When the car is quiet...

This is going to be my most serious post to date. There will probably not be one joke. It is taking quite a bit of courage for me to write this and include my own confessions, but having had these experiences compels me to share them and to help my fellow mommy and daddy friends learn about this problem and how to avoid it.

Years ago I saw an Oprah episode that included an interview with a mother who had forgotten that her daughter was in the car. She drove to work and got out of her car, leaving her daughter there asleep in her seat. Her daughter tragically died that day. It was horrific. How on earth does that happen, I wondered. The mother explained that it occurs too often when there is a break in routine. She almost never drove her daughter to day care in the morning -- her husband always did -- but he had a dentist appointment that day so it was her job. Despite the fact that she had loaded her daughter into her seat minutes earlier, she quickly forgot about her and drove straight to work as was her normal routine. It was impossible for me (on that day) to imagine that this could ever happen. And it didn't happen with my first child. 

There was no "routine" to break with baby #1. I was a typical first time parent -- my every thought, every breath was consumed with my new son. I would never forget he was in the car, even when he was sound asleep, as my "routine" was to coexist with a baby, whether it was in the car, house, etc. 

Two years later I had forgotten about this Oprah episode and now found myself with a chatty 2-year old and a newborn. It had been 2 years since I had driven around with a sleepy baby in the car. One day I was out doing errands with only the baby and had left my toddler at home with Daddy. This was a break in my "routine" as my car was never quiet anymore. I came home and entered the house, leaving her asleep in the car. I FORGOT she was in the car. After about 20 seconds of chatting with my husband in the kitchen, he asked if I was going to get her. My heart dropped into my stomach. What if I had forgotten while we were at the store? Thank goodness -- no THANK GOD -- I didn't. And THANK GOD it was winter and she would not have baked in the heat. And THANK GOD my husband was home, not out somewhere with our son, or when would I have realized? I believe I would have remembered within seconds, but I will never know.

That day shook me to my core. I left her alone in the car for no more than 20 seconds, in our garage. The point was that I had forgotten she was in the car. I was so used to a 2-year old voice and a 2-year old face looking back at me through the rearview mirror that without him there, the car seemed empty. I vowed to never forget again and I believed at the time that I never would.

Now that little girl is a talkative 2-year old herself and my son is 4. I now have 2 faces looking back at me through the mirror and 2 voices chatting my ear off in the car. And we have another newborn. Last week I went to a doctor's appointment with him and left the big kids home with Grandpa. On the way there, I recalled this exact incident and said to myself, "Of course I won't forget. I am heading to the OB -- the doctor who delivered him, whose office is in the same building as the hospital where was born." But not a few minutes later, my mind was onto other things and by the time I pulled in the parking lot, I had forgotten. Again. I took about 5 steps away from my car before remembering he was still in it. I frantically looked around as I turned around to go back for him -- was anyone watching this horrible unfit mother who FORGOT her kid go back to retrieve him? I could not believe it had happened again.

Again, the whole incident was seconds long. And thankfully I remembered on my own. But it could have been so much worse. I truly thank God for both of these minor but also terrifying incidents. I believe they are both gifts sent down to teach me a valuable lesson. It truly can happen to anyone.

To the handful of parents who I know are reading this, especially if you are having your second or third child and are used to loud kids in the car, KNOW your routine. KNOW how tired you can get, how distracted your mind can become thinking of a 100 things. I have taken a pledge to myself and to my kids. EVERY TIME I am driving alone with the baby, I am going to put my purse in the back with him. I would never leave my car without my purse, so this will force me to look for it and remember he is back there. I have also heard the suggestion of keeping a teddy bear in the front seat to remind the driver. There are already teddy bears and dolls all over my car, so this probably would not help me much. But find something that works for you. 

I feel sick telling this story but I am also incredibly grateful for the opportunity to share. If that mother, who accidentally caused the death of her daughter had the courage to go on national television and tell her story in order to educate others, I can at least share mine. Summer is coming and it is 106 degrees for 3 straight months where I live. It takes only a couple of minutes for a baby to die from the heat inside a parked car in the summer. 

I pledge to never text and drive.

And I pledge to keep my purse in the back when I am alone with the baby in the car.

What do you pledge?

"Fun Mommy" pledge: Day 1

If you read yesterday's post, you know of my pledge to be more fun with my kids. Today, on a dreary, rainy day, despite sleeping about 18 minutes last night, I decided to kick off Fun Mommy Day 1 by... making cookies! I checked the pantry and figured out that I did have all the ingredients for basic oatmeal raisin cookies (basic being the operative word because this momma is NOT a baker).

This endeavor fell somewhere between "not very successful" and "epic failure" due to a variety of factors:

1. My 6-week old son, who has been constipated for days, decided to start pooping again today-- like every 12 minutes all morning long (and cry through all of it).

2. My older 2 kids had no interest in helping bake. This is because:
--My son never has interest in helping with any kitchen activity (or really any activity non-Lego-related these days)
--My daughter wants to do everything my son does.

So, despite the lack of enthusiasm, I remained optimistic. That's okay! Mommy will start the process, they will want to jump in and help, and we will all have fun! The baby will cooperate and let me put him down and the cookies will be delicious! Or at least edible!

Wrong. On all accounts.

Cookies burned. Even my 4-year old, who will eat anything in cookie or muffin form, gnawed through half of one and finally said, "I will finish this later, mom." Batch #2 was not quite burned, but is still dry and tasteless.

Well, as our gal-pal Scarlet O'Hara once said, "Tomorrow is another day!"

The curse of the un-fun parent

Last night while giving my older two kids their baths, my son started kicking and splashing water everywhere. I, of course, flipped out on him, as splashing and making a mess everywhere is not allowed! I permit a very controlled "splash" at the end of bath, as the water is draining, with the curtain closed. They know the rules. And there are a lot of them. Because I am not very fun.

As my voice escalated and my head snapped around in my typical disciplinary fashion, my 4-year old son asked, despondently, "Can we play with Daddy when he gets home?" (Daddy is, in fact, quite fun. He is the anti-mommy in our household.)

Lately, as I am adjusting to life with 3 kids (my youngest is 6 weeks old), I am realizing more and more just how little fun I have with my kids. My days are spent doing laundry, washing dishes, feeding baby, cooking for the rest of us, cleaning, doing more laundry... feeding baby again... etc. And my brain is consumed with: Did they all take their vitamins? Which day am I signed up to bring snack to school? Did I send in the check to register our son for soccer? When is their next pediatrician appointment? Did I remember to make the pediatrician appointment? And the dentist appointment? And the eye doctor appointment? Did we do enough academic activities today? Is anyone developmentally behind on anything? Is everyone hitting their milestones? Did I put lotion on our daughter's rash? When did he/she poop last? Did he/she have enough fruit? Too much cheese? Do I have anything for dinner?... etc...etc...

And all day long, the words out of my mouth are one of the following two phrases:
1. "No! Stop doing that."
2. "In a minute. I will get it for you / be right there after I ______ (fill in blank)."

I fear that my kids hear "no" and "wait a minute" from Mommy ALL DAY LONG.

This is why, when I asked my son to put his socks and shoes on the other day (and we were obviously running late for something) and he instead made sock puppets, I was angry rather than amused. And he was sad. He had been excited to show me something funny and clever and I snapped at him rather than laughed with him.

The look on my son's face in bath last night almost brought me to tears. Why can't I be more fun like Daddy? Because too often "fun" for my kids = more work for Mommy. Who cleans up the water all over the bathroom after the splashing? Mommy. And Mommy is already so busy and her head is so full of serious stuff that there does not seem to be room or time for a whole lot of fun.

Well with my husband's 3 week long work trip looming in the near future, I am reflecting on the life I am providing for my kids. I am vowing to myself and to them to be more fun. They deserve laughter and giggles and the right to make messes and with Daddy gone, Mommy needs to buck up and allow a little splashing now and then. Even if it makes more work. Someday far too soon they won't be here all day to make sock puppets and play pirate ship in the bathtub.

Be careful Mommy!

It took my 2-year old daughter about 4 seconds to notice and develop a fascination with how Mommy feeds her new baby brother. My 4-year old son, however, did not notice until the baby was about 5 days old. One evening, while I was nursing our son, his older brother's eyes widened and:

"Mom! What are you doing?"
"I am feeding your brother. This is how he eats. His milk is inside Mommy."
"You need to be careful or he is going to eat parts of your body."

All in a night's work

As of 2 weeks ago, we now have 3 kids. 

Last night was a typical example of our new life with a 4-year old who still has occasional accidents in his sleep, an overly dramatic 2-year old still working on her molars, and a newborn who is... well, a newborn.

Between 7:30-8:45: 2-year old daughter (who is experiencing a "transition period" -- to put it mildly) cries on and off for Mama. No amount of snuggling and/or song-singing will suffice during this time.

9:00: Newborn son projectile poops mid-diaper change. Poop is all over Mommy and changing table. Simultaneous to this, he pees straight upward, then angles back to drench his face, hair, and the other end of the changing table. Mommy and baby get clean clothes.

9:30: Post-feeding, newborn son pukes everywhere. Clean clothes again.

11:00: 2-year old daughter falls out of bed. She does not calm down for 30 minutes.

12:00: 4-year old son awakes from nightmare and pee accident.

12:30: newborn son awakes for midnight feeding.

4:00: 2-year old daughter is awake crying with molar pain.

4:30: newborn son is awake for another feeding.

Daddy very kindly takes over morning duties at 6 am so Mommy can sleep in a bit. While this is much appreciated, it also results in Mommy waking up to two wet circles on her shirt at 7:30 am. Good times.

The birth story

Child #3 entered the world this past week! Here is the birth story...

Likely due to the fact that #1 and #2 were quite large, my body (namely my pelvic region and bladder) were VERY tired by week 36 of this pregnancy and our little man dropped down loooooow with no hesitation. I had a great pregnancy up this point (oddly this was my easiest of the 3) but the world turned upside down at around this point and on several days I truly wondered how I was going to survive to 40 weeks (or 41 as the other two were late).

My tremendously supportive husband (who bears the brunt of my ire between weeks 36-40) started casually mentioning an induction... at week 37. I was induced with the other 2, so this was not a topic of contention, but getting induced early was. I had made it to my due date + about a week the other two times, and felt like I would be failing this child somehow if I did not let him cook until at least a full 40 weeks. However, I was miserable. Downright beastly. The pressure was often unbearable to the point where I could not stand for more than 5 minutes at a time. Yet I continued to fight and refuse to request an early induction (which my doctor had offered to do at 39 weeks).

Then a blizzard hit. 14 inches of snow debilitated our lives and we were completely snowed in for over 24 hours -- no one could get it and no one could get out. I was terrified of going into labor and having my husband deliver our baby on our living room floor. We joked about getting bowls of warm water and me ripping towels ala the 1800s, but we were scared. Phew. No baby during storm.

Then... another blizzard was on its way. Okay, I hear you, Lord. Between the unending discomfort, complete lack of sleep, and sad excuse for a mommy that I was to my other two children, plus ANOTHER 14 inches of snow that would likely prevent me from getting to the hospital should I go into labor, I acquiesced and scheduled an induction for 4 days prior to my due date. I would be at the hospital before the snow hit and the kids would be safely at home with the grandparents.

The guilt I had felt for ripping this guy from his happy womb-home before he was ready was very quickly replaced with relief. Relief for knowing that I would not be birthing him in our bathtub (more power to the home-birthers -- rock on with your bad selves -- but I would like a hospital bed with a side of epidural please) and relief for knowing that I would no longer be pregnant in just 24 short hours.

I rocked my baby girl to sleep the night before and shed a few tears as I processed that she would not be my baby anymore. I then slept about 8 minutes that night as my mind raced -- what would the next day be like? How would the other kids do?  Was this really happening TOMORROW?

And it did happen that very next day. I was induced in the morning -- received meds at about 9 am. I was already dilated to a 2 and my contractions began almost immediately -- yay! This will be quick. A few hours and... baby!?

Nope.

Hours later: "You are at a 3."
More hours after that: "Okay, now a 4."
Contractions every 90 minutes: "Ummmm... you are between a 4 and a 5."

Are you SERIOUS?

At 6 o'clock, I was at a 5. I had not eaten anything but ice chips in 12 hours. The nurses brought my husband his THIRD meal since we arrived that morning. He tried so hard to eat quietly in the corner and talk about how horrible the hospital food was. But at one point, he came to the bedside to hold my hand and coach me through a particularly difficult contraction and I smelled candy on his breath.

"Did you just eat CANDY???!!"
"No...." with a look of terror.

Okay, I had one more check -- if I had not progressed, they were moving on to Pitocin. But I was at a 6! Some progression!

And then all hell broke loose. It is a blur, and it seemed like hours, but my husband said in a matter of about 30 minutes, I went from a 6 to a 10. I was screaming. And writhing. And yelling about the epidural no longer working (which was what I requested -- I asked them to reduce it toward the end so I could feel the pressure to push -- but oh did I curse myself for that decision). Suddenly it was time. 3-4 pushes and our son was born.

At a healthy 9 lbs and 22 inches long, my doctor commented that thank goodness I was induced when I was or he may have been 10 lbs by the following week. Holy crap. You are welcome, pelvis.

And it was done. He was here and he was perfect and he and I were healthy.

And I was almost immediately sad. Was it really over? What a bizarrely emotional experience pregnancy and labor are. I had prayed for the end for weeks, and within hours, I wanted to turn back time, go back, and freeze myself in that place. It is partly selfish -- because now I have to share him with the world whereas before, he was all mine. It is partly sadness at knowing this is our last (4 kids is waaaaay too many kids for me!) And, let's be honest, it is partly complete irrational hormonal response. But I was, and am sad.  As he sits next to me post-feeding, at 5 days old, I am thankful and sad. A week ago I was huge, cranky, frustrated, exhausted, and nervous. Now we are home, and the ice-diapers are over and the scary early milk days are here. I am exhausted in a whole new way, but also proud, in love, and figuring out how to be mommy to 3 little people under the age of 5.

The world looks different these days. I am living in the land of 3:30 am TV -- Three's Company or Mork & Mindy? Hmmmm how do I decide? If I thought getting a shower was a rarity before... ha! And pretty much every time either child or my husband walks in the room, I have a boob out. I field endless questions from the little people all day long -- the most recent fascination is the breast pump -- you can imagine my 4-year old son's reaction to THAT contraption! And my husband has been amazing as we play "rotate the kid" dealing with diapers, feedings, wipings, bathings, and quality play time. So far it is crazy and stressful and tiring. And wonderful.

38 weeks pregnant - new definitions of Mommyhood

At 38 weeks pregnant with my 3rd child (who will probably be over 9 lbs like his siblings and who recently dropped on top of my bladder and "pelvic region" with great gusto), I have redefined some Mommyhood terminology.

"The house is clean" = there is a clear and safe path for walking through rooms.

"Dinner is made" = there is PB&J and/or bread and cheese in the house.

"The kids are clean" = they sat in soapy water for 10 minutes and splashed all over the bathroom.

"The laundry is done" = we all have something to wear. For today.

"The kitchen is clean" = we all have a plate, cup, and fork to use. For today.

"The kids did something educational today" = they learned 3 new Spanish words from Dora the Explorer.