Wowsa...it has really been a looooong time. My little man is now seven months old and if I've learned anything over the last few months, it's the sad yet happy fact that my life is no longer my own. Simple tasks like the dishes (which my husband used to do...hmmm, there's a conversation!) and even showering have taken on new meaning. Like scarce. Or nap time. If the little buddy bear falls asleep not on mommy (my fault totally, he's just so amazing...though I am told that will wear off, at least a bit) or I have the energy to do so.
Simple joys like my morning yoga are usually pushed aside for breakfast feedings, changing diapers, or just simply rolling around together on the bed laughing and giggling in the early morning. And bellydance? Oy. That is a whole separate matter.
So what's the new rule?
Multi-tasking. Every step and trip to somewhere has a purpose, whether it's a run to the kitchen (grab that empty glass) or to the other side of the house (put important papers on the desk in my office). Unless I would literally get nothing done...
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
What To Expect...
Once I heard the baby's heartbeat, I realized this was actually happening. I'm going to be a mom. This was what I wanted, right? To have a little person who was part my husband and part me. A family to have those noisy Christmas mornings, to love and hug. This was going to be awesome.
Somewhere around seven months, I realized something else. I was going to have to deliver this baby. Holy smoly, Batman. I kept trying to block it out, but, somewhere along the line in some form or another, this was going to be a reality.
Enter the birthing class. The funny thing about walking into a room full of expecting couples is that you suddenly see you aren't the only one who truly has no idea what is going to happen. And, oh how many ways it can happen.
To be honest, I don't get people who decide to not take a birthing class. If nothing else, I received the best massage from my baby daddy (that term makes me giggle, so I have to use it) during the relaxation technique portion. And on the other hand, I heard the pros and cons.
The really crazy part was taking all that knowledge back to work (remember there were FOUR of us expecting all within 4 months or so...) and freaking out with each other. About the pain. How we were going to try not to kill our husbands for doing what they did (ha!). The pain. What to pack...what to wear. The pain.
The waiting wasn't the worst part. It was talking about it. And that was also the best part. Because we all realized we weren't alone.
But I would be going first into the great unknown...
So the rule? You aren't alone. And it's fun to torture your fellow expecting ladies with your story after it's all said and done. *grin*
Somewhere around seven months, I realized something else. I was going to have to deliver this baby. Holy smoly, Batman. I kept trying to block it out, but, somewhere along the line in some form or another, this was going to be a reality.
Enter the birthing class. The funny thing about walking into a room full of expecting couples is that you suddenly see you aren't the only one who truly has no idea what is going to happen. And, oh how many ways it can happen.
To be honest, I don't get people who decide to not take a birthing class. If nothing else, I received the best massage from my baby daddy (that term makes me giggle, so I have to use it) during the relaxation technique portion. And on the other hand, I heard the pros and cons.
The really crazy part was taking all that knowledge back to work (remember there were FOUR of us expecting all within 4 months or so...) and freaking out with each other. About the pain. How we were going to try not to kill our husbands for doing what they did (ha!). The pain. What to pack...what to wear. The pain.
The waiting wasn't the worst part. It was talking about it. And that was also the best part. Because we all realized we weren't alone.
But I would be going first into the great unknown...
So the rule? You aren't alone. And it's fun to torture your fellow expecting ladies with your story after it's all said and done. *grin*
Thursday, January 5, 2012
My Favorite Thing
I've always thought that people who say they love being pregnant are off their rocker. Who could possibly be happy about no caffeine, or a big ol' yummy Subway...or even a glass of wine? Not to mention having to buy new clothes as your waistline slowly disappears. Or expands even bigger. and how about the nauseousness that has the misnomer of "morning sickness"? (I suppose it's morning somewhere in the world at any time.)
Ew.
Don't get me wrong. I liked being pregnant. But not for the reasons that most people probably did.
My favorite thing?
People were incredibly nice to me. In a time when people communicate mostly through technology (how many texts have you've gotten today?), you've got to be worried that one day, we won't know how to speak with one another face to face. Even today, road rage seeps it's way into what I like to call line rage. Let's face it. When you need to buy something, you usually have to stand in a line. Yet, every single time we get surprised that we have to wait in line and there aren't magical cashiers that pop up when we are ready to skedaddle. Then, the line rage takes over. Trust me, I see it every time my husband goes grocery shopping or we step in to Target.
But I digress...
Strangers weren't merely nice...they were happy for me (not counting those breastfeeding questions. I'm attempting to block those out of my mind.). They asked what I was having, when I was due (which was fine, until the lil man decided he wanted to bake longer than his timer said), if I had a name picked out (a few, but we were keeping them to ourselves...mostly), and if he was our first. All with smiles, congratulations, and wishes of luck.
Hmmm....this may just mean we still can talk to each other face to face. With a smile on our faces. Now, how can we get this to work during the Holidays. Or when my husband is waiting in line...
Ew.
Don't get me wrong. I liked being pregnant. But not for the reasons that most people probably did.
My favorite thing?
People were incredibly nice to me. In a time when people communicate mostly through technology (how many texts have you've gotten today?), you've got to be worried that one day, we won't know how to speak with one another face to face. Even today, road rage seeps it's way into what I like to call line rage. Let's face it. When you need to buy something, you usually have to stand in a line. Yet, every single time we get surprised that we have to wait in line and there aren't magical cashiers that pop up when we are ready to skedaddle. Then, the line rage takes over. Trust me, I see it every time my husband goes grocery shopping or we step in to Target.
But I digress...
Strangers weren't merely nice...they were happy for me (not counting those breastfeeding questions. I'm attempting to block those out of my mind.). They asked what I was having, when I was due (which was fine, until the lil man decided he wanted to bake longer than his timer said), if I had a name picked out (a few, but we were keeping them to ourselves...mostly), and if he was our first. All with smiles, congratulations, and wishes of luck.
Hmmm....this may just mean we still can talk to each other face to face. With a smile on our faces. Now, how can we get this to work during the Holidays. Or when my husband is waiting in line...
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
The "B" and Complete Strangers
It wasn't the labor, the pain, or even the pounds that scared me the most about being pregnant. (Or even the fact that I had to give up my most beloved beverage...I mean, who can function without their steaming cup of yummy caffeine? Horror of horrors!)
Every single how-to-be-pregnant book (and I had two!) warned of that one crazy phenomena. You know the one. Where complete and absolute strangers walk up to you and....TOUCH YOUR BELLY!!
I had been dreading this from the day I saw that little plus sign. No matter how well intentioned a complete stranger may be, its creepy. Beyond the fact that they are a COMPLETE STRANGER is the one little thing. Literally. My baby. I wasn't sure I wanted someone I didn't know getting between the bond I was sure was forming. This was my time. And unless I wanted you in on it, please, I thought, don't let anyone just walk right on up and lay one on me.
I needn't had worried.
Because there was something far worse looming on the horizon.
Complete and total strangers, once they learned of the little jellybean and his impending arrival, asked me (did I mention they were complete strangers?) if I planned on breastfeeding.
SERIOUSLY?
The craziest part of that was I didn't know. At first, I was vehemently anit-breastfeeding. I didn't want to smother my baby, or be attached to him twenty four hours a day. Plus, I didn't really view that part of me as what they were designed for. I mean, they look great in a bra and have given me some really interesting shopping trips. Among other things.
The first time I had this particular question thrown at my newly announced pregnant self, I was dumb founded. When I stammered the whole I hadn't decided yet, I received the weirdest lecture ever as a grown person. (To add to the awkwardness, it happened at work. And I work at a well known lingerie store. Being used to awkward situations, and believe me there have been plenty, I was thrown.) Politely, I stood there, just staring at this woman who probably meant well but was seriously freaking me out! after she was done I politely smiled and helped her, then passed her along to pay for her purchases.
And hoped this was the last time I would have to endure this uncomfortable conversation.
Boy, was I wrong wrong.
The dreaded event would occur at least three times a week through out my pregnancy, mostly while I was work. By the this time I learned once again to plaster that pleasant smile on my face and say I hadn't decided yet and excuse myself. (Hey, I was pregarooni, I could fake morning sickness. Which I had none. Or scamper off to help another customer.)
Breastfeeding is an incredibly personal decision. One that I wasn't ready to share with just anyone, so I just couldn't understand where these complete strangers were coming from.
I had already decided to take a breastfeeding class to gather as much info as I could before the baby came. One thing I had decided early in my pregnancy was that I was going to do my best to roll with things and not define anything. That way, if something didn't go as planned, no problem.
Needless to say, the benefits outweighed my earlier assumptions.
But that still doesn't make those encounters any easier. At least now, I can look back and laugh. Maybe I should have asked them to touch my belly instead...
Every single how-to-be-pregnant book (and I had two!) warned of that one crazy phenomena. You know the one. Where complete and absolute strangers walk up to you and....TOUCH YOUR BELLY!!
I had been dreading this from the day I saw that little plus sign. No matter how well intentioned a complete stranger may be, its creepy. Beyond the fact that they are a COMPLETE STRANGER is the one little thing. Literally. My baby. I wasn't sure I wanted someone I didn't know getting between the bond I was sure was forming. This was my time. And unless I wanted you in on it, please, I thought, don't let anyone just walk right on up and lay one on me.
I needn't had worried.
Because there was something far worse looming on the horizon.
Complete and total strangers, once they learned of the little jellybean and his impending arrival, asked me (did I mention they were complete strangers?) if I planned on breastfeeding.
SERIOUSLY?
The craziest part of that was I didn't know. At first, I was vehemently anit-breastfeeding. I didn't want to smother my baby, or be attached to him twenty four hours a day. Plus, I didn't really view that part of me as what they were designed for. I mean, they look great in a bra and have given me some really interesting shopping trips. Among other things.
The first time I had this particular question thrown at my newly announced pregnant self, I was dumb founded. When I stammered the whole I hadn't decided yet, I received the weirdest lecture ever as a grown person. (To add to the awkwardness, it happened at work. And I work at a well known lingerie store. Being used to awkward situations, and believe me there have been plenty, I was thrown.) Politely, I stood there, just staring at this woman who probably meant well but was seriously freaking me out! after she was done I politely smiled and helped her, then passed her along to pay for her purchases.
And hoped this was the last time I would have to endure this uncomfortable conversation.
Boy, was I wrong wrong.
The dreaded event would occur at least three times a week through out my pregnancy, mostly while I was work. By the this time I learned once again to plaster that pleasant smile on my face and say I hadn't decided yet and excuse myself. (Hey, I was pregarooni, I could fake morning sickness. Which I had none. Or scamper off to help another customer.)
Breastfeeding is an incredibly personal decision. One that I wasn't ready to share with just anyone, so I just couldn't understand where these complete strangers were coming from.
I had already decided to take a breastfeeding class to gather as much info as I could before the baby came. One thing I had decided early in my pregnancy was that I was going to do my best to roll with things and not define anything. That way, if something didn't go as planned, no problem.
Needless to say, the benefits outweighed my earlier assumptions.
But that still doesn't make those encounters any easier. At least now, I can look back and laugh. Maybe I should have asked them to touch my belly instead...
Monday, November 28, 2011
Job...or not?
Just to warn you...you may think I'm either sticking my foot in my mouth, or aiming to really make someone want to trip me if they ever see me out and about. But, bear with me, please...
A few years ago, I remember having a conversation with my husband about a friend of ours who had just had her second baby. I had asked her if she was going back to work. Her eyes became huge as she told me, in that frazzled mom kind of way, that she had a job. Being a mom.
I laughed at this. Seriously? Being a mom isn't a job, I told my husband, then began my own tirade on how she had lost herself (I mean, had she looked in the mirror? Her hair used to be perfect, make-up applied, high heels...) to being a mom.
And, now, looking back I realize something.
I was right.
Okay, hold on, let me explain!
A job has set (somewhat) hours, you get a schedule. You can call off, take vacation time, or even quit. You (hopefully) receive a paycheck for that work. They can replace you (even if you think you're irreplaceable), and you get a lunch break or even just a quick fifteen.
At the end of the day, you get to go home and leave some of that work behind. (Let's face it, we all bring work home. Someone has to hear us talk about our day...)
This is not what being a mom is.
Being a mom has no set schedule, no breaks, no raises, and I have yet to see the money come rolling in. And I doubt my lil guy would ever replace me...
This is where I tell you the light bulb moment. Being a mom is what I am, along with a wife, bellydancer, hopeless romantic, fan girl, geek...you get the idea.
But, I will tell you...the benefits are awesome!
So, what's the rule...being a mom is who you are, not what you do. *smile*
A few years ago, I remember having a conversation with my husband about a friend of ours who had just had her second baby. I had asked her if she was going back to work. Her eyes became huge as she told me, in that frazzled mom kind of way, that she had a job. Being a mom.
I laughed at this. Seriously? Being a mom isn't a job, I told my husband, then began my own tirade on how she had lost herself (I mean, had she looked in the mirror? Her hair used to be perfect, make-up applied, high heels...) to being a mom.
And, now, looking back I realize something.
I was right.
Okay, hold on, let me explain!
A job has set (somewhat) hours, you get a schedule. You can call off, take vacation time, or even quit. You (hopefully) receive a paycheck for that work. They can replace you (even if you think you're irreplaceable), and you get a lunch break or even just a quick fifteen.
At the end of the day, you get to go home and leave some of that work behind. (Let's face it, we all bring work home. Someone has to hear us talk about our day...)
This is not what being a mom is.
Being a mom has no set schedule, no breaks, no raises, and I have yet to see the money come rolling in. And I doubt my lil guy would ever replace me...
This is where I tell you the light bulb moment. Being a mom is what I am, along with a wife, bellydancer, hopeless romantic, fan girl, geek...you get the idea.
But, I will tell you...the benefits are awesome!
So, what's the rule...being a mom is who you are, not what you do. *smile*
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Best Laid Plans...and all that jazz.
When I sat down and started on this crazy roller coaster, I dealt with everyone adding in their two cents (and then some) and figured I couldn't be the only new mama to be with ideas swimming in her pregnancy brain.
And then, life overwhelmed me.
Being wight months pregnant and working full time kicked my booty to the extreme, so between work and trying to get the perfect room organized, the keyboard and I took a break.
The jellybean then decided that my belly was the most comfortable place to be and didn't want to get on with the whole coming out party. So, despite my carefully written out birth plan, I had to schedule an induction. Which terrified me even more than the needles that I would be soon facing.
You see, I wanted him to come on his schedule and on his very own birthday (not one chosen by the good doctor), and to be the way it was supposed to be. You know, naturally (no drugs), with the birth ball and squat bar. While my husband and baby daddy gently massaged me through contractions with a carefully chosen play list played from my ipod.
(I know, nuts...hindsight and all that.)
But, my little man decided, the day before his induction/chosen birthday he was having none of that. Contractions started around midnight...and things went on from there. Quickly, with the breathing techniques not quite making it to the...well, let's just say oxygen was involved.
It was a battle that I've learned from (if there's a number two, drugs. As soon as my feet hit the hospital grounds.), but I'm so happy he got the message. Or, should I say he got the message to his mom. Plans may come and go, but life happens.
New Mom Rule...Things happen for a reason, and when they do, you roll with it.
And he's adorable...but more on that later.
And then, life overwhelmed me.
Being wight months pregnant and working full time kicked my booty to the extreme, so between work and trying to get the perfect room organized, the keyboard and I took a break.
The jellybean then decided that my belly was the most comfortable place to be and didn't want to get on with the whole coming out party. So, despite my carefully written out birth plan, I had to schedule an induction. Which terrified me even more than the needles that I would be soon facing.
You see, I wanted him to come on his schedule and on his very own birthday (not one chosen by the good doctor), and to be the way it was supposed to be. You know, naturally (no drugs), with the birth ball and squat bar. While my husband and baby daddy gently massaged me through contractions with a carefully chosen play list played from my ipod.
(I know, nuts...hindsight and all that.)
But, my little man decided, the day before his induction/chosen birthday he was having none of that. Contractions started around midnight...and things went on from there. Quickly, with the breathing techniques not quite making it to the...well, let's just say oxygen was involved.
It was a battle that I've learned from (if there's a number two, drugs. As soon as my feet hit the hospital grounds.), but I'm so happy he got the message. Or, should I say he got the message to his mom. Plans may come and go, but life happens.
New Mom Rule...Things happen for a reason, and when they do, you roll with it.
And he's adorable...but more on that later.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Speaking Of Goats
Quite possibly the most terrifying decision I've ever made started with a little buzz in my ear. Not only was this a life changer for me, it would change everything for another person. Never had the maternal mommy bug bite me in all the years I interacted with my beautiful and sassy niece. Who screamed her head off when she was only a few days old when placed into my arms. And, consequently, I never picked her up until she was a year old. And even then, I cringed inwardly hoping she wouldn't wail and permanently damage my hearing.
When I began to feel a little itch (oddly enough, a large part sprung from the fact I thought my husband would make the best and sexiest baby daddy ever), I had conversations with myself about how to broach the subject with my hottie husband.
Of course, I did what any grown woman would do. I let Jack Daniel's join the party. And when the courage was running through our veins, I asked him if he wanted to have babies with me. (I'm sure it was slurring and somewhat coherent.)
Being the sweet loving husband he is, he said of course. If that was what I wanted. (Obviously, he was afraid the next morning I would be all like, wha?)
Fast forward a few weeks later...driving around a beautiful parkway in our area, we were passing a house that had a few horses and baby goats. I have a huge weakness for animals, and baby animals make me melt. And then he said it.
"So, speaking of goats...do you really want to start trying to have a baby?"
Speaking of goats?
I have to say, I loved it. Silly romantic that I am, I thought it was a cute way to make me giggle and still let the unsaid have its say.
The rule? Communication is key. Even when it comes to goats.
When I began to feel a little itch (oddly enough, a large part sprung from the fact I thought my husband would make the best and sexiest baby daddy ever), I had conversations with myself about how to broach the subject with my hottie husband.
Of course, I did what any grown woman would do. I let Jack Daniel's join the party. And when the courage was running through our veins, I asked him if he wanted to have babies with me. (I'm sure it was slurring and somewhat coherent.)
Being the sweet loving husband he is, he said of course. If that was what I wanted. (Obviously, he was afraid the next morning I would be all like, wha?)
Fast forward a few weeks later...driving around a beautiful parkway in our area, we were passing a house that had a few horses and baby goats. I have a huge weakness for animals, and baby animals make me melt. And then he said it.
"So, speaking of goats...do you really want to start trying to have a baby?"
Speaking of goats?
I have to say, I loved it. Silly romantic that I am, I thought it was a cute way to make me giggle and still let the unsaid have its say.
The rule? Communication is key. Even when it comes to goats.
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