More than anything else, my kids make me happy.

More than anything else, my kids make me happy. This is what happened today.

I play this stupid cooking game on the computer. I know it's stupid. Brainless. Redunkulous even. But I'm sadly addicted to the game, and I'm checking it every time I get five quiet minutes. I don't get very many quiet minutes, between a two month old who doesn't really nap and a five year old who's been yanked from school until she got her H1N1 vaccine. (say what you will, h1n1 is effing scary. I don't care if it's been blown out of proportion. I don't care if the chances of one of my children dying of h1n1 is smaller than the chances of one of them dying while getting hit by a car. way smaller. I know that canada hasn't studied the vaccine. I know other countries have. I know. I ALSO know that the chances of my child catching h1n1 at school and bringing it home to my 2 month old are higher than not, and I KNOW that if anything were to happen, I would never forgive myself. So before any one jumps down my throat about the stupid vaccine, just back up and don't ok?)

So anyways, this is why my kids make me happy. I play this stupid cooking game. I check it often, 30 seconds at a time, maybe ten times a day. I have a borned perfectly healthy five year old, and a demanding 2 month old who rarely naps. Between crying and questions, bed time and meal times, laundry and dishes, demands of child 1 and demands of child 2, I have 0 minutes of truely free time. I rarely have the time to just sit down and play with Faith anymore. It makes me sad...because she's a pretty cool kid. So the other day, while Mark wasn't working, Faith came up to me and asked me to play kitchen with her in her room. What I wanted to do was say no, and sit down somewhere nobody else was and listen to quiet. But instead, a little voice told me that if I won't play kitchen with her but I will play it bymyself on the computer, lines will be drawn and dots connected in her head in ways I don't want. So up to her room I went.

This is approximately the best conversation ever.

Faith: here's a menu customer! (on it is a picture of spagetti, chicken noodle soup and cake, every five year olds stand by list)

Me: I'll have spagetti and poo balls please

Faith: M-O-M!

Me: Ok, just regular plain old spagetti then

Faith: Just pretend I have more ingredients than shapes and princesses ok? (to any imaginary disney characters hovering in her closet, that must seem diabolical)

Me: Ok, I'll pretend you have more than shapes and princesses.

Faith: Wait! I have string!!!!

Me: Oh good! Yummy. Could I have some tea too?

Faith: Fine...sigh. (seriously not getting a tip) Here's your tea and salt.

Me: mmmmmmmm.

Faith: If you're finished your spagetti I have something else I'm cooking.

Me: All done! What did you cook?

Faith: a salami. a spicy one.

Me: How did you cook me a spicy salami?

Faith: I used my recipe book (goes and gets story book from shelf)

Me: is that like gramma's recipe book?

Faith: no mom, it's a story book. I'm pretending. (she saves her "god-mom-you're-such-a-fucking-idiot" tone of voice and her "I'm-surrounded-by-idiots" tone of face for this line.

Me: Oh! Pardon me, I didn't notice. Are you pretending it's like grammas recipe book then?

Faith: yes yes yes yes yes. Here's you're salami

Me: it's too spicey. Could I have the not spicey kind?

Faith: Fine, but you'll have to wait for three hours while I cook ANOTHER one and I have to wash all of your dishes. You're not my only cutomer you know!


Then she proceeded to ignore me while she served her barbies.


This is the other reason my kids make me happy.

I was gone all day, taking Faith for her shot, going to walmart etc etc and Marlee was home with her Dad. I left at ten this morning, and got back maybe at three. I barely saw her, and she barely saw me. I didn't think she'd really notice. Apparently she did.
She smiled so big at me, and ran through all her tricks. Then she started making her imminent starvation noises so I fed her. Around a mouthfull of boob, she continued to stare at me and chat at me. She babbled her first real sound. Not just noise. A real sound. She said A-GHEE. Before she said A-GHEE she was a very floppy baby, with almost no personality. She was just a new born. But now, now she belongs to the world. Her first big milestone...passed already. Over. Just like that.

Maybe that doesn't seem like a big deal to most people. Maybe that seems possitively boring, right next to watching paint dry. Maybe to you, that isn't the description of a day you would rank with your best. I understand. But for me...I would rather have this kind of day any day.

I got to go on a trip with my big girl, and she took me to her world. Where you're never sure if you're pretending right or not. Then my baby talked to me about her day. I didn't understand it...but she talked.

My kids don't just make me happy. They give me peace, the give me serenity. They tether me to the earth, they make it spin. They make every moment worth breathing in. They really are the best kids, and this really is the best life.

What did I do to get so lucky?

To my daughters, 5 years and 2 months

Everything has changed. Absolutely everything.

The whole trasformation started on August 24. Well, no, it started about 40 weeks before that but the big change started on August 24. It was hot that day, and I was 39 weeks and 6 days pregnant, on the bottom end of a failed membrane sweep that made me feel like I had been used for a puppet, and miserable. Despite the impossibility, I felt that I would be pregnant forever. The baby wasn't coming out. Ever.

Mark and I left our oldest daughter with my mother for the afternoon and went to another midwife appointment. Mark had just come off a couple night shifts and was going to sleep after the midwife appointment. We had a second membrane sweep which is never comfortable, but apparently the baby was still sitting quite high and my cervix seemed like it was hiding out near my bellybutton trying out for a new job. On the possitive side, I think the mw managed to give my tonsils a scratch.

We left the mw office before lunch under the advice not to stray too far. We were commanded to go for a walk, so we headed up to Perth, a lovely scenic town offering nifty shopping. Off we went. I was crampy, hot, swollen and irritable. Mark was exhausted but in good spirits. He walked and I waddled around town, then we stopped at this cute little restoraunt and had soup and a sandwitch. Their pie looked excellent, but I was still pissed off at the unfairness that I would be pregnant for all of eternity and so did not partake. I regret that decision. It was probaby good pie.

Mark looked like a zombie, so I said we should just go home so he could sleep. In reality, I didn't care if he was tired. The car had a/c. I would have murdered a homeless person for a/c. So we climbed in. Once my internal body temperature had climbed back down from the melting point, I became concious of regular tightenings. I didn't look at the clock, I wasn't having a baby anyways. We had to pass through the town with our mw in it on the way home, so I suggested we just pop in and let her know that I was contracting regularly...I was just too stuborn to find out HOW regularly. She suggested we rent a hotel so mark could sleep. We decided to go home, we couldn't afford a hotel. On the way home, Mark gave me his watch and told me to keep count. I was contracting every five-ish minutes, but they weren't painful. I figured it was just my body's terrible sense of humor playing a nasty trick.

Under orders, I telephoned the mw and told her. Mark forced me. He was a man on the edge, perfectly balanced on the fence that is the silent and still line between panic and action. She told us to go home, take two tylenol and get in the bath. She would see a couple more ladies and call me back. Mark practically man handled me into the bath tub with this blank look on his face that said louder than words that he was perfectly willing to force me to do what ever the mw said. So I got in the tub. My five year old fed me dip and chips. Spinach dip. It was yummy. So then the mw called back and asked if I was still contracting regularly. I was then told it was time to go.

From the look on Marks face I knew these things

1. no more dip

2. if I didn't get dressed immediately, I would experience the hour long drive to hospital naked.

So naturally, I hauled my fat ass out of the tub and got dressed with as much dignity as I could manage. I still didn't believe it was time, and was possitive that the mw would end up at the hospital just to tell us to go back home.

By the time we got the the hospital it was maybe 2 or three. She checked me and the whole time I felt embarassed because I didn't believe I was in labor. She told us it was early labor, but my first daughter was born quickly and she wasn't about to send us home. So we went walking. We went to meet my mother who was coming to join us after dropping off my oldest daughter with my father. Then we went back and I got hooked up to my iv which I needed for my first course of antibiotics. More walking. We went outside so the smokers could enjoy a bit.

When we went back in there was another largly pregnant woman sitting in a chair panting and looking a little wild in the eyes, which quickly turned a bit spiteful when she saw me walking around laughing and talking with my family. Guess she was in pain, and the fact that I obviously wasn't bothered her. Sorry.

We walked to the gift shop, and the timmy's. Went back to the room. I was at four or five cms but still in early labor. Apparently my cervix/belly button was quite thick. I honestly didn't even feel most of the contractions and was still waiting for someone to realize that I was so NOT having a baby and send me home. She offered to break my water, once I reached five, and then we could all go home at a reasonalbe hour. OK then, whatever works. So I got my water broken and asked if I could get in the tub. It looked like a wonderful experience...a nice big deep tub with jets. HELLS YA! So in I got.

Labor progressed quickly. The pains came on with the strength of a sledge hammer. W-O-W. I breathed through them and privately got very worried about managing to make it through without meds. But I shut up and kept breathing. I was determined to have the baby quietly and calmly. RIGHT. Eventually I started clutching Marks hand and had to fight back tears a few times. I couldn't believe the pain. He was on his knees on the tile floor beside me, pouring warm water on all the parts of me that wouldn't fit in the tub. He draped a face cloth over the parts he knew I wouldn't want everyone to see. He stayed there for as long as I was in the tub. I think I got out around nine. Once I got the the point that I was really struggling, the mw came in and told me to make low noises. It would help. I thought it was bullshit...and also thought that she sounded like a wounded buffalo. I had no desire to compromise my dignity any further and ignored her. Her student came in...we found out later that Mark scared her. She needed to monitor the baby's heartbeat regularly but I hated it during contractions...so mark kept telling her when to back off. She was young.

When I was researching natural birth I was lead to believe that labouring and birthing in water is a natural pain killer or something. Bullshit. SOOOO bullshit. It doesn't help. The mw student told Mark if he pinched a certain part on my hand it would stimulate my brain to make more endorphines or something. Also bullshit. They gave me a TENS, which sends small shocks to your muscles, and is supposed to help with pain. More bullshit. There is no natural way of making natural labour easy. I'm not even sure if it can be made easier...it's brutal. And painful. More painful than I could ever describe.

Eventually, I finally caved and asked for the gas. I could handle the gas. So they brought me gas. I huffed on it during contractions, leaving a nasty taste in my mouth. During one particularly bad one, I huffed a little more than I had been and noted a pleasant dizzy drifting sensation...so I kept huffing on it even when I wasn't contracting for a bit. Just for shits and giggles.

That was the last bit of fun I had that night.

At some point I decided or the mw decided it was time to get out. I don't remember. I got out under my own steam and waddled to the bed. She checked me. I was a six but completely thinned. The mw said I would have a baby in an hour. I didn't believe her. I was a four when I got there, and I was only a six...hours and hours and hours later. Painful drug free hours. I cried for a bit, and then I asked for drugs. Just a little bit. She said that because she knew I was delivering so soon, I couldn't have anything BUT an epidural. I didn't want that. So I cried a bit more.

Then there was a new pain. My hips...they hurt so badly all of a sudden. They hurt...and it just kept getting worse and worse. The mw kept trying to make me move, but I was afraid. It seemed that every time I moved, something started hurting...so I decided to make like a statue. For a skinny woman, the mw was quite tough. I was man handled (again) and with no co operation on my part, onto my hands and knees on the bed. Wow. I thought I was fresh out of dignity before. Now I'm REALLY out. They found the last shred of it and destroyed it. I felt like a dog. No one should have to be in that much pain, on all fours like a dog while naked, in front of five people.

I forgot about it. My hips. I thought they would fly apart, break into tiny pieces, dislocate. I started screaming. Screaming for drugs. Screaming screaming screaming. Someone kept telling me to push, she was almost here. I screamed. Someone told me she was so tiny, she needed me to help her. I screamed and screamed. I screamed "I CAN'T" but they didn't understand. I really couldn't. I couldn't make my body do anything. It hurt too much, all over. I wanted someone to kill me. I wanted someone to go out and beat a junkie to death for whatever he had on him and give it to me. I screamed and screamed. I screamed when people touched me. I screamed when they didn't.

I was terrified. Something felt wrong. All I could think of was that she had a very large ear or something. Something wasn't right. I was so scared of what that meant. I was scared I was breaking. I was ashamed at my lack of composure. I was sorry for the anesthesiologist who was probably being paged for everyone within hearing distance of my room.

Finally I reached down, and felt 2/3 of my daughters head, and knew it was time. I don't know how long she was like that...half born. Hours, minutes. I finally gathered my courage, and she was born in the next push...there wasn 't even time for anyone to catch her. She was born, exactle 1 hour and 3 minutes after the mw said I was six cms. She was born head AND fist first. I think that's why it felt wrong. That's why my hips hurt. That's why I thought she had an ear the size of a second head. It was her hand and arm, preventing her for sliding and moulding to me smoothly.

We were told through our pregnancy that she had a 2 vessle cord, and the chances of low birth weight, kidney problems and skeletal problems were higher. My daughter was born, and she wasn't tiny. She was 7lbs 13 oz, with a full head of hair, and a loud voice. She was alert. Watching me. I felt like death. Bone weary, hurt. But I was floating...with her I was floating. She was beatiful. She was new. Not her sister. She didn't look like her, she didn't look like me. She didn't fit in the sleeper I got for her. It looked like a sack on her. The hat didn't fit either.

Looking at her, and exhausted as I was, i wasn't really forming coherant thoughts. Just words buzzed by, moving to fast to be expanded on. Beautiful. Small. Loud. Ouch. Hungry. Cold. Tired. BEATIFUL. I was falling in love.

I had a quick shower. I got dressed. We left two hours after my daughter was born. We named her Marlee (my husband and I combined our names Mark and Lee) Josephine (my father is Joseph) Malynn (pronounced MAYLYNN, a combination of my mother and mother-in-laws names). We got in the car, and drove home. At the half way point, I needed to pee in a bad way, and he needed food and a coffee. I went in and walked, slowly and carefully to the bathroom. I tried very hard not to pass out. Between blood loss, birth and lack of sleep, I think I could have easily done so. I must have looked awful.

We got home around 1 am. We were both too tired to get the seat out of the car, so we just carried the baby in without it. Mark sat on the couch and held her and silent tears made shiny tracks on his cheeks. I ate my second sticky bun and two tea biscuits and jam. I ran out of breath and got all shaky walking to the kitchen. I went to the bathroom and tried to clean myself up a little bit. It was a lost cause. We held the baby for a while, both too tired to go to bed, too emotionally tired, too physically tired. Both burned out. Both too content.

Eventually we made it upstairs. We tried to put Marlee in a moses basket. She didn't like it. She

didn't like to be anywhere besides with me or her dad. So that's what we did. Were too tired to fight, even with a new born.

Those first two days passed so fast. I barely remember them. The midwives came to the house a few times to check her. All good. She was fine. The heel prick was terrible, she cried and cried. She wouldn't take a soother, she couldn't find her thumb. I became her pacifier. Within a week, Mark had been temporarily relocated to the spare bed, Marlee too up his place beside me. It was the only place she would sleep.

Within two weeks, we had come to the conclusion that 1) Newborns are not fun and 2) Marlee was particularly unhappy. NO colic, just yelling, not sleeping, screaming. Messy. I think I teetered on the balance of a normal sleep deprived newly delivered mother and post partum. My family rallied, taking my 4 year old out often. I didn't always nap, sometimes I just sat and stared into space and dreamed of a time that a baby didn't yell at me.

Marlee was insatiable. Always hungry. I could literally spend my whole day with her on and off the boob for hours at a time. It was brutal. OMG the chapping. BRUTAL. Toe curling pain. In time that passed, and days turned into weeks, and before I knew it, Marlee was smiling at me. Not very often, she mostly still yelled. But she did smile. I was recharged, I could handle a few more days. A few more days turned into two months. Now, only just, Marlee finally sleeps in her own crib. Mark has taken his spot back in the bed. She chatters, she puts herself to sleep. She does take a bottle, because quite simply I haven't the time to nurse her for four hours at a time. She would just happily live on my boob... She flirts and sings and talks to them. It's quite cute.

Her nightly freakshow seems to have passed, she's actually quite enjoyable. I am ashamed to say I am surprised.

And the changes will continue daily for her. From smiles to laughs, rolling over to sitting up, standing, walking and talking. I know every day will be new with her for a while. I just hope she won't grow up too fast.

And the changes in life continue. My baby isn't THE baby anymore. She's the big sister. A whole new identity. Not only is she insistant on making an imprint on her baby sister, but she's sort of given us two choices, the easy way or the hard way. She's very gentle, but smothering. Marlee takes it in her kind of stride, meaning she puts up with it for very short periods of time before shrieking her head off. Accordingly, Faith goes at her in short but frequent bursts in her dislike for the noise. They have an understanding I guess.

Faith also asserts her desire to be treated as a person who has assended the ranks so to speak. She's got the smug face of one who knows, that some day, not very far away...Faith will finally be the boss of someone. I have no doubt she's already making cookie snatching plans. Poor Marlee. She's gonna have to be heartless to resist her...and I've recently decided that she maybe does have a heart after all.

Mark and I have changed too. Our relationship is closer than it once was, and also a little less connected for the time being. I trust him now more than I did before, more than I ever thought I would or could. He is my best friend, my confidant, he is who I lean on when I have nothing left. I depend on him daily, and he has never failed me. Our relationship is strong enough to endure this sconnection, and it will pass when we sleep more than three hours at a time, when our whole day is not spent meeting constant needs for our children.

And so, even though I feel as though I am caught in a tornado and my world is just flying around in front of me, breaking up in the force of the winds, I am happy. I am happier than I have ever been. I have everything I have ever wanted in life, and there is nothing I would trade it for. There is nothing I would change.

Life is good.

di

For and Against

I am for naps.
I am against ass hats that can't drive and continually find themselves behind the wheel of a car.
I am against finicky change machines
I am for slushies
I am against alarm clocks
I am for being on time
I am against cash cow companies
I am for fuel efficient cars
I am against pricing environment conscious products higher than the average family can afford.
I am for living off the grid
I am against family court
I am for reading to children
I am against spanking
I am for spanking
I am against slot machines
I am for buffets of any kind
I am against cell phones
I am for comfortable clothes
I am against unnecessary c-sections
I am for pot
I am against dieting
I am for continuing education
I am against life stagnancy
I am for parenting on demand
I am against parenting on schedule
I am for over indulging on chinese
I am against people who block entire aisles in grocery stores
Despite thorough annoyance, I am for grocery stores making you pay for plastic bags
I am against stores not having recycled paper bags for free
I am for go carts
I am against mcdonalds
I am for paintballing
I am against guns
I am for H1N1 vaccine, though I am normally against the flu shot
I am against fighting
I am for stimulating discussions and disagreements
I am against mowing the lawn
I am for giving my husband cold water to drink while HE mows the lawn
I am against the asshat who doesn't use his blinker
I am for occasionally being THAT asshat myself
I am against my daughters teacher
I am for healthy snacks for children
I am against viagra commercials
I am for dr. phil
I am against clowns

My baby turned five...

Today my baby turned five. A great accomplishment. By todays standard, it is a great accomplishment. My daughter has made it to age five without ever once having a major meltdown in a public place. She is not that child screaming and hitting her mother with a brick of cheese. She is not the child that cries and makes like a wet noodle. I have not had to football carry her out of any place. We have made it to five years, without one swear word leaving her mouth. We have made it to five years without spanking. My daughter has managed at age five, to use the toilette consistently, and she even wipes! She has almost learned to tie her shoes. She prints quite well for a lefty. She is not a bully, though I will admit she leads with great enthusiasm. She shares most of the time. Bedtime is not an issue. She can tell time, sort of (meaning, she knows at which times she may NOT get up, but frequently claims confusion well enought to mostly pull it off). She makes her own breakfast and pours her own milk. She holds hands across streets, but asks to do it alone sometimes. She is willing to try new foods, but almost always claims she hates it. She asks before she pets a strange dog. She uses her manners, most of the time. She is gentle, and kind. She helps her grandmother. She is mischevious enough to lie, but too honest not to tell on herself. She has more good days than bad. She REALLY marches to the beat of her own drum, and though usually tries hard to conform, she occasionally bursts out in nonstop chatter. She is sensitive, and caring (she makes little homes for bugs, names them and sleeps with the containers. We currently are in mourning for a nasty catterpillar named sparkle diamond and become proud frieds of a hairy one named diamond spikey). She expresses joy at some of the oddest times, which really lights up my life. Like today, on her fifth birthday, she looked out the window to see snow. Not the nice kind of snow. She big wet blobs. Not snow-snow. The kind of snow that is a warning. Like the notice you get before they reposess your car. "The snow-snow is gonna kick your ass". Then you get that feeling. You can feel hopeless dragging at you...you feel the pull to go inside and eat a lot of cake and then hybernate. Then Faith says "mommy it's snowing on my birthday!" and you say it with such joy. Like winning the lottery or something. I think she's the only kid that can make the crappiest stuff not crappy.

I can't help but reflect on the years past. I look around my home filled with you. Bits of your stuff draped over something, toys here and there, games crammed in the shelf, shoes on opposite sides of the closet. Bits of your supper on your tray, and juice box container stashed somewhere. A sticky spot on the floor. Fingerprints on the TV, tiny barbie pieces here and there, the plastic casing to your juicebox straw fluttering around my feet, hard to see in the dim light. Your art is on the fridge, your dishes on the counter. You are an explosion, like a little shooting star through my life. Everywhere you go, you explode in directions all round you, leaving bits of clutter and memories behind you. You've shot through my life with a light so bright, and a force so strong that my world swung of it's axis.

Everything is right with you in my life. I have no idea who I was and what I did for fun before you were born. You've impoved everything I am, just by breathing. I will never forget the way it felt to hold you when you were all new and floppy. When your breath felt like angel wings on my cheek. I will never forget what it felt like to watch you smile at me, how I hurt for you when you were cutting teeth, how I used to sneek into your room and climb in bed beside you when you were two...and I would have the best sleep. I will never forget how happy you were to get an xray, how you smiled, even though you had a broken bone. There are a million moments that I will never forget. You are pretty much everything to me.

I hope turning five is everything you dreamed it would be. I can't wait for another million things I'll never forget.

I love you my baby. For always, forever.

I am...(writing exercise)

If you want to do this one yourself, copy these words down and finish it off yourself. Mine are below.

I am the one who
I admit I am
I have chosen
I may never
When I check inside
I believe in
I pay attention to
I want to be remembered for
I have never been
I am still learning
I am


I am the one who never stands out in a crowd and is easily forgotten. I am the one who blends into the wallpaper. I am the one who is non confrontational and non assertive. I am the one who is frequently misunderstood and misjudged. I am the one who is constantly overlooked...except for the few people who take the time too look deeper. To them, I mean the world.

I admit I am accomplished at building walls and barriers to keep the world away. I've learned that it's less painful to walk the world alone than it is to trust people. Sometimes I'm afraid I've gotten so good at it, I don't know how to take them back down.

I have chosen to take the path less traveled. It's probably more appropriate to say I have chosen to make my own path through mangroves and over mountains. My husband says I wrestle giants alone...my mother says I do everything the hard way. On the other hand, I value everything I've accomplished for myself because I know exactly the price I paid for it.

I may never forgive myself for my biggest mistakes with my daughter. In an effort to give her everything she deserves, I cost her a very great deal. Forgiving myself is a daily struggle, and some days I fail and some I succeed. I am gratified to see by her beautiful smile and laughter, by the way she makes everyone love her...that the good outweighs the bad. But I've never been able to go a day without being so sorry for the losses I have caused her. I have never been more sorry that it is her that pays for my mistakes.

When I check inside I am proud of what I see. Over the last two years, I have changed alot of the darkness to light. I have healed old wounds so there is nothing left but faint scars. I have let go of old pains. I have calmed the chaos.

I believe in myself. I have walked through fire to be where and who I am. I have carried burdens I never should have had to. I have faced down monsters with bare hands and no protection. I have given up everything, to gain freedom. I have made sacrifices. I have been alone in the darkness. I have lost people I love. I have faced down my fears. I have come out the other side of depression. My greatest accomplishment, is that I am a good mother.

I pay attention to my children and my family and what concerns them. I have learned that the people I love, and the people who truely love me, are the only things that really really matter. The people who have been and will continue to be there for me, who don't judge me, who accept me for all that I am and all that I'm not, who don't try to change me, who stand beside me, who catch me when I fall, who's love is so unconditional...these are the only things I can't live without.

I want to be remembered for my devotion to my children. If at the end of my life, whenever that is, the only thing people can say about me is that I was a good mother, then I find that I can live with that. I believe that my children are the only thing I'll really leave behind. They are another page in a story that goes back so far, names are forgotten. In them are the pieces of generations behind me, tales of love and hardship, sacrifice...Pieces of my mother and father, my husband, my grandparents. I want the love I feel for my children to resonate in the bones of their children, just as the love my grandmother had for me resonates in mine. I want to write in bold on the pages of my childrens lives. When my children leave my home, I want to know that they will be a possitive force as they move through the world.

I have never been very good at saying no. I am a yes woman. If you ask me for something, I will probably say yes, even if I don't have it to give, because I don't like to say no. Ever. Sometimes I am disapointed that people continue to ask me for favors when I am tapped dry, and I wish that they would just realize that I can't always do it.

I am still learning to accept myself as I am. Some days it's harder than others.

I am your regular average everyday girl.

New discoveries, and old discoveries made new

After bringing home a brand new smack out of the box baby (excuse the pun) I have realized that there is so much about being a parent that I totally forgot about. I have spent a lot of time this past week being really surprised.





Like, I've just relearned how nice it feels to be clean when you're a slimy grub. I forgot about how having a new born in the house means you can't just have a shower any time you feel like it. If I had remembered that, I probably wouldn't have taken my last hot bath for granted.





I've also learned that the term "tired" is really subjective. Tired before pregnancy, birth and new parenthood is really incomparable to tired now. Today, when I say I'm tired, what I mean is my legs are shaking and my back aches. It means that if just ONE thing goes wrong, I'll probably cry. It means that if I were to sleep for an hour, I would still wake up tired. Tired now means that I would trade in meals and soap for that hour. It means that it feels like there's sand in my eyes, and lead weights dragging my eyelids and feet down. I would just love to be the kind of tired I was 10 months ago. Oh yes, I certainly forgot about being tired.





I forgot about how small babies are. And it seems that in the eight hours I was away from home having a baby, I forgot how big my almost five year old was. She seems infinately taller, and heavier, and OLDER. After snuggling my newest, I crept into my oldests room while she was sleeping, to check on her. I was astounded at the amount of leg hanging out of the bed, and how big the foot was on the end of said leg. Then I saw her hands which seemed so big, compared to the tiny fingers that were so recently gripping my own pinky. After staring at the creasy red wrinkled face, with swollen eyes and fuzzy hair of my new born, I was struck by the lack of baby fat on my older daughters face. When did she stop looking like a little girl? When did she stop BEING a little girl? And how did I miss it?





I thought I forgot how good it feels to cuddle a new born baby girl...but I didn't. It feels about the same as it does to cuddle my five year old, surprisingly. It feels like you could sleep in total peace, with the knowledge that all is right with the world because what's most precious to you is safe in your arms. A snuggle with my newest has the same sweet innocent joy as a snuggle with the older...just one sits still for it indefinitely, where the other does it half the time just to amuse me.





I've learned that my body and mind are more capable than I ever imagined before. Natural childbirth is not for the faint of heart. There are memories that I will treasure to the day I die, and some that I seriously hope will fade with time. I've learned that my husband is stronger and more dependable than any man I've ever known. I will never forget the hours he spent kneeling on cold hard bathroom tiles in the hospital while I squeezed his hand like I meant to liquefy his bones. I will never forget how he fought for me when I couldn't make words. Through tears and screams, he stood by me, supported me and never left me. If the only memories I had of my birth experience were my first sight of Marlee, her first cry, and his constant presence, I would feel blessed like one who has seen and believed something holy.



I forgot how good it feels to take a really good pee. It seems that the inside of my bathroom has become overly familiar over the course of the pregnancy, and lumbering out of bed four times a night feeling like flood gates are going to open and wash the house away, only to make it to the bathroom and have a piss that MIGHT fill up a shot glass has been frustrating. I forgot how nice it feels not to have someone stepping on my bladder, and to be able to stand up and say with conviction "I have to pee". Pregnant people can never say that with conviction.



I have rediscovered my feet. And they really ARE feet. They don't look like flesh colored gumby extensions...or feet shaped balloons filled with jello, or playdough. I have visible bones in my feet. And they don't feel like they are on fire anymore. They don't hurt to walk on. I don't feel the need to stand on my basement floor for the relief the cold concrete gave, nor do I need to sit in a cool bath. I will never take my feet for granted again.



I have rediscovered food again. I can drink a glass of milk without feeling like I have fire in my throat, and I can eat pizza without wishing I could just die. Gaviscon is not my constant companion. Food does not disgust me. Eggs and meat do not repulse me anymore. Today I ate a sausage at supper time...and I didn't spend the whole meal trying to convince my stomach that what I'm eating is in fact potato chips, NOT MEAT. I had a glass of juice, and it hasn't come back to haunt me.



Pregnancy may be beautiful, and it may be a miracle. There may be much joy found in the knowledge that your little one is safe and secure, resting under your heart. But it feels damn good when it's over.

I just don't understand.

Given that I can no longer go for a walk, garden, take a bath without feeling like I am just sitting in a puddle, or get off the couch without having a huge hissy fit because the back of my lay-z-boy chair got stuck on the chair rail and I couldn't get out....I have had a lot of time to ponder. I have questions, and I wonder...

So the first major blank I came to is this: Who the *^#O cares about John Gosslin? Why does having six babies make you that important?. Ok wait, having one baby is a miracle, having six is a death sentence but a pretty amazing one. But he didn't even HAVE them. He provided swimmers. Who cares who he dates? Why are women swarming him? He's a thirtysomething dude, who still wears band shirts, left his wife and 8 children and immediately sailed off with someone new...and if the tabloids are correct...she's the daughter of the dude that gave his wife a tummy tuck. Who t f cares about him or his girlfriends (who seem to be two psychopaths fighting over a middleaged weirdo)...
It's not like I'm resurecting the whole "team jennifer/angelina" bullshit. I don't have a pink tshirt with "team kate" on it, and I am not hiding behind bushes waiting to jump the first man wearing a "team john" shirt, yell sexist pig and then hit him with something. I genuinely don't care about either one of them. She yelled incessantly, he whined constantly...they picked on eachother daily...at least half of their children were crying at any given moment. I just wonder...why do they matter so much.

My second wonder- cell phones. What is the deal with cell phones. I phones. Blackberry's. God knows what else. Mark and I both agree that having cell phones is probably a good idea. So we decide to get them. Do you have any freaking idea how hard it is to just get a phone? So off I go shopping. They ask me-do I want this one, it has a full querty keyboard (what is querty? and if it doesn't have a querty keyboard, what does it have?) and I say no, I don't want to send emails from my phone...or whatever. Do I want a walkie talkie? ok, that was like 1980...or something. I don't want old shit on my phone. I don't want morse code either...if that's an option. Do I want an mp3 player? no...I don't want a radio...or a tv...or anything else. I want a phone. Just a phone. With numbers...and a speaker so that I can hear a voice talking to me, and a mic that I can talk into. I would like my phone to ring...just ring. Not play the theme song to fraggle rock, or whinney the pooh...or anything else. Just ring. you know? ring ring...a PHONE. DO I want to text? no. Do they have just a phone? no. apparently there is no such thing as JUST a phone. sigh. what happened to us?

I feel like some really old geezer wheezing at the kids "when I was your age...we walked to school! Bare feet! In the snow! Uphill! Both ways! AND WE DIDN'T have a go-go-gadget phone!
But seriously. What DID happen? When did we stop using a phone to call eachother? When did we start needing a machine to do EVERYTHING for us? We can't read maps, we need GPS. We can't make a call...we need to text message. We can't hand our kids a quarter and tell them to call us when they need to be picked up...NOOOOOOOO, we need to hand them a phone, that isn't a phone...and then wonder why they're sending pictures of themselves naked to who knows who, who knows where....
our phones must be able to browse, receive email, and make a sandwitch. We must all turn into zombies and walk around public places with our heads down and our thumbs poised over our phones bashing into eachother. We must be connected. All the TIME. To everyone, everywhere. We must make it easy for everyone to reach us, and then we must pass that on to our teenaged sons and daughters, and make it easy for them to be reached...all the time. Three 16 year old girls do NOT need to walk down the street beside eachother, texting. Seriously people, we are going to evolve without voice boxes and very very strong thumbs.
I will admit, cell phones to give a measure of safety. I am all for providing my daughter with a phone, so that she can call 911 and say "some weird dude is following me, can I get some help?" She doesn't need all you can text/email/browse/or eat. Neither do I...chances are...neither do YOU. Our kids will probably need social skills though. I know some of you guys could use some too...
What are they going to do...grow up and get jobs and forget how to talk. How to communicate effectively. How to say anything without popping an lol or a rofl...or anything else at the end? WIll they grow up to be doctors and lawyers...and waitresses, and garbagemen...and be silent. And when pedophiles, and dealers...and really bad dudes reach out and touch our daughters and sons because technology makes it easy, then what? I just don't understand.
People call me old...at 27...or 28 or however old I am. I'm not old. I just don't say baaaaaaa. Sometime around the age of 19 or 20 I stopped trying to be cool...and get cool stuff. I don't want something because you have it. I don't want it because it's new. I don't want it because everyone else has it. I don't care if it's top of the line, or how much it costs, or all the shit it can do that I don't need.

that's that for now...I actually have a lot more to say...but my kid is hungry.