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Freezing that frame

My newfound interest in training for a 5K has resulted in a few other areas of my life taking a backseat on this blog. Well, backseat no more! Here's what's been going on at casa de Frema.

 

My long-anticipated Tori Amos concert took place two Fridays ago at the Murat Theatre here in Indy, with my coworker watching my two sickish children and Luke coming along as my "more enthused than he was for Billy Joel and Elton John but not quite as excited as he would be for, say, They Might Be Giants" date. This was my third Tori concert and definitely the one I appreciated most, seeing as I become a more involved fan every year. I saw my first show as a college sophomore in the Chicagoland area and my second two years ago (again at the Murat) when I was hugely pregnant with Kara. I've loved Little Earthquakes and Under the Pink since high school, but for the rest of her albums my listening strategy has involved latching onto a handful of songs that don't leave me scratching my head or clinging to blankets in fear. For this concert, though, I revisited those older albums to get a better appreciation for them, and that made this setlist much more memorable for me. I recognized almost all of the songs instantly and felt more of a personal connection to ones I was already in love with. I even got a picture of her onstage with my work smartphone! But not so much with the successfulness.

 

I seriously considered live tweeting the show, but Luke just shook his head and gave me a look that said, "You could do that, yes, but then I would have to wear a paper bag over my head to avoid being associated with the likes of you," so out of respect for The Look I passed. However, I did tell him that for the next tour I want to attend more than one show, thus increasing the odds that I'll hear more of my favorite songs and also that I will embarrass myself in public.

For those of you who care (or even those just interested in checking out the "the Amos," as my sister Ryan likes to say, as if her music were a sexually transmitted disease), highlights for me included "Jamaica Inn," "Hotel," "Cooling," "Horses," "Strong Black Vine," "Raspberry Swirl," and "Big Wheel." In hindsight, "Gold Dust" during her solo set was haunting and beautiful, but I didn't know the song until after I reviewed the setlist and went back to the album version, so I appreciate it much more now. The title to this blog post comes from that song. You know, because of all the pictures.

</End of dorky concert recap, you are welcome> 

 

These children are mine, and they're spectacular. Albeit a little crazy.

 

Kara turned 20 months old yesterday, and Nathan is half-way through six months. She's talking, he's crawling, and they're both taking turns waking up in the middle of the night, which is just peachy for their father and me. I'll write a longer post about Kara's language development one of these days, but for now I'm just happy to say that she's finally starting to use speech as a way to articulate what she's thinking and what she wants. She likes to wash her stuffed animals in Nathan's old infant tub, and she can identify numbers one through ten as well as several letters, and she loves the books she got from her cousin about going pee-pee on the potty, and she sat in her brand-new booster seat for the first time this morning, and somebody hold me I am going to LOSE IT right here if I don't start talking about something else.

 

The last time we spent the night at Luke's parents house in July was the last time we would spend the night at that actual house, as they've purchased new property in a more secluded area in a neighboring town. Luke was brought home from the hospital to this house, so naturally he's sad about saying good-bye. I'm glad we have memories of Kara and Nathan here.

 

My nephew. How cute is Danny Jr.? Pretty damned cute, if you ask me. He officially turns one year old today, but his party was the day after our Tori Amos concert, and since the kids were still sick and even Luke himself wasn't feeling well, I made the drive to Chicago myself to shower him with presents and visit with everyone. I never get enough time with him, especially when both sides of his family are together, but I did get to feed him roast beef and potatoes and change a number two, and I was seriously happy to do both. Seriously.

 

Luke and I continue to drag our children to various family walks around town. The above picture was taken at "Circle the City" to raise funds for the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra. Nathan has time of his life parading through the streets strapped to my chest, while poor Kara sulks over her closeness in proximity to butts, thighs, and ankles. Luckily there are free cookies at the end.

Here's a shot from the "Race Away from Domestic Violence" 5K that started at IUPUI's downtown campus. I walked the whole 5K with Nathan in tow, and yet my son is the one who got all dramatic and passed out before crossing the finish line. What a slacker, that one.

 

Again, Kara was less than impressed with the actual walk, but she made her own fun afterwards. Look, Daddy, a two! And a three! Holy crap, this is awesome.

 

At six months, Nathan can now be trusted to hold onto a lovey without his parents worrying that he'll use it as a possible suffocation device. If this isn't the cutest thing you've seen in ages, then wow, that is one black heart you've got there.

Not sure why we thought polka dots were gender neutral

Let it be known that on Saturday, August 1, 2009, Mr. Nathan Byron initiated his first encounter with solid food, transitioning into the relationship with the ever-famous, ever-bland rice cereal.

Though sitting in the high chair would probably have been excitement enough.

 

I don't know why I'm in a girly plastic seat confined by stroller-like straps, but I like it! Dance for me, minions!

 

What's with everyone trying to cram things in my piehole? Wasn't it enough that the Eucharistic minister offered me wine last Sunday at church? (OH, YES SHE DID. Maybe the parish is just really progressive?)

 

I suppose I can forgive your presumptiousness. On an unrelated note, let me brace myself for the delectable joy that lies ahead.

(Note from Management: I feel the need to point out that this shot and the next feature Luke's hand, not mine, as evidenced by usage of the right hand and the trail of hand hair. Thanks.)

 

For heaven's sake, Daddy, YOU ARE TOO SLOW WITH THE JOY. Give it here.

 

What, no wine?

But I haven't given in to Starbucks

So! I had this brilliant idea yesterday. Seeing as I'm on the cusp of attending a three-day blogging conference where I'll be passing out business cards with my URL on it, I thought it might make sense to--wait for it--BLOG. I know! Am genius. Tell all your friends.

Wonderful things have been happening these last few weeks, many of them related to my job, so that's what I'm going to start with first. If you follow me on Twitter, you know that my employer dropped two happy bombs on us in less than one week: the half-year profit-sharing bonus we received in June and the CEO's decision to transfer ownership of the company to his workers through an employee stock ownership plan (ESOP). You can learn more about ESOPs from our trusty friend, Wikipedia, but basically it means that the founder has given his baby, the business he started almost twenty years ago with his personal life savings, to those of us on the payroll. It translates into additional retirement savings for every one of us and voting rights on major decisions involving the company's future, not to mention a more tangible motivation to continue our current level of success. It was an emotional day when he broke the news, and as I learn more about the specifics, I am blown away by how lucky I am for not only having a stable job in a shaky economy, but a rewarding job with a company that only projects good things on the horizon, not to mention the opportunities I have to advance my skills and challenge myself professionally. As a result, for the first time in my life, I'm taking a proactive approach to my career, assuming new leadership roles and working alongside my boss and other team members to develop strategies for our department that will enable us to work more effectively. I've also been involved with some pretty exciting writing projects that jazz me up like nothing else, even when those projects are equal parts frustrating.

So many women who work outside the home are miserable in their jobs because they are unfulfilled by what they do, making it even harder to be away from their babies. And it IS hard to be away from my babies; I never look forward to Monday even after the most hectic of weekends, I'm always craving more time at home. But I can say with absolute certainty that my time away from them is well spent. Finding myself professionally has inspired me to take a long, hard look at my priorities outside the office and how I want to spend my time (contributing to this is the fact that I'm still reading Eat Pray Love and feeling very connected to the idea of nourishing my personal core). I'm also reflecting on the lessons I want my children to learn from me about finding their passion and also turning raw lemons into lemonade. It's been an energizing process, to say the least, and enlightening, to form a relationship with my company that mirrors a long-term partnership, a marriage of sorts where each side is committed to giving as much as it takes and overcoming obstacles in a way that leaves everyone's dignity intact.

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Things have come to a bit of a standstill on the fitness front, and I can't believe I don't feel guilt about it, but I don't. Even with sporadic exercise and frequent surrenders to peanut butter cup blizzards, I've maintained an average loss of eight pounds, so I can't feel too bad when it's clear I must be doing something right. Unfortunately, an eight-pound loss post-baby isn't the same victory as an eight-pound loss before your body carries a child--my mid-section still looks three months pregnant--but hey, I'll take what I can get. I knew that the more time I allowed to lapse between workouts the harder it would be to get back into a routine, but life is still so topsy-turvy for us right now, and I hate to keep using that as an excuse, but it's also the truth. My girl crush on Jillian Michaels remains as strong as ever, but I'm at peace with sometimes (OK, a lot of times) choosing other ways to spend my time, knowing that life will settle down little by little and a night of rocking my son back to sleep won't always kill my desire to Shred the next day. I did buy some new gym shoes, though; that counts for something, right?

 

Nathan and me at Indy's "Unite to Fight: Race Against Prostate Cancer" family walk a couple of weeks ago. I carried Nathan while Luke pushed Kara in her stroller.

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The continued anticipation of my Tori Amos concert next month along with the recent death of Michael Jackson (and I'll admit it, I am still so sad about that) combined have restored my interest in music. Not that I ever stopped being interested, but most of Luke's and my CDs have been living in a beat-up Tupperware bin in the back of our closet since we moved into this house, and I've been too lazy to dig out stuff as it appeals to my mood. Yesterday I got to thinking about all the songs I've been out of touch with simply because I haven't been able to find them, and it kind of pissed me off to the point that I finally said ENOUGH and organized the CD rack we bought well before Nathan was born. Alphabetized and everything, though I do wish I'd been able to categorize discs for each singer/group in the order they were released. Baby steps, people.

I also made a mixed CD of what I consider to be Tori Amos essentials so I don't have to switch discs to hear all my favorite songs. One of the reasons I'm still attracted to her music after all these years is its ability to become relevant as I gain more life experience. For example, Boys for Pele freaked me the hell out as a God-fearing high schooler, but as a married woman with two kids and a more sophisticated religious and world view, I'm more comfortable with the appeal they hold for me. When From the Choirgirl Hotel came out my senior year, I couldn't get past her new band sound to appreciate the lyrics, but in just the last week or so I found new meaning in a song I had completely written off. The biggest surprise has been my fascination with The Beekeeper. Those who only like Tori when she's angsty have no use for this one, and I understand; I didn't like it, either, not until well after I had Nathan and the softness of those songs found a place in my head. Anyway, all of that to say that the Tori I became enchanted with at 17 is not the same Tori I relate to today. It's pretty awesome when music grows with you.

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I'm drinking coffee now. Me, the woman who swore she would never succumb to the drama that is depending on a caffinated beverage for survival, typically enjoys a thermosful doused with skim milk and sugar on the drive to work. With all the late nights I've had in the last month or two, I've been so tired in the mornings that one day when Luke asked if I would possibly benefit from a liquid pick-me-up I said HELL YES, WHERE DO I SIGN UP. And I said it again and again until Luke was grinding coffee beans as part of his morning ritual while I finished getting dressed. There's something to be said for sitting in my car with one hand on the steering wheel and the other balancing a drink, an act that wakes me up and transitions me from home to work in a way that my sans-coffee routine didn't. Maybe I feel more adult. Maybe the beans are that strong. Either way, I like it.

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Luke spent this past Saturday at a theme park with a friend, so Molly and I took the opportunity to co-host Baby Day 2.0, and the kids had a blast together. They are all at such different stages now that it's hard to believe there's barely a full year between any of them. The Baby Day sequel marked the third weekend in a row that we had company, and it's been so nice to invite people over and watch their kids play with ours. Kara's now getting regular exposure to her peers through the daycare/nursery at church on Sundays, but other than that, not so much. So it was great to have my sister Samantha and her family with us for the Fourth of July and my friend Maia and her two girls the weekend after that. With upcoming BlogHer taking place in the trenches of my hometown, we'll have a straight month of Saturday-Sunday fun.

Here, the photographic evidence:

 

Kara and baby Danny, who will celebrate his first birthday next month. I say this every time I mention him, but I swear he is the spit and image of my sister.

 

Auntie Samantha and Uncle Dan entertaining their first and only nephew, with Nathan loving every minute of the attention.

 

Baby Day 2.0. Kara's all, "Girlfriend, where did you get that awesome striped shirt-dress? Don't hold out on a sista," And Marin's like, "A fashionista never reveals her secrets."

 

Meanwhile, Nathan and Marin decided to pose as if they were attending their first Baby Prom. Nathan may have even tried to grab her hand.

 

Molly loving on her godson. (At least, he will be her godson, once Luke and I can secure the fall baptism date with our pastor.)

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And that's all, folks! I hate that my writing is so sparse here and that the entries I do post have to cover such a large span of time, but that's another aspect of life I'm slowly making peace with. Despite my fallen-to-the-wayside personal blogging, I'm super excited about BlogHer this year and learning new ways to feed my addiction increase my overall knowledge of social media. I'm probably one of the few attendees whose primary reason for going is to actually take part in the sessions. This year is weird, though, in the sense that I'm not part of any big blogger meet-up like I was two years ago, and since Luke and the kids will be with me, I doubt I'll make any of the parties. I'm OK with that, but I really hope to meet at least a few of the bloggers I read and/or who read me so I don't totally miss out on the networking aspect of the conference. I'm also debating whether I should bring my work laptop and try to liveblog any of the events. I've never been good with crafting blog posts on the fly (aka the reason this site so frequently collects dust), so I'm not sure how solid my entries would even be, but I'm definitely thinking about it.

Will any of you be in Chicago? If so, I'd love to say hi. And if you're doing the BlogHer 5K on Friday morning, you'll get to meet Mr. Nathan in person. If that's not reason enough to walk three miles before breakfast, I don't know what is.

Brothers and sisters

It's funny how different an experience it is to take care of a baby when you're raising a toddler at the same time.

With Kara, every development was mind-blowing and new, every milestone carefully jotted down somewhere until I had a chance to record it in her baby book. And yet, there was also a lot of downtime, too, not because our girl wasn't interesting, but when she's sitting there flipping through picture books, there's not much to do on the sidelines, you know?

Add Nathan to the mix, and now we have spice. His accomplishments are also mind-blowing but not so much new, as we've done this part before, so I often drop the ball when it comes to remembering red-letter dates associated with his growth (thank you, Parents blog, for filling in the gaps). And now, while we still delight in every roll and giggle, the coolest thing is watching these two interact with each other. There's not a moment of filler, and I couldn't be happier about it. (Though I wouldn't complain about being more well-rested.)

  

When we first brought Nathan home, Kara got over him pretty quickly and didn't pay much attention to the wriggling, screaming creature who had turned our family upside down. In the last couple of months, though, she's come to view him as a partner in crime, bringing him toys, engaging him in play, and showering him with affection. An adorable mother hen, that one. And Nathan eats it right up.

  

That's not to say we don't appreciate them individually. Kara still amazes me every day with her ability to quietly take everything in and demonstrate understanding without making a big show of it (aka talking). She's becoming such a little girl now, and I love thinking about which activities she'll show interest in as she gets older, what her talents might be, how her relationship with us will grow.

 

Meanwhile, I have been taken hostage by my son's flirty personality, the way he makes eyes with us all, how he eagerly opens wide for the kisses I plant on his mouth. Aside from occasional bouts with crab-assery, he is such a happy little guy, his bright light shining whether he's center stage or on the sidelines, witnessing the action.

 

Mitten Girl...

 

...and Superman.

And they are taking their show on the road.

And Luke wonders why I can't stop thinking about the idea of a third.

Edited to add 7-1-09: Not sure why I can't embed the video within my post like I have in the past. Feel free to e-mail with offers of help.

Edited to add 7-2-09: Problem solved! Copying the html code into Notepad before pasting into TypePad did the trick.

Say anything (really, anything)

Yesterday was Kara's 18-month well-baby visit, and for the most part, things are great. She continues to top the charts with her height, measuring an even three feet tall, and clocked in at 30 lb 3 ½ oz for weight. The doctor was happy with her comprehension skills, eye contact, and ability to imitate and pretend. There was talk of dental visits and potty training. Overall, it was uneventful, except for one small thing: her lack of speech.
 
Kara is sharp. She knows her animals and is working on letters and numbers. She can identify characters in books and family members in pictures. If you need her to fetch Nathan's pacifier or turn off his travel swing, she can do it. If you ask her if she's finished with dinner, she'll either throw out her arms in an "All done!" shrug or shake her head no. It's obvious she can hear and understand us, and aside from typical toddlerese, Luke and I usually understand whatever it is she's trying to tell us.

The thing is, though, that she communicates her needs in every way but words. Babbling, grunting, screeching, laughing, shouting, pointing—this is how Kara gets her point across. She knows that Luke and I are Daddy and Mommy but normally doesn't ask for us by name (her babble includes "mama" and "dada" though). Sometimes she'll say what sounds like "eye" or "up," occasionally throws in a "go, go!" when she's pushing her shopping cart, and one time Luke swears she said "h i j k" when he was singing the alphabet, but generally speaking, if there's a way to communicate non-verbally, she will do it.

The doctor said that at this age, most kids are using at least a few words on a regular basis, and the fact that Kara isn't is something to pay attention to. He agreed when I pointed out that it's not uncommon for toddlers to refrain from talking much before their second birthday. He also admitted that he falls on the conservative side in the area of speech because he would hate to see a child lose out on an extra few months of help if the issue is addressed later rather than sooner. His recommendation was to informally follow up with Kara's progress at Nathan's six-month well-baby visit, and if things are still the same, we could talk about possibly having her evaluated by a speech therapist.

I really like and respect our pediatrician. He always spends a good chunk of each visit asking questions about the kids, really listens to what we say, and defers to our wishes in areas of potential conflict. I don't think he says anything without carefully weighing the necessity. And I even agree with him that Kara's practically non-existent vocabulary is something worth noting.

That said, I've already told Luke that we are not sending Kara to a speech therapist before the age of two.

It's not that I think speech therapy is bad or that kids who need it are bad. It's just that she's so damn young, you know? I think we have to give her a longer window to express herself than just another month before we start labeling quirks as problems. This issue was already on Luke's and my radar, and we do our best to encourage speech by talking with her, reading to her, and keeping her away from TV (though I admit to occasionally watching my stories when she's in the room). We ask her questions that require more than "yes" or "no" answers and sometimes refrain from giving her the answers she wants when we know she's capable of supplying them herself (a good way to piss her off, by the way, let me tell you). We know she needs more interaction with other children, so we've been dropping her off at the church nursery during Sunday services so she can get that. (I like to think of it as the poor man's Gymboree.) We are also looking into other (free) programs that expose her to other kids. Maybe if she hears them talking, it'll encourage her to as well.

And maybe, just maybe, she's a slow learner in this area and will need outside help from a qualified professional. I'm OK with that. What I'm not OK with is making that call today or even 30 days from now.

You know, you think parenting is hard when your kid gets up every hour of the night for two weeks or refuses to nap or fights you on every diaper change, but this? Having to make judgment calls on your children's development? Preparing to (politely) buck authority on their behalf? This is hard. And I know, I know, it's just the beginning.

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Excerpted from Parental Discretion Advised, originally published on Parents.com. Copyright 2009 by Meredith Corporation. All rights reserved. Reprinted with permission.

What’s your story?

When it comes to the blogosphere, I tend to stay out of controversial threads, mainly because I'm afraid of failing to articulate my points very well and instead pissing somebody off. In the five (!) years I've been doing this, it's never been my style. But for some reason, I can't keep quiet about this one.

Here's the gist of it: A video was recently made that addresses the struggles of the working mother, but it didn't touch on the specific stresses of those who work outside the home. One mother wrote about how upset she was that the work-outside-the-home mom demographic was completely ignored (one of my new favorite posts, by the way, because of Kim's ability to be brutally honest and respectful at the same time); another took it one step further to say that moms who work at home have it easier than those with traditional office jobs. One work-at-home mom (one of our very own Parents bloggers) wrote a post in response to that one defending her livelihood, which is the post that I came across first, and I took issue with the phrase "full-time mom" being applied only to stay-at-home moms. After all, a mom is a mom, you know? If you have a child, you're on call twenty-four days a week, 365 days a year, no matter how you spend your eight-to-five hours. I posted a comment to that effect and originally thought I would publish a longer dialogue here.

(Note: I chose not to watch the video because I didn't think any good would come of it.)

But after giving it more thought, I realized that's not really what I wanted to say. Instead, I want to give every mom out there a big, fat hug because damn, this job that we have is hard. Wonderful, yes, and life-changing and miraculous and beautiful, and parenthood is absolutely one of the best things to ever happen to me, and I wouldn't trade this experience for all the money in the world, but still. It's hard. And in analyzing my reaction to Lindsay's post, I discovered that I didn't want to pick apart her words when deep down I knew she meant no harm. I just wanted to take a minute to tell my story as a mother.

In the end, I think we all just want our stories to be heard.

So here's my story.

I am a mother who works outside the home to financially support her husband and two small children. Frankly, it wasn't my first choice—I desperately wanted to be the one home with my kids—but I have an amazing job in my field of choice with a competitive paycheck and fabulous benefits and a flexible schedule and an employer who strives to promote a reasonable work/life balance for his employees, and my husband didn't, and neither of us wanted to forgo having savings accounts or paying the bills on time or living in a shady part of town where we would fear for our own safety, let alone our children's, so there you go. Yes, it makes me sad sometimes, not being there every day, but the pride I take in doing my part to make a happy home for my family is well worth the sacrifice.

My life is a constant juggling act, trying to manage my day job, my freelancing job, spending time with my family, and working to improve my physical health. Sometimes I can take time off for doctor's appointments, and sometimes I can't. Sometimes I come home from work so late that I go a whole day without giving my son a bottle. Sometimes I miss bedtime completely. Sometimes I comfort a baby at two in the morning and get up for work at five. Sometimes (OK, most times) I leave the dinner dishes for Luke even though he’s done them the last three nights, even though he's been on his feet all day and deserves a break, too, because my day job has to continue into the night, because I never want anyone at work to say that Bree used her home life as an excuse to drop the ball.

And yet, despite the hard times and frustrations, I truly love my life. I know that everyone has stresses to deal with, and I don't think mine are harder than anyone else's. I feel blessed to have a husband who is right there in the trenches with me, fulfilling his own role as a stay-at-home dad and dealing with the sacrifices that go along with that. I thank God every day for the children we have, and I am glad to do whatever I can to see that they are happy and healthy. And when I feel guilty for making what I perceive to be a less than perfect choice, when I feel like I'm being judged for those choices, I'm learning to take comfort in the knowledge that the only people I have to answer to are Luke, Kara, and Nathan, and as long as they know I'm doing my best, that's all that matters. I am more than an adjective used to describe how I spend forty-plus hours every week. I am a mother. Period. And oh, what a gift it is, to own that noun.

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Excerpted from Parental Discretion Advised, originally published on Parents.com. Copyright 2009 by Meredith Corporation. All rights reserved. Reprinted with permission.

Send me on my way

Yesterday, for the first time in over a year, Luke and I went to church.

Our hiatus wasn't intentional. We went once with Kara last Easter and fully intended to start going regularly until BAM!, knocked up again, and the morning sickness came with a vengeance, and it was all I could do to make it to work on time, let alone pursue "optional" activities like praising Jesus beyond the confines of my home. When we moved into our house last fall, we discovered a darling little Episcopalian church not ten minutes from our subdivision, and after reading more about the parish online we talked a good game about going, but we were overwhelmed with settling in and I was ginormously pregnant and then soon I had Nathan and excuses excuses excuses. I finally decided that if we waited to go until we were ready, we would never be ready. So after breakfast, I told Luke enough is enough. We quickly showered, wrangled the kids into the car, and arrived a few minutes into the first reading (a freaking miracle for us these days).

Sitting in the pew, Nathan strapped to my chest in the baby carrier (now that I've conquered my fear of all the straps and buckles, I am in love love LOVE with the baby carrier and use it all the time for walks, shopping trips, etc.) while Luke held Kara on his lap, I couldn't help but think about how far I've come in my spiritual journey. As a child, I hated going to church--the low lighting put me to sleep and I spent the majority of the time checking out neighborhood boys--and even as a young adult it often felt like a chore, going through the motions to pay tribute to my faith and/or trying to fit into the mold of the customized tradition I grew up in. It's taken me twenty-nine years, but I'm now in a place where I gravitate to God not out of fear or obligation but from a place of gratitude and an eagerness to learn more about my place in this world. The pastor gave a wonderful sermon about trimming the fat from your life, and she said something that deeply rang true for me. "There are two ways to get enough," she said. "You can gather more, or you can desire less." That's what I want to strive for, embracing the whole "less is more" concept; to live a life mostly devoid of clutter and outside noise and focused more inward. I want friendship and outreach and plenty of time for rest and reflection. (Clearly there is room to grow in this area.)

Can I do all this and still subscribe to regular date nights with my DVR? Only time will tell.

But I digress.

After the service, Luke and I were approached by several members of the congregation and given a brief tour of the facility. We saw the nursery where Kara can hang out during Mass if we so desire, and we learned about various ministries and received pamphlets spelling out the church's kid-friendly programs, and by the time we made it back to the car, we were hooked. I've already requested christening information because Nathan will be four months old soon and the former Catholic in me can't help but think we should have closed the deal on him a long time ago. But God gets it. At least, that's what Luke said when I commented on his opting out of the kneeling parts of the service to keep Kara at bay. "He has lots of kids. He knows what it's like," he said.

Now that Nathan has cleared the newborn stage and Kara is continuing to blow our minds with her quirky little-girlisms, I'm nervous but excited to venture beyond our comfort zones to become more community-oriented. On Friday night we had one of my new coworkers over for dinner so she could meet the kids, as she'll be watching them when Luke and I see Billy Joel and Elton John next week, and on Saturday we test-drove a Gymboree class for Kara, and amidst all the activity I started feeling a little sad because for the longest time it's just been Luke, me, and the kids, perfectly content to hole up and remain separate from the outside world, quietly enjoying our family. Now as we welcome more people and activities into our lives, we'll have to lose a little bit of the intimacy that goes along with doing everything on your own. Luckily, we'll lose the loneliness, too.

Also, maybe some pregnancy weight.

(OK, so that one's all me. But I can't complain too much when the end results are so damned cute.)

 

 

I blame the sobfest on the return of Aunt Flo

So! Gymboree kind of sucked. At least, that's what I yelled once we were safely out the door and I could sob freely in the car.

Our first problem was showing up late. Fifteen minutes late, to be exact, because I didn't print out directions and Luke and I bickered over the best route to take and even though we knew we'd only catch two-thirds of the class, we showed up anyway because it took us a freaking half-hour to get there and we weren't leaving without scoring some bona fide Gymboree fun, dammit.

And thus, the tone of the day was set.

We got our name tags at the front desk, and Luke tended to Nathan while Kara and I entered the play gym. Most everyone was crowded around an inflated balance beam, instructor at one end, the parents supporting their children on the other. The kids eagerly walked across the balance beam into the instructor's arms. I waited my turn and tried to do the same with Kara, but she only took a few steps before she lost her balance and fell into my arms. We tried a second time, but nothing doing. (I’m sure it didn't help that I was trying to rush so as not to hold up the line.) I smiled weakly at the teacher and followed Kara as she ran away from the beam and up to various children, pointing excitedly and oohing with delight. My heart melted a little as she went up to a girl and tried to kiss her face, but the little girl wasn't very receptive. I apologized to her parents. "She has a little brother at home and kisses him all the time," I said. They smiled politely and replied, "Sophia's more into her personal space."

Fair enough.

Next, we all surrounded the balance beam to play the Freeze game, which basically consists of slapping your hands on the beam in time with the music and stopping—er, freezing—when the music stops.

Kara wouldn't touch it. It was all I could do to just keep her next to me.

We gathered in a circle for a series of Follow the Leader sorts of games paired with more singing. Stomp your feet, touch the ground, that sort of thing, but Kara wasn't interested.

We pulled out a parachute and encouraged all the kids to sit in the middle, but Kara wouldn't do it. I even physically put her in there myself, thinking she'd warm up when she saw the other children, but she just cried out and ran back to me. She freaked out a little when we gathered underneath and clung to me the whole time.

She wouldn't touch the bubbles the teacher blew into the air. She wouldn't clap her hands during "If You're Happy and You Know It." And on the way out of the gym area, she refused to accept a Jimbo hand stamp.

The whole time I was in there, I could feel my chest tightening, my body tensing, and even though we only made about twenty-five minutes of the class, I couldn't wait to get out of there and have a good cry. Overreact much, Bree?
 
It's just that I felt bad for so many reasons—for showing up late and throwing Kara into a situation she clearly needed to warm up to, for my baby not getting so much of what the other kids were doing so easily, for wondering what other people thought of her when really, I shouldn't have cared in the slightest. She's not even a full year and a half yet, and it's freaking GYMBOREE, not a college prep course. Who cares if she won't clap her hands in time?
 
I guess I do.

After I was able to calm down, Luke put the morning into perspective for me. He pointed out that the class is geared for kids ages 16 to 22 months, which means Kara was probably one of the youngest ones there; at her age, even a few months makes a huge difference. We don't know how old the other kids were or how long they had been attending; maybe it took them a few times to get the hang of it, too. Plus, this is the first time she's ever tried to participate in any kind of structured/timed activity; of course there's going to be a period of adjustment. She barely had time to get the gist of one thing before we were moving on to another. And just because today didn't go well in my eyes doesn't mean she didn't have a good time. She really did like seeing all the kids and even showed interest in some of the play gym equipment, but we had to hurry out so they could bring in the next class.

We'll be out of town the next two weekends, but in the last week of May, we'll try Gymboree again. The receptionist was nice enough to invite us back for another free class since we missed a good portion of this first one. In the meantime, we'll also look into other activities that Kara might like that are also a little more low-key. If anything, this just cemented my gut feeling that it's time for Kara to socialize more. The learning curve might be hard now, but it will be so good for her in the long run. And honestly, for me, too.

----

Excerpted from Parental Discretion Advised, originally published on Parents.com. Copyright 2009 by Meredith Corporation. All rights reserved. Reprinted with permission.

Ready for take-off

When you are the parents of a spirited fifteen-month-old and slightly crazed ten-week-old and you can barely keep up on your laundry or the bills or the mountains of dishes mating in your sink or even sleep for longer than four hours at a time, it's easy to let a trifle of a day like Easter slide right under your radar. You know, the day Jesus rose from the dead? Totally a Hallmark holiday anyway, right?

(Just kidding. So sorry, Jesus.)

Even though I do think we're getting better at managing our household and this new family dynamic, it's still way too easy to get so caught up in our day-to-day routine that we forget about the big picture, the issues that make up the fabric of our lives (and you thought it was cotton!). This is the first time in several years that I didn't at least attempt to do something extra during Lent, and we gave little thought to how we would introduce Kara to the concept of Easter. On a smaller scale, we didn't even talk about coloring eggs until yesterday, when Luke asked the question and I shot him down, focused on the mess we would make instead of the joy Kara would take from the activity. We just have so much mess these days that I hesitated to make more. "Next year," I promised him. "We'll do it next year."

We did have the wherewithal to make an Easter basket for the kids, but when you're shopping for items the day before, your choices are somewhat limited. Since we knew the Targets and Wal-Marts would be packed with last-minute shoppers like us and since we planned on boycotting candy this year, anyway, we went to Barnes and Noble to pick up some books and other non-edible goodies for our clan. Kara and Nathan each received a God-themed book and a few other things that we crammed into a bag we already had at home, a fun bag that a girlfriend of mine bought for me to store nursing accessories back when I was pregnant with Kara, a bag I didn't use at all with her and only a few weeks with Nathan, a bag I loved nonetheless for its bright colors and various pockets. The Frog and Toad dolls we found in the children's section fit perfectly right up front. The bunny you see was a token present we bought for Kara at a Cracker Barrel two weeks ago on our way home from Merrillville, but we stuffed that in the bag, too. You know, in honor of the day.

 

Luckily, our hodge podge pseudo basket went over just fine. We've already read My Little Book About God three times to Kara, who adores her Frog and Toad dolls, and well, neither she nor the boy had the slightest clue what today was, anyway, so really we could've done nothing and they would've been none the wiser.

Nathan turned ten weeks old yesterday, and even though I'm trying to cut myself some slack and not sweat the small stuff, I'm ready to move past the minutiae we're currently entrenched in and get on with our lives. I hate that our day is filled with maintaining the status quo in terms of laundry, dishes, and bills. I want to get back to long-term financial planning; home improvement; phone calls with friends; baby books and photo albums; books of my own to read; more time for writing; trips to the zoo; family vacations; hell, even long walks as an after-dinner staple instead of a special occasion when we're not too tired would do for now. I want us to make a place for ourselves in this new community we worked so hard to find. I want get involved with good causes, Luke and I both, so we can meet new people and make friends. I want to lose this effing baby weight and pay closer mind to what we're putting in, on, and around our bodies. And somewhere in the middle, I want to spend one-on-one time with my husband.

(That, actually, is already in the works. For our anniversary next month, Luke and I have booked a night in southwest Michigan and made plans with his parents to watch the kids while we enjoy an adults-only getaway. We won't even be gone a full twenty-four hours--Saturday afternoon to Sunday morning, tops--but I'm already so excited I can't see straight.)

I know that the time and energy I need to accomplish all those things aren't too far off. The older the kids get, the easier it will be to focus on more than one or two things at a time. And this is such a special time in our lives that the last thing I want to do is wish Kara's and Nathan's early years away. I love them so much, just the way they are. But after being in the pregnancy/baby grind for literally two years now, I'm ready to broaden my horizons a bit. I'm ready to see what my awesome little family is capable of--what I'M capable of. And sometimes, I'm tired of waiting.

 

Not that I don't LOVE getting up at 3 a.m. for this sweet litle face.

Go, go, Gadget, random!

I've been meaning to post this since Monday, partly because I wanted to title it "Just another random Monday" and partly because I have the best of intentions when it comes to updating this Web site. But alas, now it's twelve-thirty in the morning on Thursday, and for sure I'll be dragging for work tomorrow but who cares, LET'S GET ON WITH THE SHARING.

* * *

If I had posted this on Monday, I would have totally retracted the claim in my last entry that Nathan wasn't anywhere near sleeping through the night, because on Sunday he slept soundly in his bassinet from ten until six, and Luke was all, "Yes, we can!" because he refuses to believe our son would be so cruel as to continue with these three a.m. feedings for much longer. Too bad I was up until one o'clock paying bills and missed out on the gloriousness that is passing out for longer than three to four hours at a time, because the following night he woke up at one and again at three. We'll see about tonight.

I would also retract what I said about my pants being a smidge too big; they are more than a smidge too big. THEY ARE FALLING OFF MY ASS. Which, you know, hooray, weight loss! but also shit, because we are not made of money and I could think of better things to do with my time than parade around my place of employment pulling up my pant legs to keep from tripping on the hem. Why didn't I at least TRY ON the size twelves? Low self-esteem, you are a bitch.

* * *

In an attempt to flatten all the layers of skin currently bogging down my mid-section, I ordered a Spanx cami online to pair with my back-to-work shirts. After all the hype I've been subjected to about Spanx (one of my Saint Joe students back in 2007 even focused on Spanx for my "Create a blog for a company" assignment), I was totally prepared to love the Spanx, maybe even write an entry titled "Spanx you very much," but alas, to my dismay, I am not loving the Spanx. The bust portion of the shaper is fine, but the blasted thing keeps rolling up to my belly button whenever I sit down. I fully acknowledge that I could've ordered a size too small, but if a large is too small for a freaking UNDERGARMENT, please hold on while I curl up into a ball and cry.

* * *

Starting last weekend, Gilmore Girls is now running on SOAPNet. I didn't watch this show when it was on the WB (that's where it was, right?) a million years ago, so why I'm so excited is beyond me, but I can tell you that there are two episodes saved to my DVR and seriously I am so, so excited. Other ancient shows I would like to Be In The Know About include Dawson's Creek and the original 90210. For the latter, I'm Mostly In The Know, but I stopped watching sometime in the late nineties; I picked it up again on SOAPNet while on maternity leave but fell off during two crucial plot points: Valerie's exit and the series finale. Why did Valerie leave? Do Dylan and Kelly end up together? Does Steve marry Janet? What about Gina? Man, Gina was a bitch. Inquiring minds want to know but are too lazy to search Wikipedia.

* * *

Baby-sitting, take one! One of the new coworkers in my department spent a year in New York working as an au pair and has already offered her services to me, so she is on the calendar to sit with Kara and Nathan when Luke sleeps through and I rock out to Billy Joel and Elton John next month. We're going to have her and her husband over a couple of times prior to that so she can meet the kids, but that cannot happen until I have thoroughly disinfected my house, and that cannot happen until I'm a little more well rested. In the meantime, I stare at the spittle on the bathroom mirror and the splotches of God knows what on the kitchen floor, and a part of me dies inside.

* * *

Luke and I talk a good game about getting off our asses and going back to church--there's an Episcopal church not ten minutes from our new house that seems very nice--but it never works out, and I hate to admit it, but part of me is hella nervous about leaving Kara in the nursery with a person we've never met before. (Nathan is not even an option right now. The boy, he will stay with me.) Paranoid much, Frema?

* * *

Does anybody besides me still do all their blog reading the old-fashioned way (loading each page)? I have a Google Reader account, but it hasn't been checked in probably a year. I really love the design aspect and functionality of blogs and feel like I have a more personal experience with the bloggers when I keep up with their actual sites.

* * *

My mother is on Facebook. My MOTHER, a woman who routinely asks me if I can print out pages from my blog and mail them to her, is on Facebook. I am not on Facebook. This must change.

* * *

In the last week or so, Kara's interest in Nathan has skyrocketed to the point where she spends a considerable portion of her waking hours just trying to hug him, and if you think there's anything more precious than watching your toddler daughter nearly suffocate her infant brother, you would be dead wrong, my friends. Dead wrong.

 

Going in for the kill, dun dun dun dun dun dun....

 

Nathan: Why, God, why?

 

Mission accomplished. Happiness all around.

Yes, we can!

And we're out.

(Kudos to Luke for the pictures.)

Closer to fine

I am seriously in awe of newish moms who are able to blog more than once every few weeks. Good Lord, where do you find the time? My intentions are good, but between changing diapers and doling out snacks and paying the bills and remembering to shower, this Web site always gets the short end of the stick until I can't take the dust anymore; then I pound out seventy million paragraphs that probably would have worked better as several concise entries but, well, this boot-camp phase of my life doesn't allow for such strategic blog posting. That said, just one day shy of Nathan's nine-week birthday, I feel like there's light at the end of the tunnel.

A lot's happened since I last wrote. For starters, thanks to a switch in formula and bottle type, we have a much happier boy on our hands. Nathan is still high maintenance in the sense that being held is not always enough to calm him, and he still spits up a lot more than Kara ever did, but he's no longer screaming for hours every day; in fact, he's finally starting to enjoy life, smiling at us, cooing at my over-the-top baby antics ("Hi there, handsome boy!"), showing interest in rattles and toys, even paying attention to some of Kara's books during our various marathon reading sessions. He's still not even close to sleeping through the night, though, and because Kara was clocking eight-hour stretches the night she turned six weeks old, this kind of sleep deprivation so far into the newborn phase is majorly kicking our asses. Luke and I are both well aware that hers was not typical baby behavior, and I don't want to be all about the comparisons, but dude. THIS FAMILY NEEDS SLEEP. GET WITH THE PROGRAM, SON.

The change in Nathan's temperament combined with the slow return of spring has encouraged us to get out with the kids more often. We bit the bullet and purchased a double stroller, a Graco Quattro Tour Duo to be exact, a stroller that sold me on the color scheme alone, but so far we've only used it a couple of times because damn, that thing is hard to navigate, and when Luke and I are both around, it makes more sense to pair one child with each adult rather than burden one of us with roughly thirty-eight pounds of baby weight.

But look! So pretty!

 

There's a short walking trail behind our subdivision that leads into an even fancier one, and now it's one of my favorite things about where we live, because no longer are we confined to loop in circles like we were at our apartment complex, and gone are the days of having to pack up and drive to another part of the city to stretch our legs. I think this will be key to me getting back into shape, as I'm too busy playing catch-up after work to commit to a gym and I'm just not motivated enough to join Weight Watchers again. Instead, I'm trying to maintain perspective, reminding myself that birthing two babies in two years is hard work, and my body needs longer than six weeks to heal.

You like how I casually slipped in that whole "Oh, yeah, I'm back at work" reference? Because yes. I am back at work. And if you think leaving one baby at home is hard, just try it with two.

I'm lucky, though, that the transition has been much smoother. I had an infinitely easier time finding transitional clothes to wear while I'm (half-heartedly) working on my fitness, and that's been a huge boost to my self-esteem. Last time I was trying to squeeze myself into tens and twelves and failing miserably, resulting in an Ugly Cry in one of Eddie Bauer's dressing rooms last year. This time around, I had a Reality sandwich and just got the size fourteens I needed to keep my muffin top squarely at bay. And do you know that even though I was smaller last year, I look much better now because I'm actually wearing clothes that fit, that are a smidge too big even, and when that happens, there is no muffin top? There are no unflattering bulges! Who knew? Once again, I wonder if I've been in denial about my true size all along. We'll see what happens as I start shedding these extra layers of skin.

Anyway, work. I went back on Tuesday, and while the days leading up to it were pretty stressful, it felt kind of nice to get back into the swing of things and start concentrating on my family's new version of normal. On the flip side, I never knew what to say when people asked if I was happy to be back, because no, actually, I wasn't happy, I was flipping out over how Luke would manage the needs of two babies without losing his damn mind, and I was missing my children something fierce, and I'm sure that was evident by the look on my face. When I pulled into our driveway a little after four (still doing the seven to three-thirty with only a half-hour for lunch), Luke and Kara were staring at me from her bedroom on the second floor, Kara waving her sweet little fingers off, and I ran in as fast as I could, scooped her in my arms, and promptly burst into tears. I did it again at seven-thirty, uttering a strangled, "It's bedtime already?" as Luke went to bring her upstairs. The other thing that's been hard is dividing my time between both Kara and Nathan, trying to give them each my undivided attention, but I fail almost every time because when I'm reading to Kara, Nathan's crying to be held and when I'm holding Nathan, Kara is running after me with a book in her hand. To combat this, I've decided to take back ownership of Kara's night-time routine, since Nathan goes to bed so much later and there's still plenty of time to hang out with him one-on-one before I hit the sack around midnight or later, depending on the timing of his bottle. I've been pestering Luke with talk of two-versus-three almost every day since we brought him home, and now that I'm back in the corporate grind, I'm imagining what it would feel like to timeshare with yet another child, wondering if that will be the proverbial nail in my reproductive coffin.

ANYWAY, now that we're finally living our new version of normal, I'm continuing to challenge myself to let go of the small stuff and focus on important things like spending time with Luke and the kids, improving my health, stealing some quality time with my pillow, and picking up the house during an episode of Lost. On hold are things like mopping floors, cleaning out closets, updating baby books, making out a will and trust (for all my bitching and moaning about this before Kara's birth, I still don't have this done), and repopulating our new phone book until Nathan has a more predictable sleep schedule and we all have a better handle on our routine. Until then, I'm just putting one foot in front of the other and doing the best I can with the precious time I do have. I'm also holding on to this new feeling of peace, because even though life is hella crazy right now, I really do have it all. A wonderful husband, beautiful children, well-paying job, a place to lay my head, food to put on my table. When I think about how blessed I am, it truly blows my mind.

 

Nathan: How did you people ever get along without me?

Frema: I don't know, son, but at least we were well rested.

I've said before that 2009 will be about finding a new balance for my family and maximizing our time together, and getting a better handle on our priorities also means we'll probably see a little less of our extended families; at the very least, we'll be mostly staying put and they'll be coming to us. While it was a lot of fun to see everyone so much last year, it also took a huge toll on us, and now that we're farther south than we were in the apartment, it takes three hours to get to Luke's parents' house and four to get to Chicago, and that's without even one bathroom break, which, HELLO, two babies, ain't no way THAT'S gonna happen. I refuse to piss away my remaining PTO with half days here and there so we can run around like chickens with our heads cut off, trying to cram a weekend's worth of diapers and clothes and toys into a gazillion duffel bags and listening to the kids whine in their car seats and attempting to time our breaks so that we can get everyone fed and changed in as few stops as possible and then come home on Sunday minutes before bedtime with no time to recharge before the upcoming week. Next year will be a different story, when both kids are off the bottle and sleeping through the night, but right now, it's just too hard. That said, this past weekend we did make the trip north to see everyone, seeing as I had added two weeks of vacation on top of the six weeks of paid leave generously granted by my employer, and I wanted to make them count. Plus, I was dying to introduce Nathan to my side of the family, as Dan, Samantha, and baby Danny were the only ones to meet him until then.

 

Here's Kara having a jolly good time in Luke's old backyard.

 

Daddy D, Kara, and Grandma before our drive to Chicago.

 

The majority of mi familia loca. Look at all those babies! If two of them weren't mine, I would totally be spiking a temperature. You know, because of the baby fever.

 

Me lovin' on my nephew Danny. The last couple of times Samantha and I have gotten our families together, our time was cut short by one medical emergency or another (remember Kara's party?), so this was the first time in a long time I was free to snuggle her baby. He looks so much like Samantha did when she was his age it's scary. So I was a little emotional.

 

One day they'll be knee-deep in snips of snails and puppy-dog tails, but for right now, Nathan and Danny are still working on forming their magical bond.

 

My nine-week-old family of four. I think we're gonna make it after all.

Baby 2.0: Six Weeks (aka Serenity Now!)

I had the idea for this post two weeks ago, back when it was intended to document the Frema-Useless Clutter household at one month post-partum, but then I got distracted with the relationship meme that all the cool kids were doing, and then I never found more than twenty minutes of spare time for the computer outside of checking my e-mail and blogging for Parents. So now it's six weeks, and my plan to post regular monthly updates has been shot to hell, but now I've been thinking about this specific post for so long that I can't move on to another topic (aka BIRTH STORY) until I brain dump all the thoughts I've been collecting regarding about what it's been like to mother two children so far.

Reviewing my first post home, I want to laugh my tired little head off at the woman who thought her child's first week outside the womb would actually paint an accurate picture of what life would be like long term. Ha! Slept like an angel, you say? Of course he did; it took all his energy just to open his freaking eyelids, what else was there for him to do but sleep? Feeling prepared, you say? Who wouldn't be when you're in the hospital and food and pain meds are delivered on command and it's somebody else's job to clean up the bathroom and oh, yeah, doting grandparents are caring for one half of your offspring?

Life on Easy Street was short-lived. SURPRISE, SURPRISE.

Our first big hurdle was nursing. I rambled on about this in great length over at Parents, so I won't bore you with the details here. Suffice it to say that I am no longer breastfeeding for a number of reasons, and it was just as gut-wrenching a decision to make this time as it was with Kara, but now I'm at peace, and honestly even relieved, because after being pregnant for what felt like eighty-seven million years in a row, my body is finally my own again. It's not anything to write home about at the moment, and it looks like I'll be sporting at least a few pieces of maternity clothing when I go back to work in two weeks, but it's mine, all mine, and damn, it feels good.

So. Breezy first couple of weeks, and two weeks of boob and pumping hell after that while my family also battled a nasty cough/cold that we are just now fully recovered from. Kara got it first, and if you think learning how to wrangle two babies under a year and a half is hard, just try it when one of them is blowing snot all over your couch and then smearing it across her face and then crying in agony as you attack her with the Kleenex yet AGAIN and then crumbles in a heap on the floor because overall she feels just miserable. She was napping horribly and waking up at night, and only after TWO WEEKS did she come close to feeling anywhere near normal, and by then Luke and I had caught it, and then a couple of days later Nathan got it, and it was all one big Sick Fest, and no wonder I still have almost fifteen pounds of baby weight to lose, seeing as I survived that period mainly due to entire bags of Hostess Donettes, Oreo ice cream, and chocolate-peanut butter shakes.

Once we were all healthy, I thought for sure we'd have an easier time of it, but then the Universe convinced my son that regular naptimes are overrated and his time would be better spent screaming his bloody head off all the live-long day. Luke was convinced it was colic, I was convinced it was one of those Wonder Weeks-type developmental spurts everyone raves about, but paired with his history of frequent spit-ups and very bad gas, we decided there might be more to it. For the last few days we've been experimenting with a combination of Dr. Brown's and Born Free bottles along with a lactose-free formula, which so far seems to help with the spit-up some. Unfortunately, the crab-ass attitude is still there, but like I said, there's a good chance he'd be off his game, anyway, so I think in another week or two we'll have a better idea regarding whether or not we need to mix things up again.

And now we're in week six, and Luke and I are just now finally starting to feel like maybe we can do this multiple children thing. For a while, things seemed pretty dark; we're no longer napping because it always seems like there's something more critical to get accomplished during those precious moments when at least one child is down for the count: wash bottles, sort and fold laundry, shower, or just CHILLAX for eight seconds in front of the television because holy crap, this is hard. Oftentimes it feels like TV is our saving grace, a chance to disconnect from reality and enjoy something that doesn't need feeding or diapering or burping or rocking to sleep. We're trying to go easy on ourselves and not set our expectations too high regarding what we can realistically get done in a day, but that means the upstairs bathrooms haven't been cleaned in weeks, and the baseboards are disgusting, and the kitchen floor hasn't been mopped at all since Nathan was born, though it has received numerous poor-man's baths courtesy of Clorox wipes. God help me but I love my Clorox wipes.

We're using paper plates and plastic cups. I'm wearing the same two or three sets of lounge pants and tee-shirts in an effort to cut back on laundry. I've got piles of paperwork that need shredding and filing, and our photos on the computer need backing up, and Nathan's baby book hasn't been touched, and the CD rack Luke assembled in our bedroom before the baby came home still doesn't have any CDs on it, and the fifty-inch flat-screen plasma TV that Luke won in an online contest, I KID YOU NOT, is still sitting in a box, unopened, in our kitchen, because we don't own an entertainment unit that would adequately support a fifty-inch flat-screen plasma TV and there has simply been NO TIME to get one.

This maternity leave hasn't gone at all how I thought it would. I imagined Luke and I getting out at every opportunity with our two beautiful children, visiting museums and going to the zoo and generally just enjoying our time together while I was at home instead of dealing with sickness and higher levels of fussiness than we ever had with Kara. I thought I would bounce back from my c-section just like I did the first time, but instead I could barely handle stairs for what felt like forever, and it hurt to get up and down from the couch, and I couldn't even pick up my daughter without staining my (maternity) underwear with blood. (Belated TMI alert, SORRY ABOUT THAT.) There are purple stretch marks on my thighs, and my stomach looks like a sand-trap on a golf course. Hello, Weight Watchers, is it me you're looking for? I THINK SO. And to top it all off, I'm terrified of the day when I'll be left alone to handle both children for the first time (when they're awake, that is. I'm golden so long as at least one is passed out in a crib or swing). Luke and I try hard not to leave the other with both kids if we can possibly help it, but pretty soon it'll be a fact of life. He seems pretty ready to roll with the punches, but I'm nervous as hell. It wouldn't be so bad if Nathan was content in your arms, but half the time that still isn't enough. Put him down, though, and it's worse; his cry escalates to mind-numbing, glass-breaking shrieks peppered with full-body hiccups and desperate gasps for breath, and you feel horrible for having to abandon him while you heat up Kara's lunch, but what else can you do? I'm already in awe of Luke and his future mad fathering skillz, as he's the one who signed on to hang out with these guys all by his lonesome five days a week.

(I'm well aware that using a good baby carrier would at least allow us to keep Nathan close and our hands free for Kara, but baby gadgets intimidate me so I've not been proactive in researching them; we have a Baby Bjorn, but it seems bulky and Nathan wasn't feeling it. We also have a Maclaren carrier that I got for free last year after reviewing it for Parents, but we haven't tried that one yet.)

I don't want this entry to come across like I don't love my son, because I do. I love his blue eyes and pouty lips and the feel of his body asleep on my chest. I love his wild facial expressions and the way his hands grab my fingers when he's eating. I love his gassy smiles and the way he says "Wah!" when he cries. I was so nervous about having a boy, afraid I wouldn't know how to deal with a boy, and now I can't imagine not having this wonderful, beautiful, complicated baby boy. Luke and I are pretty sure that our family is complete, so while their thirteen-month age difference frightens me now, I couldn't be more excited to see how Kara and Nathan's dynamic plays out in years to come. And honestly, things are getting better. If you had talked to me last night, I might not have said that, but even in that short amount of time I feel like we've turned a corner--nothing I can put my finger on, just a knowledge that we're working through the hardest part and every day will only get easier.

Alright, enough with the words. If you've suffered through this insanely long post, you certainly deserve some visuals. But before you ooh and ahh over the children, first get a load of my house!

The living room is where we spend the majority of our time, so I thought you might like to see what we've done to it thus far. In case your memory is poor, the above picture is what it looked like before we moved in.

And here's the after, taken right before Christmas:

 

There's still a lot of decorating that needs to happen down here, mainly in terms of getting some more pictures on the walls, but for the most part I'm pretty happy with it. The change in paint color really brightens things up, and the carpet is great because now Kara can run around and trip over her toys without me worrying about her smashing her head, though at first Luke and I had actually planned to keep the laminate floor. The sellers scratched it up something fierce when they moved out, though, and while they left behind plenty of replacement panels, it just didn't seem worth the effort.

Unfortunately, these days it only looks this good at night. Most of the time, it looks like this:

 

At least the cloth bins lined against the wall make for an easy pick-up. And now that I'm not as sore from surgery and can sleep in bed comfortably again, Nathan and I are back upstairs with Luke, so the bassinet is up there, too. The only downside to that is that we don't have a good place to lay Nathan down when we need our hands free. Yes, there's the Pack 'n Play, but we have more practical uses for the Pack 'n Play:

 

Even before Nathan showed up, Luke and I never liked the idea of running up and down the stairs for diaper changes; in the picture above this one, you'll see we have a small basket on one of our end tables, which holds a box of wipes, a waterproof pad, and a handful of size fours for Kara. For Nathan, though, a child who pees and spits up on himself several times a day, one basket just didn't cut it. We ended up creating a sort of baby station here, where we store wipes, diapers, bibs, burb cloths, and multiple changes of clothing. Once his bodily habits are more predictable, I imagine we'll do away with using this as storage, but right now it's been invaluable. This is also the first time Luke and I have used the changing table attachment; our backs are eternally grateful.

 

Here is the boy. He's a good-looking boy, isn't he? We like him.

 

Luke and I used to set up elaborate toy scenes like this for Kara all the time when she was itty-bitty; it's harder to do that for Nathan because his sister can't keep her hands off them, but we try to oblige him when she's asleep. Daddy's sidekick, indeed!

 

Kara continues to adjust to our new addition every day; she's learned to tune out his crying and rarely gets upset at his outbursts anymore. She prefers to spend much of her time reading with us and pushing her shopping cart around the room, shouting "Go go!" as she makes her way through the piles of books, toys, and pillows.

 

And lastly, here is me. I'm doing OK. Tired and hormonal, but OK. After all, I have a wonderful husband who's in this with me one hundred percent and two children who melt my heart with their funny liitle quirks and mannerisms. Even at its hardest, life is pretty damn awesome.

Ode to my fourteen-month-old*

Having a newborn in the house again has caused me to look at Kara in a whole new light, bringing an acute awareness to the big girl she’s becoming and also how young she is at the same time. When I look at my daughter and watch her run around our living room, flip through books, and dance to music, it feels like her infancy happened a lifetime ago. And yet, when I hold Nathan, I’m instantly transported back to last winter, when I spent much of my time camped out on the couch, snuggling Kara close to my chest, breathing in her smell, and allowing sleep to wash over the both of us every afternoon. Each day I’m reminded that these early moments really do fly by so fast, and each day I pledge to soak up every minute of my children’s babyhood, no matter how frustrating things get at times.

Kara has been such a trooper since we brought Nathan home. Her needs at this point are really pretty simple: read to her when asked (which is pretty much all the time), feed her when she’s hungry, change her when she’s wet/dirty, and overall keep a watchful eye. With two full-time parents currently in the house, it’s been relatively easy to keep her happy, but there are plenty of times when one of us is taking a shower or running an errand and the other is charged with watching both kids. And when that happens while Nathan is awake and wanting to be fed or held or changed, Kara is left standing there, holding her copy of Mr. Brown Can Moo! Can You?, and I feel a wave of sadness that she’s dealing with so much change at such a young age.

But she’s hanging in there. When one arm is cradling Nathan and the other is balancing the spine of her book on my knee, she stands next to me as close as she can, a big smile smeared across her face, content to hear the familiar words of her beloved story even if she can’t sit on my lap. When the baby's passed out in his swing and it's just me and Kara, she revels in the quality time, having completely forgotten that I snapped at her for clawing at her brother's face only minutes ago. Sure, she's thrown her share of tantrums these past few weeks, but for the most part, she is patient with us as Luke and I master this new juggling act, taking what she's given and enjoying the moment for what it's worth. She'll take story time however she can get it. She'll take MY time however she can get it. And boy, am I happy to give it to her.

Before I had even one child, I would read about one of my favorite bloggers giving birth to her second, see adorable pictures of said newborn, and almost immediately forget the older one even existed. Because babies are shiny and new! And toddlers and young kids...well...they're not. And when I thought about having my own children someday, I worried that my love for a shiny! new! baby would be so all-consuming that Number One would seem run-of-the-mill by comparison. Now I realize how silly I was, because nothing in the world, not even Nathan's intoxicating baby smell, could make me view Kara as anything less than extraordinary.

 

* I originally wrote this entry for my Parents blog, but for reasons I can't explain, I wanted it to live here.

Blossoming siblinghood

In case you haven't noticed, there's no denying my children are related. Here's Kara just minutes after she was evicted from my womb:

 

And here's Nathan:

 

Kara in her bassinet at one month old:

 

And her baby brother at just a few days:

 

As Luke and I continue to adjust to being the parents of two children, so are Kara and Nathan getting used to each other. Their introduction took place on my second day in the hospital, and it didn't go anything like I thought it would. Kara is usually so receptive to babies--pointing at them and grunting excitedly whenever there's one in a five-mile radius--but on that day, she didn't give him more than a passing glance before she was running up to Grandma and Grandpa or pawing at Daddy or holding her arms up to me. I'd like to think it's because she knew Nathan was ours and therefore wanted to spread out the joy over a longer period of time, but really, who knows? Thankfully, she's taken more of an interest in him since then, though it also means Luke and I are constantly on the alert, waiting for the day she whacks him in the face with her wooden giraffe pull toy in an attempt to show her affection. At one day shy of fourteen months old, she's still too young to understand how her actions might negatively affect her brother, but the last thing we want is for Kara to associate Nathan's presence with any sort of punishment, so when she pets his face, hangs on the bassinet, or gets thisclose to denting his head with our copy of Green Eggs and Ham, we hold our breaths, repeat "Nice and soft with baby Nathan," and hope our son forgives us for any well-meaning injuries that take place on our watch.

 

Could you not just die from the adorableness?

One thing we haven't had to deal with so far is any jealousy on Kara's part, probably because she is so young. If she were even a few months older, she might get peeved coming downstairs every morning to find Nathan and I asleep on the couch, or watching me nurse him every few hours, or even just seeing him in my arms after I've sadly denied one of her various requests to be picked up. It helps that Luke and I are both home, so he's able to give her what I can't, but I've also made a special effort to be available to her as much as possible. We read stories while I nurse, cuddle while Luke changes Nathan's diaper, and chase each other around the living room when the baby naps. Two weeks out from surgery, I'm supposed to avoid lifting anything heavier than a gallon of milk, but I've made a few exceptions because holy hell, do I hate missing bed time just because placing Kara in her crib does a number on my incision.

When people learn about Kara and Nathan's closeness in age, a lot of them try to relate by lumping them in the "two under two" category, but really, our situation is better described as "two close to one." Though certainly not a newborn, Kara is still very much a baby herself. She wears diapers. She sleeps in a crib. She takes her milk in a bottle (though she'll do water in a sippy cup just fine) and hasn't yet mastered the spoon. Balancing her needs while attending to Nathan's isn't too difficult with both Luke and me manning the fort, but honestly, I'm nervous about going back to work in six weeks and leaving my husband to fend for himself. It'll be hard for me to return to my daily nine-to-five, but I imagine it'll be even more stressful for him. I don't take it for granted that my husband is willing to spend his days raising our children, and I thank God every night for pairing me with such a patient, loving, unselfish man.

 

Our son couldn't ask for a better male role model.

As I make it through each day in this new, super-sized life of mine, I take special pleasure in the random quiet moments I'm lucky enough to score with each member of my family. This morning, it was resting my head on Luke's chest while both children napped. After dinner, I settled into Nathan's rocking chair to help him fall asleep, crying happy tears as I held him close, Celine Dion's lullaby CD doing its best to set the stage for the day's second ugly cry. And while reading Kara a story, she turned to me half-way through for the sole purpose of giving me a hug. Ten minutes later, she lifted her face for a kiss.

These guys, they're breaking my heart. And I love every frustrating, amazing, beautiful minute.

Baby 2.0: Week One

Hi, there! Remember me? I'm the one with the brand-new adorable baby son.

I've written several posts in my head since I came home from the hospital late Monday afternoon, but in the spirit of my New Year's resolution to get more sleep, sleep has indeed taken precedence. When Kara naps, Luke and I nap (for the most part. I'm cheating with this very draft). When Kara is down for the night, Luke and I are picking up the house, taking turns in the shower, catching up on TV, and oh, yeah, bonding with the newest addition to our family.

At this point, I'm not sure where to start, so I'll begin by saying that Nathan's first week has been nothing like my first week home with Kara. With Kara, I surprised myself with how shell-shocked I was in my role as a new mom. I was following a rigid feeding schedule, shuffling around the apartment like an eighty-year-old woman as I recovered from surgery, and operating on three to four hours of sleep because I was too afraid to close my eyes and even more afraid to put Kara down, sure that the minute I entered Dreamland, she'd wake up, and the stolen moments of rest wouldn't be worth the pain of stirring from such a short nap. Our days consisted of little else then feeding the baby, changing the baby, and trying to stay sane.

With Nathan, things are different. With Nathan, we have structure: Kara's meals, Kara's naps, and Kara's bedtime serve as daily milestones, and somehow he fits right in. With Nathan, there is no Feeding Drama; he's taken to the breast just fine, and according to our weigh-in at the pediatrician's office on Friday, he's gaining weight beautifully. However, I have no set time frame with regards to how long I will nurse, and I'm putting no pressure on myself to nurse exclusively--Nathan gets a little formula every day for no other reason then to give me a break. I'm taking it one day at a time, one feeding at a time, because that's what seems to work so far.

We're getting more sleep than we did with Kara. Nathan's pretty good about going back down after eating at night, spending a couple of hours in his bassinet with me in the living room (it's too hard for me to get in and out of bed right now, so I'm camping out on the couch) and the rest of the time perched contentedly on my chest. We usually stay that way until Luke and Kara make their way downstairs between six and six-thirty, when our day officially begins.

All of this is not to say that Nathan is a better newborn than Kara was. I hate labels like "good" and "bad" when it comes to babies, like their temperaments are precalculated. Instead, I think that the mindset of parenting a second child is better--more relaxed, more forgiving, and more inclined to follow your gut than someone else's agenda. The night before I came home, my nurse was going over standard baby care as part of hospital procedure, and when she said, "Now, the baby will sleep eighteen to twenty hours a day, so you'll have to wake him up to eat," on the outside I nodded like an obedient little patient, but on the inside I laughed manically, because unless there was a legitimate weight problem to worry about, hell no was I waking up a sleeping baby to force him to eat, no matter what any medical professional said. With Kara, I didn't give myself that kind of permission; at least, not in those first few weeks. If only you could have the second baby first.

I'm not trying to sugar coat anything for you. This week hasn't been without hard times, and there were several bouts of ugly crying (all on the second day home, damn hormones)--but overall, I've been surprised at how calm I feel and how natural it feels to be a family of four. These people are my life, and I am grateful, so grateful, for all of them.

 

 

 

 

 

This is why we stayed in Indy

Because when I returned to work last March, I was lucky enough to score a boss who does stuff like this:

Tomorrow is my 29th birthday. It's also the day she and I are visiting a printer from out of town, so she brought my goodies in today. In addition to the breakfast extravaganza, there were gift cards to Subway, White Castle, and the double-D chain itself. Is there a better way for a woman who's 35 weeks pregnant to celebrate her birthday? I think not.

When Luke and I decided that he would stay home with our children and I would handle the corporate eight-to-five, I was happy we could manage on one income but devastated that I had to make it happen. I know the old saying, "Where there's a will, there's a way," but believe me when I tell you Luke's salary was not appropriate for his experience and qualifications and could not support the two of us in our apartment, let alone a baby and a house. (Thank you, non-profit sector.) At the end of my maternity leave, I cried every day because I was so sad about all the moments I'd be missing with my beautiful baby daughter. I was also very nervous about working with a new boss, someone who was hired days before I left, someone who I was afraid would either replace me or ask me to downplay my role as a mother for "the good of the company."

Instead, I met a person who was kind, caring, secure in her ability to lead our department, and open to my suggestions and ideas. She listens to my stories about Kara and Luke, and she came into my office with tears in her eyes after watching the YouTube montage of Kara's first year. We gab about All My Children and the suckfest that is DISH Network. She never asks me to compromise my family time for work but appreciates when I do. And we are extremely productive and well-respected by all of our colleagues. It's the best of both worlds. It's the reason I'm OK with rushing through breakfast, throwing on my coat, and waving "bye-bye" to Kara, who would much prefer me to stick around for an eighth reading of Numbers or At the Zoo.

I won't lie to you. Sometimes, it's still hard. Kara is so much fun these days--pushing her babydoll stroller around the living room but refusing to chauffeur the actual baby; "hiding" under the end table just waiting for someone to find her. Last night, she enjoyed her first 100-percent big-girl dinner of spaghetti, applesauce, and whole milk. (Can I take a minute to brag that she was off Similac after only three days of half-and-half bottles? Benjamins, welcome back!) And when I'm putting her to bed, she'll pull up my shirt to give my belly a kiss no fewer than three times a night. Absolutely adorable. I wish there were more hours in the day for me to get more of those kisses.

But I don't have the mommy guilt I thought I would. I know now that we can and do make the most of the time we have together. I know Kara thrives in countless ways from spending her days with Luke. I know I make a difference at my company. And hot damn, am I proud of myself for being able to provide for my family.

Happy Birthday to me.

You're mine, '09

A few days ago, while reading through my Holiday archives, I realized that 2007 was the first year in the history of this blog that I didn't write a post in honor of the New Year. Don't believe me? See for yourself:

So Long, Farewell, 2004

The Best of 2005, The Worst of 2005

On the '06

My references in the first two posts are fairly obvious, but in hindsight, I'm hoping at least a handful of readers back then caught the Jennifer Lopez one.

This year, there's no trace of pop culture in my title. Instead, the focus is on me. Because in 2009, the focus will be on me.

Well, as much as it can be when you're a wife and a mother to two small children.

 

Here I am at the end of 2005, posing with Luke for the closest thing I have to an engagement picture. It's one of my all-time favorites, so much so that I recently framed it for viewing in our new house. The issues I was facing seemed so monumental at the time--deciding whether or not to Live in Sin, figuring out how to share myself without losing myself, dealing with the whole religion thing--but now they've been resolved for so long that it's hard to remember how stressed I was about them. However, I can still appreciate that for the first time in my adult life, I was making decisions that forced me to...not take a stand, exactly, but to separate from traditions and values I'd experienced in my family and held dear for a long time, even when they no longer fit with the woman I had become. They are decisions I stand by to this day, and there are no regrets, just a feeling of peace.

Also, can I tell you how much I loved my look here? The hair cut, the color, the oversupply of clothing from New York and Company, The Limited, and Bakers? I don't care if it sounds superficial, I loved my style, and I love that it made me feel good about myself.

 

Less hair but more attitude. I was a married woman with the world at her feet!

 

More hair, less attitude. I was a new mother with the world falling at her feet! (At the same time I was falling in love.)

 

Just...more. More, more, more. More hair, more attitude (though not always the right attitude), more weight, more babies.... Just more. (Random aside: Recovering from one pregnancy and immediately starting another meant that I couldn't fit into my wedding rings for the entirety of 2008. Way to go, Frema!) 

(Also random: I look at the gradual decline of my physical appearance and can't help but think "Going...going...gone." Though I challenge any brand-new mother and/or woman who's 33 weeks pregnant on Christmas morning to take a picture worthy of Glamour Shots.)

-------

Looking at these images, I feel a wide range of emotions. On one hand, I'm proud and amazed at how far I've come. I went from being a twenty-something woman with a list full of unachieved goals to being a master's-degree-level graduate, Circle City transplant, Suze Orman devotee, wife, mother, working mother, and finally, a homeowner. My secret pre-30 wish list has actually come to fruition.

On the other hand, I still have a long way to go. I'm still learning how to remain a well-rounded person outside all those titles. And it's hard--really hard. My reading is spotty and mostly confined to books I already know inside and out (see: Flowers in the Attic series), mail-subscription magazines, and Archie comics. Eager to delve into something meatier, I started rereading Atlas Shrugged sometime over the summer, but half-hour lunches meant I couldn't get through more than 15 pages per sitting, and soon I was abandoning it altogether to surf the 'Net and chat on Gmail. And my personal blogging has been sporadic for just about the entire year. I'm sadder about that last one more than words can say.

Some bloggers don't pay much attention to their archives, but I'm in mine all the time, trying to remember a detail that long ago disappeared from memory, laughing over my half-hearted obsession with Weight Loss Wednesday, reveling in Tragic Love Friday, heaving a sigh at all that baby talk. I used to rely on this blog not only as a source of entertainment but also as a way to keep me focused, to remind me of my goals and dreams and how they fit into the core of who I am. And in this last year, it took a backseat as I navigated through my first round with motherhood. Suddenly, I couldn't come home from work and hammer out a post because now there was a baby I was away from all day, a baby I loved more than my own life, and I had to make every minute count. Once she went to bed, I was balancing household chores, domestic projects, freelance work, occasional day-job work, phone calls with loved ones, and oh, yeah, time with my husband.

For a while, I thought I could manage everything by just staying up ridiculously late. As it is, I'm rarely in bed before midnight. But when I really, really push it (like right now, writing this draft at one-thirty in the morning), I totally ruin myself for the next day. I'm less productive at work and less present at home, and all the progress I made in whatever venture the night before pales in comparison to what I'm missing right in the moment.

To be fair, a lot of these balancing problems could have been solved if only I were more efficient in how I managed my day. But one big lesson I've learned this year is that being a parent isn't always as big a motivator as you'd like when it comes to correcting your flaws. Before having Kara, I thought I had it all figured out; I came back from maternity leave and arranged for a 7-3:30 work schedule, agreeing to a half an hour for lunch, so that I could put in a full day and still spend oodles of time with my family. I thought that as long as I kept my nose to the grindstone, I'd be home by four o'clock, help with dinner, and enjoy some downtime with Luke and Kara before it was time to put her to bed. I'd get a few things done after she went to sleep, I'd be in bed by ten-thirty, tops, and get up the next morning with enough energy to do the whole thing again.

I don't know what I was smoking.

In the beginning, it was OK. I stuck to my work schedule no matter what time I turned in, and I tried my hardest to stay focused. But eventually my true colors were begging to shine through, and I was catching up on the All My Children message board, reading blogs, and sometimes just sitting there like a deer in headlights when I should have been posting to the Web site, writing a newsletter, and so on and so on. Which sometimes meant I was staying late just to make up for lost time. At night, I'd sit in front of the computer to write a post for Parents and suffer from a complete and total brain fart, sometimes wasting a full hour before committing anything to the screen. By then Luke would long be asleep, I'd be bone tired, but by George, I had to publish my column. Even when it resulted in me being too tired to get to work on time. These days, my actual schedule is closer to 8-4:30. If I'm particularly on the ball, 7:30-4. And again, that's if I'm not running late, which I have been lately, since things have been so busy.

As terrified as I get sometimes over having two children less than a year and a half apart, I truly believe it's a blessing from God, because He knew if left to my own devices, I'd continue to piss away my time until the next one came along and upped the stakes a bit. If Luke and I decide that two is enough for our family (and there's a good chance we will), then come February 2009, this transitional baby-making phase of our life will be over. Then the focus will shift from adding humans to simply maintaining what we have and finding a way to make everyone happy. And after years of constant change, I can't tell you how excited I am just to simply be. No more job searching. No more house-hunting. No more new-additioning (at least for one calendar year, please, Lord have mercy). Just taking the hand we've been dealt and owning it, embracing it, and improving it every day.

For the big picture, this year I pledge to:

• Reclaim my body
• Remember my priorities--to my family, to my work, and to my own mental well-being
• Own Luke's and my parenting decisions with more confidence and drown out all the background noise/unsolicited opinions/general assvice, even when given with the best of intentions
• Sleep more. Seriously, the ability to accomplish all these other goals will be directly affected by how many zzz's I catch

On a more tangible level, I want to:

• Write a will and establish a living trust like I said I would a year ago
• Fully fund a Roth IRA for Luke
• Pay off our new (used) car (Yes, we finally upgraded Luke's dying Lumina! More on that in another post)
• Start a true emergency fund, to be used in emergencies and not when we come up short on the Visa bill
• Take a family vacation
• Take a kids-free vacation
• Establish and stick to a bedtime routine (Turns out they're not just for babies!)
• Post on my personal blog at least once a week
• Read at least one new book a month
• Incorporate exercise into my everyday life
• Find a church in our new community and attend regularly
• Be more strategic about how we spend my quarterly bonus money

How I'm going to make all of this happen, I'm not yet sure. But the desire is there, and wanting it's half the battle. Right? Oh, wait, it's knowing that's half the battle. My apologies, Joe.

My Own Wonderful Life

Ah, Christmas 2008. How I wish we'd gotten better acquainted.

It's not that I wasn't filled with the spirit. I loved our Christmas tree, loved shopping for Luke and Kara, loved all the Dean's eggnog I consumed (for Baby Brother's sake, of course). But between settling into the new house, getting ready for Kara's party, and physically feeling less than my best, it always seemed like there wasn't enough time to celebrate the way I wanted. Our tree went up in the second week of December, about the same time we started our shopping. We didn't pull out our holiday music until three days before Christmas because our CDs are stashed in a Tupperware bin in our closet and we were too lazy to dig them out. (Not that we were without the appropriate tunes, thanks to DISH Network, which dedicated several satellite radio stations to the cause.) Presents were wrapped on Christmas Eve, and a few naked ones still sit in our room, since I don't know when I'll be seeing my family. My enormous belly kept me from wearing or receiving any cute holiday pjs, and even my annual viewing of A Very Brady Christmas got lost in the shuffle. On the up side, we did manage to see It's a Wonderful Life, a tradition that fell through the cracks last year while Luke and I navigated through our first week of parenthood. It's one of my very favorite movies, and there's nothing I enjoy more than watching George Bailey and Mary Hatch dance their way into the high school swimming pool. That there, people, is what you call ROMANCE.

But it was still a great Christmas. A tree filled with ornaments and surrounded by presents is always a heartwarming scene, but there's something even more magical when that tree has ornaments bearing your daughter's face and gifts with her name on it. Some from Mom and Dad, and some from Santa (which, by the way, was something of an issue, as Luke wasn't raised to be a Santa person and I was. In the end, we decided that the books and handmade toys would come from us, and the stocking stuffers and plastic goodies would be credited to the fat guy in the red suit. Anyone's guess as to how it'll play out next year. What do you St. Nickers do in your house?).

 

I really do love seeing colorful packages under the tree.

 

At one year, Kara's still too little to understand Christmas, but she's certainly been impressed by our Christmas tree, and she was even more taken aback to see all the babies it sprouted overnight.

 

The cloth book and CD made up the contents of Kara's stocking, and she would've been perfectly happy just playing with those for the rest of the day. Luke and I had to "gently persuade" her to give the other presents a chance.

Kara wasn't interested in the wrapping paper at all. We had to open each gift until she was able to comprehend that something was inside, and that that something was for HER. Element of Surprise, see you next year.

 

Sizing up one of her new bath toys.

 

Daddy, I don't care what's inside that cool snowman paper, I simply must become well-versed in my colors right this very minute.

 

Such a Mommy turn-on.

 

OK, a slight interest in the wrapping paper (and a sweet kiss from Daddy).

 

When I was a kid, I loved organizing my stash and taking pictures of it under the tree. How could I not do it for my baby? At first glance, it doesn't seem like much, but then I remember that Kara's barely twelve months old and this STILL ran us a hundred smackers and there are plenty of children who would pray to get even half this. Middle-class Americans, we are a spoiled lot, yes?

Anyway, that was our Christmas. A bit rushed in the prep work but relaxing overall, and I wouldn't have had it any other way. Kara may not remember it, but Luke and I will always cherish this particular year, where we had the short-lived, amazing opportunity to enjoy being a quaint little family of three.

How was your Christmas? Seriously, I want to know.

Let her eat (cup)cake

Despite the huge change we'll be experiencing in six weeks, things finally feel like they're becoming more manageable in the Frema-Useless Clutter household. Except for our bedroom (currently the latest catch-all room), our home is finally in order, my work load doesn't feel quite as overwhelming, and we are all set for Christmas. Hopefully this means you'll see me around here more often, because I really missing interacting with you all. And the house post I've been promising for thirty-seven years will go up after the New Year so it doesn't get lost in the holiday shuffle.

This past weekend, my family engaged in two noteworthy events, the first and most unexpected one being a visit from my sister Ryan and her husband Jason, who decided to fly in from Germany and surprise everyone for Christmas. Not only that, but they drove the three and a half hours it takes to get here from Chicago because they knew Luke and I were wanting to stay close to home. Even though we TOTALLy would have made the trip to see them because hello, GERMANY.

They showed up on our doorstep late in the morning and didn't leave until the evening. It was a wonderful visit, and especially nice to have them all to ourselves.

Since Jason's spent a lot of Kara's life on army duty in Iraq, she spent a lot of the visit sizing him up. Here you can see her weighing the pros and cons of remaining where she is or tackling her auntie.

Apparently, it was an easy choice.

 

Don't worry, Uncle Jason, Kara still loves you. See? She's totally letting you mack on her toys.

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The second event happened on Sunday, when Luke made a batch of banana cupcakes with cream cheese frosting (from scratch!) in honor of Kara's birthday. With five days of wellness under her belt, it was finally time for her to enjoy her first rite of passage as a one-year-old. The recipe for the cupcakes came from a homemade baby food cookbook Luke really likes, so now I'm almost glad her first major experience with sugar was something a little more healthful than the grocery-store cake we bought for her party. Not that there's anything wrong with ready-made goodness--if the task were up to me, I would've just gone back to Marsh. What can I say? June Cleaver's got nothing on me.

Anyway, at first, Kara was unimpressed.

 

This concoction is offensive to my delicate baby senses. I banish it from my sight forever! 

 

What's a girl supposed to do with this crap? Maybe there are instructions in the creamy white stuff?

 

You mean this is FOOD? Food I'm allowed to EAT? Why didn't you say so?

 

I don't care if there's frosting on my forehead, I must approach this substance with all the care my index and middle fingers can provide.

 

Say! I like green eggs and ham cupcakes! 

 

(Don't you feel like you're looking at a twenty-one-year-old who just had her first taste of beer?)

 

I'm saving some for later, and I'm putting it right HERE.

 

Where, oh, where is my squishy little baby? Perhaps this young girl can tell me.

 

Happy Birthday, Baby

I have no idea how to write this post.

How can I begin to describe what it means to be this baby's mother? The joy she brings me every day? How proud I am of all she's accomplished these last twelve months? I can't. There are no words.

Instead, I remember little things.

Month One

 

Kara makes her way into the world via c-section, all 11 pounds, 4 ounces, and 22 1/2 inches of her. Her father and I instantly fall in love.

After the initial afterglow, those first few weeks were just about survival. I slept when I could, ate when I could, showered when I could, and snuggled my precious new baby every chance I got--half the time in hysterics. I remember talking to my mother the night we came home from the hospital, sobbing because Luke had to get my pain meds from Walgreens and I was terrified to be alone with her. Listening to Celine Dion's Miracle CD was equally tear-inducing because hot damn, did that woman know what she was talking about, and when singing "The Pie Song" as I rocked her to sleep, sometimes I got so choked up I couldn't finish the words. I could only hum.

My biggest challenge at this point by far was nursing. Despite putting her on the breast every two to three hours that first week and then pumping religiously for the next three, I failed to get more than an ounce or two from each boob. By the end of the month, she was mostly on formula, and I was mostly at peace with my decision.

Fun fact: Kara was so big at birth that she only wore one newborn diaper, the one the nurses fastened to her right after she was delivered.

 

Month Two

 

Slowly, Luke and I were getting into the swing of things, though I was terrible about abiding by the "Sleep when the baby sleeps" rule. I was too busy trying to clean the apartment, update Kara's baby book, and find the time to shower. Afraid of letting her cry for even a second, I only washed up when she was asleep and the bassinet was placed squarely in the middle of the bathroom.

It was around this time I figured out that Kara and I could play together, so we did. I started reading books to her (Mr. Brown Can Moo! Can You? was her favorite--she loved the animal sounds), showing her blocks, and being more aggressive with tummy time. We danced to Fisher-Price and Baby Einstein CDs in the living room. We also napped on the couch in the afternoons--some of the best times of my life. She would stay asleep on me for hours while I watched soaps, ignored the snow falling outside, and breathed in her new baby smell.

Fun fact: It was around week eight that Kara transitioned from the bassinet to the crib and Luke and I actively implemented a loose bedtime routine. It was also about the time we discovered Lost as a way to feel connected to the outside world.Thanks, Charlie whoops, wrong show Jack.

 

Month Three

 

I think this is when Kara was finally able to go longer than two hours during the day without a bottle, making it much easier to travel. By this time we'd been up north to visit family at least twice, taking for granted that she would fall asleep for the majority of the car ride. (Those were the days!) She's also rolled over, smiled, and made me regret I ever agreed to be a working mom. My official return date was March 5. I cried the whole weekend before and even the weekend after because I went to dinner with some local blog buddies and couldn't get over how awful it felt to be spending even MORE time away from my baby.

Fun fact: I reinstitute Weight Loss Wednesday under the guise that I'm serious about shedding the last few sixteen pounds of baby weight. Except that I can't stop eating cookies. Silly Frema.

 

Month Four

 

Turns out the whole going-back-to-work thing isn't going so well. I break down on the Internet and take a vacation from personal blogging to get my act together. Kara fills in and steals the show. She also stops sleeping, finding it more desirable to wake up two to four times every other night for the next few weeks. And that's just at night--her nap time is STILL completely unpredictable. Good times.

Fun fact: I join Weight Watchers online because I'm actually serious about shedding the last few sixteen pounds of baby weight. And I lose four of them! Too bad I'm about to get knocked up!

 

Month Five

 

Kara is sitting up with style and also sleeping through the night again (for the most part). She enjoys her first baby-sitting experiences with each set of grandparents as Luke and I celebrate our second wedding anniversary and attend my ten-year high school reunion in Chicago. We see Dan and Samantha's new house and decide to plant roots in central Indiana, going against our original plan to move closer to Chicago. We introduce Kara to rice cereal but after a week of non-cooperation decide it's not worth the hassle. We pledge to try again next month.

Fun fact: The Great Aunt Flo Watch of 2008 begins. Luke buys a pregnancy test for me at a Walgreens in Merrillville but refers to it as a birth detection kit. The clerks are understandably confused. The pastor who married us is understandably amused.

 

Month Six

 

Kara is crawling! Thus, it's not long before Luke and I are disassembling our coffee table to minimize opportunities for scary head trauma.We're also getting out of the house more to explore local surroundings--parks, the zoo, walking trails--and we have a ball. We even buy one of those cute backpack carriers because we're so sure we'll be spending the summer tromping through Indy's various greenways. Except not so much, because pregnant Frema is in the throes of the first trimester. Sorry, family.

We try cereal again, this time with success. Also bananas, which she doesn't like much at this point, but soon it'll become one of her favorite foods. Naptime is still a struggle but it's getting better, though I'm too afraid to try and put her down myself. I always make Luke do it because I'm afraid of screwing up their routine.

Fun fact: Kara continues to surpass the growth charts, hitting the scales at 21 pounds and 11 ounces and measuring 28 ¾ inches long. She barely fits in her Chicco infant seat anymore.

 

Month Seven

    

Kara wows us all with her level of concentration when it comes to "reading" her books. She loves to stand at our sliding glass door and watch people come in and out of our apartment building--even moreso their pets. We spend lots of time feeding the ducks that camp out at our retention pond because I still feel too crappy to do much else. I orchestrate my first successful nap.

Fun fact: This is the month Luke and I make our beloved "Oopsie!" video.

 

Month Eight

 

I'm starting to feel better, so Luke and I make a trip to Kentucky to visit friends. We also add a bazillion trips up north and get lazy on our drives home, attempting to feed Kara in the car to make better time. This only works a couple of times before she demands to eat her fruits and vegetables outside the confines of her car seat--for one trip, she screamed so loudly that Luke and I were forced to get off the highway and pull into an abandoned gas station (just one of three!) to finish dinner and change her diaper in the back of the Cobalt. That wasn't nerve-wracking at all!

Fun fact: Kara is more agreeable to holding her own bottle, though she picks and chooses when she wants to comply.

 

Month Nine

 

My inner circle experiences a baby boom as Samantha delivers my nephew Danny and Molly gives birth to Marin. Meanwhile, Kara is babbling, cruising along furniture, and finally settling into a regular nap schedule. She's also more apt to go to bed drowsy but awake with minimal fussing, probably thanks to Bunny, her trusty bedtime companion. Her menu includes big girl snacks like Cheerios and Gerber puffs despite STILL not having any teeth. She remains ever the trooper as Luke and I bounce from house to house to house with our real estate agent. She finally enjoys her nightly baths. She still uses a pacifier, but mostly for naptime and bed.

Fun fact: Kara finally ditches her infant seat and upgrades to a convertible. Britax in my car, Graco in Luke's (a hand-me-down from my brother- and sister-in-law, bless them, those things are EXPENSIVE). She seems a lot more comfortable in the car now, though the Britax doesn't lean back as far as the Graco, so her feet are pushed up against the back seat. No surprise, seeing as she's about 30 inches tall. Her weight is beginning to level out at close to 25 pounds.

 

Month Ten

 

Big changes here: We move into the new house, Kara's two front teeth finally make an appearance, and we deal with the blasted time change. All of these factors likely play a role in Kara's once-again inability to sleep through the night; she cries out and wakes up at least once every night just about the whole month. Where before we were able to comfort her with reassuring back pats and soft words, now we resort to rocking her back to sleep because we know she's had a lot of change to deal with and what the hell, it works. Also, my belly is so big that it's too hard for me to lean over and reach her. It usually takes a while for her to find a comfortable spot against my chest, and she's probably cursing Baby Brother for being all up in her business, but we make do.

Fun fact: Pointing! Oh, the pointing! Especially at "the baby in the mirror."

 

Month Eleven

 

Kara's officially walking in no time, thanks to all the new space we've acquired with the new house. She's doing it so well, in fact, it's hard to remember she hasn't been doing it all the time. I have to travel for work for the first time in three years, which means spending the night (actually, three nights) away from Kara for the first time since she's been born. The anticipation was worse than the actual trip, but I'll take a rough night with my baby any day over an "easy" night without her.

No longer the passive book enthusiast, Kara has decided to start bringing the books to us, which equals a lot of repetition. (But hey, who doesn't like reading about Halloween and Thanksgiving in the beginning of December?) She also falls in love with the Curious George stuffed doll I bought for Luke a few Christmases ago. All you have to do is say, "Kara, where's George?" and if she doesn't run off to get him, she at least looks around to determine his location.

Her two bottom teeth are poking through, and she's chewing on her hands like crazy. She's got little red marks all over her fingers from them being in her mouth so much.

She's more affectionate than ever, holding faces to give kisses, running into hugs, and rushing to pat my big old belly when I come home from work. I love the way she reaches out to people, even those she doesn't know that well.

Fun fact: Good Lord, does this baby like to dance. She'll bounce up and down and shake her hands around at random times, sometimes to music, sometimes not.

 

Month Twelve

 

Our girl turns one year old. We still can't believe how blessed we are to have her in our lives.

Happy birthday, sweetheart. We love you more than you will ever know.

   

ER: Birthday edition

Why must each of my pregnancies include a trip to the ER?

Last October, I was thirty-three weeks along with Kara, and dehydration had brought on irregular (and very painful) contractions. On Saturday, I was thirty-one weeks along with Baby Brother, but once again it was Kara who inspired a trip to the hospital. Twenty minutes after lunch and about an hour and a half before the start of her first birthday party, she threw up her lunch in the much the same manner that Linda Blair spewed pea soup all over her bedroom. I think. I never saw The Exorcist. Still, though, I can say with confidence that watching my daughter regurgitate spring vegetables all over herself was probably a lot scarier.

Luke and I took Kara to the hospital at the urging of our pediatrician's on-call nurse, who said that vomiting and tiredness (a symptom she displayed at lunchtime) were often signs of a head injury, a head injury I almost forgot to tell her about when I called after the first round of puke. Kara's hit her head on our end table dozens of times since she learned to walk, and the bump on her forehead was considerably smaller than ones she's had in the past. Her fall that morning was the furthest thing from my mind come afternoon. But paired with her behavior, it couldn't be ignored, so we ended up at one of the city's most popular children's hospitals, where she had her first CT scan to check for internal damage.

Being pregnant, I couldn't go in with Kara for the scan, for which I was equally distressed and relieved. I so wanted Momma to be the one to comfort her, but seeing her in a hospital gown was bad enough; I can't imagine what it would have been like to help restrain her so she could go through "the giant doughnut-hole of the scanner"--my husband's words, as he was the one who had to do the honors. She threw up again twice while we were there, once before the scan and once after, minutes after we were discharged with a clean report and the doctor's reassurance that we were most likely dealing with a virus that would run its course after a few days' time.

We came home three and a half hours later to a full house of party guests who couldn't wait to watch the birthday girl eat cake and open her presents. We had to skip the first part in case it upset her tummy, but we did sing "Happy Birthday" and go through all of her gifts, and soon after everyone was gone and Luke and I were finally allowed to collapse into each other's arms and sob over what a shitty day it turned out to be.

(For a longer recap, check out my Parents entry here.)

Things are almost better now, though Kara woke herself up to vomit on Sunday night, and a reintroduction to carrots caused her to throw up again this evening, so Luke and I are wondering if it's a good idea to go through with our plans for her actual birthday tomorrow, which involved a trip to the local children's museum and a meet-and-greet with Santa Claus. At least I have the day off so we can all be together.

I have more to say, but first! Pictures!

Before the drama:

 

Auntie Frema loving on baby Danny, my adorable nephew courtesy of my sister Samantha and brother-in-law Dan. They drove in from Chicago on Friday night to attend Kara's party. With Samantha's lips and Dan's eyes, he's the perfect combination of his parents.

Dan and Samantha steal our child for a picturesque family moment.

 

Her birthday outfit never stood a chance.

 

The show must go on.

 

Kara's beautiful cake. Luke and I were so Done we totally forgot to light our candle, just cut up slices and passed them around to our guests. (Without ice cream, even! For shame!) We had our pieces after dinner on Sunday. Poor Kara probably won't ever get hers, though Daddy has pledged to make special banana cupcakes once we're sure her stomach can handle it.

 

A unique set of party favors.

 

Kara enjoying her first popsicle--the only form in which Pedialyte was deemed even remotely acceptable.

 

Thankfully, being sick hasn't dampened Kara's spirits. Here she is playing with her babydoll stroller, a present from Grandma and Grandpa Dunscombe.

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Can you tell my heart isn't into this entry? Because my heart is SO not into this entry. I wanted my next post to be about my wonderful house that's finally in order or the photo shoot Luke, Kara, and I staged for our Christmas card or that we're finally at a point where we can start preparing for Baby Brother's arrival in seven weeks, MY GOD. The last thing I wanted to ramble on about was my baby being sick enough to abandon her first birthday party. But I have to, because even though I wrote about it for Parents, this is the site that promises to have a longer shelf life, and I already hate that so little of what I think about and do lately gets recorded here. It seems like every time I try to update, Kara wakes up or I'm nodding off at the computer or something something something. This is one Something I couldn't let pass me by.

Luckily, this post won't have the chance to bring me down for very long, because tomorrow is Kara's actual birthday, the day God officially brought her into our lives, and we all know that a blogger baby can't have a birthday without a video montage to mark the occasion. Not that I can take credit for it--Luke actually made an awesome clip to unveil at the party, but it's twenty-five minutes long, and I'm smart enough to know you all don't love my kid THAT much. Wonderful man that he is, he put together a shorter version for me to post on my blogs, so that will go live tomorrow (or today, depending on when you read this entry). I swear. I'm uploading it to YouTube right now.

I really called it on the NaBloPoMo thing...

...because seriously. Two blog posts for the whole month? My lack of posting this November surprised even me.

But it wasn't without good reason. Between my work trip to New Hampshire, organizing this house, being pregnant, and for the last week, being sick, non-paid blogging had to take a back seat. I did take a stab at it last Wednesday around midnight when Kara should have been down for the count, but she decided to wake up and torture me for THREE AND A HALF HOURS before finally settling down. By the time Luke came in to check on things, both Kara and I were sobbing; he offered to take over, but I would not accept defeat. I did, however, call my sister Samantha the very next day to say that we wouldn't be able to make baby Danny's baptism that following Sunday. I felt absolutely horrible about it, but after countless days of coming home late from work, soothing Kara at night, and traveling on the weekends, we were all burned out. The thought of leaving the zip code after what I like to think of as The Night From Hell was more stressful than picking up the phone and calling Samantha, who was totally understanding about the whole thing. When we all woke up on Saturday morning with runny noses and raspy coughs, I felt even more confident that we made the right decision.

Luke and I also decided that for our own sanity, we were done with traveling indefinitely--our next trip won't happen until sometime after Baby Brother is born and we're feeling adventurous enough to get on the road with two little ones in tow. Luke's parents came to share Thanksgiving with us, so we weren't without family, and Christmas plans are still in progress. However it plays out, though, Luke and I will just be happy to be home.

OK, enough yapping. I owe you a shit load of pictures. Here are some of the latest of Kara:

 

Our little girl is eleven months old now. I am not ready for next month when she'll be one. Her burst of activity is amazing--she's cruising all over the house now, crawling only when she's feeling shy or when I'm chasing her and those cute baby legs can't keep up. She still has only two teeth, but I can see a bunch of white spots shining through her top gums, and I'm terrified they'll all come in at the same time. She dances, too, bouncing up and down, waving her hands, and doing this robot thing with her arms that reminds me of the zombies from Michael Jackson's "Thriller" video.

 

Nights have been hard since we moved; most of the time Kara will wake up crying at least once. Luke and I have taken to picking her up and rocking her back to sleep because it's the easiest way to get her back down. Eventually this will have to stop and we'll revert back to comforting her while she remains in her crib, but right now things are so hectic that we'll do whatever we can to score the maximum amount of sleep. Plus, as I think about what life with Baby Brother will be like, I can't help but enjoy those nights with her a little bit, even when they're super hard, and even though it takes an extra dose of creativity to hold Kara against me in a way that doesn't put pressure on my ginormous belly. Part of me wishes Luke and I had more time to enjoy our girl before adding another child to the mix, so when those snuggle-time moments present themselves, I have to take them. So what if they make me want to pull my hair out?

Kara seems to be enjoying the house. Luke and I are adopting open floor plans in as many rooms as possible to cut back on clutter and take advantage of all this new space. Our living room is the best example of this; aside from our sleeper sofa, love seat, a couple of end tables, and our poor excuse for an entertainment center, the only other items are Kara's Pack 'n Play and several cloth bins of books and toys. This means she can run around to her heart's content and we can clean up her messes in five minutes or less. Everybody wins!

The biggest parenting challenge I faced this month was my overnight stint in New Hampshire. Luke and Kara drove me to the airport at 11 a.m. Tuesday morning and picked me up about the same time that Friday. From the moment I learned about the trip, I started freaking out. Three nights away from home is a long time, especially when it's your first time away and you can't explain to your kid that you're coming back soon, OF COURSE you're coming back. Good-bye was the worst; I started bawling before we even got to the airport. Luckily, Kara was asleep, so I was spared any tears on her behalf (she hates when I leave the car without her), but trying to kiss her sweet little face enough to last me THREE WHOLE DAYS tore at my soul. The actual trip, though, wasn't too bad. It was nice to sleep in a king-sized bed and eat dessert every night and shower as long as I wanted. Plus, since my flight was out of Boston, I spent my last night strolling along the streets of downtown buying souveniers at Quincy Market and taking a quick peak at Fanuil Hall, which I had been calling Nathaniel Hall, thus portraying myself as a colossal idiot slash tourist. (My boss, who knew better, was very gracious. The mail folks who came across my postcards to Luke probably weren't as kind.) I also got to meet Ben Franklin. His business card read, "Have kite. Will travel."

 

So. That's what I've been up to this month. I'm well aware that I still owe you after pictures of the new house, pictures I originally intended to post in this entry, but I think we can all agree I've rambled long enough. Don't you worry, though; I've already saved the winners to my desktop. They are definitely coming.

No tricks, just treats

Tonight was Kara's first Halloween, not to mention Luke's and my first one as homeowners, so while it was a low-key event of indulging in the wonder that is satellite television and jumping to answer the doorbell, it was special, nonetheless. Kara was wearing her pumpkin costume when Luke came to pick me up at work, and she was admired by numerous trick-or-treaters and their moms when I passed out candy, baby on one hip, the goods in another. Since we only moved in on Tuesday, there wasn't time for creative decorating, but I wanted to make sure people knew we were "Halloween friendly" territory, so Luke ran to the store last night to buy some of those orange pumpkin bags you stuff with leaves and a few spooky window clings for the front door. I was so excited to have kids at our door and so grateful they didn't skip our house for lack of not knowing who we were that oftentimes I actually thanked them for stopping by. We handed out two to three pieces of candy to each kid, thus scoring major brownie points in the Cool Neighbors Department (one boy actually gasped), and Kara's adorableness went over quite well with their parents. A win-win for all, to be sure.

My favorite part of the night occurred while Luke was putting Kara to bed and two boys dressed as the Super Mario brothers came to collect their just desserts.

"Trick or treat!" they exclaimed.

"Wow, look! It's Mario and Luigi!" I said while dropping Reese's cups, Laffy Taffys, and Nerds boxes into their grocery bags.

"Luigi," who couldn't have been older than five, looked me straight in the eye and replied, "We're not real, you know."

"Thanks for clearing that up," I said.

My second and third favorite parts happened when a mini-Dorothy accepted her candy then tried to come into the house and one of the local teenagers welcomed us to the neighboorhood. "Did you just move in? I love the way a new house smells," he said. Was he being genuine or just aiming for more candy? Who cares? That's one smart kid.

Kara had a great time "helping" with the trick-or-treaters and generally melted my heart with her cuddly pumpkin self. Who knew ten-month-olds were so damn fun?

 

Look at me! A baby and a pumpkin! Such the multi-tasker, I know.

  

  Pumpkins don't get any respect.

 

Why does my mom think I look like a pea pod in this picture? The world may never know.

 

My fellow Americans, let me explain why I believe children under the age of one should be allowed to eat Kit-Kats, no matter what our silly parents say.

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There is certainly plenty to say about our big move and the process of settling into our new home (not to mention I owe you some seriously amazing after pictures that reflect thousands of dollars in paint and flooring), but that's for another day. In the meantime, Happy Halloween and Happy NaBloPoMo for those of you jumping on the bandwagon tomorrow. This is the first year I won't be participating, and I'm crying on the inside about it, but I can barely post once a week these days. Once every day for a month? Why not go ahead and ask me to stop searching for Baby-sitters Club books at the half-priced bookstore? Both are equally possible.

Bloggers* in flight

* I can call us that because even though Luke hasn't posted since June, he still does have a blog, and Kara certainly held her own during my back-to-work hiatus, and it makes for a short and catchy title, and it's one fifty-seven in the morning as I sit to write this people, give me a break, will you?

I'm tired.

It feels like the last couple of weeks have been non-stop around here. My little family did make the looong trip to Chicago two weekends in a row, once to see my sister Ryan off to Germany, and once for my nephew Danny's baptism, though it was canceled at the last minute due to the poor little guy spitting up constantly and his pediatrician's recommendation that Samantha and Dan bring him to the hospital for observation. Thankfully, it appears to be a simple case of acid reflux to the -enth degree, but he gave his parents a little scare, nonetheless. So the weekends, not exactly a time for productivity.

Plus, work has been busy, and I had to play a lot of advance catch-up to be able to take the first part of this week off. Then there's the Web training seminar I'll be taking in Nashua, New Hampshire, next month, for which I'll be gone three nights, and the very idea of being away from Kara that long has me feeling much like I did in the days leading to my return to work in March. It's been suggested several times that I bring Luke and Kara with me, but between my tight schedule and our tight budget, it's not a good idea. I just have to wear my big-girl panties and resign myself to a good cry on the nights I should be putting her to bed.

And of course, in between work and family and trips up north has been our house, our blessed, wonderful, pain-in-the-ass house that is eating our money and sucking our will to live. To be fair, it's not so much the house itself as it is some of the contractors that have been dragging their feet (I'm looking at you, Cutting Edge Flooring). The last loose end should be tied up tomorrow, and then we can finally collect our spare keys and collapse in a sea of cardboard boxes and Tupperware bins that unfortunately won't unpack themselves. I'm so sad about leaving this apartment--this modest, two-bedroom apartment, where I held Kara to my chest and sobbed the night we came home from the hospital, where the two of us spent hours of my maternity leave snuggled on the couch while the snow fell outside, content to just sleep and breathe each other in--and yet, so excited about our new home, a home that will see a properly sized Christmas tree and stockings along the staircase (I just listened to our holiday playlist on iTunes, can you tell?) and the pitter-patter of little feet that my heart smiles just thinking about it. It's a bag of mixed emotions I've got going on here, but I'm hoping the joy wins out once we're settled in and I can revel in hammering nail holes wherever I damn well please.

All of this would explain why my contest winners have yet to receive their prizes, but rest assured, friends, they're coming soon to a mail box near you.

In the meantime, pictures! Good ole pictures. They're like the the pinch-hitters of blogging, when words are not enough (or just really boring).

 

Here are a couple from last weekend, aka Ryan's American farewell. She and Jason probably won't visit until sometime next fall, so we tried to soak up as much of her as we could. The sentiment seemed lost on Kara, though.

 

In this shot, the childbearing sisters attempt to show off their offspring while the offspring couldn't care less. Way to ruin a Kodak moment, kids.

 

How cute is my nephew? Let me count the ways.

   

Okay, one more, but really, how cute IS he? And can you believe that come February, this picture will be my life? GAAAAH.

 

Here, Kara and Grandma Dunscombe have a meeting of the minds.

 

Kara wants YOU to know about the awesomeness of Daddy D.

We weren't in Chicago long enough this past weekend to pull out the camera very much, but I did catch one of Kara and my mother in a full-fledged hands-and-knees face-off. Grandma seems determined to win, but she's no match for Kara's adorableness. That always trumps speed.

 

One of the rare instances in which Kara allows herself to be lulled to sleep by the sounds of the highway.

And now, seeing as it's three in the morning and Luke is already hauling miscellaneous crap to our car, I'm going to sign off, but not before I tease you with the promise of after pictures the minute AT&T says we can.  

Closing time

So. Today is closing day! The day Luke and I officially become homeowners for the first time in our lives. Final walk-through is at 2:30 p.m., closing is at 3:00, and of course we're still waiting to get final numbers from the bank for our cashier's check because why should we expect things to run smoothly?

I came into work this morning with a huge rock in my stomach (aside from Baby Brother), and as excited as we are to begin this new chapter of adulthood, Luke and I couldn't be more nervous. And because everything's happening so late in the afternoon, I'm not sure how we're going to celebrate. Maybe remove the "For Sale" sign in the front yard. Possibly go out to dinner because there's dried Rice-A-Roni on the stove from last night and Kara will need to eat shortly after we close and our apartment is a good forty minutes from our new pad. Continue to hash out paint colors and a schedule of what we can reasonably expect to accomplish before our October 28th move-in day. Originally the plan was to spend three weekends painting the entire house and the last weekend moving in, but my nephew Danny's baptism is now set for on October 26 and by the way, Ryan is moving to Germany to reunite with her army husband the weekend before that, and there's no way I'm missing out on my last chance to see her before spring. This leaves us only two working weekends left, so the NEW objective is to simply finish the second floor before the new carpet and bathroom tiles are installed later in the month.

Not that any of this makes me the slightest bit uneasy. Or crabby. Or hungry for a big bowl of spinach dip and a day in my pajamas.

It's overwhelming, how much there is to do before vacating our apartment; so overwhelming, in fact, that all I can do is think about October in small, manageable chunks. Call the flooring company. Price-check options for Internet, phone, and cable. (Yes, after more than three years of doing without, the Frema-Useless Clutter household just might hop on the cable bandwagon again.) (Also, I'm thinking not so much with the Comcast.) Buy primer and paint. Figure out when to paint. Figure out what to do with Kara. I would totally put her to work if she could walk more than five steps at a time. Also, if she could be trusted to keep her gums off the paintbrush.

(Actually, we do have some plans for Kara. A friend of mine from work who I knew from my Saint Joe days is going to come to the house and keep her company next Saturday so Luke and I can tackle the upstairs at the same time. Marissa heard about our baby-sitterless plight and actually volunteered to baby-sit. Hopefully this will be the beginning of a beautiful, paid friendship.)

In more uplifting news, did I tell you how much fun Kara is these days? Oh, wait, I guess I did. But I want to document it here, too, that my baby toddles and eats yogurt and "reads" her board books the right way and still has to play with my hair when I rock her to sleep. Luke and I are constantly looking at pictures from her newborn days and marveling over how much personality she's developed since then, how active she is, and how she loves us through each fumble. I would never categorize myself as patient, and I'm embarrassed to admit how damn frustrating parenthood is sometimes, but despite my shortcomings, Kara still scrambles to my arms when I come home each day. The biggest fear I had about being a working mom--that she wouldn't want me as much--has now reversed into my biggest obstacle, at least when trying to tackle my daily to-dos. She can't get enough of me. But I wouldn't want it any other way.

It's amazing to think that soon, there will be TWO little wonderfuls vying for my attention.

This was taken last Wednesday morning to document me at 20 weeks. Tomorrow I will be 21 weeks. Where is the time going?

Kara doesn't know, either.

It's mind-boggling, how much I love her.

Let's Hear It For The Boy

Well, THERE went two weeks of personal blogging I'll never get back.

The mini-hiatus was unintentional, but life, it has been busy. Between welcoming sweet baby girls, working out insurance and inspection details for our September 30 closing, and keeping up with projects at work, I'm lucky I've managed to update my Parents blog. But, you know, they pay me, so it wasn't that hard of a decision to make.

Speaking of Parents, if you're a follower, you learned on Friday that a penis was discovered in my uterus.

Thanks to the cheesecake I had at lunch, Baby Brother was much more cooperative during his ultrasound than Kara was for hers, so we saw the goods twice. Also, his very adorable profile.

Oh, and we might've purchased a few little boy things. Maybe. Just a few.

I so thought this baby was going to be a girl (thanks for nothing, stupid old wives' tales), but disappointed would be the last word I'd use to describe what it felt like to learn about my son. Luke and I couldn't be more excited.

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I really appreciated all of your comments regarding our new house and our plight with the kitchen cabinets. Despite the amount of work we know it's going to take, Luke and I have decided to bite the bullet and repaint them a soft, creamy color. Paired with a khaki/tan shade on the walls, that should be enough to even things out and keep the first-floor rooms from clashing with each other, no matter what colors we end up using. I was quite impressed with Dr. Maureen's paint job, and after seeing her "before" pictures, I better understand why in certain cases, painting over the wood actually makes more sense than keeping the cabinets in their current condition. I have no idea what shape my cabinets were in before they were subjected to all that green, but after visiting the Valspar Web site to review paint swatches, I think I know where the sellers got their inspiration.

Coincidence? I THINK NOT.

The kicker? I actually DON'T MIND the color scheme in this room. But when you swap out the laminate flooring for a blah white tile and eliminate more than half the square footage, including the kick-ass island, what could have been a warm and inviting look becomes cramped and mismatched in a less impressive space. Oh, well. Live and learn.

The time between now and when we actually move in October is already making me nervous, wondering if we can paint every room and every damn cabinet prior to the second floor's carpet and tile job, prioritizing the items we want to add/upgrade in our home, counting every penny and trying to maximize it best we can. It's overwhelming now, but I trust that once we have the keys in hand, everything will suddenly appear much more managable. In the meantime, let's all ooh and ahh over Kara, who turned nine months old today and currently steals our hearts with her open-mouthed kisses, determination to walk, and ability to babble Mama and Dada at just the right time.

The apple of our eye indeed!

Much cuter than the professional shots she took at Target last month. We'll be redoing them this weekend at Portrait Innovations.

Today it's orchards, tomorrow undergraduate education. Sob.

In case you couldn't tell, I got a haircut, too

You don't mind an entry chock full of pictures, do you? Good. Because I am very tired and these images are the only reason I was motivated to post tonight.

Last week, Luke, Kara, and I spent four days up north visiting family, prompted by the fact that my new brother-in-law, Jason, was on a two-week leave from duty in Iraq, and not only did I have to miss his and Ryan's wedding (remember my Saint Joe scare?), he was deployed before Kara was born, so he still hadn't met his niece. We wasted no time getting them properly introduced.

Uncle Jason was happy to see Kara, though he admitted at one point, "I don't know what to do with her!" Here they are both looking to my mom for further instruction.

For our four nights away from home, we spent the first and last one at Luke's parents house and the middle two with Samantha and Dan. My sister is just over a week away from her due date, which just so happens to fall on the anniversary of her wedding. Little Danny Junior's arrival is eagerly anticipated by all.

(Here would be a great place to include Samantha's picture, except that I didn't take any. Bad big sister!)

Here's Luke reading to Kara one of the mornings we stayed with Samantha and Dan. I'm including it because Kara munching on her bunny's ear--the one that has helped her recover from a rough sleep patch these last couple of months--is way adorable, and it showcases one of her very favorite books: Gossie and Gertie, which is actually part of a Gossie-and-friends-type series. MY favorite is the one about BooBoo because it talks about burps, and what could be cuter then a story about a gosling who burps?

 

On Saturday morning, our little family stole away for a couple of hours and drove to Navy Pier. It was Kara's first time seeing Lake Michigan, and Luke and I had a blast strolling her down the boardwalk and giving her a view of the water. The Pier is one of my favorite Chicago landmarks, so it was probably natural that I felt a ping of sadness over not living closer and being able to see it any old time we wanted. Staying in Indianapolis is the best option for us right now, but part of me holds out for the chance of someday making the move to northwest Indiana, where the grass is green and the commuter trains are pretty.

Later that afternoon I attended a surprise baby shower for Molly (I know she'll be sharing pictures soon) (hint, hint, Molly), and while I was gone Luke and Kara hung out with my mom, who was ecstatic over having so much time with her granddaughter. There are some especially cute pictures over at Parents, where Kara's reading Grandma's face Helen Keller style and Grandma's teaching Kara this "so big!" move that she absolutely loved.

(Notice Kara's travel chair? It's a Chicco Caddy Hook-On Chair we can use at places where a high chair isn't available. It was thirty-five bucks and works like a charm, though Kara did cling to me for dear life the first couple of times she was in there.)

Kara likes the hustle and bustle of Chicago, but she also enjoys the quiet calm we experience when we visit Grandma and Grandpa Dunscombe. Also, Grandpa provides adequate lap space for naps.

The next day, before we headed out of town, we stopped to visit Molly and Jack. They were both excited to see Kara, because Molly has baby girl fever and Jack still gets a kick out of Kara's "Oopsie" video. I think they had a good time with each other, though Jack was not thrilled with Kara's tendency to drool on his toys.

Jack's like, "What are you doing with my bus, woman?" and Kara's like, "Boat?"

I don't know why innocent pictures like this make me want to joke about a future pairing, but they do, except then I get weirded out contemplating my baby daughter's potential love matches. Forgive me, Jack.

Molly and I juggling small children and fetuses (feti?) in utero. Neither of us expected to get knocked up with surprise babies this year, but who does? And anyway, there's nobody I'd rather freak out with.

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Now, the random stuff.

My Hoosier Momma shirt turned out to be too small, so my embarassment over wearing it can wait until next year. Maybe we'll just save it for bedtime.

It looks like the top three venue choices for BlogHer 2009 are Portland, Philadelphia, and St. Louis. I voted for St. Louis because it's closest in proximity to Indianapolis, but I would be way stoked to visit Philly again. I went there with Luke in 2004 to visit his best friend. We visited Old City and Valley Forge and took a ghost tour and all of it was awesome. Luke is actually encouraging me to sign up next year and even suggested that the four of us (!) could go together and turn part of the trip into a mini family vacation. I am so all over that; I really did have a great time last year. My only hang-up is my purpose for attending: my personal blog is often left to collect dust, so ads are definitely not a part of my near future, and sometimes it's difficult to keep up on the one I get paid for. Am I looking for larger readership? More freelance work? Or simply network (Amalah, for the love of God, PLEASE SAY YOU'RE GOING IN '09) and have a good time? Is that good enough?

I suppose it doesn't really matter. Luke's on board with my going, and I bring in enough money from blogging that attending a conference like this would be totally worth it. Count me in.

This week has been great to me, baby-wise. I entered my thirteenth week and experienced an energy surge that didn't come until closer to week eighteen with Kara, and my work unveiled a new maternity leave policy, effective immediately, that pays six weeks at one-hundred-percent salary. Words can't express the impact this will have on my life, but I make the attempt over at Parents.

On the housing front: Luke, Kara, and I will visit three more houses on Indy's south side. Wish us luck.

Lastly, Kara is just nine days away from turning eight months old and making the cutest "mamadadababa" babbles you've ever heard in your life. On Monday morning, Luke will take her in for her first professional photo shoot. I didn't realize how bummed I'd be over not being able to join them, but I'm already leaving early that day for an ob/gyn appointment, and things are too busy for me to take off the whole day. Where did the time go? When did my sweet baby girl go from this:

To this?

Hell if I know, but damn if she isn't the most beautiful person I've ever met.

Also, I heard "Summer in the City" on the radio today, and it made me think of Sweatin' to the Oldies and how much I love Richard Simmons. Just in case you were wondering.

After four plus years of blogging, you'd think the stage fright that used to accompany each blog post would be gone. And when I was writing regularly, it was. There wasn't a lot of pressure on any one entry because the frequency of posts balanced out the crap.

Now, though, it's a wonder if I update more than once a month, so even though I'm coming up with ideas all the live-long day, I don't follow through with most of them because I think, Is that something I want sitting on my front page for three weeks? And usually it's not, so my blog collects dust, when in fact all those little nothings could have equalled a semi-interesting collection of pseudo twitters, and then you wouldn't have to click on a blog that's been dormant since the first of the month.

Anyway, with this entry, I'm not going to overthink flow or grammar or even quality, because I received three totally awesome e-mails from blog readers this weekend alone, not to mention the outpour of support I've gotten since announcing baby Number Two's impending arrival, so I'm totally feeling the love for the Internet, and it almost makes me wish I'd bitten the bullet and gone to BlogHer this year, except there's no way I could afford it and the idea of traveling to California is too intimidating and what business do I have going to a blogging conference when one of my blogs is treated like an ugly step-sister?

(I really should have said Cinderella, since she's the one who got dumped on, but she was gorgeous and had a fairy godmother and eventually snagged the prince, so no tears for her.)

• Still nothing new on the house front. Luke and I set up a meeting with our realtor for Wednesday afternoon so we can touch base and talk out some different ideas. She's been in touch via e-mail, but we haven't seen her since early June, and it seems appropriate to catch up face-to-face. We're exploring a few neighborhoods that weren't on the radar before, and we've saved up a little more money to add to our down payment, but we still have to stick within the original parameters we set for our mortgage, so really, nothing significant has changed. We signed our lease for another three months, so the goal is to close on something by Halloween, because another three-month lease would put us at the end of January, and there's no way I'm moving when I'm thisclose from being nine months pregnant. I'd rather stay in the apartment for another year before going through that kind of stress. We'll see what happens.
• Last Friday I saw a car in front of me hit a bird, and it spiraled in the air and landed right underneath my Cobalt. That was pleasant.
• Did you know I'm one of ten finalists to win a Chicco Trevi Twin double stroller? It's true! Last week, one of my readers e-mailed me to share news of a contest hosted by Amazing Trips, and 55 commenters posted stories as to why they thought they should win the stroller. I posted a sob story of my own about having a baby and being pregnant with a baby and saving for a house and hello, there are no money trees where I live. Jen chose ten finalists, and it turns out I'm one of them! Voting takes place until 11:59 p.m. tomorrow, so you have plenty of time to visit her site and take her poll in the left side bar to stack the odds in my favor. I don't think I'll win--I'm up against a foster-to-adopt mother and a woman expecting her second set of twins--but I'd like to give it the good ole college try. Thanks for the heads up, Cameron!
• All the talk of BlogHer reminded me that I never wrote part two of 2007's BlogHer: the rest of the story recap. My bad.
• Like I said, I'm not too bummed about missing it this year, but of course this is when Amalah goes again. Also, boo hoo over no free swag.
• My very pregnant sister Samantha and her husband, Dan, came to visit during the Fourth of July weekend, and with them they brought boxes of crap I've been storing in my parents' basement for oodles of years. At first I was nervous about finding a place to keep everything, but then I realized that eighty percent of it really was crap that could go straight to the recycling pile. Most of the loot included old Baby-Sitters Club and Archie comic books, and while I would love nothing more than to build a shrine in honor of my childhood reads, the books weren't properly stored, so they were covered in dust, and I had (have) a bad habit of scribbling on pages when I'm reading, so it's not even like they were in good enough condition to pass on to my kids, thus sharing the eighties love. I did keep a few of my favorites (a few being twenty), but the majority were shipped off to Goodwill because I didn't know what else to do with them. I doubt they're sellable, but hopefully they'll give some of the clerks a good laugh.
• I also found other gems like handwritten notes from middle school (complete with origami-like folding) and another (lesser) masterpiece by lil' Frema:

• You're probably thinking, Oh no, she didn't, but oh yes, I did. And I will share it with you, when I have time to scan the pages.
• Speaking of books, remember Cringe? The one that's publishing my tragically misspelled poem about unrequited love? Well, it's coming to a Barnes and Noble near you on August 27th. There's going to be a huge release party in New York in September, a release party I most definitely cannot afford to attend, but there's also going to be a national book tour, and if there's a stop anywhere near Indianapolis, I'll do whatever it takes to show up and read my submission. You'll come, too, won't you?
• When looking for the above linked-to entry, I scrolled through a mass of third-trimester pregnancy photos, and my God, I was a house. The belly, so huge.
• You are still not allowed to say such things to me. One of my coworkers came up to me last week and said, "I think you're showing already!" and I smiled weakly, but people. It is never OK to tell a woman she's getting bigger.
• Still crying inside over not seeing Sex and the City while it was at the show.
• The recent slew of new-baby celebrity names have been terrible. I feel like Knox should be the worst of the bunch, but I can't get over Honor. All I can hear is, "I don't know about you, but I'd sure like to get Honor!"
• MY baby is doing just fine, thank you for asking. Kara turned seven months last Thursday and continues to crawl and pull up on furniture like crazy. She also has a great time eating the peas, carrots, sweet potatoes, and butternut squash Luke purees just for her. And holy crap, does it save a lot of money. Do you know how much commercial baby food costs these days? Not cheap. She eats some store-bought things--mostly fruit--but still, mad props to my husband for owning this task.
• Motherhood Uncensored recently wrote a post about super-secret bastard iPod songs, and many readers shared their own bastard songs, but most of them were "safe" bastard choices like "Brick House" and "Come On, Eileen"--songs that nobody's REALLY embarrassed to admit to. I offered a few illegitimates of my own, but it wasn't until weeks later that I remembered the one song I absolutely love that until now, I've NEVER shared with anyone:
• "One on One" by Hall and Oates. I bet you didn't think it was possible for this tune to set the stage for Deep Thoughts about life and love, but it does. It really, truly does.
• I love Judge Judy with a passion usually reserved for cheesecake and those little fries at Steak 'n Shake. I want her to be my grandma.
• Dear Abby can be a fun aunt.
• I still write my Parents blog.
• You should read it.
• I spend way too much time thinking about baby names. Swistle's blog doesn't help.
• I'm hooked on All My Children again, and I think the current plot is just a terrible ploy to write Annie off the show and facilitate a Ryan-Greenlee reunion. I hated them together, but I loved watching them get together, if that makes any sense. Also, I don't like the new Colby, and I love that Erica continued to blow out her hair and do her make-up IN PRISON.
• I'm giving up on non-fiction for a while because it's hurting my brain. I tried to read The Feminine Mistake because I was intrigued by the premise but after forty pages I realized she was talking about white-collar, six-figure-dollar professional women, and not the average mom trying to make it on a middle-class or working-class income. Hell, Atlas Shrugged would give me less of a headache.
• On a related note, guess what I'm reading again.
• I think Ayn Rand's philosophy is crap, and I usually end up skipping the main character's hundred-page agenda-toting monologue at the end, but hot damn, do I love this book.
• The Fountainhead is awesome, too.
• In college I wanted to take an independent study focusing on Ayn Rand, but because nobody in the English department felt qualified to take it on, I worked with a professor who had a background in politics. That was cool with me because I loved him, and plus I'd already taken his Intro to Political Theory class where he covered Atlas Shrugged, which is how I read it for the second time and actually the reason I signed up for the course in the first place.
• This was fun!
• I promise to post more, even if it's just a couple of lines here and there.
• It's now almost midnight, and waaaay past my bedtime. The things I do for the Internet.
• Here are pictures of my kid.

What's happenin', hot stuff?

I'm supposed to do what with this?

A six-month-old's lament

Dear Internet,

Why is my mom all about the disappearing acts lately? This hiatus was even lamer than the last one. I didn't even get a chance to post! What's up with that?

Grrr,
Kara

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Dear Kara,

When you type negative comments about your mother using her very own blog, remember she can read them. Also, that she has the power to take that pacifier away faster than you can crawl after her.

Love,
Momma

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Well, if my non-literate baby daughter took the time to ask such deep and meaningful questions, the least I can do is answer them. Maybe you're interested, too!

But really, it's quite boring. I never intended this place to collect dust for as long as it did. Every few days I'd intend to post, but first-trimester yuck caught up to me, to the point that once Kara was down for the night, I was down for the night. I could pull myself together long enough to post on Parents, but not for anything that didn't absolutely require some level of attention. Plus, I'm still feeling hella overwhelmed about this baby (as evidenced by my recent Parents freak-out), and I wasn't sure what to say about it here. I go back and forth between feeling completely off my game about having two kids so close together and completely guilty that I'm not one-hundred-percent over-the-moon about our new addition, which I know is a gift from God, a gift I will love just as much as Kara. But right now the big picture is hazy, as the every day is spent battling UTIs, trying to find an appetite (yet simultaneously wondering why I've only lost a pound), sleeping whenever I get the chance, and bemoaning my overall lack of energy. I don't want to complain all the time. I don't want people to think I'm asking for sympathy. But I can't pretend I'm over this hump yet, physically or emotionally.

It helps that Luke and I have put off house-hunting for a bit. Our whirlwind touring process ended with us making offers on three houses in two weeks, none of which worked out. In all three cases the counter was too high, and the sellers weren't willing to come down any more, and we couldn't afford to go up more than a couple of thousand. The first house we bid on was actually a pipe dream -- it had only been on the market one day, so we knew they wouldn't be desperate enough to go down as much as we wanted, but it never hurts to try -- but the last two offers were acknowledged to be quite reasonable by the seller's agents. It sounds like in each case, the sellers owed more than the houses were worth and couldn't accept much less than their original purchase price. Which, OK, but then why is your house on the market? Why not wait until the economy improves and get more bang for your buck? Whatever. Luke and I are taking the next couple of months to save up a larger down payment (thank you, July bonus) and clear our heads so we don't settle on something that won't work in the long run. I really hope all three of those houses are still on the market when we get back on track. Maybe they'll like our offers then, bastards.

(Not that I'm bitter or anything.)

Things around here are OK. Kara officially turned six months old a couple of weeks ago and weighs in at a whopping 21 pounds and 11 ounces and measures 28 3/4 inches long. She's crawling, pulling up on furniture, kind of submitting to a somewhat regular nap schedule, and laughing. The laughing is the best -- full-on, belly laughs that I didn't think were possible for babies, but they are. And on Saturday night, we caught it on video.

I look terrible, and my voice is super annoying, but surely you can get past all that to appreciate my beautiful baby girl. We couldn't be more delighted with her.

FYI, we haven't been able to get a reaction like that from her since, even with the magic word "Oopsie," so let's just thank our lucky stars we captured it when we did.

(It's totally inappropriate for me to watch this clip and wish I'd pointed at my belly during one of the "Oopsies," right? Probably yes?)

Also, in case you were wondering, the newest Frema-Useless Clutter embryo (who from here on out shall be known as Number Two) isn't doing so bad, either.

There's not much to see right now, but the first picture includes a tiny yet helpful arrow to indicate Number Two's current residence. This ultrasound was taken when I was exactly six weeks along and suggests a due date of February 11, 2009. If I have another c-section (which my doctor suggests), I'd go a week earlier, putting my children just shy of 14 months apart. Tomorrow I will be eight weeks. This early part of pregnancy is going exactly like I remembered -- loooong, and also BLECH -- and I'm already waiting in earnest for that second-trimester burst of energy that didn't come until around week 18 with Kara. Hopefully, Number Two will be more considerate, but probably not. I bet Kara posted crib notes on the wall of my uterus, instructing future siblings on proper prenatal behavior, just to spite me.

For those of you who haven't stopped checking this blog for signs of life, I will do my best not to flake out again, but see above regarding BLECH. Thanks for hanging in there.

For what it's worth...

I told myself it didn't matter, not having a positive pregnancy test. A blood prick from the doctor's office is way more telling than a first morning's urine, and the last thing I need to do is waste three-fifty on something that offers redundant information. But tonight I asked Luke to pick up a Target-brand HPT, anyway, frugality be damned, because I am a girl and biologically programmed to pee on sticks. I need proof. I need the two pink lines. Or in this case, a big blue plus sign.

Mission accomplished.

It's about damn time.

Congratulations, pregnant self! Call me crazy, but it's much more real now.

Things have been crazy-busy around here. Last Wednesday, Luke and I lost two hours of married life talking numbers with our mortgage lender and visited seven homes in four hours on Sunday. Today we saw three more plus the most promising one from the weekend, and tomorrow we will make an offer.

House hunting has proven to be one of the most interesting experiences of my life, and the most exhausting, especially when you're schlepping around a six-month-old who will only tolerate so much car seat before her screams permeate a twenty-foot radius. One house had a whole room showcasing African safari decor complete with elephant wallpaper border and an unfortunately persistent smell of cat. We also attempted to see two bank-owned homes listed at to-die-for prices, until we actually entered the homes and realized that's probably what happened. Somebody must have died. What else could explain the torn carpet, scribbled-on walls, damaged fences, and bugs seeping through the woodwork? If Luke and I could afford a more mature down payment and about ten thousand dollars worth of up-front maintenance costs, these bad boys would be a steal. But we have babies (babies! MY GOD), who would prefer to eat more than once a day, and I am not a fan of having to purge questionable living creatures from my happy place.

The house we are going with, our first choice, is adorable. Three bedrooms, two baths, roomy, fenced-in backyard, two-car insulated garage, brand-new carpet, appliances included, and closet space galore, all in a neighorhood with one of the best school systems in the Indianapolis area. Originally we were hoping to score four bedrooms, or at least three beds and an office space, but alas, we are first-time home-buyers living on one salary, so some of those wants will have to wait until next time. First Choice will definitely meet our needs as a soon-to-be four-person family for years to come, and today on our second walk-through, I got lost thinking about raising our children there--rocking them to sleep, setting up a Christmas tree, playing tag in the yard while Luke throws hot dogs on the grill--and now I am quietly freaking out because I am too emotionally invested in this transaction. We have a price cap that we will not (cannot) negotiate, and there are two other houses to act on should this deal fall through, so I'm not worried about losing my head, but if for some reason things didn't work out, I just might pull a Sally Field circa Steel Magnolias ("I wanna know whyyyyyyyy") and consume an entire pint of Chunky Monkey in one sitting. Which may or may not be appreciated by my embryo.   

Kara is fabulous. She's been sitting on her own for months now, but yesterday was the first time she actually pulled herself into a sitting position. That made me cry, too, as did thinking about how huge I'm going to be in a few months and I won't be able to hold her on my chest like I do now and wah wah wah more ice cream please.

It's getting harder and harder to keep my lips zipped about baby number two at work. I've already told my VP, my direct supervisor, two of my work buddies, and our sales and marketing analyst. If I can make it to my June 18th ob/gyn appointment and ultrasound without tipping off the CEO, it will be a bloody miracle. And seeing as life lately is already one big miracle, I doubt I'm due for another.

It all started with jelly beans.

Luke and I were at Super Target yesterday, stocking up on important items like diapers, frozen dinners, and hand soap, when we happened to drive through the candy section, specifically the Jelly Belly section, where dozens of miniscule beans bedazzled me with their array of brilliant colors, almost like a rainbow, and suddenly I was overcome with desire for Red Apple Jelly Bellys. "I'll just have a handful every now and then," I promised as I tossed the sack into my cart. "After all, they're fat free!"

Now, at my Super Target, the candy aisle is adjacent to the potato chip aisle, and a variety of Baked Lays beckoned from their place on the end cap. "I'll just have some with lunch," I pledged as I debated between barbeque and cheddar and sour cream. "After all, they're baked!"

Famous last words.

Less than twenty-four hours later, I had consumed approximately twenty points worth of Jelly Bellys, three servings of chips, one Weight Watchers ice cream sandwich, a bowl of Cocoa Krispies, three Fig Newtons, and my weight in defiance, tired of counting points, measuring portions, and turning down a cup of milk with dinner because I'd rather spend the points on cookies (the Weight Watchers ones, of course). It didn't help that today I was home from work, which meant instant access to all things guilt-inducing and an afternoon of Beverly Hills, 90210, the first season, because it was on sale for twenty bucks. (Remind me sometime to talk about how this show has seriously warped my impression of raising teenagers; also, how Jim Walsh is pretty much, "Way to go, son, just use a rubber" with Brandon after he lays his first girlfriend but will fuhREAK out later when Brenda does the nasty with Dylan. Sexism, it is a bitch!). So for now I'm enjoying the goodies and promising to get back on the saddle tomorrow.

Binge eating aside, it's been a wonderful weekend, the highlight of which was a trip to the Indianapolis Zoo. It was Kara's first time, and our first real outside activity as a family (walks around the complex don't count), and as the three of us made our way from the parking lot to the front entrance, all I could say was, "This is what I've always wanted."

The outing was inspired in part because Indy has a few koalas on loan for the summer, so that was the first place we went. Did you know that because koalas live on eucalyptus, a food that's shockingly low in nutrition, they spend anywhere from eighteen to twenty-two hours A DAY asleep? Thus, to capture one awake and on camera was quite a feat. Way to go, Luke.

Next were the seals, where we hung for about an hour because our stop there coincided with Kara's next bottle and she was taking her sweet little time. But eventually she finished, and Luke scooped her up to give her an up-close-and-personal view, and watching them, my heart melted.

As if THAT weren't precious enough, the oceans exhibit was even better, as Kara's eyes were drawn to the brightly colored fish just inches from her nose. It was amazing to see her smile as various forms of sealife crossed her path and Luke beam with pride as he pointed out their features. He's always had a soft spot for nature and animals, so I know this trip was especially meaningful for him.

Of course, I had my turn, too, and took great delight in identifying giraffes, elephants, and monkeys, all of which we see in our favorite bedtime book.

Apparently Kara's hands were far more appealing than posing for a happy shot with Momma.

But not for Daddy!

I could eat them up, I love them both so much.

Afterwards, Luke and I spent some time watching Juno, and when it comes to that movie, I don't know what to say. The dialogue was a cross between Dawson's Creek and every Kevin Smith film I've ever seen, only less believable, but really, it was the act of watching the main characters navigate through the adoption process that brought me to tears, because I couldn't imagine my life without Kara. I felt a new kind of hurt for the moms who choose this process, for whatever reason.

The soundtrack, on the other hand? Totally awesome.

-------

Check out my latest post on Parents, wherein I contemplate family size.

More options than an Old Country Buffet

While I was busy debating how to address my high school reunion, surprisingly, life carried on. Here's just a sampling of what's been occupying my time:

Great Aunt Flo Watch of 2008
Geez, you might be thinking, is she really still talking about this? Hell, yes, I'm still talking about this, today is day 55 of my cycle and still not a word from that bitch Aunt Flo. I took another test when I came home from work this afternoon because my stomach felt jittery before lunch, but alas, still negative, my fourth one since Mother's Day weekend. It's not so much that I'm freaked out about maybe having children THIRTEEN MONTHS APART, HOLY CRAP, but more like dying of curiosity; however, even that attitude isn't doing me any good, so I've decided to just sit tight until I'm presented with either two pink lines or a bloodbath in my underwear. I've been cramping on and off for days, and my gut feeling is that I'm not pregnant, but my gut also told me I would deliver Kara before her due date, possibly without drugs, and we all know how that went down.

While waiting for the latest test to register, Luke jokingly asked if there was a way to jumpstart my period. "If you can speed up labor, why not this?" he said.

Indeed.

Weight Watchers
Today marks week three of Weight Watchers 2.0, and things are going...okay. I've not been as dedicated as I was the first time around, so there were several incidents involving pancakes, bacon, and chicken strips, but I've lost 4.2 pounds to date--almost two pounds since last week--and that's not a bad thing. I've really enjoyed the ability to track my eating habits and calculate Points values online; it was through the Web site that I learned one point plus one point doesn't necessarily equal two. As in, three of the Weight Watchers one-point chocolate chip cookies are five points, not three, and I'm not sure why that is, exactly, but being off by a couple of points each day definitely makes a difference on the scale. I just discovered this gem a few days ago, and my newfound knowledge is bound to make a positive impact on next week's weigh-in.

I will say that I participated in a free health risk assessment at work the other day, and baby weight aside, I'm much healthier than I originally thought. In 2005 I was diagnosed with high cholesterol, and my efforts to bring it down were half-hearted at best. I was pregnant for most of 2007, and pregnancy raises cholesterol, so it wasn't until now that I was in a position to retest. I'm happy to report that all of my levels are in the optimal or near-optimal range, and I can breathe a little easier knowing I've reduced my risk for heart disease. It was in taking that test that I realized I'm doing Weight Watchers for more than just the weight loss. I've had an effed-up mentality regarding food for years, and I want to put my best foot forward and engage in a healthier lifestyle. I want Kara to look at me and see a strong role model for making good choices about food and exercise, and I want her to think that it's easy. I don't want her to use food to get attention, like I did when I made myself throw up for three weeks in junior high. I don't want her to obsess over supposed imperfections or compare herself to peers with drastically different body types or run to food whenever she needs comfort. But if I want that for her, I have to want it for me, too. And I do.

But hot damn, do I miss my spinach dip.

It's not all bad, though. I've been doing a little more in the kitchen, and on Tuesday night I used my Take Five! cookbook, a collection of Weight Watchers recipes with only five main ingredients, to make Pita Pizzas for five points a piece. And they were delicious. Isabel, you bonafide pizza lover you, they will not disappoint. I promise.

House
After months of hemming and hawing and pouring over Excel spreadsheets to make sure we are really in a financial position to do this, Luke and I took our first major step in becoming homeowners and mailed off an application to the Indianapolis Neighborhood Housing Partnership, a non-profit that helps first-time owners secure their first house. Now, Luke and I both have excellent credit (quick shout-out to myfico.com, where we purchased our credit reports and Fico scores from all three bureaus for forty-five bucks a piece), so we don't need to go through an agency to make this happen, but the INHP has relationships with banks throughout the city that will offer loans without requiring a down payment OR private mortgage insurance to qualified buyers. Plus, I took a (free!) intro-to-home-buying class last spring that they sponsored at a local university, and it was very infomative. It certainly couldn't hurt to see what they can offer us.

Our lease on this apartment is up at the end of July, but we'll definitely need more time then that to get our act together, so the plan is to switch to a month-to-month lease and close on a property sometime in September. We won't start looking until we've been pre-approved by a lender, which should allow us to move forward relatively quickly once we've found the house of our dreams. Luke and I are beyond excited about being able to do this and STILL have someone home with Kara. I know how lucky we are and I thank God every night for it.

My Gorgeous Baby
Kara turned five months old on Saturday, and she is taking the world by storm: scooting backwards, becoming more vocal, and as of Sunday, experimenting with rice cereal. She won't entertain more than a few spoonfuls before she's pushing away the spoon, but she's extremely interested in everything on our plates, so this is a good place to start.

Plus, she looks absolutely adorable in her high chair.

She continues to hold herself up really well and can sit unsupported for about ten minutes before toppling over like a house of cards.

She's also still snacking on her fingers and toes with passionate abandon.

So, to sum up, things are going really well right now, even if I feel a little like I'm burning the candle at both ends. Work is extremely busy, and I'm helping with a baby shower for my sister Samantha in June, which means invites needed to go out like, yesterday, and writing for Parents always keeps me on my toes. (Not sure why me wanting to clean my daughter's toes from a strange dog's germs is basis for telling me to relax, as if I couldn't wait to dip her foot in bleach or something, or why not wanting my five-month-old baby to be approached by a dog I don't know means I'm afraid of all dogs all the time, but whatever.) Sure, there are times I'm afraid of passing out behind the wheel, but really, what's a good night's sleep, anyway?

I can't wait to see what tomorrow will bring.

Eavesdropping

You guys! You'll never guess what I heard the other day...

Scene: How should I know, I'm only three months old; Momma and Daddy staring at a big black box while Momma crazily waves a hand in front of my face:

Momma: Hey, look! Twelve Angry Men is in town! You know I did that play in high school? I was the guard.

Daddy: We can go, if you want.

Momma: That would be fun. Oh, yay! I haven't seen a play in forever.

Daddy: We'll have to get a sitter, you know.

Momma: Huh?

Daddy: You know, for Kara. You can't bring a baby to a play.

Momma: Oh. Right. Nevermind.

Daddy: Did you forget we have a child?

Momma: No?

Daddy: ....

Mommy! I am the love of your life! How could you blank on my smashing good looks?

Admitting defeat

All week I've been thinking about the return of Tragic Love Friday, mainly because I've been trying to find time to write it.

On Monday, I went back to work after bawling my eyes out on Sunday night, sobbing, "I hate this, I hate this," "this" being having to go to the office all day just as Kara's starting to do more than lay on a blanket and mesmerize her father and I with her adorable, fleshy gums. Samantha was still in town, so we all had dinner together, only I could barely sit still, wanting to finish up as fast as I could so I could have the baby in my arms again but also wishing I could have another cry and wondering why my heart still hurts so much when I've been doing this for a week and a half already. I put on a happy face for Luke and my sister and spent my free time wiping down countertops and picking up toys so there wouldn't be as much mess for Luke to worry about the next day. I was already leaving him with a sinkful of dirty dishes, and as we all know, the cook should never have to clean, but by the time I finished my Parents entry, it was past ten, and I had to get into bed soon or my eyeballs would explode the next day from the lack of sleep. Thus, no TLF writing on Monday.

Tuesday wasn't any better. I had to go to the dentist because last week I bit on a raisin and felt a shooting pain in my mouth that stayed with me for a good five minutes. Only after forty-five minutes of sitting in the waiting room, flipping through the latest issue of People and staring at my cell phone, wanting to call home but not wanting the waiting room patrons to think I was one of Those Moms who couldn't even go to the damn doctor without checking in on her kid, the dentist couldn't find the source of the problem and actually asked me why I didn't bring in any raisins to demonstrate what was wrong. Another half-hour in traffic, and by then I was really charged up and barely said ten words to Luke the entire evening, in my lame-brained attempt to shield him from my bad attitude, but when I told him I wanted to pick up some more work clothes because I'm tired of trying to squeeze into tops that don't fit my belly, he asked where, and I told him, "The store," I'm pretty sure he was able to see I wasn't sunshine and roses. Was major bitch. I'm surprised I wasn't directed to the couch. No TLF.

Last night I thought about it. I'd apologized for my behavior and come home at a decent hour. I scored plenty of play time with Kara and posted a quick entry on Parents, leaving me with plenty of time to draft a chapter or two. But then Kara decided to take a nine o'clock nap before her last feeding, and she took that last nap in my arms, and all I could do was snuggle her close and sniff her head, which smelled wonderfully of Johnson's shampoo. By the time we started her bedtime routine, it was almost ten, and Luke told me I'd better get ready myself, since it appeared I'd actually have a chance to slip under the covers before eleven. I did, and I did. STILL no TLF.

This morning, before I got into the office, I set aside twenty minutes to get some writing done, with the assumption that I could continue my train of thought at lunchtime. Only it was then I remembered that I needed to find updated headshots of the actors and actresses playing each character, and it had to be done NOW because how could I post the beginning of part three without a character introduction, so I got caught up in doing that, and instead of stopping at 6:20 like I planned I stopped at 6:26, leaving me only nine minutes to pack a lunch, brush my teeth, throw on some make-up, and get out the door. I walked out the door at 6:40, just as Kara started to stir, so I hurried out as quick as I could because it's so much harder to leave when I have to say good-bye. Only when I got to my car, the windows were covered with frost. FUCK. So I let the car run and hurried back inside, where Luke was getting ready for Kara's first feed, so I changed Kara's diaper, smothering her face with kisses the whole time. Then I cursed myself out for even picking her up in the first place because of course there were tears in my eyes as I left, and then I felt bad even for that because who would pass up a chance to spend a few minutes with their baby before a long work day?

As delusional as it sounds, I contemplated doing some TLF stuff on my lunch hour, but fooling around on the computer this morning and having to let my car warm up meant I was twenty minutes late for work, and that's when I started thinking, Maybe trying to post TLF tomorrow isn't such a great idea.

Yes, it really took that long, partly because I was so excited to sink my teeth into a project that had nothing to do with work or parenting, but mostly because I've been going on about it for weeks, and I didn't want to let anyone down. I didn't want anyone to miss their TLF fix because I was "too busy" to write it, like I was this big important person with far more sophisticated ways to spend my time then work on the sequel to a story I started when I was fourteen.

But really? I am too busy to write it. To be honest, I'm barely holding it together.

I'm fully aware I put this pressure on myself. On the surface, I feel like nobody expects me to dust and vacuum every week or send baby gifts out on time, but underneath, I constantly think people are judging me, wondering why I can't shape up or get into the rhythm of things. I can't stand it when people appear to be pitying me because I have to go to work and my husband stays home. Samantha called me "noble" and I cringed, because there are so many people in harder situations, so many people with more difficult problems then going back to a job where my work is valued and well compensated. The last thing I want to do is martyr myself. On the other hand, I can't deny that my plate is too full. I'm feeling pulled in all directions. I can't keep up with the pace I've set for myself.

Something's got to give. And right now, that "thing" is this blog.

I won't be gone forever, or probably even as long as I think. I love posting and talking with all of you. This Web site has (sadly?) become a huge part of who I am. But I don't have room for it right now. My plate is too full. I want to spend time with family without scrambling to the computer every ten minutes. I want to write TLF part three without feeling like there's a gun to my head. I want to learn how to be a working mother without trying to spin every single moment into some literary masterpiece. I'm already doing that for Parents. I can't do it here.

I want to read books again. I want to comment on your blogs again. I want to join the gym and talk on the phone and refocus on my job again.

In a nutshell, I want to figure out how to enjoy my life and my new role as a working mom. I've got a wonderful husband and a beautiful daughter who both amaze me every single day, and yet, somehow I've allowed the Internet to cast a shadow over both of them because I'm afraid of losing readers. I look back at Amalah's archives during her period back at work and honestly can't believe she posted as often as she did. Even during her maternity leave when she was breastfeeding all the time. I gave in to formula before we even left the hospital and I could barely manage once a week. I've re-read her entries countless times, banged my head against the proverbial wall, thinking, What the hell is my problem?!

Now I get it. My problem is not knowing when to say When. So, just for a little while, I'm finally going to say it.

See you back here soon.

Weight Loss Wednesday: At least I said "No" to KFC last night; that's like losing three pounds right there

It's my first official weigh-in since announcing my goal weight last week, but not even the pressure of sharing my numbers online was enough to change my ways.

LAST WEEK'S WEIGHT: 145
CURRENT WEIGHT: 146
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 16

The first half of the day continues to go well: Cheerios, sandwich, fresh fruit, raisins, yogurt, some 100-calorie Honey Maid crisps, and a mug of hot chocolate for a pick-me-up around ten. It's the after-work hours that slay me.

I know what the problem is. The problem is I go to bed at eleven-thirty, and by the time I come home I've been running around for almost twelve hours on less than six hours of sleep. I'm tired. I'm out of sorts after being gone from Kara all day. Luke's worn out from being WITH Kara all day. My only source of comfort is food. The burger and fries I had on Sunday night made me feel good. The spinach dip on Monday was like chicken soup for my soul.

But both times, after the first few bites, I felt guilty. Guilty for completely disregarding my weight-loss goals and not taking my high cholesterol more seriously. I want to be successful at this. I need to be successful. I just need better motivation.

I also need exercise, and with spring on the way, that will finally be possible. Luke and I are going stir-crazy in this apartment, biding our time until the snow melts permanently and the temperature's high enough to take Kara for a stroll. Indianapolis has some wonderful parks and walking trails; those paired with my early schedule and Daylight Savings Time should mean we'll have no problems becoming one with The Great Outdoors. I'd love to take advantage of the complimentary gym membership now offered by my company as well, but honestly, I don't think I could stand another two hours a week away from home, not when our "situation" is still so new.

I mean, could you hit the treadmill knowing this face was waiting for you?

I didn't think so.

For more health-related goodness, check out the conversation over at Parents regarding the controversial HPV vaccine. It's wicked fun.

Because MY Jerry Maguire moment includes buying my own damn goldfish

Since Kara was born, it's harder not to think about taking better care of our finances. Luke and I are doing OK so far; I've been depositing money into my company's 401(k) for the last three years (hooray for full vestment on company matches), so at least we've gotten started on retirement, and we finally have adequate life insurance, thus enabling us to buy a home, pay for Kara's education, and snag a hottie gold-digger in the event of the other's death instead of shacking up in a cardboard box on an Interstate exit ramp. We also paid off the Cobalt so that the only debt we owe is to dear old Sallie Mae and padded our savings account to cover my twelve-week maternity leave. An unexpected holiday bonus left us better off than we expected, and the majority of it still sits in the bank, earning a meager amount in interest, taunting us, practically begging us to hand it over to the nearest car dealer and finally put Luke's 1991 Chevy Lumina to rest.

And if we didn't have Kara, that's probably what we would do.

But now we are parents. Now we have more incentive to consider the long-term consequences of our decisions, and truth be told, we have a lot of financial ground to cover before we can invest in something as frivolous as a car.

Problem is, it's hard to know where to start.

The choices are numerous. We could save the money and put it towards a down payment on a house, except we're not sure if we want to lay down roots in Indianapolis just yet. We could funnel it into a Roth IRA for Luke, who still has no retirement account to speak of despite his ability to withdraw funds a good six years before me. We could begin a college savings plan for Kara, even though she'll have scholarships, loans, and work study at her disposal and the quality of our golden years will depend on what we had the good sense to sock away. We could add short-term disability to my life insurance policy so I can enjoy a lengthy PAID maternity leave with baby number two, but I still harbor wild dreams of becoming a stay-at-home mom before then and wonder if the added expense would be worth it. Then there's still the matter of creating our will, which doesn't affect our cash flow now but could if Luke and I both died tomorrow (the last thing I want is to see Kara's inheritance eaten up by court fees for years and years), and emergency cash fund? Ha! Where do you think the money for all this crap is coming from?

Each path is a worthy option. We just don't have the means to cover them all.

Right now, our gut's telling us to go for the Roth and take advantage of compounding interest while we're still young. Liken it to being in a plane crash and putting on your oxygen mask before tending to somebody else's--you're no good to anyone if you haven't taken care of yourself. Once we're on track with our retirement goals, we'll be in a better position to help our kids with school, weddings, down payments, and any other big-ticket items on their plates, though we have no plans to pay for any of those things in full. A couple of loans never hurt anyone, and while I don't want to see my children drown in six-figure debt, I also don't want to instill in them a lofty sense of entitlement held by the majority of our millenials these days. Most importantly, I want them to sleep easy as adults with the knowledge that their father and I worked hard to make sure they're not stuck with our Shady Pines membership.

It took some convincing, but Kara eventually came around.

I appreciate your reasoning, but all this money talk hurts my tiny fontanelle.

No Mustang for my sixteenth birthday? You bastards!

Who are you guys kidding? These chubby cheeks will have you eating crow all the way to the bank. I'll snag that car by kindergarten.

Dusting off the saddle

I never thought I'd say this, but I'm almost, ALMOST, ready to go back to work.

Luke's last day was Friday, and since then the Frema-Useless Clutter household has seen a flurry of activity, what with traveling and spring cleaning and catching up on laundry and discovering that Kara's already outgrowing some of her three-to-six-month sleepers. It's been great having the three of us together again, but sometimes it seems like we're stepping all over each other. I'll be glad for the time when we can establish a more permanent rhythm, one in which we're allowed to master our new roles instead of randomly trying to accomplish tasks in between bottles, diaper changes, and faulty W-2s.

That's right. After cursing out Turbo Tax for more than two hours over the bright red "Federal Taxes Owed" box taunting us from the top left corner of the computer screen, I found a discrepancy in my tax form big enough to bring on the more financially-friendly green box, which means now we can't file our return until my employer's payroll company produces a new W-2. Because taxes aren't fun enough!

Anyway, to banish that lovely experience from my memory, today I'm embarking on my "I'm a savvy working mom who despite her coolness is still too flabby for ninety percent of her pre-pregnancy wardrobe" shopping spree. Before I go, I'll try on some more of the stuff I packed away last summer, but seeing as I could barely lock the zipper on my once gut-friendly corduroys, I doubt I'll have much luck with the tailored dress slacks. I'm not looking to buy out the mall, but it's about time I passed along the rest of my maternity clothes to my sister Samantha, who, unlike me, is actually with child, and it's illegal to go to work naked. I also hope to step outside the confines of my traditional beauty regime (read: away from the Clinique counter) in search of new products for my lingering skincare issues. I have a filled-to-the-brim make-up bag with items that haven't been touched since 2006 and half-used bottles of cheap facial cleansers that aren't doing anything for my acne, and now that I'm a mother, it's time to step up to the plate and reclaim the womanhood I left behind back in my first trimester. After spending the last hour and a half combing through Amalah's Advice Smackdown archives, I think I have just enough information to be dangerous at Sephora. Hopefully the consultants won't notice I've been wearing the same gray lounge pants every day for the last five seven days. Also, that I'm still sporting a nursing bra because it's the only one I have that can support my now-ginormous boobs.

Don't worry, I'll be sure to share the fruits of my labor just as soon as I can; until then, behold my gorgeous baby, who I promise to take to the dermatologist at the first sign of trouble.

Samantha and Kara, who's wearing the too-tight sleeper mentioned in my latest Parents entry. Dear dryer, why must you be so cruel?

Pregnant lady number two donning the same blissed-out expression as my sister. Clearly babies and gestating women go together like a horse and carriage.

OMG MY BABY IS ALREADY SAYING HER PRAYERS HOW PRECIOUS IS THAT.

Perfection at its most curious. Also, its most beautiful.

Moods, swinging of, even moreso than Jenna's

At the time of the start of this entry it's 2:08 in the morning. I should be catching some zzzz's, but instead I've chosen to burden the Internet with my tormented, sort-of-depressing thoughts. Lucky you.

The time has come for Luke and I to put our one-income-family plan into action. His last day of work has already been acknowledged by his department with a farewell lunch at Rock Bottom. I've been in contact with my supervisor and made plans for us to share a meal of our own before heading back to the office, to get up to speed on what I've missed and mentally prepare for what things will be like upon my return. It's no longer numbers typed into an Excel spreadsheet; it's our reality. Luke is a stay-at-home dad. I'm a working mom.

And even though there are still almost three weeks until I have to swipe my security badge at the lab's employee entrance, I feel like my maternity leave is already ending, because come five o'clock tomorrow, Kara and I will say good-bye to this special time we've had getting to know each other. I'm happy for my husband, but so bummed for me.

After Friday, things will be different. No longer will I be the primary parent with whom Kara spends most of her time. Gone will be the days of Luke walking through the door after a long day at the office and me greeting him from the living room couch, spewing happy words about the funny sounds the baby made that morning, cradling her sleeping body in my arms. No more singing "Peppermint Twist" while dancing around the apartment at eleven a.m.

It's not mommy guilt I'm suffering from; it's sadness.

I'm trying to be strong. I'm trying to get excited about shopping for work clothes and grabbing a shower before noon every day and talking to other adults again. I don't want people to feel sorry for me. I don't want Luke to feel bad (happy birthday, honey!). I know that somebody's got to work and my bond with Kara will continue to grow and eventually it'll all get easier.

But IT EFFING SUCKS, just the same.

To keep myself from drowning in a pint of Ben and Jerry's, I'm hereby announcing the official return of Tragic Love Friday, if only to have something awesomely trivial to focus on in my spare (ha!) time. It won't run every week, or even every other week right now, probably just once a month until a solid plot's been established, but no worries, because you'll have Brain Fest Friday to hold you over between installments. We'll have our first official BFF session tomorrow, so be sure to tune in. In the meantime, I'm going out on a limb and setting a TLF season premiere for...(flips through Norman Rockwell calendar) March 28. Those of you interested in being part of the writing team, please e-mail me so I can add you to my newly created Gmail group, which should allow us to swap ideas in an orderly fashion. If you don't have a Gmail account, let me know and I'll send you an invite. Also, don't stress about your literary skills or lacking soap opera background; I'll be controlling the main direction of the story and do eighty percent of the writing, anyway, but from time to time I'm sure I'll need pinch-hitters, and who better than a TLF fan?

Whew. Just thinking about the tragic possibilities makes me smile.

Edited to add: Of COURSE Kara choose this particular morning to wake up at five o'clock making the cutest sounds imaginable. But how can I be mad at this sweet little face? Does she not kill with the adorableness?

Edited to add AGAIN: Luke's V-Day present to me? A TWO-DISC collection of love songs by Phil Collins. It doesn't get any better than this, folks. (Seriously. I'm beyond giddy.)

I guess we're all two nuggets short of a six piece.

At least in the common sense department.

Can I tell you how much I loved reading about everyone's verbal shortcomings? Your stories were so awesome that I only felt the tiniest bit guilty for not updating the rest of the week. I'm thinking this pick-your-brain fest needs to become a regular feature. Ever since the season-two finale of Tragic Love Friday, I've missed giving people something to consistently look forward to, so it's fun to imagine "What're you lookin' at?" as a landing spot for shits and giggles once again.

Unless...

Speaking of TLF, I've been thinking a lot about our batshit-crazy fivesome (well, foursome really, continue to RIP, David) and how much I miss their morally questionable antics. Back when I was still pregnant and clueless about how often my chest would double as a bassinet, I had high hopes for continuing the insanity in the form of a reader-inspired, online soap opera, setting up the initial plot outline myself and soliciting excerpts from all of you. Then Kara was born, and I kind of lost touch with reality for a couple of weeks, and now I'm mentally preparing myself to go back to work, and it's already hard enough to keep things fresh around here without wondering how many of you are groaning each time I post yet another baby picture. The pressure associated with reviving TLF just might do me in. But damn, how fun would it be to give part three a go? We could even assign a role to my latest celebrity crush:

(Stacy, I know you'd approve.)

Since it wouldn't just be a matter of typing out pre-written pages, I'm not sure how much time I'll have to devote to TLF, but I really think it's a worth a try, as long as you guys are still on board and enough of you are willing to share your literary talents with me--and of course, by "literary talent" I mean "smutty love scenes (with Matthew Fox! and Jenna! yes?) and V.C. Andrews-style storylines." We could rotate Brain Fest Friday (BFF!) and Tragic Love Friday so that we all have more time to dedicate to this very important and not-at-all-fluffy writing project.

So, what say you? Are you with me? Or should we just resign to being BFFs?

On a random note (except not so random because Matthew Fox is on Lost and what I have to say is kind of related to Lost), a couple of weeks ago I was mortified to realize that my hair, which hasn't been professionally tended to since October, had grown into such a state of disarray that I am now a dead ringer for Hugo "Hurley" Reyes:

Don't believe me? See for yourself:

Is time for haircut, yes?

Luckily, there's one gal in the Frema-Useless Clutter household who looks perfect just the way she is.

Hat courtesy of the lovely Isabel.

My beautiful baby is eight weeks old today, which means Luke and I take her in at one o'clock this afternoon for her first batch of shots. I may not be the patient, but already I feel nauseous.

I would've blogged earlier, but I couldn't find it under all that dust

So, it's been more than a week since I posted here. There's no pressing reason for that, really, except that Kara doesn't go down for very long in the afternoons unless she's nestled under my neck, and her sleeping preferences aren't very conducive to quality blog writing, or even any blog writing at all. When Luke comes home, I have no problems pulling the "Oh, darn, I have to blog. For work!" excuse for Parental Discretion Advised, but alas, that's not the case here, and there's so much going on in the evenings, what with cooing at the baby, decluttering our apartment, and catching up on Lost, that this place gets the short end of the stick. I can only imagine how jealous it must be of Parents.com, for which I'm required to post three times a week. It's only a matter of time before TypePad "accidentally" throws a football at her face. "Oh, my blog!"

(You got that that was a play off The Brady Bunch, right?)

I wish I had something light and airy to blabber about, but these days most of my thoughts are preoccupied with going back to work, which I will do in exactly four and a half weeks. Luke has already given notice to his place of employment and come five o'clock on Friday, February 15--the day after his 34th birthday (yes, he's a Valentine's Day baby)--will officially don the title of Stay-At-Home Dad. Talk about the present to end all presents!

As happy as I am that we're able to swing having a parent at home with Kara full time, I'm just as sad that right now, it can't be me. I keep thinking about everything I'm going to miss while I'm at the office, things like mid-morning playtime and afternoon snuggles, and I'm constantly rearranging my work schedule to spend as much time with her as possible, like, maybe I should propose a seven-to-four work day instead of eight-to-five so I won't waste time in rush-hour traffic. Or maybe I should ask to work four ten-hour days so I can spend Friday at home, even though that would mean for most of the week I'd be seeing even less of her. There are also some work-at-home options, but part of me thinks I should put in the majority of my time on site so as not to get distracted by all the cuteness.

My sister Samantha sent me an e-mail this weekend about a father/daughter dance taking place at my old high school in Chicago on March 8th, and in my pre-baby days I'd have said yes without a second thought, but now I'm a mother, and the weekend of the dance comes after my first few days back at work, and the idea of spending six hours in the car and then a whole Saturday night away from my family after reacquainting myself with corporate muck makes me want to cry.

I'm so thankful that we've been able to alter our financial lives so as to manage on one income and that Luke will have the kind of relationship with Kara that a lot of dads can't. But right now, all I can think about is that I'll have to be away from my baby. And I'm afraid I won't know how.

I may not be a natural athlete, but I sure am great on defense

On Wednesday night, Luke and I prepared ourselves for our first "big" trip away from home with the baby--dual check-ups at the dentist, whose office is located a good half-hour from the apartment. Diapers, check. Wipes, check. Back-up outfit, check. Pacifiers, three different kinds. Pre-mixed bottles, double check. Also, a whole lot of finger-crossing. We'd been out with Kara several times, but just to run small errands among faceless strangers we'd never see again. We know our dentist. We LIKE our dentist. And we didn't want him thinking our girl was anything but a beautiful, delectable, five-week-old-who's-already-wearing-three-to-six-month-old-clothing angel.

The visit went well overall, with just a few snags. Like when the hygenist squealed over Kara's adorable adorableness (can you blame her? I mean, really) and she asked how the baby was sleeping, and I said pretty well, considering her age, and I was able to bank four to six hours a night on average, and she was like, "Wow!" and I was like, "Yeah, we're pretty lucky, I'm sure it'd be different if we were still breastfeeding, though," and she was like, "Oh?" and then, because I am still Sensitive About My Feeding Choices, fell victim to Diarrhea of the Mouth and spent ten minutes relaying my woeful nursing tale. Then she was like, "What formula are you using?" and I was all, "Similac Advanced," and she was like, "Oh!" And I was left thinking, "Huh?"

After THAT awkward exchange, Kara decided it was time to release a questionable-smelling number two, which, thanks, sweetie, for pooping in a place where the restroom doesn't have one of those plastic koala-bear tables attached to the door. My first diaper change away from home was staged on the floor of my doctor's personal office just as Luke's exam was coming to a close. He peeked in on me and the baby and gave us a smile. "I'm almost done," I said as I tried to keep my collection of dirty diaper wipes in a manageable pile away from his fancy, shiny furniture. A couple of minutes later, he popped in again while I was fastening her waist straps. "She still fighting you?" he asked.

Fighting me? What the hell is that supposed to mean? I bristled at his choice of words but shrugged it off as I passed Kara over to Luke and took my place in the chair. "It's about time for her to eat," I said as she began to fuss, and he nodded as they made their way back to the waiting room. The hygenist took the standard annual x-rays, and when the doctor joined us a few minutes later, I could hear Kara wailing in the other room.

"She's very loud, huh?" he said, smiling. The corners of my mouth turned up weakly.

"Yep, she sure is," I replied.

"Is she colicky?" he asked, and I stiffened, even though Luke and I were wondering the same thing last night. Once again, I tried to laugh it off.

"No, she's just a baby, doing what babies do." Now, if we could please just keep the focus on my damn teeth....

Luke and I have been frequenting this particular dentist's office for almost two years, and we like him very much. It's not like the guy's a jerk or anything. But I'm still wearing this motherhood gig very delicately, like a brand-new suit I'm afraid to take outside, and I don't know how to deal with those random comments people say about my kid. Just like when I was pregnant, I want to set the masses straight, tell them their remarks are out of line and why, only this time I'm not the focus, my baby is, and the last thing I want is for anyone to have the opinion she's anything less than wonderful.

L&D Q&A numero tres (aka: The one about breastfeeding)

Be sure to read parts one and two. 
 
I would like to hear how breastfeeding went the first few times. 

Oh, breastfeeding. How I wish we'd gotten better acquainted.

Growing up, I never gave much thought to how I'd feed my kids. My mother tried breastfeeding me for the first few days after I was born, but that was the extent of it, and I can remember just one time I saw somebody nurse in public—one of my aunts, when I was twelve, at our family Christmas party. She was on the couch, babe in arms, blanket draped over her shoulder, and as I went to kiss her good-bye, I noticed my tiny cousin attached to her breast. I blushed, embarrassed, thinking I'd seen something I wasn't supposed to see. All of the other babies I'd known were sustained with formula. I'd given countless bottles to my youngest sibling and tons of cousins. In my world, nursing wasn't something "normal" women did. And when Luke and I started dating seriously and talking about the future, the topic of breastfeeding came up, and I didn't hide my trepidation. I knew plenty of people—myself included—who were formula-fed and turned out just fine.

Then came the Internet.

I discovered blogs in 2004, and it didn't take long to notice that a significant chunk of them were written by women, particularly mothers, and it wasn't until then that I learned about all the hype surrounding breastfeeding—the benefits, the challenges, and the "new" connotation often associated with formula feeding. I saw new mothers struggle with poor latches, mastitis, low milk supply, unsupportive partners, and a myriad of other problems to nourish their babies with their breasts, and after weeks, sometimes even months, I saw some of them give up. But not without a lot of tears and even more guilt. I admired them for trying so hard, but I still didn't get it. In ten years, would it really matter?

THEN came my first positive pregnancy test. You know the saying, "It's different when it's your kid"? It really, really is.

I still didn't care how other women fed their kids, but I suddenly cared a hell of a lot about mine. I scoured the Internet for more information on breastfeeding, read lots of books, and took classes at our local hospital, and for mini-Bree's sake and mine, I knew it was something I had to try. I was in awe that my body could produce a perfect mix of nutrients for my baby; that it could provide her with unique antibodies to protect her from illness; that it could protect me from several types of cancers, some of which run in my family.

Also, that it was free, free, free.

After Kara and I were wheeled into recovery that fateful Monday night, we were given the opportunity to nurse, and words can't describe how wonderful it felt to be that close to her, connected to her in such an intimate way. Luke, Molly, and Samantha were still in the room, but all I could see was my daughter.

In the first few days that followed, things continued to go well. The nurses said it was my colostrum that helped the meconium pass out of Kara's system so quickly, and one of the lactation consultants complimented my knowledge of breastfeeding terminology. "If every new mother were as prepared as you, I'd be out of a job," she said, and I beamed with pride. I may not have been able to give birth the way I wanted, but this? This was in my control. This was something I could do.

Until Wednesday.
 
It started around nine o'clock that evening, Kara's fussing and eating of her hands, and Luke brought her to me in bed so she could nurse. She latched on for a couple of minutes but soon grew restless, pulling her head away and crying. I kept putting her back on, and she kept forcing me out of her mouth. Confused, I switched sides and tried again, only to get the same result. Her crying escalated and I turned to Luke, not knowing what to do. "Maybe she's too wound up to eat. Let me calm her down," he said and took her in his arms for some quality father-daughter bouncy time. It worked; she did settle down, but she was still eating her hands and smacking her lips—classic hunger cues—so he brought her back to bed with me. Again, I latched her on, and again, she pulled away, crying.

We did that for six hours. It was awful. I've never felt so helpless.

At one point my nurse came in and noticed our situation. "I can see that she's hungry," I said tearfully while Luke drew Kara to him for the zillionth time that night. "She wants to eat. But I can't get her to stay on. I don't know what else to do."

She hesitated a moment before asking: "Do you want some formula?"

"No!" I cried immediately. "We're nursing. I can't risk my milk supply." I wiped at my eyes, afraid I'd lose it in front of this poor woman who was only trying to help me. "Let me try again," I said and hobbled over to the bed, the best place for me to nurse while recovering from my c-section.

Soon it was five o'clock in the morning, and Kara was inconsolable. Luke and I were both crying. Despite all my good intentions, for whatever reason, my breasts weren't doing their job.

"I think—I think we should give her formula," I said.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"No, but she's obviously hungry," I cried. "We have to feed her, don't we?"

Ten minutes later, after just a half an ounce of formula, Kara was asleep in Luke's arms. She stayed that way for three and a half hours.

I wept the entire time.

Four days into this motherhood gig and I'd already lost control in an area that had quickly become so important to me. The Books clearly stated that introducing artificial nipples so early could sabotage breastfeeding efforts. The Books said that babies didn't need much to eat in the first week and my breasts would produce enough to satisfy my daughter's tiny appetite. According to The Books, I had failed.

At the same time, I hated myself for not giving her the bottle sooner, when it's clearly what she needed.

Luke tried to comfort me, but I was too far gone. It didn't help that I was running on four hours of sleep accumulated over three days and still in a lot of pain from my c-section. I tried to control my breathing and attempted to lie down, but then I'd picture Luke giving her that bottle, and the hysterics would start all over again.

Eventually, through talking with our pediatrician, my ob/gyn, and one of a long line of lactation consultants, I got myself together enough to realize that supplementing wasn't the end of the world. Plus, the formula had filled Kara's tummy enough to curb her hunger, but not so much that she wasn't willing to nurse, which made things much easier. We continued to supplement as we waited for my mature milk to let down. Thankfully, it was in by Friday, but on Saturday night Kara's wet-diaper count was pretty low for being almost a week old—just five to six a day—and the doctor was concerned. He put us on a strict two-hour schedule that involved me nursing and pumping, and Luke feeding her the expressed milk, topping her off with a bit of formula if she wanted more. She always did.

I won't lie; that was a pain in the ass. I was never able to pump more than an ounce or two at a time, and that was from both Thelma and Louise combined. It wasn't long before Kara was once again unhappy at the breast, latching on and pulling away even though we knew she was hungry.

The last time I nursed her was in the early morning hours of Christmas Eve. I pumped until she was a month old, but by then Luke was back at work and it was too hard to manage without having somebody on hand to tend to Kara's needs. This past Tuesday, I packed up my Ameda Purely Yours and haven't looked back.

This (seemingly never ending) entry wasn't written to scare anybody off from breastfeeding. Luke and I plan to have more children, and when the time comes, I plan to try again. I still believe in the benefits it has to offer and the bond it can nurture between a mother and her baby. But I talked so much about nursing while I was pregnant that I thought it important to relay my experience as honestly as possible.

Am I disappointed over how things turned out? Yes. Could I have tried harder to make it work? Probably. Do I feel guilty? Sometimes. But I'm not beating myself up about it anymore. I'm at peace knowing I did the best I could and that breast milk is just one of countless gifts I hope to pass along to Kara as she grows up. There are many more to come.

----

Excerpted from Parental Discretion Advised, originally published on Parents.com. Copyright 2008 by Meredith Corporation. All rights reserved. Reprinted with permission.

142.8

It's amazing how relative life can be. For example, before I got pregnant, the number listed in this entry's title would've been reason enough to hole up in the bathroom and have a good cry, because for my height and frame, it would've pushed me out of all the pants I owned and categorized me as overweight. Now, though, exactly one month after delivering my first baby, seeing 142.8 on the scale makes me breathe a sigh of relief, because it means I've lost all but five pounds of my pregnancy weight. It means I can fit into my tee-shirts again, and my pajama pants, and my bras. It means for the first time since March, I physically feel like myself again.

For several days after my c-section, I was a mess. Stomach ballooned to the size of a volleyball, face and upper body holding enough water to quench the thirst of a high school chess team. (What? Those guys need fluids, too.) Looking at pictures taken during that first week actually make me cringe, because I barely recognize myself, so the fact that I'm posting one here is proof of just how much I love you all. I'm nothing if not about the honesty.

I'm not sure how it happened--a combination of pumping, baby bouncing, and eating small meals faster than the speed of light, probably--but it wasn't long before my uterus began to deflate, my double chin disappeared, and my cheeks stopped fashioning themselves after Alvin and the Chipmunks. I feel very lucky to have lost the bulk of my baby luggage so quickly, and even though I have yet to pull out my pre-maternity clothing, even though there's no way my current ass will make its way into my New York and Company jeans, and even though my stomach looks more like a plate of corned beef hash than my favorite banana pancake, you won't hear me complaining. I'm well aware that some women have a much harder time.

But there are still miles to go before I can call myself healthy.

Those of you who've been following me since my pre-baby days will remember my on-again, off-again quest to lose weight and get back to somewhere within a hundred and twenty-something pounds. You'll remember my successful bout with Weight Watchers almost four years ago, and how I fell off the point-counting wagon, and how in 2006 I started (read: stole from another fellow blogger) Weight Loss Wednesday to monitor my progress. You'll remember how the scale always seemed to fluctuate between the same five-pound range because I was never motivated enough to keep away from that damn (yet delicious, I'm sorry, baby, I didn't mean it) Ben and Jerry's. Truth be told, I was never THAT concerned, because I wasn't THAT overweight, and I could still shop at my favorite stores without wandering into the plus sizes, and there was plenty of time to get down to a respectable number. Really, if I wanted to, I could ditch that weight in a matter of weeks. If I really wanted to.

And then I had a baby, which has completely changed the way I view my body and the challenge of weight loss.

It's not that I'm disgusted with my appearance. For having a child surgically removed from my uterus, I think I look pretty damn good, thank you very much. I won't be wearing a bikini anytime soon, but I wasn't going to do that, anyway, no matter what the scale said. I'm proud my body was able to grow and deliver such a beautifully healthy baby and handle the recovery process so well. And I'm thankful I was able to get pregnant, so easily, without complications. Again, I know not everyone is so lucky.

But still, there are new obstacles for me to face. Like....

I was overweight before I had Kara. Now, there's another five pounds to deal with, which puts me that much farther from my overall weight-loss goal.

I was never a fan of my stomach. I had a gut roll that always poked through my tee-shirts, eliminating the possibility of wearing low-rise jeans, belly-bearing tops, and even belts because they always cut into my waistline, making it hard for me to sit comfortably. Now, though, it's been totally massacred. I have no idea if it's still transitioning back to its pre-pregnancy state or if what I've got is here to stay. I'd post a picture, but even I'm not that gutsy. (No pun intended.)

Before, I had a hard enough time making wellness a priority. I didn't put much effort into making healthy meals, and my YMCA membership didn't last more than a couple of months. Between work and my personal life, it seemed like I was always too busy to put energy into anything else. And now? I still have all of those things, plus a third person who depends on me to feed her when she's hungry and wipe her butt when she craps. If I was busy before, what the hell do I call myself now? How am I going to nip this in the bud once and for all, before I get pregnant with baby number two and gain even more?

Ironically, I think the whole reason I took on this new body shape will be the reason I get out of it: my daughter. I want her to have a fit mother. I want to be able to run through the park with her and go hiking with her and jump rope with her without gasping for breath. I want her to see me and know what it means to live a healthy life. I DON'T want her to look at me and think, "I hope that's not hereditary." I don't want her to see pictures of me in my younger days and wonder what the hell happened.

I want her to love me for who I am, but that means I have to be the best "me" possible. And there's still a long way to go.

Jesus loves me this I know, for my baby slept during the entire composition of this entry

Holy crap, has it really been seven days since I posted here? I'd like to apologize for the lack of updates, but I always hate it when bloggers do that, like, do you think I've got nothing better to do than refresh your site? But then again, before Kara, I really didn't have anything better to do than refresh your site, and what the hell was going on in your life that you couldn't take five seconds out of your precious day to let me know you're still alive? You can appreciate the dilemma, no?

Anyway, things are going much better. In my last entry, I talked about how Kara had suddenly altered her schedule to accommodate less sleeping and more crying, to the point that her mother was crying because oh my God, if you aren't hungry and aren't wet and don't like your bouncy seat or transportable swing or the rocking chair or just bouncing around with Momma throughout the apartment, that's it, kid. There's nothing more I can do.

Now, though? I can take her restlessness in stride without taking it personally, and I've even figured out a few more things we can do together, like looking at blocks dressed in primary colors and reading picture books and paying more attention to tummy time. Don't get me wrong, half the time she fusses through those things, too, but there are moments in which I can see her actually paying attention, reaching for one of her blocks or following the duckie rattle with her eyes. She turned four weeks old yesterday, and I already feel like she's a completely different person from the one Luke and I brought home from the hospital. She's so much more expressive now, experimenting with various smirks and (gassy) smiles and working her hands together while she takes everything in. She also sleeps more predictably through the night, albeit in patches, but it's still enough that between ten and six I can hoard about five hours of sleep, which is more than enough for me to get through the day. This may sound silly, but I almost feel like the newborn stage is over, that she's already taking the appropriate steps to become her own little person and shift into some sort of routine. Time really is flying by.

Things on the pumping front are...almost nonexistent. My quality time with the Ameda is down to just once or twice a day, and I'm only producing embarrassingly tiny amounts of milk each time. I have a feeling that by the end of the week, Thelma and Louise will be all dried up and we'll be solely dependent on the makers of Similac and other formulas for Kara's nutrition. Oh, well. I'm proud that she received the benefits of breastmilk for four whole weeks and that I gave the whole boob thing my very best shot. Maybe my best wasn't as good as some of yours, but we all do what we can.

This past weekend was crazy for us, as we celebrated Kara's baptism at the Episcopal church we've been attending intermittently for the last year and my family was finally able to make it to Indianapolis and love on the baby. There was much chaos as Luke and I frantically tried to clean our apartment and get our daughter ready for her longest trip away from home. Sundy morning, we left the complex armed with individually packaged amounts of formula, two bottles of water, six diapers, two back-up outfits, a pacifier, and prayers to God that Kara would make it through the ceremony and luncheon without waking up the dead. And she did! She was a perfect angel, sleeping through almost the whole service and all of the pizza party we had afterwards. Auntie Samantha and Uncle Dan, her godparents, bought her a beautiful christening dress, and as Luke and I changed her into it minutes before Mass, I couldn't help but tear up because she looked so lovely and grown up and I was so proud of her for not pooping in her pretty new clothes. Also, she's not even a full month yet and already I'm losing my baby and thank you, God for blessing us with such a wonderful gift waaaaaah hiccup sob.

But enough from me. It's picture time! Hopefully they'll hold you all over until I'm able to post here again. (At least you've got my Parents blog to tide you over, though, right? In case you haven't been keeping up, I posted my birth story there. All four parts of it. You're quite welcome.)

(Also, thank you for the birthday wishes. My January 9th introduction to the ripe old age of 28 was marked with presents from Luke, wailing from the baby, and an episode of Deal or No Deal. I swear, NBC must've aired it just for me.)

I know I'm her mother, but honestly, this child is the most photogenic baby on the planet. For real.

Kara with three of the four members of the Lost A Sock family. No, Molly, you may not take her home.

Grandma and Grandpa Ma'Ayteh checking out their first grandbaby.

Auntie Samantha, Uncle Dan with Kara in tow, Momma, and Daddy. Now would be a good time to tell you that my sister is pregnant with her own bundle of joy, who's due in August. How awesome is that?! Everyone's got the baby fevah!

Kara getting smooshed by her fabulous aunties.

"I don't care what the law says, love is not limited by gender!" (Or: Kara with Uncle Geo and Uncle Dan.)

Look! Kara and Grandma Dunscombe match! Also, if I were just two inches taller, I totally could've captured the smile she flashed at Daddy D.

The guest of honor with her grandmas and grandpas. How lucky she is that all four are around to spoil her.

Kara giving that creepy girl from The Grudge a run for her money. Atta girl, sweetheart.

I also caught my first episode of The View

In my last entry, Marriage-101 asked what a typical day is like for me and Kara, and ever since then, I've been planning to blog about just that. And I could've done it last Friday, when the baby slept between two and three hours both before and after lunch, but instead I spent the time washing dishes, disinfecting countertops, working on my birth story, and enjoying ABC's daytime line-up. Monday, I thought. Monday I'll tell the world what a great sleeper my girl is and how grateful I am for the much-needed housekeeping time.

But on Monday, everything changed. Kara was fussy all day and couldn't be put down for longer than three minutes without crying. She didn't nap for longer than an hour, and again, only in my arms, which meant I pumped just twice during the hours Luke was at work, and even then, one of those times I had to manage her with one hand and the pump with the other. During one of her feedings she spit up a fountain of formula, which somehow ended up in my armpit. Later that night she pooped so badly it seeped through her clothes. Tackling THAT bad boy was definitely a two-person job.

Tuesday, I thought. Tuesday will be better.

But it hasn't been better. Kara was just as unconsolable today. My total pumping count is a miserable three. And Luke's been sick with a 102-degree fever.

There probably isn't going to be a "typical" day for Kara and me. But I suppose it is typical for motherhood.

Pump up the volume (please)

Kara isn't even three weeks old and already I'm afraid my boob-juicing capabilities will meet a premature end.

When Luke was at home, meeting my daily pumping goal was tedious but doable: get on the machine eight to ten times a day for at least ten minutes on each side. The amount I produce isn't enough to forgo formula, but I still feel good knowing my daughter is benefitting from my antibodies, especially as we enter the coldest, germiest part of the season. Luke was around to tend to the baby while I pumped. He could wash bottles and change diapers while I suctioned cold plastic flanges to my jugulars.

Now, though, he's back at work, and I'm left to my own mothering and expressing devices. It's not been easy.

Now if Kara cries and I'm on the pump, I have choices to make. Do I put off pumping until her next nap, risking the maintenance of my already-shaky supply? Do I pump and let her cry until I've finished at least one boob? If she wakes up after I've already started, do I interrupt the session or finish that side intermittently? What usually ends up happening is a combination of all of these options, letting her fuss for a few minutes so I can clock in a few more minutes of quality time with the Ameda before breaking the suction and gathering her in my arms. I've changed dirty diapers with a leaky boob hanging out of my nursing tank; I've held her while capping off a half-drained breast; I've missed pumping sessions altogether because her feeding/changing/soothing needs couldn't wait a minute longer.

The idea of losing the precious little milk supply I have makes me sad. I want Kara to have this gift. I want to give her immune system the best start I can. But I can't do it at her expense.

I've talked about it with Luke, and we're both committed to doing what we can to keep me pumping for as long as I'm able. I've got no delusions regarding long-term goals; each day that Kara receives breastmilk from me is a day I'm not taking for granted. I spoke to her pediatrician on Monday, and he suggested that switching pumps might make a difference, but I'm not sure I want to make that investment knowing my boobs are at the mercy of Kara's schedule and it may just briefly delay the inevitable.

I'm not sure what the point of this post is. I'm not looking for advice; I've seen the Web sites, I've talked to lactation consultants. I just want to document my breastfeeding experience as honestly as I can.

In other news, this is how I managed to take a shower this morning:

What? No, that's not an ungodly pile of laundry mating underneath my bathroom sink. Might I direct you to the sweetest face you've ever seen instead?

She really is the sweetest.

Frageelay

Nice of me to post again before 2008, eh?

I wasn't lying in my last post; things are much better, but it's still overwhelming, trying to work your schedule around a tiny human being who eats and relieves herself every couple of hours and doesn't much care for being out of your arms. Plus, I don't know if it's postpartum hormones or just a natural reaction to this huge change that's happened to our lives, but I find myself weepier than ever. Kara's umbilical cord stump fell off the day after Christmas, and Luke and I were relieved to not have to manuever around it during diaper changings. Once she was cleaned up, I said to her, "That's what connected you to Mommy all those months," and the next thing you know I was crying into my hands. Suddenly it felt like things were moving too fast, she was growing up too quickly, and I was scolding myself for doing things like wiping down the toilet or attempting to update this blog when I could've been banking precious snuggle time with this little person who would one day refuse the comfort I can so easily offer her now. I had the same epiphany the following afternoon after rocking her to sleep. Luke came into her bedroom and found my eyes dripping all over my poor baby's head.

I've never felt so vulnerable or been so paranoid as I have since Kara's been born. When Ryan came to visit for Christmas, I had to be the one to transfer the baby from the bassinet to her auntie's waiting arms, even though my sister is almost twenty-two years old and perfectly capable of picking up a newborn all by herself. I forget to offer her to visitors because I'm having such a good time holding her myself. It breaks my heart to hear her cry, even if her only grievance is the too-cold touch of a diaper wipe. Hell, I'm even afraid to leave the house without her, not because I don't trust Luke wholeheartedly but because I know how much I'll miss her.

I haven't been this afraid of love for years, not since Luke and I first started dating. But this...there are no words to describe what it feels like to love your own child. You know that saying, "It's different when it's your kid"? It really, really is.

Speaking of cliches, there's a second one that's also rung true for me, and it relates specifically to my breastfeeding struggles: "You have to do what's best for your family." And for this family, the best thing has been to stop trying to breastfeed. Kara is still getting my boob juice, mind you, as I pump every two to three hours, but I haven't put her on the breast since the wee hours of Christmas Eve.

I read that last sentence and feel like I should feel like a failure. I'm well aware the initial weeks of breastfeeding are a learning period for both mom and baby, and things probably would've gotten better if I'd kept at it. Throwing in the towel after seven days doesn't seem like I gave it much of a chance, especially when I think about how passionate I was about trying to make this work.

Then I reflect on the hours I spent crying because I couldn't get Kara to latch, because she'd take my nipple just long enough to spit it back out, because her gums would bear down hard on my aerolas, and I think there were a lot of minutes in those seven days where both of us were miserable, and I'm slowly finding out that more often than not, it's the passing of each of those minutes that ends up wearing you down. Ironically, the days go by much, much faster.

Anyway, even though it's more work for me, what with having to pump and bottlefeed, this new plan overall has been much more manageable. We're still supplementing with formula because I'm only producing about an ounce and a half during each pumping session, but I feel good that she's getting all the milk I have to give. We have our two-week well-baby visit in a couple of hours, so we'll check on her weight then, but I already know we have a happy, healthy baby, and truly, that's all that matters to me now.

As we make our way into a new year, I've been struck with how content I am, despite the wild card hand of emotions I'm wrapped up in. For the first time, I have no list of improvements to work on, no major goals to accomplish. All I can think about is how lucky I am, how complete I feel, and how wrong it would be to want for anything when I've clearly been given so much already. If Luke and I never leave this apartment, if I never finish those damn photo projects, if I never get more than three hours of sleep in a row ever again, I'll still consider myself the happiest woman on Earth.

It's a wonderful life

All is well.

Since my last entry, an incredible sense of calm and well being has covered Luke and me like a blanket, which has made these last couple of days the best ones since Kara's birth. I'll tell you about it soon enough, but for now, all I want to do is revel in how blessed we are and how thankful I am for everything God has given us.

Most of the members of my family have been too sick to make the trip to Indy, so it was extra special that my sister Ryan drove in from Chicago to spend Christmas with us. Newly married and desperately missing her army husband, who's currently in Germany awaiting February deployment to Iraq, a little baby fix was just what she needed to get through the holiday.

As for my own spouse, I can't tell you how mesmerizing it is to watch him with our daughter. He's so gentle with Kara, so enamored with her, and I honestly don't know what I've done to deserve such unconditional love and support. This last week has been the most exhilerating and terrifying one of my life, and he's been right by my side the entire time, holding me when I cry and telling me what a good job I'm doing when he's not washing bottles, refilling my water glass, and reminding me to take my pain meds. I couldn't ask for a better life partner or a more loving father for my baby.

I look at these two people and wonder how I ever lived without them.

Merry Christmas.

The title of my next post will be original, I swear.

Fumbling towards ecstasy

Not that you could ever get tired of seeing photos of me in all my bedridden glory, but it's finally time to give the (very patient) Internet a quick update on life in the Frema-Useless Clutter household.

First of all, thank you all so much for the wonderful comments you've left here these last few days. As you know, it took a little bit of coaxing for my firstborn daughter to enter the world, and it wasn't until Thursday night that Luke, Kara, and I came home from the hospital. I finally had a chance to read through them yesterday, and it truly warmed my heart to see how happy everyone is for my newly expanded family.

We're doing OK. This whole week has been one big rollercoaster of emotions, thanks to my first bout with major surgery, sleep deprivation, breastfeeding snags, and postpartum hormones. Luckily, we've had access to a wonderful medical team and an electric breast pump, though Luke and I are spending one hour out of every two preparing bottles, entertaining Kara to keep her awake long enough to eat, and sneaking in a bit of sleep ourselves.

(By the way, say hello to Ameda, my new BFF. She's a bit of a loudmouth but overall quite respectful of my nipples. Definitely a plus with any girlfriend.)

(Also, please no assvice, well-meaning or not, about our decision to supplement, unless you're our pediatrician, in which case, we got our first dirty diaper last night since Wednesday, thank you so much for all the time you spent with me on the phone yesterday.)

Some of the highlights of my week--the good, the bad, and the ugly--in bullet form. You're smart enough to discern which is which.

• Enjoying a final dinner out on Sunday to bid farewell to our carefree, DINKy lives
• Thinking about the next morning's induction later that night
• Learning that my sister Samantha and Molly would be with Luke and me at the hospital
• Deciding to get the epidural. I went comfortably without for a good five hours, but hot damn, did I need that epidural
• Being told about my likeliness for a c-section
• Sobbing uncontrollably when the doctors pulled the baby out and I heard her cry
• Feeling her skin on mine and watching her face when she nursed for the first time
• Eating lunch on Tuesday after thirty hours of nothing but ice chips and Lifesavers
• Devouring seventy billion strawberry shakes courtesy of the hospital's all-hours room service, which made the best deli sandwiches I've ever had
• Trying to pee after my catheter was removed
• Learning that all of Kara's meconium had passed by Wednesday afternoon (warning: there's a picture of it on that link)
• Spending seven hours on Wednesday night trying to console a very hungry daughter with my breasts and having her repeatedly spit me out before tearfully deciding to supplement with formula
• Spending the following five hours unable to calm myself to the point where I almost couldn't breathe
• Allowing a lactation consultant to aggressively jam a handful of my boob into the baby's mouth
• Seeing Kara in her coming-home outfit
• Coming home
• Luke's changing diaper after diaper with no hint of poop
• Taking my first shower, which didn't go down until Friday morning
• WEARING NON-PREGNANT SHIRTS, OH MY GOD
• Coughing, laughing, sneezing
• Snuggling my baby in my mother's rocking chair
• Having Kara spit me out again and again late Friday night and feeling in my heart that the decrease in her wet and dirty diaper count was due to my inability to properly latch her on
• Frantically trying to work the breast pump while Luke fed Kara formula
• Mastering the pump later that morning
• Talking to our pediatrician on Saturday afternoon and not remembering what day it was
• Hearing Luke cry "Good girl!" upon finding that magical poop Saturday night
• Watching my husband in action with the baby we made together and seeing him take such good care of me
• Knowing we'd all be OK in the end

Right now, I'm in a good place, taking things one day at a time and trying not to get too ahead of myself in terms of goal setting. Kara is thriving. Kara is beautiful. Kara is so wonderful she makes my heart hurt with love. That's all that matters.

That and baby pictures.