Saturday, March 29, 2014

Hoping to get noticed by Huffington Post...

I recently read a hilarious article from Huff Post entitled "How to Put a Toddler to Bed in 100 Easy Steps." (See link below.) Tonight I find myself inspired to rip off this piece and create my own "How to put a 3-year old little girl to bed... in as many steps as it takes before you actually carry your beer into her room with you as you meet her demands."

Step 1: Help her brush her teeth. Because she insists on bring a "friend" (stuffed animal and/or doll) with her to every room to do anything and everything, her turtle (affectionately and adorably called "Pokey") falls into the tooth-paste covered sink.

Step 2: Wash Pokey and dry tears.

Step 3: Redo child's braids. Because it is bedtime and every girl needs beautiful braids... to sleep in.

Step 4: Help her change into pajamas. She can do it herself. Nope. She needs help. Nope. She can do it herself. Nope. She needs help.

Step 5: Allow her to spend 3 full minutes choosing which skirt to wear over her pajamas. TO BED.

Step 6: Read "Belle Book" (Beauty and the Beast) for the 985th time.

Step 7: Say prayers, including praying for "Baby, Pokey, Giraffe, Brown Bear, Baby Bear, Polar Bear, Baby Polar Bear, Bunny....

Step 8: Because she realized she was missing some friends during prayers, search for specific missing friends. Tonight they include 4 puppies (she owns about 12).

Step 9: After 4 puppies are found, head back upstairs. As you reach the very top stair, you hear "And Dragon!" Turn around and go back downstairs. Find Dragon.

Step 10: Deliver 4 puppies and a dragon.

Step 11: You are now told that Dragon needs her blanket. The specific blanket you are looking for is about 2 x 3 inches. Good luck.

Step 12: After miraculously finding the tiny blanket (because "Mommy, Dragon is sooooo cold"), and bringing it to your 3-year old, she responds: "All of my other friends need blankets too. Can you find each one their own little blanket?"

Step 13: Open beer. Write this blog.

Sunday, March 16, 2014

Another body part is retiring. Well, 2 actually.

I have made no secret about the fact that I am in a state of simultaneous mourning / elation this year. 2014: the first time in 6 years that I will not be pregnant or nursing -- because we have decided to retire my uterus and declare that 3 kids in 5 years is probably enough kids.

Elation: No more babies!!! No more freakishly large body that does not fit into any maternity pants properly! No more pushing out the big fat babies we tend to create (although I love how fat and healthy they are, my lady parts sure don't). No more 9+ months without beer or wine!

Mourning: No more babies. No more positive pregnancy tests, no more ultrasound appointments, no more finding out the gender, no more baby name duels. No more amazing birthing experiences (and yes, I use the word amazing. I have truly loved the experience of giving birth -- grossness and all).

And now, as of today, before either of us were ready (who knows if I would have ever been ready), no more nursing. My youngest is almost 13 months. It was time to start weaning him. He is a big boy -- drinks milk from a cup, and only really nurses for comfort. But he does still nurse for comfort every night, and I was not ready to rip that away from him just yet. Unfortunately, however, I have been fighting a bout of pneumonia. (Who knew moms were allowed to get pneumonia? I sure didn't.) And the previous nursing-safe meds did not work. And I got sicker. So back to the doctor today, and she said what I was dreading: "You need to go on stronger medication. And you CANNOT nurse on this stuff." She could probably see the sadness in my face (or the Really? Not even a little? It is probably okay... look on my face) because on the bottle, written clearly are the words: "DO NOT BREASTFEED WHILE TAKING THIS MEDICATION."

I feel robbed of that special moment when you get to know it is the last time. Turns out the last time was at 5 am this morning and I did not know. With my eldest son, I had that special time. He was 14 months old, and although sad, I felt ready and I knew he was ready. I played with his hair and looked at him and talked to him and knew it was ok. My daughter did not grant me that opportunity. At 11 1/2 months, she bit me, bit me on the other side, and then later that night, bit me again. She finally looked up at me as if to say, "Mom! I don't want this anymore. Are you not getting it?" And while this was harsh, if you know her, you are probably saying, yep, that sounds about right. She runs her own show, always has. The boys took forever to come out and she came flying out as the doctor barely made it into the room. So as I look back, her end to nursing was very fitting. But with my little guy, this just doesn't seem fair. I can try to start again after 7 days when I should be done with the medication, but at this point, with him only really nursing for comfort and being over a year, I know that isn't going to happen.

So another chapter is closing. If you see me in public and my eyes are red and I look a little forlorn, feel free to hand me a beer or a glass of wine (if it is the morning, you can put in my travel coffee mug so we are not judged), and tell me to keep my chin up! Celebration! No more nursing bras, nursing pads, no more being unaware that you leaked through your shirt so you continue to have 20 minute conversations with people. No more dreaded breast pump!

Watch out summer! I might rock a tank top for the first time since 2007!