfortable. They are not the most restful nights in the world, but I still treasure that time with her, waking up to see her face snuggled in our covers.
... turns two in two weeks. TWO WEEKS. How did this happen? It feels like only yesterday we brought her home to our little two-bedroom apartment on the northwest side. Those memories aren't far from my mind these days, as I reflect on the baby she was and the little girl she's quickly turning into. More thoughts on that in approximately 14 days, when I'll probably skip the monthly newsletter format and instead spill my guts about how proud, in love, enamored I am with her.
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Since we're fresh on the heels of our last professional photo shoot, I thought this month I'd show off some of my favorite Kara shots. It wasn't exactly a stress-free time, and there may have been screaming, but we did get some frameworthy options; the last one's in an 8x10 frame in our living room and planted in a 5x7 at my desk (along with Nathan's, of course, which you'll see in the next couple of days as part of his ten-month (OH, GOD) update). It's not the most expressive of the bunch, but there's something about her outstretched hand and controlled, lady-like smile that tugs at my heart.
Working on the lady-like thing.
She found the football prop in a basket near the back drop and had to have it, despite having never picked up a football in her almost two years on Earth.
Wheee!
We didn't order this print because we wanted something more indicative of her everyday mannerisms. Now I'm kicking myself. We may ask for a few when we take Nathan for his one-year shots in January.
... loves television. LOVES IT. Loves it so much that I can't decide if it would have been better to introduce it earlier, thus eliminating its charm, or if keeping her away for so long is the only reason she'll tolerate a book. At first we were limiting her to one half-hour show a day, but when she was too sick to do anything but curl into a ball and cry, we let her watch as much as she wanted. Now that she's better, we're going back to the original plan, but she is not on board. She would sit on the couch and take in every Max and Ruby episode under the sun every day if we let her. Say the word "watch" in any context and two seconds later she's settled into position, a happy smile on her face in anticipation of reliving any one of the five gems saved on the DVR. If I sing any combination of words to the Max and Ruby theme song, she will shout "Off!" every time because she knows that the song comes from the show, the show comes from the TV, and the TV is the source of all cartoon goodness. (We are partial to those mischevious, oft-unsupervised bunnies around here, with Little Bear running a distant second.)
... still fits comfortably in 3T clothing, which is kind of a shame because Luke and I stocked up on 4T items assuming she would match her previous rate of growth.
... likes coloring and fooling around with these Crayola farm stampers she got for Christmas last year that we just recently pulled out. However, her true love is reserved for the washable bathtub crayons we bought last week in an effort to spice up bathtime. For the most part she's always been good about taking baths, but now if we haven't started running the water by about 7:30 p.m., she runs to the door and points until we get things moving. No putting anything past this one.
... if you ask her if she wants to sing a song, replies "la la la la la."
... understands the concept of using a blanket. A simple thing, really, one that other kids may have taken to much earlier, but in the past when we've tried to cover her up with one, she'd just shake her head and kick it off until we banished it to the closet again. She wouldn't even allow us to wrap her baby dolls in blankets, until one day when she was sick and obviously tired but wouldn't nap in her crib and ended up falling asleep in my arms. Since Luke and I have been talking a lot about the best time to introduce her to a big-girl bed (answer: not today), I laid her down in our bed with one the handmade blankets she received as a baby and waited to see her reaction. And amazingly, ever since that day, she has grown to love them, to the point that when she's going to bed she holds up her blanket until we tuck her in.
... has, speaking of bedtime, initiated the shortest routine we've ever had. We used to spend a good 15 minutes reading stories until it was time to put her down, but lately she's been wiggling out of Luke's or my lap after two books or sometimes even just one, walking over to her crib, and pointing to the mattress. So we turn on her music and hug her tight and place her in her crib, and she lays her head on her Taggies pillow and does the blanket thing and lays there quietly as we bid her good-night. Sometimes she fusses, for the last couple of nights she's made nary a peep. Meanwhile, Luke and I are the ones left wishing we could have read just one more story. The tables, they have officially turned.
... is finally getting her top two fangs. Bottom two are still MIA.
... decided she no longer eats toppings on pizza, only the crust and occasionally a piece of cheese.
... likes to eat from Luke's and my cereal bowls at breakfast. I wonder how she would manage with her own serving of Cheerios in milk, but my crappy laminate floor isn't ready to find out just yet.
... is fascinated with our broom and follows me around every time I sweep. We talk about how Mommy is getting yuck off the floor to put in the garbage and we don't touch the yuck with our hands and we have to be very careful with brooms so that we don't whack anybody in the head (read: eight-month-old brothers with a penchant for eating his socks) (read also: mommies and daddies).
... finally, after 22 months of maintaining a more affirmative-friendly lifestyle, at least on the verbal side of things, has added "no" to her ever-growing vocabulary. Only it sounds less like a statement and more like a person asking a question while simultaneously fighting a cold and imitating Homer Simpson. Kind of like "Doh!" except it's "Doooh?" You've never heard a cuter "no" in your life.
... continues her love affair for the various means of public transportation. We recently opened a set of Tonka cars gifted to Nathan when he was a newborn, and she gets a kick out of zooming them all over the carpet, the coffee table, and the dining room floor.
... coslept with Mommy and Daddy for the first time since she was days old last week, thanks to the persistent cough/cold that was waking her up around midnight the last four nights or so. She wouldn't tolerate pats on the back or even being rocked back to sleep, something we haven't done in ages, and in a last-ditch effort to salvage some shut-eye, Luke and I brought her into bed with us. At first she went down easily and it was very cozy and sweet, but then she started waking up, looking around, and freaking out, unsure of where she was, either kicking off the covers or scrambling to the opposite end by our feet, where we were afraid she might fall off. Last night after several thrashing wake-ups in beween us, Luke tried putting her back in her crib, but apparently she likes being with us more than she lets on because she cried so hard we may as well have tried pulling off her toenails without anesthesia. I'm not sure how much longer this will last--today she didn't cough once, so the odds of her stirring are low--but as difficult as it's been, accommodating her writhing, congested body in our bed these last few nights, I'd be lying if I didn't admit how much I love her there.
* (updated a little bit because these two nuggets are too precious to leave out)
... is big on greetings. Her standard yet quite random salutation involves a cheery "Hewwo!" (she says the letter "L" very deliberately but has trouble with it in words) followed a few seconds later by a big "Hi!" She loves doing this with our phone (or anything she can put to her ear and treat like a phone, really), so long as there isn't actually anyone on the line who wants to talk with her, like my sister Ryan did when she called from Germany last night. In those instances? Silence. Because why use the phone for its true purpose?
... is really into pretend play right now, especially with eating. She'll "take" imaginary apples from her Little People vegetable stand, put them in her mouth, and follow it up with a big "Mmmm!" She feeds apples to her baby dolls and also to me and Luke. She'll do the same thing with the grocery items from her shopping cart, happily gobbling down fake peas and carrots while Luke and I are just like, honey, you know you can eat these for real, right? It's called DINNER.
Alright. As you were with the admiring of the adorableness.
Our little helper.
Stamping away. We ended up turning this into a birthday card for my dad, who turned 49 last Friday.
If I assume the (eyeless, noseless, mouthless) head is on the left, it looks like a turtle. Head on the right and it resembles a fish with legs. Which is closer to the truth? More importantly, does it matter? Clearly my daughter has a flair for abstract bath art and will be enrolled in Chicago's Art Institute any day now.
... loves making sounds. When she says "owl," she automatically follows it with "hoo." For cars, she vrooms. Frogs are "ribbi." For bears, she growls ("roar!").
... has a vocabulary that also includes toddlerese versions of more, ball, door, go, car, baby, bee, eye, whee!, woo woo! (for fire trucks), bop!, hi, bib, blue, yellow, red, green, numbers two through six, eight (but never one, seven, nine, or ten), and almost all of the alphabet (favorite letters seem to be g, p, o, and m. She never says w). And for some strange reason we have yet to uncover, her word for cat is "wah." She uses this consistently whenever she sees cats either in books or in real life, so we know that's what she means. We just have no idea why.
... imitates me when I stretch before a run.
... is showing clear signs of readiness for potty training. She maintains dry diapers for hours at a time, enjoys the potty books we inherited from her cousin, grabs at her privates when she's wet or dirty, "hides" in another part of the room when she's about to go number two, wants to know what I'm doing when I'm on the potty (hey, it's teaching!) and, well, is almost two. Luke and I plan to buy a potty chair next month and see how she reacts to it.
... can constantly be found wearing Luke's or my shoes. She also has a soft spot for the boxes.
... is spending more and more time outside of her stroller and getting better and better at holding our hands out in public.
... finally eats peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with minimal coaxing.
... still mainly eats pasta in marinara sauce, mac and cheese, grilled cheese, cheese slices, chicken tenders with barbeque sauce, pizza, applesauce, yogurt, bananas, mandarin oranges, cherries, blueberries, pancakes, French toast, regular toast, eggs, cereal, crackers, and Cheerios. Mashed potatoes are iffy. Vegetables are vehemently rejected (unless Luke hides them Sneaky Chef-style). With such a bland palette, you can imagine our surprise last night when she voluntarily picked up a Japanese pan noodle and ate it. And then asked for more! Beef is the devil, but Asian cuisine she likes. Whatever.
... will not touch any form of juice. Milk and water and that's it.
... comfortably wears size 3T clothing, a size six diaper, and size nine-and-a-half shoe.
... loves looking at dogs but is afraid of them up close. At KJ and Marin's birthday party earlier this month, she wouldn't get ten feet near Danny but always wanted to know where he was and what he was doing. My original hope way back when was to get a dog before Luke and I had kids so they would never be afraid of them, but we then we lived in apartments for several years and by the time we got our house, Nathan was on his way--not the ideal time to train a pet. Now, we are both passionately committed to not getting a dog until both kids are potty trained and we are in our next house. (We spent more than $5,000 on this carpet, dammit; spit-up and human urine is quite enough for now without adding animals to the mix.)
... watched her first television show last week! (Snippets of All My Children and Beverly Hills, 90210 don't count.) Luke and I have been pretty strict with the no-TV-until-age-two guideline, but as Kara inches ever closer to her second birthday, we've been talking more and more about how to introduce it to her. Her first exposure to children's programming was ten minutes of The Wonder Pets. Luke and I didn't understand what the hell it was all about, but Kara took to it like a fish in water and was mesmerized the entire time it was on. Saturday morning brought us fifteen minutes of Max and Ruby, which was much more to my liking, seeing as it's based on literary characters and we have a Max and Ruby book that Kara likes a lot. We didn't finish it because she was acting so zombie-like I could only imagine what a full half-hour would have done to her IQ. Though later on that afternoon when we were trying to work out a contract with a door-and-windows guy and all Kara wanted to do was poke at the sample window on the floor, I ignored my fears of brain damage and said, "I'm going to do something I don't normally do," and the door-and-windows guy actually replied, "I bet I don't want to see this," because apparently he thought my last-resort bag of tricks involved beating my child in front of a total stranger. (To be fair, Luke later said that even he thought I meant a spanking, if just for a brief moment, despite our unanimous agreement that spanking is not for us.) All the men in the house breathed a sigh of relief thirty seconds later when I asked, "What channel is Noggin?" and proceeded to let Kara watch 45 minutes of Olivia while Luke and I finished signing papers. Oh, well. A for effort, overall.
... plays with all the toys we have but especially loves a hand-me-down animal treehouse from her cousin, her Little People airplane, Nathan's stuffed monkey, Luke's old Curious George, and various puzzles. We recently pulled out a big-wheel tricycle my parents bought for her first birthday, and she's getting a kick out of that. For Christmas, Luke and I want to focus on toys that will encourage imaginative and creative play; I so want to get her a play kitchen, but even the plastic ones run about a hundred bucks, and that's without the cost of food and kitchenware. I won't even tell you the prices of the ones that are wooden and/or handmade. We're thinking that may be a better fit for next year, anyway, when Nathan will be old enough to enjoy it with her and we can make it a joint gift for both of them.
... has suddenly taken on some less attractive character traits typical of a child on the verge of two. This includes but is not limited to throwing random tantrums for diaper changes, baths, bedtime, car rides, and instances when she tries to take a toy away from Nathan and we won't let her. Consequently, I have taken on several nose-wrinkling character traits of my own, and it only takes one misstep to make me feel like a spectacular failure as a parent. Luckily, we both can cry it out and forgive each other.
... makes up for all of the hard stuff every time I enter the house and find her waiting at the kitchen gate, looking for me and smiling because she associates the sound of the garage door opening with my arrival home from work. She also continues to be generous with hugs and kisses. It doesn't get any better than that.
Jillian would be so proud.
Wrong feet, honey.
My beautiful girl.
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For those of you not in the know, I used to write monthly updates documenting Kara's and Nathan's progress around the time of their birth dates over at Parents (Kara's falls on the 17th; Nathan's is on the 31st). At first, I wasn't sure if I would carry that idea over here, since the concept is so mommyblogish and readers may or may not be into that on a personal blog, but it really is a great way to capture all the little details I might forget later. Plus, my kids are too cool not to write about. Plus plus, I love them. You heard it here first!
